Killing Time, page 18
Leicester was his city, a place he called home, and every last taxpayer paying his wages deserved the streets to be safe. Or as safe as the streets can be nowadays. He saw yesterday’s Daily Mirror in the top of a bin by the path, detailing yet another stabbing in the capital. Words such as ‘epidemic’, ‘disease’ and ‘cancer of a generation’ were splashed across the pages. He wondered how the mayor had the bottle to pledge ‘safe streets’ and a ‘serious response’ when the statistics showed there’d be another dead teenager on his hands by teatime.
He wasn’t the only one not doing enough.
Chapter 37
It took Rob half an hour to get back to the office, including a stop at Tesco Metro on the London Road for a Diet Coke that he wished he’d had in the square. The office was busy and Nicky had marshalled the investigating team well. Jen had done an equally good job with the wider support function staff, who were now going over every piece of evidence collected so far to find anything they’d missed. Could have missed.
Rob slipped his jacket off and rolled his shirt sleeves up. He stood in the middle of the room and addressed the team.“The goal posts haven’t moved. The death toll doesn’t change our focus, which is to catch whoever is responsible for these crimes.”
The room was listening.
“Your determination and resolve will make a difference. It will stop this man, because he isn’t done yet. Our task is to find him and bring him to justice before he completes his mission, whatever that mission is. He is hell-bent on revenge, and only we can stop him.”
The room had stopped. The team knew what needed doing. There was no lack of effort. No lack of vigour. Rob knew it and his tone told the team he knew it too. He chose to impart his words more wisely and more empathetically than his superiors had chosen to do with him. He wanted his team to feel valued, to keep spirits and energy levels as high as they could be at a time like this. Making them feel inferior and inadequate now would kill their work. Their critical work.
Rob carried on. “Our focus remains on finding Daniel Mortimer, and at a senior level that will continue to be the case. We need to go over everything we have, the full background, again and again. When he went off radar. Why he went off the radar.”
The team nodded; it was a task already being vigorously worked on.
“In addition, we have been granted access to sophisticated software that will allow us to review and recognise facial similarities. A number of you won’t have come across it during an active investigation before, but we’ve been investigating the possibility that Daniel Mortimer is engaged at a professional level in the city and is hiding in plain sight. This has been sanctioned at the highest level of the police force, by local government and GCHQ. They have our back, so stay focused and we’ll crack this. This team will solve these crimes.”
Rob himself was spitting out the words by the end. He felt the raw emotion in his own delivery. The passion and care in his voice was deafening. The room was stone dead. Nicky was surprised Rob had chosen now to disclose the information at such a sensitive point of the investigation, and was certain it hadn’t already been sanctioned by Rob’s superiors. She also knew the power of inclusion, and that if the team knew they were being trusted with key information at such a critical time, as well as what measures were going on behind the scenes, it would spur them on. Motivate them.
They needed it today.
Chapter 38
Becky had promised Jen she’d call the team as soon as she knew anything on the tox screening that was ongoing across town. The office had settled back down following Rob’s impassioned team talk and was bristling nicely when Jen’s phone vibrated on her desk. Becky Ryan’s smiling face filled the screen of her iPhone; Jen answered the call with her headphones in, whilst still reading a document on her laptop.
A short Tinder update ensued, with debate about the weirdos, the definite ‘no’s and the potentials for a casual encounter. Jen regaled a short story about one guy she’d met recently in a pub whose profile picture must have been taken about a decade ago. About three stones ago, too. She’d passed a comment on it. He’d got upset, asked her for a blowjob and then left, disappointed.
Becky loved a Tinder update. The extended version and juicy details would follow at the next social meet, but in the meantime, Becky had an update for Jen.
“So we’ve completed the full toxicology tests and had some initial results. They’re saying a lot, Jen. It may be worth hooking up Google Hangouts in Rob’s office and getting Nicky and Jack on it too.”
“Ok, cool, give me five minutes and we’ll dial you in. See you shortly.”
It took Jen less than five minutes to get Nicky and Rob together and into Rob’s office, and just a couple more to summon three coffees from Jack, who then wandered in. Jen was dialling in on the TV screen Rob had on his wall for such occasions. The team tended to use conference calls, but had started to use Google Hangouts as a free and easy way to host a meeting where they could see each other, as opposed to just a bland, impersonal voice call.
Jack was doling the coffees out as Becky appeared on the screen to a cheer from Jen. Becky was alone and Rob and the team adjusted their chairs to ensure they were all in Becky’s view. In the picture.
“Good to go, Becky,” Jen shared with a thumbs-up and a ‘whoop whoop’.
Becky shared her outline of the developments for the benefit of the wider room, repeating the fact that more in-depth tests remained ongoing, before sharing the bones of what she had.
“There were a number of needle marks on the body, which were inflicted during the fatal assault on Charles Worth. In addition, we found traces of Propofol in the bloodstream.”
Becky could see the blank looks on the faces of her audience on her laptop. The benefit of being able to see faces and gauge reactions.
“It’s a barbiturate, and is also a very common anaesthetic. It’s also identical to the substance found in Joe Davies’ body, so we’re dealing with the same MO. He was incapacitated before the assault started, so he was a sitting duck, the same as Joe Davies was.”
Becky looked at the room once more. She had their full attention and with no questions forthcoming she carried on.
“The bit where it gets interesting, and different from Joe Davies’ murder, is that there were additional needle marks, and we identified traces of Provigil in his system too. Now this is different in that this likely would have revived him, reinvigorated his system and made him stay conscious for longer. He’d have been able to feel for longer, his nervous system unable to shut down.”
Becky checked in with the room again, taking in the faces and reactions of the four officers in front of her. On screen at least. She could see them processing what she’d just shared.
“So the second drug revived our victim so he could suffer more?” Rob asked, knowing the answer already but saying it out loud to clarify for the room.
“Exactly that. It’s a sadistic use of a drug. It also caused a patchy rash on his skin, which is why we thought it was there and were able to test for and identify it so quickly. It wasn’t an abrasion, just a reaction to the drug. It’s used to treat narcolepsy in the mainstream, but it’s been widely abused by people who want to stay awake against the will of their bodies. Students, festival goers, ravers. Lorry drivers, at one stage.”
Rob wanted to summarise. “This is the second killing where drugs have been used to inebriate the victim, with William the only exception. What we now have is another drug used that made Charles Worth recover consciousness, allowing the attack to continue.”
Rob checked the screen to see Becky nodding in full agreement. She responded.
“It’s another evolution. We saw the subtle changes made for the Joe Davies killing, but we saw an earlier departure from the pain than the killer would have wanted. It would have annoyed him, aggravated him. Joe Davies escaped the pain that Charles Worth was made to sit through. And then sit through some more. There was no early death for Charles Worth, and even unconsciousness didn’t save him. The killer prepared measures that meant this murder was endured to its full extent.”
The surprise was etched on Jen’s face. Jack’s too. Neither had experienced this level of human perversion before, not first-hand anyway. It’s different when you’re exposed to the details. When you’ve seen the bodies. Society knows what the Wests did, but only a small group of people got to see the house, smell the fear in the walls and sense the horror in that basement.
Becky added her final view of the drugs used during the attack.
“Usually, once unconsciousness has set in, the pain threshold falls, and only if you cease and desist, or even treat the patient, will the body recover enough to regain consciousness. Our man wasn’t that patient so wanted to inflict enough pain to cause unconsciousness, but then medically stimulate consciousness so the assault could go on in the knowledge that pain would still be felt.”
What had happened to Charles Worth was slowly sinking in, and the level at which the killer was devolving and tailoring his method of killing was about to become a serious concern to the team, if it hadn’t hit home already.
Becky could see by the expressions on their faces that the officers were struggling to fully understand the depravity and extent of what had happened in Loughborough, in Charles Worth’s front room less than forty-eight hours ago. With no one chipping in, she added an afterthought.
“It’s not uncommon in the tortures of some drug informants or those who haven’t been loyal to a cartel. I’ve seen cases of it in Columbia, Mexico and South Africa, where the drug gangs rule with pure fear, and victims have been tortured and revived like this for days. Either until they give up the information they have or just so they can suffer for longer.”
Rob took the point but added, “Yes, but this isn’t Columbia, Becky. It’s Leicester city.”
Chapter 39
Rob started the day by sharing the news that the search for Daniel Mortimer hadn’t so far detected any visual similarities at the locations in the city where there was hope of a result, and that he’d had the authority to widen the search area.
The day had started in a more positive fashion for Nicky and Jen. With Daniel Mortimer still in the wind, they’d been working away on a theory that Elizabeth Harris had less reason to hide and was therefore eminently more findable.
Nicky knew it was something of a needle in a haystack, but had developed a list of potential candidates. Rob had asked her to keep it quiet, so she’d enlisted Jen and Jack to work on it. Several hundred names had been whittled down to a few credibles. Jack had then been able to use bank records, as well as trace official records which had got them down to a single suspect; Elizabeth Warren. The name had belonged to a seventy-nine-year-old woman who had died in April 1992, less than twelve months after Daniel Mortimer had been released and only two after Paul’s death, but at that time had been miraculously resurrected. Nobody, seemingly, had noticed. Jack had started to data mine into the digital side of the now Elizabeth Warren’s life, and was satisfied enough to have gone and sat outside her house in Enderby with Jen for a couple of hours. The woman they saw was easily identifiable as an aged version of the Elizabeth Harris they had a photograph of, and they’d left her untouched for further surveillance as instructed, while Rob and the team held out for the bigger prize.
With the past forty-eight hours proving fruitless, Jen and Nicky were on their way to execute a search warrant and an arrest. The initial charge of identity theft and fraud was bolted on. Jack had more than enough evidence to make that stick. He’d even managed to acquire dental records from the late eighties in order to prove who she is. Who she was.
The bigger plan involving an otherwise law-abiding citizen, with no criminal record under either pseudonym, was to leverage the charge against what she knew. The levels of expectation were mixed amongst those who knew the plan, but Nicky and Jack would take the interview, and Jen would oversee the search warrant in Enderby. Nice and tight.
The arrest was clean and went well. It was a knock on the door with the warrant presented to her. No broken door, no home invasion. She’d almost looked relieved, and came across as a quiet and pleasant woman. Normal. She’d be a different character to interview than those who had been on the list of people of interest so far in the case. Jen had started the search at the house with a small team. It was a very ordinary house in suburbia. Average in every way. Jen wasn’t sure what she’d find, if anything. A long shot, but the investigation was at long-shot stage.
It was 9am before the interview got underway. Elizabeth Harris, who she’d been arrested as, had accepted the offer of a duty solicitor, and after a short private discussion with him was ready to talk. Rob watched intently from his office, the interview hooked up to his flat screen.
Nicky cut to the chase and laid out the bare facts on the table. Irrefutable facts. A decent lawyer might struggle with this, let alone the half-wit who was sat cross-legged and silently opposite Jack.
Jack spelled out very clearly the detail and data they had, including the dental records. He then made it very clear that their core investigation was into the murders of the three men her late husband had once called friends.
“Have you seen, spoken to or heard from Daniel Mortimer within the last six months?” Jack asked very clearly and very articulately. Then he sat staring at Elizabeth Harris. Inviting a response. Waiting for it.
Rob was impressed. He sat watching. Waiting.
Elizabeth Harris sighed deeply. She looked at the solicitor who didn’t respond.
“I haven’t seen him for years,” came the start of the reply.
Jack and Nicky continued their gaze. An awkward silence. They sensed there was more.
“He contacted me by email.” It followed heavily, a response she really hadn’t wanted to give. Knowing her phone and laptop would have been removed from her house shortly after she was, what she was now sharing seemed more of a pragmatic decision than a voluntary one.
Rob was already on the phone to the director of forensics; Justin Lennox, a tall Richard Osman lookalike from Leeds. Whatever their workload, it was about to be dropped like a stone.
Jack continued, “Could you describe your relationship with Daniel Mortimer, both in 1992 and now, please?”
“Now?” she asked, seemingly in shock at the suggestion of a current relationship. Elizabeth came across as a woman who wasn’t comfortable in this environment, any more so than she would have been as the wife of a convicted thief. “I don’t have a relationship with him now. I haven’t seen him for years.”
“And in ’92?” Jack continued to dig. He wanted to hear the answer. Needed to.
The pause hung heavily in the air. The words were hard to release; she didn’t want to say them. They crept out reluctantly.
“We had an affair.” A hint of embarrassment came with them.
“He came to the house a few times when it turned out they were preparing for a job. He was charming and educated and he complimented me. It was flattering and I fell for him. He was that sort of man.”
Rob had half tuned out. He had the first confirmation of Daniel Mortimer being alive, and better still, there was an email. A digital footprint.
Nicky and Jack continued the interview. Elizabeth went on to reveal details of a short affair that she believed was love. Daniel had helped her to get a new identity and had gifted her a large cash sum that she thought was to start their new life together. Away from it all. In reality, it ended not long after it had started, and Daniel disappeared as easily as he’d slipped into Elizabeth’s life. Like a tornado; short and destructive. She recalled feeling foolish. They were looking for a sociopath.
She’d spoken with less emotion about what she knew about the rest of the men. She hated Charlie and Joe, that was easy to believe, and she’d only met William on a few occasions, but recalled a pleasant enough character who she always felt seemed out of place.
She explained how, at a low point in her life and as a widow with little to her name, she’d used the money to buy her house in Enderby under her assumed name, one that Daniel had helped her to get, as well as cut all ties with the very few people she had known. No family, no children and a widow. It had been easy to cut ties from friends who had turned their backs when her husband’s occupation had got out and into the mainstream. She had the opportunity for a clean break. A fresh start. Far too good an opportunity to miss. She took it.
She spoke more fluidly as she became less apprehensive about her surroundings. Her solicitor was happy enough to let her talk, and with the evidence of her identity irrefutable, she was now just helping the police with their enquiries. She had admitted an affair with an armed robber, as well as having been married to one. Rock bottom had happened a long time ago, and admitting it was just raking up the memories that had long since been buried in a dark corner of Elizabeth Warren’s mind.
She’d gone on and had been employed for the rest of her working life, something she spoke about with more comfort. More pride. She’d settled down well after what must have been a traumatic experience of a marriage and an affair, then a court case, incarceration, prison visits and widowhood. The slight woman in front of them simply didn’t fit the bill. She was decent. She denied ever seeing any of the spoils, other than some cash from Daniel, and Jack believed her. The Proceeds of Crime Act didn’t exist then, and neither did money laundering diligence on property deposits. With the mortgage fully settled and paid up, that sleeping dog would lie.
