Bones in the Nest (10 page)

Meeting room four was laid out with rows of grey plastic chairs. One of the IT guys was setting up the laptop. Khan handed Sean a marker pen.

‘Time, date, location on the whiteboard, please. And leave some space to add anything important that comes up.’

‘Hope I don’t cock up any spellings. At least I know how to write “Chasebridge”.’

‘You’re not kidding, are you?’ Khan said. ‘You worry about that a lot. In the lift you said…’

‘Dyslexic.’ Sean said. ‘Thought I was thick until I became a PCSO, got a test and there it is. Doesn’t cure it, knowing what it’s called, just means you can’t discriminate against me.’

Khan looked at him sharply, then a smile flickered across his lips.

‘You were Community Support? So you’re working your way up. Nice one. I like that.’

Quietly and carefully, Khan spelt out the victim’s name
for him as the seats started to fill up. The room looked different this way round, Sean thought, standing up front with a cluster of faces looking at him. The new District Commander, Chief Superintendent Laine, was sitting in the front row. Not a crease in his uniform or his face. Sean wondered how many anti-ageing products he kept on his bathroom shelf. The community support officers at the back didn’t even have chairs. He couldn’t see Carly, but as Commander Laine started the introductions, Sean spotted her spiky hair edging round the door.

‘I’d like to welcome DCI Khan, joining us from Sheffield. He’s heading up the investigation. Sheffield has also kindly leant us Detective Sergeant Dawn Simkins, who’ll be managing the incident room here and coordinating the house-to-house inquiries. I’m told she’s the queen of spreadsheets, so she’ll keep everyone organised.’

The woman in the grey suit, who Sean had seen yesterday, stood up in the front row, turned to the audience, nodded without smiling and sat down again.

‘The current climate has left us shorter staffed than normal, so I’m sure we’ll all benefit from the collaboration.’ There was an unhappy murmur from the audience, which stopped dead when Laine raised his pale, unblinking eyes and scanned the room. ‘From our side we’ve got DI Rick Houghton from drugs and I’m pleased to confirm that PC Denton will be seconded to CID for the time being.’ He paused, offered Sean a brief glance of recognition and then his face softened into a smile. ‘And it’s a great pleasure to welcome Lizzie Morrison back to Doncaster. She’ll be the operational Crime Scene Manager for this case.’

Her hair was different. She said something to the person sitting next to her and when she turned her head, Sean could see she’d had it cut short at the back of her neck. It looked like it would be soft and fuzzy to touch.

‘We’ve got an IC4 male,’ Khan launched straight in, ‘positively identified by the family as Mohammad Asaf, aged twenty. No wallet on the body, but there was a Blackberry phone. That’s gone to IT to see what we can get from it. Stab wounds to the shoulder, direct hit to the heart and then, hold on to your lunch people, but there’s a particularly nasty knife wound to the genitals. Over to you, Miss Morrison.’

Khan stepped back and Lizzie stood up and took his place.

‘It was a small, sharp blade, very clean wounds. The path lab is having a really good look, but it seems someone tried to remove his testicles. It’s not clear yet whether this was pre- or post-mortem.’

A mumbled response from the audience was curtailed by Khan.

‘Thank you. That’ll do.’ He gestured to Sean to start the slideshow.

The image of the young man appeared on the screen, lying as Sean had seen him, curled up, head resting on the step.

‘We were at the scene at 05:30 hours,’ Lizzie said. ‘The way the blood had coagulated, and the general odour, suggests very early stage decay. Dr Huggins has put the time of death at between 21:30 and 23:00 hours. Next slide.’

Sean brought up a photograph of the bloody footprints with their little white flags, enlarged to show the landscape of the tread patterns.

‘Four main sets,’ Lizzie pointed to the screen. ‘They came
and went in different directions, one from above, three different treads below. And … next slide please … a fifth set, much fainter, that came up when we dusted. These might be unrelated but they’re quite fresh and carry traces of soil from outside. Looks like this one may have come in and gone out again. Potentially a witness. Next slide, please. Sean, can you zoom in a bit?’

She said his name as if they were old friends.

‘That’s far enough.’

The image on the screen was surprising. The head of a large ant was staring at them. Someone laughed.

‘Lasius Niger
, or the common black ant. He’s fresh, his head and thorax were squashed on the concrete in these fainter footprints. The other half of him will be in the space between the treads, possibly still attached to the shoe. It sounds a bit Cinderella, but if we can find out whose feet fit these muddy shoe prints, we may have a witness. The others will know they’re covered in blood and will probably have destroyed their clothes by now, but this one kept his feet out of the blood. He, or she, wears a size seven trainer, so could be a small male or a large female, and they came in and went out with soil on their feet, and possibly half an ant, but that’s all.’

Khan was drawing something on the whiteboard, a zigzag of steps, populated by stick people.

‘Recovering the weapon is a priority,’ Khan said. ‘So far, a local fingertip search has drawn a blank: playground, grass, bins, you name it. DS Simkins will draw up a grid of a wider area and assign officers to sections.’

He mentioned Mrs Armley and questioned her statement about hearing nothing.

‘She said she saw someone running, so it must have still been light. If it’s our vic, then that puts his arrival at the block at before 9 p.m. And if she saw him, did she see someone else that she’s not telling us about? We’ll see if we can have another chat with Mrs Armley, but she’s vulnerable, sounds like she may have agoraphobia, so we don’t bring her in unless we have to.’

DS Dawn Simkins was sitting on the front row making notes. She wore a permanent frown.

‘Meanwhile,’ Khan was saying, ‘we need as much manpower as we can afford going house-to-house in the tower block. Did anyone else see a young man running? Was anyone following him? Again, Dawn, can you draw up a list of blocks on the estate and assign officers. We’ve got Mohammad Asaf on the PNC with form for drugs offences, and he’s served a stint on the young offenders’ wing at Doncaster Prison. Out early on tag for good behaviour. He’s gone back to college recently, his mother says. So, Denton, I want you to go over to the college and ask some questions, then get yourself back up to the Chasebridge estate and join DS Simkins on the house-to-house inquiries.’

‘Do we have a motive?’ Rick Houghton spoke from the front row.

‘Too early to say,’ Khan said. ‘He served nine months of an eighteen-month stretch for possession with intent to supply, but we need some intelligence on what he’s been up to since he got out. He wasn’t carrying a weapon when we found him. His clothes are being tested for traces of narcotics, but there’s nothing visible.’

Rick nodded and jotted something down. At the back
Carly Jayson had her hand up. Khan called her to speak.

‘There’s a young woman recently been released, sir. She killed a lad on the estate exactly ten years ago. Marilyn Nelson. She’s known as the Chasebridge Killer.’

‘Thank you. Worth checking. Anything else?’

A few shrugs but no one spoke.

‘When the tech guys have cracked the pin code on the Blackberry,’ Khan continued, ‘we should be able to find his contacts and track his last movements. By the way, no press release. I want media silence on this for as long as we can manage, please. I understand from DI Houghton that there might be a connection to a larger dealer, but there’s something else I want you to be aware of: in my opinion, the nature of the area we’re working in points to the possibility of a hate crime.’

Sean heard a ripple of muttering spread across the room. Khan paused, waiting for quiet.

‘We need to see people’s reactions when we talk to them directly, and when the time comes, I want the right kind of headline on this. OK. That’s all for now.’

The mumbling was audible as everyone got up from their seats. Sean heard ‘drug war’ and ‘Pakis’ before he looked over to Khan to check his reaction. The detective was stacking his papers, cracking them down hard on the table. Sean wished him well on the media silence. If his nan knew there had been a murder, then half of Doncaster knew by now.

‘Enjoying being back on home turf?’

Sean looked up, but District Commander Laine wasn’t looking at him.

‘Absolutely.’

Despite the scraping of chairs and general hum of voices in the room, Lizzie Morrison’s private school accent was unmistakable. Sean had been hoping to have a word with her but he’d have to wait in line.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Carly Jayson made her way through the departing officers towards the front. ‘Or are they valued at the upper end of the price range these days?’ She fingered the fabric on his cuff playfully, giving a nod to where Lizzie was sharing a joke with Laine.

‘Don’t touch what you can’t afford,’ Sean said and slapped her away gently.

‘Don’t be mean. And I was just thinking if I might quite fancy you with all that power, if I wasn’t a dyke.’

‘Funny. Look, I’ve got to go over to the college. Fancy coming along for the ride?’

‘The detective seems to have taken you under his wing. Are you sure he can spare you?’

‘He’s sent me on a mission.’

‘Go on then, Captain Scarlet, if it means I can get a lift back to the estate when we’re done. I’ve got to check in with DS Stalag Luft at ten-fifteen.’

‘Rick says she’s known as “The Rottweiler” back in Sheffield.’

‘Suits her,’ said Carly. ‘Come on; let’s see if we can find something zippy in the car pool.’

Lizzie was still deep in conversation with Laine and Sean didn’t like the way the Commander leant over her, as if he was hoping for a better view down her top.

‘Are you coming?’ Carly said.

He followed Carly out of the room and down the corridor,
the words ‘Police Community Support Officer’ rippling in silver across the back of her jacket.

She was disappointed that the only car left in the yard was a Vauxhall Astra hatchback with luminous green and blue checks.

‘We’re not going to creep up on the baddies in this.’

‘That’s not the plan.’

‘Pity. Might be a laugh. Have you got your magnifying glass and your sleuth’s hat?’

‘Give it a rest,’ Sean said. ‘Be thankful we’ve got a vehicle, otherwise you’d be on the back of my moped.’

The huge glass walls of the college reflected a cloud-filled sky. Carly pulled up in the disabled bay by the front entrance.

‘Looks like a massive car showroom.’ She peered up at the building.

‘Don’t knock it,’ Sean said. ‘About time this town had something to be proud of.’

He had his own reasons for feeling loyal. He’d spent months doing evening classes here, working his way through the exams he’d never got at school. His teacher was probably in there now, bribing his students with Werther’s Originals and coaxing them through the minefield of Functional Skills English.

They planned to go straight to student services, but when the receptionist clocked Carly’s uniform, she offered them a cup of coffee and asked them to wait until the principal was available. Carly peered into the rooms along the carpeted corridor.

‘They’ve got better kit in there than we’ve got down at the station. Look at those computers!’

‘Try and look just a little bit professional, Carly.’

She walked back and slouched down on the seat next to him. He was beginning to wish he’d brought someone else. Carly was several years older than him and she’d looked out for him in the past, but they were experiencing some kind of role reversal. Maybe it was his suit.

‘What made you bring up that girl?’ Sean said.

‘In the briefing? Well she’s called the Chasebridge Killer, isn’t she?’

‘Right. I think there would have to be a bit more of a connection than that, don’t you?’

‘Maybe.’ She leant back in her seat and looked up at the glass atrium above them. ‘I feel like a naughty kid sitting here,’ she said.

‘Yeah, and you’re behaving like one. It’s all about PR, I reckon. They want to make sure nothing reflects badly on them.’

‘“College Student – Victim of Castration”. They can hardly be blamed for that.’

‘Don’t be giving the press ideas,’ Sean said.

‘Get lost. Those wankers won’t get anything out of me and you know it.’

At which point the principal, Dr Angus Balement, was standing in front of them.

‘Detective Denton?’

Dr Balement was wearing one of those collarless granddad shirts which are meant to recall a glorious working class past, but Sean could see that the fabric was well-cut, top quality linen, stretched over too many lunches. Sean was about to correct the principal’s
mistake, but Balement was ushering them into his office and gesturing for Sean and Carly to sit. They remained standing, told him what they’d come for and watched him slump into a leather chair with a deep sigh. He ran his hand through his hair and turned to his computer.

‘Yes. Mohammad Asaf. Name rings a bell. He’s technically on roll here. We’ve been trying to engage with him.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that he’s enrolled in a course of study. I don’t wish to breach any data protection issues, of course. Suffice to say that it appears from his attendance record that we haven’t seen very much of him. Here we go. He was on a second warning, so technically on his way out.’

‘I don’t suppose you could tell us who his associates were?’ Carly said, through a poor pretence at a smile. ‘I don’t mean to pressurise you, but technically, I think we’re a bit late for data protection.’

Dr Balement said nothing.

‘He must have had some friends,’ Sean said. ‘Is there anyone here who knew him, from his course?’

‘As I said, he was rarely here, so I think that’s unlikely.’