Death Bed (12 page)

T
he entrance to Islington Tunnel wasn’t far from the morgue and Sam and Geraldine drove straight there. Neither of them spoke in the car, each lost in her own vision of a woman lying dead on a cold steel table.

‘We don’t even know it’s definitely Donna Henry yet,’ Sam muttered as they drew up in Muriel Street and parked by the gate that led down to the canal.

On the opposite side of the road was a residential estate, a care home for the elderly beside it on the corner. In front of them, to the left of the gate, they saw a patio with bushes in wooden planters and a sign ‘Please do not steal from this community garden.’ Geraldine glanced around the quiet road with fleeting anxiety. It wasn’t far from her own flat. They walked through the gate, between high black railings, onto a tarmac walkway which forked immediately. They followed the left hand path down shallow steps concealed beneath the branches of a tree to a spiral staircase with metal railings, which led to a circular wooden platform constructed around a tree trunk. Under other circumstances it would have been an attractive, leafy garden. To the left of the staircase rose the high brick wall of Islington Tunnel where the canal passed under the road, and a steep weedy slope running down to the water below, now mostly concealed beneath a forensic tent squashed into the narrow space between the stairs and the wall.

‘That’s where she was found,’ a constable told them. ‘Lying on the grass. She must have been chucked over the railing from the stairs. It would only have taken a moment to park a car outside the gate, carry the body down to the top of the spiral staircase and throw her over. He wouldn’t even have needed to take her down to the platform.’

‘And there’d be no one here at night,’ Sam added.

Geraldine looked around. To her left the high wall towered over them, ahead and to her right thick foliage obstructed her view of the canal, and the path behind was similarly hidden. The stairs were concealed from every angle.

‘None of this is overlooked,’ she added, speaking to herself as much as to Sam. ‘This place was carefully selected by someone who knows the area well. He must live around here somewhere.’

Just saying it gave her a sense of reassurance that they were closing in on this faceless killer. Only she knew that wasn’t true.

She turned and looked down at the spot where the body had been found. Stout nettles, dock leaves, ivy and other undergrowth covered the ground. A rotting log lay nearby and a few grey rocks were scattered around.

‘There was a smear of blood on one of the rocks,’ a scene of crime officer told them.

‘And when the medical officer examined the body – well, have you seen it?’

‘Yes, we’ve just come from the morgue.’

‘Were there any fingerprints on the railing? Have you checked along the top where he would have been standing?’ Sam asked.

The officer shook his head.

‘We found a thread from the dead girl’s jumper caught in the wire at the top of the stair rail, which confirms where she was thrown over. We’ve taken casts of all the shoe prints and fingerprints we could find up there, but there are too many really, all overlaid and indistinguishable. I can’t imagine we’ll get anything useful out of that lot.’

Geraldine looked round.

‘Have the people in the boat on the opposite bank been questioned? And the flats across the canal?’

‘Yes. The first officers on the scene set that going,’ the constable told her. ‘The boat people all said they’d slept through the night and didn’t see or hear anything. There were a load of muddy footprints on the path, and trampling around in the mud. And it gets worse.’

The scene of crime officer nodded at the constable.

‘We had to chase some youngsters off the slope here,’ the constable said. ‘They were looking for souvenirs, sliding all over the mud. They were only kids.’

It was hopeless. Everyone in the flats across the canal would be questioned but the staircase was hidden by trees. Geraldine stared up at the cracked brick wall, ivy growing across it, and sniffed in the damp musty smell of the canal, its water flowing black and silent below them.

They went up on the bridge to see if anything useful had been discovered there but once again the scene of crime officers had drawn a blank. A police block had been set up on Muriel Road but the street hadn’t been closed earlier that morning and traffic had been passing before the police arrived. None of the CCTV cameras around the estate recorded activity on the opposite side of the road where the body had been carried through the gates. The killer hadn’t used the path that ran alongside the canal. He had simply hurried through the gate, taken a few steps through the branches of an overhanging tree to the top of the stairs, dropped the dead body and slipped back to his car. No doubt his face had been concealed inside a hood for the few seconds he was there.

‘He had this all planned out,’ Geraldine said. ‘He’s checked for CCTV. The last deposition site wasn’t on camera either. We’ll check all the CCTV and try to track cars approaching and leaving the areas where the two bodies were found but he may have used a different vehicle each time.’

‘You think he’s got rid of the car?’ Sam asked.

‘I suspect this killer is too clever to hang on to any car he uses for long.’

‘Could this one be Donna?’

Geraldine didn’t answer.

The man and woman who had reported the body had been interviewed but they had nothing significant to add. The woman had been too shocked to say much, and it was clear they weren’t aware of the extent of the dead woman’s horrific injuries. All the man could tell them was that a tramp had stumbled on the body first and then vanished.

‘The tramp sounds like Peter,’ the constable said. ‘He often hangs around here and he matches the description the jogger gave us.’

‘What do we know about Peter?’

‘He’s harmless enough, not much between the ears, but he’s light fingered and would have nicked the dead woman’s belt if he’d been anywhere near her. Don’t worry, we’ll pick him up and check his story.’

‘Let me know if there’s anything about it that doesn’t stack up.’

‘Yes ma’am.’

But Geraldine knew this had been too carefully planned to be the work of a passing vagrant.

M
rs Henry seemed vexed at being asked to return to the morgue for a second time to identify a body the police suspected might be Donna.

‘Any dead black woman, they’re all the same to you are they, Inspector?’

‘Mrs Henry, your daughter’s flatmate reported her missing - ’

Mrs Henry sniffed.

‘That feeble minded little thing would dial 999 if a car backfired.’

‘But your daughter is missing, and we have a body that matches her description - ’

‘You mean she’s black.’

‘She’s black, in her twenties and well dressed, and we’d like to eliminate Donna from the investigation. I’m sorry to put you through this a second time. It must be very painful for you.’

‘It’s not exactly my idea of a pleasant evening. Come on then, let’s get this over with. But it’s the last time I’m doing this. I’d know if anything had happened to my own daughter.’

That Mrs Henry’s confidence in her maternal instincts was misplaced became apparent as soon as she saw the body. The dead woman had been cleaned up as far as possible and her face looked peaceful. With her eyes closed the swelling wasn’t so obvious, the bruising was barely discernible against her dark colouring, and her disfigured limb was concealed beneath the covering. Mrs Henry recognised her at once. She stumbled and clasped onto Geraldine’s arm, her face contorted as she fought to maintain her composure. Geraldine waited.

‘That’s her,’ Mrs Henry said at last, her voice slurred.

‘That’s Donna. You got it right this time. That’s my Donna.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Mrs Henry turned to Geraldine, her eyes blazing.

‘You’re sorry? Are you going to get the bastard who did this to her?’

‘We’re doing our best.’

‘Two black girls dead and you’re doing your best? Why didn’t you find him after the first one? How many more girls are going to die before you do something?’

Her eyes glared in wild accusation.

‘If this was a white girl - ’

‘Our investigation would be just as rigorous. I promise you, Mrs Henry, we’re doing everything we can. My team is working round the clock to find your daughter’s killer.’

‘Do you even have a suspect yet?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss the investigation.’

‘You can’t discuss it?’ the angry mother repeated, her glossy lips curled in a snarl.

‘He’s a white man, is he? And this is just another black girl to you, isn’t it? My Donna - ’

She broke off, suddenly overcome with emotion, and turned back to the body.

‘Why?’ she howled. ‘Tell me why, Donna? Didn’t you know to keep yourself safe? Didn’t I tell you?’

She wrapped her arms around her own body and bent forward, wailing without restraint.

‘Mrs Henry, we can discuss this later if you need some time, but we would like to know if there’s anyone you can think of who might have wanted to harm your daughter?’

‘Harm Donna?’

She turned to Geraldine, wiping her eyes angrily on her sleeve and sniffing back her tears.

‘Was there anyone who might have had a grudge against her?’

Mrs Henry shook her head.

‘She was a wonderful girl, a wonderful girl.’

She turned her head away and began to cry again.

Emotionally drained from her encounter with the distraught mother, Geraldine wanted to be alone so she went out for some lunch. She ordered a pasta dish but only picked at her food, feeling slightly nauseous. She hoped she wasn’t going to be ill. More than anything else she would have liked to go home and rest, but her day’s work was far from over. With a sigh she gulped the bitter dregs of her coffee, picked up her bill, and set off.

Donna’s flatmate was aghast to hear that she was dead.

‘Can I see her?’ Lily asked, eyes glistening.

‘Mrs Henry has already formally identified her daughter’s body so I’m afraid that won’t be necessary or possible.’

‘This is all my fault. I should have reported her missing sooner.’

Geraldine reassured Lily there was nothing more she could have done.

‘By the time you noticed she had gone it would already have been too late to do anything to help her. Now, it would help us if we could go over your statement again. When did you last see Donna?’

Lily repeated her account of the evening at the pub in Camden.

‘Is there anything else you can tell us about Donna? You mentioned an ex-boyfriend, Geoff.’

Lily seemed surprised that Geraldine had remembered.

‘I thought you said he wasn’t important.’

‘Things have changed now, Lily. This is a murder investigation and we have to follow up any potential lead, however slight. Now, can you tell me his full name?’

‘He’s just Geoff. That’s all I know.’

‘Can you describe him?’

Lily frowned then jumped up.

‘I can do better than that. I’ve got a photo we took, if I can find it.’

She led Geraldine into a small bedroom and turned on her laptop. Geraldine waited while she searched through a folder and printed out a photograph.

‘Here.’

She held out a small picture of Donna standing beside a dark-haired man who had his arm around her. His face was half turned away, a straight fringe skimming the top of his eyes as he looked down at Donna who was smiling into the camera.

‘We took that on the South Bank,’ Lily explained. ‘Geoff took us on the London Eye.’

‘Thank you.’

Geraldine slipped the picture in her wallet.

‘Do you know where Geoff lives?’

Lily shook her head.

‘I don’t know. Donna never said. We only met up together with him once. She wasn’t going out with him any more when I moved in here. She said they were just friends, but I know he wanted to get back with her.’

‘How could you tell that?’

‘He was all over her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and he kept wanting to take pictures of her. It was a bit creepy really. I’m sure he was just waiting for her to go back to him, and when he realised she wasn’t going to he killed her so no one else could have her!’

Her eyes grew wide with fear and Geraldine let her talk, listening for anything factual in Lily’s wild accusation.

‘Do you suppose he’ll be after me next?’

‘What’s prompted you to think that, Lily? Have you ever heard him making any threats?’

‘No, but now I’ve told you about him, he might work it out and come after me.’

‘I think that’s highly unlikely.’

‘You said it was unlikely he had anything to do with her murder and now he’s your prime suspect.’

‘No, Lily, he’s not a suspect, any more than you are. He’s someone who knew Donna, so we need to question him in case he has any information that can lead us to her killer.’

‘But it could be him,’ Lily insisted.

‘It’s not impossible, but you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. We certainly won’t. Now, do you know where he works?’

‘I think he works in the library round the corner in Essex Road. He’s a librarian anyway. They’re the sort of people no one ever suspects, aren’t they? That’s how they get away with it.’

Geraldine nodded. She had heard enough to track down Donna’s ex, and more than enough of Lily’s fanciful theories. What she needed was facts.

I
t was four days since Douggie had cut his thumb and it still hurt like hell. Mary had taken him to the hospital where they had waited hours before a doctor had cleaned the wound and sent him home, telling him to keep taking pain killers if the hand continued to bother him. Troubled by his injury, not to mention the fact that his flat had been broken into, he went out to the pub. The doctor had warned him to avoid drinking too much alcohol while taking pain killers but he needed to settle his nerves. To make matters worse Mary knew something was up and had been going on at him, driving him nuts, until he had to get out of the flat.

He’d been drinking steadily for half an hour when he noticed a stranger watching him from the other side of the bar. Douggie turned away and knocked back another short then peered round. The man was still staring at him. Douggie had no clear idea what the man who’d broken into his flat looked like; with a shock he realised he could be looking straight at him. He put away another Scotch and glanced around. Still the man was looking at him. In a rage Douggie leapt to his feet and strode across the bar. The room swayed as he walked but he stayed focused on the other man’s face.

‘What the hell are you looking at?’ Douggie bellowed.

‘Are you talking to me?’

‘What if I am?’

‘I don’t know what your problem is, mate - ’

‘You are!’

Douggie almost lost his footing as he lunged at the seated man, fists clenched, face twisted in fury.

‘You keep away from me, you hear?’

He swung again and knocked the other man off his chair. Suddenly lots of voices began shouting.

‘You ever go in my flat again and I’ll fucking kill you!’

‘That’s enough of that,’ someone said loudly.

Hands seized Douggie by the shoulders and pulled him backwards, arms flailing.

‘Get off me!’

Everything was confused after that until a policeman appeared, snapped handcuffs on Douggie and shoved him into a car.

‘Mind your head.’

Douggie complained loudly that the handcuffs were hurting his injured hand.

‘You’ve got no right. You’re picking on the wrong man. He’s the one broke into my flat. Did you see the way he was looking at me? He’s the one you should be taking in, not me.’

No one paid him any attention so he leaned back and closed his eyes, just for a moment.

‘Come along.’

Douggie woke with a start.

‘Drunk and disorderly,’ a voice barked. ‘Come on, let’s empty your pockets. You can sleep it off in a cell.’

‘Fuck off. Leave me alone.’

Douggie tried to push the police officer out of his way and almost fell over.

‘Calm down.’

The policeman grabbed him by the arm.

‘Come on, let’s do this quietly and then you can go home in the morning. Lucky for you the other bloke isn’t going to press charges. Now, what’s your name?’

‘Douggie.’

‘Douggie what?’

‘It’s Douggie and you can mind your own business. I’m not the one who should be here. It’s not me - ’

‘Alright, Douggie. Are you going to be sensible now?’

Douggie’s anger fizzled out; all he wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. He gave his name and address and the policeman removed the handcuffs.

‘Empty your pockets. Come on, I haven’t got all night.’

Reluctantly Douggie slapped his keys and wallet on the counter.

‘Let’s be having your trainers, unless you want to bother removing the laces? Thought not. Anything else in your pockets? You’ll get it all back in the morning.’

‘Give me my shoes.’

‘You can have them back tomorrow. That’s a nice little trinket you’ve got there,’ the desk sergeant added, picking up a thin silver chain.

A small star shaped pendant swung from it, one point broken off.

‘Get your hands off it, that’s mine.’

‘Where did you pick this up then?’

‘It’s mine, I’m telling you.’

‘Come on now.’

Douggie yawned and stumbled as a policeman led him away, still grumbling.

The desk sergeant continued dully listing Douggie’s possessions.

‘Hang about,’ he said, suddenly alert because he thought the chain looked just like one they had been told to look out for. He shook his head, dropped the chain gently into a bag with Douggie’s keys and wallet, paused, then drew it out again and stared at it for a moment before going to check. It turned out he was right. An inspector from Hendon had sent round a photo of a black girl wearing a chain exactly like the one on the desk in front of him.

‘Just call me eagle eyes,’ he called out to a sergeant who was passing.

‘Don’t you mean bird brain?’ his colleague replied with a laugh.

Early next morning Geraldine was writing up her log when her phone rang.

‘Holloway Road have a necklace matching the description of the one you’re after, ma’am.’

‘I’ll go and take a look.’

At least it would get her away from her desk she told herself while she drove there, trying vainly to suppress her excitement.

‘I’ve come about the chain,’ she told the desk sergeant.

‘Chain?’

‘Yes. You called about a star pendant - ’

‘Oh yes, of course. Hang about.’

The desk sergeant went away and returned a moment later with a bag containing a delicate silver chain. He picked it out of the bag and put it on the counter.

‘There you go. The night duty sergeant took it off a drunk and disorderly who came in last night.’

Looking at the chain, Geraldine felt a sudden elation when she saw that one point of the star had snapped off.

‘Where’s the owner?’

‘He’s still sleeping it off in the cells, ma’am. We’ll be waking him up and sending him on his way soon. He was involved in a brawl last night, but no one’s pressing charges.

From the sound of things he got off lightly.’

Geraldine nodded. She wasn’t really listening.

‘Give it to me,’ she said, brusque in her impatience.

‘Ma’am?’

‘The chain.’

She held out her hand and the sergeant dropped it gently onto her outstretched palm.

‘I don’t think it’s real silver,’ he said. ‘Probably not of any value, ma’am. I don’t suppose it’s the one you’re looking for. You’ll have to sign for it of course,’ he added quickly as Geraldine slipped the chain into her pocket.

‘Who did you say it belonged to?’

‘A bloke by the name of Douggie Hopkins,’ the sergeant read the name and address from his records.

‘Good. Whatever happens, make sure Douggie Hopkins doesn’t leave here before I’ve spoken to him.’

‘Yes, ma’am. Are you going to sign for that - ’

But she was already hurrying back to her car.

‘You’ve got Jessica Palmer’s chain?’ the detective chief inspector repeated.

He paused for a second before questioning her briskly, staring closely at her all the while.

‘Are you sure?’

Geraldine nodded.

‘Where was it found?’

‘It was found in the possession of some small-time crook who got picked up in a pub brawl along the Holloway Road last night. His name’s Douggie Hopkins. I’ve examined the pendant under a magnifying glass and so has Sam. I’ve sent it off for closer inspection, but there’s a piece missing which makes it an exact match to the one Jessica Palmer’s wearing in her photos.’

Geraldine could barely control her elation.

‘It matches exactly. It’s the same one, I’m sure of it. Can we arrange a search warrant for his flat while he’s still being held?’

‘Where is he now?’

‘He’s in Holloway Road cells, sir. I’m going along there to interview him soon, but we can’t hold him just on this. He’s going to say he found it, isn’t he?’

‘What do we know about him?’

‘The safer neighbourhood team at Holloway Road tell me he does jobs for a bunch of car thieves.’

‘He’s a car thief?’

‘Not exactly. He disposes of stolen vehicles for a set-up operating down in Fulham. They move around a bit, but Fulham Motor Vehicle Crime Unit have been after this gang for months. They seem to work in several areas, mainly stealing high value cars to order, that sort of thing. It’s a slick operation. The plates are changed and the vehicles shifted often before the owners even notice they’ve gone. Fulham have got their hands on a few of the vehicles, but haven’t been able to pin these guys down yet. They’re slippery. They’ve got all the kit to make up plates. But they also get rid of hot cars, which is where Douggie Hopkins comes in. He knows all the dodgy scrap yards, and they say he can make any car disappear in a matter of hours, usually crunched and melted down or sometimes torched.’

‘Either way, there wouldn’t be much left.’

‘Douggie Hopkins could be our man,’ Geraldine went on. ‘If not, Jessica Palmer’s killer might have wanted to shift the car she was in and gone to Hopkins who found the chain in the car. In that case, we just need him to tell us who gave him the car and we’ve nailed it.’

The detective chief inspector nodded thoughtfully.

‘Of course there might be no connection, Geraldine. He might have just found the chain in the street. We need to find out exactly what this Hopkins knows. I wonder how helpful we can get him to be? What else do we know about him?’

‘The local team pick him up once in a while for brawling. He’s a drinker - or rather, he’s a drinker who can’t hold his drink. Other than that he has no form, and he doesn’t know we’re aware of his involvement in car crime. Fulham would prefer to keep it that way. Sooner or later they’re hoping Hopkins is going to lead them to whoever’s running the operation.’

‘And if we let on that we know about his links with the gang they’re after, Fulham aren’t going to be happy.’

Reg ran his hands through his dark hair.

‘We have to question Hopkins about it, sir,’ Geraldine insisted. ‘He could lead us to whoever killed Jessica Palmer and Donna Henry. This is a multiple murder investigation.’

The detective chief inspector looked up.

‘Thanks for reminding me, Geraldine. But remember, we don’t know for certain the two women’s deaths are linked, even if it’s looking pretty bloody likely.’

‘They must be. Their injuries are almost identical. I’d say that was conclusive.’

Aware that she had raised her voice, she lowered her head and waited for the detective chief inspector to speak.

‘It wasn’t the same tool, and a different body part was removed from each woman,’ he said at last.

‘But it’s rare to find one female corpse with a body part sliced off, let alone two so close together, and the same teeth were removed from each of the victims.’

‘Are we sure the teeth were removed after they died?’

‘That was the opinion of the pathologist, and he ought to know.’

It was difficult to hide her irritation with Reg’s ponderous deliberations. Her frustration was exacerbated by her suspicion that he would have taken her views more seriously if she was a man.

‘Donna Henry’s dental records confirm she had all her teeth,’ she went on, ‘at least as far as her dentist was aware. Unfortunately the Palmer girl wasn’t registered with a dentist, and there are no dental records we can find.’

‘Are you sure the two molars couldn’t have been lost due to bad dental care?’ the detective chief inspector persisted. ‘It’s easy to be misled by unrelated details that appear to correspond. There isn’t always a pattern.’

‘It seems highly unlikely they’re not connected. According to the pathologist’s report two of Jessica Palmer’s teeth were removed after she died. And then there’s the amputations, and similarity in other injuries, and the evidence they were shackled with the same or at least identical chains. In any case, it’s at least a reasonable assumption they were killed by the same person.’

‘Yes, it’s an assumption, and a reasonable one, Geraldine. It may well prove to be correct, but we don’t know for sure yet.’

Geraldine was frustrated by Reg Milton’s response, just when they seemed to be making progress. She wondered if he was reluctant to admit they were dealing with a serial killer.

‘I want to lean on Douggie Hopkins, sir, find out where he got hold of Jessica Palmer’s chain.’

‘If you’re quite sure it’s hers then yes, go ahead. I’ll deal with the inevitable fall-out from Fulham.’

‘I’ll interview him as soon as he’s sober enough to talk.’

‘Go on then. And in the meantime, I’ll get onto the beak to issue a warrant so we can search his flat.’

He paused.

‘Do you think Douggie Hopkins could be our man?’

Geraldine met his eye, but couldn’t answer. At this stage anything was possible.