Death Bed (5 page)

T
hey turned off Tufnell Park Road and followed Littlefield Close which took them past the other end of the alley. The woman who came to the door was tall and skinny with a mop of curly hair that gave her a slightly comical appearance. She puffed frantically at a cigarette as she threw a cursory glance at Geraldine’s warrant card.

‘I’m Liz. We’ve been waiting for you.’

She nodded then turned aside, wracked by a dry cough.

‘You’d best come in. He’s in the kitchen. Dave!’ she yelled, her voice suddenly loud. ‘Dave! They’re here. Come on then. This way. They’re here, love,’ she called again as she led Geraldine and Sam along a narrow hall. ‘He’s had a bit of a shock and -’ She broke off as they entered an L-shaped kitchen which had been extended to provide a dining area along the back of the house. Through the window they could see a small, untidy garden.

‘The garden’s ours,’ Liz told them, as though they were potential purchasers come to view the property.

‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

‘No, thank you. We won’t keep you long. I just need to ask Mr Crawley a few questions for now, and my colleague will speak to you in the other room.’

‘I didn’t see anything,’ Liz replied, suddenly wary.

‘You might remember something Mr Crawley said when he found the body and it’s possible he might have forgotten something especially as, like you said, he’s had a shock.’

‘Fair enough. Come on, then.’

Liz led Sam out of the kitchen and Geraldine turned to David Crawley sitting silently at the table. Beneath his light brown moustache Geraldine saw that his lips were trembling.

‘Mr Crawley, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what you saw. Are you alright?’

‘Yes.’

‘When did you find the body?’

He shrugged.

‘We had our breakfast, brunch I should say, at about midday. We got up late,’ he added with a rueful grin. ‘We had a late night.’

‘Did you recognise the deceased?’

Crawley shook his head.

‘Tell me how you found the body.’

‘I went out to get some cigarettes and a paper. The alley’s a short cut to the nearest shops, down by the station. The first thing I noticed when I went in the alley was this horrible smell. You couldn’t miss it.’

He screwed up his face, like a small child about to cry.

‘I noticed it as soon as I was in the alley and it got worse and then …’

He broke off, no longer seeing Geraldine perched on a stool in his kitchen but a dead body stuffed into a bin liner. She thought back to her first view of a cadaver. Even knowing what to expect she had been shocked and could only imagine how horrific it must have been for David Crawley to stumble on a corpse without any warning, just round the corner from his own front doorstep.

‘What happened?’ she prompted him gently.

‘When I was about half way along the alley I saw a black bin bag lying across the path. I thought it must have fallen over. I bent down to move it to one side but the bag wasn’t properly closed and that’s when I saw the face staring up at me. It was like she knew I was there.’

He shuddered.

‘What time was it when you discovered it?’

‘Afternoon, really. I suppose it must have been about one. You can check, because I called you lot almost straight away.’

‘Almost? Why the delay?’

He shook his head.

‘I don’t know. Just the shock, I suppose. At first Liz didn’t believe it.’

‘Did she go outside and look?’

‘Not bloody likely! I wouldn’t let her see that. Then I made the call and – have they taken it away yet?’

‘Yes, but the road will be closed off for now while we examine the area. Mr Crawley, did you manage to get a good look at the dead woman?’

He looked at her in surprise.

‘Not a good look, no. As soon as I saw what it was I ran home as fast as I could.’

‘Mr Crawley, think carefully please. Did you see the dead woman’s face?’

‘Yeah I saw it. That’s what I’ve been telling you. That’s why I called you lot.’

‘Mr Crawley, the bag was closed when the police arrived. The woman wasn’t visible.’

‘I know. I closed it. There’s young kids living along the street. You don’t want them seeing something like that.’

‘And you said you’d never seen the dead woman before?’

‘Never.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Positive.’

‘It was horrible,’ Liz said, pulling on a cigarette.

‘Tell me exactly what you saw.’

Liz frowned and examined the tip of her cigarette.

‘I didn’t see it myself. Only Dave came in and he’d gone all white, you know, like people do when they’re in shock, and he said ‘there’s a woman out there in the alley,’ something like that. ‘What’s she doing there then?’ I asked him. ‘Tell her to bog off.’ That’s when he told me she was dead, and we called you.’

‘What time was it when he found the body?’

‘About twelve. No, it must have been later than that because we didn’t have breakfast – lunch – until twelve. Then he went out to get some fags and that’s when he found it – her. So it must have been about one or one thirty. I don’t know exactly.’

‘Had either of you been outside at all earlier that morning?’

‘No. We’d only just got up. We’d had a late night.’

‘Were you together all the time on Saturday night?’

‘What? You think he nipped out to knock off some woman in the middle of the night?’

She gave a nervous laugh.

‘Just answer the question, please.’

‘Yes, we were together.’

‘Did you go out on Saturday evening?’

‘Yes. We went to the pub on the corner – you can ask them, they know us. On the way home we got a takeaway from the Indian. And then we came home, watched a film on the box and went to bed.’

‘What time did you arrive home?’

Liz shrugged.

‘It must’ve been around eleven when we left the pub, so I guess we were home about half past. We watched a film and went to bed.’

‘What time was that?’

Liz shook her head.

‘I don’t know. I was a bit tanked-up. I think it was about two.’

‘Think carefully, Liz. Is it possible you heard anything after you’d gone to bed?’

‘Apart from Dave snoring?’

Liz laughed and shook her head.

‘Did you hear any cars pulling up in the street?’

‘There’s always cars. I didn’t notice anything in particular.’

Dave’s story matched his girlfriend’s. Beyond having stumbled upon her body he knew nothing about the dead woman.

Geraldine scowled as they drove off.

‘She was chucked in a dustbin bag and dumped like so much rubbish.’

‘It made no difference to her. She was already dead when she was left there.’

‘Even so,’ Geraldine remonstrated, ‘it makes a difference. To begin with it tells us the killer had no respect for the body - ’

‘Respect? He killed her. What sort of respect was that? If he could beat the crap out of her while she was alive why would he care how he treated her when she was dead?’

‘But to dispose of her like he was putting out rubbish in a dustbin bag, was that an expression of anger towards his victim, something personal, or perhaps a racist attack, or does he value all human life so little?’

Sam shrugged as she turned the wheel.

‘Maybe he just wanted to get rid of the body. It seems a practical enough way of doing it.’

Geraldine nodded but she had a feeling this killer was not so straightforward.

‘And we don’t know we’re looking for just one man,’ Sam added. ‘There could be more than one person involved.’

‘It’s usually a man though, isn’t it? A man working on his own. Murder’s not a sociable activity as a rule.’

Geraldine sighed. All they could do was speculate about the killer; they didn’t even know the dead girl’s name.

D
ouggie turned off the main road. As he reached the next corner a black car pulled into the kerb just ahead of him. Out of the corner of his eye he took in the shining bodywork of a well-maintained BMW. He’d barely registered the door opening before the driver sprang out and seized him by the throat. The man spun him round, at the same time grabbing his left wrist and twisting his arm up behind his back until Douggie felt as though his shoulder was being ripped apart. He had a confused impression of polished brown leather shoes and a long dark coat. He would have yelped in pain, but the man was clutching his throat so tightly he could hardly breathe. Caught off guard, he lost his footing and only the man’s vice-like grip beneath his chin stopped him pitching forwards and crashing into the side of the car. He gagged, struggling to breathe, and the man loosened his hold slightly.

‘Nice car,’ Douggie wheezed.

The driver’s window was open and he detected a whiff of vomit.

‘Douggie Hopkins?’

‘Who wants to know?’

He had recovered sufficiently to register the man’s posh voice and was curious to see him, but when he tried to swivel round his assailant slammed his head against the roof of the car.

‘I’ve got a job for you.’

‘Who are you?’

For answer, the man crushed Douggie’s nose against the car until his eyes watered.

‘What sort of job? Bloody hell, there’s no need to break my nose.’

‘I want to get rid of a car. Permanently. Someone said you’d be able to help me.’

‘Is that all?’

Douggie attempted a laugh.

‘You could’ve just asked. I’m your man. It’ll cost you, mind.’ Cost you extra for nearly breaking my fucking nose, he thought.

‘I’ll give you two thousand pounds, but no more questions.’

‘Two thousand? That should do it,’ Douggie replied.

His nose ached horribly, squashed against the side of the car, but it was worth getting a bruised face for two thousand quid. He would have done the job for less, although he didn’t say so.

‘The car has to be completely destroyed, and it must be done tonight.’

‘No problem. I’ll torch it.’

‘Yes, set fire to it and burn it, burn it, burn it until there’s nothing left!’

‘Yes, alright, I get it,’ Douggie gasped. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing like a fire for getting rid - ’

The man tightened his grip on Douggie’s throat suddenly, almost suffocating him.

‘Shut up,’ he hissed. ‘Shut up!’

Douggie wondered what the geezer was getting so worked up about. If he hadn’t been skint, Douggie would have been tempted to forget the whole thing. But two thousand quid was two thousand quid.

The man relaxed his hold on Douggie.

‘Do you know Elthorne Road?’

‘Off Holloway Road?’

‘Yes. Walk along Elthorne and wait outside the art college, at one o’clock tonight. Got that?’

‘Yes.’

‘A black BMW will drive past and park at the end of Boothby Road. Don’t move until the driver has left the car. The keys will be in the glove compartment, with half the money.’

‘No problem. What about the rest of the money? You said half the money would be in the car.’

‘You’ll get the rest when the job’s done. And remember, whatever happens to the car, it’s nothing to do with me. My work’s too important for me to take any chances, but you - ’ He gave Douggie’s arm a sudden twist. ‘Remember, Douggie, I know where to find you.’

‘Don’t worry, don’t worry,’ Douggie babbled, ‘you’ve come to the right man.’

Two thousand quid, he thought, although the job had to be done that night, which meant he’d have to torch it. That was a nuisance because it involved a long walk, but he couldn’t risk hanging onto the car until the scrap yard opened in the morning. There was something unnerving about this man. He wasn’t the kind of car thief Douggie was used to doing business with. Still, he stank of money. Two thousand for this job and there could be more where that came from.

‘Two thousand quid then?’

‘Two thousand.’

At five to one Douggie was standing at the corner of Boothby Road as instructed when a black BMW drove up and parked on the other side of the street. He couldn’t be certain but he was pretty sure it was the same car his face had been squashed against earlier that evening. He touched his nose at the recollection, fingering the bruise. A dark figure in a long hooded coat jumped out of the driver’s seat and vanished into the darkness. Douggie caught a glimpse of the man flitting into view beneath a street lamp before he disappeared altogether.

‘Vicious bastard,’ Douggie muttered as he drew on his gloves and turned his attention to the car.

He was looking at a 7 series 4 door auto saloon BMW, about four years old but well looked after. He ran his hand reverently along its smooth side, gleaming in the moonlight, before he opened the door. A faint sour smell of vomit ruined the pleasure and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. But cars could be valeted. He sat behind the wheel and stroked it, then leant across and checked the glove compartment. The key was there along with the cash, which he counted quickly beneath the dash board. He couldn’t see anyone, but you never knew who might be watching from the shadows. Satisfied, he turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred into life. He drove with the window open along deserted streets and out onto the waste ground of Epping Forest. The car ran like a dream. As always, the temptation to keep it was almost irresistible, but he remembered the man’s words.

‘Remember, Douggie, I know where to find you.’

Reaching his destination, he glanced around. The place was deserted, as he had expected. A quick check of the car revealed that the boot was empty. Douggie shone his torch round the back seat. There was nothing there, not so much as a sweet wrapper. As his torch moved, his eye was caught by something glistening beside a dried up pool of vomit on the floor by the passenger seat. He leaned forward for a closer look and saw a gold chain with a shiny pendant attached. Douggie hesitated before reaching across to pick it up, but it was clean and didn’t smell so he slipped the trinket in his jacket pocket thinking it would make a fine gift for Mary. Then he turned to the business of torching the car.

L
ily made a special trip to the shops for ingredients to make Donna’s favourite spaghetti supper. Donna had seemed pleased to discover that Lily enjoyed cooking and didn’t mind clearing up.

‘I thought you’d be great to have around.’

‘I’m not as good as my mum,’ Lily had replied. ‘She makes the most amazing spag bol.’

But the weekend passed and Donna didn’t come home. Lily ate the spaghetti on her own.

There was still no sign of Donna when Lily woke up on Monday. Following her usual routine, she ate breakfast in front of the television before going to work. As she stood up, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks. She turned round to look at the blonde newsreader who had just announced that the body of a young black woman had been discovered on Sunday near Tufnell Park tube station in North London.

‘…Police do not yet know the dead woman’s identity and are appealing for information.’

A uniformed policeman appeared on the screen.

‘We need to establish the identity of the victim. Anyone who thinks they might be able to identify this young woman should contact the police immediately…’

He described the victim as a black female in her late teens or early twenties, slim, wearing jeans and a sleeveless turquoise t-shirt. The blonde newsreader returned to introduce another item of news with a smile that revealed perfectly even teeth.

Lily almost tripped over her feet in her haste to reach the phone. She gave her details and explained the reason for her call.

‘It’s about the dead woman they found. I think I might know who she is.’

‘Just a moment, caller, I’ll put you through.’

It seemed to take ages before another voice came on the line. While she waited Lily tried to picture what Donna had been wearing on Friday evening but she couldn’t remember. Donna had so many clothes.

‘I just saw the news on the telly, about a black woman who’s been found dead somewhere in North London. I think it might be my flatmate. At least,’ she paused, suddenly uncertain, ‘my flatmate’s gone missing. We were at a bar and she just disappeared, and she hasn’t been home since and she’s not answering her phone and I thought maybe she’d gone off with, you know, with a bloke, but now… now I think she might be the one you found.’

The woman on the other end of the line asked for her name and address.

‘When did you last see your flatmate?’

Lily hesitated. She had been out with Donna on Friday night and it was only Monday morning now, but if she told the police how recently she’d seen Donna they might not take her call seriously. She thought she remembered reading somewhere that a person wasn’t officially considered missing until they had been gone for a week, but there was no point in lying.

‘Friday. We were in Camden, and she just disappeared.’

She felt like crying and was glad the woman at the other end of the phone couldn’t see her. The woman asked a few questions then thanked Lily for contacting them with her information, and the call ended.

There was nothing else Lily could do now but wait. She couldn’t face going into work so called in sick and then regretted it because at least work would have taken her mind off Donna. But she was genuinely sick with worry, and guilty about being so angry with Donna for not keeping in touch.

Once Lily calmed down she decided she might have been jumping to conclusions. London was a big place, and nothing like her village in Norfolk. There could be lots of reasons why Donna hadn’t come home over the weekend. Maybe it was merely a coincidence that Lily had seen the report of a dead black girl just when her flat mate had gone off for a couple of days. If Lily’s mother was right, people were killed every day in London. The dead girl could be anyone. She wondered if she should contact hospitals to see if Donna was ill or had been in an accident, but instead made up her mind to carry on as though everything was normal. The chances were that Donna would walk through the door at any moment, and Lily didn’t want to look like a nervous fool.

She fetched Donna’s clean washing and set up the ironing board in front of the television, carefully changing the setting on the iron when she picked up one of Donna’s silk shirts. When the news came on she leant forward, but there was no further mention of the dead girl. Every so often she picked up her phone and punched in Donna’s number.

‘Hi this is Donna. I’m not here right now but leave me a message and I’ll get back to you right away.’