TICK TICK TICK Read online

  At the door, we once again don our protective suits, Mack turns his back so that I don’t see him struggle with the zipper. Jesus, don’t tell me he’s starting to get vain in his old age.

  ‘Careful,’ I say.

  Mack stares at me.

  ‘No FME yet, no coppers have been all the way inside – keep your taser handy and your wits on fire.’

  We both unzip and take out our tasers, ready for the unexpected. Slowly I open the flat door and instantly recoil from the unbearable stench. Now I know why the other coppers were halfway down the hall – bastards!

  Mack grimaces from the smell of decay. There is no other smell like that of rotting flesh; it seems to invade every pore, seeping right through every single particle of you. No matter how often you deal in death – and as detectives in the murder investigation team that’s pretty often – you can still never get over the reek of death.

  Mack clasps a hand to his mouth over the mask, the other holding his taser steady. I flick the light switch – nothing. Shit! We pull out our torches, Mack having to let go of his mask – I could see his entire face screw up in a grimace. I enter first as he covers me. I kick open a few doors; the utility room, bathroom, a wardrobe – nobody. My body’s coiled tight as a spring, my fingers hover on the taser’s trigger and I realise I’m just desperate to put 50,000 volts of electric charge through someone, anyone – just to take away the sheer damn frustration of the Kathy Garland case.

  The hall leads directly into the lounge. The dated curtains are tightly closed. Scanning my torch around, I see that the room has been totally ransacked. The coffee table is upside down, the worn brown leather suite has been slashed and numerous pictures are smashed everywhere. I crackle as I tread on the glass, trying my best to avoid it for the forensic team.

  ‘Shit. Watch your feet.’

  ‘Where?’ asks Mack.

  ‘The goddamn glass is everywhere.’

  Mack does his best to manoeuvre around it. We kick open the few remaining doors apart from the back room – nothing.

  ‘Check – empty,’ he calls.

  ‘Next.’

  The smell emanating from the back room is even more blood-curdling. I hate the smell of death, I hated rotting corpses even more and by the smell of this one, I know that’s exactly what we’re going to find. We tiptoe around trying to absorb every last detail before the crime scene techs arrive. I kick at the bedroom door, hard – it bounces open. Flashing my torch I stare, completely frozen to the spot, my pupils fully dilated.

  Raymond Brick, probably late forties, lies sprawled on his bed. He’s massive. His arms have been completely hacked off at the joints, and from the staining I can tell that the severing happened here, as blood has seeped down either side of the sheet. I quickly scan the carpet, nothing visible towards the door, so was he actually killed here? Flies batter at the windows like a hailstorm. His body is completely infested with maggots; they seethe and writhe, wriggling around in one large mass. I try to ignore them, Mack can’t.

  ‘Jesus, I think I’m gonna puke.’

  I glare at him. ‘Give me a break, you’re acting like a flipping amateur.’

  ‘Back off, Downey.’

  I watch his face turn a shade of pale green and try to ignore him. I continue to examine the body from a distance, making sure I don’t compromise any evidence. The body’s completely putrefied; his eyes stare upwards as though he watched something in the last final moments of death; hell, for his sake I hope it was quick. His mouth is set in a grimace that will now last forever, the marks of death are all around his neck, and peering closer I can see small vivid bruises there. A shiver runs up my spine as I get a really bad sense of foreboding.

  Finally the FME arrives – a petite young woman. You don’t get that many women in this line of work, but even through her protective clothing I can tell this one’s a real beauty – and polite. Doesn’t that just make your day? She quickly takes over setting up the crime scene, and if she’s at all bothered about the state of the body she hides it well. You’ve got to give her extra marks for that. Going straight up to him, she begins the routine tests. I stand back and watch, kicking the bedroom door shut behind me. She nods her gratitude.

  Mack almost gags. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘Entomologist.’

  Mack shrugs his shoulders in reply while swatting uselessly at the flies. The FME finally wanders back over, deep in thought.

  ‘This one’s been dead about three weeks I’d guess… rough guess, mind.’

  I smile. ‘No shit Sherlock. Is his MO the same as the Garland case?’ I’m trying to act cool, even smart, but I get the feeling she’s not impressed or simply not bothered. Damn shame.

  ‘It looks that way, the same sized bruises beside the hyoid bone, just like before, but you and I know it’s a well known trick.’

  It’s a common fact that all good FMEs keep up to date with other priority cases. The tech team arrive carrying a bundle of cases in assorted sizes. They run their torches over the entire mutilated body. Suddenly he’s lit up like a life-size poster for a bad horror film, only this is for real. He lies in all his putrefied glory, the lights magnifying the gruesome image; a cold sweat dampens my shirt even through the protective suit, and I can feel the bile in the back of my throat.

  ‘Anything else?’ I ask.

  She shakes her head. ‘Nothing I can tell you at this stage, the body’s too decayed. I’ll run the usual tests, do the cut and get the results faxed to you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Thanks Doc,’ I reply and give her an appreciative nod. She glides out of the room – I watch her go, with lust written in my eyes.

  Think damn it, think. Okay he’s got no arms, they’ve been taken, so I can’t tell if he tried to fight off his attacker. No knife wounds anywhere else that I can see. No obvious bullet holes, though the post mortem may turn up something else. I can’t tell if he was bound or not from the state of the maggot-infested stumps. No visible bruising elsewhere, so that means he was probably already dead when the killer hacked off his arms.

  Blood splatters are indicative of the body being moved, no smeared blood anywhere, and no spurts – so his heart had already stopped pumping when he was sliced. How the hell did the killer manage it? Jesus, he must’ve weighed eighteen stone. Nobody just lies down and waits to be killed. No one that I ever met anyway. He was still in his day clothes, so the killer didn’t wake him up suddenly. I shine the torch on the carpet, I can just about make out a slight rumpling. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere, how did I miss that earlier? I’m slipping. He was obviously murdered somewhere else in the flat and dragged to the bed. It would’ve taken a mighty strong man to heave his dead weight through here. I need to get the forensics going quickly on this one; I have a bad feeling about this… really bad.

  CHAPTER 6

  While I’m waiting, I take a quick scout around the room. I fling open the wardrobe door half expecting his missing arms to topple towards me. I can feel my breath becoming shorter as the adrenaline rushes; I don’t like the look of what I’m seeing one iota. His clothes in the wardrobe are shredded and, as I peer closer, it looks like the same size cuts as the clothes on the Garland case. Could be a coincidence… no, that’s bullshit. There are no such things as coincidences in my line of work. I notice that his shoes lie in the bottom of the closet. perfectly aligned and polished, and this strikes me as odd. A killer with a shoe fetish? Or two killers who are neat freaks?

  Mack has let the rest of forensics in; already they’re swarming all over the place.

  ‘Where’s the entomologist?’

  ‘On his way,’ Mack replies, still looking like he’s going to puke any second.

  The forensic team have already started spraying luminol on the carpet and the walls. If there’s blood elsewhere, this stuff is guaranteed to find it. I stand by the door and watch, trying to keep out of the way. The walls are clean – a quick glow which fades means no blood.

  ‘Move back,�
�� one of them barks. I do as I’m told for a change.

  They spray the entire carpet now, and the room has to be in utter darkness. Their torches go on and off while they work the rooms, as another member quickly videos it. He turns and shakes his head at me – nothing. I can feel the wrath building up inside of me, like mercury climbing a thermometer. I’m getting really pissed off now, the Superintendent is gonna be breathing down my neck for answers and evidence, and so far I have sod all.

  Next they bring in the Luma-Lite, and don their protective glasses. I quickly grab the nearest spare pair and toss another set to Mack. The light is slowly scanned across the room and over the body looking for traces of saliva, semen, urine and prints – anything. Again, nothing. I slam out of the room and Mack follows me but says nothing. He knows better. I try to regain my composure, but it isn’t easy.

  ‘Not a single print?’ I ask a crime tech.

  ‘No sir.’ I wander around the chaos of what was once the man’s lounge, my brain going into overdrive. I need to talk out loud; it always helps me make sense of things, it’s as if trying to unravel a maze.

  ‘No forced entry, no murder weapon, jack shit on the forensics.’ Another infernal blind alley. My hands ball into fists, frustration grasping hold of me again.

  ‘Could it be the same guy?’ I ask Mack.

  ‘No chance,’ he replies. ‘The last one was a raped woman with a cut, this is a bloody mutilation.’

  I don’t say one single word to him, instead I just scowl.

  ‘Get the MO fed into the computers. I want this whole place searched for prints, blood, hair, semen, saliva and fibres. Search the bathroom sinks, baths, sink traps, under the floor, tiles, mouldings – everywhere.’ I bark at the entire damn room, my head pounding. Frustrated, I punch the nearest wall. I shouldn’t have done it – it hurts like hell.

  ‘Goddamn it. Check his mail, mobile phone, pagers, clothing, laundry – just find me something!’

  Faces stare at me as if I’m losing it. I probably am. I cannot believe that this killer did not leave a single shred of evidence. I want, no, I need something found and I need it now. They all know this face of mine, it ain’t pretty, so everyone actually starts jumping into action. Soon the flat’s bursting with a mass of activity – it’s great what yelling can get you.

  Everyone wants to be the first to find something of use; I feel nothing but complete and utter desperation. How could one individual do this? The fury, the venom in the murder astounds even me. Sure I’m used to murders, but nothing like this. This is nothing but a total perversion, a sick and twisted mind – and I swear I’m gonna find out who it belongs to.

  After an exhaustive search, and finally leaving the teams to it we both exit the flat, totally drained. I can still see the maggots crawling all over his body, taste the rancid smell in my nostrils, the stench caught at the back of my throat; I feel slightly nauseous but ignore it. The sound of flies still rings in my ears like a small light aircraft buzzing around in my head, a continual humming. I force it to the back of my mind and try to concentrate on the few facts that we have. One or two killers? Both bodies mutilated, both had a trophy taken, no obvious signs of a forced entry, but one a fast killing, the other a drawn-out, almost sadistic ritual.

  Mack stops and gasps for breath. Bent over, he tries to inhale the fresh air rapidly, trying to cleanse his lungs. His face is puce, his breathing badly distorted. Jesus, I hope he isn’t going to have a heart attack on me, that’s all I need right now. Four patrol officers now guard the outer area – aren’t they the lucky ones. They’re staring at Mack, and just then he turns quickly and breaks stride running around the corner. I hear him vomit violently, again and again, until the heaving finally stops. Walking slowly back he wipes his pale face with his sleeve; the coppers stand and snigger at him with undisguised glee. Mack’s furious, furious at them and furious that he puked.

  ‘Any of you twats been up there yet?’ he snarls.

  They shake their heads, nonplussed.

  ‘Then don’t mess with me you fat arsed tossers, until you been up there and inhaled that putrid smell, seen that half-eaten body and had about a million flies crawling all over you, up your nose, in your ears and all over your damn face!’

  Dead silence. We began walking on, but Mack swings his heavy body back round.

  ‘By the way, if anyone finds his missing arms – let me know.’

  The coppers’ faces freeze as I suppress a smile.

  It was to be the only smile of the day.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting with Grimes. The Superintendent was a hard-arsed son of a bitch known for his bad temper and a mouth like dirt. He didn’t like unsolved murders, he detested any kind of media on his patch, and after this latest murder we all knew those media scum were gonna be like bees round a honey pot. I rap on his door and we get hollered in – a bad sign. He’s sitting at his desk, files and photographs scattered everywhere, his fat face flushed, sweat stains on his shirt and his tie straining at his collar, just like a Doberman ready to pounce at us. I’m prepared for the worst. He flips his dark, heavy-lidded eyes at us, and juts out his double chin.

  ‘Well Downey? You got any ideas?’

  I think about bullshitting him, and then change my mind – what’s the point?

  ‘Sir, it could be the same MO, but probably not – completely different forms of mutilation. Reasons for picking the victims – none. I can’t find any connection at present.’

  I can tell he isn’t convinced. Neither am I, but I thought I’d better play it safe. Mack keeps fidgeting in his chair. He hates coming in here, takes you right back to school and facing your head teacher, only this is slightly more on the serious side. I usually do my best to say little and keep my head down. Always figured solving a case was a better answer than talking about it.

  Mack chips in. ‘You ask me they’re both just a couple of weird nutters, crazies let back out on the streets ’cos their do-good but dumb doctors thought they weren’t really insane.’

  Grimes ignores Mack’s outburst and focuses his attention on me again.

  Silence. Hell, I decide to wind it up anyway.

  ‘They could kill again. Perhaps they already have.’ I add, just for the fun of it.

  From the purple tinge under Grimes’ collar I’ve just gone and unleashed the Doberman. His fingers actually scrape the table as he pushes his chair back and bends over the desk trying to get to me.

  ‘Shit! I don’t want to hear that kind of crap, you got that? The damn press would have a field day, apart from the fact that you would have the whole city going into a state of panic.’

  He’s panting now, saliva forming at the side of his mouth like a rabid dog. Perhaps the similarities don’t end there.

  ‘Maybe they should be scared,’ I mutter under my breath.

  Grimes grips the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white, his fury almost uncontrollable.

  ‘Say again.’ He almost dares me.

  ‘Maybe we should call a profiler in?’ I toss it in for good measure; let’s see if that makes him explode.

  He almost hyperventilates. The face puffing up, pure beetroot red, the veins bulging at the side of his neck, he charges round the desk and is eyeball to eyeball with me.

  ‘What the hell for? We got two dead bodies, you said yourself there was no connection.’

  Taking my life in my hands I interrupted him.

  ‘No, what I actually said was I couldn’t find a connection … sir.’

  I can feel his foul-tasting breath on my face; the tension in the room is palpable, like layers of hatred and rancour lying on top of each other. He growls at me from way down at the back of his throat.

  ‘No profiler! You got it?’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  I can hear Mack mutter, ‘Gormless twat.’ I pray he hasn’t been heard.

  ‘Get the MOs fed through the computers, see what it turns up, then keep checking to see if you can find a link.’

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sp; He paces, glaring at me, glaring at Mack, glaring even at the goddamn walls.

  ‘I want this son of a bitch – or bitches – found. They must have left a trace somewhere – find it!’

  We’re tossed out of the room. Nothing like a cosy chat with your boss when you need it.

  ‘Good motivational speech,’ says Mack, sarcasm slicing through his every word as he sticks a wad of chewing gum in his oversized mouth.

  ‘Inspirational, in fact probably the best so far – don’t you think?’

  He nods in agreement. Bosses are always a complete pain in the arse, but this time we’d sure felt the old Doberman’s bite. We both knew he meant what he said, so unless we wanted to sit behind a desk until pension day, we’d better get a move on.

  We spend the rest of the day trawling through computer records. I sit down at my computer and punch into the police national database. I thump in what little I have, behavioural aspects of both cases; timing, mutilation, strangulation and the hyoid bone. The machine whirrs into life, checking offenders that had any similarities and their last known whereabouts. I get about three hundred and eighty hits – great. Trawling through them I get nothing that smacks me in the face – that would’ve been far too easy, right? I pull up the recently released offenders and it whittles down to forty. Isn’t it nice to know that so many of Manchester’s finest are back out on the streets? I print them off and decide what the hell, leave it to the morning. I’m still waiting for the autopsy results, forensics and the local canvas statements. Perhaps when they come back it will help to narrow down the search. I have a hunch nothing is going to help us out on this one; we’re flying solo.

  It’s got late, most of the office is empty now and finally the telephones are quiet, but the fax machine just keeps churning out more possible offenders from Mack’s search, and perhaps he’s having better luck than me so I think I’ll take a look. I pick up a pile of records and shove them on his already overflowing desk – that’ll teach him to leave early. He’d said he had some errand to do on the way home. Somehow I didn’t think it was for his wife Betty, so I didn’t ask, but I had a feeling that a pub was probably involved somewhere. I flip my files shut, close down the computer and push the thought of the cases to the back of my mind. Time to go home. Damn, I just remembered I was supposed to be meeting Connie for dinner! What time is it? After seven – shit, I was going to be late, and she detests anyone that’s not punctual. It’s not going to be a great start to the evening, and frankly I’m not much in the mood for company, let alone food. I have a sense that this is not going to be the romantic evening I’d originally planned.