Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (13 page)

Chapter 2

A grim silence smothered the warehouse as Helen and Ben stepped into the container. Anders was already inside and she lay a comforting hand on Ben’s shoulder as he paused in the doorway, too shocked to fully process what he saw. Helen, experienced as she was, also paled and suddenly looked vulnerable. They’d all seen death and horror in their work, but sometimes they saw things that they knew they’d never forget, that would haunt their dreams for the rest of their lives. They worked knowing this and accepted the consequences because they knew that what they did mattered. They were driven to uphold the moral values of the law regardless of the cost to them. They knew all too well that its function was to enable free expression whilst providing protection for everyone. It was its fundamental and guiding principle and Buckland had warped and twisted its purpose to legitimise his barbarism.

“How long’s he been here?” asked Mal, looking ill as he gazed around the container in shock. It was everyone’s worst nightmare made real.

“There’s forty body parts glued to walls and hanging down from the ceiling,” replied Anders. “If his blog is correct, then that’s forty days. And nights I guess. Seems he has a messiah complex, which fits in with the more religious aspect his last blog took.” Abi had taken one look and blanched, turning around unsteadily and going to sit in a van outside. Her voice cackled through the coms.

“He’s taken too much pleasure in this act. The first killing was brutal, but served a very specific purpose. Almost a necessity in his eyes. This act is more polarising. It’ll turn those intrigued by his ideology away from him, but make those rallying to his cause more fanatical. I don’t get it.”

“Were assuming there’s a rational mind behind this,” warned Mal as he watched Helen step gingerly to the body on the seat, grimacing at the ruined mess. Ben, unsure of where to start, began by taking photographs of each body part from several angles, the flash of the camera bright in the poorly lit container and reflecting off the mirror that Buckland had placed in front of Boyle.

“What I don’t get,” said Jesse through their headpieces. “Is why we’re processing this scene. We all know
Dick
land did it. We should be finding him.”

“He may have been careless,” replied Mal. “Left something of use.”

“What? Like a note he’s written to himself of where he’s hiding because he’s so damn crazy?”

“Something like that. Why don’t you find out why this building isn’t on record as belonging to Buckland. I want to know who or what owns it. Hopefully, that’ll give us something useful.” Staring at the body parts dangling from the ceiling, he shook his head sadly. He couldn’t fathom the mind that could do this.

“How did he live for so long?” he wondered aloud, turning his attention to the corpse itself.

“Drugs and antibiotics, probably mixed in with coagulants as well,” answered Helen as she moved around Boyle’s corpse. “Buckland was careful too. Sawed through the bone, then cauterised the arteries. I’m guessing I won’t find any painkillers in that cocktail either,” she said sadly, peering at the drip bags. As Helen examined the torso, her eyes narrowed and flickered to Anders, then Mal.

“Neck’s broken,” she said. She put a hand on his torso briefly. “Still warm. Inexact, but I’d say it was recent.” Mal gave the body a thoughtful look before turning to Anders.

“Let’s give these guys some space. We’ll head back to Scotland Yard and I’ll liaise with McDowell, while you and Barry chase up the ownership of this place.” As they left the container, Mal paused in the open space between that and the door leading outside. Switching off his headset, he bade Anders do the same. He looked hard at her, close, so he had to look down.

“If Boyle is recently dead from a broken neck, then I can only assume that Buckland was here moments before you. That would mean that I would need to send out search parties from this location and scour the area. That would require a lot of manpower and time, which is something we don’t have enough of.” His eyes searched her face, trying to read Anders’ passive expression, but she gave him nothing as the silence stretched out. He turned to the container and considered it for some time as the flashes from Ben’s camera spilled out, a white light to chase away the ebbing red that seeped insidiously from the door. Eventually, he nodded to himself and turned back to Anders.

“I’d have done the same.” He spoke so quietly, that Anders wasn’t sure that she heard it. He gave her arm a gentle squeeze and strode towards the door, his masculine scent lingering in the still air as she watched him go. When he’d left, she let out the deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Chapter 3

Anders parked the bike next to the squad cars in the underground bay, ignoring the salacious stares from the Met officers as she took off her helmet and strode towards the stairwell nestling in the corner.

Down in the Hub, Jesse greeted her with a cheer.

“Well look who it is! It’s the sexiest, most famous police officer in the country!” She grinned broadly at his good cheer and sat on Jesse’s table, facing him. He pointed at the screens behind her and she swivelled to see that he was watching Sky News, BBC News and the ITV News on several different screens. They were all showing her stand-off with the crowd and subsequent tackling of Beady Eyes.

“They’re loving you,” said Jesse, chuckling as they asked who this mystery officer was. Anders sighed. She hadn’t wanted a high profile in the UK. It was one of the reasons she’d had to leave the FBI as it had affected her ability to work.

“Dammit,” she said and slid from the desk. “That’s the last thing I need.” She snaked her way through the tables and pushed open the door to the ladies toilets, her temper grim. It was well lit and clean, with several cubicles lining the side. Opposite, there was a large mirror above the wash basins and Anders found Lucy there, dabbing tears from her eyes. A stillness came over Lucy and Anders made to leave.

“I’ll come back another time,” she said, knowing that Lucy wouldn’t like her presence in the female toilets. Normally, she’d have had little time for such insecurities in others, but Anders was still shaken by what she had seen this morning and wasn’t in the mood for confrontation.

“No, it’s ok. Please stay.” Lucy’s voice caught as she spoke, the desperation clear. Anders moved closer and leaned against a sink, back to the mirror and facing Lucy. Her blonde hair was covering her face as if she was ashamed, so Anders gently tucked it over an ear as she spoke.

“What’s up? Anything I can help with?” Lucy shook her head and dabbed at her tears. She’d been so horrible to Anders, but now looked like a lost child. It was difficult to feel any anger towards her.

“No, it’s ok. I’m just a little shook up by what we saw back there. I never imagined we’d be doing things like this when I joined. It’s all so…” She wrung her hands in frustration, lost for words, unable to articulate how she felt.

“It feels like you’re being sullied simply by being there. Like you become a participant.” Lucy stared at Anders thoughtfully.

“Yes. I suppose it does. How do you cope? The things you’ve seen in America and now here? It’s a wonder you’re functioning.” Anders reflected for a moment, contemplating her words.

“I look at the worst of us so others don’t have to. Doing what we do makes a difference. It comes at a cost, but I pay that willingly if it means justice. Take a walk down the street. Watch the kids on their phones, the couples arguing about the tiniest things or mothers mollycoddling their children. We do what we do so they can go about their lives free from fear and oppression. Buckland seeks to undermine those very values and that is why we must stare hard at his work and not flinch.”

As she spoke, Lucy watched her intently. She saw the passion and fire in Anders’ eyes and knew that she believed every word. This was a calling for her and no matter how difficult the task, how ruinous the burden, she would suffer it stoically.

“I’m sorry about what I said the other night. It wasn’t fair to attack you like that.” Anders gave an easy shrug.

“I’ve had worse and I’ll have worse again. It makes no nay never how to me.” Lucy started picking some varnish from her nails, uncomfortable with what she had to say, but determined to do so.

“I just…it’s just that…I was raised Catholic. My family were very clear in their scriptures. When I heard you were coming, it was so easy to believe every word my group said. My mother even lent me some books on the matter and I soaked it all up.” She looked at Anders, guilt plain on her face.

“But you’re so…well, normal.” She let out a short bark of bitterness. “Actually, you’re not normal. You put most women to shame.” Anders shuffled her feet. She hated compliments. Too often they served some purpose for whoever was saying it, but she felt that Lucy was being genuine.

“That’s untrue,” she replied. “I look to every woman as a role model. You’re pretty kick ass yourself, you know.” Lucy chuckled, wiping at her drying tears as she did so.

“Not on your level. I can’t stand all that shooting and fighting.” Anders gave a throaty laugh, leaning in conspiratorially as she did so.

“I’ll tell you a secret and you’re not allowed to laugh.” Lucy leaned closer as Anders made a show of looking around to see that they were alone. “There was a Muay Thai boxer called Parinya Charoenphol. She was transgender and kicked butt. I figured if she could do it, then why should anyone tell me what I couldn’t do? I also watched far too much
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
during my transition!” Lucy gave Anders a strange look before bursting into peals of laughter, Anders joining in with her infectious laugh. Lucy quickly sobered and looked thoughtfully at herself in the mirror.

“My parents will hate me,” she said. “If you’re so real, how can it be a sin? You said that it was redemption through transformation and it’s hard to disagree.”

“The Catholic Church is a tolerant place now Lucy. There is even a transgender priest. Sure, there are groups that are less tolerant than others, but you find that everywhere. At the end of the day, we’re not here to judge. That will come later.” Lucy took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Thank you,” she said. “You could have been a real bitch to me, you know that?” Anders gave her a hug.

“Hugging it out is better,” she replied as Lucy returned the embrace. “Besides, the Gospel of Luke teaches us not to condemn or judge, but offer forgiveness without measure.” Lucy gave her a startled look.

“Chapter six, verse thirty seven, how did…?” Anders gave a sad smile.

“My father was a devout Christian. Some of it rubbed off I guess. He used to tell me that there wasn’t anything bound in thought that you couldn’t change. I thought he meant that in a positive way until he found out what I was.” Lucy whistled in disbelief.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?” Anders smiled.

“It’s been mentioned on occasion,” she replied. “Come on, let’s freshen up and get out of here.”

A short while later, Anders left the toilets and strolled over to Jesse. He gave her a knowing look.

“You left Lucy in one piece or do I need to call an ambulance?” he asked. Lucy came out from the toilets and gave them both a big smile. She’d fixed her make-up and looked her normal self once more, if a little less sour.

“Okay,” said Jesse nervously. “What happened in there?”

“Never you mind,” said Lucy and sat next to Anders as they appraised his work on the screens. He’d put the projector on and showed them his research.

“So the warehouse belongs to a company called MB, Michael Buckland obviously, but it’s not registered to his name, rather an offshore company that doesn’t actually exist.”

“Try variations on his name and initials, see how many we come up with,” ordered Lucy and Jesse tapped away at the board furiously. Meanwhile, Mal and Abi joined them. Abi looked at Anders and Lucy side by side and smiled to herself. Mal pulled out a chair for her and she sat with an appreciative nod while he leant on the table next to Anders.

“How was McDowell?” she asked. He grimaced.

“Not happy. He’s getting a lot of pressure from above. Not best pleased with you either.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You were filmed speeding around on that damn bike and then confronting an angry mob. You were supposed to lay low, not tackle a man three times your size live on TV.”

“I barely touched him,” retorted Anders.

“He did kinda fall on his face,” said Jesse, looking up from his keyboard with a grin. Lucy grinned as well.

“It was a little bit funny.” Mal gave them both a strange looked and turned to Abi who gave a nonchalant shrug. Before he could say anything, Jesse gave a cry of delight.

“Ladies and gentleman, I give you Lord Michael Buckland’s thirty two brand spanking new buildings and land deeds. He’s been a busy little boy.”

“You have a warrant to look at these records?” asked Mal.

“Um. Can you get me one?” Mal sighed and made to pick up the phone, but it rang before he had a chance. He grabbed it and listened, a horrified expression crossing his face. Dropping the phone, he sprinted to the elevator, yelling over his shoulder as he ran.

“Armed individual on the street outside, calling for the NCA taskforce.” Barry stepped from the lift just as Mal arrived and he hustled him back in. “You have your weapon?” he asked. Barry nodded as Lucy caught up with them and slid through the closing doors. Anders headed for the stairwell as Jesse tossed her an earpiece. Taking the steps two at a time she barrelled up them, bursting from the door to the ground floor as Mal stepped from the lift. Barry tossed her the same Glock she had used earlier and they made their way to the street outside.