Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel (3 page)

“Morning, Scott,” Matt butted in with a smile, looking back and forth a few times between the two officers. Whatever he was expecting from them wasn’t forthcoming as he soon realised, and proceeded to clear his throat.

“Why is everyone so chirpy and upbeat this morning?” Scott replied. He wasn’t normally so grumpy. Scott was known for his warm social skills and his natural ability to get along with anyone.

He wasn’t your typical senior officer, he had very few hang ups; didn’t smoke or drink, apart from the odd social drink, but that slipped on a few occasions. He kept fit and enjoyed watching weird programs like “Great Continental Railway Journeys”, or David Attenborough’s latest soothing commentary about the marvels of some exotic wildlife creature. Scott went to great lengths to keep quiet about his TV preferences; he could imagine the stick he’d get from the lads at work.

He was different to many officers of his rank; he was more than happy mixing and getting along with those in uniform as much as his CID colleagues. Today was different though. The day before had been March 18
th
, a calendar date he dreaded. This time of year brought him sorrow and anger, and he was always temperamental and edgy around this time.

“Oh, a little touchy this morning are we, one too many lemonades last night?” Matt replied with an exaggerated wink.

“I’ve had better mate, just shattered and a lot on my mind, and everyone’s far too bloody cheery for my liking.”

Matt smiled, “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that my team has nearly finished, we’ve got some partial footprints in the dried blood inside both tents. The victim had a silver curb necklace with a silver ring hanging off it; inside the ring was the engraving Eddy and Vicky, 4
th
Sept. We’re waiting on a low loader to take away the bin for further analysis, and we’ll be getting our report over to you in the next forty eight hours.”

“Forty eight hours,”
recoiled Scott with a feigned look,
“You’re taking the piss, make it twenty four hours. We’ll have the press crawling all over this one and I need to start working on this ASAP. All it takes is a glimpse at that to know it’s going to be a hot one.”

He nodded in the direction of the police cordon, where the crowds had swelled substantially in just the last few moments. Many were using their phones to video the events unfolding. No doubt they’d end up on YouTube later that day. If they were expecting a glamorous scene out of a TV crime scene show, then they were going to be sorely disappointed.

“It looks like the victim was stabbed in the neck region, and no doubt the path will confirm that. It was probably a pretty large knife to inflict a wound that size. We’ve yet to find anything that may have caused the injury, but we’ll take a thorough look inside the bin once we get it back in case something has been thrown in there,”
Matt said, nodding slowly to himself as he gazed at no one in particular.

“It looks like he was attacked over there,” he carried on, pointing to the first smaller tent. “And then the trail of blood suggests he was dragged to the second location and tossed into the bin.”

“What’s interesting is this,” Matt reached into a box by his feet and pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag with three blood stained twenty pound notes. “We found them stuffed inside the victim’s mouth, that’s a first for me.” He said lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

“Guess he was stuffed after a night out,” Mike quipped.

“Enough, give it a break will you?” Scott scowled. Now was neither the time nor place for his one- liners.

Mike and Scott leaned forward a few inches to inspect the bag closely.

“We’ll have a closer look and see if there are any surviving prints on them back at the lab.”

Mike and Scott exchanged a look of curiosity. “Ok Matt, do your best and I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Will do,” Matt replied, heading back to his van.

“Mike, brief Abby and Raj when they arrive, I’m going to see what the path has to say.” Mike nodded as Scott walked over to the larger tent. As he was approaching the tent the pathologist, Cara Hall, stepped out.

Cara wasn’t what you’d expect a stereotypical pathologist to look like if you asked anyone. For her line of work, you’d imagine a pathologist to dress in sombre, professional attire. Perhaps even have a look of seriousness on her face indicative of a clinical, meticulous and obsessive nature.

But Cara was so far removed from that. She was thirty eight years old, one year senior to Baker, tall at five feet seven inches tall, with dark, brown hair that was always tied up high in a ponytail. She wore outfits that suited her hour glass figure, wore very little make up and had a natural english rose look about her. She had a cheeky sense of humour which helped balance the seriousness of her work.

Cara removed her face mask just in time to see Scott walking over to her.

A broad smile greeted him. “Detective Inspector Baker, we have the pleasure of your company on this crisp morning
.”

Great another cheerful soul,
he thought.

“Good to see you too, Dr Hall, what’s your thoughts? “

“Well, upon initial inspection, he’s definitely dead.”
She said with a slight smile.

Scott rolled his eyes and shook his head in fake despair.

“Now that you’re sure of that, any idea when he met his demise?”
Scott asked.

“Hard to say for sure, but I’d estimate between four to six hours ago. We still have some
primary flaccidity as we can still move the body. Rigor mortis hasn’t spread yet, but that may also be due to ambient temperature slowing its onset. I’d imagine it was only five or six degrees in the early hours of the morning,” she said with a shrug.

Scott nodded in agreement with her conclusion.

“The mortuary boys are here and ready to take him away, and I’ll arrange for a special post- mortem for later this afternoon if that suits you? Can you stay awake long enough for that?” she said wickedly.

“I’ll be there,” Scott replied. “Cause of death?”

“Well, from what I can see, it’s just one open wound to the neck with a sharp instrument, I’ll be able to confirm that when I’ve checked the rest of him this afternoon. Is that all for the moment? I need to head off to a suspected suicide in Peacehaven as soon as possible.” She glanced at her watch, her face serious for a moment.

“Yes of course, thanks for coming out so quickly, Dr Hall, I’ll see you later this afternoon, let me know what time.”

“Yes of course, I’ll get one of the technicians to let you know,”
Cara replied as she walked off briskly to her car parked just beyond the taped cordon.

Scott walked back to the edge of the cordon where Mike was standing talking to PC Willets.

“Mike, change of plan, I’m going to grab a coffee from around the corner, and then head over to the address we’ve got and see if I can find out more. If it is him, I’d like to get him formally ID’d this morning before the PM. Get on the blower to Abby and tell her to meet me outside the apartment and see if we can get a family liaison officer to meet us there, too, just in case we need them.

When Raj gets here, I want you both to go over and get full statements from the workmen. Then get a few uniforms to do door to door to see if anyone saw or heard anything from about two to four am this morning. I’ll meet you back at the station later.”

“Will do, Guv.”

Scott removed his protective clothing before leaving the scene to head back to his car. No sooner had he started to walk off, he stopped, paused for a moment looking down at the floor, before turning back to where PC Willits was standing on cordon duty.

“Constable, I’m sorry for being so sharp with you earlier, bad morning,” he said apologetically, with a slight tight- lipped smile.

Taken aback by the apology, the constable was slow to reply, but finally blurted, “No need to apologise, Sir, but thanks anyway.”

With that Baker nodded, turned and left.

Chapter 3

Fourth Avenue in Hove was a clean, wide tree-lined street that had properties with impeccably well maintained frontages. Many had small walled front gardens with an array of low maintenance shrubs, flower pots, and fashionable slate features. Balconies finished off their look to take advantage of the sea views and suburban surroundings.

Most of the three-story buildings housed luxury mansion flats. There was resident’s parking on either side of the road plus an additional double row of parking down the middle of the road.

Scott parked up close to the address given for Edward Stone. DS Abby Trent was already waiting close at the entrance to the apartment.

DS Trent had been with Brighton CID for two years. Scott had thought of her as a real grafter. She was a reliable and conscientious member of Scott’s team, with a methodical approach to her work. He valued her as a friend and colleague.

Abby had run in the London Marathon as part of the Sussex Police team on several occasions, coming in as the third fastest female officer in Sussex. It was an achievement she was proud of, and testament to the many hours she devoted to keeping up with her fitness, whenever her shifts allowed.

Juggling an active lifestyle, with her long hours on the job and being a single mum of two meant, Abby had very little time to get out socially, and as a result, often missed the team’s night out. At five feet four inches, with a slight frame, mousey blond, shoulder length hair and athletic build, many in the force had underestimated Abby’s capabilities. She demonstrated a strong motivation to succeed in everything she applied herself to and hated failure.

That’s why Scott’s description of her was so apt.

“Right, Abby, I’m assuming that this could be the residence of the victim. We need to confirm that with his girlfriend if she’s in. Have we got a family liaison officer free to join us?”

“Yes, Guv, we’ve got PC Andrea Smith joining us, she’s just coming up the road now as a matter of fact,”
she replied pointing with her head past Scott’s shoulder.

Police Constable Andrea Smith was well versed in these situations, and Scott had found her to be an invaluable support when dealing with family members in many of the cases he’d worked on.

PC Smith was in her late thirty’s, with jet black short dyed hair. Her calm, reassuring manner had often helped those of the bereaved get through very difficult and dark times. She always wore something that fell between casual and formal to suit her role. Even though she was there in a formal capacity, she didn’t want formality to create a barrier when her aim was to be there as a supportive friend.

Today, she wore a navy two piece suit and a thin, cream, crew neck jumper as there was still a chill in the air.

Once joined by PC Smith, Scott rang on the buzzer for the first floor flat. They waited a moment, when there was no answer; Scott held the buzzer down again for a few seconds longer. The intercom crackled before a voice with a strong cockney accent answered “ Hold your horses, I heard you the first time, who is it? “

“Is that Vicky Bright? “

“Who wants to know?” the female voice came back sharply.

Scott raised his eyebrows at Abby, before replying “It’s Brighton CID, may we come in for a moment to ask you a few questions?”

There was a pause which Scott took as an indication that the woman was either weighing up what to say, or wondering why they had turned up on her doorstep, either way the wait was starting to annoy him.

The door buzzer finally signalled that the lock had been opened with a sharp click. The hallway was about twenty-five feet long leading to a fire exit door at the back of the building, there was a ground floor flat to the left, with stairs to right leading up to the first floor. The walls were painted a light blue with cream coloured marble floor tiles along the length of the hallway.

Abby admired the dark, rosewood, highly-polished hand rail that maintained the theme of luxury that was evident from the outside of the building.

Judging by the surroundings they were in, Scott was pretty certain that if this was their man, then this was no ordinary mugging gone wrong, or some feud between rival small time gang members.

Flat 2 on the first floor was half way down the corridor. The door appeared identical in appearance to the ground floor flat. Scott knocked and waited for it to be answered. A few moments later, the soft sound of footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door, and then a pause which Scott took as the occupant probably taking a peek through the spyhole in the door.

The door was opened by a woman that Scott guessed was probably around her early to mid-thirty’s, but she could have been younger. It was hard to tell. She had the type of leathery skin that suggested she had spent far too much time in the sun. She had either just been away or enjoyed far too many tanning sessions judging from the not so healthy orange glow.

She was wearing white converse pumps, blue tight jeans that fitted her petite five feet one inch frame and an orange top with a deep v cut. Scott thought that the glow of her orange top was probably contributing to the overall radioactive glow she was emitting. Her dark roots creeping through her blond tint, suggested that a hair appointment was long overdue.

The officers held up their warrants cards, “I’m Detective Inspector Baker, this is Detective Sergeant Abby Trent and this is Police Constable Andrea Smith. May we come in for a few moments?”
Scott asked.

Vicky Bright didn’t say a word. She looked suspiciously back and forth between the three visitors on her doorstop, before waving them in and closing the door. She silently led them through to the lounge which was on the right of the hallway next to the master bedroom.