Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel (4 page)

Directly opposite the front door was a slightly smaller bedroom. With its door open, Scott could see a balcony overlooking the main road. To the left a third bedroom, bathroom and kitchen. The whole apartment appeared to be immaculately decorated, with tall ceilings and small chandeliers. Period features had been restored like ceiling covings, ornate fireplaces and deep 8” skirting’s.

Scott and PC Smith sat down on a dark caramel coloured velour sofa that practically swallowed them up it was so deep, whilst Abby and Vicky sat in matching armchairs. Unsure behind the reason for the visit, Vicky sat with her arms folded defensively in front of her chest.

As Scott looked around, he noticed that the walls were painted in two colours. The lower half had a similar caramel colour to the sofa, with a contrasting light cream to the upper half. The luxurious carpets were a deep pile cream that no doubt were cleaned weekly. Expensive furniture pieces were dotted around the room. No expense had been spared decorating this apartment to the highest standard, Scott thought.

“What’s this about?”

“Can we confirm that you know Edward Stone?” asked Abby.

There was a pause whilst Vicky scanned the faces of the three officers, unsure of what to say before she finally gave them a slight nod.

“And are you in a relationship with him?”

Yes, he’s my fiancé, why what’s this about? He ain’t here if that’s what you wanna know.”

“When’s the last time you saw him? Scott asked.

“I saw him about 7 p.m. last night before he went off to the club, he ain’t back yet,” her voice gravelly from years of chain smoking.

“Would he normally be back by now then Vicky?”

“Usually he’s back by 4 a.m. after the club’s closed and he’s done the takings. Sometimes he stays out if he’s gonna go to the casino or poker at a mates”, she said.

Is that him in the pictures above the fireplace?” Scott motioned pointing to some overly large silver framed photos that had Vicky with a man’s arm around her as they posed for the photos.

“Yes, that’s my Eddie, they were taken when were on ‘oliday in the Bahamas last year, it was where we got engaged on the 4
th
of September on the beach.”

Abby and Scott exchanged a brief glance and Scott gave Abby a small nod.

Vicky’s brow was starting to furrow as concerned lines appeared on her forehead.

“What’s this all about?” her voice beginning to get louder as she started to wring her hands together anxiously.

Andrea Smith leant forward slightly, “Is there anyone you can call who can come and be with you? “

“My friend Michelle lives up the road. Please, what’s going on? You’re starting to fucking freak me out, what’s Eddy done now?”

“Could you give Michelle a call to ask her to come over please,” Andrea insisted softly.

“Yeah, I will once you tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to say but we’ve found a body, and have reason to believe its Edward Stone,” said Andrea.

On hearing those words, Vicky’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped and her chest started to heave as her breathing became rapid. “No…no…not my Eddy.” Vicky was struggling to take the information in as she gripped the arm rests, it was hard to tell if she was going to scream or cry.

Scott had been in so many situations like this before and each one was different. On hearing about the sudden death of a loved one, relatives seemed to express their emotions in different ways. Some would cry hysterically, some would just whimper or go quiet, whilst others would fly into a fit of rage. Scott had always drummed into his officers the importance of being prepared to deal with any type of reaction and more.

In this instance, Vicky was becoming increasingly agitated, an observation picked up by all three officers who exchanged brief glances.

“Eddy, no…no…no babes, please not my Eddy,” was all the officers heard before Vicky jumped up from her chair. Unsure which way to turn, her head looking left and then right, her hands wringing an imaginary towel, her breathing laboured and gasping. She began to hyperventilate.

It’s all they heard before she let out a high- pitched wailing scream loud enough to be heard outside, followed by sobs as she sat down heavily in the chair, her head in her hands crying to herself.

Andrea got up from her chair and knelt beside Vicky with the offer of a tissue that was gratefully received.

“What…what happened to him? Are you sure it’s him?” desperation in her voice. Her eyes searching the officer’s faces, willing this to be a dream, the hope that police had got it horribly wrong and it was just a case of mistaken identity.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you but we believe that Edward was the victim of a violent assault.”

On hearing that from Scott, the shock almost engulfed her again. She looked up to the ceiling hoping for some divine intervention, tears flowing from her eyes and running down her cheeks, her hands clenched in fists on her lap.

Andrea left the room in search of the kitchen to make Vicky a strong cup of sweet tea.

“We found a wallet in the suit jacket of the victim, and the driving licence appears to match the victim and the pictures of Edward you have there on your mantelpiece. He had a ring on a chain which was engraved….”

Vicky finished the sentence for him. “
Eddy and Vicky 4
th
Sept
,”
her voice trailing off as she stared into space.

“What happened to him?”

“We’re not 100% sure yet until the post mortem is done, but it appears that he was stabbed.”

“Oh Jesus….” Her bottom lip began to quiver.

“There’s never a good time to ask, and I’m sorry for asking you now, but for completeness, we’ll need to take a statement from you and also ascertain your whereabouts last night between two and four a.m. Andrea can take you to the station when you’re ready or we can do it here,” said Abby.

“Why do I have to do that? I was in bed like I normally am at that time of night,” she said despairingly.

“Nevertheless, Vicky, we do have to because you were Edward’s partner. We also need to search the flat.”

Andrea handed her the mug of tea. Appearing defeated and weary, Vicky replied, “Do whatever you have to,” her voice trailing off once again.

“We’ll leave you with Andrea for the time being,” Scott sighed as they left.

***

“She reacted like he was some angel,” Abby uttered as they stood in the street looking up at the apartment.

“Well, she clearly loved him.”

“Loved him or loved the lifestyle?”

“Who’s rattled your cage?” Scott asked with a raised brow.

“Did you see the bundle of cash on the table in the hall as we walked in?”

“I did; all fifty pound notes from what I could see.” Scott estimated there must have been in excess of a thousand pounds sitting there. “Not sure I know of many who can leave a wad like that lying around.”

“Exactly,” Abby replied. She felt there was a lot more to it than a grieving fiancée, which made her even more suspicious than when she’d walked in.

Chapter 4

Abby headed back to the crime scene whilst Andrea made arrangements to take Vicky’s statement at the apartment.

An earlier text from the mortuary confirmed that the special PM was going to take place at 3:00 p.m., which gave Scott enough time to grab a bite to eat and sufficient time to have it settle and stay down. He headed down to Redeli, one of his favourite sandwich bars in Ship Street, to grab his usual of chicken, tomato and avocado in a freshly cooked brown baguette.

***

Shortly after 3.45 p.m., Scott pulled up at the mortuary in Lewes Road and parked in the visitor’s bay.
Who would want to visit a mortuary willing anyway
, he thought. He never looked forward to this part of the investigation: seeing a body slowly and deliberately taken apart. A mortuary technician showed him in to an anteroom with a glass-panelled wall that overlooked the main inspection room.

Cara Hall was already working on the body when she was made aware of the Inspector’s arrival by the technician assisting her.

“You won’t see much from there, Detective Inspector,” her voice burst through the intercom, taking him by surprise.

That was what I was hoping for. I must remember to drive even slower next time
.

Scott reluctantly robed up with a shower cap and paper mask, each stage taking him closer to the inevitable… smelling death.

Edward Stone was laid out on the table with the preliminaries like his weight and height already noted. Cara was deeply engrossed on a closer examination of Stone’s neck. She had carefully cut and peeled back the skin from around the wound to expose the muscular, skeletal and organ sub structures.

“Thanks for scheduling this PM so quickly, Dr Hall. What have you got so far?”

“Quite a lot, actually. As you can see, he has
hypostatic discolouration on his right shoulder and the right-hand side of his face; this would suggest his final resting position once he was thrown into the bin.”

“So he ended up almost head first in the bin and resting to his right from what you’re suggesting?”

“Correct, Sherlock.
He also has discoloration through extensive bruising around the abdomen and chest.”

“From being hit or punched?”

“No. That type of bruising would be smaller and more random in appearance. This bruising covers flatter more broad areas of his chest and abdomen. I’ll look at it a bit closer for internal trauma, but my guess would be bruises are consistent with what you might get if the victim was picked up in a bear hug type of hold.”

She demonstrated by outstretching her arms and gripping her left wrist with her right hand. “Extreme pressure would be placed on these areas causing that type of bruising to the skin of the abdomen and pronounced areas where the skin is stretched tight, for example, across the ribcage.”

Scott stood there, his arms crossed. He nodded slowly as a mental picture formed in his mind of how the victim had been dispose of. Frankly, any mental picture he could conjure up would be a blessed relief to seeing a corpse with its rib cage removed, the top of its skull and brain missing, and the pathologist engrossed in its neck. He thought of her like some prospective gold miner excited about discovering a vein of gold ore in a rock face.

“Can you tell me anything about the knife wound now?” Scott was keen to hurry up this discussion and leave Cara to her examination. The longer he stood here the more objections his stomach was making to be forced to take in the smell of death. He was now noticing the odd bluebottle fly looping around in the air above them.
This was so gross.

“Yes, I can. This is a fascinating case, Inspector.”

“Fascinating. Really?”
Cara needs to get out more.

“The wound doesn’t resemble what you’d normally associate with a stabbing. More often than not, the weapon of choice is something like a
lock knife, sheath knife or kitchen knife, which has a short, thin, stiff blade about 7 cm long. Those give clean-cut edges, but a kitchen knife tends to bend and can break easily with minimum force, especially if the tip hits bone, and becomes embedded in the bone.” Cara became highly animated in her explanation.

Scott raised his eyebrows. This was starting to get interesting. “This knife was a lot bigger and longer because the entry point is here,” Cara pointed out as she placed a hand either side of the victim’s head and turned it 45 degrees to the right to clearly show the left side of his neck.

“Then what’s more unusual is that there’s an exit point, here.” She pointed to an open wound just above the right clavicle.

“That’s a pretty heavy stab wound then?” Scott asked.

“It is, and what becomes apparent now that I’ve opened up the area, is the internal damage.” Cara grabbed some forceps to pull open the neck area and expose the internal structures to give Scott a better view.

“If you look through the magnifying lamp now, can you see the torn edges of the wound?”

Scott peered through a large six-inch magnifying glass that had a bright lamp going around its edge. Scott nodded.

“A normal knife wouldn’t cause such rough edges. This is the type of stab wound that a survival knife causes. They create different wound impressions with serrations on the non-cutting edge, which act like a saw. This is what has torn the edge and not given it a clean incision. As you can also see, the knife tore through the carotid artery causing a massive haemorrhage, and also took out the trachea too.”

“How big is one of these survival knives?”

“They vary, but are normally about six to eight inches long, and I’m talking about blade length here, not including the handle. I’ll be able to give you a better indication later when I get stuck in, if you pardon the pun.” She smiled.

“So that could explain why there’s an exit point too?”

“Most certainly, Inspector. Extreme force was used in this assault, and from the angle of the entry and exit points, a downward arm action was used, which offers far more force than, shall we say, an underarm thrusting or prodding action.

“There’s what we call hilt bruising, too, where the knife has been driven in with such force that it’s gone in up to hilt guard. That’s caused distinctive bruising at one edge of the wound where the guard impacted the skin.