The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series) (32 page)

***

The press conference was just as excruciating as Craig had expected. Awkward buggers asking awkward questions, with Harrison passing most of them onto him. Rank. He made up his mind not to do the same when he became a Superintendent.

Ray Mercer of The Chronicle had surpassed himself, bringing along sample headlines with so many exclamation marks they belonged in a comic. There was little difference between The Chronicle and one, as far as Craig was concerned.

There was nothing they could do to stop the hacks wandering off into ‘speculation land’. They would do whatever they wanted, and the only way to stop them was to arrest someone and give them facts to write about - a point that Harrison made about five times afterwards.

Craig was walking slowly back to the squad when his mobile rang - Liam. He pressed the button impatiently, angry at Harrison, not him. “Yes Liam, what’s up?”

“We’ve found Murdock, boss.”

The tone of his voice told Craig everything he needed to know...
Shit.

“I’m on my way. Tell me where.”

***

Maggie walked tentatively through the glass doors into the squad and hovered uneasily beside Nicky’s desk. She knew how much Nicky had disapproved of her and Davy getting together in December and she’d been wary of her ever since.

Nicky saw Maggie shifting from foot to foot out of the corner of her eye and smiled to herself. She actually liked her now. She was a good journalist. An endangered species, in her opinion. Plus she made Davy smile and took care of him. But it wouldn’t do to let Maggie know she liked her, in case the day came when she hurt him. She needed to keep ‘I told you so’ in reserve.

She turned around from her computer and stared at Maggie questioningly, as if she couldn’t possibly work out why she was here. The confusion on Maggie’s face almost made her relent. Almost.

“Yes? Can I help you, Ms Clarke?”

The urge to turn and run swept over Maggie - cowardice was always the better part of valour in her opinion. Then she saw Davy’s dark head across the room and affection washed away her doubts. When she spoke her voice was stronger than she’d expected.

“D.C.I. Craig said I could come and say hello to Davy.”

As she said his name she lifted her finger and pointed at him, like a child. Then she caught her gesture and pulled her hand down again quickly.

Nicky made a mental note to have a word with Craig for undermining her armed truce. Then she gazed at Maggie with the chin down/eyes elevated angle that she’d seen people who wore glasses using. It always seemed grave and intelligent when they did it, but somehow the effect was lost without the props. Maggie knew exactly what Nicky was doing and thought she just looked like she had a sore neck. But she didn’t dare smile.

After a moments consideration Nicky pressed a button on her phone and asked Davy to come to reception. He bounded over, his long hair flying like an Irish Setter. When he saw Maggie a wide smile lit up his face, almost making Nicky relent and smile too. But instead she looked sternly at the pair. “Thirty minutes Davy, and then back to work.”

Davy gave her a deep bow and she arched her eyebrow at his cheek. “W...Whatever you say Nicky.” Then he wandered off the squad in search of lunch, brazenly holding Maggie’s hand.

***

By one o’clock Craig was pulling into a broad sea-gulled wasteland between the silver Titanic Belfast Centre and the river at Queen’s Quay. A runway of flashing blue lights led the way to the crime scene. He dumped his car to one side, and forced his way swiftly through the police line. Liam was standing beside a derelict storage shed, and he left the constable he was chatting with to greet him.

“Who found him and when, Liam?”

“A rigger for some new funfair, at about eight this morning. Uniform didn’t connect things until an hour ago. He had no I.D., so they named him through the number on his medical tag. Penicillin allergy. That’ll not be bothering him anymore.”

He caught Craig’s disapproving frown. There was a time for dark humour and this wasn’t it.

“Sorry, boss. Anyway, the rigger was putting some equipment up and he nipped into the shed for a quiet fag out of the rain. He literally stood on the body. It was spread-out just inside the door.”

“They wanted him found. You’re sure it’s him?”

“Pretty sure. We need the formal I.D., but height, build and appendix scar match the description the wife gave. He was buck naked. Do you want to have a look at him? It’s real biblical stuff.”

“Go ahead.”

Craig followed him into the echoing steel shed where the white-suited C.S.I.s were already busy.

“Don’t worry lads, we’re not going to mess up your scene. We’ll stand over here. Could one of you just pull back the sheet and let the boss see his face?”

The thin sheet slipped back to uncover a man’s grazed and blood-stained face. There were fine white particles spread all over his chin. Even from a distance, Craig recognised the man he’d interviewed the week before.

“Yes, there’s no doubt it’s Murdock. But get the usual I.D. please. Have you called John?”

“Yes. Hello Marc.” A warm baritone turned them towards the lean figure of John Winter, already suited-up to approach the scene.

“Sorry to rush you, John, but we need a quick idea of how and when. Just a first impression.”

“Right - let me see him then.”

Putting on his glasses Winter headed over to their victim, walking on the C.S.I.’s metal pathway. He hunkered down for several minutes, studying Murdock’s head, arms and torso closely. And finally his back and legs. Then he walked back to Craig, ready to give them a steer. John wasn’t precious about educated guesses. He knew that giving one now might save another life.

“Well, this is interesting. Almost biblical.”

“That’s exactly the word Liam used. Why?”

“The whole scene, it feels deliberately barren. Right, well - he’s been dead for several hours. The resolving Rigor indicates more than twelve. The Lividity is all on the front so he was on his stomach for at least the first six. There’s no secondary Lividity on his heels or back at all, so he wasn’t moved for at least six hours after death.

The primary surface wasn’t firm enough to leave marks, so no clues there I’m afraid. But this definitely isn’t the murder site; there’s nothing like enough blood. I’d say that he’d been dead for at least six hours when he was moved, possibly longer. Then he was brought here to be laid out on his back. This was a deliberate display - probably to humiliate him.”

Craig rubbed his forehead as he listened, leaving a deep red mark. He nodded John on.

“He’s heavily bruised all over, consistent with being handled roughly prior to death. The bruises are about one to two days old. And there are restraint marks above both wrists and ankles - deeper on the wrists, so his socks probably saved his ankles. He was a big man, so I should think he was drugged. He would have fought back otherwise, and there are no defensive wounds that I can see. Whatever they used to bind him was probably cut off soon after death - the Lividity indicates that.” He paused and glanced back at the body, shaking his head. After a long pause he restarted, heavily.

“His face was superficially grazed before death, so that might give you some clues as to the surface he died on. Mainly small scratches, and there’s what looks like a small piece of gravel embedded in his nose. The white powder on his chin could be Cocaine, or it could just be staged with something. I can’t be sure until I get him back to the lab. There are bruises to the face and a contusion on the back of his skull - we’ll probably find a depressed fracture there, consistent with a heavy blow. It was caused by something about the diameter of a two pound coin, maybe a hammer. But there’s too much swelling to tell for sure without an X-ray. Des can tell this better than me, but those medical alert tags look platinum, and they’re still there. So theft probably wasn’t a feature.”

A sudden look of disgust flashed across his face and Craig held his breath. He instantly knew
what was coming next.

“What he does have is a transverse incision across his lower abdomen, right down to the abdominal cavity. It’s an accurate Pfannenstiel - that’s the incision used for Caesareans.”

Yes! Craig mentally punched the air and Liam gasped loudly. That was a new one, even for him. John was the first to break the silence.

“It was done while he was alive, Marc. I’d say that he was bound, incised, left on his stomach to bleed out, and then stripped and arranged here later on his back. It’s tempting to say that he bled to death, but I need to rule out other things first. This isn’t the primary scene, there just isn’t enough blood. This scene was purely about display. Maybe they knew the area would be busy with the funfair, so it wouldn’t be long until he was found?”

“Which could mean that he wouldn’t have been found at the primary site, John. Or at least that a quick audience wouldn’t have been guaranteed there.”

“Indeed. There’s one other thing which is a bit strange. I think you’ll find that Mr Murdock operated left-handed.”

“Why do you say that, Doc?”

“They amputated his left hand above the wrist. While he was alive.”

“God - this is really grim, John. It feels almost depraved.”

“Yes, it does. And I think they took the hand as a trophy. The C.S.I.’s haven’t found it. Anyway, there’s obviously no doubt that this is murder. And there’s no question in my mind that we’ll find the Pethidine and Insulin mix in his blood as well. I’m sure this is linked with the deaths of our three women, Marc.”

“I didn’t like the man, but what a way to go. Someone must have really hated him. And they have to be insane. This isn’t the work of anyone normal.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “You and Liam both used the word ‘Biblical’ - presumably you mean the gruesomeness?”

“Not really, no. I meant wrath. Don’t you feel that’s what this was, rather than the usual robbery, rape or random? It’s like one of those ‘vengeance’ scenarios from the Old Testament. I’m just waiting for Charlton Heston to appear.” He stared out at the Lagan, as if waiting for it to part.

“Aye, it is, boss. It’s like one of those bible stories teachers used to scare the hell out of us with, when we were kids. Being struck by God’s lightning-bolt if you were caught stealing a biscuit, and that sort of stuff. You know.”

“God Liam, where did you go to school?” They all laughed, lightening the mood.

A sudden flash outside the shed caught Craig’s eye. He turned sharply, expecting to see the C.S.I. photographer. Instead he was greeted by the sight of a young woman in jeans, clicking a camera straight at them. Journalist.

Liam had already seen her and he loped over quickly. He mentally replayed his ‘dealing with the media’ course to stop him ripping the camera from her hand, and boomed loudly in her face. “Which paper are you from?”

“The C...Chronicle.” What a surprise. “Ray Mercer asked me to take some shots for him.” She stammered and stared up at Liam in confusion. He was so much taller than her that she teetered backwards and he grabbed her to stop her fall.

At the mention of Mercer’s name he shook his head, knowing that she’d been duped by an old hand. “That’s because he knows better than to come near a crime-scene himself. You’ve been had, love. I’ll need to take that memory card - you’ll get a receipt for it. And tell Mr Mercer that if we see reports on this before we release an official statement, your editor will be speaking to us as well. You’re compromising an on-going investigation.”

She was about twenty years old and absolutely terrified - Mercer was a real shit. But Liam still took her details. Craig and John walked over to join them angrily. When Craig saw how frightened the girl was he replaced his anger with coolness.

“How did you find out about this scene, Madam?” The girl stared down at her muddy boots, suddenly ashamed.

“Mr Mercer pays for information. From the Police.”

Police leaks - totally out of order, but hard to control. There’d been respect between the press and the police for a while, but Mercer was a law onto himself. He’d got someone around the force feeding him tidbits.

“Where is he?”

An involuntary flick of her eye indicated a slip road to the left of the shed, where Craig could see a solitary parked car. He called two uniforms over, indicating the occupant. He was in the mood to rattle Mercer’s cage - mostly because he’d sent a youngster to do his job. Although the lunchtime press conference hadn’t helped.

“Liam, ask uniform to take this lady home please. And bring Mr Mercer back to High Street for a word. I need to talk to Tommy again too. He didn’t do this - it’s too complex a kill for him. But he may have seen something when he was tailing Murdock. And he better talk to me this time or I will charge him with Murdock’s murder.”

“Made the call ten minutes ago, boss. He’ll be calling his brief as we speak.”

“Great. John - just give us anything you can please, as quickly as possible.” John nodded, already removing his white-suit for Nigel Murdock’s trip back to the lab.

“I’ll need to speak to Harrison and Charles McAllister again, Liam. So if you get to High Street before me, go ahead and start. I’ll see you there.”

“Aye well, before you speak to McAllister, I’d better just update you.” He gave Craig a quick summary of his morning’s meetings.