Dead End (25 page)

Geraldine made no move to leave. ‘I'm very sorry to have to tell you Vernon's dead.’

‘Dead? Vernon?’ Carol fell back into her chair. ‘Is it true?’

Geraldine inclined her head. ‘I'm so sorry. Will Mrs Mitchell be all right? If you'd like me to call her doctor –’

‘I'd like you and your sergeant to leave. Now!’

‘Someone will have to come and identify the body. Perhaps you…’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. Now please, leave us alone.’

‘We would like to ask Mrs Mitchell a few questions when she feels ready.’

‘Questions? Why?’

‘We have reason to believe your nephew was murdered.’

Geraldine nodded at Peterson and they made their way to the door. Geraldine turned as she was leaving. ‘I'm so sorry for your loss,’ she mumbled miserably.

‘Jesus,’ Peterson grumbled as they walked to the car. ‘Talk about shooting the messenger. I thought we were supposed to be the good guys.’

44

CORPSE

‘A
n unusual corpse,’ Paul Hilliard announced as they entered the room.

‘What does a usual murder victim look like?’ Kathryn Gordon asked. ‘I thought –’ She stopped abruptly, catching sight of the body lying on the stainless steel mortuary table. For a moment they all stood gazing down in silence.

‘Oh my God,’ Geraldine said.

Peterson spoke at the same time. ‘Bloody hell. What have you done to the poor boy?’

‘That's how he was found,’ Paul replied quietly. ‘The extent of the mutilation wasn't apparent until we'd cleaned him up but you can see for yourselves. Whoever killed him removed both eyes.’

Geraldine tried to connect the sightless figure in front of her with the boy who had been to see her at the police station. The body was pale, lying rigid on its back where it had been placed. While some corpses seemed relaxed in that position, almost as though they were sleeping, Vernon Mitchell looked tense and awkward. Her gaze travelled reluctantly to his face, the eye sockets pools of congealed blood.

Kathryn Gordon was the first to recover. ‘Do you think this is the work of whoever killed Abigail Kirby?’

Above his mask, Paul frowned. ‘It's hard to be sure but it looks like it. We have a similar set of injuries – a blow on the back of the head with a blunt instrument, sufficient to knock the victim out but not kill him instantly. If the cerebral bleed from the head wound hadn't killed him, he would in all likelihood have suffered irreparable brain damage. There are the similar patterns of bruising on the upper arms as we observed on Abigail Kirby's cadaver, and he was tied up, before he died.’ He pointed to Vernon's wrists and ankles where fine darkish lines were clearly visible, like grim tattoos on the pale flesh.

‘And what about this business with the eyes?’ the DCI asked. ‘What can you tell us about that?’

‘The eyes were removed while the victim was still alive.’

Peterson let out an involuntary groan and hurried from the room. Geraldine registered the sergeant's distress but was too engrossed in what Paul was saying to pay him any attention. As she listened she stared at Vernon's face, thinking back to the boy who had been to see her at the station, anxious but alive, and his mother's accusation. Geraldine should have taken Vernon's fears seriously and offered him police protection. If she had made the right decision then, he would still be alive now.

‘It must have been excruciating,’ Kathryn Gordon said. ‘This was not only murder, but torture.’

‘Not necessarily,’ the pathologist replied in an even tone. ‘There are traces of a strong sedative in his blood. I'll be able to tell you more when the tox report's back, but the drug might have acted as an analgesic. Vernon might have suffered very little pain.’

‘Oh, well that's all right then,’ Peterson snapped as he rejoined them, pale and drawn. ‘A considerate killer. We can all go to sleep happy now.’

Paul ignored the interruption. ‘So in answer to your original question, yes, I think we're probably looking at the handiwork of the same killer. It's another neat job. The left eye was removed while the victim was still alive – there was a lot of bleeding. By the time the right eye was removed, the victim was dead. The cause of death was cerebral bleeding, and the shock of the blood loss probably speeded up the process.’

‘Abigail Kirby had her tongue cut out as she lay dying. Vernon Mitchell's eyes were removed as he was dying. What the hell's going on here?’ Peterson sounded agitated. ‘This is –’ He stopped, lost for words. ‘It's hideous. It makes no sense.’

‘We can't expect this to make sense as we know it,’ Geraldine said, ‘but we have to try and understand what's going on here, because there is a kind of logic to it. What is he thinking as he carries out this mutilation? And why is he doing it?’ She didn't add the question uppermost in all their minds: what did the killer have in mind for his next victim?

‘We haven't found the tongue, or the eyes,’ Kathryn Gordon pointed out. ‘Is he keeping them as trophies?’

‘Jesus,’ the sergeant turned away again.

‘Perhaps we're looking for a modern Frankenstein, collecting body parts for a new creature,’ Paul suggested lightly.

‘Victor Frankenstein robbed graves, and gathered human material from corpses. He didn't go around killing people for their body parts.’ Geraldine said sharply.

‘Let's stick to the point, shall we?’ Kathryn Gordon said. ‘This isn't a seminar on Gothic literature.’ She turned to Paul. ‘What was the time of death?’

‘Sometime around midnight on Thursday night, between eleven and one. I can't be more specific than that.’

‘Which makes it around seven hours before he was found,’ the DCI said.

‘And almost a week after the party at Gary's where he was last seen alive,’ Geraldine added.

The DCI turned to Paul, suddenly brisk. ‘You'll let us have a full report as soon as you can.’ She was ready to leave.

He inclined his head. ‘And the tox report when it comes through.’

‘So there's no sign of a struggle?’ Peterson asked. ‘Seems odd, doesn't it, with a young male victim.’

The pathologist shook his head. ‘He was tied up,’ he pointed out.

‘But before that?’

‘He could have been knocked out before he had a chance to fight back. He'd certainly consumed a lot of alcohol and, unless he was a hardened drinker, he would have been virtually incapable of walking, let alone placing a punch.’

‘Is it possible he was sedated?’ Peterson asked.

‘With something like chloroform, you mean?’ Geraldine said.

Paul considered. ‘It's possible, but any trace would have evaporated by the time he was found. Remember, he was found hours later, in the open air.’

‘Enough speculation,’ Kathryn Gordon said. ‘We'll discuss the possibilities again when we have the report.’

As soon as they arrived back at the police station, Kathryn Gordon held a meeting to bring the rest of the team up to speed.

‘Is it a coincidence that Vernon Mitchell was killed – possibly by the same person that killed Abigail Kirby – shortly after he gave evidence pertaining to Abigail Kirby's murder? Evidence that, so far, hasn't given us any useful leads. It's too much of a stretch to think his death was a coincidence. All of this suggests the murderer knew that Vernon had been to the police.’

‘He was killed to stop him from identifying the murderer. It all points to the figure we can't identify on the CCTV tape,’ Peterson said excitedly. ‘We have to track that figure down.’ A couple of constables exchanged a glance. They had been painstakingly checking all the CCTV footage from the shopping centre, while a team had been out on foot, questioning shoppers and staff. No one had been able to recognise the shadowy figure in grey.

‘His eyes were removed because of what he'd seen,’ Geraldine was thinking aloud. ‘Was Abigail Kirby's tongue cut out because of something she'd said?’

‘That's stupid,’ someone replied.

‘Insane, yes, but not stupid. It's perfectly logical. Don't forget we're dealing with someone insane enough not only to kill but to mutilate his – or her – victims. A killer who cuts out a woman's tongue, or a boy's eyes, while they're dying, isn't following any normal rules.’

‘Are we saying that whoever killed Vernon Mitchell knew he'd been here to talk to us?’ Kathryn Gordon asked. There was a change in the atmosphere now they had something positive to work on. Everyone Vernon might have spoken to would be interviewed again. Geraldine and Peterson discussed the possibilities over a coffee as they waited for the duty sergeant to post a schedule for the day.

Peterson was worried. ‘Vernon might have talked to any number of people, gov. And he could have been overheard talking about it to his mates or his colleagues at work.’

‘Yes, he might've told anyone.’

Neither of them raised the only other possibility, that the killer hadn't found out about Vernon's visits to the police station through anything Vernon had said. If that was the case it meant they were looking for someone who was working alongside them on the murder team.

45

STORE

T
he shopping centre was deserted as Geraldine and Peterson walked through it early on Saturday morning.

‘It must be so boring, working here,’ the sergeant muttered.

‘I suppose it's better later on, when it gets busier. It's only nine o'clock.’

‘Yes, the great unwashed are all at home sleeping off their hangovers. Lucky sods.’

A balding man in a WH Smith's uniform came up to them and introduced himself as Tim Morris, the store manager. ‘You must be the police inspector who phoned. Thank you for coming in so early. It can get a bit manic here later on.’ He glanced around the shop floor. ‘You can never tell. A lot depends on the weather. Who wants to be stuck indoors on a lovely sunny day? But when it rains they all troop in.’

‘I expect it helps to pass the time, when you're busy,’ Peterson said.

The manager gave him a quick, nervous smile. ‘I've managed to get cover for today. One of my regular staff is coming in and taking a weekday off in lieu. I can't be short staffed on a Saturday, not if I can help it anyway. We're already understaffed as it is.’

Geraldine cut in. ‘We'd like to speak to everyone who worked with Vernon, individually.’

The manager's face fell. ‘Poor Vernon. What a terrible thing to happen. It was murder, you said?’

‘I'm afraid there's little doubt about that, but we don't have any details as yet.’

‘He was such a nice, unassuming, young man. Of course we're all happy to talk to you, if you think there's any chance we could say something that might help your investigation. I've put my little office at your disposal. It's not very grand, I'm afraid, but it's private. If you'd like to come this way.’

He led them up two narrow flights of stairs to a small whitewashed room with several slightly battered office chairs and a desk with a computer humming on it.

‘Were any of your staff particularly close to Vernon?’ Geraldine asked as she sat down. ‘Did he have any particular friends here?’

The manager considered before shaking his head. ‘I've got to say we all genuinely work well together, that's our ethos here. We're a strong team.’

‘Were you aware of any concerns he had recently? We're particularly interested in the two weeks before he died. Did he mention anything that was worrying him?’

‘No. He seemed perfectly fine.’

‘And you're sure there's no one here he might have confided in?’

‘Well, everyone here gets on pretty well, by and large. Most of my staff have been here for several years. Of course Vernon was relatively new, and not on the permanent staff.’

‘He had no particular friends then?’

‘No. But I'm sure if he'd been worried about anything he'd have spoken to me. I'm the manager.’

To begin with, talking to the other members of staff proved heavy going. They started by interviewing Bobby, the other young male shop assistant who seemed the most likely to have struck up a friendship with Vernon. The only other male shop assistant, Simon, was in his forties, like the manager. Bobby didn't appear particularly upset by his colleague's death and was almost too intimidated to answer when Geraldine asked him about Vernon.

‘He was all right.’

‘Were you friendly with him?’

‘He was all right,’ he repeated.

‘Were you mates?’ Peterson pressed the point.

‘What, me and Vernon?’

‘Yes.’

Bobby deliberated for a moment. ‘No.’

The next interviewee, Jill, was more forthcoming. ‘Vernon fancied Susie,’ she told them before they had even posed their first question.

‘Susie?’

‘Susie Downes. She works here. Vernon was mad about her. If anyone knows anything about Vernon, it's Susie. I mean, there was nothing going on between them, not like that, he's hardly her type. Or he wasn't, I should say. But they used to chat a lot. Wherever she was, he'd pop up sooner or later. Poor Vernon. He wasn't a bad sort, a bit quiet, not very confident, but decent enough. He wasn't the sort you'd expect to be caught up in anything like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘Tim said Vernon was murdered.’ She gazed at them, wide-eyed. ‘Do you think – I mean, it could have been any of us, couldn't it? Do you think someone's out to get us?’

‘No. This was personal, Jill.’ Geraldine paused. ‘Did you know that Vernon had been to see us?’

‘No. What's going on?’

‘I'm afraid we can't give you that information as yet. It's still a live investigation.’

‘Wow!’

‘I'm sorry?’

‘I'll go and get Susie, shall I?’

‘Thank you. And if you do think of anything about Vernon that might help us in our enquiries, please call this number. Ask for me, Detective Inspector Steel.’

Susie was a platinum blonde girl with knowing eyes. She must have been waiting just outside because she came in straightaway. She sized the sergeant up as soon as she walked in and directed most of her answers his way, regardless of which of the two police officers had asked the question.

‘Susie, we understand you were friendly with Vernon Mitchell?’

‘Poor Vernon. Jill told me. It was murder, wasn't it? Who would want to kill Vernon? He was harmless.’ She sat down, crossed her legs and glanced up at Peterson under her long eyelashes. ‘He had a bit of a thing for me – a lot of boys do for some reason – but he was a really sweet boy. He didn't deserve to be killed.’