Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel Page 13

  “Every day,” he sighed.

  “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  “Probably both to be honest. It can sometimes feel like a thankless task.”

  “What do you mean?” her questioning eyes fixed on him.

  Scott pulled up the collar on his jacket to shield himself from the cold night air that was whipping around them. “Well, generally you join the force to make a difference, but sometimes you feel like you can never win.”

  “Go on,” Cara nudged him.

  The public are quick to criticise when crimes go unresolved, but full of praise when you come to their rescue. Then the support you usually hope to get from within the force doesn’t always materialise. The bosses want results on the one hand, but take away your resources and cut budgets on the other hand.” To demonstrate that point Scott was using his hands as old-fashioned weighing scales to show the delicate balance.

  “I can see what you mean about thankless,” she said consolingly as she gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

  Scott was beginning to realise that Cara was very tactile by the way she had her arm wrapped in his which was pulling her closer to him. It was a closeness that he hadn’t had for a long time. It felt both alien and comforting.

  “To add to that you have officers who are completely stressed. I end up doing at least one welfare home visit every few weeks to officers signed off with stress, depression, drinking problems, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Scott sounded stressed as he blew out through his lips.

  “Well if things ever get too much for you, you do know you can talk to me anytime?” She nudged him again with her shoulder.

  Scott looked at her with an appreciative smile. He knew there was sincerity in her offer and it was gladly welcomed even if he didn’t tell her.

  Chapter 23

  Scott was striding through the station with purpose, his case file in one hand, the remains of his double espresso in the other, and a large smug grin. He was waiting for the caffeine to kick in and charge through his body. His eyes were heavy, the muscles around his eyelids totally fatigued, his body doing its hardest to fight the urge to find a dark corner in the office just to curl up and fall asleep for a few hours.

  After dropping Cara off, he’d worked late into the night researching the suggestion that Cara had come up with. At the time he partially dismissed her idea putting it down to her wonderful and often weird, creative imagination. However, having had time to look at its plausibility, he had to admit that it warranted further exploration.

  It had paid off, as he pushed through the doors of CID; he felt renewed energy spurring him on. He barked at no one in particular, “Drop whatever you’re doing and get your arses in the briefing room now, we’ve got a new line of enquiry.”

  Mike and Abby looked up just to see the back of Scott disappearing through the double doors at the end of the office that led up to the briefing room. They exchanged a curious glance as Abby raised her brows to suggest here we go again.

  The team came through the doors at pace, all of them exchanging curious glances with Scott, before grabbing a seat. Raj was still munching on his chocolate croissant whilst gingerly balancing his mug of tea on his notepad.

  “Where’s mine, you fat pig,” Mike demanded looking hungrily at the warm croissant.

  “Erm, pot and kettle and black spring to mind,” Raj retaliated with an annoying wink.

  Mike just glared at him with a menacing look, their eyes having their own gladiatorial battle.

  “Ladies when you finished having your handbag fight, if you could pay attention,” Scott tipped his head to one side, his expression letting them know that their verbal joust was over.

  “Right as you know this whole issue around the money in the mouth has been bugging me since the start of the case. It’s bad enough dealing with a serial killer who’s taken down three victims in under two weeks, but what concerned me was the significance of the three twenty pound notes in each of the victim’s mouths.”

  Scott now had their undivided attention and they were hanging on his every word.

  “Well I think I have a motive now of some sorts.” Scott was now pacing slowly up and down the length of the briefing room working with his thoughts as he was talking.

  “I did a lot of research last night and I found out that stuffing money in the mouth of the victim was something that the Mafia used to do to demonstrate that that victim had been greedy...” he paused, before continuing. “There’s a strong likelihood that the motive behind these crimes is to do with greed.” Scott was now scanning each individual member of the team to see what type of reaction his theory was receiving.

  Mike was the first to reply. “Are you saying that the killer is greedy?”

  “Or are you saying our killer believes the victims are greedy?” interrupted Abby.

  “My hunch is with your suggestion, Abby.” Scott paused as he reflected. “Now obviously it doesn’t take us any further down the line of identifying who the killer is, but it could certainly suggest the driving force behind his killing spree.”

  “And do you think Stubbins is still complicit in these murders?” asked Abby.

  “What’s on your mind, Abby?”

  “I can see the tenuous link between the victims, Stubbins, and the whole thing around greed….” She paused whilst she was processing her doubts. “And if we can find the evidence to link Stubbins into these then that’s a great result. However what it doesn’t help with is the hair fibres found on each of the victims,” she shook her head again. “I don’t get that bit.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Abby shrugged her shoulders and nodded, her lips pursed, unsure of what to make of that part of the case.

  Scott continued, “We had the E-fit go out last night so Raj I want you to help Mike man the phones this morning, anything of interest that comes through, let me know straight away.”

  The officers nodded their agreement although Scott could tell from Raj’s disappointed face that he was hoping to get stuck into something a bit more meaty than handling random calls from members of the public.

  “Abby, I want you to organise a couple of tickets for us to go back and see Stubbins. I’ll get the DCI to contact the governor at Pentonville so we can do a search of his cell whilst we’re there. If he’s arranged the hits then he must have some way of communicating with the outside. He has either used a phone or has communicated his instructions through a visitor, so we need to check the visitor’s log.”

  ***

  Their second visit to Pentonville was certainly in contrast to the last time they were there. The prison governor and his deputy met them in reception and weren’t pleased to have this request sprung on him at the very last minute. He expressed in no uncertain terms that he would be having words with the Chief Constable. Scott knew that this wasn’t his battle to fight; there was a triple murder investigation at stake, he was quite happy to leave the political one-upmanship to others.

  Stubbins was equally annoyed and started spouting off about breaches to his human rights as he was led away by prison officers.

  The deputy governor accompanied them and stood in the doorway of the cell as Scott and Abby entered.

  They were greeted with overpowering smell of human excrement that sent waves of nausea rippling through their stomachs. Abby gagged as the smell assaulted her nostrils as the bile rose up her throat. They both shot a glance over their shoulders towards a metal toilet in the corner of the cell partially shielded from view by a small dwarf wall that separated it from the combined sleeping and living quarters.

  Even though Scott had no sympathy for inmates, he never understood how prisoners coped with degrading conditions that allowed even the most intimate of habits to be on full display for others to see.

  “Stubbins left us a calling card,” Abby glowered as she buried her nose and mouth into the crook of her elbow to shield herself from the stench, trying her hardest not to wretch.

  Prison cell
s were often too small and far too cramped with between two and three inmates per cell. This meant the Scott and Abby had to tread carefully as they had not been given permission to search the space occupied by the other inmate and his possessions.

  Whilst Abby went through his small bookshelf, Scott was patting down Stubbins’s pillow and bedding looking for any signs of a mobile phone or other communication device. He knew Stubbins was far too clever to slip up. He lifted the mattress to peer underneath on the off chance that Stubbins had been sloppy. Scott also knew that to avoid detection Stubbins could quite easily have concealed items in the belongings of the other inmate as they were off limits.

  The search revealed nothing as Scott had anticipated, but secretly, Scott wanted to send a clear message to Stubbins to let him know that he was still in the frame and on their radar. The deputy governor sneered as he taunted them about the waste of police resources, his comment that “We could have done this for you,” riling Scott.

  Feeling the frustration over the lack of co-operation, Scott strode over to the assistant governor, who by now was leaning against the door frame looking smug, his arms folded. Scott’s six-foot-plus frame towered over the short man. They were almost touching toe to toe, the man looking alarmed that his personal space had been invaded.

  Scott could smell the man’s stale breath which had strong overture of onion, no doubt from eating a packet of cheese and onion crisps, or several, judging by the man’s round face and stubbly double chin. He wore an ill-fitting grey suit, with his leather belt straining under the effort to stop his beer belly from spilling out over the top.

  Abby just stood there frozen to the spot. She’d not seen Scott explode often, but when he had, it hadn’t been a pretty sight. Scott was far more eloquent with his words than she ever was; she admired how Scott tended to get results through his careful selection of words. On this occasion, the deputy governor picked the wrong person to have a fight with. Abby was holding back, but ready to step in between these two men.

  Scott locked his steely eyes with the man, the man swallowing nervously as he shuffled on the spot. Pinned to the door frame he had little room to manoeuvre.

  “We are supposed to be on the same fucking side, if you impede my search in any way I’ll make sure you’re back in uniform and patrolling the prison’s corridors before your tubby arse has a chance to sit down.”

  Abby did her best to stifle a grin. To defuse the situation, she thought it easier to switch their focus. “We’re done here, deputy governor, we would like to look at the visitor’s log if that’s okay with you.”

  The deputy governor swallowed hard, a slight glisten of perspiration breaking out on his balding head. What little hair he had on his head, had been parted to the left and combed across the top of his head and down the other side in a vain attempt to disguise his receding hairline. There was such a thing as growing old gracefully, but this man was clearly in denial as he fought to stem the tide of aging.

  He escorted the officers to the front reception remaining silent for the duration of the journey, just momentarily unlocking doors to allow them to pass before locking them again afterwards. He let them out into the main visitor’s area without saying a word, almost like a schoolboy chastised.

  As Scott peered through the reinforced glass panel in the door, he saw the deputy governor disappear back into the prison hastily reaching for his mobile phone and almost dropping it in the process.

  Scott wondered who he needed to call so urgently.

  “Prat,” Scott fumed under his breath as he walked over to join Abby who was already talking to the prisoner officer behind the reception. Scott felt like a gooseberry as the officer was clearly trying to chat Abby up, and Abby clearly enjoyed the attention. He caste a sideways glance at her with a knowing grin on his face. Abby’s cheeks flushed red as she noticed Scott tease her with a smile and wink.

  The officer was busily tapping away on a keyboard as Abby waited patiently. She was curling her hair around her index finger coyly whilst she waited. The printer by the screen whirred into life spewing out a printout. The guard pulled it off and passed it to Abby before heading off to get the CCTV footage for those visits.

  “What?” she said accusingly.

  “Shall I get you a quiet table in the corner so you can get to know him better?” he teased.

  His suggestion was met with a gentle kick that caused Scott to wince.

  They finally both scanned through the entries…all five of them, and then exchanged an encouraging glance.

  “Seems like he’s not that popular, Guv,” Abby laughed. “Lewis Samuels, that name hasn’t popped up on our investigations.”

  “No it hasn’t, but I’ve got a hunch,” Scott said crossing his arms and tapping one finger on his temple.

  “Another one of your hunches, Guv?”

  The prison officer showed them into a separate room where he loaded up the five visits in question onto a large bank of monitors fixed to the wall. As they peered over his shoulder, they saw the grainy image of the same man arriving on all five occasions. The man looked like he was in his mid-thirties, broad shoulders that were hidden well underneath a black baggy jacket. He was smartly dressed, but not enough to draw unnecessary attention to himself.

  Abby took a closer look, as she leant even further over the prison officer’s shoulder, “He does look familiar, Guv.”

  “That’s because he is. In his mugshot he hasn’t got the long hair tied in a ponytail that he has now, nor does he have a goatee beard.”

  The penny dropped; she shot Scott a glance. “Seriously is that him?” she questioned.

  “I’m pretty certain it is, I think we’ve found our messenger or killer… Or both.”

  Chapter 24

  Raj and Mike had spent most of yesterday fielding the steady stream of calls that had resulted from the E-fit and press release. The level of public interest had been healthy as Scott had expected. The third murder had only taken place a few days ago, it was still fresh, and more importantly members of the public were rightly concerned about a murderer on the loose.

  Raj was pissed off about the volume of calls asking irrelevant questions such as why there wasn’t a stronger police presence on the streets to capture this killer, could we have more officers on the beat, and could they look at the parking problems in some residential streets.

  “I sound like a fucking parrot,” Raj moaned. Mike just shrugged it off; it was a necessary and vital task. “The public are our second set of eyes on the street, mate,” Mike reasoned, even though a part of him agreed with Raj.

  Mike’s army days had taught him not to pussy foot around. “If you want something, then fucking go and get it,” his troop Sergeant would bark in his ears. “Hunt or be hunted, the hunter is not the fucking hunted,” were doctrines his Sergeant drilled into every squaddie during training.

  Even though ethically it was wrong on all counts and would result in a disciplinary, Mike would much rather round up all the low life in Brighton and rough them up a bit until the undesirables of Brighton gave up one of their own.

  In Scott’s opinion, the appeal had had some good coverage last night thanks to the extra efforts of the press office. All the major news channels both national and local dedicated a few minutes of airtime to cover the series of murders that had taken place in the last two weeks.

  The appeal had highlighted the eyewitness E-fit, the locations, together with suitable comments from the Deputy Chief Constable of Sussex Police. It was the usual PR stuff about the need to maintain vigilance, report any suspicious activity and that all the resources available to Sussex Police were being deployed. She went to great lengths to stress that the primary focus of the force was the safety of the public.

  The news piece ended with the offer that information could be passed on anonymously to Crimestoppers on the relevant number.

  ***

  With the door closed, Scott was afforded the luxury of sipping on his black coffee whilst reviewing
the early summary of calls that Raj and Mike had vetted. Nothing stood out, the odd person had mentioned seeing someone resembling the suspect in a pub, or in passing, however, nothing could be corroborated or warranted further investigation.

  His thinking time was interrupted with a firm knock on his door followed by the DCI breezing in. She’s either had a skinful last night, or very little sleep, Scott suspected judging by her bloodshot eyes and general tiredness that her face seemed to suggest. She had dark circles around her eyes. Her jowls seemed to hang down lower than normal, and her normal gravelly voice, the result of many years of drinking and smoking, had dropped considerably this morning.

  If he’d closed his eyes, the tone of her voice would have sounded like a sexy Sharon Stone or Kathleen Turner, but reality didn’t quite match up with fantasy.

  “Bloody good coverage last night,” she remarked taking in a huge lungful of air before letting out a mucous-filled cough that repulsed Scott. She rubbed her chest in an attempt to soothe it, whilst also taking a sip of coffee from her favourite mug emblazoned with the logo I’m the BOSS. “Any valuable leads so far?”

  Scott wished she would take her cough, mucous and her stale cigarette breath out onto the main floor. He’d much rather she contaminated the air out there than spread her germs inside the confines of his small office.

  “Nothing yet, Ma’am, but I’m confident that we’ll get a breakthrough with this appeal,” he added rolling a pen through his fingers.

  Scott already had a plan of some sorts. The press release and appeal would be the catalyst he hoped to kick start it. For the time being though, he was going to keep it close to his chest in case his hunch was wrong.

  “The Chief Super’s getting pressure so we need more, Scott,” Harvey’s parting words were few but the intention behind them wasn’t lost on him. She wanted results and she wanted then now.

  Scott started trawling through his workbook again, reviewing his notes, challenging his own assumptions and figuring out his next step. They had a good clear E-fit of the killer. They had Stubbins in the frame, they had found a regular visitor to Stubbins, and they had a motive for the money. Now he just needed to get the last few pieces that would bind it all together and one of those was the connection with Stephen’s hair fibres found on each victim.