Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (3 page)

“Buckle up kids, we got our first case!” He was staring intently at the screen, sifting through the morning reports from HOLMES to determine which cases they might be interested in. Mal instantly changed demeanour, his lightness replaced with a business-like efficiency.

“Show me,” he said and moved round so he could look at the screens, taking out a pair of wire rimmed spectacles that instantly aged him. 

“Murder at Wimbledon Common,” said Jesse. “Looks like some kind of crucifixion.” Mal gazed at the report for a few moments before standing up and removing his glasses.

“Jesse, tell Helen and Ben to get their act together. I want them at the Common in thirty minutes. Barry, requisition an area van, we’ll all go together. Lucy, Duncan, get to the lab and pull out all of the boxes in shelves one through to eight. Get them in the van. Anders, sift through the prelim’s, give me a rundown on the way.” As the team moved to their tasks, each of them showed the calm efficiency of trained and competent professionals. Anders found it reassuring as she stepped closer to Jesse while he printed off the details for her. She nodded at Lucy and Duncan as they strode to the forensics lab.

“I’m guessing they don’t like me so much.” Jesse gave a snort of contempt.

“I wouldn’t worry about those two if I were you. Duncan’s pissed because you have what he considers to be his job and Lucy hates you because, well…” He suddenly paused, unsure of what to say.

“Well what?” prompted Anders, her tone dangerous. Jesse grinned at her.

“You’re just so much prettier than Lucy. It must be eating her up inside.”

“Don’t make me punch you again.”

“Ooh Agent, you know I like it rough.” He ducked swiftly as Anders aimed a half-hearted swipe at the back of his head.

“Get me the info,” she said, holding back a smile. “We’ve a crime scene to get to.”

The Interview

Part I

The Home Office was located on Marsham Street at Westminster. It was a long, rectangular building with an open glass front, each segment crossed with wooden lattices. Black bollards lined the front to prevent a car bomb attack and the roof jutted out ever so slightly, filled with stained glass to allow the sun to shine below in a myriad of colours. It was a modern and sleek building, yet strangely muted as if afraid to display the wealth that had gone into its creation. At a cost of over three hundred million pounds, Anders wondered where the money had actually gone. Planning and red tape, she mused as she walked to the bustling main entrance, the heels of her shoes clipping loudly on the concrete walkway.

Making her way to the main desk, she announced that she was here to see Director General McDowell and was swiftly ushered into a lift and brought to a conference room by a nervous staff member who quickly slunk away once he’d knocked on the black, panelled door.

“Come in,” shouted a deep voice from the other side, his voice muffled by the door. Anders stepped through and found herself in a large room with huge windows that overlooked a small, elegant garden at the rear. The space was dominated by a large, glass desk and behind it sat three figures. As she entered, they stood up and the largest of the three moved towards Anders and took her hand. 

“Miss Anders, we are delighted to meet you. Please, sit down.” He had a Scottish brogue that made his accent hard to decipher, but carried a genuine warmth and an easy going personality that ensured he was popular in any company. He’d come through the ranks of the police force over a thirty five year career and carried those decades effortlessly. He introduced himself as Director General McDowell and gestured to the two other members of the group.

“This is Francis Cooper of Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary and this is Justine Barrett, our current Home Secretary.”

“For now,” Justine said sardonically as she held out a hand in greeting. She was a consummate politician, well dressed and mannered and of indeterminate age. She could have been anywhere between forty and sixty.

“Ah yes, the upcoming elections,” said McDowell as he sat down. “I’m sure the country will vote wisely as usual. Makes me glad I’m not involved in politics.”

“I hired you,” fired back Justine and McDowell shrugged as if to say such things were of no concern to him. Anders liked him immediately. Harder to like was Cooper. He was dressed in black and had an unctuous look about him. He virtually sneered at Anders and ignored her outstretched hand. Taking it back, she pulled out her chair and smoothed her dress down as she sat facing her three interviewers. McDowell opened a large dossier in front of him and started the questioning.

“So what do you know of the NCA?” he asked. Anders had been in London for several months and had used that time to read up on British law and its tangled web of enforcement agencies. Her response was quick and sure.

“Operational in twenty thirteen, it was formed to provide an umbrella force that would be involved with counter terrorism, organised crime and human, weapon and drug trafficking. Essentially, it can be tasked to investigate any crime. Your tabloids have dubbed it the British FBI.”

“Indeed,” he said. “You forgot to mention the part where we started with half of our initial budget.” Barrett gave him a pointed look and he smiled easily, clearly comfortable with using his charm to escape censure.

“I believe the Home Office had a nine billion pound budget in twenty twelve. I’m sure resources were stretched thin,” responded Anders diplomatically, but with a sly grin. Barrett stifled a laugh and appraised Anders with fresh eyes. McDowell smiled and winked. 

“So, eventually the bean counters gave me some decent funding and I came up with an initiative. A task force that picks its investigations and can be sent anywhere in the country to quickly manage our more difficult assignments. You’ll have the best resources and any law enforcement agency at your disposal. You’ve applied for the post of Assistant Chief Constable, though you realise it’s a meaningless rank for the team.”

The influx of American crime shows had led the public to believe that a plain clothes detective outranked a uniformed officer, but in Britain, they did not. The task force was to be given a high enough rank to ensure cooperation at any crime scene or local police force. It also meant that they had automatic authority to extend detention of a suspect to thirty six hours and authorise PACE house searches. Whilst the rank was high, the pay wasn’t and any authority overruled by an officer of equal rank. Anders nodded her understanding and McDowell continued, reading through his notes from the dossier.

“Says here you were born in London before moving to America thirty years ago. Shone academically and majored in Forensic Pathology and Psychology by the age of eighteen? Impressive.”

“So you’re a freak and a genius? Or just one of those?” It was the first time that Cooper had spoken and his insidious tone was hostile and condescending. Barrett gave him an evil stare and apologised to Anders.

“You’ll have to excuse Cooper, he likes to be challenging.”

“Not a problem ma’am,” Anders said and turned to McDowell so that he could continue. Unfortunately, Cooper had slid the dossier over to himself, pulling it across the table with a solitary finger that suggested he didn’t want to sully himself with its contents, and led the questioning.

“You joined the FBI, then took some time out to go to the army and kill a bunch of Iraqi citizens before heading back to the FBI again.” He peered up at her, disdain in his features. “Why did you join the army?”

Anders, despite her loathing of the man, smiled and kept her voice neutral and her hands on her lap, one tucked into the other.

“An opportunity came up and I took it. I had done some work with their MPs as a cross department training exercise and I was invited to join. The Agency saw it as an opportunity to foster good relations with the armed forces.”

“Must have been hard,” said Barrett, an expression of sympathy on her face.

“No harder than anything I’d come across before,” replied Anders pointedly. 

McDowell dragged the dossier back to himself with a scowl at Cooper and took the lead once more.

“Looking at your record, it’s impressive. You have one of the highest conviction rates in the Agency.”

“I had a great team,” replied Anders, glad to be getting back to neutral territory.

“You came top of the class for all combat disciplines and profiling.” A snort of derision from Cooper.

“Bit manly isn’t it? All that combat.” Anders gave him a level stare.

“I wanted to make sure that any prejudices against me were purely that.” Barrett smiled at her reply but Cooper continued, jabbing a finger down on the glass table as he spoke.

“Here’s my problem. You may have the highest conviction rate, but most of those you caught were killed during arrest. Bit convenient isn’t it?” Anders sat back in her chair, putting some distance between them. She wanted to remain passive against his questioning and knew that he was trying to goad her.

“I was tasked with tracking down the most violent offenders in America. Serial killers, serial rapists, repeat offenders. They didn’t oftentimes come quietly.” Cooper leaned forward and steepled his fingers together, nestling his chin on them. 

“Ah yes, the old “Justified homicide”. Difficult to have a fair trial if you’re dead.”

“Each case was closed only after a full investigation of the evidence. No killing was found to be unlawful and every case had sufficient evidence for a successful conviction had they been alive.” Cooper chuckled. A laugh without humour. As he spoke, he reached into the dossier and pulled out a sheet of paper.

“Still. I think you’re a killer Miss Anders. You may wear a badge and hide behind the law, but you’ve killed more people than all the criminals you’ve caught combined, certainly when we take your military record into account.” He slid the sheet of paper across the table with a sneer. Anders didn’t need look at it to know what the picture was. It had been splashed across every web page and newspaper across the globe. “And this? This just proves it.”

The picture was a photograph of Anders. It had been taken just as she had burst from a house in suburban America. She was half naked, her torso exposed to show strips of skin hanging loose from her side. She was drenched in blood, her hair matted with gobbets of gore and carried a small child who had thrust his arms around her neck and buried his face in her protection. Anders gripped him tightly, her bloody hands leaving dark smears on his white shirt, a shocking contrast of purity and death. What struck most about the image wasn’t the blood or the damage wrought upon Anders. It was her eyes. They were wild. Full of animalistic rage and fury. The eyes of a killer.

Chapter 3

Caesar’s Camp at Wimbledon Common was now Hole Ten of the London Scottish Golf Club and it consisted of a rolling plain of fresh cut grass surrounded by dense trees and shrubs. On the Southern side, a small road wound round the edge of the Common, lined with huge Victorian houses that had been turned into smaller flats for larger profits. To the North, the common continued to slope down until it reached Beverly Brook. Anders had frequently jogged around the area and often hopped over Robin Hood Gate from Richmond Park and skirted along the shallow river. As they pulled up in a large police van, Anders reflected how close she had been to this site only a few hours ago.

The road had been blocked off by area cars, their lights flashing silently onto the red bricked houses. Police tape had cordoned off the entire area and Anders could see the silhouette of a crucifix as the sun shone behind it. For those opening their curtains that morning, it must have presented quite a shock. It was a very public killing.

Mal sat with Barry at the front of the van and a sullen silence had dampened the mood in the back as Lucy had glowered at Anders, who carefully ignored it. While Barry parked the van, Mal jumped out and made for a cluster of men who looked like CID. The highest rank they could ever hope to achieve was Chief Superintendent and Mal, as Deputy Chief Constable, outranked them all. As McDowell had intended, he would take the crime scene and it quickly became clear that it wasn’t a popular initiative with the CID officers. An argument started, getting increasingly loud as Duncan and Lucy went to join Mal.

Anders slipped into a Microguard coverall and put on a pair of headphones before selecting an album from her phone at random. Ensuring that she hadn’t used it at a previous crime scene, she grabbed a SOC kit, stepped under the yellow and black tape and started walking the site. Samson et Dalila came softly through the headphones as she trod carefully over the grass. The crucifix was roughly three hundred yards from the road and Anders saw the tyre tracks that a large vehicle had made. She guessed that it would have been large enough to carry the crucifix in one piece. Where the van had stopped, small drops of blood spatter could be seen on the grass. Careful to avoid the area, she placed a flag at the site. The victim had been pulled from the vehicle here and further abused.

Scanning the area carefully as the music played, she followed the blood to the crucifix. Ignoring the cross for now, she focused on the blood, creating a picture in her mind, seeing the dent the cross had made in the grass. The flattened plants and deep grooves in the mud also showed that something heavy had been dragged. Cord and tape had been left at the site and she flagged them as well. For something so elaborate, there seemed little care about leaving evidence. There were four large pools of dark blood soaked into the grass. Insects and flies had already converged on the site and the air was thick with them. The location of the sticky blood showed where nails had been hammered into wrists and ankles. The fourth spot looked like it would come from where she guessed the victim’s head to be.

Finally looking up to the crucifix, Anders saw a sickening sight. The victim had been stripped to his briefs and the nails thrust through his limbs held him tightly to the wooden cross. It looked like it had been crafted from Red Oak and the blood had soaked into it making the wood darker still. His clothes lay in a pile at the bottom, his wallet open and some ID exposed. The victim’s head was lowered, his chin resting on his chest. Careful to avoid the blood and any evidence on the floor around the crucifix, Anders looked closer and saw a wound on his torso that looked like a stab mark. Blood had coursed freely from it and covered his legs, a swarm of buzzing flies laying their eggs on the dried crust. The size of the white, tube like structures, meant that they had done so very recently. The blood also confirmed that the victim had been alive when he had been hung up. 

His eyes had been gouged out by the crows that squawked and danced on the trees nearby, annoyed at the interruption to their meal as the empty sockets of the victim glowered accusingly at Anders.

His lower jaw was a ruinous mess and Anders peered closely to see what looked like thorns protruding from the mouth, savage spikes jutting from the cheeks and lips. She stood back once more and surveyed the space around her, placing every tiny detail in context. The argument at the road looked like it had come to an end and Mal was leading his team across the Common to the crucifixion, a scowl darkening his features. They moved slowly and she took heart from the professional way they walked the scene.

Behind Mal walked two others that she had not yet met. Anders guessed them to be the SOCO’s that he had ordered to meet them there. One looked exceptionally young. He was lanky and walked as if he was all elbows and knees. He had an unruly mop of hair that kept falling in front of his eyes as a gentle breeze tugged at it. The other was a curvaceous woman who looked to be in her late twenties. By contrast, she walked with elegance but there was a palpable sense of restless energy about her as if she never stood still. They both struggled with boxes of kit and laid them out a distance from the scene as Mal drew near. Lucy made the sign of the cross as she stepped to the crucifix. Anders tried not to see the irony in that as she pulled the headphones from her ears and put them away.

“Looks like he was driven here in a van or some large vehicle,” she said as Mal stood next to her and surveyed the area with keen eyes. “Round here you can see a struggle where he was taken from the back of the vehicle, but he was alive and certainly conscious.” Duncan walked the same path as Anders had and nodded his agreement.

“Nailed him to the cross here,” he muttered. “Excessive blood round the head area though.” Anders pointed to the victim’s mouth.

“Gag of thorns,” she said. Barry give a grunt of distaste and peered closely at the spikes that jutted agonisingly from his cheeks.

“Looks like Buckthorn, but we’ll get Helen to check that.”

“Why a gag of thorns and not a crown?” asked Lucy as she crouched down to peer at the ID. “Matthew Peters,” she said, standing up to reach for her phone so that she could get Jesse to run a search on him. Mal shook his head.

“Don’t bother,” he said. “Matthew Peters is a High Court Judge.” He sighed heavily. “As if the press wasn’t going to be all over this anyway.” While he considered his options, the two SOCO’s approached and brief introductions were made.

“Anders, this is Helen, she’s our lead forensics manager and this is Ben. He looks twelve but he’s smarter than all of us put together.” Ben gave a lopsided grin and made a brief stammering sound. Helen patted him on the back affectionately.

“And he’s useless around pretty women. Now, what have we here? Barry, Duncan, be a pair of dears and get the tent set up will you, keep prying eyes away from this poor chap.” She had an infectious energy and a genuine warmth that made her easy to like. Her Yorkshire accent made her seem even friendlier, but Anders saw a no nonsense approach to Helen and enjoyed how quickly Duncan and Barry set to their task. Mal watched them struggle with the tent before assigning duties.

“Lucy, coordinate the CID officers and make sure the cordon is secure. Once you’ve done that, I want a house to house of the whole area. Duncan, you can join them after you’ve set up the tent. Barry, organise the sweep; I want all evidence found and bagged. Get your mic’s out, I want constant communication with Jesse.” He tapped his own earpiece as Anders put hers in and she heard Jesse’s deep voice through the set.

“Reading you loud and clear folks, Abi is with me as well so she can start making a profile. Any tidbits you can pass to me now would be great. I can put it into HOLMES and cross reference any evidence with previous entries, see if we get a match.”

“Doubt it,” muttered Lucy. “Ain’t ever heard of a crucifixion on these lands in a while.” Mal shook his head wearily. There were relatively few murders in Britain and he’d dealt with a great many cases, but this was far beyond what any of them had thought they would encounter. The only one who’d had any real experience with this type of elaborate killing was Anders. He’d only just met her, but could already see that she was someone exceptional. A little distanced maybe, but that was to be expected after what she had gone through and the fact that, three hours into her new job, she was standing on a golf course looking at a scene from the Roman era. He could see the tension between her and Lucy, Duncan as well, but almost pitied them. If Anders’ reputation was anything to go by, they’d better watch out. She looked small and diminutive, but she packed a punch. Deciding to keep them apart for now, he spoke to Anders.

“Help Helen and Ben here. The sooner we can process the evidence, the better. I’ll go and see Matthew Peters’ family and break the news.” He checked his watch and made a quick calculation in his head. “Briefing in Scotland Yard at eighteen hundred hours.” With that, he strode back to the van, removing his coverall as he approached the edge of the Common. Helen turned to Anders with a welcoming smile, instantly putting her at ease. 

“Right then, let’s get to work. I must say, I’m very excited to be working with you. I’ve been reading up on all of your cases! Ben has too.” She turned to Ben, who blushed crimson. Helen winked mischievously at Anders who smiled back. She liked her already.