No Smoke Without Fire (A DCI Warren Jones Novel - Book 2) (18 page)

Warren nodded, sheepishly.

“You are so gross. I hope you have indigestion.”

* * *

CID was buzzing when Warren arrived at seven-thirty. The first order of the day was to confirm the identity of the victim. A photograph of the young woman was displayed on the far wall. He called the team into the briefing room.

“What have we got?” he asked a tired-looking DS Khan, who was due to go off shift.

“Nothing yet. We’re going through the missing persons database as we speak. She certainly hasn’t been reported missing locally or recently. We managed to get at least a couple of clear fingerprints off her body, but she isn’t coming up on the computer, so she hasn’t been convicted of anything.”

“Any other ID?”

“No, she was travelling light. From the way she was dressed we think that she had probably been to the gym or an exercise class. She had no wallet on her, just a few pounds in her coat pocket and some house keys. She wasn’t carrying a phone — or if she was it was taken by her attacker. Her iPod has no user information on it, not even an iTunes account. We found no bag with her. Unfortunately, her clothes are pretty much off the peg, nothing unusual.”

“Sounds as if it’s going to be dental records, then. When is the PM scheduled?”

“Mid-afternoon. We should have her ID by late tomorrow.”

Warren sighed. “That’s a long wait. The sooner we identify who she is, the sooner we can start investigating properly. Let’s see what else we can use to identify her.”

“If she’d been to the gym, she might have had a bag, you know, with a towel and that. We should see what’s been handed in. We might get lucky and find her wallet.”

“Good idea, Mo, but that assumes that she went to a sports centre. If she just went out for a jog, she might only have needed her house keys, iPod and perhaps a few quid for a drink afterwards.”

Warren paused thoughtfully. “I wonder if Forensics could tell us whether she had been running or exercising in a gym? They might be able to tell from the scuffs on her shoes. We should also ask the coroner to check if she had showered recently or not. That might tell us if we are looking for a bag.”

“We could start showing her photograph around local gyms, see if anyone recognises her,” suggested Gary Hastings helpfully. Tony Sutton, who had just appeared, still dressed in his thick overcoat, shook his head firmly.

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves. First of all we don’t know that she went to a gym, second, do you know how many gyms or similar venues there are in Middlesbury?”

Visibly chastened, Hastings shook his head.

“Me neither, but I’ll bet it’s a lot. And that assumes she was local. She could have been snatched off the street in Cambridge or Hertford, or anywhere in between.” Looking at the young officer’s crestfallen face, Sutton tried to repair the damage to his self-esteem. “It’s a good idea though — we just need to whittle down the range of places first.”

“Where does this leave the Sally Evans murder? Are they connected, do you think, sir?” asked Karen Hardwick.

Warren sucked his teeth; the reluctance to commit was clear on his face.

“It’s too early to say. We can’t overlook the similarities so far and the timing; it’s too coincidental to ignore. On the other hand we can’t risk getting carried away with looking for a link where none exists. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes coincidences do happen.”

Clearly nobody was buying that theory.

“I think we’ll treat them as two different murders for the next twenty-four hours or so, at least until the second victim is identified, then we’ll revisit the issue. In the meantime, we should start looking for any potential overlap between the two victims. If they are linked, then there may be clues to the killer’s identity.”

With that, the team broke up. Karen Hardwick turned to Gary Hastings. “It’s scary to think that if they are linked there’s somebody killing young women out there, perhaps for no reason. I never thought when I joined CID we’d be hunting a serial killer.”

Before Hastings could respond Sutton, who’d overheard Karen’s comment, interjected, “He’s not a serial killer. Officially you need three separate murders to qualify as a serial killer.” He paused. “It’s our job to make sure he never gets that label.”

Chapter 24

During the course of the day, progress was slow but steady. At Warren’s request, the forensic team studying the unknown victim’s clothing had focused on her shoes. An early report landed on Warren’s desk by late morning, which he immediately shared with the rest of the team.

“Women’s size six Nike. Mid-range, all-purpose, luckily for us, relatively new. They won’t commit themselves either way, of course, but the scuffing pattern and absence of deeply embedded stones suggest that, although the trainers have been worn outside, the owner hadn’t done significant outside running. The inside lining of the shoe is worn, so it’s unlikely that the lack of scuffing is due to lack of use.”

“Which suggests that she may have been returning from a gym session rather than a jog,” interjected Sutton. Warren inclined his head in a cautious acknowledgement.

Just after midday, a phone call from Welwyn all but confirmed this theory and reduced the likelihood that they would find the young woman’s bag discarded somewhere. The force’s master locksmith had examined the keys on the victim’s key ring. Two of the keys were obviously house keys — a standard Yale and a 5-lever mortice Chubb. Both of them were off-the-shelf generic locks and no records existed to link the keys to a specific property.

The third key was more illuminating, however. What Warren had at first assumed was a window or back-door key was in fact a locker key. There was no label or key ring to help identify the keys if stolen — or even the locker number. However, Warren knew that many people would remove any such identifier, reasoning that the last thing you wanted was for somebody who’d stolen your keys to know which house, or indeed locker, they unlocked…

Nevertheless, it was enough to start on and since Gary Hastings had all but suggested the idea, Warren assigned him to ring around the different sports centres in the area to find out which gyms offered locker facilities to paying members.

* * *

Shortly after lunch, Det Supt Grayson made an appearance. Warren spent the next half an hour taking his superior through the case’s progress so far.

“We need to issue a press release. Reporters are already sniffing around. We have to give them something before they start appealing for witnesses and muddying the waters with half-baked theories and questionable facts. Do you think we should use it to ask for the public’s help in identifying the body?”

Warren had been thinking about this himself and recommended against it. “Give us another twenty-four hours to try and work out who she is otherwise we’ll put the wind up every parent whose daughter’s forgotten to charge her mobile phone. The public are on edge after Sally Evans as it is. I suspect the switchboard will receive dozens of calls regardless, but ‘blonde, average build, late twenties’ is too vague to keep the numbers down.”

Grayson tapped his teeth with an expensive-looking pen as he mulled over Warren’s proposal. “OK, Warren, we’ll play it your way. We’ll just release the barest of details for now in a written statement, no questions, but if you haven’t identified her by tomorrow evening, we’ll put a photo out and ask for help.”

Warren repressed a sigh; he hadn’t missed his boss’ not so subtle use of phrases such as ‘
your
way’ and if ‘
you
haven’t identified her’. As usual, responsibility was being laid on Warren’s shoulders in case of failure — no doubt any successes would be a team effort, with Grayson poised to reap any praise from his peers in Welwyn.

Pushing those thoughts to one side, Warren made his excuses and left.

* * *

By late afternoon, the autopsy was complete on the unidentified young woman and Professor Ryan Jordan offered to run the results over to Middlesbury. Warren was glad that the American was on duty and would have requested him if he weren’t; if the two murders were linked then he hoped that by using the same pathologist any similarities, no matter how small, would be noticed.

This time, Warren invited Tony Sutton in for the consultation.

“First of all, let me stick my head on the chopping block and say that I am pretty sure it’s the same killer.”

Warren let out a breath that he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His first emotion was one of relief — with only one killer to look for and two different crime scenes to process, he felt that the chances of finding this killer and bringing him to justice were much increased. Two crime scenes meant two opportunities for the killer to leave evidence — two opportunities to make that crucial mistake that Warren and his team could exploit.

Warren’s second emotion was one of sudden, renewed pressure. It was as if a clock had started ticking in his head. Two murders, less than a week apart, spoke of a cold, calculating killer; not some slave to a crime of passion. Even more worrying was the thought that he might strike again. Had he acquired a taste for it now? Did he have a list of victims? Would he end when he reached some goal or was he going to keep on going until he was stopped?

The pathologist had opened his file and was reading from it, Warren and Tony following the narrative on colour photocopies.

“Victim is a white Caucasian female, mid to late twenties, with blonde, shoulder-length hair, no distinguishing scars or body decorations. She has a full set of adult teeth, plus two wisdom teeth which we’ve X-rayed for dental analysis. She was one hundred and sixty-four centimetres tall and about sixty-two kilogrammes. She is of a medium-slim build with slightly above average musculature suggesting that she works out regularly.” He looked up at the two officers. “I know it’s a bit premature to draw conclusions from just two cases, but, given that their physical differences in body type would be largely concealed by loose clothing, you could argue that both this victim and Sally Evans conformed to a ‘type’. Perhaps an indication of the killer’s sexual preferences or somebody that he is angry with?”

Warren nodded thoughtfully. He’d noticed the similarity himself, but it was good to have it confirmed by somebody else. Having the same pathologist examine both bodies was the right call, he decided.

“Overall, the victim’s health was good. Clean lungs, normal-sized heart and no apparent abnormalities in any other organs. Cause of death was likely strangulation. Ligature marks on her throat were consistent with her scarf being used. Petechiae — ruptured blood vessels — on the whites of her eyes from increased inter-ocular blood pressure confirm this. They also confirm that she was still alive when strangled. We’ll have to wait for toxicology results to confirm, but I smelt a faint chemical smell suggesting that she may have been anaesthetised with solvent.”

“Just like Sally Evans,” muttered Sutton uncomfortably.

“When did she die?”

Jordan removed his glasses and sighed. “Difficult to say with any certainty. Her body had cooled close to ambient temperature, but in those conditions that means little. We performed an intra-ocular potassium measurement, and within the margins for error I would suggest a minimum of thirty-six hours. However limited decomposition had set in and she hadn’t been very disturbed by local wildlife. If it helps, her stomach contents revealed chocolate cake and white wine, probably consumed within an hour of death. There were also some traces of pasta and sauce, probably eaten about four to six hours before death. She was also freshly showered and wearing clean underwear and a fresh T-shirt. It didn’t look as if she had worked up a sweat whilst wearing them.”

“That suggests she was killed two evenings ago,” stated Sutton.

“Why not yesterday morning?” Warren suggested, for the most part playing devil’s advocate. “Thirty-six hours would be early to mid-morning. Plenty of people go to the gym before work.”

“Yeah, but they don’t usually reward themselves with chocolate cake and white wine mid-morning and do their workout after a five a.m. breakfast of spag bol.”

“You’re probably right, but let’s try and keep an open mind at this stage.”

Jordan cleared his throat slightly. “Can I also suggest that late night in the dark would make it easier for the killer to take his victim than in broad daylight? Unless he picked her up somewhere very secluded or followed her home, we can probably assume that he wanted to subdue her with the minimum of fuss — hence the solvent. And she did put up a struggle.”

“Oh, what else have you found out, Professor?” Warren’s interest immediately piqued; perhaps the young woman had made a noise and alerted witnesses.

Rifling through the sheaf of photographs, Jordan picked out one of her right hand. The fist was visibly swollen, with reddened knuckles, even against the pallor of her skin.

“Whatever she hit, it was solid and she hit it damned hard — I X-rayed the fist and she’s broken two of the small bones in the hand. If I had to speculate, assuming that she wasn’t in the habit of punching walls, she gave her attacker a bloody good right-cross to the jaw.”

“Good for you, girl,” breathed Sutton. Everyone nodded respectfully.

“So our suspect may well have a bruised jaw? I suppose it’s a bit much to hope for some trace evidence?”

The pathologist shook his head, apologetically. “Sorry. Nothing on her knuckles. She’d have been better off punching him on the nose — it makes his eyes water, doesn’t break your fist and if you’re lucky the bastard bleeds his DNA all over you.”

“What about the rest of the autopsy — any other marks?”

“Her other fist was slightly reddened as if she had been hitting something with that also, but there was no damage. It’s possible she was working out on the punchbag, wearing light mitts. She has pretty well-toned biceps and triceps, which would be consistent with someone who did bag work — and might explain her instinctive reaction to hit her attacker.

“More significant, though, is a bruise beneath her sternum. It’s broadly fist-shaped and probably about as old as the broken hand. She was slim and toned, but she didn’t have hard abdominals. I’ll bet the punch left her completely breathless.”