Читать книгу Silent As The Grave - Paul Gitsham - Страница 13

Monday 26th March

Chapter 2

The eight a.m. briefing was full, the room crammed with most of Middlesbury CID’s detectives. Standing next to the projector, Warren stifled a yawn and took a swig of his coffee before calling for quiet. Leaning against the wall, looking similarly worn out, was Tony Sutton. However, standing at the back, fiddling with his Blackberry, Detective Superintendent John Grayson was as shiny and well groomed as always. If past form was anything to go by, he’d probably nip out to the barber and get a quick trim and tidy before the upcoming press conference.

The station’s senior detective had appointed Warren lead investigator as usual—where possible Grayson tried to avoid doing any actual detective work, Warren had soon learned—but he would of course be available to talk to the press at any time, skilfully taking any credit for the team’s successes whilst cannily distancing himself from any failures.

This was largely fine by Warren, who hated being in front of the camera, but at times—usually when he’d had less than three hours’ sleep—it did irritate him that his team’s efforts seemed to be mostly laying the groundwork for his superior’s next promotion and the securement of an increased final salary pension.

Warren clicked the handheld presenter and two photographs appeared on the screen behind him. On the left was a greyish, blue-skinned headshot of the old man from the park, his snow-white shock of hair lying limp and greasy, a couple of days’ stubble covering his chin. The skin had a slightly puffy appearance from the early stages of decomposition, the effect being to smooth out the lines and creases that would otherwise bear witness to this individual human’s story.

On the right was a more vibrant picture of the deceased, taken the previous Christmas. In this image the man’s face was a mass of deep wrinkles and smile lines, his skin tanned the dark bronze that comes from a life spent working outdoors. The picture had been cropped, but it was possible to make out decorations in the background. The big grin and slightly unfocused eyes painted a portrait of a happy man, enjoying the festive season with loved ones.

“Reginald Williamson, aged sixty-eight. Found dead, body concealed under a bush next to his dog, just off a path at sixteen-twenty hours yesterday afternoon by two members of the public walking their dog on the western edge of Middlesbury Common.” Another click revealed an aerial photograph from Google Earth, annotated with the position of the body.

The common was situated on the edge of Middlesbury, abutting a small wooded area that served as a divider between the small market town and the adjacent farmland. Although the land was popular with dog-walkers, joggers and local kids, the area where Williamson had been dumped was in a secluded corner. It was inevitable that the body would be found sooner, rather than later; however, its concealment had probably gained the killer—or killers—at least a couple of days’ head start.

“Preliminary cause of death is a stab wound to the chest. Cause of death for the dog is unknown. Initial analysis points to the victim being attacked on the pavement here—” Warren used the laser pointer to circumscribe an area of pavement on the photograph “—then dragged through tall grass into the edge of the woods and dumped out of sight under this bush.”

Warren cycled through a series of photos of the crime scene, highlighting the bloody trail and the body’s final resting place. “The victim’s pockets were empty, suggesting robbery as a possible motive. A leather wallet with his fingerprints and cards but no cash, was found in a litter bin about eighty metres from the dumping spot. However, forensics have been unable to identify any other prints.”

Warren paused. “It’s early days, but something doesn’t feel quite right. Our victim lived alone since his wife died three years ago yet we found no house or car keys on him. His niece, who reported him missing, went around to the house Sunday morning and found it locked. His car was still there, so the robbers didn’t steal it. She went in to the house and said that nothing was obviously missing.

“His mobile phone is also unaccounted for. His provider shows that the handset went dark at about twenty-thirty hours Thursday evening, although we don’t have any other data from them yet. Either it’s been destroyed or the battery was removed. His niece says it wasn’t worth stealing though. It was an old Nokia brick that he’d owned for ever.”

Detective Sergeant Hutchinson raised a hand at the back. “Does that tie in with the time of death?”

“We don’t know yet. The PM is scheduled for this afternoon. They’ll try and get an accurate time for us; at the moment we’re operating on a time frame of about forty-eight hours. What we do know is that nobody had seen him since about eleven p.m. Wednesday night when he left his local—the Merchants’ Arms. Apparently he was in the habit of taking his dog for a long walk most evenings, often up the common, then stopping in for a nightcap.

“Regulars didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t come in for his evening pint on the Thursday, but when he didn’t show on Friday or Saturday either, a couple called his mobile but were diverted straight to voicemail. One of them bumped into his niece Sunday morning and mentioned it, so she took the spare key she keeps for emergencies and went around to see if he was all right. There were pints of milk on the doorstep and Friday’s newspapers stuck in the letter box. That’s when she started to worry and reported him missing.”

Warren looked around the room. “I want you to all keep an open mind. Don’t just assume it was a random mugging gone wrong—start canvassing his friends, family, neighbours. Let’s see if he had any unusual visitors or mentioned anything that was worrying him. Dig into his background and look at his lifestyle.

“Meanwhile, let’s see if we can scare up any witnesses. It’s been a pleasant few days. There were bound to have been a few folks in and around the park in the hours before and after the murder. Did they see anyone or anything suspicious?”

As the meeting broke up Warren crossed over to Tony Sutton, who made a sour face, before commenting.

“It sounds as though your gut’s asking the same thing mine is. ‘Why would someone kill a retired gardener in a public place, then conceal the body and try to make it look like a mugging gone wrong?’”