32
The car park had a strong police presence trying to keep an agitated mob of workers calm whilst trying to get any useful information from them. Workers, who had just finished a ten or twelve hour shift, were being told that they couldn’t get to their vehicle due to a serious crime that had taken place.
There was not one useful statement given by any of the group.
The deceased had been dead for well over an hour before he was finally found. Almost half of the cars in the car park at the time of the murder had been driven away by their owners, without so much as a glance at Charlie’s vehicle of death.
The woman who found him, a financial controller for a different company in the same building, only saw him as she was climbing into her car, parked next to his, and noticed the splatters of blood on her passenger side window. She went to inspect the mess and found more than she’d bargained for. Screaming, she’d run back up to the reception desk and that’s when the police were called.
Summers stood a few feet from the car, as forensics, inch by inch, looked for fingerprints, fibres, hair, different types of blood and DNA, anything that could help pinpoint the killer.
‘Boss,’ called Kite.
Summers turned to see him approaching, a glum look on his face.
‘Give me some good news, Kite,’ said Summers.
‘No can do, boss,’ he replied. ‘Some disagreement between the firms who work here, and the management company, means that the CCTV was neither repaired nor upgraded after a problem with the system…’ he checked his notes, ‘last autumn.’
‘For fuck’s sake!’ spat Summers.
That was the first time Kite had heard his boss speak with such venom, he liked it.
‘I’ve got a full list of employees, past and present. Apparently he was a bit of a player, so no girlfriend as such, although there are a couple of bars and strip clubs he frequented,’ said Kite. ‘The secretary is going to email me a report which will show us who was at the victim’s office today, and if they were on the phone or logged onto their terminals around the time of death.’
One of the forensic team approached and told them that they were finished.
‘We’ve got a few samples of blood to test, also a hair that looked out of place. Fingerprints were collected for examination, but the number of people who could have already been in the car, or touched it, really means that the prints are not going to be the key to solving this one,’ he said. ‘We’ll push through the blood and the hair as a priority and take it from there. Get your boys to bring the vehicle to us and we’ll take a deeper look inside if necessary, but I’m not hopeful we’ll find anything more. You can go ahead and get stuck in now.’
And with that, the forensic team made their exit, finally allowing Summers and Kite to get close to the crime scene. Within an instant, The Phantom was the number one suspect for both Summers and her new protégé.
Charlie’s corpse had lost a considerable amount of blood, his face and hands were now very pale and his open eyes were lifeless.
Summers took in the sight before her.
It was clear that the murder weapon was a sharp object, likely a knife, used to stab the victim repeatedly until he was dead or very close to dying, certainly there wasn’t much fight left in the victim when his murderer stopped attacking him.
The stab wounds were grouped around the face, neck and body of the victim, as was The Phantom’s typical modus operandi, although, the attack would seem to have taken place through the window of the car, meaning wounds to the lower parts of the victim’s body were less likely. This should be taken into account.
Kite and Summers had a look around and under the car, with the small hope that the murderer had amateurishly discarded his weapon before fleeing. This proved a fruitless waste of time. They approached each other and Kite summed up the situation.
‘No weapon, no CCTV, no witnesses, style of the murder would indicate our guy to be the primary suspect,’ he said.
Summers nodded, commending his brevity, but asked why The Phantom would be here in this car park for the killing. Was it not random this time?
‘Let’s hope forensics pull a rabbit out of the hat,’ she said.
‘Or a hair?’ joked Kite.
A small smile from Summers let him know that he got away with a bad joke in a sad moment, as two journalists walked around the corner but were blocked by some uniformed officers. Summers saw them and indicated to Kite that it was time to go, so they climbed into his car, reversed to the far end of the car park, and pulled out of the exit.
‘How were you getting on with the census details?’ Summers asked.
‘In fact,’ he replied, ‘the ONS were more helpful than I thought they would be. They’ve got a pretty organised system up there. With any luck, we should have a list of names and address’ when we get back to the station.’
Summers gave a small sigh of relief. Even when all you’ve got is a long shot, it’s better than nothing, and for once they’d a few things to go on. The list from the ONS should have a number of names that fit the profile of the killer, and live in the right part of town.
Also, the employees of the recently deceased Charlie Peacock meant a new line of enquiries had arisen, and if this was The Phantom, something had changed, he was working out of his comfort zone, this meant he was more likely to mess up.
And then there was the hair that ‘looked out of place,’ what did that mean? She kicked herself for not pushing for an explanation at the time, but trusted forensics to pass along any valuable information as and when it arrived.
They headed back to the station to set out a plan of action.
33
Ben and Natalie sat on the sofa.
The sofa had been the first thing that they’d bought together, a joint decision they’d made within days of her moving into his home, in an effort to make the place more suitable for both of them, instead of the bachelor pad that it was before she arrived.
Slowly, over the years, she had put her distinct feminine touch on most of the rooms of the house, using Ben’s money of course, but he didn’t mind. It kept her happy and occupied, which was easier than living with a woman who was unhappy and bored.
Ben held the pregnancy test in his hands, twiddling it round, not knowing that this piece of equipment had, months ago, been placed in the path of another woman’s urine, none other than the wife of his disloyal friend, David.
He couldn’t believe how complicated his life had become in less than forty-eight hours. What was he to do now? Just this afternoon, he had resigned himself to the fact that he was born to be a murderer, to follow in the footsteps of his father. But now there was a further complication, a baby.
He had always wanted to be a father, he knew that. He recognised the special bond that he and his father had always had between them, and believed that that was what life was about. He truly hoped that having a son, or a daughter, would make his life complete; that it would fill the void that he often felt in his life.
It wasn’t the job that would sometimes get him down, although he knew that some of the business that he had done was not always as ethical as he would have liked. It wasn’t even the fact that Natalie could be a difficult bitch when she didn’t get her own way. He just wanted a family, to replicate his father’s greatest achievement, a happy home.
Yet now he knew, everything he had once thought he understood about his father, his home, his family, was false.
So how important was a baby?
Natalie had put on a great show, tears, screaming, pleading, and Ben had fallen hook, line and sinker for it all.
He believed her when she said she had been with David just three times. She said three times because once or twice wouldn’t have been believable. In truth, she had met David over twenty times.