“Are you alright, Derek?” Tyler asked when he reached them. The older man was a bit flushed and breathing hard, as though he had just come from the gym, and judging from the girth of his waistline the gym wasn’t somewhere he went very often.
“I’ve been looking all over the building for you, sir,” he said, panting and fanning his face with the sheet of paper. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but another mutilated body has been found just off Commercial Street. The HAT car is on its way there now.”
Jack felt his stomach tighten. Every time the phone had rung over the weekend, he had feared it would be a call to notify him about another murder. When he’d woken up this morning, he had experienced a tremendous sense of relief; somehow, despite Porter doing his level best to push the killer over the edge, they had dodged a bullet – or rather a knife.
Dillon’s shoulders slumped and he let out a pitiful moan. “Oh well,” he said, stoically, “I didn’t really want that coffee and bun you were going to buy me anyway.”
CHAPTER 30
The crime scene was a covered loading bay inside the grounds of a large distribution warehouse located within spitting distance of Commercial Street. The property was surrounded by a nine-foot perimeter wall. Entry was gained via a pair of wrought iron gates that opened inwards. Although the building was alarmed there were no other security features in place.
The body, which had been left between two HGVs, had been discovered at nine o’clock that morning when one of the drivers inspected his rig in accordance with company policy to make sure it had no damage or defects that would stop him from taking it out.
Inspector Speed was the duty officer, and his grim countenance told Jack that this wasn’t going to be pretty.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Jack said, shaking the duty officer’s hand. Dillon and Bull followed suit.
“This is even worse than the last one I attended,” Speed warned. “The FME has been and gone, reckons the body has been there for a couple of days. That fits in with what the manager told me about their opening hours. Apparently, they shut up shop at six o’clock on Friday evening and, as no one works over the weekend, the place was deserted until this morning. The warehouse staff clock on at seven and the first trucks are normally loaded up by eight, but they had a big union meeting this morning to discuss some changes to working conditions that are about to come into force, so they didn’t start loading until nearly nine.”
Jack grunted. That meant the killer would have either taken her late on Friday night or during the early hours of Saturday morning. Biting back his anger, he wondered how Porter would react when he discovered the killer had struck again so soon after his provocative comments were aired on TV. Would he be overcome with guilt? Or would he defend his outburst by claiming the killer would have done this anyway, regardless of what he said? And, to be fair, Jack admitted, maybe the killer would have.
“I don’t suppose there’s any CCTV inside the yard?” Jack asked.
Speed barked out a short, humourless laugh. “Apparently, they’ve been thinking about installing CCTV and motion activated lights because they’re sick of coming into work and finding used condoms strewn all over the loading bay floors, but they haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “I take it that means this place sees a lot of action from the local sex workers?” he asked.
“Seems that way,” Speed said, “but to the best of my knowledge it’s not a location that’s ever been flagged up on our radar.”
“Who found the body?” Dillon asked.
“One of the lorry drivers found her. Poor sod fainted and cracked his head against the side of the truck on his way to the floor. The paramedics have already checked him out and he’s in the main office talking to one of my lads.”
“I’ll get one of our lot to take a statement,” Steve Bull said, and slipped away to organise it.
“How was she killed?” Jack asked.
Speed blew out his breath and shrugged. “I really wouldn’t know where to start with this one,” he said. “Perhaps it’s best I just show you the body so you can see for yourselves.”
That sounded ominous. “Well,” Dillon said unhappily, “I suppose we’d better get on with it, then.”
Speed led them to the edge of the inner cordon, where they donned paper suits, rubber gloves, and overshoes. They were logged in by a bored looking constable, and then Speed walked them over to the two HGVs parked by the furthest loading bay.
“She’s in there,” Speed said, stopping at the front of the first vehicle.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Dillon asked.
Speed shook his head, emphatically. “Once was enough.”
The two detectives swapped surprised glances. Was it really that bad?
Jack cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “We’ll catch up with you afterwards. Lead the way, Dill.”
“After you,” Dillon insisted, waving Tyler forward theatrically.
As they entered the narrow passage formed by the two high bodied HGVs, they saw Sam Calvin standing with his back to them, clad as he always was in his Tyvek protective coveralls. A similarly clad photographer stood slightly in front of the Crime Scene Manager, legs akimbo as he bent over a figure lying motionless on the cold concrete floor. The photographer’s flash went off several times in rapid succession as they approached.
“What’ve we got, Sam?” Jack asked, tapping Calvin on the shoulder.
Calvin turned around. “Hello, Jack. You’re not going to believe what the sick bastard has done this time,” he said, moving to one side so that
