What a world we live in, he thought. The sooner he retired from his London practice and got away from this dreadful carnage, the better it would be.
“Your boys are gonna have their hands full with this one, I don’t envy you,” Speed said, as he and Murray walked back towards the site entrance.
“Thankfully my team won’t be keeping this. The bosses are probably arguing over who gets it as we speak,” Murray said.
At that point they noticed young Grier escorting a middle-aged man of medium height and build towards them. Grier looked distinctly nervous. He was clearly uncomfortable in the older man’s presence.
The man, whose wavy fair hair was thinning on top, was a power dresser. His tailored grey suit, red braces, and gleaming Oxfords were very Gordon Gekko. Speed didn’t recognise the man but he certainly recognised the type. Even before being told, he knew that this man was top brass. Well, well, well, Ray thought. I guess bad news travels fast.
He noticed a subtle change in Murray’s demeanour as the senior officer approached. The detective had obviously recognised the newcomer. “Speak of the devil, that’s DCS Holland, the head honcho at AMIP,” he whispered to Speed. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Speed was pretty sure he knew what Holland was doing here. A working girl had just been spectacularly butchered in Whitechapel, and the killer had left a gloating message for the police. Holland was here to make sure the organisation was fireproof before the media got wind of what had happened.
“Good morning sir,” he said, accepting the hand that was offered. “I’m Inspector Ray Speed, the early turn Duty Officer.” While speaking, Speed discretely nodded to Grier, letting him know that everything was okay, that he could go back outside.
“Inspector Speed, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Detective Chief Superintendent Holland from the Area Major Investigation Pool.” The man held up his warrant card for inspection before continuing. “I’ve asked for the In-Frame team to be notified and I expect them to arrive shortly. Until then, no one is to touch anything inside the scene.” Putting an arm around Speed, he steered him a few steps away from Murray. “Who on your team, apart from you, has seen the message on the Portakabin?” he asked.
“No one. The CSM and the crew of the HAT car didn’t want anyone near the body or the porta-cabin while the evidence recovery is ongoing.”
“Well, I’d like to see it for myself, if you don’t mind. I’ll clear it with the CSM first, of course.”
CHAPTER 5
Jack Tyler was cocooned in a deep sleep when his bedside telephone rang. The harsh noise distorted the fabric of his dream; spreading outward, like the ripples from a stone that’s been cast into the still waters of a pond. He instinctively rolled over and rammed his head under the pillow, but not in time to prevent the beautiful woman entwined in his arms, and the golden Caribbean beach on which they frolicked, from turning to dust and blowing away.
Ring-Ring.
Jack’s eyes flickered open, and he cursed the telephone for dragging him away before he had even stolen a kiss.
Ring-Ring.
Bollocks! Tyler angrily threw the pillow onto the floor and sat up. He looked at his watch through bleary, half open, eyes. What was the world coming to when you couldn’t even enjoy a dream in peace?
Christ! It was only seven o’clock! “This had better be good,” he growled, reaching unsteadily for the phone.“Hello?” he snapped, his abrupt tone reflecting his mood.
“Detective Chief Inspector Tyler?” a voice at the other end of the line inquired after a moment’s hesitation.
“Speaking.” Tyler immediately recognised the caller’s voice. It was Derek Peterson, George Holland’s Staff Officer at AMIP.
As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he experienced that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. In his line of business, things were generally bad when the office tried to contact you at home, and always worse when they succeeded.
“It’s DS Peterson, sir.” Peterson was a crusty old detective on the brink of retirement.
“What is it Derek?” he asked without enthusiasm.
Peterson briefed Tyler on the day’s gruesome discovery and explained that AMIP was taking on the investigation with immediate effect.
“What’s that got to do with me, Derek?” Tyler pointed out irritably. “My team’s not in the frame, DCI Quinlan’s is.”
“Sorry sir, Mr Quinlan’s team picked up a job in Hackney a few hours ago – two winos fell out over a can of Tennent’s Super, so one killed the other and tried to hide his body in a wheelie bin.Luckily, the old biddy that lived opposite saw the whole thing and called it in. Locals got there just as chummy was trying to force the bid lid down on his dead mate’s head. As your lot are second in the frame Mr Holland said to call you.” Sensing Tyler’s displeasure at not having been informed the moment his team moved into the frame, Peterson hurriedly explained that he hadn’t put Jack on notice sooner because the chances of anything else happening overnight were so slim. “I was going to call you bang on seven,” he assured Tyler.
“I see,” Jack sighed, knowing that Peterson had meant well. As angry as he was, there was nothing to be gained by biting Peterson’s head off.
Then Peterson surprised him by saying that DCS Holland was attending the scene himself, going directly from his home in Epping. Something didn’t add up. Why would Holland attend a scene in person? Against his will, Jack felt his interest piqued.
“As per the instructions on the call-out sheet,I’ve already contacted DI Dillon, sir. He told me to tell you that he’d send out the group pager message. He should be with you in about twenty minutes.”
Tyler thanked DS Peterson and replaced the receiver. Cursing under his breath, he made his way into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Jack detested early starts; always had, always would. The fact that
