“So, we do what we're good at, Jack. We go out on the streets and crack a few heads together until we get a lead. And who cares if we don’t know the rules to his game. We make our own rules, remember?”
As the two detectives climbed back into the dark green Omega, Steve Bull glanced expectantly from one to the other. “How bad was it?” he asked.
“As bad as it gets, Steve,” Tyler answered.
Shouting from across the street interrupted their conversation, and Tyler glanced out of his window to see young Constable Grier gesturing angrily at a beat-up van whose driver had stopped to gawk at the scene. He wondered why people had such a morbid fascination for death and gore. A large cloud of grey smoke spewed out of the van’s blowing exhaust as it drove off noisily.
When it had quietened down outside, Tyler gave Bull the full rundown on what they had discovered at the murder scene. Steve was shocked. As Case Officer, he had been itching to go inside with them. Now, having heard the gory details, he was glad he’d remained with the car.
“Where to now, boss?” he asked, keying the ignition.
“Whitechapel nick, please Steve,” Tyler Instructed. “We’ve got a lot to do.” At this rate, he wasn’t sure that he would make his mother’s birthday dinner this evening after all. “What a day,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.
◆◆◆
As the Omega pulled into the cluttered rear yard at Whitechapel, Steve Bull spotted six murder squad colleagues waiting for them by the entrance to the custody suite. “Looks like the cavalry’s already here,” he grinned, pulling up next to them.
A few minutes later, Jack Tyler and his staff were shown into an open plan office by the Station Reception Officer. “You can use this room all day, sir,” she said. “It doesn’t officially become operational until next week.”
Jack smiled his thanks. Everything in the room looked brand new; from the dark blue heavy-duty carpets to the four rows of rectangular beech desks that ran along the left-hand wall; from the high-backed chairs, still neatly wrapped in the manufacturer’s cellophane, to the shiny silver filing cabinets. Even the walls were newly plastered and freshly painted.
There were no grubby handprints or scuff marks from dirty shoes, no ugly gouges where people carrying heavy items or awkwardly shaped exhibits had dented the walls as they rushed down to the custody suite or out to the lab.
On the downside, because it was so new the room was completely devoid of all the clutter that gave it personality; there were no photographs of loved ones; no pin-up posters, not even the odd jokey cartoon or topless calendar.
But that would all soon change; nothing was policeman proof and within a couple of months the desks would be overflowing with case files and riddled with etchings and doodles, the walls would be dented and dirty; the velvety smooth swivel chairs would have squeaking casters and dodgy backs; the carpet would be covered in coffee stains and the incessant scatterings of little white dots that spill from leaky hole punches and make a cleaner’s life hell.
“Pull up a chair and make sure you’ve got something to write on, and we’ll start the briefing,” Dillon told the six newcomers.
“Wait,” Tyler said, signalling for his team to hold fire. “Before we get started can someone please organise some teas and coffees?”
◆◆◆
Exactly fifteen minutes later, after Bull had managed to scrounge some hot drinks from the canteen, Tyler started the briefing. It was pretty basic because the information they had was so scant, but it was enough to get the wheels rolling.
With only six people available, Tyler had to prioritise the taskings. DC Kelly Flowers, the dedicated Family Liaison Officer for this investigation, was told to contact the CAD room and find out how the call-on had gone in South London. If the victim was confirmed as the Phillips girl she was to get straight over there, update the family regarding what had happened and how the investigation would be carried out, and to obtain as much background information about the victim as she could.
DC George Copeland, the exhibits officer, was dispatched to the scene to liaise with Sam Calvin.
The house-to-house enquiries would have to wait until he had more staff at his disposal.
DC Paul Evans was told to get his arse straight over to the local authority base and establish what CCTV coverage the borough had in the vicinity of the scene. He wanted last night’s footage from any camera covering the scene, and any that covered the various approach and exit routes, downloaded and viewed immediately.
That left three detectives: DCs Colin Franklin, Reg Parker, and Richard Jarvis.
He dispatched these to Commercial Street with specific instructions to look for any hookers, pimps, dealers and homeless types still floating about, and to see if any of them could shed some light on the victim’s last movements. He also wanted to know if any of the working girls could tell them who her friends and associates were and if she had any regular punters who might be weird enough to do something like this. They could say that a working girl had been found dead in suspicious circumstances, but they were not to reveal the nature of her death or the extent of her injuries. As soon as the local Safer Neighbourhood officers and anyone from the division’s small vice team came on duty, Jack promised he would get them to make contact and join up with his own people.
Bull went down to the briefing room, where he gathered up the early turn officers who were arriving back at the station in dribs and drabs. When he finally had them all assembled he commenced the hot debrief. That
