Realising that the car represented their best possibility, Bridget looked for cameras closer to where the body had been dumped. There were none. Undaunted by the temporary setback, Bridget and Wendy continued to check. Eleven minutes later, the vehicle could be seen at the roundabout of Clifton Villas and Warwick Avenue.
‘That’s the car,’ Wendy said. ‘It’s had time to dump the body.’
‘It’s not a Toyota,’ Bridget said. ‘More likely a Hyundai.’
‘Don’t worry about that. It’s our vehicle. I’m sure of it. Any chance of a registration number?’
A traffic light camera on the junction of Edgware Road and St John’s Wood Road had picked up the number plate four minutes later, although it had taken Bridget another three hours to find it.
‘GK52 YJQ. It’s a blue Hyundai i30,’ Wendy said on the phone to Isaac.
Isaac quickly called Larry who put out an all-points warning for the vehicle. Within fifteen minutes, all police cars within London equipped with automatic number plate recognition cameras were focussed on looking for the Hyundai. The legal owner, a vicar in Maidstone, Kent, where it had been first registered, was soon contacted. ‘In my driveway at home,’ he said when the police phoned his mobile. At a religious retreat in Cornwall, he was surprised when told about his car being in London; shocked when informed that it had probably been involved in a serious crime. Larry did not tell him that it had transported a dismembered body in the boot.
One hour later, the vehicle was pulled over by a police car, the driver was taken into custody, the vehicle sent to Forensics.
After a short period in the cells at a police station in Surbiton to the south of the city, the driver was transferred in handcuffs to Challis Street.
Vicenzo Pinto, a short man wearing a leather jacket, preferred to be called Vince. Isaac read him his rights in the interview room and offered him legal aid and a free lawyer, which he declined. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ he said.
Both Isaac and Larry were confident they had their man, although his mild-mannered appearance and his disarming politeness belied a man capable of mutilating a body.
‘On the night of the twenty-ninth of October at approximately 1.48 a.m. in the morning, you drove up Warwick Crescent in Little Venice,’ Isaac said.
‘Not me, DCI.’ The man who was close to being charged with murder sat on his chair with a broad smile.
‘We have photographic evidence that a blue Hyundai i30, registration GK52 YJQ, did travel along Harrow Road and turn into Warwick Crescent.’
‘I’ve never been to Little Venice. The big one, yes, many times.’
‘This is a serious matter,’ Larry said. ‘The vehicle you were driving had been stolen. Also, subject to Forensics confirming it, the body of a male between the ages of thirty and thirty-nine was in the boot of the car. We have been told that there are traces of blood.’
‘I bought the car,’ Pinto replied.
A knock on the door. Bridget entered. ‘Gordon Windsor is on the phone,’ she said.
Isaac paused the interview and left the room with Larry.
‘Confirmed?’ Isaac asked on the phone.
‘It’s the same blood group. Subject to DNA, I’m almost one hundred per cent sure that you have the right vehicle.’
Isaac and Larry re-entered the interview room.
‘We have confirmation that the vehicle you were apprehended in did transport the dismembered body of an adult male. You do realise what this means?’
‘I didn’t know what it was.’
‘Were you curious?’
‘I had to do it.’
‘Unless you are able to convince us that you did not kill the man or dismember him, then I will be charging you with murder. You do understand what this means?’
‘I understand, but I didn’t kill him.’
‘Then why did you put the body in the canal.’
‘I had to, or else it would have been me.’
‘They would have killed you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you ready to give a written statement?’
‘I need a lawyer.’
‘Legal aid?’
‘I’ve got no money.’
Isaac adjourned the interview for two hours while a lawyer was found. Pinto was returned to the cells. A pizza was delivered to him. His smile had disappeared.
***
Bridget and Wendy were basking in the glory of a personal phone call from Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard to each of them.
‘Good work,’ Isaac said when they walked in.
‘Something else, sir?’ Bridget asked.
‘We need to know the identity of the body.’
‘The man in the cells?’ Wendy asked. ‘Won’t he tell you?’
‘He’s not the killer,’ Isaac said.
‘He may still know who he was.’
‘We need to know the history of the dead man. We know that the spider’s web tattoo on the man’s shoulder was done in prison. The ink was graphite. What we need to know, assuming our man down below doesn’t, is which prison and who he was, as well as known associates.’
‘Any ideas how we should do this, sir?’ Bridget asked.
‘Two suggestions: prisons that maintain a rigid control on smuggling, and amateur tattooists who are locked up.’
‘Why the interest in smuggling?’ Wendy asked.
‘The tattoo is black, which indicates that either the man did not want colour or they were unable to smuggle it in. Check for confiscated special tattoo inks or gel roller pens. It’s a long shot, but prison records are extensive. An amateur tattooist, strictly illegal but probably known by the authorities, would have needed to construct a tattoo pen. Yet again, not difficult, but the parts would need to be sourced.’
Chapter 5
At 2.30 p.m. the interview with Vicenzo Pinto, alias Vince, resumed. Katrina Hatcher, his lawyer, had spent one hour with her client briefing him on his rights. She had also
