One advantage of the rain was that Hyde Park would have fewer tourists, although one or two joggers would be winding their way through, determined that without their early-morning hit they’d never get through the day. However, any remaining evidence at the murder scene would no longer be available. He pitied the two uniforms still at the site.
In the office, the team were there. Even though they had all been in the office five hours previously, the early-morning meeting was a rule that Isaac rarely broke during an investigation.
In the small kitchenette, Bridget had prepared tea for everyone, even bringing a homemade cake with her.
In his office, Isaac, after the customary ‘thanks for coming’, led off. He had a mug of tea in his hand, no sugar, although Larry had two spoons, and Bridget and Wendy had sweeteners, the two of them attempting to lose weight for their upcoming week in the South of France, the hope of finding love or lust, joking mainly about the unlikeliness of either.
‘We need to know who this person is,’ Isaac said as he took a sip of tea.
‘I’ll focus on the clothing, Inspector Hill can focus on the SIM card,’ Wendy said.
‘Also, the iPhone. Bridget’s running it through the system for me, although without it switched on, we’ve not much to go on,’ Larry Hill said.
‘Needle in a haystack if it was purchased overseas or on eBay.’
‘Worth a shot,’ Isaac said, glancing over at Larry who wasn’t looking the best. He would have to have that talk soon with him.
‘The SIM’s a better chance. Although the serial number may not help much. Detective Chief Superintendent Goddard, we can expect his dulcet tones in here soon?’
‘Sometime today. The media attention will ensure his becoming involved,’ Isaac said.
A short meeting, it was still too early to start making phone calls, knocking on doors. Bridget went back to her computer. Larry researched how easy it was to get hold of a SIM card for a mobile; remarkably easy, as it turned out that few checks were conducted.
Wendy busied herself with checking the suppliers of the clothes and the shoes the dead man had been wearing. She soon realised that there were more than she could ever door knock or phone, and if they were counterfeit, brought from a shady seller down a dark lane and off the back of a truck, then they would be impossible to trace. According to Forensics, the fabric in the shorts the man had been wearing indicated that they were genuine, although they couldn’t be sure with the shirt. The shoes seemed genuine as well.
The dead man was either a saint or a rogue, or possibly somewhere in between, but no one had reported him missing. Not a concern in itself, as it was only twenty-four hours since he had died. Missing Persons would contact Homicide if anything came in. Bridget had scanned their website, sad to see so many people there with no names, other than John or Jane Doe: washed up on the shore, three months floating around in the sea, dead under a bridge, some in their teens, others old and unwanted. People who had loved or been loved, now forgotten.
And now one more to add to the list, a man in the Serpentine, but Wendy was sure the day would reveal his identity. After all, he had been carrying a late-model phone, he had been dressed appropriately for jogging, he was not a tramp or a refugee. He must have money and loved ones somewhere. Wendy realised that that was the soft-hearted side of her, the side that looked for the best in people and circumstances. The man could have been a savage killer, an abuser of children, a villain, but until that was known, she would only think the best of the man who was lying on a metal table waiting for the pathologist to conclude his autopsy and to update the team.
Wendy scrolled down the list of clothing that had been provided by the crime scene investigators.
Shoes. Nike Air Zoom Pegasus 35 Shield – Black – Size 10.
Shorts. Nike Challenger – Black – Medium.
Nike Dri-FIT Medallist – Short-sleeve – Black – Medium.
All of it one brand, which indicated that a Nike shop or a section in a department store might be able to supply the details, assuming a credit card was used. Cash was unlikely. Who carried cash these days, Wendy thought, although she still preferred money in her wallet, not fully trusting the card to work when she wanted it to, not always sure if there were sufficient funds in the bank account to cover whatever she purchased.
Larry sat at his desk, realising that the iPhone would not be of much use unless it was powered up. The phone was with Forensics, drying out. No attempt would be made to switch it on until the process had completed.
‘You’ll fry what little’s left of it if you try,’ the smart and eager young man in the white lab coat had said when Larry had stuck his nose around the door the night before. Forensics wasn’t too keen on working on a Sunday, the same as everyone else, but for a murder the person on standby duties had been brought in.
Larry looked at his watch. 7.20 a.m. He’d give it another ten minutes, and he’d be over to Forensics, no doubt making a nuisance of himself, hopeful of a result.
Chapter 3
‘It’ll cost you a pint,’ Jerry Blaxland said. He had arrived at the Forensics lab at eight in the morning, expecting to have a chance to grab a cup of coffee and check his emails. It wasn’t to be as Larry had arrived ten minutes earlier.
Blaxland, a man in his
