Watts took a second look inside the car. One of the paramedics was shining a small, intense light on to the female’s face. Watts’ eyes drifted over it. She looked bad. He started at the paramedic’s sudden, insistent voice.
‘Hello? Molly Lawrence? Molly, can you speak? Can you move your hand?’
No response.
On the driver’s side of the car, his colleague straightened. ‘This one has to come out. He needs to go. Now.’
Watts looked from one to the other. ‘Give me the general picture.’
‘Not yet established but the driver looks like he’s sustained a serious head injury. We could use some help here.’
Watts raised his hand to Jones and Kumar who came at full speed and helped to bring stretchers from the ambulance to the car. The unconscious male was carefully lifted on to one and moved quickly to the ambulance. In the light pooling from the ambulance’s headlamps, Watts was staring at the vacated driver’s seat, the leather slick and wet, more wetness pooled on the seat. His attention moved to the female being brought out of the car. He looked down at her. Her hair fell away from her face as she was laid on a stretcher, her skin pallid, clammy looking. He looked at her hands, coated with thick, congealing matter. A blanket appeared and was placed around her. He watched as she was taken to the ambulance. Its doors secured, it moved away, lights flashing. He pulled out his phone, rang headquarters.
‘I’m at Forge Street. Can you confirm that forensics are on their way?’ He glanced at his two officers. ‘Yeah, we’ll secure it till then.’ He cut the call. ‘They’ll be a few more minutes getting here.’
‘What do you think, Sarge?’ asked Jones.
‘Possibly a carjacking which turned really bad, unless we learn otherwise.’ He headed for his vehicle, got inside, rang the emergency services and asked to be put through to the ambulance call-takers.
‘This is DI Watts, headquarters, Rose Road. I’m at an incident I responded to forty-five minutes ago at Forge Street in the inner city. One of the victims, a female, made an emergency call.’ He picked up the rapid click-clack of computer keys followed by the call-taker’s voice as she read details from a screen. Watts nodded. ‘That’s the one. The two victims are now on their way to hospital. Tell me about her call.’
‘According to what I’m reading, she was in a really bad situation. Unable to give specific details as to her exact location, which was identified via her mobile service provider, along with her name: Molly Lawrence.’
‘You’ve got a recording of the conversation.’
‘As always.’
‘Send it to me at headquarters as a matter of urgency. Mark it for DI Watts’ attention. Thanks.’
Tuesday 4 December. 2.45 a.m.
The crime scene and surrounding area was flooded with intense white light which was doing nothing to improve the look of it. Watts headed to two SOCOs suiting up beside their van. ‘What do you know about what’s occurred here?’
‘Only that there was an emergency call from one of two victims,’ said one. ‘We’ll do a scene walk-through. Adam’s on his way. He should be here soon, roadworks permitting. What can you tell us?’
‘As you said, two victims, one male, one female. The woman’s name is Molly Lawrence. She made the ambulance call.’ He pointed at the Toyota now encircled by bobbing blue-white tape, more tape demarcating an extended area. ‘Both attacked inside that vehicle. Both unconscious. Significant blood loss. Paramedics referred to a serious head injury to the male.’
Watts watched as they headed for the tape carrying lights, went under it, under more tape and on to the immediate area around the Toyota, closely followed by two more officers. One raised a still camera which began emitting whines and clicks, the other slowly, methodically videoing the ground around the car. After a couple of minutes, she stopped, raised her arm, then finger-pointed downwards to an area below and slightly beneath the car. Pulling on shoe covers, Watts headed for the white-lit area of ground and watched the forensic officer’s gloved hand reach for something, her colleague producing a plastic evidence bag. She held up the item and placed it carefully inside. Watts looked at it through the plastic. A watch.
A forensic officer came towards Watts, pulling on a white scene suit. He pointed to the car. ‘I want a closer look.’ Another joined him, a small, high-spec video camera in one hand, in the other a high-intensity UV light source, protective goggles pushed high on his forehead. He looked inside the car. ‘There’s massive blood loss in here. I’ll start by recording its location. With a bit of luck, there might be some which later proves not to belong to either victim.’
Watts pointed into the interior. ‘The male was the driver.’
The officer lowered his goggles and activated the light source inside the car. It threw blue on to every surface, tracked by the video camera. Watts watched as it moved over the driver’s seat, seeing again what was pooled there, this time in sharp relief, and whispered, ‘Jesus, Mary, mother of …’
He walked around the car to a SOCO placing a yellow marker next to a patch of ground below the front passenger door. ‘Got something?’
Following a finger-point, Watts crouched and looked at sparkles on the ground. Glass. In the dark and rush he hadn’t noticed that one of the car’s windows was shattered. He directed his question to the SOCO.
‘Broken from outside?’
‘Hard to say, given how auto-glass reacts to breakage. I’m taking a sample.’ The fine tweezers in his hand released a glass fragment into a clear plastic tube. It was followed by two more. ‘If we get a suspect within the next few hours, we’ll compare these with any still caught in his hair or clothing.’
‘Stick with the optimism,’ murmured Watts.
He straightened, then turned to Jones and Kumar approaching. ‘There’s a lot of blood, plus broken glass from the front passenger window.’
They went to the car and peered inside it. ‘This has to be
