‘Holy shit.’
Detective Sergeant Rob Minshull blinked in the gloom of the derelict space, as if the sight before him might vanish from view.
‘Told you it was bad, Sarge,’ Lanehan muttered, her expression grim.
Bad didn’t begin to cover it.
‘This is how you found them?’ he asked.
‘Yes, Sarge. We touched nothing. Had to wrestle the guy out to stop him trashing the scene, though. We walked in here and he went for the bodies. Just went for them, like he wanted to attack them. Rilla and me had to grab him fast.’ Nervous fingers played with the radio attached to her vest. ‘Not sure whose blood he’s wearing, but I’d say we can narrow it down to four possibilities.’
Minshull wasn’t certain he’d ever heard anyone refer to four mutilated corpses as possibilities before. ‘That’s one word for them.’ Checking his blue shoe-covers were in place, he gingerly stepped around the periphery of the unlit unit, careful not to disturb anything.
What the hell had happened here?
In the centre of the dusty concrete floor, four bodies lay. They were arranged in a circle, their feet at the centre and their blood-soaked bodies stretching away. That would have been remarkable enough, but what made the scene unique in Minshull’s experience – and chillingly freakish to witness – was the presence of the objects. Five items for each victim. All appeared to have been deliberately placed, identical distances apart. Completing the circle was another group of belongings without a body at their centre. Is this where the bloodied man should have lain?
The belongings themselves appeared to be randomly chosen: an old cricket ball, a child’s toy car, a roll of silver electrical tape, a folded jacket. But the placing of them piqued Minshull’s interest. There was something careful, studied even, about the way they had been arranged. But what was the significance?
‘What do we know about him?’ he asked, facts being paramount now to keep his mind in focus. It would be too easy to let the scene distract him, and he really didn’t want that to happen. The stench of blood, excrement and death was overwhelming here: the sooner he could establish the initial details and vacate the premises for the soon-to-arrive SOCO team to get to work, the better. Minshull was certain he wouldn’t forget this scene easily.
‘His name’s Mark Lingham. He’s local, owns a business in town. We’re working on the rest.’
‘So we’re assuming the deceased are known to him?’
‘Maybe,’ Lanehan shrugged. ‘Until we can get some sense out of him, that’s all we have. I guess we know they all met him at least once. Poor sods.’
‘Pathologist’s on the way, Sarge,’ DC Dave Wheeler said, arriving beside Minshull and Lanehan. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Literally.’
Wheeler shot him a wry look. ‘Nice.’
‘Who’s the Duty Pathologist?’
‘Dr Amara.’
Minshull shared a fleeting grin with his colleague. At least that was something. If anyone could decode this bizarre crime scene, it was Dr Rachael Amara. Unflappable, fiercely intelligent and self-confessed strange, she was their best hope.
Minshull and Wheeler made a slow circumnavigation of the space together, pausing to inspect details from a safe distance.
‘Throats slashed,’ Wheeler noted, his voice reverentially low. ‘That explains the volume of blood.’
‘So we’re looking for a knife.’
‘That’d be my guess.’
Minshull peered at the tallest of the four bodies. ‘It’s a hell of a lot of blood, though, even for four bodies.’
‘Maybe there was a struggle?’
‘Possibly.’
‘And Lingham said it was his fault?’
‘According to Steph and Rilla,’ Minshull confirmed, the bloodied confession in the street an incongruous detail that seemed at odds with everything else. ‘But I’m not sure how he’d have managed it. These victims are all tall, well-built adult males. I saw Mark Lingham being examined by the paramedics – he’s small, wiry. I guess he could be fast…’
‘Fast enough to slit four throats without anyone stopping him?’ Wheeler asked, mirroring Minshull’s thoughts.
‘Exactly. Why didn’t they fight back? Even one of them could have easily overpowered the guy.’
‘Drugged?’
‘Possible, I suppose.’ Minshull stopped walking, allowing himself a moment to take in the whole scene. Why didn’t it feel right? And what was the significance of the objects placed around each body with apparent care? ‘We need to get these seen by Dr Amara and bagged up as soon as possible. And we need to inform the Guv.’
‘I don’t envy either of us that task.’
Minshull returned Wheeler’s grimace. It was imperative DI Joel Anderson should be informed. The problem was that their superior had been battling dragons of his own for weeks now.
The team was a detective down, thanks to a major case that had caused DC Les Evans to fall victim to a savage attack from which he was still recovering at home. It could be months before he was back on the team. In the meantime, Anderson’s superior was refusing to provide cover. And, like the proverbial law of sod, Evans’ absence had coincided with South Suffolk’s criminal fraternity apparently calling open season on crime. Everyone on the team was doing the work of two people, and the strain was already showing. A quadruple murder in a quiet rural town was the last thing anyone needed.
Anderson was not going to be happy.
‘And Cora?’ Wheeler’s question was careful.
Minshull understood his colleague’s concern. The presence of belongings, especially so prominent in the placing of the bodies, suggested that police consultant Dr Cora Lael should see them in situ. Her ability to sense emotional echoes from objects could provide invaluable insight into what happened here and the mind and identity of those responsible.
But this was the worst murder scene Minshull had encountered in his career. Maintaining his composure was taking all his strength of mind. Asking a civilian to witness it first-hand – even one as important to South Suffolk CID as Cora – was out of the question.
‘I can’t ask her to do this.’ The statement carried more truth out loud than he’d intended. ‘At least not until the bodies are out.’
‘And even then?’ Wheeler glanced around the space, at the ugly scars of blood spatter on every wall and surface of the unit. It was horrific enough without the victims in place.
Minshull shook his head. ‘I’ll ask the Guv, but I reckon Cora seeing the items bagged and away from this place is better.’
‘She might hear something in here.’
‘I can’t ask her to see this, Dave.’
Wheeler gave a slow shrug. ‘Your shout.’
‘I’ll call the Guv,’ Minshull said. ‘Can you make sure nobody else comes in here until the SOCOs arrive?’
‘Consider it done,’ Wheeler replied, a little pale. ‘Might just stand sentry by the door, though, if you don’t mind.’
The putrid stink was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, even the famously cast-iron innards of Dave Wheeler. Minshull couldn’t blame him for preferring fresh air. ‘Be my guest. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve made the call.’
‘Right-o.’ Wheeler blessed him with a grim smile. ‘And they say nothing exciting ever happens on a Monday morning, eh?’
Minshull allowed his smile to remain until he reached the threshold of the unit.
Outside was a tangled mess of official business and local shock. Police tape flapped in the strengthening breeze, banks of dark clouds gathering overhead, mirroring the mood of those on the street. A storm was imminent, its oppressive air already claiming the space. His uniformed colleagues were doing their best to secure the scene, fielding fevered questions from bystanders who had been drawn by the commotion. Knowing Suffolk village communities as he did, Minshull was certain the news would have travelled the length of the Evernam grapevine by now. Probably out to the surrounding villages, too.
Lanehan and Davis were standing at the edge of the cordon, talking to the newly arrived SOCO team, who were unloading their van. Both remained stony-faced, but Minshull could tell they were shaken. Who wouldn’t be?
Spotting the chief SOCO, Minshull raised a hand and headed over.
‘Afternoon, Brian.’
Brian Hinds raised a characteristically wry eyebrow. ‘We must stop meeting like this, DS Minshull. People will talk.’
‘Let them.’ The hackneyed joke was as welcome as the officer who made it. Minshull was acutely aware that in Brian Hinds’ occupation, as in his own, humour was an indispensable tool of the trade.
Hinds chuckled. ‘Brave as ever.’
‘Always.’ Minshull let the warmth of the joke last as long as he could before the necessity of the situation extinguished it. ‘It’s a nasty one in there.’
‘So I heard. Four victims?’
‘The surviving fifth claims he did it. Paramedics are checking him now. Once they’re done, he’ll be taken back to the station. It’s not like anything I’ve seen before. I’ll be interested to hear your thoughts.’
The chief SOCO nodded. ‘Who’s been in the building?’
‘Two PCs who were first on the scene, the suspect, DC Wheeler and me. We’ve done our best to keep disruption to a minimum.’
‘Good. Anything else we should be aware of?’
‘Any sign of a murder weapon. Our man’s not making much sense at the moment, and it’s not on his person, but I don’t think it can be far away if what he says is true.’
‘If?’
‘Early doors,’ Minshull replied. ‘Could be straightforward, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be.’
‘One of those, eh?’ Members of the SOCO team arrived beside Hinds, offering smiles to Minshull. Hinds nodded. ‘We’ll keep a lookout.’
‘Appreciate it. Dr Amara’s on her way, so I’ll get Uniform to send her in as soon as she arrives.’
‘And that’s when the fun will begin,’ Hinds grinned, heading into the building.
Minshull walked to the edge of the cordon, mobile phone in hand, the strengthening breeze providing respite after the stench of the crime scene. It didn’t remove the smell from his clothes, though. It never did. Until he could get home and change, Minshull knew he would carry the odour of sudden, calamitous death around like a bad omen.
Anderson answered after a single ring. ‘How bad?’
‘Four fatalities. One surviving male who claims it was his fault.’
‘And was it?’
Minshull watched two uniformed colleagues coaxing a group of onlookers away. ‘Not sure, Guv.’
‘Right. Fun and games, then. So, what are we looking at?’
‘Not a straightforward murder. I don’t know what it is. You should be getting some initial photos soon. You’ll see what I mean then.’
‘Hang on, email just in from Dave… What the hell? What are those things around the bodies?’
‘Belongings, I assume. Until the SOCOs have catalogued everything, I won’t be able to inspect them. But there are five objects around each body, and a fifth set without a body at the centre.’
‘Significance?’
‘Until I can get a closer look, it’s impossible to say.’ He filled his lungs with fresh air. ‘But Cora might.’
‘You want her there?’
‘No. No, I don’t think we can ask her to do it on site. Back at the station, when everything’s bagged.’
The click-click-click of Anderson’s tongue against his teeth sounded down the line. Minshull could almost hear his superior’s brain whirring. ‘I think you’re right. But you should give her the heads-up soon, make sure she’s ready to come in when we need her.’
‘Will do, Guv.’
Minshull smiled as he ended the call. How times had changed… Only a few months ago, DI Joel Anderson would have resisted any involvement of Dr Cora Lael, her remarkable ability to sense sounds and voices from objects being at odds with standard police procedure. But recent cases had shown Minshull’s superior the error of his ways.
Minshull liked the change.
More uniformed officers had arrived now, strengthening the police cordon around the immediate area. As he’d suspected, word had travelled fast; the crowd had grown significantly since he and Wheeler had entered the crime scene.
It wouldn’t be long before someone’s smartphone video of the unfolding events in Evernam would make it to the press. Minshull wanted to hope they’d be granted enough time to deal with the initial business of investigation before the media laid siege to the village, but experience had taught him to expect the worst.
A multiple murder and an apparent public confession were too much to keep under wraps.
Taking one last blessed lungful of fresh air, Minshull turned on his heel and headed back into hell.