‘Are you ready for this, Henley?’
‘Stop acting as though you’re announcing the finalists for The Voice,’ she replied. Henley was standing by Anthony’s desk at Southwark police station, flanked by Ramouter. The building hummed with activity. She was tired and hungover, and she felt guilty for not going with Rob and Emma – as a family.
‘So, as we know, your guy’s head has been stuck in a deep freeze somewhere, but by the time it was delivered to you it had obviously been out defrosting somewhere, which accounts for the blood. It wasn’t easy, but we managed to prise the jaw open in order to take a dental impression. So, we’ve got blood and hair samples. I wasn’t holding out much hope, but we got a match on Mr Iceland.’
‘Who is he, Anthony?’ asked Henley.
‘I don’t know exactly but that isn’t the most interesting part in this puzzle. Cast your mind back, Henley, to just over two and a half years ago.’
Henley rolled her eyes while Ramouter shuffled uncomfortably next to her.
‘We were never able to identify Olivier’s last victim,’ continued Anthony. ‘No DNA, no prints, no head—’
‘Tell me you’re joking.’ Henley was astounded.
‘No joke. Olivier’s last victim was an Asian male, twenty to thirty-five years of age, but his head was never found – until now.’
‘Once he realised that we were on to him, he started playing games,’ Henley explained to Ramouter. ‘He refused to give us any information about the seventh victim. We didn’t know if victim seven was in the army with Olivier or if it was just an unlucky stranger. The only reason we were able to charge Olivier with his murder was because he got sloppy. His hair and carpet fibres from his flat were found on the body. In addition to the symbols that were carved into his back.’
‘And that’s his head?’ Ramouter asked. Over the past few days he’d familiarised himself with the old case files. ‘Victim number seven?’
‘Ninety-nine per cent sure,’ said Anthony. ‘Granted, all I’ve got is a DNA match on the database, but unless some idiot labelled the exhibits wrong it’s pretty much conclusive. If you want to be a hundred per cent sure the samples will have to be extracted from the body.’
‘That’s if they even buried the body,’ said Henley. ‘It could have been cremated, for all we know. They’re not going to keep a body in the freezer in case it happens to get identified one day.’
‘Actually, they did,’ said Anthony. ‘The body is at Finchley mortuary. You got lucky. This one managed to escape the NCA’s push to cremate unidentified bodies in mortuaries across the country. I’ve called in a favour and I’ve got a colleague taking samples as we speak. As soon as we get authority, everything is going to Linh.’
‘You’re a star, do you know that?’ Henley said.
‘You tease,’ Anthony said with a grin. Then his expression grew serious. ‘But you know what, in twenty-five years of doing this job, I’ve never seen anything like this. You’ve got to admit, Henley, I’m not one for bad language, but this is pretty fucked up.’
‘Someone has been keeping this man’s head in a freezer?’ Pellacia chuckled.
‘This isn’t funny,’ said Henley.
‘It’s not… It’s just. It’s… Shit, I don’t know.’ Pellacia straightened himself. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry. Do we have any idea who it is and why his head was dumped on your doorstep?’
‘We’re running his description through Missing Persons right now and an e-fit will go out this afternoon,’ said Henley. ‘Why was he dumped on my doorstep? It has to be Olivier’s way of showing he’s still in control. Wanting to screw with our investigation. Our copycat has to be working with him.’
‘But there was never any evidence that Olivier worked with anyone. Ryan said he was a loner, and Olivier practically admitted it himself when we saw him,’ said Ramouter. ‘It’s not as if Olivier had any friends or family to speak of. I read the statements of the officers who searched his flat and the Forensics reports. There’s no way that anyone would have missed a human head next to a bag of sausages.’
Henley gave Pellacia a sharp look, warning him not to start laughing again. Instead he said, ‘The trainee has a point.’
‘Ramouter’s right,’ said Henley. ‘Then the question is, where has that head been all this time?’
‘Speaking of which, uniform finally spoke to your neighbour Mr Flores this morning. Turns out that he saw a motorcycle courier on your road when he left his house. He even remembered the company. Velocity Couriers. Stanford’s trial is over now, so I’ve sent him and Eastwood to check it out.’
‘OK. Well. We may actually start to get somewhere. But I’m going to have to see Olivier again.’
Ramouter actually put his hand to the side of his head and started massaging his temples.
‘I know that Olivier is working with someone. The symbols cut into the bodies. The head of Olivier’s last victim being delivered on my doorstep. You would have to be an idiot to suggest that all of that was just a coincidence.’
‘But he’s in a High Security Unit. His post is monitored. He has no access to a computer or anything like that,’ said Ramouter.
‘Please, you really think that everyone in Belmarsh is sitting there quietly playing Connect 4?’
‘So, what’s your next step?’ asked Pellacia.
‘We’re going to go back to Belmarsh,’ said Henley.
Ramouter groaned and put his head in his hands. ‘Do we have to?’
‘Yes, we do. Let’s go and pay Olivier another visit.’