Phil took a sip from his mug, grimaced. Incredible, he thought. Police officers could catch criminals and solve crimes. In their spare time they could run marathons, get rave reviews in amateur dramatics, write phone apps and computer programs. Even be gourmet chefs. But put them next to a kettle in a station house and they had a mental aberration. He had tried it from the machine and that was, if anything, worse.
He set the mug down on the desk beside him, knowing the sickly-looking pot plant in the corner of the room would be the eventual recipient of its contents, and looked round the room at the team.
His team, he thought, not the team. His team. It still didn’t feel like that. He hoped it would at some point. Soon, preferably.
He tried to concentrate, but his mind kept returning to Marina. Something was wrong, he knew that much. And she wouldn’t tell him what it was. That wasn’t like her. Usually if something was wrong they would work through it together. Both of them. But she was pulling away from him, withdrawing. And not only did that upset him, but, if he was honest, it scared him.
Driving into work, with Sparklehorse’s bruised and damaged love songs playing in the background, he had found his mind coming up with all sorts of theories. And each one led back to the same conclusion: he wasn’t enough for her.
She was having an affair and couldn’t bring herself to end things with him.
She had had an affair, felt guilty and wanted to tell him.
She was sick of him.
He didn’t normally get like this. He was usually strong, could cope with whatever was thrown at him. But the events of the last year, nearly losing his life, moving to a different part of the country, not fitting in, doubting himself and his capabilities while Marina flourished, all conspired to bring him down. And now this.
He turned, back in the room, looking at the murder wall behind him. A photo of Glenn McGowan as he used to be. Then as his alter ego, Amanda. The progression in his journey was evident. Then a post-mortem photo, almost unrecognisable from the first two. Phil tried to blink the thoughts away. Compartmentalise them to a part of his mind where he could deal with them later. For now, he had a job to do. A team to lead.
‘Good morning,’ he said, looking at the assembled faces before him. ‘Only thirteen more shopping days to Christmas. Thanks for coming in, and think of the overtime.’
A couple of polite laughs. He cleared his throat, continued.
‘Glenn McGowan, where are we?’ He turned to Khan. ‘What have we got from the door-to-door?’
Khan looked at his notes. ‘From what we’ve been given so far,’ he said, ‘we know that he kept himself to himself. That was the main thing that came up.’
‘That’s what they said about Dennis Nilsen,’ said Sperring. That got laughs, including from Khan.
‘It’s that kind of estate,’ said Phil. ‘Small. Gated. Attracts people who want to be anonymous. Perfect for what happened.’
Khan continued. ‘None of the neighbours noticed anyone else besides Glenn McGowan. Not coming to visit, anyway. Just dropping stuff off.’
‘Like what?’ asked Phil.
Khan went back to his notes. ‘Furniture. Carpet. He had that delivered and laid about a week before we found him.’
‘The pink carpet in the living room looked new,’ said Phil. ‘There must be a receipt for it somewhere. Let’s see if we can trace it back to where it was bought from. He had it laid as well? Might be an idea to have a word with the fitter.’ He nodded, indicating for Khan to continue.
‘Neighbours saw a dining table going in, chairs. Some boxes. They saw McGowan carrying bags and boxes in too. Like he’d been on a spending spree. Or Christmas shopping.’
‘Did he have a car?’ asked Phil. ‘Do we know where it is?’
A DC on the team, someone Phil didn’t yet know the name of, answered. ‘Ford Focus,’ he said. ‘We’ve brought it in to have it looked over. Nothing so far.’
Phil nodded. Khan continued.
‘All this furniture and stuff was also about a week or so before we found him. Nothing after that.’
‘Which leads us to thinking two things. It was well planned, and that’s when the murder was carried out. Or the earliest date.’ Phil looked at Khan. ‘Thanks.’
The DC nodded, closed his notebook.
‘We need to track down not just the carpet fitters but the furniture deliverers too. Get some photos of them, take them round the neighbours again. See if there’s anyone of interest there or if we can eliminate them as suspects. See if that leaves us with anything.’ He looked at Khan once more. ‘Did no one mention anyone suspicious coming or going? Anyone who looked like they didn’t belong there?’
Khan took his notebook out once more. Boy’s got a bad memory, thought Phil. Not a good trait in a copper. He read down his notes. Shook his head. ‘No one said. If they did see someone, they must have thought he was delivering furniture or something.’
‘Thanks,’ said Phil. He turned to Sperring. ‘Post-mortem. We’ve spoken to Esme. Where are we with that?’
Sperring spoke without recourse to notes. He’s good, thought Phil. Whatever I think of him as a person, he’s a good copper.
‘We’re still only at the preliminary stage,’ he said. ‘And some of you know this already. So to recap. Glenn McGowan was murdered by person or persons as yet unknown. He had his genitals removed. This seems to have been done in the bathroom, and there are no signs of him putting up a struggle. This leads us to conclude one of two things. That Glenn McGowan was complicit in this, or he was drugged. Or perhaps both.’
He paused while the team grimaced, groaned and uttered a few expletives and oaths.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Sperring. ‘He died, as far as we can tell, from massive blood loss caused by this mutilation. His body – and we have good reason to believe he was still alive when this was carried out – was then placed at the dining table, where he and his murderer sat down to eat. The meal was McGowan’s own genitals.’
More groans, more expletives.
‘They were found partially digested in his stomach. And there’s more. His arm was wired so that his hand could hold a teacup.’
‘Which leads us to believe the whole thing was deliberately staged,’ said Phil. ‘DNA results in yet?’
Sperring shook his head. ‘Nothing yet. Our lad was careful. And we haven’t managed to trace what drug was in McGowan’s system when he died. Esme’s still looking into it. We should know soon.’
‘Anything else?’
Sperring continued. ‘There are signs that McGowan had engaged in anal sex. Before death, at least. Wouldn’t want to think he was weird or anything.’
That got a big laugh. Of relief, mainly.
‘And I think,’ said Khan, talking loudly to be heard over the noise, ‘we might have got it on camera.’