The two young masseuses who had found the body were huddled together in the rear of a police van, tears streaking their faces. Their bloodstained work uniforms had already been taken by the CSIs, but even in the less than flattering replacement coveralls that they’d been issued, Warren could see that Grimshaw had a point. The two young women were very pretty, with shapely figures. Could they have been hired for their looks?
A detailed, formal interview would have to wait, as there were currently no Serbian translators available; however, the limited English that they spoke was enough to confirm the sequence of events as relayed by Grimshaw.
The owner of the parlour, Silvija Wilson, was a well-dressed, middle-aged woman. She had arrived in a brand-new Mini Clubman shortly after Warren emerged from the crime scene and was waiting impatiently outside the cordon.
‘Are my girls OK?’ she asked immediately. Her accent was almost pure Essex, with just a hint of Eastern European.
‘They are a bit shaken, but physically they are fine,’ Warren assured her.
‘Thank goodness.’
‘The women tell me that they’re Serbian nationals,’ said Warren.
‘With valid work visas,’ Wilson interrupted.
‘I’m sure that they are here perfectly legally,’ said Warren, ‘however, without a translator, they haven’t been able to fully answer my questions.’
‘Would you like me to translate for you, to speed things up?’ interrupted Wilson.
Warren smiled politely. ‘That’s very kind, but we’re better off waiting for the translation service.’
She looked disappointed, but Warren knew better than to take her up on her offer. Given the circumstances, Wilson could hardly be considered unbiased and the last thing he wanted was for questions to be raised over the veracity of the translation.
‘Why don’t I just ask you some background?’ he suggested.
Wilson nodded her assent.
‘You are the owner, I take it?’
‘Yes. I started the business from scratch about ten years ago.’
‘And you are the manager?’
‘Overall, yes.’
‘Is it usual for you not to be present during the day?’ Warren raised a placating hand as Wilson started to bristle. ‘I’m not judging, Ms Wilson, I’m just trying to get a feel for the normal ebb and flow of staff and customers.’
She relaxed somewhat. ‘I come and unlock in the morning and do a bit of paperwork. Except on Saturday, which is our busiest day. I let the girls get on with running the shop. They know what they are doing.’
‘That’s rather trusting, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘They’re family from back in Belgrade. They are my sister’s daughters. I sponsored them for a work visa and they joined me a little over twelve months ago, with the aim of learning a skill and improving their English.’
‘How is that going?’ asked Warren.
She gave a so-so gesture with her hand. ‘They are very skilful at massage and the customers really like them, but the English … not so good. I had intended them to spend time socializing with English people, but we do have a small Serbian community here, with some rather good-looking boys …’ She shrugged. ‘They’re young. What can I say?’
‘And do you still see clients?’
‘Only a few. I have a couple of older ladies who got to know me when I worked on the other side of town. They came with me when I set up this business and they’re more like friends than clients.’
‘So, you weren’t in the shop earlier, when the attack happened?’
‘No. I opened up at the usual time – half-past eight – then emptied the safe of the weekend’s takings and did a bank run, before going to see my father-in-law. He’s not very well and in a home.’
‘You take the money to the bank yourself?’ asked Warren.
‘Not much choice, really. We’re a small business; we can’t afford Securicor to come and do it for us. To be honest, there isn’t that much cash these days. Most clients pay by card.’
‘So, there wouldn’t have been much money on the premises at the time of the attack?’
‘No. Monday’s a quiet day usually, so aside from the float in the till there wouldn’t have been very much.’
‘I see that it’s also a nail bar. Do Malina and Biljana also do nails?’
Wilson shook her head.
‘No. We have a couple of girls who come and do that. They hire the space; I don’t actually employ them.’
‘Where were they today?’
‘They weren’t in. Monday is a quiet day.’
‘So, the only members of staff in the shop at the time were your two nieces?’
‘Yes. As I said, I was visiting my father-in-law in Stenfield. Look, can I go and speak to them? They must be absolutely terrified after what’s happened.’
‘Yes, of course.’
There came a tap on the door: Shaun Grimshaw.
‘Just got off the phone from HQ. No registered Serbian speakers available until eleven o’clock tonight.’
Warren sighed and looked at his watch. Be careful what you wish for indeed; if he’d stayed to the end of the budget meeting, he’d probably be heading home for the evening by now.
It looked as though Susan would be dining alone again.
Back at the station, Warren held the first briefing of the case. It was eight p.m., and a lot had happened in the almost seven hours since the emergency services received the call reporting the killing. He was keen to keep up the momentum; crimes such as murder were often solved by actions taken in those first few hours.
Warren would hold a far more detailed briefing the following morning, but it was important that he bring everyone – including his superior, Detective Superintendent John Grayson – up to date, as well as introducing his rapidly growing team to one another.
Middlesbury CID was something of an outlier in Hertfordshire Constabulary, in all senses of the word. The consolidation of nearly all of the serious crime units in Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire and later Cambridgeshire into one, centralized headquarters down in Welwyn Garden City had led to the closing of most local CID units.
Warren’s predecessor, the disgraced DCI Gavin Sheehy, had fought the case for Middlesbury to remain open as a first-response unit, able to deal quickly and effectively with low-level crime within the farthest reaches of the county, and at least start the ball rolling on larger-scale investigations. To that end, DSI Grayson oversaw a small, core team of detectives, led by Warren, with additional support from Welwyn when needed.
Since taking over from Sheehy four years previously, Warren had made it one of his priorities to maintain Middlesbury’s unique status, growing to love a role that saw him doing far more hands-on policing than would be normal for one of his rank.
Thus far, the small unit’s disproportionately high success rate had kept them open in the face of ever-increasing government cuts.
For now.
Warren started the briefing with a full-screen headshot of the man in the massage parlour projected onto the screen.
‘This is our victim. Stevie Cullen, the twenty-three-year-old son of one of North Hertfordshire’s most notable families. For those of you not familiar with the Cullens, “most notable” is not a praiseworthy term.’
Nods rippled around the room.
‘That’s a mugshot from his last arrest, and we positively identified him from his fingerprints and the tattoos covering his chest. Needless to say, the car that his keys unlocked is not registered to him, rather it belongs to his brother, as Stevie received his first driving ban before he was even old enough to pass his test. His mobile phone has a screen lock that IT are figuring out how to circumvent as we speak.’
Warren let the mutterings die down before he continued.
‘We need to turn his life upside down, folks. This was clearly a targeted killing. Given the circles that the Cullens are alleged to move in, then that must be a primary line of investigation. The Serious Organized Crime Unit from Welwyn will be briefing us on what we know or suspect about the Cullens’ business interests tomorrow. In the meantime, we need to track his movements over the past few days, as well as finding out who was in the area at the time.
‘Jorge, can you fill us in on any witnesses located in the local area and the preliminary search?’
DS Jorge Martinez addressed the room.
‘It won’t take long, I’m afraid. Despite being a Monday lunchtime, we haven’t found a single member of the public who witnessed the killer escaping the scene or recalls anyone suspicious hanging around. There are a number of small businesses in the area with inadequate parking, and public transport is poor, so residents are used to seeing strange cars parked in their streets. The lack of parking wardens enforcing resident-only parking is a long-running bone of contention amongst the locals.
‘We’ve identified a dozen or so properties, both business and residential, that may have usable CCTV footage of the area and we’re securing it for DS Richardson’s team to look at.’
‘Any discarded clothes or the murder weapon?’ asked DS David Hutchinson.
‘Nothing so far. We’ve emptied all the public waste bins in the vicinity, and we’ve secured the wheelie bins from all the local residents and businesses. First thing tomorrow, when the sun comes up, we’ll have teams doing a fingertip search of all the local streets.’
‘Any rumblings on social media yet?’ asked Warren.
DS Rachel Pymm, the team’s officer in the case – the person charged with keeping the HOLMES2 case management database up to date – shook her head.
‘Nothing much so far. A few photographs have surfaced on Twitter of the cordon, with plenty of speculation about what has happened, but nobody has mentioned Stevie Cullen yet.’
‘Good,’ said Warren, ‘his loved ones don’t deserve to find out he’s dead from some bigmouth on Facebook.’