The first knock was more of a tap, but as Caelan struggled to force her eyes open, it quickly became more insistent. She rubbed at her face with both hands, feeling worse than when she had got into bed. Checking her phone, she realised Achebe and Somerville had allowed her an extra half an hour’s rest.
‘Five minutes,’ she called as she rolled out of bed and reached for her clothes. She hadn’t bothered with her usual jogging bottoms and T-shirt. Sleeping naked had felt almost as though she was doing something wrong, that she wasn’t taking the job seriously, turning her back on protocol. In the hotel, behind a locked door and with the security of knowing she was no longer entirely under the Met’s thumb, she found she didn’t care.
She showered quickly, brushed her teeth, washed her face again with cold water before dressing. As she pushed her feet into her trainers, there was another knock. There was a security chain on the door, and Caelan slipped it on, more out of habit than anything else before stepping to one side and turning the handle. Somerville, Achebe and Ewan were waiting in the corridor.
‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ Jen Somerville said. Wordlessly Caelan stared back at them. All three gave her wary smiles, as though expecting a mouthful of abuse.
‘Can we come in?’ Achebe asked. He had two paper cups in his hands, and he held one out to Caelan. ‘We have coffee.’
She opened the door wide. ‘The coffee’s welcome. I’m not sure about you three.’ Taking the cup, she grinned as she opened the lid and sniffed. ‘Thank you.’
Achebe smiled. ‘Jen’s idea.’
Somerville held up her own cup. ‘Cheers. Thought you might need it.’
Caelan sat on the bed, her back against the headboard, as the others found places to park themselves. Somerville took the chair at the tiny desk, Achebe the sofa and Ewan the small armchair by the window. Caelan smiled at him.
‘Did you sleep?’ she asked.
Ewan pulled a face. ‘For about forty minutes.’ He held up his own coffee. ‘Could do with a few litres of this stuff.’ He glanced at Achebe, who was clearly ready to start. ‘Sorry.’
‘No worries. I know the two of you haven’t had much chance to rest.’ Achebe sat back, crossing his legs. ‘Okay. Can we talk about Nathan Nash first?’
‘Have they done the post-mortem?’ Caelan asked. Achebe nodded. ‘And what can you tell us?
‘As expected, cause of death was a massive bleed on the brain. But,’ Achebe exchanged a glance with Jen Somerville, ‘it’s what’s happened to him before that’s thrown us.’
‘Before? What do you mean?’ Caelan remembered what Brady had said about the possibility of Nash having a broken jaw. She hadn’t noticed when they’d found his body, but then she hadn’t examined him closely.
Somerville got to her feet, pulling her phone from her bag. She took a few seconds to scroll to whatever it was they wanted Caelan to see and held the handset out to her without a word, then leant against the wall beside the bed and folded her arms. The atmosphere in the room had changed. When Achebe and Somerville had arrived, they’d been smiling, handing over coffee, seeming relaxed. Now, ready to get down to business, their faces were grim.
Caelan looked at the image displayed on the phone’s screen. Immediately she saw what Achebe was talking about. The photograph had been taken during – most likely at the beginning of – the post-mortem. The body lay face down on a steel table. Caelan stared, then forced herself to study the screen, but it was an effort. Nathan Nash’s back looked like raw meat. The area between his shoulder blades and his buttocks was a mess of deep cuts, torn flesh and bruising.
Horrified, she looked up at Somerville, then at Achebe. ‘What the hell happened to him? He was… whipped? Flogged?’
‘We think so,’ Achebe said. ‘The pathologist found healing wounds on his wrists and ankles too. It’s looking like he was bound to something with cable ties, maybe a table or post, and then…’ He waved a hand, looking as sick as Caelan felt. Sometimes, however long you’d been in the job, however much you’d seen, something would happen that stopped you in your tracks.
Caelan stared at Nash’s tortured body for another second, then turned to Ewan and held up the phone.
‘You need to see this too.’
He crossed the room, had a look. Caelan saw him swallow, perhaps reminded of things he had seen during his time in the army that he wanted to forget.
‘Poor bastard,’ was all he said. Somerville reached out and took back her phone.
‘Pretty much covers it,’ she said as she sat back down.
Achebe leant forward on the sofa. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that this changes things. We don’t know who did this to Nash, or why. It could have been to extract information from him, or as some kind of punishment.’
‘Or a warning to his brother,’ Ewan said.
Achebe nodded. ‘Or to Nathan himself.’
Caelan took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to erase the image of Nash’s ruined flesh from her mind. The photograph had affected her more than finding the body had. ‘Did the pathologist have any idea what might have been used to… do this to him?’
‘Probably some kind of plastic-coated cable, but it’s difficult to be sure. There were no traces of rope in the wounds, for example.’ Achebe spoke without emotion, but Caelan knew that didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling it. The beating Nash had suffered had been calculated, inflicted by a person apparently undisturbed by the cruelty and brutality of what they were doing. This assault had been deliberate and prolonged, meted out by someone who had the stomach to watch the injuries they were causing deepen and worsen as they brought the cable down on Nash’s back over and over again. Someone able to ignore his cries of agony.
Someone like…
‘James Mulligan has been accused of torturing people for information before,’ said Somerville, as though reading Caelan’s mind.
‘You think Mulligan ordered this?’ Caelan considered it. ‘Why would he? Who would he have asked to do it? The two men he employed are in jail, and we don’t know of anyone else he trusted.’
‘Doesn’t mean they aren’t out there, though,’ Somerville said.
Caelan glanced at the other woman, saw no animosity on her face. ‘True.’
‘There’s something else,’ said Achebe. ‘Nathan Nash’s jaw was definitely broken, but not by a fist.’
‘Considering the bruising, the pathologist guessed at a blunt instrument, possibly a baseball bat,’ Somerville added.
‘And Mulligan was hit with a baseball bat too. The same one?’ Caelan asked.
Achebe’s shoulders twitched. ‘We don’t know, maybe never will. We didn’t find anything at either scene or on the victims we could compare. No splinters, no shards of wood.’
‘Bit of a coincidence if it wasn’t the same bat, though,’ said Somerville.
There was a silence.
‘To me, this adds weight to the idea that Mulligan didn’t order the beating Nathan was given. I think someone else is behind the attacks on them both.’ Caelan screwed up her face, thinking about it.
‘My money would be on Stefan Harris,’ Achebe put in. ‘Nathan made him look a twat and Mulligan owed him money.’
‘Makes sense,’ Somerville said with a nod.
‘What about Nathan’s back, though? Harris has the muscle men to inflict the damage, but why? Nathan didn’t hesitate when he had a go at Harris in the club. He wouldn’t have taken a thrashing like that without fighting back, even days later.’
‘Maybe that’s why he ended up with a knife at Harris’s throat,’ Ewan said.
‘But wouldn’t he have said so? “This is for what you did to me”, or whatever?’ Achebe rubbed his eyes. ‘I don’t know. This whole thing is tying me in knots.’
‘I’m surprised Nathan was able to walk around, much less throw himself at Harris like he did, considering the pain he must have been in.’ Caelan hadn’t thought about it before, but the wounds must have been causing agony, yet Nathan Nash had shown no sign of being in pain when she’d seen him.
‘The results haven’t come back from the lab yet, but the pathologist is guessing some heavy-duty painkillers and stimulants, both legal and otherwise, will show up in his system,’ Achebe said. ‘You told the chief super that Nathan seemed drunk, or high? Maybe that’s why. He’d swallowed a shit ton of stuff to take the edge off.’
Caelan nodded. ‘It doesn’t help us explain anything, though. I need to ask Reuben Nash about his brother’s injuries.’
Somerville inclined her head. ‘You mean we do. You wouldn’t know about them if we hadn’t told you, and Victoria Smith would have no idea.’
‘Unless I prod Reuben in the right direction and he tells me himself.’
‘If he knows about it at all.’ Somerville folded her arms. ‘Nathan rented a flat in Ealing Broadway, not far from his brother’s club. We’ve gone over it – there was blood on the bed sheets, bandages, cotton wool and antiseptic in a bag on the kitchen table, plus some that had been opened and used in the bathroom. Now we know about the mess his back was in, what we found makes sense.’
‘You think he went back there after… well, whatever happened to him, and lay low?’ Ewan asked.
Somerville turned to him. ‘Again, we need to find out. We’re talking to his neighbours, local taxi firms, anyone we think might be able to help us, but without a more definite time frame, it’s even harder than usual. It seems as though he tried to clean and dress his wounds – or someone else did.’
Ewan nodded. ‘It would have to be someone else, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t be able to do it himself, not his back.’
‘Jolene Townsend’s fingerprints were found in Nathan’s flat, but so were Reuben Nash’s, as you’d expect. There were loads more we couldn’t identify,’ Achebe said.
‘What about any prints on the medical stuff?’ Ewan wanted to know. Caelan was pleased to see him asking questions, making suggestions. She knew he lacked confidence and was also aware he needed to adjust to his new role in his own time.
‘They couldn’t get anything useful, not even from the bottle of antiseptic. Too many people have handled it,’ Somerville said. She uncrossed her arms, tucked her hair behind her ears. Caelan knew the other woman usually wore a wedding ring, but she saw it was missing and wondered if Achebe had realised. Somerville didn’t seem the type to confide in anyone, but she doubted Achebe missed much. She looked away, not wanting Somerville to notice her interest. It was none of her business.
‘Maybe Jolene helped Nathan after he was hurt then?’ she said.
‘It’s possible. We found a receipt in the bag with the bandages and stuff showing they’d been purchased in one of the local branches of Tesco three days ago,’ said Achebe.
‘We’re pretty sure it was Nathan himself who bought the items, looking at the CCTV from the store, but it’s not definite,’ Somerville added. ‘It was a cash sale, one of the self-service checkouts. The person buying them is the right height and build, but it’s the usual story – baseball cap, head down… almost as though they knew we’d come looking for them.’
‘Maybe the person who did it, or ordered it to happen, sent Nathan on his way with a bag of supplies to tidy himself up afterwards?’ Ewan looked disgusted and Caelan couldn’t blame him.
‘There must have been more than one person involved,’ Somerville pointed out. ‘Maybe even three or four. Nathan had been tied to something, which means he must have been overpowered. Even if he was drugged, it would take more than one person to lift him, get him upright or onto a table.’
‘Harris and his men,’ Achebe said, though he didn’t sound convinced.
‘Maybe Nathan never saw who gave him the beating. A bag over his head, face down on the table or against a post…’ Caelan said.
‘Depends what the point of it was, I suppose,’ said Somerville. ‘If they wanted information, someone would have needed to speak to him. If it was meant as a warning, maybe not.’
‘When did the pathologist say the wounds were inflicted?’ Caelan asked.
‘He said a couple of days before death, which ties in with the CCTV from the supermarket.’ Achebe finished his coffee and crossed the room to drop the cup into the bin. ‘There are people we need to talk to – Johnny Bates and Chris Walsh to begin with.’
‘Johnny… You’re talking about the two men who babysit Harris?’ Caelan said.
Achebe looked at her. ‘Do you know their backgrounds?’
‘No. I’m assuming they both have records?’
‘And both have served time. Couple of months here, a year or two there. The usual list – assault, ABH, unlawful wounding. No weapons used by either of them, but they’re not shy about using their fists,’ Achebe said. ‘Obviously we have a record of their fingerprints but none were found in Nathan’s flat.’
‘There were no traces of the flogging having taken place in Nathan’s home, though?’ Caelan asked, though she was sure it would have been mentioned already.
‘None, and there would have been,’ said Somerville.
‘And the neighbours would have heard. I doubt anyone could have taken a thrashing like that without making a sound, and there are flats above, below and to either side. We’ve spoken to most of the neighbours, and so far no one can help us.’
‘We have to talk to the brother again.’ Somerville’s tone was that of someone closing an argument.
‘When?’ Caelan looked from Somerville to Achebe. Achebe smiled.
‘I suppose you want to see him first?’
She thought about it. ‘No. I think I might get more from him later if you interview him now. He’ll probably be angry, upset – he might want someone to complain to.’ She met Achebe’s eyes. ‘What do you think?’
‘Sounds like a plan. We’ll be making it official this time, bringing him to the station, cautioning him. Reckon it might ruffle his feathers if he realises he’s a suspect.’
There was a silence. Caelan finished her coffee and set the empty cup on the tiny shelf beside the bed.
‘What about the attack on Mulligan?’ she asked.
‘It’s early days, but so far it’s the same story,’ Somerville said. ‘No one saw anything, not even some bloke with a baseball bat marching into his house, which you think would have raised eyebrows. Some of the neighbours are still at work, so we haven’t spoken to them yet, but we’re not hopeful. What could they have seen if they weren’t at home when it happened?’
‘Truth told, we have nothing,’ said Achebe.
‘Except the link with the baseball bat,’ Ewan pointed out.
‘And that’s probably at the bottom of the Thames by now.’ Achebe massaged his temples, wincing as he did so.
‘Headache?’ Caelan asked. Her own had subsided, but she still felt as though she could sleep for a week.
‘Hoping it doesn’t turn into a migraine. If it does, I’ll be useless for the rest of the day, and the boss won’t be happy.’ Achebe took a box of headache tablets from his jacket pocket and popped two into his palm. ‘Okay if I use the bathroom?’
‘Of course.’ Caelan wouldn’t want to have to tell Adele Brady she was going home with a headache either.
‘Cheers.’
Achebe didn’t bother to close the door, and they heard the tap running, then him spluttering.
‘Is there any update on Lucy Mulligan?’ Caelan asked as he came back into the room.
‘Nothing. No activity on her debit or credit card or bank account. Housemates haven’t seen or heard from her, she hasn’t been in touch with the unit her mother’s in, and she usually calls at least once a week to check on her. There’s been no contact with anyone at the university either, which in my view is the most concerning thing.’ Achebe sat back down on the sofa. ‘She’s the perfect student, totally dedicated.’
Caelan nodded. ‘She told Penrith she couldn’t go into a safe house because it would disrupt her studies.’
‘There you go then. Wherever she is, I doubt she went there voluntarily.’
‘What about her computer? Have we been able to examine it? Penrith said it had been smashed up.’
‘It had, and whoever was responsible did a thorough job. Our geeks have managed to have a poke around, but there’s nothing that can help us.’ Achebe’s frustration showed on his face. ‘As I understand it, she’d pretty much wiped it clean.’
‘Really? As though she knew someone might come for her?’ Caelan made it a question, though it seemed the obvious conclusion.
‘Maybe,’ Somerville said. ‘Though it must be backed up in the Cloud somewhere, or whatever the terminology is these days. Again, the geeks are seeing what they can do.’
‘Apart from the injuries to Nathan’s back, that’s all we have. Three cases, and the progress we’ve made on any of them sits somewhere between nothing and zero.’
‘We’re no closer to being able to identify the murdered woman in the photo sent to Lucy Mulligan, or the other two victims?’ Caelan saw the three faces in her mind. Three anonymous, voiceless people, forgotten and abandoned. Unmissed. She remembered what Mulligan had said: A quiet funeral, no big do with full honours for you, because let’s face it, no one knows who you are. You’re faceless. She pushed the memory away, focusing on Achebe.
‘Still nothing,’ he said. ‘No matches in any missing person report we’ve been able to access. No matches when we checked their fingerprints or DNA either. We’ll keep trying, but…’ He spread his hands, frustrated. ‘I hate not being able to at least give them a name.’
‘We will,’ Somerville told him.
Achebe didn’t look convinced as he checked his watch. ‘Jen, we should be going. Can you call and ask for Reuben Nash to be brought in, please?’
Somerville rose and left the room without a word. Achebe watched her go and then stood.
‘Is she okay?’ Caelan asked.
‘Jen? I think so. Some stuff going on at home.’ Achebe headed for the door, then checked himself and turned back. ‘There is something else. Ryan Glennister.’
‘You’ve found him? I assumed someone would be on it. Penrith said he’d speak to Brady.’
Achebe laughed. ‘He did, but we haven’t been looking. Even Ian Penrith can’t expect us to run four investigations simultaneously. No, you could say Ryan made it easy for us. I had a call about it on the way over here – he was involved in a hit and run earlier. Smacked off his tits and stumbled in front of a car, ended up in A and E. He’s a bit banged up, but he’ll be okay. Might be time for him to check back into rehab.’
‘The driver didn’t stop?’ Caelan was already thinking about what this might mean. She’d wondered from the start if Glennister could tell them anything about Mulligan and his dodgy dealings, but Penrith hadn’t seen it as worth pursuing. Maybe it was coincidence, but maybe someone else saw Glennister as a possible source of information too. She had told Mulligan about Glennister being at Lucy’s house, and though Mulligan couldn’t have been driving the car that hit Glennister, he could have paid someone else to do it. She rubbed her aching eyes, despairing of the whole situation.
‘More questions, no answers.’ Achebe’s smile was knowing.
‘Has anyone spoken to him?’
‘Local officers took a statement, but it doesn’t make much sense. The hospital did find another man’s wallet in Glennister’s pocket, though. He wouldn’t explain how he’d got it, but I doubt he tripped over it in the street. They’re going to have another chat when he comes down from whatever he’s on plus whatever the hospital gave him.’
‘Where did it happen?’ Caelan asked.
‘I wasn’t told. I think he was taken to the Royal Free. Listen, I need to go. No doubt we’ll talk again soon.’
With a wave, Achebe was gone. Caelan turned to Ewan.
‘What do you think?’ she said.
‘About Glennister?’
‘I knew I should have been looking for him.’
‘But Penrith said—’
‘I know what he said.’ Caelan raised a hand. ‘Sorry. It’s just…’
‘Frustrating.’ Ewan gave her a sidelong glance.
‘What?’ Caelan spoke quietly, realising there was more he wanted to say.
‘Well, Nathan Nash is dead, Mulligan’s in intensive care, his sister’s still missing and now Ryan Glennister’s been hurt too. It’s worrying. I thought we were just here to gather information, but since we started poking around…’
‘Everything’s gone to shit.’
He smiled. ‘Exactly.’
‘Mulligan keeping quiet about the money he owes Harris didn’t help. We could have handled it differently if we’d known. Now I’m trapped between Harris and Reuben Nash.’
Ewan shuffled his feet. ‘After what he did to you today… I know you can handle it, handle him, but he could have had a knife, a gun, anything. You’re putting yourself in danger based on the word of Mulligan, who will do anything to keep himself out of prison. You told Penrith this was a waste of time, and I think you were right. You don’t work for the Met any more – you can walk away at any time.’
Caelan paused. ‘Maybe, but…’
‘Lucy Mulligan’s still missing. I know.’
‘And while she is, I can’t tell Penrith to stick the whole job up his arse.’
‘Can’t you?’
She looked at him. ‘You know I can’t.’
‘Fair enough. What’s next?’
‘We do as we’re told.’