‘You okay, Zoe? You look a bit tired.’ Annie had noticed her colleague stifling recurrent yawns in the morning meeting, though she’d obviously been doing her best to conceal it.
‘Just had a bit of a disturbed night.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Annie had phoned the hospital first thing to check on Sheena. She’d woken in the small hours with a sense that something was wrong, that something further had happened. It had probably been nothing more than the lingering shreds of a bad dream, but the anxiety had felt frighteningly real.
But when she’d called the ward first thing, they’d confirmed that Sheena’s condition hadn’t changed and she’d had a decent night’s sleep. They were still waiting on some of the test results but, all being well, they were likely to release Sheena later in the day. Annie was planning to visit after lunch, in the hope she’d then be able to take Sheena back home.
In the meantime, she was trying to focus on their current major enquiry – the Beeley Moor body, as Stuart Jennings had taken to calling it after the location where it was found. The case troubled her. This wasn’t some spontaneous or accidental killing, but something cold-bloodedly planned. The nature of the killing implied there might be more than one killer and that those responsible might repeat the act. And then there was the whole question of those incisions. Was this some ritualistic killing, as Danny Eccles had suggested, or some more mundane form of brutality?
If the killing did have a ritualistic element, that led inescapably to the conclusion that the death might have been some form of human sacrifice. Was it possible that the pattern of cuts carried some religious or similar significance? She had done a cursory online search for images that might relate to the design, but had been unable to find anything relevant. She’d asked her team to follow up in more detail.
It might also be that Danny was wrong. There was no question that the incisions were hard to explain, but perhaps their meaning was more straightforward. Maybe they were intended simply as some kind of message. A warning to others. She knew of gangland murders where the perpetrators had taken photographs of the victim to forward to their rivals. Perhaps the message was merely that this man, whoever he might be, had been selected as a target.
Until they’d identified the victim, there was little point in speculating. Once they could attach a name to that mutilated face, they were likely to have a much better idea of the potential circumstances of his death. Annie was exasperated that so far they lacked even this basic information.
Even so, the morning’s briefing had gone well. They’d finally got the full team in place and she and Jennings had managed to pull together a well-balanced and effective group of officers to work on the enquiry. Most were people she’d worked with and respected. There were one or two new faces – new to Annie, at least – and a couple she had less time for. But that was always the way, and the team was as strong as she could have hoped.
She and Jennings had agreed that for the moment much of the investigation was simply the application of standard procedure; the activities that should help determine the victim’s identity and identify potential witnesses. Jennings had provided an introduction to the team, giving some background on the nature of the crime, and then handed over to Annie to allocate duties as appropriate. She felt relieved that, for once, Jennings’ ego hadn’t meant he’d felt the need to run the show.
She’d been pleased by the response from the team. There’d been good questions and some intelligent discussion of the approach and potential options. Everyone seemed engaged and focused. The trick would be to sustain that, particularly if they found themselves struggling to make progress.
Afterwards, she’d sat with Zoe Everett working through the details to ensure nothing had been overlooked, and had noted again that her DS seemed untypically distracted. Annie decided that, for the moment, it was better to stick to business, but couldn’t help feeling a nagging concern.
‘The key priority is to identify the victim,’ she said. ‘Until we do that, we’re floundering in the dark.’
Zoe nodded. ‘I’m hoping he’s on the system somewhere. If we’ve had previous dealings with him, that might tell us a lot.’
‘Fingers crossed. And some of those tattoos ought to be distinctive.’ They allocated one officer to talk to some of the local tattoo parlours. If the designs were other than off-the-shelf, someone might recall who’d requested them. It was a long shot – they didn’t even know if the victim was local – but worth trying. If that failed, and the victim wasn’t on the police system, the next step would probably be to release the victim’s description, including a description of the tattoos, to the media.
‘If those tattoos do indicate he was some kind of far-right activist, should we be talking to some of those people?’ Zoe said.
‘That’s next on my list,’ Annie said. ‘We may need to be talking to them anyway. I would prefer if we could find some other way of identifying our man first, so we’d have a better idea where to focus our attention. But it’s another potential route.’ She gave a mock shudder. ‘Mind you, those people give me the creeps. And after what happened to Sheena yesterday…’
‘Who’s taking on that one?’ Zoe said.
‘I was talking to Stuart about it before the meeting. Obviously, it’s not something I can be involved in. I don’t care, as long as they give it to someone with a few brain cells. I want to see whoever fired that gun behind bars before he really does kill someone.’ She sighed. ‘I’m beginning to sound like my mother. Although these days she’d probably find some way of defending the bastard.’
Zoe offered no response, clearly recognising that this was territory best avoided.
‘Sorry, Zoe. Shouldn’t be venting my frustrations at you. It’s not been the easiest twenty-four hours.’
‘I can imagine. Poor Sheena – and poor you. Must be a nightmare for you both. Even the thought of it – of what might have happened – scares the hell out of me. It’s like our job. You tell yourself nothing can happen to you, but there’s always the tiniest possibility that one day it might.’
‘Sometimes it feels as if the odds are getting shorter by the day.’ Annie leaned back in her chair, momentarily closing her eyes. ‘Okay, let’s get started. Let’s do our bit to apprehend at least one murderous bastard.’