The Killing Year (The Craig Crime Series Book 17) Read online

  The couple had continued with the pregnancy, but spent an anxious time worrying they might have a son who was a sufferer, until they’d been told that they were having a little girl. Then there’d been more fraught waiting time while the baby was tested as a carrier. Thankfully she had turned out not to be, but the experience had put pressure on them both.

  Craig had realised halfway through his reply that Liam had deliberately asked about John to rouse him, anticipating his protective response. It was the prompt that he’d needed to address the thorny issue of Grace, but that he chose to do it in an uncharacteristically hesitant voice made Liam gawp.

  “Des…”

  “Yep. That’s me.”

  Craig sighed heavily, not quite sure himself why he was making such a palaver of everything.

  “Your new CSI…”

  Des’ immediate grin took both detectives aback. Was it a grin of pride at the new Chief CSI’s recruitment? In which case that meant Des thought Grace was great and was unlikely to have sympathy with their plight. Or could it possibly be a grin of, ‘yes, I know she’s dire, but hell, she’s here now, so what can I do?’, which would be an altogether different thing.

  Craig shot his deputy a wild glance, hoping that he’d worked out the grin’s nuances, but the DCI was still astounded at his boss faffing about.

  Craig tried again.

  “Grace is-”

  He was rescued from further prevarication by Des’ next words.

  “Brilliant, isn’t she. We were very lucky to get her.” A look of almost paternal pride accompanied his next words. “She worked in Scotland before here, Glasgow, and their CSIs are shit hot.”

  Craig groaned inwardly, knowing that meant he had to bite the bullet quickly, before Liam bit it even harder. His next words came out much more forcefully than he meant them to.

  “SHE RUINED THE SCENE!”

  As Liam went to applaud, Des’ jaw thudded open, making the DCI convert his clap into an incongruous wave. It didn’t matter as neither of the other men had noticed; Craig was too busy beating himself up for shouting and Des looked as hurt as if they just insulted his first born.

  As the forensic scientist found his voice Craig braced himself for impact, but to his surprise Des just squeaked, “She did what?” in a stunned tone.

  It emboldened Liam to detail the new CSI’s defence that it was her crime scene to do with what she wanted, and by the time he’d finished Des was reaching for a stool, muttering, “Oh my God, oh my God” with the angst of a man who’d suffered some personal tragedy.

  Craig rushed to offer him comfort.

  “I’m sure she’s just getting used to us. Perhaps a few words will steer-”

  Another “Oh my God” cut across him, followed by a panicked, “I’ve been trusting her to organise the juniors all week!”

  Suddenly Des propelled himself across the room, grabbing for a clipboard that they hadn’t noticed hanging on the wall.

  “Six, no, seven cases this week, and Grace has been leading on all of them!”

  Liam shrugged. “Don’t panic. What’s the worst she could have done? If any of them were murders we’d have heard about them, so they must just have been burglaries and the like-”

  “JUST? JUST? They’re ALL cases! They’ve all got evidence that has to go to court!”

  Craig ushered the melting-down scientist back to his stool.

  “Look, I’m sure her evidence gathering is fine, so she’ll have collected the prints and trace evidence well enough. It’s just that with crime scenes that have victims…”

  “What exactly did she do?”

  Des braced himself for the horror that he knew was coming.

  Liam obliged him with the full story of the parallel victims, then the detectives watched as Des collapsed further as he viewed the original and ‘tidied-up’ body photographs side-by-side. Craig felt the need to add some commentary.

  “The problem is that the bodies might have been moved from elsewhere, so there could have been trace on them that’s lost.”

  Liam nodded, adding. “The other problem is we need to see the bodies exactly as they were found, to tell us everything that they can.” He tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “Grace must be pretty house-proud, judging by the way she straightened everything up.”

  When Des dropped his head into his hands, moaning, Craig thought that it was probably time to leave. They’d told him what he needed to know and now he would have to deal with Grace himself.

  The detective reversed quickly out of the room and headed for the stairs down to pathology, to be joined seconds later by his guffawing deputy. Ten minutes of tiptoeing tactfully around the forensic scientist finally burst both their dams, and they were still laughing when they entered the pathology outer office and Craig greeted Mike Augustus with a cheerful wave.

  The junior pathologist was sitting in John Winter’s small, glass-doored office, although Craig noticed not actually in John’s leather chair. He was pleased by the fact; it would have seemed an interlope too far.

  Mike leapt to his feet when he saw them approaching, blurting out defensively. “Doctor Winter told me to use his room!”

  Craig waved him down, sniffing meaningfully in the direction of the percolator. When the pathologist had taken the hint and passed around the coffees, he retook his seat, now visibly uncomfortable behind John’s desk.

  Craig took the lead.

  “How are things?”

  The boy-faced pathologist’s answer was glum.

  “Better when Doctor Winter was here. He said he might be off until the New Year!”

  Liam snorted disbelievingly. John Winter was like Craig; even on holiday they could never quite give up the reins.

  “I bet he’s never off the phone though.”

  The words cheered Augustus up. “Ten minutes ago, actually. He said I’m to phone him with the post-mortem results, and to tell you to call him anytime you like.”

  As Craig had dropped into John’s Annadale Embankment home for breakfast only six hours before, that was something he already knew.

  “OK, let’s get to business, Mike. Tell me about our two victims.”

  The pathologist rose and walked past them to the door. “I’ll show you as well. Follow me.”

  Within seconds they were standing in an icy dissection room, staring at two shrouded shapes. Augustus pointed to the nearest.

  “This is the male from this morning’s scene. Caucasian, aged forty to fifty. I’ve just completed his P.M.”

  “Cause of death?”

  The question generated puzzled wrinkles in Augustus’ smooth forehead, although they still didn’t make him look his age. It had always amazed Craig how young the pathologist looked when in fact he was almost the same age as him. Even a committed relationship with Annette, their DI, and a new baby giving them sleepless nights hadn’t made him look older than twenty-five. Liam was convinced Mike embalmed himself every night.

  Craig’s thoughts were interrupted by the pathologist’s answer.

  “Well… they were both bound and gagged at some point before death, but that wasn’t what killed them. The man had a small abrasion and a lump on his occiput, but no underlying skull fracture or brain contusion, so I doubt that killed him, and the woman has no external injuries at all apart from a shallow laceration on one arm. But there were signs of respiratory depression in both of them so, while I’ll need to wait for the tox-screen to come back obviously, if you pushed me I’d have to say poison of some sort.”

  He donned a pair of latex gloves and withdrew one of the man’s hands from beneath its sheet, separating its first finger and thumb.

  “Hand me that magnifying glass, please, Liam.”

  He homed in on the area, beckoning Craig to look. “What do you see?”

  The detective moved the glass back and forth, squinting. All he could see was a tiny red dot and he said as much.

  Mike nodded happily. “Exactly. Liam, would you like to check?”

&nbs
p; When they’d all viewed the offending mark, Craig asked him what it meant.

  “It’s probably an injection site, although I’ll have to dissect it out to be sure. To see if there’s a track right through the dermis.” He swept a glance down the man’s body. “The injection mark was the only thing I could find amiss, apart from the small cut on his head. He smelt strongly of alcohol when he was brought in too.” He gestured at the second victim. “The woman as well.”

  Craig didn’t turn to look; he had frozen on the word ‘alcohol’ and Liam knew exactly why.

  “You thinking what I am, boss?”

  Before Craig could answer the pathologist asked, “What? Have I missed something?”

  His panic roused Craig from his fog.

  “Don’t worry, Mike, you haven’t missed anything. I’ll tell you what we’re talking about in a moment, but first I need to know if either of the bodies had been moved.” He paused meaningfully and then added. “Before Grace decided to tidy up.”

  When Liam explained the comment, the pathologist shook his head, horrified.

  “Unbelievable! Des must be furious. In answer to your question, yes, the man had definitely been relocated from elsewhere. He was moved from another location at least two or more hours after his death. The lividity says so.”

  It was what they’d feared. Grace’s zealousness might have cost them dear.

  Craig asked his next question with very little hope of good news. “Any clues to his original site?”

  To his surprise the response wasn’t an immediate no. Instead the pathologist elevated the man’s back off the table, holding him up at an angle so that the detectives could see.

  “Can you see those paler areas in the lividity?”

  As they peered at their victim’s back Liam spoke first.

  “They’re squares.”

  Craig nodded. “Wherever he died must have had a raised square pattern.”

  If a body is lying on a raised surface when lividity develops after death, paler areas created by the surface irregularities can leave a pattern on the skin.

  Mike lowered the body again and covered the man up.

  “Exactly. The lividity there is lighter from lying on a raised, square patterned surface.” As Liam’s mouth opened to say something more he shook his head. “No, I’ve no idea what caused them, I’ll need to talk to Des about that. But I can tell you that they didn’t come from the place you found him. I’ve seen the photographs of the ground the victims were found on and there was nothing there but twigs and leaves. In my view this man lay on a patterned manmade surface for at least two and probably closer to eight hours after death.”

  Craig asked another question. “Does the woman have anything similar?”

  “Nothing. She died where she was found.”

  “So, you’re thinking, what? That he was killed elsewhere, and-”

  Mike cut in. “Left on that surface for some time before he was moved to join her. Even when the lividity deepened again at his final resting place it couldn’t disguise those gaps.”

  Liam rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “Now we’re on it! A real puzzle to solve.”

  Craig rolled his eyes. “I bet you’re hell when you play Cluedo with the kids.”

  The DCI nodded decisively. “I make them work for every point. Never let them win, that’s my motto. No-one ever will in life.”

  Mike laughed. “I’ll send Carina to you when she’s five for life lessons. Annette says that I’m far too soft.”

  As Craig walked across to the second body the two fathers took the hint and followed.

  “Anything more here, Mike?”

  The pathologist responded by uncovering the deceased woman’s face. It was heart-shaped, with soft features that said she’d been very attractive in life.

  “Female Caucasian, fifty to sixty years old. Superficial inspection shows a similar red mark between her thumb and forefinger and a superficial cut on one arm, but no obvious trauma on the body that could explain her death. She also smelled strongly of alcohol when she was brought in. I’ll tell you more after the P.M., but my instinct is that we’re looking at the same murder method as with the male. Poison of some sort.”

  He lifted the woman’s left hand. “She was wearing a wedding ring when she arrived. The man wasn’t.”

  “Times of death?”

  Augustus screwed up his face. “Leave that with me for a while, will you? It was freezing last night which makes things tricky, plus the man was kept at a higher temp indoors for some time after death. I have a few more things that I need to check, but I should have accurate TODs for you by the end of the day.”

  Craig hesitated over his next question. He couldn’t forget the words of the elderly woman in the café, but he was reluctant to bias the pathologist’s view on anything, so he decided that an open-ended question was the best way to go.

  “Do you recognise either of them, Mike?”

  Instead of the immediate blank look that he’d expected he saw doubt on Augustus’ face.

  “Not the man, but…” He gestured at the woman’s face. “I’ve been thinking since she came in that she looked familiar, but I can’t for the life of me say where from.”

  Liam had no such compunction about bias, and anyway, he knew Davy would check any ID.

  “TV?”

  Mike’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God, that’s it! She used to be on TV!”

  Craig wrinkled his forehead. “Used to?”

  “Well, she probably still is actually, just not every night. She is, was, a newsreader. Used to do the six o’clock news on NI-4, that trendy channel that started about five years ago.” He stared at the ceiling for inspiration. “God, what was her name? Jane… Julie…”

  Craig surprised himself by answering. “Judith Roper!”

  Liam stared at him. “How did you know that? All you ever watch is sports and documentaries!”

  “Obviously I watch the news as well.”

  He nodded Mike to re-cover the woman and moved towards the door.

  “Let’s head back to your office, Mike. I need to make a call, and then I’ll explain why the smell of alcohol is so significant.”

  ****

  The C.C.U. 3 p.m.

  Davy was still trying to picture Ash’s girlfriend, or rather picture what sort of person she might be, from the clues supplied by his friend’s unlikely appearance. Davy enjoyed such puzzles, often picturing himself as Sherlock Holmes, complete with mind palaces and a magnifying glass, scrutinising even the smallest details in his hunt for clues. He’d just decided the mysterious girlfriend was something in the arts, most probably on the visual side, when Nicky nodded that she was transferring a call.

  “It’s the chief for you.”

  The senior analyst lifted the phone and turned his gaze to his computer, making Ash heave a sigh of relief. Davy might have thought he was being subtle by casting covert glances his way, instead of outright staring à la Liam, but he knew when he was being watched and it had been putting him off his work.

  He’d been seconded part-time to a special CIA taskforce for eighteen months, on the hunt for stolen US satellite codes, but despite the efforts of twenty analysts from four countries, their main fugitive, a Chechen named Bakar Dudaev, continued to give them the slip. The fact that in their pursuit of him they’d managed to uncover a Stasi-Westminster plot on Brexit and were looking into a Bitcoin fraud was of little comfort when they couldn’t locate the very man that the team had been set up to catch.

  Dudaev had tried and failed to sell the codes in twenty-six of the EU’s twenty-eight-member states, and if, as they expected, he failed to sell them in the final two, that would be the end of any friendly regimes that might have assisted them in pursuing Dudaev and extraditing him back. Next stop came Iran and North Korea, two of the unfriendliest regimes to the west, both places almost impenetrable by its agents.

  While the squad’s junior analyst worried about spy satellites far above them, its senior one h
ad both feet firmly planted at home and Craig’s words were piquing his interest.

  “Mike’s sent you two photos to ID, Davy. We think the woman is Judith Roper, a TV newsreader, but I’d like you to make sure. Also, can you email me a list of all The Alcohols, please, and ask Nicky to call a briefing for five. We’ll be back before then.”

  Davy didn’t even hear him hang up, his mind already on other things. Judith Roper had been his secret crush ever since NI-4 had launched when he was a master’s student, watching her on catch-up every Saturday morning while nursing his hangover and a bowl of cornflakes, the way his mates had watched old episodes of Red Dwarf.

  He’d moved on both mentally and physically now, when he could convince his mum not to mind him staying over at Maggie’s place that was. But Judith Roper still held a special place in his twenty-nine-year-old heart, and as the analyst opened the jpg files that Mike had emailed through he felt as sad as if he’d just lost a personal friend.

  ****

  The Pathology Office.

  While Craig nursed a freshly perked mug of coffee in both hands and stared into its brown-black depths, Liam poured himself and Mike tea from a pot, their low caffeine tolerances already reached for the day. Perhaps it was down to Craig’s Italian half, but his tolerance of the stimulant was higher than the national debt and growing; if Liam had drunk the amount of coffee that he did every day he’d have been able to fly to work.

  “Penny for them, boss?”

  Craig answered without looking up. “I’m waiting.”

  Mike joined in. “For the list you requested from Davy?”

  “Got it in one.”

  Just then the PC beeped and Mike hurried to see what it was. As hoped for it was Davy’s email; just three words, ‘here it is’, plus a file. The pathologist printed out three copies and passed them around, returning to his seat to read his own. Liam smiled when he saw the medic frowning.

  “It’s just a list of people’s names!”

  “What were you expecting? The inventory from a bar?”

  Augustus flushed, embarrassed. It was all very well Liam expecting him to know things, but he wasn’t John. He and the murder detectives had developed a shorthand through the years, so he’d have known instantly that ‘The Alcohols’ had referred to a list of people and not drinks.