Something Evil Comes Page 3

  She wrote the details and brought his earlier email onto the screen. ‘You’ve got confirmation that this is our next cold case?’

  ‘Yes, with the emphasis on cold. We need you over here, soon as. When can you get here?’

  She needed to make adjustments to her morning. ‘As soon as I can. What do you know?’

  ‘Victim is a twenty-year-old male who somebody thought deserved to have his throat ripped out, poor sod. Hope you’ve got something warm on.’

  FOUR

  Those working at the body recovery site paused briefly as the petite figure came under the scene tape and headed towards them, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands thrust deep into the pockets of an olive green parka, sudden winter rays turning her hair to fire.

  ‘Aye-up. Rapunzel’s arrived,’ said Watts.

  ‘Say that to her face,’ murmured Chong. ‘Go on. I double dare you.’

  ‘Dream on. I like living too much.’

  They waited for Hanson to reach them through lingering morning mist. ‘Morning, doc! Or should that be prof-ess-or?’

  ‘Whatever makes you happy,’ she said easily, joining them. ‘What exactly have we got?’

  Chong pointed to nearby steps. ‘Follow me and I’ll show you.’

  She followed Chong down into the frigid, half-subterranean room and stood, giving it a searching once-over. There was little to search or see except for stone floor, stone walls, stone everything. Eyeing the rectangular construction to one side, she pointed.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a sarcophagus,’ said Chong. ‘Probably quite old and unoccupied until our victim was placed inside it. Come and have a look at him. His name is Matthew Flynn. You’ll understand the present tense when you see him.’ Hanson followed Chong to a temporary screen erected in a corner of the room and gazed down at the body. It gave her a jolt. She’d seen the many states and stages of decomposition. This was like nothing she’d ever seen. He lay on his back, thick, dark hair mostly in place, if a little dusty, but it was the face which squeezed the breath from her chest. Getting her breathing under control, she let her eyes drift over it. It was pale grey in places, light brown in others, the eye orbits a dark amber. She made herself look at the eyes. They were open, looking into hers with an impatient expectancy, an urgent wanting that completely wrong-footed her.

  Wrenching her attention away from them, she looked at the discoloured nose and on to the mouth. Not exactly a smile, nor a grimace. The jaws appeared to be slightly agape as if to allow an intake of breath. Between the well-defined, drawn back lips she could see strong, regular teeth. The combination of eyes and mouth gave the face a living, avid aspect. A few nights ago Hanson had found Maisie watching a horror film. She’d switched it off, causing yelps of annoyance. Gazing down at Matthew Flynn’s face she recalled Chong’s ‘present tense’ comment. He doesn’t look dead. Dead but not dead. Undead.

  She looked at the front of the neck. Whatever Matthew Flynn’s face had conveyed, what she was seeing now was indisputable death. In the heavy silence her words sounded harsh. ‘That looks deadly.’

  ‘I think it probably was,’ said Chong. ‘Unless I find something even more deadly once I strip him. This afternoon I should at least be able to confirm the cause of death.’

  Hanson’s attention lingered on the neck. Around the cavernous hole, the flayed edges of flesh were thickened and dried, dark red to black in places; below it a heavy overcoat, a loose scarf, the legs covered in black denim and ending in black boots. She lowered her voice, as if fearful of waking him. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like … him.’

  Chong nodded. ‘This level of preservation is rare. He’s been waiting here a year or so, not exactly lovely to look at but we all know it could have been a whole lot worse.’

  Hanson turned from the body, its image now fixed inside her head, took out her phone and headed for the steps, picking up Watts’s voice outside.

  ‘When I get back to headquarters I’ll fetch the original investigation files out of storage.’

  Hanson emerged into relative warmth, Chong following. ‘No need. I’m ringing Julian. He’s already at HQ. He’ll sort it.’ He and Corrigan listened as she spoke to her research student who used the between-case quiet of the Unsolved Crime Unit to catch up on his reading. ‘Julian, I’m sorry to break into your doctoral time but I need you to go to the basement and locate all the data on a MISPER case dated October of last year. MISPER’s name: Matthew Flynn, F-L-Y-N-N.’ She looked at Chong who nodded confirmation. ‘Aged twenty when he disappeared. Date of birth …’ She read it from the clipboard Chong was holding out to her. ‘Get his file photograph and all biographical information into the Smartboard and check for any criminal antecedents, too, please.’ She ended the call.

  ‘Tote that barge, lift that bale,’ murmured Watts to Corrigan. They watched two SOCOs go down the steps, one carrying a lightweight metal and canvas stretcher.

  ‘Ready when you are, Dr Chong,’ said one.

  ‘Give me a minute. We won’t rush it. He’s intact so far and I’d like him to stay that way.’ She turned to Hanson and her colleagues. ‘I’ll start his post as soon as I’m back at headquarters, hopefully in the next half hour.’

  Hanson looked at her watch then at Chong, her university commitments pressing now. ‘Any idea when you’ll be in a position to tell us about him?’

  ‘I’m hoping for a three o’clock completion time.’

  ‘Nice to know,’ said Watts. ‘Any chance of some prelims before that?’

  ‘No, but I’m planning to get some lunch in the canteen at around twelve thirty if you’d like to join me in social chitchat.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll have the case details in my head by then and nothing better to do. I’ll see you there.’

  Hanson caught Corrigan’s amused look and rolled her eyes. Chong squinted up at Watts. ‘You do know that your personal charm is only exceeded by your physical beauty?’

  ‘Yeah. You’ve said.’

  Hanson regarded his broad back as he headed towards a couple of uniformed officers. She turned to Corrigan. ‘Why is he edgy and red-faced?’

  ‘The chief’s too busy to oversee the case so he’s made him acting manager of UCU.’

  ‘Ah. That would do it.’ She walked to where Watts was standing, his eyes moving over the immediate area, a hint in the bulldog features of some serious thinking. ‘Isn’t it a bit early in a case to be stressed?’

  He didn’t look at her. ‘Right now, I’m searching for traces of a killer, like you’re always on about. And who’s stressed?’

  ‘I’m guessing you might be. How’s your blood pressure?’

  ‘Fine. How’s yours?’

  ‘Same, but I’m not overweight and pushing—’

  ‘What do you think of this place, doc?’ She followed his eyes to the church as Corrigan joined them. ‘It’s … impressive.’ Watts huffed. ‘Religion never helped me when I needed it.’ She looked away from him, aware that he’d struggled after his wife’s death some years before. ‘It was a time we were desperate for a Villa win. Just one goal would have been enough but did they pull it off? Not bloody likely.’

  She looked up at his grinning face, the small gap between the two front teeth. ‘Do you know that you’re at your most annoying when you’re playing the professional Brummie?’

  ‘Wha’?’ He looked at Corrigan who was laughing. ‘What did I say?’ He turned towards the distant Range Rover. ‘My feet died half an hour ago. See you later at headquarters.’

  She watched him go, aware that he’d managed to divert her from health issues. Watts didn’t welcome personal comment. Particularly the kind which sounded like it might come from concern and carry advice. Going down the steps again she took another look around the chill stone space, alert to subtle indicators which might tell them why Matthew Flynn had had to die. Even at this early stage she found herself searching for traces of his killer’s thinking, his or her choices, behaviour and needs. Watts was right in hi
s observation of what she routinely did. She shook her head. This cold cell was telling her nothing. She went back up the steps. Corrigan was outside, his gaze moving from the crypt across the expanse of open land. She followed his gaze to what she’d been told was Church House. It looked solid, imposing. Self-contained.

  ‘Did you enjoy your time back home?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure did.’

  Corrigan was a man of few, invariably polite words. Which is why it had come as a surprise several months before when he told her of his interest in her. She’d already known, of course. She’d even been tempted to tell him how she felt about him but she hadn’t. It was too complicated. Not him. The situation. They had to work together. Maybe it’s me who complicates things? He looked tanned and rested. She smiled up at him. ‘Your mother’s been indulging you, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yup. Somebody has to.’ She searched his face for signs of a hidden point, found none. Knowing him, she wouldn’t have expected to.

  Good. I’m too busy for complication.

  At three-fourteen that afternoon the post-mortem technician let them into the quiet of the pathology suite where the stripped remains of Matthew Flynn, shrunken and dry, lay bathed in white light on the steel examination table.

  ‘Relatively pleasant to be near, isn’t he?’ said Chong, emerging from the distant corner she had made into her office space. She waited as they pulled on forensic gloves then passed an A4 sheet to Watts. ‘Take a look.’ He did, Hanson and Corrigan either side of him. ‘That’s my rendition of the tattoo on the right side of his neck. It’s an inverted crucifix.’

  ‘The Cross of St Peter,’ said Corrigan. ‘Symbol of humility for Catholics.’

  Watts looked less than impressed. ‘A few years back we had a spate of domestic pet killings here in Birmingham. A cross like that was daubed around the remains. We called in an expert who told us it was probably an indication of some type of occult shenanigans.’ He glanced up. ‘I prefer your version, Corrigan.’

  Chong placed a shallow tray in front of them. ‘Matthew Flynn offered up this little gift when I stripped him. Three hundred pounds in consecutively numbered fifty-pound notes. Except for one which is missing.’

  Hanson looked down at the money. ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Inside his right boot.’ She left the table and returned with several small clear plastic items in transparent sealed bags, individually labelled. ‘When I began the search for trace evidence I found multiple fragments on the sheet I’d wrapped around him before transportation. I vacuumed his clothes and his body and got more. Have a look.’ She held up one of the small items. They peered at it through plastic.

  ‘This filter contains what I collected from his heavy wool coat.’ She pointed at another. ‘That one has all I got from the right-hand pocket.’ She spread her hands over them. ‘All of what’s inside these filters looks to me to be the same plant-based material. I’m hoping forensics will identify it.’ Hanson gazed down at tiny brown to black bits of something, understanding Watts’s often expressed impatience with forensic science. They’d have to wait. Chong gathered up the plastic bags. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve got an identification. I’m also sending the money to them. They’re processing the candles found at the scene.’ She glanced at Watts. ‘They’re overstretched so don’t expect or pester for results today. Or for several days, come to that.’

  Watts was looking gratified. ‘Know what the money and the stuff you collected from him is telling me?’ He paused for effect.

  Hanson was feeling the impact of her day’s early start. ‘That you need to pop to the bank and the cleaners?’

  ‘No, clever clogs. It’s saying “drugs”, loud and clear.’

  Chong regarded him for a few seconds. ‘At the risk of raining on your parade, whatever’s in those filters doesn’t look like any substance I’ve encountered. I can tell you now, it isn’t marijuana.’

  Watts was undeterred. ‘New pharmaceuticals are constantly cropping up.’

  ‘What’s in that envelope doesn’t look pharmaceutical,’ said Hanson.

  He remained upbeat. ‘Some of the new pharmaceuticals are semi-synthetic. Extracted from natural materials. For all we know, what’s in these filters might be a new kind of mix. It was on his coat, in his pockets, so it’s obviously something he regularly carried on him. That and the concealed money are giving me a strong message: Matthew Flynn was into drugs.’ He glanced down at the remains. ‘He was expecting trouble.’ His colleagues were silent. ‘And by the look of him, he got it. Our first line of inquiry when we see the family is the people he socialised with.’ He shifted his attention to the ravaged neck, then up to Chong. ‘Any ideas on what caused that?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet, but as soon as I got back here I requested assistance from the forensic reconstruction artist. He’s had a look at the injury. What he comes up with might answer your question. As soon as I have it I’ll send you a copy.’

  They were inside the Unsolved Crime Unit, Hanson’s attention fixed on a photograph of Matthew Flynn in life. It radiated from the Smartboard screen, the face amiable and smiling, attractive yet too fine-drawn to be regarded as handsome. It was undoubtedly the face she’d seen in that chill stone room and just now in the PM suite. Yet it wasn’t. The face which had gazed up at her in the crypt had had a beseeching quality. She left the board, tuning into Julian going through the basic facts of the original investigation.

  ‘Matthew Flynn. Younger son of Brad and Diana Flynn.’ This produced glances of sudden recognition. ‘Brad Flynn. One of this city’s entrepreneurs. Owns several businesses: a car dealership, fitness centres, an employment and training agency with offices in the city and a portfolio of properties he leases out.’ Julian paused for breath.

  ‘Got form, has he?’ asked Watts.

  ‘No, I checked.’ He pointed to the photograph. ‘Matthew was employed by an agency and living independently on the city side of Erdington at the time he disappeared. Parents live in Sutton Coldfield. Elder son, Dominic lives a couple of miles from them and works in the family businesses. Updates on this information as recent as two months ago indicate no change.’ With a glance at Watts he changed the screen to one showing official data.

  ‘The system indicates that one family member had form. Matthew Flynn himself. One caution for Class A drug possession when he was fifteen.’

  Unsettled, Hanson stared at the details, recognising her own disappointment. She gave a slow headshake. Rule One: do not create false personas. They can blind you to facts.

  ‘Well, well, well. Who’d have thought it?’ said Watts.

  Hanson glanced at him. ‘At a guess, you’re about to remind us that you did.’

  Corrigan was looking doubtful. ‘A caution at fifteen doesn’t mean he was still into drugs at twenty.’

  ‘A reasonable point, Corrigan, but then I’m not as reasonable as you and right now, as far as I’m concerned, it fits with the trace evidence we’ve got.’

  ‘What was his caution for, specifically?’ asked Hanson.

  ‘A very small amount of magic mushroom,’ said Julian. ‘His only recorded offence.’

  ‘Which probably isn’t his whole story,’ said Watts. ‘We don’t know what else he was into.’

  Hanson knew she couldn’t say otherwise. Watts had thirty-plus years’ experience in the job. She rested her cheek on one hand. ‘Is there any more information about his family?’

  Julian nodded. ‘There’s a bit relating to the brother, Dominic. He contacted headquarters several times after Matthew disappeared, demanding action, plus progress on some street hassle he’d reported on Matthew’s behalf – after he’d disappeared. Maybe he thought they might be connected.’

  A sharp bleep from the Smartboard got their attention. He turned to it, tapping one of several icons. ‘Information from Dr Chong.’ The massive screen filled with a 3D, high-resolution, full-colour image which silenced them. An anatomical illustration: a human head upturned, the line of the
lower jaw an inverted ‘V’, the neck below it fully extended. Around the elongated neck were finely executed labels indicating the internal features of the throat: vagus, glossopharyngeal nerve, hypoglossal nerve, carotid artery, all neatly arrowed within the surrounding ripped, flayed flesh worked in fine lines of brick-red, black to grey.

  Corrigan broke the silence. ‘Matthew Flynn’s neck wound reconstructed to show how it looked at the time he was killed.’ Julian stared at it wide-eyed, the light and colour from the screen reflected onto his own face.

  ‘Jeez.’ The reality inside the crypt and the PM suite had not prepared Hanson for this gashed horror. An image of a fleshy, mashed peach slid into her head. She learnt closer, noting tiny pinpoints of severed blood vessels. The mashed peach image was extinguished by another: a hacked-up fig. In the shocked hush she looked at her colleagues, their facial expressions mirroring hers.

  The door opened and the chief’s voice followed by his bulk came inside. ‘Good. You’re all here because I wanted to tell—’ Seeing their faces he stopped, turned and stared at the technicolour horror. ‘What the devil’s that?’

  ‘The forensic recon artist’s impression of how Matthew Flynn’s neck injury probably looked at the time he was killed,’ said Corrigan.

  Lips compressed, the chief looked from it to Watts. ‘This Flynn case needs wrapping up, quick as you can. I’ve been with the chief constable all morning. He’s still smarting over comments in the press last week about unsolved cases in this city being allowed to stagnate. Now, he’s overreacting. Demanding reviews of three just for starters which I’ve sent Upstairs: a series of rapes of adult women going back to the nineties, two child abductions from years back, and three pensioners beaten senseless the year before last, plus any other ideas he might be having as I speak. We’re already six officers short because they’re out searching for the Building Society Bandit who’s struck again in Smethwick after a gap of twelve months.’ He shook his head. ‘A quick “solve” of the Flynn case means we won’t get Dominic Flynn demanding progress like he has since his brother disappeared. For all I know, he and the rest of the family might be behind the press criticism we’re getting. The father’s got clout in this city. Seven days from now I want to know what you’ve got on this case and it needs to be enough to satisfy the chief constable that it’s well under way.’ He was through the door, passing Chong on her way in.