Chapter 21
Thurstan placed his mug on the desk, draped his jacket over the back of the chair and sat down. “Right, Alison. What can you tell me?”
Acting Detective Sergeant Alison Murphy, known to all but Thurstan as Spud, put her cup down on the coffee table and quickly looked down at her notes.
“The narrowboat we located yesterday has been examined and they’ve managed to recover some footprints from the external roof of the cabin. Couldn’t be seen under normal lighting but they used latent impression recovery techniques so that’s being compared to the database. If nothing comes of that then at least we have it for future use when we get our suspects. The owner’s being interviewed by Sammy and Fred at Copy Lane, minor previous but it’s confirmed now he’s a cousin of Darius McAvoy, which brings us back to Mickey Fenton.” She noted the knowing smile on Thurstan’s face.
“What about house to house in the immediate area, anything?”
She shook her head. “Apparently, though, that stretch of the canal bank is popular with the local youths. They go there to smoke weed, Boss.”
He looked thoughtful. “I’ll phone the Area Commander. We need some plain clothes patrols to see if they can rustle up any reluctant witnesses. They might know the personalities involved anyway.”
He sipped his coffee. “Get someone to go through any stop search forms submitted for that area recently. A couple of days before the murder up to last night will do for now.”
Arthur stuck his head around the door. “I’m putting a call through. It’s Degsy, at the post mortem.” He walked off.
“Anything else, Boss?” Spud gathered her papers and stood up.
“Yes. His car, Alison. We need to find his car. It’s not at home, so where is it? Chase that up will you?” The phone rang. He looked across the main office. Arthur held the phone in one hand and gave him a thumbs up.
“Derek, what news?”
“Hi, Boss. The post mortem’s finished. Brannan didn’t die at the bridge. He was asphyxiated before being strung up. It looks like there are traces of adhesive on part of his neck. The Pathologist thinks he probably had a plastic bag put over his head which was then taped in place. Duct tape, he reckons. Plus there’s what looks like wool fibres in his mouth, electrical burns to his genitals and bruising to his back, on the shoulders, buttocks and the back of his legs, around the heels. Oh, and a nail clipping in his pubic hair. It’s not his.”
“In his pubic hair?”
“Yep, we’ve bagged it up and we’ll be back as soon as we can. The pathologist estimates the time of death to be around ten the night before he was found. He’s got some further things to do but will let us know the full results as soon as possible and just to let you know, I’m going to pop in at the Custody Suite to see how Sammy’s doing so I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. Eddie’s got the exhibits and should be with you shortly.”
“Ok, Derek. I’ll see you later then.” He replaced the handset and sat back. The thought ‘Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick’ flitted through his mind. If only it was that simple.
The architect must have been thinking of Hampton Court maze when he drew up the plans for Copy Lane Police Station. Degsy never managed to make sense of the directions the chap on the front desk gave him and he found the restroom quite by accident.
Not a lavish affair, Formica topped table, two exhausted armchairs facing an equally tired television, several worn seats, tea and coffee making facilities next to a stainless steel sink containing three used teabags and a grimy black rubber plug. A grubby fridge sat under the drainer and a two-door cupboard clung to the wall.
He filled the kettle, switched it on and rinsed out three cups he’d found on the drainer. The laughter, as they entered, caught him unawares.
Three officers sat down at the table, a fourth joined him, at the refreshments station.
“So where’s he from, Eric?’ one of them said.
The officer next to Degsy took four mugs from the cupboard. “What, the new Super? Tesco, I think.”
The others laughed.
“No, what Force did he come from?”
“Tesco! Are yer feckin’ deaf?’ He nudged Degsy and nodded at the teaspoon in one of the cups. Degsy nodded back and the officer took the spoon and began to ladle sugar over the teabags he’d placed in the four mugs. He called over his shoulder: “He was one of their top managers apparently.”
The other three sniggered. “What, on the deli counter?”
“No, I think it might have been Fruit and Veg,” he grinned. “Anyway, don’t you lot watch the news?”
“Was it on Sky Sports, Eric?” They laughed again.
“Fuck off. You can stir your own.”
Degsy slid a small plastic tray from the cupboard, borrowed the spoon back, stirred then rinsed it and left them to their discussion.
Further along the corridor, he found the tiny office, two small tables, two computers, one chair. As Sammy entered carrying another, Fred took a cup off the tray.
“This is the best I could find, Boss.” An apologetic look.
“You have that, Sammy. I’ll stand.” He took a sip from his cup. “So, how did it go?”
“It went well.” The DS shot a glance at Fred who nodded back. “He denied everything, at first, even being related to McAvoy, but Fred got him talking about fishing -”
“Fishing?” Degsy threw a quizzical look at Fred who shrugged his shoulders and replied, ”Yeah, I did an intel check on McAvoy. He’s been spotted a few times out at the ponds in Crosby, loading and unloading his kit. Our man was no problem. I saw his stuff on the boat.”
The DI smiled and nodded his admiration.
Sammy continued, “After forty-five minutes discussing all sorts of fishing shit, they were getting along like best mates. Then Fred slipped in whether or not he’d ever done any fishing with his cousin Darius and he rambled on about fishing off the boat a couple of times before he realised what he was saying. Once he’d started, he found it difficult to stop, particularly when the alternatives were put to him. The bottom line is he was told by McAvoy to make sure it was fuelled up, leave the keys under one of his flower pots and do one for the night. He said when he got back to the mooring the next morning, it was there. Everything in place, nothing untoward.”
“Corroboration?”
“His girlfriend and two of the bar staff at the pub they went to, so we’re bailing him back to the nick.”
Back in Thurstan’s office, the phone rang. He picked up and waved Degsy to sit down.
“DCI Baddeley. Chalkie! How’s things going?”
“Fine, Thurstan. Just wanted to let you know me and Mike Patterson are on our way down to London. We went through the house to house stuff again and I think we may have found our man. Indexer error. Simple mistake. Anyway, the Met have located him and currently have eyeballs on and if everything goes to plan we should have him in custody tonight.”
“Great news. What happened with the indexing?”
“Someone got distracted, someone else thought the stuff had been input and filed the hard copy. I’ve banned birthday celebrations as a result. You know what they’re like. I’ll explain more when I see you but our guy was listed as a visitor to his grandmother’s place. When we cross-checked everything again and went back to her it turns out he’s been visiting during the relevant times. Local lad, working away and the muddy boots he left under his bed look like they’re going to be a match to the last crime scene. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve another call on the job’s phone. It’ll be the Met with an update. Speak soon.” He hung up.
Thurstan sat down. “Right, Derek. We need to get Darius McAvoy in. What arrangements have you made so far?”
“I’ve spoken to Area and the Matrix. There’s a lot of the bobbies know him so I’m hopeful we won’t have to wait long. I’ve asked them not to make any visits to his mum’s as I’ve got Devon and Sando in an obs van keeping an eye on it and I’m just waiting on Gandalph coming back to me with any intel on other places he kips in, girlfriends, etc.”
The DCI smiled. “Good stuff. Make sure when we get him he’s taken to St. Anne Street. I’ll phone the Custody Inspector there and square it off. Oh, and have someone take the piece of fingernail straight to forensics on a fast-track analysis. If it means overtime then so be it.”
Degsy squinted back at him. “Do we still have the budget for that?”
He shrugged.