10

  Sid Beckett and Colin Holmes came into the station together. They’d arrived in the same beaten-up old transit van Minter had spotted outside the warehouse. Minter watched Colin park it, badly, exhaust fumes pluming out of the back.

  He went down to reception to escort them up to CID, while Warren got them a coffee each from the kitchenette, then all four of them grabbed a seat around the table in the interview room.

  ‘Thank you both for coming in so quickly,’ Minter began

  Sid and Colin nodded in unison.

  Minter pointed at the recording equipment. ‘Do you mind if I record this?’ he asked.

  ‘Are we suspects?’ asked Colin.

  Minter shook his head. ‘You’ve probably seen these things on crime dramas. It doesn’t mean you’re under suspicion. It’s just easier to transcribe the interview later. Are you okay if I switch it on?’

  They both nodded again, and Minter signalled to Warren to hit the record button.

  ‘Statement interview with Sid Beckett and Colin Holmes,’ he began. He added the date and time and then turned to look at them. ‘Right, talk me through yesterday morning, please. What exactly happened?’

  ‘We turned up for the auction,’ said Colin. ‘There were quite a few units up for grabs.’

  ‘Lapsed payments?’ Minter asked.

  Colin shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I heard the owner’s looking to close it down, though.’

  ‘Close it down?’ queried Minter.

  ‘So I heard from one of the other regulars,’ replied Colin. ‘He’s got plans to empty it all out, knock the old warehouse down and sell the land to some developers.’

  Minter noted that down. Jones hadn’t mentioned anything about closing his business when he’d spoken to him. ‘All right… Go on.’

  ‘We bid on Unit Thirty-Seven and won,’ continued Colin. ‘We signed for it, got the key, opened it up and found the crates. Sid and I opened the top crate and saw the top of a head. That’s when we came out and told the owner. He made the call.’

  Minter smiled. ‘Can you expand on that a little?’

  ‘We scrambled out of there, all but screaming,’ said Sid. He grinned, revealing

  a mouthful of wonky tobacco-stained teeth. Truly, all he needed to do was don a pair of fingerless mittens and he could be Steptoe in the flesh.

  ‘Let’s wind things back,’ said Minter. ‘Why did you bid on that particular unit?’

  ‘It was my mistake,’ Colin admitted. ‘I told Sid it looked promising. The manager said that it had had a ten-year lease on it and the rent had expired; the older ones tend to have more stuff in them.’

  ‘All right. And do the pair of you do this kind of thing often?’ Minter asked.

  ‘It was my first one,’ said Sid. ‘Colin convinced me to pool some petty cash.’ He sighed. ‘That was two ’undred bob wasted.’

  Colin looked at him. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Sid waved it away. ‘Shit luck.’

  ‘What about you, Colin? You mentioned regulars earlier – are you a regular?’

  ‘No, but I’ve gone to a couple of auctions like that to see how it all works. It was the first time I actually won a bid, though.’ He paused. ‘I’m a man with a van,’ he continued. ‘I do removals, clear-outs, that kind of thing. And if I spot any junk that’s worth flogging, then its car-boot sales or Facebook Marketplace.’

  ‘Is this kind of thing your main occupation?’ Minter asked.

  Colin nodded.

  ‘And I’ve got a warehouse on George Street,’ said Sid. ‘Second-hand furniture mainly. Some nice antique pieces. But recently there’s not been a lot coming through. So Colin suggested I come along to the auction.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Minter. ‘So… you win the unit… and then what happens?’

  ‘Like we told you…’ Colin shrugged again. ‘We signed the paperwork and got the padlock key. We opened it up.’

  ‘Was there anyone else around?’

  Sid grinned toothily. ‘You mean… anyone suspicious?’

  Minter shrugged. ‘Were there any other people there showing a particular amount of interest in that unit?’

  ‘Everyone gets nosy when the shutter goes up,’ Colin replied. ‘They want to see what they missed out on.’

  ‘There was that lady,’ said Sid. ‘With the ginger ’air?’

  Colin nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You got a name?’ asked Minter hopefully.

  Colin shook his head. ‘I don’t know any of the other panners. Like I said, I’m not a regular.’

  ‘Did she say anything?’ Minter asked.

  ‘I told her to bugger off,’ said Colin. ‘She was a nosy cow.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She did…’

  Minter decided the woman was probably a distraction. ‘So you went in,’ he prompted.

  ‘Right. We went in. I was kind of embarrassed,’ said Colin.

  ‘’E promised me a pirate’s fortune, ’e did.’ Sid cackled good-naturedly. ‘You big ugly mug.’

  ‘I’ll square up with you, Sid,’ Colin promised.

  ‘You’ll buy me lunch at the Lord Nelson after this. And pay for me beer.’

  Minter couldn’t help smiling. Steptoe and Tyson Fury – they made an endearing double act. He pressed on. ‘So, you opened just the top crate?’

  Colin nodded. ‘We lifted it down onto the floor. There was tape around the lid. I thought it was to make it airtight. It was heavy, so we were both sort of hoping it might be first editions.’

  ‘First editions?’

  ‘Every now and then you’ll find a first edition of a book that can make quite a few quid,’ Sid chipped in.

  Minter nodded. ‘Right. Like a first edition of Harry Potter or something?’

  Colin smiled. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. You can get thirty thou’ off a mint one with J. K. Rowling’s signature inside.’

  Minter whistled.

  ‘We was hopin’ for something’ good,’ said Sid. ‘You never know.’ He cackled again. ‘Someone’s gotta hit the jackpot, right?’

  ‘And that top crate was the only one you touched?’ asked Warren.

  Both men shrugged.

  ‘I might have shoved a couple aside,’ said Colin. ‘Then I got my Stanley knife out. Cut through the tape –’ he mimed – ‘and lifted the lid.’

  ‘And your blimmin’ face,’ said Sid. He looked at Minter and chuckled. ‘His face. Bloody hell. He nearly crapped ’imself.’

  ‘Yeah, it was a shock. And you were just as bad,’ Colin replied defensively.

  ‘Well, we’ll need to take your fingerprints,’ said Minter. ‘Just for elimination purposes.’

  ‘I presume, when you opened up the first of those boxes, you weren’t wearing gloves?’ asked Warren.

  Both men shook their heads.

  ‘Wish I had done,’ said Sid. He shuddered. ‘I keep feeling the need to wash me ’ands.’

  ‘So we’re probably going to find your fingerprints on some of those crates and that’s why

  we’re going to need to take your prints and get a DNA swab from both of you,’ Minter explained.

  The men both looked perturbed.

  ‘Will we end up in some police database?’ Colin asked.

  ‘Would that be a problem?’ Warren looked at him.

  Colin shrugged like that was no concern of his.

  Sid, though, appeared confused. ‘I’m going to be on one of your registers?’ he asked.

  ‘As a rule, if we go to the trouble to take prints and a swab, they go on a national database, but it’s only for three to five years,’ said Minter. ‘It’s just routine. It doesn’t mean we suspect either of you of anything.’ He tried a friendly, reassuring, smile. ‘If we’re going to get ink all over your fingers, we might as well log the details, eh?’

  Sid grinned. ‘We’re doing the whole ink-pad thing?’

  Minter nodded.

  ‘Just like they do it on The Silent Witness?’

  Minter nodded again. ‘Exactly like that.’

  11

  ‘Mid thirties?’ Magnusson whistled. ‘I was spot on.’

  Boyd scribbled Palmer’s guestimates on the Incident Room’s whiteboard. ‘As for how long ago, she reckons between ten and fifteen years for the darker two. For the most recent one, she said less than five years.’ He paused. ‘So a significant gap between the first two and the last one.’ He turned to face his team. ‘Taking all this at face value, it’s looking even less like a gang hit. The murders were probably done one at a time.’

  ‘A serial killer, then,’ said Magnusson. ‘How exciting.’

  Boyd shook his head, still not entirely happy to jump to that conclusion. ‘We also made a bit of a dumb assumption based on the darkness of their skins. They were all white.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean they weren’t migrants,’ said Minter. ‘Ten, twenty years ago it was all about Turks, Bosnians and Albanians, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Right,’ said Boyd. ‘True. So, yes, it’s possible that we’ve discovered a dumping ground for three unwanted, trafficked men.’

  ‘Maybe they were ones who were proving too difficult to manage?’ offered O’Neal. ‘Maybe they were threatening to go to the authorities?’

  Okeke made a kissing sound with her lips. Loud enough that Boyd couldn’t ignore it. ‘You’re not convinced by that?’ he said.

  ‘Guv… it’s just…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The pine cones Palmer found? You know, rammed up their…’

  Boyd explained what Palmer had found. As he did, Warren, O’Neal and Minter all pulled the same face that he’d undoubtedly pulled in the examination room. ‘That occurred post-mortem for all of them,’ he added, ‘which, yes, I suppose, is more of a serial-killery thing to do.’

  ‘That’s the technical term for it, is it?’ asked Magnusson.

  O’Neal laughed.

  ‘Anything done to a body post-mortem that doesn’t have any practical purpose,’ cut in Okeke, ‘has to be considered a part of the killer’s pathology, surely?’

  ‘A message of some sort,’ clarified Minter.

  Boyd sighed.

  ‘You seem a little reluctant to go with that, guv?’ Okeke noted.

  Boyd shook his head. ‘That would make it our third serial killer. They just aren’t that common.’ The truth was that statistically serial killers were a rarefied breed. The vast majority of detectives were unlikely to encounter one such case in an entire career.

  ‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘For argument’s sake, let’s keep that option on the board. What narrative are we looking at?’

  ‘The anally inserted cones,’ said Magnusson. ‘That strikes me as a very clear message. Perhaps our killer was raped that way?’

  ‘You’re thinking a woman did this?’ asked O’Neal.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ she replied, rolling her eyes. ‘The killer could have been a male prisoner and raped while in prison? That does happen, particularly to sex offenders… if the cops can get their hands on them.’

  ‘And what?’ O’Neal shrugged. ‘This is some sort of revenge thing?’

  Magnusson hunched her shoulders and spread her hands. ‘That might explain the distribution across ten years. Waiting for them to come out on licence and then jumping them one by one.’

  Boyd got up and scrawled ‘rape/revenge’ on the board.

  ‘We also have to look at why the killer would have let the lease lapse on his storage unit,’ said Minter.

  ‘Maybe he’s dead?’ said Okeke. ‘Revenge mission done. He takes his life?’

  ‘Or he died of natural causes or an accident?’ offered Warren.

  ‘Or he’s back in prison,’ added Minter.

  ‘Or sick in a hospital, or maybe even broke?’ said Warren. ‘There’s a lot of that going on these days.’

  ‘Whatever the case is,’ Boyd said, interrupting them, ‘we’re probably going to make more headway if we start by ID’ing our John Does. Dr Palmer said she’s going to have one of her techies photograph the body parts with a UV-light filter to see if there are any distinctive markers such as tattoos that jump out. And she’s also going to hopefully come back with a more precise timeline for each of the bodies. In the meantime, we can surmise they were all in their mid thirties, they were all white males, and we have a rough timescale. Warren…?’

  ‘Mispers?’ Warren said with a sigh.

  ‘Correct,’ Boyd said. ‘Minter, you’re interviewing…’

  ‘Beckett and Holmes. Done them already, boss. I’ll type it up this afternoon. Holmes said that they handled more than one of the crates, so…’

  ‘Did you get their prints?’ Okeke asked.

  Minter rolled his eyes.

  ‘Right,’ Boyd said. ‘Magnusson, you been back to the storage place yet to check for latent forensics?’

  ‘Not yet, Boyd… I had some suspected narcotics to test for DCI Flack yesterday.’

  ‘Jesus. This is a bloody murder –’ Boyd stopped himself and tempered his voice. Probably not her fault. Flack must have badgered her into dropping what she was doing. ‘Flack’s lot can wait. Could you take O’Neal with you and go over this afternoon?’

  ‘Be a pleasure,’ she replied.

  ‘Okeke, you’re on LEDS. Have a look to see what you can find there. He – or she – may have struck elsewhere. He might have used another storage business.’

  ‘On it, guv.’

  ‘Right then…’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s lunchtime.’

  12

  Charlotte sat down with her bag of chips, while Mia settled down on the decking by her feet.

  ‘Well now, I’ve just booked a practising witch into our summer schedule at the theatre,’ she said.

  Boyd remained standing, one hand cradling his own portion of chips – he was damned if he was going to trust the circling gulls not to dive-bomb as soon as he placed them down on the table. For some reason, it appeared, the birds had clearly come to an agreement with Charlotte not to pester her.

  In his other hand was Ozzie’s lead; the spaniel was on high alert for any chance of anything remotely food-like dropping onto the decking. With gaps between the planks, he seemed well aware that if anything did drop, he was going to need to intercept it or risk losing it to the sea.

  ‘A witch?’

  She nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What’s her act going to be?’ he asked. ‘Summoning Beelzebub for a Q&A?’

  She laughed. ‘She’s giving a talk about the history of witchcraft. She’s written a book about it.’

  ‘And the Lord of the Underworld’s happy to sign a few copies afterwards, is he?’

  She sighed. ‘Witches aren’t necessarily in cahoots with the devil, Bill. Most are white ones, and they’re pagans. Anyway, the devil is a Christian bogyman.’

  ‘Oh, right. That’s me told.’ Boyd eased himself down onto the bench seat, wincing as he did so.

  ‘Is that ache still there?’ she asked, concerned.

  He nodded, rubbing at his side. ‘I thought it was a pulled muscle but it’s been lingering.’

  ‘For a while now, I think,’ she said. ‘You really should go and see a doctor about that.’

  ‘Ha. Chance would be a fine thing. You hang on the phone for hours, only to be told that there aren’t any appointments for days.’

  ‘Well, I’ll have a go for you this afternoon. I can work and be on hold at the same time,’ Charlotte said firmly.

  Boyd wasn’t particularly keen to make an appointment; from his experience, GPs had a tendency to find some lifestyle choice that needed correcting. Usually the fun stuff.

  ‘I can see you’re not thrilled,’ she said. ‘But it could be something like kidney stones. Those can get awfully painful, Bill.’

  ‘Right. Okay…’ He sighed. ‘Can I have an early-morning appointment if you can bag one?’

  They worked their way through the rest of the chips, half a dozen finding their way out of the wrapping, through the slats of the picnic table and into Ozzie’s poised and waiting jaws, and then they headed back across the road to the White Rock Theatre.

  He let Charlotte have Ozzie’s lead on the steps. ‘Still up for a pub dinner, tonight?’

  She nodded. ‘Let’s bring Emma. She seems a bit fed up.’

  He shrugged. ‘If she feels up to it.’

  ‘I’ll text her.’

  Boyd gave Charlotte a kiss, then headed uphill towards the station. Bohemia Road felt like a bloody mountainside this afternoon.

  She was right… If it was kidney stones, which would only get worse, better to get seen sooner rather than later.

  Returning to his desk, Boyd spotted Minter and waved him over.

  ‘What was your take on – dammit, I keep forgetting their names – Hinge and Bracket?’ he asked.

  ‘Steptoe and Tyson Fury?’

  Boyd laughed. He’d got a glimpse of Minter walking them in. They really did look like an unlikely pair.

  ‘Holmes and Beckett,’ said Minter. ‘They seem like a couple of wheeler-dealers, hoping to strike gold.’

  ‘And you got their prints and swabs.’

  Minter nodded. ‘Sid, the older one, seemed a bit twitchy, though. Might be worth running his prints and DNA through the system once it’s on the NDNAD.’

  ‘You think he’s suss?’ Boyd asked.

  ‘Maybe. I mean, I hate to prejudge the whole second-hand business, but…’

  ‘His prints might turn up from a burglary?’ Boyd filled in and nodded. ‘Okay. It’s always a pleasant win, catching a little bonus crime while you’re trawling.’

  ‘Like finding a tenner, eh?’ Minter turned to go, then paused. ‘Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. Holmes said the guy who owns the storage business is actually in the process of closing it down.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He didn’t tell me that when I spoke to him,’ Minter explained. ‘He said he was just auctioning units that had lapsed rents on them.’

  Boyd nodded. ‘Okay, that’s something to press him on, then.’