Pieces of Me

Not far now…..come on, it’s only about five hundred metres away. DI Ian Carragher was just plain old Ian at the minute. He had decided to go out for an ‘I’ll show her’ jog. Due to Ian’s distinctly high fat, high sugar, barely no fruit or vegetables diet, coupled with a likeness for jogging similar to a Jewish persons liking of a pork sausage, he had developed a beer belly and the sort of physique which had him struggling to do such rugged activities as climbing the stairs, mowing the grass or washing the car. All of which he had managed to ‘outsource’ to a gardener and the local cash in hand clean your car for £5 cash immigrants who only recognised the words ‘inside’ and ‘outside’…even a friendly hello could lead to confusion as the latest Pole, Bulgarian, Indian, or African person would stare back for a few seconds before asking ‘Inside outside ?’ Obviously the outsourcing of walking up the stairs was proving trickier. He had glanced at a Stanner stair lift once, but even he realised this was too much. So now, there he was, in his old Liverpool shirt, his blue Nike shorts which had seen better days and his running shoes, which still looked pristine even though he had bought them three years ago, although this had more to do with their lack of mileage than any sort of cleaning regimen which Ian had employed. So having been out for a massive twenty minutes he was now on the final straight and attempting to sprint the last two hundred metres before walking the last hundred to his front door. The roads were quite busy in Hammersmith, but then they always were. London was a crazy place, no matter what day and what time of the day it was there was always traffic. Hammersmith in particular had quite a lot due to the various roads which led through Hammersmith and into central London. It was a good place to live and ideally situated for getting in and around London without too much hassle but the constant noise and mayhem did sometimes become too much. Ian finally stopped sprinting. His legs were wobbling, his arms were tired and his face was crimson with strain and effort. The last hundred metres were a kind of walking stagger, past the traditional kebab shops, fast food outlets, coffee shops and corner shops that were endemic all over London, all over England in fact. Ian always wondered where people went who didn’t like coffee, kebabs and burgers. They must stay in as there was clearly nowhere to go otherwise.

  By the time he got to his front door he had regained an element of composure, although his Liverpool shirt was cloaked in sweat. His legs were shaking and his heart was doing the sort of beats per minute which would have had any ‘Hard Dance’ music aficionado jumping around like a madman. Ian wiped his forehead onto the left sleeve of his shirt and opened the front door. His work phone had been on the side table with his car keys and police ID. The phone flashed up ’10 missed calls’. He knew something was wrong, and as he made his way through the ten voice messages an increasingly irate Chief Constable used an increasing amount of swear words as in each message the volume also went up as he was being asked ‘Where the Fuck are you?’

  Ian dialled immediately and the Chief Super picked up.

  ‘Sorry Chief, I’ve been running’ Ian stated in an exaggerated breathless manner in order to substantiate his answer and reason for not being available, before the Chief Super could get a word in.

  At this the Chief Super began to laugh and asked ‘Sorry, this is DI Carragher isn’t it? Gabri Haile Selassie hasn’t accidentally called me has he?’

  ‘Very funny chief, of course it’s me, what’s happened?’

  ‘We’ve got another one Carragher’ stated simply

  ‘Another what chief?’

  ‘Well what do you think Carragher…my God man, another body? This time in Olney in Buckinghamshire. You need to get in here and then get up there fast. This one has had their pancreas removed?’

  Ian just couldn’t take this in. The murders had spread. At least confined to London there was a search area, but if this madman was now touring the country they were in big trouble?’

  ‘But chief, how do we know it’s him?’

  ‘Well I suppose in all fairness we don’t, its just Olney, which, funnily enough does not have a murder rate similar to New York, and there are not hordes of people wandering around the Buckinghamshire countryside killing people and removing their organs’

  ‘Sorry boss, fair point, I am just surprised by the whole thing and am struggling to take all this in. Let me get changed and I will see you in about forty minutes.’

  ‘Well hurry up, we need to get you up there ASAP…oh and by the way Carragher can I ask you something’

  ‘Of course chief’

  ‘Will you be taking the car up to Olney or in your new found world of fitness fanaticism would you like to run the fifty miles instead’

  ‘Oh very funny’ as Ian hung up he heard the laughter emanating from the other end of the telephone line.

  Ian hobbled up the stairs to get ready, thinking to himself ‘maybe that stair-lift would be a good idea after all…..’

  Ian arrived in Olney at 2pm. Compared to the mayhem of five hours ago everything was much quieter. The residents of the caravan park had all been interviewed and were being fed and watered care of the Milton Keynes police budget in order to keep a semblance of calm, it was amazing what a free cup of tea and a bacon sandwich could do to a madding crowd, but that was caravan owners for you.

  In fact the only people causing a scene were the throngs of newspaper and television reporters and vans. There had been a couple of helicopters overhead but these had been ordered away. Ian made his way through the crowd at the entrance and flashed his ID. As he was parked up and got out of the car he could hear reporters shouting in the background various questions, ‘Had the London body snatcher struck again’. ‘Was it a Mr David Holmes who had been killed’, ‘Did he still have a head?’ plus all sorts of other crazy ideas and questions. The local detective in charge a Ms Abbie Haynes greeted DI Carragher as he central locked his car, a quick beep and a flash of the lights confirming the completed locking procedure.

  ‘You must be Inspector Haynes’ stated Ian

  ‘Yes sir, that’s correct.’

  ‘So have you found out much so far, what has been the procedure?’

  ‘Well we got here in less than twenty minutes, however it took another two hours to get significant forces in place as we had to call the surrounding regions. Forensics arrived here within two hours and we had sealed off the park about the same time. We have interviewed all residents of the caravan park but to no avail. They were all in bed by midnight as they are here with their families. There were a couple who were night fishing but they didn’t hear anything and were right next to the caravan site when it happened so were on the opposite side of the lake. We searched all the caravans and the surrounding area but to no avail. It looks like there are some tracks leading to the deceased. Actually we are nearly there so I can show you.’

  Ms Haynes tracked alongside the police tape which had been unfurled to keep people away from the possible murderer’s footprints. They seemed quite small, no more than a size six. The indents in the soil were quite shallow too so the person could not have weighed much. DI Haynes essentially said the same thing as they walked to the forensics tent. As they got there she introduced DI Carragher to the forensics lead who was a Paul Kirton.

  ‘Hello DI Carragher, how are you doing?’ enquired Paul

  ‘Better than our Mr Holmes I would suggest’ countered Ian jokingly, however this did not go down well. On reflection Ian should maybe not have been so blasé with a complete stranger and it immediately put him on the back-foot as Paul Kirton’s brow furrowed and he turned on his heels and led Ian to the scene of the crime.

  ‘So from what we can gather Mr Holmes was fishing last night. He had consumed six cans of Stella plus some ham and mustard sandwiches and we would suggest that he had fallen asleep. His attacker came from the direction you have just come from and sneaked up behind him. He actually has a small puncture wound in the side of his neck and so we believe the killer actually injected him with something first which knocked him out. His last act was to stand up and
then promptly fall forward into the lake. Even worse for Mr Holmes, or perhaps better judging by what happened he hit his head on a part submerged rock which led to a significant fracture of the skull and a three inch hole which bled profusely. He would have died instantly, and lay there face down in the lake with his body just below his chest still on the bank. The killer then looks to have sat down next to him and moved his body slightly upwards putting a rock underneath him. He was then in the correct position for what can only be described as an operation to remove his pancreas. His liver is actually still there. The pathologist can confirm all of this. We would maybe not have looked in such detail at the scene of the crime but with these murders in London it seemed prudent. The killer then took the pancreas and escaped leaving the gaping wound in Mr Holmes side open to the elements. Then Ms Bishop found him this morning and a call was put in by an Andrew Frost to the police who was cycling past at the time.’

  ‘Estimated time of death?’ enquired Ian, trying to take all this in.

  ‘I would estimate between two to four am. We know he left his house at ten p.m. as this is a routine of his. He drank six cans of Stella Artois five per cent lager which must have taken him about two hours or so, add twenty minutes to walk here and thirty minutes to set up his rods etcetera, plus he then fell asleep so that would be about two a.m. I suggest four a.m. maximum due to the sheer level of blood loss and also it would be getting light at about five thirty a.m. so the killer would have to have been long gone by then’

  ‘So how long will you need to finish your forensics studies and get a report completed?’

  ‘Well we have a team coming up from London which will triple our manpower on this one. I know the Chief Super is throwing as many resources behind this as he can lay his hands on so three days max I would say if we worked round the clock.’

  ‘That would be good Detective Kirton but the killer will be long gone by then. We need key findings by tomorrow night and constant updates. We are still nowhere nearer to establishing the motives or who the killer is. This looks like its been planned in minute detail which is alarming. I need to speak to Inspector Haynes again, can you get her for me’

  Ms Haynes and DI Carragher talked for another thirty minutes. They concocted an action plan which had all available officers going to all guest houses and hotels within a ten mile radius to check who had stayed, who had checked out and who they were. Unfortunately the road to Olney did not have any cameras so there was no surveillance apart from the camera which showed the junction to the M1 motorway at Milton Keynes. The transport police were to be notified and a copy of that morning’s traffic video would be made available. All vehicles joining at junctions thirteen, fourteen and fifteen were to be reviewed and owners traced. It was probably a lot of work for no return but they needed something…anything.’

  DI Carragher sat at his table in Café Brio drinking his cappuccino. Well actually he was staring into his cappuccino, the white froth on top was slowly losing its mass as the air receded out of the frothy milk, and he could just about hear the tiny sounds of the air escaping as the chocolate powder on the top descended to its inevitable submersion into the brown liquid beneath. He had yet to add his customary three brown sugars, as what he had just seen left him puzzled. In three weeks he had seen four terrible murders, all with one obvious thing in common, and therefore surely linked, a part of their bodies had been physically cut out and taken away. It didn’t smell like some form of cannibalism as although the liver could be fried up with onion gravy, with a solid portion of potato mash and peas, he just could not see himself sitting down to a ‘Spaghetti Cuore’ or roast pancreas surprise…although I suppose if he was served roast pancreas it would be quite a surprise.

  All the murders had been committed with absolute precision. The right time of day, the right place, the right conditions. There was very little evidence to go on, and what there was had been of no use so far, from the part fingerprints on the part washed glass at Saul Barraghan’s alcoholic flat, well, actually it was Saul Barraghan who was the alcoholic, not his flat, to the complete lack of evidence at Mel Johnston’s place, to this current murder where some footprints had been found but they were very non descript, also as Mr David Holmes had been submerged in water for a number of hours any potential clues on his body would have deteriorated quicker so there was maybe not much to go on there either, but they would find out soon enough.

  There was also the question of whether the murder of James Benjamin Langan came into this? He had been murdered, and was definitely dead, although if he hadn’t been he certainly was now as he had been six feet underground for the past two weeks and his eyes had been cut out. This fitted more the profile of the warring gangland culture than somebody else, however what if this murder was also linked. If there was a link the evidence should be compared. The prints of the ‘unknown’ person on the whiskey glass in Mr Langan’s office could be compared to the prints on the glass from Mr Barraghan’s place.

  Ian Carragher broke away from his thoughts for a minute to add three sachets of brown sugar to the now deflated coffee and stirred slowly. He looked out of the window onto the relatively quiet Olney village scene, pushchairs being pushed (hence the name) along by variously aged women dressed in a wide range of attire, from the designer label jeans and smart casual look to the teenage, large gold ear-ringed, pink velour ‘Juicy’ tracksuit wearing young mothers. Some babies were quietly sitting there, being pushed along in the sunshine with not a care in the world whilst others were screaming as if they were being attacked by a pack of wolves, their bodies jolting, legs and arms kicking and flailing everywhere as if they wanted to be free from their mobile prisons, so they could cover themselves in chocolate and dirt and be fascinated with anything and everything, from a bird flying past to someone who was fat or ginger, or even worse, both.

  Ian thought about his trip with Nicola Trenchyard to Bristol, when they enquired about a possible link to organ donation. It had seemed a little tenuous at the time but it had been the only real link there seemed to be. And with this new murder, this surely wasn’t a coincidence. He had yet to get any information on David Holmes but he already knew that he would have been the beneficiary of a pancreas donation in his recent past.

  He called Inspector Haynes to ask her to look into Mr Holmes medical past, especially any major operations he had over the last few years. He then put a call in to the Organ Donation centre in Bristol.

  ‘Good morning organ donation centre, how can I help?’

  ‘I would like to speak to Ms Sylvia Lawson please?’ requested Ian.

  The receptionist hesitated for a moment before asking Ian to wait on hold for a minute.

  After twenty seconds of Mozart waiting music he was put through.

  ‘Hello is that Ms Lawson?’

  ‘No I’m sorry, this is her manager Stephen Keane, and did I understand you are a police officer Sir’

  ‘No, I am Detective Inspector Ian Carragher, I came over to your centre on Friday and was helped with my enquiries by a Ms. Sylvia Lawson, is she there please?

  ‘I’m afraid not, I actually thought you were calling to give me some details about her whereabouts?’

  ‘I’m sorry…’ Ian said quizzically

  ‘Ms Lawson hasn’t been in the office today, she rushed away on Friday after you had left and she looked ashen faced. We were really worried about her. A couple of the staff tried to call her over the weekend as she missed her ballroom dance class on Saturday and Sunday afternoon tea at Mrs Riley’s house, then when she never turned up for work this morning we tried to contact her but to no avail. We rang the police but to be honest with you they did not seem overly bothered.’

  ‘You mean Ms Lawson has gone missing?’

  ‘We believe so, although the officer I spoke to suggested she may have had to go away for a few days suddenly and would probably be in touch so not to worry, except we are worried, she has been working here for nearly ten years now and has never done this sort of
thing before. Her husband passed away from a heart attack several years ago and her daughter moved away so she lives on her own. All her immediate family, i.e. brothers and sisters live in Canada and Australia so we just don’t know where she could have gone.’

  ‘Mr Keane, can you please look into some information for me. Originally we requested Ms Lawson to look into the organ donor to a Mr James Benjamin Langan and a Mr Saul Barraghan. Can you also look into the donor for a Mr Mel Johnston and come back to me as soon as possible.’

  ‘Of course, shouldn’t take too long, let me do it now and call you back.’

  Ian thought for a moment, what was going on here? This was strange; he didn’t like the sound of this at all. ‘Also Mr Keane, can you please give me the details of the officer you spoke to and I will chase this up for you.’

  ‘Ah, thank you DI Carragher, hang on a minute, its here somewhere’ there was background noise as papers were shuffled, drawers were opened and closed and Stephen was whispering to himself ‘now where is it, I had it yesterday, what did I do with it’…finally with a resounding ‘Aha, here it is’ he came back on the line.

  ‘Right then, it was an Officer John Brady, 0117 564 5236, which is the police station he resides at.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Keane I will get right on it.

  Ian dialled the number and got put straight through to John Brady. He asked about the case of the missing Sylvia Lawson and was getting annoyed by his blasé attitude.

  ‘Look Brady, I suggest you get round to that house and take a proper look, for all you know she could be lying unconscious somewhere…get back there and break the door down if you have to.’

  ‘I will have a word with my superior DI Carragher and see what he says’ retorted Brady tersely

  ‘No you wont, you will put me through to your superior and I will tell him’

  Brady unwillingly forwarded the call onto his Superior.

  ‘DI Mainwaring speaking’

  Ian then had a conversation with DI Mainwaring, explaining his recent trip to Bristol, the circumstances of the investigation, his concerns to the whereabouts of Ms Lawson, and why it was important to treat this with the utmost priority.

  DI Mike Mainwaring finished the call with ‘Of Course Ian, we will get two officers over there first thing in the morning, we will call you tomorrow morning with any news. I do think we should leave it today to give twenty four hours for a disappearance. She may just be ill but I promise no matter what I will get someone over there tomorrow morning if she still hasn’t turned up’

  ‘Thank you Mike, I will be waiting’

  Ian disconnected the call. As he did so another call came in. Ian’s ring tone of the Rocky theme tune kicked into life. His work colleagues and his wife gave him a lot of stick over his ringtone but he liked it.

  ‘DI Carragher, this is Stephen Keane from the Organ Donation centre, as soon as I got off the phone from you I looked for those files you requested on Saul Barraghan, James Benjamin Langan and Mel Johnston, however it seems they are missing.’

  ‘Missing….well don’t you keep electronic information Mr Keane?’ asked Ian

  ‘Well we do, however this information has been deleted. I asked our IT department and it seems the files were deleted by Ms Lawson two days ago.’

  ‘WHAT, you mean the now missing Ms Lawson deleted the files and hasn’t been seen since?’

  ‘I’m afraid it looks that way DI Carragher’

  ‘Thank you for getting back to me so quickly Mr Keane, it’s appreciated.’

  Ian hung up the phone. He put his head in his hands and shook his head slowly. He was developing a headache.

  How was Ms Sylvia Lawson involved in this?

  Where were the missing hard copy files?

  Did Ms Lawson lie and all the body parts were from the same person after all?

  Did Ms Lawson know the donor?

  Did she know the relatives of the donor?

  Did she give the information to someone else who has then killed her?

  Was Ms Lawson the killer?

  Who was next?

  Chapter 17 – ‘Please forgive me’