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Payback. Harvey Cleggett
Читать онлайн.Название Payback
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781922175946
Автор произведения Harvey Cleggett
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Издательство Ingram
Again both men sensed the foreboding they had experienced at the crime scene, however this time they knew they would be witnessing the brutal outcome of a savage killing. Despite this, they attacked their food with vigour as they watched. There was the initial display of the case file number on a marker card, followed by the obligatory location shots showing the street name. The video then panned to take in all the factories in the court.
The entrance to Mario’s premises came into view and both men shuffled attentively as filming progressed to the front office. The additional items such as PCs, filing cabinets and personal objects could be seen, providing them with the details that were missing when they attended the scene earlier. What caught their eye was the pile of empty beer cans on one of the desks; Ballard counted five. In addition there was a half empty bottle of Jonnie Walker. Mario may have been drinking with his two staff, drinking alone, or unwittingly had a drink with the killer; whichever way, it was something that needed to be investigated.
Both men scribbled notes in their day books as the film moved to the factory floor, displaying the rows of concrete statues. Wide shots were taken to give the scale of the room, then the crime scene itself came into view.
As prepared as both men were, John’s mouth dropped open, still full of partly masticated food. What they saw was Mario’s body slumped on the floor alongside an overturned chair. The noose was still around his neck, the rope lying coiled on top of him. “Jesus Christ. What sort of world are we living in?”
Ballard nodded as he washed down a mouthful of sandwich, staring hard at the screen. “I have to say, I’ve never got used to the amount of blood that gets splashed around in murders like these.”
John stared, his mouth chewing mechanically as he took in the scene unfolding before him. The video showed a close up of the exit wound. Both men placed their sandwiches down on the table, stunned by what they saw.
John gulped down his mouthful before hissing, “My God! Look at the size of the hole in the back of the poor bastard’s head.” He took the remote, pausing the video before zooming in for a closer view of the grizzly scene.
Neither man was ashamed to admit the images were disturbing, unlike their younger peers who felt such emotional displays were a sign of weakness. They had an ‘old school’ reputation for toughness which effectively countered their display of humanity.
After switching the video to a wider shot, John got up and walked over to the screen. “Bingo! Your theory about the chair is spot on. Look at his shoes?” As he spoke, he pointed to Mario’s footwear. “Definitely heavy duty. My guess steel capped to save his toes from being crushed should one of the statues drop on his tootsies.”
Returning to the table he clicked the remote and the video continued its gruesome journey, documenting in excruciating detail every facet of the crime. By the time it had ended, the last image redisplaying the case file number, both men sat in silence, digesting their lunch and the scenes that had played out before them.
Ballard glanced at his partner. “Never gets any easier does it?”
With a clenched jaw John snarled, “I swear to God we’ll get the bastard who did this.”
To lighten the mood, Ballard collected his lunch scraps and pushed back from the table. “How about we change pace and have a chat with Ken, your favourite profiler.”
John grimaced, then laughed humourlessly before collecting the remains of his sandwich and drink, following Ballard to the kitchen. Minutes later they were sitting in a tiny alcove devoting their attention to Ken Straun who performed regular investigations as well as provided the squad with profiler expertise.
Ken wore a perpetual worried expression on his face, even when he was happy. When he was drunk and providing the right music was playing, he transformed into John Travolta. Normally reserved, almost innocent looking with wide rimmed glasses, his appearance contradicted a keen intellect and a disgraceful sense of humour.
Ballard, reading John’s body language, arms folded, jaw jutting aggressively, decided to take the initiative. “I remember reading somewhere Ken that profiling was performed by a police surgeon in 1888 on Jack the Ripper. He in fact documented his suppositions… who would have believed that?”
Ballard maintained a straight face as John scowled at him, then Ken for good measure. The worried look on Ken’s face intensified as he glanced between the two men. Taking a huge breath he stared up at the ceiling for at least three seconds before blurting out, “I know you don’t believe in profiling John, but I do have a few theories on this case, as fresh as it is.”
With Ken still staring at the ceiling, Ballard nudged John with his elbow before saying, “Ken we’ll take anything you have, believe me.”
“Yes Ken,” John grunted, unconvincingly. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Ken took another breath, directing his gaze at both men. “Well, if you take the FBI method of profiling, which is used in England, the Netherlands and other European countries, there are five phases. Firstly there’s the assimilation phase in which all the evidence or information from the crime scene such as victim photos, witness statements and so forth is examined, as our team is doing now.”
He paused to see if there was any reaction from Ballard or John. As there was none, he continued. “Secondly, there’s the classification phase. It’s here many profilers attempt to classify the murderer as either ‘organised’ or ‘disorganised’.”
For the first time John showed a degree of interest. Leaning forward he asked, “Well Ken, which one is our guy? In your opinion?”
Ken warmed to his task, pleased he now had John’s attention. Ticking off the points on his fingers he said, “Well, it’s unlikely this was a random murder, considering the killer was trying to prolong the victim’s state of fear by standing him on a chair, threatening to hang him.”
Ballard and John looked at each other, nodding in agreement.
“Next, as there was no forced entry, it’s possible the killer knew the victim. Following that, fingerprints haven’t found a match with anyone with a criminal record so this means the killer either doesn’t have one, or he wore gloves. This still has to be proven.
“Now, the victim was shot with what is believed to be a hollow point at close range, I saw the photos of the powder burns on the victim’s forehead. Adding to this, the shell wasn’t left at the scene.”
He leaned back in his chair, now comfortable in his element. “Finally and this is a bit left field, the rope wasn’t just tossed onto the body, there was a degree of care taken in how it was placed. All this denotes a man who plans and may even have an obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m imagining him coiling the rope as he dispassionately views his handiwork. In summary, it’s very possible this is a highly organised man, assuming it is a man.”
John looked across at Ballard. “You know Mike, Ken’s quite bright. I don’t understand why you poke fun at his profiling skills.”
It was Ballard’s turn to scowl at John. “Ignore him Ken. He hasn’t eaten all his lunch and you know what he’s like when his sugar level’s down.”
Ken inspected both men’s faces, evaluating their seriousness before continuing. “I have to caution it’s in the ‘classification’ stage where many profilers get it wrong. While it appears the killer is organised, this is only one murder…”
“And let’s hope it bloody well stays that way!” snapped John.
“Quite right. All I’m saying is I’m making