Read Online The Wharf Butcher by Michael K Foster - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael K Foster
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corpse was found strapped to a warehouse door. Arms outstretched, legs straight, and six-inch nails driven through his wrists and ankles. It was broad daylight, close to the main street, and there was no CCTV coverage.’
Now the DCI had mentioned it, it seemed pretty obvious, thought Carlisle. But how would the others react? Vic Miller raised his hand in a request to speak. A member of Northumbria’s Armed Response Team – or NART as it was better known – DS Miller had a keen eye and a cool head for detail.
‘Pathology found minute strands of car seat fabric in Anderson’s right hand,’ said Miller. ‘Could a cadaveric spasm have taken place, in which case death would have occurred inside the killer’s vehicle . . . and not as we first thought . . . outside of it?’
‘Good point, Vic. In other words, after killing Anderson, did the killer drive to Gateshead where the body was later discovered?’
‘It’s plausible,’ Miller nodded.
‘OK,’ said Mason, sounding a little more upbeat. ‘What do we know about Anderson’s business partner, Leo Schlesinger?’
Miller checked with his notes. ‘We know that Schlesinger had a major stroke four years ago, and that’s when he sold out his half of the business to Charles Anderson. Apart from that, we have very little else on him.’
As thoughts gathered pace, Mason’s cold eyes toured the room.
‘Yes, Luke,’ said Mason, pointing to a middle aged, balding detective who had positioned himself at the far end of the table.
All eyes now craned towards a tall black officer, mid-forties, with strong facial features that Carlisle took to be of Afro-Caribbean origin. Having spent the past fifteen years working with the London Metropolitan’s Special Investigation Branch, Luke James seemed a natural selection to Mason’s team.
‘CCTV coverage points towards a black Mk3 Ford Mondeo seen in the vicinity. Used in the Anderson murder, it was stolen from the Gateshead Council offices car park on the twenty-fourth. Two days later, it was found abandoned close to Walkergate Metro station.’
‘Remind me of the car used in the Riley murders, Luke,’ Mason said.
‘That was another Mk3 Mondeo, only that one was silver.’
‘And was that stolen too?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘And where was that from, exactly?’
‘The Malting House car park in the Felling,’ James confirmed. ‘It was later found abandoned by a passing police patrol car on Shields Road. That’s near Chillingham on the north side of the river, for those not familiar with the area.’
‘Anything else we should know, Luke?’
‘There was no CCTV, but tyre tracks left at Dove Farm match those of the stolen vehicle.’
‘So, he’s partial to Mk3 Mondeos,’ said Mason, thoughtfully stroking a thickset jawbone. ‘What about DNA and fingerprints?’
‘We believe he wears disposable rubber gloves. They’re a common brand, sold mainly to the medical and domestic markets. With well over two-million pairs sold last year, I’m not holding my breath on this one.’
‘And the six-inch nails,’ Mason muttered. ‘Where are we with those?’
James appeared hesitant. ‘I’m a bit disappointed about our enquiries into that, boss.’
‘Disappointed . . . disappointed about what?’ Mason insisted.
‘Having concentrated our efforts on reputable hardware outlets in the North East, we now find they’re being sold in huge quantities on the internet.’
Carlisle sensed the mood change; this was no pushover. The killer, whoever he was, was well organised and extremely devious.
‘Just a thought, boss,’ said Miller. ‘Could this be the work of a religious freak?’
‘Meaning––’
‘It’s the way he displays his victim’s bodies?’
‘I’m still not with you, Vic,’ Mason shrugged.
‘Well, the act always appears sacrificial, similar to that of a crucifixion homicide.’
Mason petulantly pushed out his bottom lip as though carefully balancing the facts.
‘What’s your take on
Now the DCI had mentioned it, it seemed pretty obvious, thought Carlisle. But how would the others react? Vic Miller raised his hand in a request to speak. A member of Northumbria’s Armed Response Team – or NART as it was better known – DS Miller had a keen eye and a cool head for detail.
‘Pathology found minute strands of car seat fabric in Anderson’s right hand,’ said Miller. ‘Could a cadaveric spasm have taken place, in which case death would have occurred inside the killer’s vehicle . . . and not as we first thought . . . outside of it?’
‘Good point, Vic. In other words, after killing Anderson, did the killer drive to Gateshead where the body was later discovered?’
‘It’s plausible,’ Miller nodded.
‘OK,’ said Mason, sounding a little more upbeat. ‘What do we know about Anderson’s business partner, Leo Schlesinger?’
Miller checked with his notes. ‘We know that Schlesinger had a major stroke four years ago, and that’s when he sold out his half of the business to Charles Anderson. Apart from that, we have very little else on him.’
As thoughts gathered pace, Mason’s cold eyes toured the room.
‘Yes, Luke,’ said Mason, pointing to a middle aged, balding detective who had positioned himself at the far end of the table.
All eyes now craned towards a tall black officer, mid-forties, with strong facial features that Carlisle took to be of Afro-Caribbean origin. Having spent the past fifteen years working with the London Metropolitan’s Special Investigation Branch, Luke James seemed a natural selection to Mason’s team.
‘CCTV coverage points towards a black Mk3 Ford Mondeo seen in the vicinity. Used in the Anderson murder, it was stolen from the Gateshead Council offices car park on the twenty-fourth. Two days later, it was found abandoned close to Walkergate Metro station.’
‘Remind me of the car used in the Riley murders, Luke,’ Mason said.
‘That was another Mk3 Mondeo, only that one was silver.’
‘And was that stolen too?’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘And where was that from, exactly?’
‘The Malting House car park in the Felling,’ James confirmed. ‘It was later found abandoned by a passing police patrol car on Shields Road. That’s near Chillingham on the north side of the river, for those not familiar with the area.’
‘Anything else we should know, Luke?’
‘There was no CCTV, but tyre tracks left at Dove Farm match those of the stolen vehicle.’
‘So, he’s partial to Mk3 Mondeos,’ said Mason, thoughtfully stroking a thickset jawbone. ‘What about DNA and fingerprints?’
‘We believe he wears disposable rubber gloves. They’re a common brand, sold mainly to the medical and domestic markets. With well over two-million pairs sold last year, I’m not holding my breath on this one.’
‘And the six-inch nails,’ Mason muttered. ‘Where are we with those?’
James appeared hesitant. ‘I’m a bit disappointed about our enquiries into that, boss.’
‘Disappointed . . . disappointed about what?’ Mason insisted.
‘Having concentrated our efforts on reputable hardware outlets in the North East, we now find they’re being sold in huge quantities on the internet.’
Carlisle sensed the mood change; this was no pushover. The killer, whoever he was, was well organised and extremely devious.
‘Just a thought, boss,’ said Miller. ‘Could this be the work of a religious freak?’
‘Meaning––’
‘It’s the way he displays his victim’s bodies?’
‘I’m still not with you, Vic,’ Mason shrugged.
‘Well, the act always appears sacrificial, similar to that of a crucifixion homicide.’
Mason petulantly pushed out his bottom lip as though carefully balancing the facts.
‘What’s your take on
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