‘Work with him a lot now?’ asked Wolf quietly, unable to hide the hint of jealousy in his voice, which made Baxter smile.
‘Babysitting duty,’ she whispered. ‘He’s the transfer from Fraud, only seen a few dead bodies. He might even cry later on.’
The young man bumbling through the crowd towards them was only twenty-five years old, stick-thin and immaculately presented, apart from his scruffy strawberry-blond hair. He was holding a notebook at the ready and smiled eagerly at the chief inspector.
‘Where are forensics up to?’ asked Simmons.
Edmunds flicked back a few pages in his book.
‘Helen said that her team still haven’t found a single drop of blood anywhere in the apartment. They have confirmed that all six body parts are from different victims and were roughly amputated, probably with a hacksaw.’
‘Did Helen mention anything we didn’t already know?’ spat Simmons.
‘Actually, yes. Due to the absence of blood and lack of constriction of the blood vessels around the amputation wounds …’
Simmons rolled his eyes and checked his watch.
‘… we can be certain that the parts were removed post-mortem,’ finished Edmunds, looking pleased with himself.
‘That’s some fantastic police work, Edmunds,’ said Simmons sarcastically before shouting out: ‘Could someone please cancel the milk carton ad for the man missing a head? Thank you!’
Edmunds’ smile vanished. Wolf caught Simmons’ eye and smirked. They had both been on the receiving end of similar putdowns in their time. It was all part of the training.
‘I just meant that whoever the arms and legs belonged to are definitely dead as well. They will know more once they get the body back to the lab,’ Edmunds mumbled self-consciously.
Wolf noticed the reflection of the body in the dark windows. Realising that he had not yet seen it from the front, he moved round to look.
‘What have you got, Baxter?’ asked Simmons.
‘Not a lot. Slight damage to the keyhole, possibly picked. We’ve got officers questioning the neighbours outside, but so far no one’s seen or heard a thing. Oh, and there’s nothing wrong with the electrics – every bulb in the apartment’s been removed except for the one above the victim … s, like it’s on show or something.’
‘What about you Fawkes, any ideas? Fawkes?’
Wolf was gazing up at the body’s dark-skinned face.
‘I’m sorry, are we boring you?’
‘No. Sorry. Even in this heat, this thing’s only just beginning to stink, which means the killer either murdered all six victims last night, which seems unlikely, or he’s had the bodies on ice.’
‘Agreed. We’ll get someone to look into recent break-ins at cold-storage units, supermarkets, restaurants, anywhere with an industrial-sized freezer room,’ said Simmons.
‘And see if any of the neighbours heard drilling,’ said Wolf.
‘Drilling is a reasonably common sound,’ blurted Edmunds, who regretted the outburst when three pairs of angry eyes turned on him.
‘If this is the killer’s masterpiece,’ continued Wolf, ‘there’s no way they would risk it dropping out of the ceiling and just being a pile of bits by the time we got here. Those hooks will be drilled into load-bearing metal beams. Someone should have heard it.’
Simmons nodded: ‘Baxter, get someone on it.’
‘Chief, could I borrow you a moment?’ asked Wolf as Baxter and Edmunds moved away. He pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and lifted a handful of knotted black hair away from the gruesome figure’s face. It was male. The eyes were open, the expression unnervingly calm considering the victim’s clearly violent end. ‘Look familiar?’
Simmons walked round to join Wolf by the chilly window and crouched down to better examine the dark face. After a few moments, he shrugged.
‘It’s Khalid,’ said Wolf.
‘That’s impossible.’
‘Is it?’
Simmons looked up again at the lifeless face. Gradually his expression of scepticism transformed into one of deep concern.
‘Baxter!’ he shouted. ‘I need you and Adams—’
‘Edmunds.’
‘… over at Belmarsh Prison. Ask the governor to take you directly to Naguib Khalid.’
‘Khalid?’ Baxter asked in shock, involuntarily glancing at Wolf.
‘Yes, Khalid. Phone me the moment you’ve seen him alive. Go!’
Wolf looked out towards his block opposite. Many of the windows remained dark, others contained excited faces filming the spectacle below on their mobile phones, presumably hoping to capture something grisly to entertain their friends with in the morning. Apparently they were unable to see into the dimly lit murder scene that they would otherwise have had front row seats for.
Wolf was able to see into his own flat, a few windows over. In his hurry, he had left all of the lights on. He spotted a cardboard box, at the bottom of a pile, with the words ‘Trousers and Shirts’ scrawled across it.
‘Aha!’
Simmons walked back over to Wolf and rubbed his tired eyes. They stood quietly, either side of the suspended body, watching the first signs of morning pollute the dark sky. Even over the noise of the room, they could hear the peaceful sound of birdsong outside.
‘So, most disturbing thing you’ve ever seen then?’ Simmons joked wearily.
‘A close second,’ replied Wolf without taking his eyes off the growing patch of deep blue sky.
‘Second? Do I even want to know what tops this – this thing?’ Simmons took another reluctant look at the hanging collection of dismemberments.
Wolf gently tapped the figure’s outstretched right arm. The palm looked pale in comparison to the rest of the tanned skin and the perfectly manicured purple nails. Dozens of silk-like threads supported the outstretched hand and a dozen more held the extended index finger in place.
He checked that no one was listening in to their conversation and then leaned across to whisper to Simmons.
‘It’s pointing into my apartment window.’
CHAPTER 2
Saturday 28 June 2014
4.32 a.m.
Baxter had left Edmunds waiting for the juddering lift. She stormed through a fire door and into the dismal stairwell, where a seemingly endless procession of cold and irritable people had finally been permitted to return to their homes. Halfway down she put her warrant card away, realising that, if anything, it was hindering her progress against the steady flow. The initial novelty of the night’s events had worn off hours earlier, leaving the sleep-starved residents with only resentment and ill feeling towards the police.
When she eventually barged out into the foyer, Edmunds was already waiting patiently by the main doors. She marched past without acknowledging him and stepped out into the chilly morning. The sun was yet to make an appearance, but the perfect clear skies overhead suggested that the persistent heatwave was set to continue. She swore when she saw that the growing crowd of spectators and journalists had swelled around the police tape, cutting her off from her black Audi A1.