‘This is DS Kat Jones. She’s just joined our team.’
Volz inclined her head. ‘And this was Ivor Harris.’
The first thing you noticed wasn’t the man. It was the hammer. Embedded in his caved-in skull, its claw and handle sticking up from matted hair like bizarre animal horns. Head forward, Harris was sitting in a chair. Plastic ties at his wrists and ankles said not by choice. His face was heavily lined, with a chain smoker’s sallow skin – he was probably forty but looked fifty. Silver gaffer tape covered his mouth. Patches of blood had soaked into the cheap carpet around him.
Boateng examined the wound. ‘Penetrating trauma?’
‘Leading to intracranial haemorrhage, I’d expect. Perhaps a release, in the end.’
‘Meaning?’
Volz gently lifted Harris’s hands, curled over the arms of the chair like a bird’s claws. ‘Two fingers amputated. On each side.’
‘How?’
‘Mechanical blade of some sort. It’s gone clean through the bones. There’s signs of blunt force trauma to the back of his head too.’
‘Knocked out?’ suggested Boateng.
‘Could explain how he ended up tied to this chair. The restraints affect rigor mortis slightly but I’d put time of death around two, two and a half hours ago.’
‘Does an alarm give a time of entry?’
‘The system was deactivated at 5.27 this morning.’
‘CCTV?’
‘Disabled. Tech guys are examining it now.’
‘Anything else so far?’
‘You don’t need me to tell you we’re dealing with a perpetrator of considerable physical strength to put a hammer through someone’s skull.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
Volz resumed her work on the body as they stepped to one side.
‘So…’ Boateng turned to Jones. If she was in shock she was hiding it well. A month ago she’d been a Detective Constable in the Cyber Crime Unit. Then she made sergeant – in five years, one of the quickest promotions in the Met – and applied immediately to join Lewisham Major Investigation Team. Jones was just twenty-six and her career was moving impressively fast. In the interview, she had said she wanted to get out from behind a desk and back on the street. This was one way to kick things off.
‘First homicide,’ he stated. ‘What do you think?’
She took a breath. ‘Attackers enter and exit via the back door, deal with the alarm and CCTV – so they knew the place, or did their homework.’
‘I agree. Multiple attackers?’
‘It’d be a lot easier to restrain Harris with two, three guys.’
‘Forensics will tell us more. Could’ve been just one guy if he jumped him out of nowhere. Possible motive?’
‘Aggravated burglary, by the look of it.’
‘Money. Logical.’ It wasn’t a bad guess, though he wondered how many aggravated burglaries with murder she’d seen.
‘They torture Harris to get him to give up the safe code or some other information,’ she continued. ‘Except he keeps quiet. Robbers get in a rage and one of them smashes the hammer into his head.’
‘Why put gaffer tape over his mouth if you wanted him to talk?’ replied Boateng.
‘Stop him screaming for help?’
‘Maybe.’ He scoured the room before raising his voice. ‘Anything taken?’
‘Petty cash,’ called out one of the SOCOs. ‘No jewels gone. Safe’s shut – we don’t think it’s been opened.’
Boateng cocked his head. ‘So Harris loses four fingers and still doesn’t give up the safe’s code? Then we’ve either got the toughest pawnbroker in the world or the least competent interrogator. Our attackers gain entry – maybe follow Harris in after he’s deactivated the alarm – and somehow disable the CCTV. One smashes Harris over the head and ties him up. Then with a toolbox of torture instruments they can’t get the number out of him? Bring a mechanical blade anywhere near me, I’d tell you anything.’
‘Could be something really significant in the safe?’ ventured Jones. ‘And he wanted to protect it.’
‘With his life? Well, we’ll find out once we open it. But let’s follow the financial motivation theory for a second. Why doesn’t he use the hammer, or whatever it was that cut off Harris’s fingers, to break open these cabinets and grab some gold or watches?’
‘Maybe there was a noise, a disturbance or something, and he had to run.’
‘Have you heard of Occam’s razor?’
Jones shook her head.
‘Principle that the explanation with the fewest steps is the most likely. Named after William of Occam, old school. Basically, keep it simple.’
‘Right.’
‘So, what’s most probable? Thieves plan and execute a complex job but only take a few quid in cash? Or they didn’t want the other stuff?’
‘Why wouldn’t they want the valuables?’
‘Maybe whoever did this wasn’t burgling the place.’ Boateng moved through the back door into a narrow alleyway and Jones followed. Outside, a SOCO was photographing small numbered signs placed on the ground to mark evidence. Another white suit brushed powder onto the alarm box. Boateng removed his mask and paused while Jones detached her own, studying the concrete floor as she reconfigured the pieces of information.
‘Debts?’
‘Go on,’ he urged.
‘Victim loans money to our attackers, or someone very close to them. Time passes, the interest racks up, it’s out of control. He or she can’t pay. Harris starts making threats. Debtor doesn’t know what to do, resorts to violence to make Harris go away.’
‘That’s more like it.’
Something in his voice indicated she was slightly off. ‘But?’
Boateng scratched his stubble. ‘If you owe Harris, why not just run away, hide?’
‘He might’ve threatened their family or something.’
‘And what would that tell you about the killer’s motivation?’
Jones paused. ‘Revenge. Retribution?’
‘Fits. Could explain how Harris ends up with a hammer in his head. Also, might suggest just one attacker… much simpler that way. You could get your mates to risk prison time for big money. Not so easy signing them up for your vendetta at a cost of life inside if anything goes wrong. Volz said “considerable physical strength”, right?’
She nodded.
‘But that alone isn’t enough. You’d have to be in a rage to split a man’s skull point-blank. Revenge works. There are a lot of easier ways to kill someone. This was personal. Must’ve been something serious.’
‘So we look for Harris’s enemies?’
‘Good place to start.’
Her eyes darted around. ‘Ask his family and friends. Search for previous disputes, altercations – there might be something on record.’
‘Probably want to check out his creditors too – flip your debt theory around. Maybe Harris was the one who owed money. If it was a corporate job then we could be dealing with multiple assailants. And we should see who’s got form for hammer attacks. Hope you didn’t have any plans for your weekend,’ he smiled.
Jones returned it. ‘Not now.’
Boateng knew she needed no incentives. He remembered the buzz of his first murder case: thirteen years ago, a pimp killed in his own home in Lewisham. Since then he’d been to a hundred more dark places on behalf of the Met. And after Amelia had died five years ago, he’d worked even harder, as if every case he closed made a tiny dent in the truth that her killer had never been caught.
‘Same here,’ he said. Etta was used to him working weekends. Though the Met had tried to freeze overtime as part of cutbacks, murders didn’t fit neatly between nine and five. The key investigative period was the first forty-eight hours after a body was discovered. After that, suspects had time to destroy evidence, go to ground. Then the chance of catching the perpetrator dropped significantly. As a lawyer, his wife based her career on probabilities like that. And she knew how important her husband’s work was to him.