The Samsara Project - David Burgess (early reader books .txt) 📗

modern police force requires to secure a conviction. For the most part this is not the glamorous work, as depicted on television programmes, but a hard slog with very little gratitude from the public.
It is sad, but a fact of life none-the-less, that careers can be made or broken by tragedy. Reputations can be made or broken on the outcome of an investigation. Although none would ever publicly admit it they what they all desired was to have the chance to work on a high profile murder, and to be the one who found that ‘vital piece of evidence, to crack the case. The CSI team assigned to this crime scene were all very aware that this could be their one and only chance to shine. On this case they would all go well beyond their job description.
Ryan Morgan was twenty seven years old and has worked as a CSI with the Met since graduating from Salford University with a two-two degree in Forensic Sciences. Ryan had never wanted to work in any other field and had always been fascinated by the ‘behind the scenes’ work of the police science division. As a teenager when other kids his age were reading Football Weekly, Pop Hits or Playboy Ryan was searching through the shelves of his local library looking for anything he could find on crime scenes and forensic medicine. Ryan was also fascinated by the psyche of a murderer; especially a serial killer and his ‘five year plan’ included being accepted back by Salford University to work on his PhD. He was not exactly sure on what yet but he knew it would have a lot to do with serial killers.
Ryan was quickly gaining a good reputation within the force, he always did a very thorough job, even when it was a more mundane job. Two years ago Ryan was promoted to CSI grade two, grade three was the highest level and Ryan knew he was not far of that. This could be the case that would help him take the next step up his career ladder. If that did happen then Ryan would be the youngest CSI grade three in the Met.
Ryan examined around the area where the body was lying. He made careful notes of the terrain, ensures a large amount of photographs were taken. Bagged up samples of hair and clothing fibres he found, again meticulously logging the position of each one and placing markers on the ground.
Ryan then crouched down besides the victim. He had seen a lot of murder victims over the years and even more dead bodies, but he had never seen anything like this. Ryan thought he was a hardened veteran of forensic police work but even this made his stomach turn. Ryan though had enough self control not to let the situation get the better of him. He had a job to do and how well he did it could have an impact on how soon the attacker would be behind bars.
Suzie was lying on her back and Ryan spent the next forty five minutes examining her. He found more hair samples, more fibres. Tissue papers were on the ground besides the body, they looked as though they had been used so each was catalogued and bagged. Satisfied that he had sufficient evidence he decided in to turn her over onto her side. He wanted a closer look at her hands. Turning her over Ryan came across something he had not expected. An intricately shaped white cross with an inscription. The cross was about seven inches tall by four and a half inches across. He would get the exact measurements later on.
Ryan gestured to the photographer to come over and take yet more pictures. He also signalled Alan Jones, the CSI team leader. Both knew the significance of the cross. At the instant both had the conformation of what they already knew. This was not a random killing and this was not a random victim. This was planned, the victim had been targeted. They also knew that this was not a one off killing, nor was it the first. Everything was screaming at them that this was the work of a serial killer and that more victims would turn up.

* * * *

DI Bales was forty three years of age, six foot four inches tall and seventeen stone. In his younger days he had played first team rugby for the Met. His hair was closely cropped in a vain attempt to disguise the fact he had lost most of it, now there was only a small growth around the ears and back of his head. Bales once dark brown hair was now mostly all grey. He face had a weather beaten appearance about it and his large grey eyebrows were in urgent need of a trim. Playing rugby in his younger days may have kept him fit but it had done nothing to help his looks, his nose had been broken on at least two occasions and it was now a very unnatural shape. Despite his height he did not carry his weight well, most of it was either fat or flab and it had been a few years back since DI Bales had last seen the inside of a gym. He wore a blue two piece suite that had been bought off the peg. It was old, worn and well passed its replacement date, as were his shoes. Bales did though look intimidating, his sheer size and bulk saw to that, and when dealing with the kind of people DI Bales dealt with on a daily basis that was no bad thing. The DI had been in the Metropolitan Police for twenty three years and a DI for the past eight. It looked as though this was as far up the ladder he would go having been passed over for promotion on the last three occasions. Fortunately he was a more realistic officer than an ambitious one. In his time with the Met Bales had seen many a promising career ruined by over ambition. “Everyone,” he would say, “has a natural level of ability at which you work at you best. Never be seduced by a title or a position into going one level higher than your ability.”
Bales was a natural leader, he had a way about him that inspired those who worked under him to ‘go the extra mile’. Bales had no idea why, it was just a talent. When questioned on it he would reply, “Some people play the piano, others can act. I find murderers.” At this moment that was something he wanted to do more than at any other time in his life. He wanted to do it so much that right now, it hurt.
DI Bales and his team were looking down at the body of Susan Reeves. No one made any gestures, no one moved. During the past hour and a half the initial examination of the body had been completed by the duty coroner. Police photographers had taken all the pictures they could of the body and the immediate area. Forensics had examined the body and cleared it for removal from the site.
Bales felt a tap on his right shoulder. He turned around. It was Detective Sergeant Paul Stephens. The DS pointed towards an area by the entrance of the tent. This was known in the field as the ‘Board Room’. This small area cordoned off inside the tent allowed officers and CSI teams to talk without having to leave the immediate are or contaminating the crime scene. The two men walked over to the board room. Bales removed his face mask.
Stephens spoke, “Sorry Guv. Thought you might like to know that DCS Hughes has just arrived. He’ll be on site in a few minutes, just getting suited up in the MM.”
“Thank-you Sergeant.” said Bales; “I’ll let the team know. By the way has the sir been given any details of the murder?”
“Not sure guv, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Yes, do that”
Without any further conversation Stephens left the tent and walked towards MM.
John Reynolds had watched ‘The Sir’ arrive. The two men knew each other very well and over the years had worked together on many times. John knew that it would only be a matter of time before he would be able to find out ‘from a police source’ what had happened.
DCS Hughes left the MM and walked over to the tent. He was met at the entrance by DI Bales, “Evening sir.”
Hughes nodded his head once “Chief Inspector” he said in acknowledgement. “Right then, what have we got”.
“Before you go over sir, has anyone spoken to you about the murder?”
“Not in any detail just that the body of a woman had been found on the Common. They did say the murder was unusual.”
“Just prepare yourself sir, this is not ordinary murder.”
The two men walked over to the body, they looked down. DCS Hughes just stared at the body. “Good God,” he said, then looking up to Bales said “Tell me she knew nothing about this.”
“Let’s go over to the board room sir, we’ll talk there.”
DCS Hughes took another look at the scene. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. DCS Hughes removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes then turned away and shaking his head from side to side walked over to the board room.

* * * *

For the third time in the past fifteen minutes Ron Billington looked at his watch, then the digital clock on his computer then over the large radio controlled clock on the office wall just behind him. The time was four seventeen.
“Relax Ron,” said Sharon.
Sharon sat at the desk in front of Ron. They had shared this office space for the past thirteen months and had got to know each other well. They had become very good friends, true friends in fact. Some people find in very difficult to believe that a man and woman could have a close friendship without there being anything sexual about it. Many find the idea that a true platonic relationship is a myth, that one party will always have an ulterior motive. In this case they would be very wrong.
“Ron, relax, everything will be OK. Suzie’s going to say yes. In fact she’ll probably shout it. I think half of London will be able to hear her.”
“I hope so,” said Ron, he had a slightly worried look on his face and his right eye had a slight tick. This only happened when Ron was nervous and that was not very often. “I’ve been thinking, dreaming about this day for a long time now. I just want everything to be perfect. I want Suzie to remember tonight for the rest of her life, and for all the right reasons. I … I wish it was this time tomorrow.”
Ron had never understood how Suzie and he came to be a couple. Suzie could silence a room when she entered. Ron was nothing special, not bad looking but average at best. A few hard knocks in the past had dented his confidence and he was never that sure of himself anymore. Ron did not get that what attracted Suzie to him was that Ron was Ron. There was no pretence to be something or someone he was not. Ron had never thought of Suzie as a trophy, someone to have on your arm like a piece of jewellery and to possibly discard as quickly as a new design is available. Ron never knew it but he was not the only one