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

is not involved. I may be Chief Superintendent but I think even my newest and greenest recruit could work out that our meeting here is for business, not pleasure.”
“Yes, you right, but I had no idea when I was sent over here that I would bump into you. That was just luck. Nice statement by the way. Straight to the point as usual and also as usual telling us absolutely nothing we didn’t already know.”
“Too early John, the investigation needs to get into top gear. I’m not going to speculate on anything at this stage. Between us the victim has not been formally identified yet. The coroner has still to officially state the cause of death. My hands are pretty much tied just now.”
“There must be something Simon, anything.”
“Let me find out more overnight then see me after the press conference. All I can say just now is I will need the help from the press with this one. That may also include what not to publish as much as what to publish.”
John gave Simon a quizzical look.
“Don’t look at me like that; I’m not talking censorship of the press, just co-operation. Please John, trust me. This is one killer we have to get off the streets and fast. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
DCS Hughes got into his car, started the engine then pressed the electric window wind down button. The driver’s side window silently opened. John was still standing by the driver’s door.
“John, I’m not shutting you out. When I know something you’ll be the first person I’ll call. I give you my word. Trust me.” DCI Hughes then closed the window; put the dark blue Ford Mondeo into first gear and drove off.
John had not pressed DCS Hughes for information. He knew when to push but more importantly when not to. John also knew DCS Hughes and he knew tonight he had been speaking with a troubled man. That troubled John.
John started walking back towards his car, he got his phone and called Andrew, “I’m on my way back, should be about forty five minutes.” With that he hung up, got in his car, switched on the engine, turned the heat onto full and headed towards Canary Wharf and the offices of The Daily Herald.
Even at this time of the evening London was a busy city and the drive took John longer than expected. He did not mind though, it simply meant he got to spend more time behind the wheel of the second love of his life. John arrived back in his office seven minutes later than planned.
“Coffee’s on the desk, John, might be a bit cold now though. Would you like me to zap it in the microwave for you?”
“No thanks Andrew,” replied John, “Right now I don’t care. I could drink anything so long as it’s sweet and wet.”
Andrew raised his eyebrows, “Really?”
“Youthful whit,” replied John; “I remember it well. Now what have you dug up for us?”
“I’m sorry to say that that area of London has been fairly quiet as far as murders are concerned. There has been the usual assortment of family feuds, wives cheating husbands, husbands cheating wives. During the nineteen sixties three teenage girls were reported missing over a six year period but there was never any indication of foul play. Reports at the time seem to think that they ran away. Probably to get away from abusive parents, things like that were never reported back then. You know, best kept in the family, along with the best china and Sunday suits.”
“More or less what I thought,” said John; “What ever happened out there today was something new or something new to this area. Fancy a bit of speculation?”
Andrew looked puzzled. “I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Simple, we have no hard evidence about what happened today; in fact all we know right now is that a woman was murdered. That’s it. When I was at college, way before political correctness took over the world; we used to have ‘speculation’ sessions. The idea was to make you think of ‘may bees and could bees’ then it was called ‘brainstorming’. The group would be given a scenario and the idea was we would say what we thought might have happened. Anyone could jump in with an idea at any time. You’d be surprised how many times we were on the right lines with what we came up with.”
Andrew looked around the large open plan office. In the top left hand corner was a meeting room. “There won’t be anyone in there at this time and it’s got a large whiteboard on the wall. I think I’ve got some dry wipe pens in my drawer.”
Jogging over to his desk he came back with two of the special pens.
“Let’s speculate.” Andrew said, walking towards to the meeting room. John followed a few steps behind trying desperately not to spill his coffee.
In the room John wrote ‘Murder Victim’ in the middle of the board. The two then verbally jousted with each other as to why she was the victim. Lines came away from the centre with labels such as cheating wife; random act; drug dealer; prostitute; debt; targeted; had upset someone who followed her. Then from each of these speculative possibilities they expanded the options. Cheating wife; jealous husband; boy friend; girl friend; random, just in the wrong place; drug dealer; prostitute; debt and target all worked on in a similar way.
The two stood back and looked at the board. “Take out the least likely,” said John, “Loose debt. It would have to be a massive debt to be killed for. People who owe loan sharks can get roughed up but even they fall short of murder. Not good for business, no referrals.”
“I think we can also scrub off ‘random’ said Andrew. “Most murders are targeted at the victim for whatever the reason, mainly by someone who knows them and that’s usually a family member. I’ve heard of lads out for a Saturday night’s drinking and getting into a fight, someone’s punched, knocks their head against the corner of a wall. That splits open the skull and they collapse, dead on the floor. Not intended, but not random.”
John walked over to the board with a cloth in his hand. He started to rub out the selected categories. “Let’s rub out ‘being followed’. Most people have a feeling of being followed. Ninety nine point nine percent of the time it’s just two people going the same way. I don’t think this is that point one percent.”
John then told Andrew about his meeting with DCS Hughes, how he looked and sounded. How long Hughes and Bales had stayed at the scene plus the time spent after the press release in the crime lab. “They were either having a very long talk about something or looking at evidence from the scene. In any event they took their time.”
“Let’s leave out the cheating group.” said Andrew; “That then just leaves targeted and prostitute.”
“Could be one and the same,” said John, “Unhappy punter, pimp. Just now we have no idea who she was, could have been an illegal from Eastern Europe. Plenty of women from Eastern Europe are forced into prostitution in this country. Most are threatened that their families back home will be beaten or worse killed, if they don’t work the streets.”
Andrew jumped in. “The girl could have tried to stand up to them, threatened to go to the Police or Immigration. Chances are her pimp or handler was an illegal as well, the last thing they’d want is immigration crawling all over them.”
“This is starting to make sense,” said John. “I’ve heard the Russian Mafia is behind most of London’s illegal prostitution, and they have a reputation of being very inventive when it comes to dishing out punishment. They like to send out a message to anyone else who might be thinking of doing the same thing.”
“So” said Andrew, “The victim was an illegal prostitute about to blow the whistle on her pimps. They find out about her plans. Send a hit man after her who, not content with just killing her, mutilates the body as a sending out a clear message to the other girls.”
“We’ve missed out one other option,” said John, looking over to Andrew.
“What’s that?”
John tried to put on his best Halloween voice but ended up sounding more like a Caribbean pirate, “Jack the Ripper’s come back from the dead, back to carry on his evil killing around the streets of Whitechapel.” John then started to laugh. “Got you that time,” he said, “I wish I’d had a camera, you should have seen your face. That’s it for tonight, time to go home. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet at the press conference, get there for nine.

* * * *

By six fifty five AM the incident room of the Metropolitan Police Serious Crime Squad had filled up. The room is usually fairly quiet with no more than five or six detectives working, especially at this time of the morning. It was a very plain room, even by police standards. The walls were painted with matt white emulsion, the floor covered in an inexpensive dark blue cord carpet. The one redeeming feature was the views afforded by large sixth floor widows. The room this morning was filled with forty eight officers, a mixture of detectives and uniformed constables. Standing at the front was DCS Hughes, to his left stood DCI Bales. Both men had been up all night, and looked like it. DCS Hughes started the briefing at exactly seven AM. He went over the events of the previous day and using a Powerpoint presentation illustrated the main points with graphic ten mega pixel colour photographs of the crime scene and the victim. At the start of the session the atmosphere in the room had been a mixture of expectation and excitement. For many of the young constables this was their first taste of what they called ‘real police work’. Issuing fines to motorists for travelling at thirty six miles per hour on a thirty mile an hour duel carriageway may well be the daily lot for many a constable but to help in a murder enquiry, now that’s what they joined for. Now they felt they were doing something to keep the streets safe. Just now though the thoughts that there was a crazed killer on the loose and that anyone coming after him would be in the line of fire brought with it a large dose of reality. For some the thought of giving out speeding tickets became a very desirable option.
DCI Bales then took over the briefing explaining that everyone in the room would be put into a ‘Task Group’. Each group was then assigned specific tasks such as: speaking with the victims work colleagues; background check on the victim; door to door enquiries around the area of the common; had anyone recently moved into the area; any religious groups been canvassing the locals; background checks on Ron Billington to include friends, likes, dislikes, bank and credit details.
Ron was still in shock. What he did not appreciate at this stage was that unless proven otherwise he was the number one suspect in the enquiry. The police knew he had not carried out the murder himself but had not ruled out the possibility that he had paid or arranged for someone else to do it for him. The only other option open to the police was a random killing and as this killing was so vicious it was almost certainly the work of a psychopath. That would mean a serial killer was loose in Whitechapel.
DCS Hughes closed the briefing by saying;