Vanished

Chapter 9

Jack, Anik and Laura were once again forbidden from entering the greenhouse as it had immediately returned to being an unprocessed crime scene. Kitted out in paper suits and masks, they stood next to Mal and Josh, watching Angel tiptoe her way towards the body. The dismemberment of Avril Jenkins had made Angel extra cautious: from the position of the exposed hair and fingers she, of course, knew where the rest of the body should be lying in order to avoid standing on it; but that was only if it was still in one piece. It was hard to watch Angel move painstakingly through the debris, trying not to disturb a single piece of potential evidence along the way. When she was close enough, she leant forwards and gently moved the tangled hair away from the face beneath.

Her mouth, chin and neck were badly burnt, and her visible clothes were melted onto her skin. Her hair had been singed away from one side of her head, leaving raw, blistered scalp beneath.

‘It’s Jessica Chi,’ Jack said.

Mal asked what the link was between the two dead women. ‘Adam Border,’ Jack replied. ‘Adam Border’s the link.’

As night drew in, spotlights were erected in the garden to aid the tireless work of Angel’s CSI team. Foxy had been called in to assess the victim in situ, in case the body didn’t come away clean from the various surrounding materials. Foxy was thirty minutes from the scene, and Ridley was just pulling into the driveway.

He looked stern as he strode around the outside of the house to the new crime scene. He pulled Jack to one side and asked him the question he’d already asked himself a hundred times: ‘How come two women, both recently interviewed by you, have now been murdered?’ Then Ridley added something that really got Jack’s back up. ‘What did you miss?’ Of course, Jack had also asked himself that question, but he didn’t expect his senior officer to ask it too.

‘Kingston are the ones who missed things, sir! The second they dismissed Avril as a waste of time, they set this mess in motion. They assumed Adam didn’t exist, and they hadn’t even heard the name of Jessica Chi. I picked up this shambles of a case and have been trying to make sense of it ever since. And it might have helped if you’d stepped closer to the case as soon as it was transferred to us, and certainly after Avril’s murder!’ Jack held his ground, waiting for the upcoming bollocking. But it never came. Ridley absorbed the accusation thrown at him. He didn’t agree or disagree; he just looked... disconnected. The man Jack respected more than anyone else in the world was letting him down but — worse than that — he didn’t seem to care. ‘Are you retiring, sir?’ he asked.

Ridley didn’t answer, just silently moved away towards the remnants of the greenhouse. Their conversation was over.

The sight of Jessica’s body, however, brought a visible intensity to Ridley’s face; something his team had missed over the past few months. ‘Mal, have the Drug Squad finished with the scene?’ he asked.

‘The outbuildings are still ours, sir. The greenhouse is all yours.’

‘OK. Steve wants to see you and Josh before you knock off, for a full review. Laura, you search Jessica’s home address. Anik, continue to prioritise Adam Border. And Jack, you wait for Foxy. I didn’t get the chance to speak to him this morning about Avril Jenkins’ post-mortem, so get the report on that whilst you’re there, as well. I’ll be with the Super.’ And with that, Ridley headed back to his car.

As everyone dispersed, leaving Jack alone with Angel and her team, he couldn’t help but feel isolated. Jack hadn’t realised how much he relied on Ridley: he was Jack’s sounding board; his calm, guiding voice of reason during stressful times; and he was the man who always challenged Jack and pushed him beyond what he thought himself capable of.

Jack watched Ridley drive away. Then his eyes moved to the brick bin store which made him remember the gloved cigarette butts he had in his pocket. He was juggling so many potential lines of enquiry, yet all Ridley could tell him to do was ‘wait’.

Fuck him, Jack thought to himself.

The task of removing the body of Jessica Chi from the greenhouse was like an archaeological dig, as Foxy supervised the slow and methodical clearing of debris layer by layer. As each obstruction was moved from her body, Foxy would check to make sure they hadn’t caused her damage or potentially destroyed evidence. Eventually, she was lifted out and onto a stretcher. Jessica’s body was blackened and charred, except where the skin had burnt off completely; in these areas, her red flesh and muscle structure showed through. Jack hoped to God she was dead before the fire started.

‘This house is keeping us busy, Jack.’ Foxy was cheerful, regardless of the late hour. ‘Once I’ve got this one settled, I’ll complete my report on Avril Jenkins ready for tomorrow morning’s briefing.’ Jack asked if Foxy had any headlines from Avril’s post-mortem. ‘Yes. Apart from being in four pieces, she was in rude health.’

Jack didn’t smile.

‘Are you OK?’ Foxy asked.

Jack sighed. ‘We’ve got all the wrong pieces of this jigsaw, Foxy. Nothing fits together.’

Jack instructed the two uniformed officers on the front gate to organise themselves a couple of replacements and, between them, maintain a 24-hour vigil on the property. ‘There’s also a back lane that cuts between the house and the golf course. Get that covered, too, please. No one’s to go inside the house or inside the two outbuildings. They’re only part-processed.’ He gave the cigarette butts wrapped inside a latex glove to Angel, so she could arrange for them to be checked for DNA, then he headed home.

The next morning Jack stood by the kitchen window, staring at the birds in the back garden. Penny had been very careful with the flowers she’d planted in the borders — they were wild enough to need little tending, attractive to birds but not to bees, and safe to be handled by curious little hands. It really was a beautiful space and, this morning in particular, Jack felt very lucky to have it. It was the size of a shoe box compared to Avril Jenkins’ garden, but at least his was an idyllic, picturesque haven — while hers had turned out to be a secret drugs den. He still wondered how she could have been oblivious to the fact that there was several million pounds’ worth of drugs and drug paraphernalia right under her nose.

Maggie’s arms crept round Jack’s waist and she kissed the back of his neck. ‘You showered when you got home last night. You only do that when you’ve been at a grubby crime scene... bad day?’ Jack gently stroked the backs of her hands but said nothing, so she didn’t push the topic. ‘I’m doing a double today because Mr Wetlock is taking time off with his daughter.’

‘Tell me about fentanyl,’ Jack said. Maggie quickly moved away, making him turn. She looked put out. ‘Sorry...’ Jack knew exactly what he’d done wrong. ‘Do you need to talk about Wetlock and his daughter?’ Maggie, with a petulant undertone, said that the moment had passed and that she should no doubt just walk away from the whole Wetlock thing anyway. ‘I think you’re right,’ Jack continued. ‘So, tell me about fentanyl.’

Maggie wanted to be mad at him for being so dismissive of her problems in favour of his, but she knew she’d invited it. A smile crept over her face, and she set about treating them both to poached eggs on toast. It would be a rare event for them to sit down to breakfast together, even if they were talking about street drugs.

‘Fentanyl’s an opioid analgesic,’ she explained. ‘Mainly post-op or post-trauma. It can be administered IM or IV, via skin patches, orally with tablets or lozenges, or via nasal spray. It’s incredibly strong. In hospital, it’s a controlled drug, so no one can access it without someone else knowing. We caught a porter stealing used patches from a clinical waste bin once. He was selling them to his friends.’

Jack was just about to ask what an OD of fentanyl does to a person when Penny walked in with Hannah in her arms. Both of them were beaming with such joy at nothing more than the prospect of a brand-new day, that they brought Jack and Maggie’s conversation to an abrupt halt. Instead, they started talking about Paw Patrol and Penny’s plans to take Hannah to the National Maritime Museum.

All four members of the Warr family sat down to breakfast together, devouring seven eggs and half a loaf of bread between them. Maggie and Jack then left the house at the same time, and as Jack headed for the Underground and Maggie for the car, she got an envelope from her pocket.

‘Give this to Simon when you see him.’ Jack could tell from the dove-embossed envelope that this was Ridley’s wedding invitation. And Maggie could tell from Jack’s frown that something had happened between the two men. ‘Don’t alienate Simon as well, for God’s sake. Honestly, Jack, you really need to learn how to play nicely with your senior officers. It’s just because he’s disagreed with you on something, right?’

Although Maggie was laughing as she said it, her words still stung because she’d instinctively assumed that Jack was the one at fault, though history definitely suggested this was likely to be the case. Jack wanted to shout, ‘He’s not Mr Perfect, you know! In fact, he’s completely forgotten how to be a good copper because he’s retiring!’ But instead he kissed Maggie goodbye and carried on towards the Underground.

As promised, Foxy was at the early morning briefing ready to give the team a full handover relating to Avril Jenkins’ post-mortem. He was flirting with Laura when Ridley finally emerged from his office, but quickly snapped into action when he heard himself being introduced for anyone who didn’t already know him by sight. Strangely, Foxy was one man Laura never once looked at with any degree of interest. He was handsome, fit, suave and amusing — but he just didn’t do it for her. The truth was, he seemed too easy. And Laura tended to go for men she was unlikely to actually get. In fact, it was her built-in self-defence mechanism.

‘Avril Jenkins suffered numerous catastrophic injuries.’ Foxy referenced his notes as he began to relay the details. ‘She was attacked fiercely and repeatedly with a poker, suffering perimortem injuries of a fractured skull, jaw, left cheekbone and left orbital socket. Multiple stab wounds were inflicted, post-mortem, to the chest and abdomen. The blade was ten to twelve inches long. Dismemberment started with her lower legs and was done with a small-toothed hand saw. Then the left arm was removed at the elbow joint. Then they began to remove her head but didn’t complete this act. In total, three different weapons were used: a poker, a knife, and a hand saw. All of which were left at the crime scene. Due to the lack of defence wounds on her hands and forearms, I’d speculate that she was either caught unawares or was held still whilst the first blow was struck. You’re looking for between one and three assailants.’

Foxy closed the file and looked at the sea of faces in front of him. The silence and lack of eye contact told him that everyone in the room was as physically appalled by the details of this murder as he was.

‘Avril Jenkins was in remarkable physical shape for a woman of 72. She had no significant arthritis, she had all her own teeth, her hair and nails were strong and healthy. She’d looked after herself. I found no DNA beneath her nails and no defensive wounds, but I did find restraint marks around her wrists and ankles. She may also have been drugged — but we’ll have to wait for toxicology to be sure.’

Foxy invited questions, but there were none. He said that he’d be available to anyone at any time if questions did come up, because he was very much looking forward to doing the post-mortem on the sick individual or individuals who got off on mutilating pensioners. As he left to begin the post-mortem on Jessica Chi, Ridley stepped up.

‘Avril Jenkins’ house is worth around the £10 million mark. It became solely owned by her in late 2011 when her husband, Frederick Jenkins, passed away of natural causes. The Jenkins’ family solicitor, Arnold Hutchinson, has given us reasonable access to her finances, bearing in mind he has to do right by Frederick’s brother, Terence Jenkins. He is the sole beneficiary. Hutchinson has little personal information on Avril. He wasn’t aware of her being harassed by Adam Border, nor has he ever met Adam, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She was a very private lady. He says that if Avril had been worried or scared, he certainly wouldn’t have expected her to ask him for help. So, in her own way, it seems she asked us.’

Ridley scanned the room, making eye contact with each person in turn.

‘What was dismissed as a cry for attention was, in fact, a cry for help. That’s on us. As we progress with this joint operation, do me a favour and never lose sight of that. Avril Jenkins and Jessica Chi are unlikely participants in what is turning out to be one of the biggest drugs hauls of this kind in recent years. Mal Kaminski and Josh Logan are exceptional Drug Squad officers with extensive international experience. Work closely with them, because not only do we want in on that drug gang bust when the time comes, but their investigation will more than likely be the quickest route to our killer as well.’

Ridley paused and the room waited. This was the most comprehensive briefing he’d given in a very long time and the attentiveness from his team was tangible. Jack presumed that his confrontation with Ridley, although verging on insubordination, had also struck a nerve. But whatever the reason, it was nice to have him back.

Ridley looked across the room at Jack, and silently gave him the nod to now add whatever he considered important. Jack made his way forwards to stand in front of the whiteboards.

‘Yesterday, two new things were discovered. In addition to the body of Jessica Chi, I mean. The items of jewellery Avril alleged were stolen from her by Jessica were found buried in the back garden. I checked the items found against the reported list of items missing, and they match. They’re with Angel in forensics. And the second thing discovered was that the cellar seems to have a partitioned section to it that we’ve not yet accessed.’

This was the first Ridley had heard of it. ‘A third hidden room?’

‘Potentially, sir. All I know for sure is that the outside of the cellar has a bigger footprint than the inside. This wasn’t flagged by the council because, rather than adding extra space, it seems that space has been taken from the existing cellar. If there’s nothing else you need me for this morning, I’ll head back to the house and find out what’s down there.’

Ridley agreed that this should be Jack’s priority. Perhaps this hidden room and its contents were what the elusive Adam Border was looking for all along?

The front and back gardens of Avril Jenkins’ property were now at the fingertip search stage. Some uniformed officers swept sticks around the undergrowth, while others were on their hands and knees, checking under bushes, and the unluckiest officers were elbow deep in the drainage system.

The greenhouse, now devoid of any contents pertinent to the case, was slowly being demolished and loaded onto lorries. Burnt cannabis plants were amongst the rubble and debris, so needed to be destroyed safely and in a controlled environment. The two outbuildings were being processed by SOCO and the Drug Squad: the integrity of prints and DNA was vital to maintain, along with collecting and protecting the gas canisters, heaters, lamps, lab equipment and mixing chemicals. All of this would be a mine of information once it could be got into the safe, sterile environment of the forensic labs.

Jack walked the outside of the cellar again, and then the inside, marking exactly where he believed the missing space to be located. Against the back wall of the cellar was an extensive wine rack, twelve sections high and at least twenty feet wide. Jack’s knowledge of wine was as scant as Maggie’s, but the dust on the bottles and the dates on the labels suggested that this was an actual collection — for investment and not for drinking.

The wine rack was bolted to the wall with several heavy brackets, each fixed with four screws. This was the wall Jack needed to get behind.

He removed a random bottle of wine from the outer column, reached his arm into the space and knocked on the wall behind. Bricks. He then replaced this bottle, moved along one column and did the same again. By the fourth column, Jack was no longer knocking on brickwork at the back of the wine rack, but on what felt and sounded like hardboard. Jack stood this bottle against the wall of the cellar out of the way. The space it came from now marked the outer edge of what could be a hidden doorway. Jack continued to remove bottles and knock on the wall behind; when he knocked on bricks, he replaced the bottle and when he knocked on hardboard, he put the bottle to one side. Ten minutes later, the empty spaces in the wine rack marked out an area of hardboard that was around one and a half metres square. Now all he had to do was work out how to get in.

After examining the wine rack from top to bottom and left to right, Jack resigned himself to the task of having to first of all remove the numerous brackets. He started to search for a toolbox.

The cellar looked like a junk shop, with mismatched furniture, collectable ornaments, pieces of cut-glass and trunks overflowing with hundreds of items of old clothing. There were stacks of picture frames, some very ornate, others old and worn, and in various sizes.

Avril’s extensive hoarding was making life very difficult and, fifteen minutes later, Jack was no closer to locating a toolbox. He was just about to give up and go back upstairs to get a butter knife to use to remove the bracket screws, when he came across a switch on the wall, hidden behind an ornate, Victorian-style bedroom mirror.

This switch was about shoulder height and wasn’t connected to the lights: they were operated from just inside the kitchen. Jack flicked the switch. What happened next happened slowly. At first, all Jack could hear was a low whirring sound; then there was a click, followed by a thud. Then the wine rack began to move directly forwards — the numerous brackets were not attached to the wall at all, and the screws were nothing more than screw heads.

Jack’s heart pounded as he watched the wine rack slowly and steadily move outwards, towards him. He veered out of its way, peered round the side and there, behind the hardboard, was a sliding double door surrounded by a steel frame. The wine rack stopped moving. Jack paused to find his mobile phone and turn on the torch, before reaching for the door handle. Then he paused again: if this hidden room was filled with more drugs, should he be wearing a mask? Jack quickly found the air bricks he’d identified yesterday, and which he knew opened up into the bin store. Beyond them was a pair of black boots.

Jack shouted, ‘Hey!’ and the boots turned on the spot, searching for the owner of the voice. ‘It’s DS Warr. I’m in the cellar. Find Mal Kaminsky and send him down here. It’s through the kitchen. Tell him it’s important and I need him now.’

Less than a minute later, Mal raced to Jack’s side.

‘I was getting the rubbish bins sent over to the lab, but this sounded way more exciting!’

Both men shone their phone torches towards the handle of the sliding door. Jack reached out and pulled it open.

Their two small beams of light lit the first four stone steps leading downwards, but were then swallowed up in the darkness. Jack tentatively stepped forward and felt the inside wall for a light switch.

‘Look out for snakes!’ Jack quickly pulled his hand back before realising it was a joke. ‘Secret rooms are always protected by snakes,’ Mal continued through his boyish smirk. He handed Jack a vented mask with a wink. ‘Go ahead, Jack. I’m right behind you.’

Jack moved down onto the first step, using his torch to scan the wall until he found the light switch. When the lights finally came on, they were stunned to see — at the bottom of the staircase — a cavernous underground bunker that extended way beyond the cellar. ‘Fuck me,’ Mal whispered.

Jack and Mal followed the small bulbs that lined the top of the walls like Christmas lights. To their left were trestle tables buckling under the weight of computers and laptops, digital scales, bottles of chemicals, and dozens of sealed boxes. One shelf had hundreds of rolled canvases, and lined up on another table were boxes of oil paints and other artists’ paraphernalia. The wall at the far end of the underground bunker was lined with steel filing cabinets. Mal moved to open one of the sealed boxes.

‘No,’ Jack instructed, ‘don’t touch anything. I want DCI Ridley to see this place as is.’ Mal respectfully backed down. ‘If there’s any evidence of Avril in here, then... well, I’m not sure what the hell that means. But Ridley and I need to go through everything first.’

‘No worries,’ Mal said as he tightened his vented mask. ‘I’ll do a visual sweep to make sure there’s nothing dangerous, then it’s over to you.’

Ridley strode down the centre of the corridor with such purpose that everyone coming in the opposite direction had no option but to jump out of his way. His eyes were wide and excited as he listened to Jack relay over the phone what he’d found beneath Avril Jenkins’ house. Jack said that he’d be waiting in the kitchen, then he’d take Ridley down into the cellar.

‘I’ll be with you in twenty.’ Ridley let out a brief, breathy laugh as he negotiated the stairs down to the station car park. ‘Well done, Jack. If anyone was going to find a drug dealer’s subterranean mothership, it’s you. We’ll get them, you know. The truth with this case is, we’ve always had more evidence than we know what to do with. We just need to understand how to decipher it.’

This little speech, which Jack also took as an apology, was a welcome return to the old version of Ridley: the steady motivator who led from the front.

But the renewed confidence and support that Jack now felt was offset by the sadness of knowing that if Ridley was indeed retiring this would be their last case together.