1920. East London.
A soul is dead
They surrounded the body of Cross as if he were the King of England. Remotest parts of East-End have come to say the last rites to Charles Cross, last and surviving member of the seven suspects who have been persistently surveyed by the Met Police for years. Charles, or Karly as they used to call him, was one of the main suspects of the Buck’s Row, Hanbury and Brick Lane killings that commenced in the 1880s. Fame for him wasn’t a necessary notoriety although at times he could be seen down and depressed according to a few of his family members. However, for most parts, Cross was a man of honour and decent enough to have kept a job for over thirty years and grow a large family of twelve children.
‘He should’ve been sent to jail a long time ago or hanged.’ Detective Rushmore whispers to his colleague Efstein, while he puffs on his smoke and impatiently stares at the coffin which is being taken away from Cross’s home, heading for the cemetery.
‘I agree. But who are we to be listened to? To be honest, these past twelve years of living like a bohemian most of the time outside his property, have been quite a nice earning for me!’ Efstein responds.
‘Yes. I agree. But it doesn’t make this unrefined and full of despair individual innocent,’ he inhales his cigarette and adds ‘you see. If I had a much more decisive and determined partner, I swear to anything this man would’ve been hanged by now.’ Rushmore had a rush of blood on his head by now. But Efstein is sure of himself that whatever Rushmore tells himself about the fate of the old murderer isn’t anything but vile contempt for the bad person who had just died, and probably, on the other hand to an extent boredom in the job plays a big part too.
Efstein decides to hop into a T-model and head back to base. He had enough of Rushmore’s persistent blaming and guilt to make him leave and head back to the office to see if he could pick up another case while he can.
‘You see Rushmore – you are so short-sighted that you can’t even see the nip of your nose. You will regret it because there aren’t many more live cases going and, in a few weeks, we will probably have to begin our search for work. Goodbye my friend. It’s been nice working with you.’ He opens the car side window and blurts further ‘He is dead for Christ’s sake. Can’t we just move on now!’ The noise slurping out of the oversized exhaust of Efstein’s car overshadows the smoke from Rushmore’s cigarette.
He shakes his head, inhales one more time and as he throws another look at Lechmere’s door, there is a young man, probably on his late teens’ peers out of the door. He resembles Karly himself.
‘Excuse me sir?’ Rushmore politely approaches the young man.
‘Please accept my condolences for your father. I have been a big admirer of your father for an exceptionally long time. Your loss is our loss, London’s loss. I am sorry.’ The young man stares at him while he is holding an envelope in his right hand. Rushmore notices the shaking in that hand.
‘Are you heading for the Town Hall by any chance? I can give you a ride if you want?’ The young lad does not seem bothered and accepts the ride.
‘We’re not far from here anyway. But thanks. I take your offer.’ He responds immediately without thinking for too long.
Rushmore drives with the speed of a tortoise. Deliberately setting the scene for curiosity. He thinks to himself this is a treasure trove. This envelope, next to him in the young man’s hands has everything. Rushmore is confident that the young man is carrying an important envelope with particularly important contents in it.
‘You know, the police take a lot of interest on your father!’ Rushmore presses on gently.
‘I know. They can go away now. He is dead.’ The young man responds. Rushmore wants to see if the young man shows any emotions. He is driving slowly now. Curious to see if there are any tears or at least a slight move just under young man’s eyes. Nothing. He is as tough as he can be. Rushmore continues the drive. He just cannot stop thinking about ways to get hold of the envelope.
‘So, you are heading for the Town Hall? Have you made an appointment with the funeral services office yet? You know what they are like. This is not Victorian England anymore. We’re a declining nation now!’ The young lad looks at Rushmore unconvinced.
‘I don’t care. I just need to drop this envelope off at the counter. Sod knows what counter. This is my first time at the Hall. I wouldn’t known where to go.’ Rushmore confuses the road. He had taken Roman Road heading west, instead he ought to have turned left and then follow the route all the way to Bethnal Green Road.
‘I think we’re going the wrong way!’ The young lad said.
‘I know. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking straight.’ Rushmore does a U-turn, swivels his wheels back, heading east.
‘Have you got a fag?’ The young man asks.
Rushmore obliges. The young man inhales the smoke like a professional.
‘Wow. You are too young to smoke!’ Rushmore says trying to instil some authority over the young lad.
‘Don’t worry. You will not be able to discipline me. I mean, he tried all his life and failed.’ The young lad responds confidently.
‘When you say he – do you mean Charles? Your deceased father?’ Rushmore asks with an endless appetite of a curious man.
‘Yes. I mean him. My father. The man whom we’ve just sent for burial.’
Rushmore smells a rat here. ‘But weren’t you supposed to go with them?’
‘Of course. They forgot me. There was not enough space in the cars anyway. And to be honest with you I got what I wanted from him. Now he is gone, his secret stays with me, and I will be making a few contacts and put the word around…you know that kind of stuff. I think I am sitting on a gold mine if you ask me in all honesty.’ Rushmore feels his blood rushing to his head again. He loses focus but the short trip to the Town Hall is about to conclude, and the young man has just told him what he was hoping he would never hear.
‘What do you mean, a goldmine!?’ Rushmore asks whilst the car slows down.
‘It remains to be seen sir. Make sure you read the papers next week. That is, it. Thank you for the lift, officer.’ The young lad jumps out of the car, lifts his hat, and disappears to the marbled hall across the road, leaving Rushmore behind licking his wounds and wondering why have things not worked with this family! He asks himself a considerable number of obsessive questions, which have persisted for a good twelve years. Why? Why? And why?
2
2035
65 Hanbury Street, London
There is not enough space on William’s desk. Every day he must put up with a pile of papers which he often disposes them, throwing them on the floor. It is amazing how he manages the pile. He has a very particular way of dealing with the workload. It’s easy - he takes half of it with him home. Rest assured that this provides an extra hassle! Can you imagine going through London transport system carrying all these papers with him! He has never bothered at all. Now running his own shop has made matters much easier for him.
When he was at the Met, he did not actually bother with carrying papers – it used to be delivered to him free of charge, paid for by the British government and the good old British taxpayer. Now matters are much more serious. He must be seen to care. So, his answer was when asked by Chloe ‘Shouldn’t you be careful carrying with you all this extremely sensitive material?’ that he is being responsible and above all he cares about it. Every night he must sign off all his agencies’ undertakings before they are logged into the National Centre for Data Functions Hub. ‘Whoever thought this bureaucratic malarkey was necessary and useful, has just caused more hassle than an alien invasion would’ve caused.’ He blurts out before he is intercepted by his other colleague Kwame, whose rebuttal was ‘Well boss – it depends if we get invaded by a friendly ET!’ and every time Kwame challenges Thicke, he just follows the same line ‘Ok, ok I get it…if we get invaded by a friendly alien force…blah blah blah.’ And they all laugh.
Today is a special day for Thicke. It’s his birthday. He is at work though. A habit that his long-standing colleague Agim enjoys very much as he always picks on him.
But Thicke has organised an afternoon off later today. He always struggles to find a milder way of being unemotional about things. He cannot bear the thought of succumbing to the idea that he must announce to his colleagues that there is a party organised for them, later today.
He decides to send an email on the way to the office. Chloe is the first one to act surprised and excited whereas Kwame and Agim play the usual – they send jokes and banter to his message feed which he hates it but gets on with it.
‘We have a lot of work to do though. Thicke says. Kwame, I need the court’s prep session ready by 15:00 please. Agim, I need all the data log aligned with the actual events of the crimes on the Dodd case pls. Chloe, do me a favour keep an eye on them two,’ Thicke’s message to the team for the morning commute.
Chloe responds back and asks, ‘I thought we were having a party today!?’ and Thicke’s quick response is not amusing enough ‘Yes, but I need those by three this afternoon and then we can all chill and pop over to the Cinnamon Club.’
The Cinnamon Club is Agim’s favourite. Kwame looks disappointed but he thinks the food is edible, whereas Chloe is not fussed. She goes along with the boys. She is the peacemaker who does not want to obstruct the hard-fought peace between these three men.
What Thicke did not realise is that by setting a high expectation for an early afternoon finish to his team, he was going to unleash a huge wave of commitment and hard work but probably a sloppy work after all. I mean in a way his birthday is a godsend to them. Everybody deserves a break. They will never forget last summer when nearly all of them suffered burn out because of too many cases to solve. Thicke has solved that problem now. He does not take all the cases that happen in London. He cherry-picks the most difficult ones for a chunky fee. He is much choosier about his work nowadays. He attends all the committee meetings organised by the Yard and has his nose in a lot of the Home Secretary’s work these days. Of course, it helps that he is an ex-lover of the Secretary of State for Home Affairs and joint alumni of the Cambridge set of the year 2022. But Thicke is a workaholic. He does not believe that you get given chances – you grab them. He puts in the hours and is not fussed about holidays.
The journey from Liverpool Street station to Hanbury Street is no longer than ten minutes. He grabs his paper from the counter just outside the station and follows the same route every day. Across the road to Bishopsgate, then takes a sharp right just past NatWest HQ onto Spitalfields Market then onto Commercial Street and right on to Hanbury Street by the Truman’s pub. The day is exceptionally beautiful. Wintery but crisp and clean. Hanbury Street is a remarkably busy street. Remarkably close or as a matter of fact sisterly to Brick Lane. It is known for its cafes and vintage outlets, immensely popular with Gen Z and their millennial parents. Thicke gets his coffee on the way in from the Pret at the station but by the time he reaches Hanbury Street he must get his breakfast. He stops at Belushi’s café and picks up a bacon and egg sarnie with an apple and ginger shot. Sometimes he bumps into Kwame and Agim for a quick chat. Chloe is always in the office nice and early. By seven thirty all of them are in the office. The trio have their coffee/tea break and chit-chat, whereas Thicke is locked in his Kalamazoo and conducts first calls and then listening sessions with the Met and the Yard. Today is a big day. Special Branch have a special session on tackling the rising crime wave in London. Thicke is prepared and wants to ask a few questions. He has a bad feeling though. The mayor’s subsidy might be cut due to looming London government budget deficit. He expects those private agencies like his will be the ones suffering the most. He is slightly worried that his investments in robotics and AI recently have made his balance sheet slightly weaker. Obviously, he cannot tell that to anybody. He is a closed book in any given day anyway. The only way to escape that trouble is if a big, I mean big case comes along. That would be face saving. He just cannot bother to approach the banks for an extended loan to sustain his business. ‘I mean, what would the team think of me?’ He keeps telling himself. So, this session with the Special Branch is remarkably interesting. An hour in the session and his fears were confirmed – All London based agencies must face cut to their subsidies and Special Branch will receive direct funding from the government to support serious investigations with the Met Police. He is gutted. Now, over three hundred agencies operate in London, and they all vie for the same slice of the cake. Now that cake is going to be shared with the big state beasts too. ‘So, unfair.’ He mutters to himself.
The session ends with the brisk announcement that by the end of today all agencies will have to report to the Met and see what their subsidy for the year would be. Thicke knows roughly how much his subsidy would be. But he is not hundred percent sure if he can hit the target. He puts pen to paper and the result is that he can just afford to continue to pay his team for the next year, whereas he is going to have to have a huge pay cut. Rachel will have to say something. She has been pressing him on for a few years now that they need to work harder to have children. Thicke is not bothered that much. He is not interested that much. All he wants to do is just keep working and toil.
He emerges out of the Kalamazoo grim faced. Kwame looks at Agim whilst Chloe is hard at work skimming through files.
‘What is it boss?’ Kwame asks inquisitively.
‘Nothing. It’s just today’s session with the special branch was a bit weird. That’s all.’ He sits behind his desk and starts typing on his laptop.
Kwame finds the answer a little bit worrying but cannot help himself without expressing a whiff of banter. ‘Weird as in we might be losing our jobs…boss?’ Chloe turns her head and stares directly at Thicke. Agim does the same. Kwame is the only one laughing at his banter. Thicke did not seem to hear Kwame’s assertion.
‘I beg you a pardon?’ He turns his head towards Kwame.
‘We are not going to lose our cases, are we? The cake hasn’t been cut further, has it?’ Kwame the neuropsychiatrist by training adds with his elegant oratory.
Thicke feels that he should not spoil his birthday and especially not today. He wants to contain anything he has to say to them.
But containing anything from a group of highly skilled agents is not an easy deal to strike.
‘I think, I think. We will be alright.’ He gets up, picks his overcoat and heads out. Clearly, the morning session has taken its toll for Thicke. He needs to get some fresh air and feel like he is part of London as normal as he can be considering circumstances.
He heads nowhere, or at least he has not got a plan where he is heading. Hanbury Street is buzzing with people. Street art is a big theme in this part of town and especially in Hanbury Street and small corners where visitors from all around the world come to see the drawings on the walls. It never made any sense to Thicke why there was so much bother about these senseless cartoon drawings on the walls? But his concern is not the street arts of Hanbury Street but the never-ending worry about the ending of subsidies. He knows full well that if within a year there are no hard cases, hardcore type of m… a word which he does not want to mention – he stands no chance to survive by this time next year. And what next if he has not got a chance to survive!?
3
Streets of London in an early morning rush hour are very busy. For Thicke this poses an additional challenge. He always picks up his paper from Noel, the newspaper man across the street who has been on his trade for over four decades, since the times when newspapers were the main source of information. ‘It’s a dying business Bill, it’s a dying business my man!’ Noel says as Thicke picks up his paper. ‘I know, I know. So, it’s mine am afraid.’ Noel is slightly confused by Thicke’s response. Unsure whether to ask him more or just to leave it with it! He takes the courage and asks, ‘What do you mean boss?’ Thicke normally doesn’t have much time to hang about but finds Noel a revelation sometimes. He knows that Noel is always a good counsel.
‘Well!’ Thicke begins.
‘I might not be in the business for long.’ With his head down he expects the usual reaction from a good friend. Noel is thoughtful for another second. Feeling like he has just received a very bad news from a good friend, renders Noel speechless.
‘No. Don’t tell me Bill you are going to retire!?’ Thicke gives him a smile.
‘No, actually it isn’t that. I don’t want to retire at all. It’s the contract. I don’t think I will be on the business for long. The government have decided to take on all the outsourced contracts and insource them. So, basically they want to do all the work themselves.’
‘Oh dear. How can they. I don’t understand! Is this a government cock-up as usual? You are a good businessman. You have done well for yourself Bill. I remember you when you were only a young man, an apprentice at the police and I have always known that you will be going places.’ He hands him the change and looks at him before adding ‘Well, look at the bright side Bill, you have another year. You never know what comes around the corner. Watch this space.’ He bends over at the counter and flicks his eye. Bill thanks him and continues his walk heading for the office.
**
‘We have two unsolved cases which might be passed over to us shortly.’ Chloe tells Thicke unsure if she is going to have his attention. ‘I saw that earlier.’ Thicke responds back.
‘Do you want me to begin with the deployment?’ Chloe asks hesitatingly. Not sure if she wants to go ahead with that at all. She knows full well that she already has a lot in her plate. But Thicke doesn’t do half measures so, he tells her that she should go ahead with the deployment. ‘But we’re understaffed boss!?’ Chloe responds back quickly. Thicke isn’t impressed by the response and wants to say more. He bites his tongue but doesn’t look at Chloe. He wants to say something but is unsure. ‘Ok. In that case, let me think about it.’ He knows that they need to grab as many cases as they could to sustain their survival in the business. I mean two cases, it’s just two cases.
‘Boss!’ Kwame calls out from the far end of the room. ‘Them two cases have become three now with similar patterns. You need to come and have a look at this.’ Thicke is uninterested but notices that everyone surrounds Kwame around his desk and feels bad if left out.
‘What is it K?’ Thicke looks at the screen and can’t believe it. Without wasting much time, he heads for his corner. Sits in his chair and starts to think.
The word “Pattern” bothers him. He had seen lots of patterns in other cases but the cuts, the dismembering and all the paraphernalia of this crime has something else in it and he just can’t put his finger on it, and he is just drawn on it.
The team disperses leaving Kwame still staring at the pictures that the Crime and Counter-Terrorism Office had sent. Kwame notices a lot of patterns too. But he is quieter about it. He feels like he needs to say something to try and get everybody to think about this. If this is a pattern, then it should mean something. He thinks loudly. Thicke heard him. But Thicke is worried that this is way too challenging to tackle. Chloe and Agim look at each other.
Thick wants to say something. He goes over at Kwame’s desk and wants to look at the samples again. ‘Send them over to me please?’ Thicke tells Kwame. ‘At once boss.’ Kwame responds. Agim from the other corner of the office puts himself forward ‘Would you like me to help with anything Kwame?’. ‘No need for help everybody. Let me just think this through first. I think this is a potential case for us to take on. This pattern is niggling me. It is annoying me. The cuts and the shape of wounds is terminally sucking me in. I think we can…I don’t know let me think about it.’ He picks up his jacket and goes for the stroll. Kwame sends the patch on his smartphone including a long description of the report from the crime scene. Kwame rubs his hands and smiles. ‘Guys if he makes his mind up on this one – this is going to win it for us. This will be it. This will secure us a long contract with the agencies. So, let’s pray.’ Chloe is unsure whereas Agim is confident that there’s so much they can help with this case considering the joint collective experience the team have on these type of crimes, cases.
Thicke is unbending on his conviction that this is a big one. This is just exactly what Noel had said to him earlier this morning. This case could give him and the team the lifeline they need it. He could do it. He must do it. He needs to do it.
He pulls another cigarette and joins a long queue at the Commercial Street Costa. He puffs and puffs. Unable to stop the shaking of his hand which has been bothering him a lot. He remembers that Rachel told him to be careful with too many cigarettes and to eat well. He doesn’t eat well. Apart from the light breakfast at the early hours of the morning, he doesn’t eat much at all. He takes his black coffee and tries to sit somewhere but there is no available seating. He leaves and heads at the Spitalfields Square. He manages to sit nearby in the square sipping his coffee and browsing the folder Kwame had sent him.
More revealing stuff becomes apparent. These three cases have a lot of similarities. Thicke tries to transport himself in the old days when he was at the Met. How did those patterns fit in the investigating officer’s mind? How do they relate so closely? The similarities of the wounds and the gender; two woman and a man! The location not far from Hanbury Street. The letter T and no signs of distress according to the autopsy report from the forensic teams. They seemed to have given up on the idea that they can do the job. Thicke knows full well that he has got to get his hands on it. Probably, a relief to the team would be if he drops other cases off and gets properly involved in these new cases.
‘It’s only a person. One killer. One bloodthirsty culprit in here. He or she is a damn professional.’ He mutters to himself. Gulps last drop of his coffee and leaves the square heading straight for the office.
Until Thicke arrived, the office was very quiet. Agim had gone off to get his lunch and Chloe has been busy on her workstation. ‘We are taking the case.’ Thicke announces just like that. Kwame is excited and Chloe with the pen in her mouth doesn’t hesitate to ask the question ‘Does it mean we drop the other cases, or shall we just outsource them?’ Thicke has more excitement on his face. He can’t hide it. ‘Please proceed with the outsourcing and I want everybody in the roundtable by 16.00 this afternoon. I, in the meantime will crack on.’ Agim walks in and he doesn’t fail to see Thicke’s enthusiasm and the lit-up face. ‘Did I just miss something?’, ‘You missed the most important thing!’ Thicke taps him on the shoulder and smiles ‘We’re taking the three cases. So, buckle up – we’re in for a ride.’, ‘Yessss!’ Agim punches the air nearly dropping his lunch in the floor. They all immerse themselves on the work waiting for that 16.00 o’clock catch-up.
**
Thicke’s gaze on the screen seems unstoppable. Chloe tries to draw his attention by asking him if he has any thoughts on it. The whole idea is about the excremental work of dividing responsibilities. Thicke wants to see the whole team working on all aspects of the crime scene. He throws the idea of going to see the place what it is like. Kwame volunteers to do that. Agim isn’t keen. He likes the data. Chloe in the other hand wants the detail. This intrigues her a lot. But Thicke needs to decide. The agencies have given him a clause in the new contract that he has to respect and that is that the cases, the three cases need to be resolved within the next six months. Crunch time!
His gaze stops and he burps his words. ‘Ok. Let’s all work together. I want all of you to pick up the bits that you think you are suited to contribute and let’s have a daily afternoon catch-up going forward. I don’t care if we stumble on each other along the way. All I want is for us to find the murderer who might already be on the fourth victim as we speak.’ They sweep all their notebooks and pens from the round table and quickly rush back at their desks.
Kwame looks agitated. ‘What’s up?’ Chloe asks. ‘Something I need to get involved in?’ Kwame still posing the speechless face. ‘I can’t believe this. We have the fourth case already. It’s just come through!’ Thicke nearly trips up by the time he gets to Kwame’s desk. ‘Sorry my pad is loading up. I couldn’t see it.’ Thicke said.
Everybody in the room surrounds Kwame. His long and fast fingers sweep the slides of the report uninterruptedly. ‘Slow down, slow down, slow down.’ Thicke said. ‘I just want to see the exhibit thirteen please!?’ Kwame stops at the exhibit thirteen. ‘You see the patterns. Again, they are appearing the same in all casualties. And now we have a gender balance. How thoughtful of the culprit We have two and two. Two woman and two men!’ Thicke straightens his back. They all look at him waiting what he has to say.
‘This, changes everything. Chloe how are we doing at the outsourcing front? Any news? Agim clear out the log and please take the exhibits and meet me at the murder scene in half hour. Kwame you are coming with me.’ Chloe is desperate to join the team but needs to complete the outsourcing work. Thicke and Kwame head for the door, while Agim is putting his jacket on. ‘You are not coming?’ He asks Chloe. ‘Let me finish this and I will meet you there.’ She responds.
4
Hanbury Street. Just outside Poppies restaurant, London.
‘Am Superintendent Thicke!’ He shows credentials to the copper manning the cordoned off area of the crime scene. Kwame follows him and within a very short period of time Chloe and Agim join them. The scene of the crime is fully covered with the white sheet and a fan-freezer has been put next to the head of the victim inside the tent. Thicke is used to seeing gruesome scenery of this nature. Kwame is very much shocked as to the extends of the imaging, the live imaging of a dead and dismembered body of a young man he is seeing in front of his eyes. Kwame pulls his handkerchief from his smart suit and covers his mouth. Thicke is taking notes on his smartphone. A triangle has been drawn on the floor covering the whole body of the victim. His severed head has been shaved completely. His hair has been put on a notebook with small bunch of collected blonde hair glued in each of the pages of the notebook and writings of Latin inscriptions scribbled underneath it. His eyes have been removed completely of the eye socket, washed, bleached out and cleaned and have been put on top of the pyramid drawing as to show the ‘all seeing eye’ symbol. His mouth has been stitched up perfectly, almost like a surgeon performing the most delicate of the operations. In the victim’s cheeks there are three small red pyramid drawings, like an inward upside-down shape. The edges of the area in the neck where the cutting has taken place, has been surgically tempered with by using melted plastic covering the whole area underneath it, which had isolated the wound and stopped bleeding. The wound has been perfectly isolated and looks niche and clean. Arms have been put sideways alongside the arms of the pyramid shaped drawing. In it, there are a few inscriptions of an unknown language and pyramids with “VITAE” written on it. Legs are away, dismembered from the torso and placed just under the pyramid drawing folded one on top of each other. As for the main body, the skin has been cut into it carefully and all the thoracic cavity from the front chest all the way down to pubic area, the skin has been opened with much care and precision. Blood has been drained away from inside the body and outside in the pavement and lungs have been placed in a metallic container next to the eyes at the top of the pyramid. Liver, kidneys, intestines, gall bladder and stomach have been put in a big bowl, boiled, marinated and still hot, left with a note stuck on the lid of the bowl reading “Please try a spoonful. Its human organs soup. Tastes the same as any other soup you buy at Marks & Spencer”. What’s more interesting is the genitalia area. There is nothing to be seen there. No genitals have been found so far. This puzzles Thicke. He draws the exact thing on his notebook, all he is seeing on the floor. Kwame hasn’t overcome the extend of disgust that the scene shows. Soon Chloe walks in followed by Agim who just can’t bear to look at the scene.
‘We need to take as many pictures as we can. I want all details to be covered. I need that bowl of soup splashed on a big container in our lab for NANO-examination. I need to keep this tent for another twenty-four hours until we have covered everything.’ Thicke said looking at Chloe and Kwame as if to say this is some job.
‘Agim?’ Thicke calls. ‘Am here boss!’ Agim responds but unsure and unwilling to enter the tent. ‘I need you to be stronger than this mate. I know you are a desk man, but this is important to all of us. We need to capture everything. Also, can you do me a favour – can you please run a complete scan of all the forensic work on clothes and all the organs to see if there has been any nerve damage and, I want an ultrasound scan and blood scan. ASAP please.’. ‘Of course, boss.’ Agim responds.
‘But there’s no blood though?’ Chloe asks inquisitively gazing at Thicke.
‘It’s in the bowl.’ Thicke responds. ‘What is also intriguing is that the culprit has used bleach and a perfume. Huh. I want to know when he or she has used that and what kind of bleach and perfume is used, and I want us to run a complete scan of all online and store purchases of bleach and perfume type in the last month. Agim that’s your second task. I entrust you with it.’ Thicke folds his smartphone and tells the team that he will be heading for the office. Kwame helps Agim to take pictures, whereas Chloe is writing what she is seeing on her pad. The police outside are manning the tent. Thicke goes to the site manager and asks her that the tent be intact until this time tomorrow afternoon, once the team have gathered all the evidence they needed and until he is satisfied that the road can be opened to the public. There’s a lot of commotion on the side of the road. Journalists shouting stuff like: ‘Detective are you going to solve this murder anytime soon!?’, ‘Detective do you feel bloated from the taxpayer subsidy for the investigations you haven’t completed yet?’, ‘Detective can you tell us a bit more what’s in that tent?’.
Thicke ignores all the shouting by the journalists and heads for the office. Some of the journalists decide to chase him. As he approaches Brick Lane, he decides to take a left turn onto the street and heads towards the end of the road trying to head via Buxton Street onto Brick Lane Park and then onto Spital Street which will give him access to the Hanbury Street on the East side of the road.
**
Thicke would not allow for any inconsistencies to mar his job. He is adamant that all evidence needs to be studied well before they arrive at conclusions. He is looking at the camera feed that Met had sent through. It’s been over seventy-two-hours since the tent had been folded and no sign of any clues. Chloe is looking at patterns in the street. All she can see is just Deliveroo and Spac drivers holding on to their bikes and launching off drones. They’re just doing their jobs. Thicke’s fundamental question is who would be brave enough to do that in the middle of the road? Who is that crazy enough to do that? He keeps on gazing at the camera data. He starts in a twenty-four-hour cycle from an early hour at three in the morning and every movement, every vehicle is recorded, drawn, and entered in Thicke’s blue notebook. The people pattern is bothering him a lot. There’s a lot of movements right past and through the point where the victim’s body is found. Camera recordings are very clear, and sound based. He reads the biography of the victim. Nothing unusual or special or even suspicious of the victim. A thirty-six years of age youngster, super fit, working as a consultant for McKinsey Company. Private. No social media presence, next of kin is some big landowner in the shires, well off but no history of violence or any troubles in the family whatsoever. ‘Everything looks normal about this guy.’ Thicke mutters to himself. He looks at the file of his parents and nothing suspicious or anything that can spur out anything to worry about. ‘Why kill him though.’ He looks at the close-up photo of the neck area. The incision is very precise. This is something of an art form. Thicke thinks to himself. Any normal person committing such a thing would need loads of time – and this culprit has not had much time because there are four murders now and they occurred consecutively.
‘Have I been handed a hot potato here?’ Thicke wanders tirelessly. Things look to be less visible to him. He is missing patterns and inconsistencies for which Chloe is picking up slowly.
5
Office, 65 Hanbury Street. London
At the top of Chloe’s desk there is a big pile of papers which she hasn’t skimmed through yet. Normally she is on top of the pile, but today is a different day. The week has turned out to be a totally different one from the previous ones. She has been working closely on all exhibits in the past hour or so. She notices that the lines alongside the cut in the neck area, there seem to be a tattoo ink running all around in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree angle. Fingerprint report shows that silicon gloves have been used and no fingerprint trail anywhere. Arms and the leg area have been preserved well by the murderer, deceiving the hairy parts as they have been shaved completely. Chloe writes in her notes:
-No signs of trauma, violence or forced pressing of muscle areas of legs and arms.
-Huge parts of the upper thigh, lower femur and lower back have been shaved together with the chest and neck area.
-Head shaved. No facial hair and no pubic hair.
-Signs of forced entry into Anus area.
-No sperm or saliva remains but lots of oil ointment around the Anus area, the split area between the Anus and genitalia which seemed to have leaked through to thighs and all the way down to the heels.
-No signs of anal sexual intercourse.
-No genitals found when the body was found.
She then notices that the area inside the victim’s mouth, the palatine, the area between the hard and soft palates are to be looked at. There’s a burn incision which has been imprinted in the palatine area. She can’t make of it what it is. But notices it that the drawing is what it seems to be a pyramid with the three small Xs in all its edges. This puzzles Chloe. But she is not sure whether to be puzzled or just accept the fact that they have stumbled on the most viciously weird murder trial. She sits back and feels that she needs to take a break. She picks up her overcoat and heads out. Kwame, Agim and Thicke in the meantime are at their desks browsing through the exhibits like there is no tomorrow. For Thicke, the lead does not provide any guidance at all. He is aware that this is going to be extremely difficult to pull through. Hence the Met and Special Branch have delegated this to him. He knows that the four bodies of victims do not provide enough evidence although sad to contemplate but for each and one of the bodies, the mutilation, the drawings, and the locations where they were found – are just not consistent at all. The geography is the biggest problem for Thicke. He looks at his map next to his desk. The spread of locations: Two bodies found in East End and one other in Marylebone High Street and the other in Regents Park provide with a potential first clue – The killer is either a Londoner or somebody who lives in the east end of London, Essex possibly or North of London. He looks at the map again and removes the pins from the actual locations where bodies were found and repositions them in diametrically opposite location. Diagonal pinning of Marylebone High Street would provide you with the Clapham Junction equivalent. More concretely Cedars Road in Clapham Junction. Whereas Hanbury Street equivalent gives him Peckham Hill Street. He is not sure if this is going to be enough to scatter resources down south without having more proof that these two new locations could be the geography that the killer is operating on, if of course he considers the obsession with symmetry and diagonal pyramid lining that the killer seems to be. He asks Kwame if he can pull out any recent or historical crime hotspots in the Clapham Junction and Peckham area. He comes back quickly with over a thousand hotspots in the area. Most of the crimes committed have been of the lower levels in the pecking order of the London crime scenery, things like; burglaries, knife-stabbing, small protesting and rioting, retail theft but no deaths in the past thirty-five years. ‘It’s a pretty peaceful area.’ Kwame adds before continuing ‘I was born in Clapham. You know with all that stuff with gentrification and the money coming in since the roaring twenties, it is unrecognizable now. Have you ever been there?’ Thicke looks at Kwame ‘It’s too trendy for me!’ He responds. ‘There’s a lot to be said when one is not sure of the geography of his own town. I mean am a Londoner myself, but I could easily say that I don’t know most of it. I was born in East-End but worked in West London…’ Thicke stops for a minute, and something occupies his mind.
‘Huh. That could be it. The commute logs. I need to get hold of commute log!’ He taps Kwame’s shoulder and goes in his phone straight away ringing London Control Centre.
Kwame looks bemused, enquiring and wanting to know more. ‘Hello. Good afternoon. This is Agent 13224 from the Thicke Enquiries. May I please ask that I be given permission to the last six months commute log feed? Yes, yes that’s right. I would need all the six months South to North arteries mainly train, bikes, motorbikes, hoverbikes and leg work. Thank you. I will do so. Much appreciated.’ He hangs up his phone and looks at Kwame who is befuddled. ‘Do you want me to run facial partitioning?’ Kwame said. ‘That would be great. But only facial not anything else. I think I am going to run the overall monitoring data for the lot. Six million of them for the past six months. Wish me luck. My prediction is that I will be able to do this in six days.’ Thicke said.
‘Aha!’ Kwame adds. ‘Six-six-six. Interesting!’ Thicke laughs but hard at work typing in a Thank you response to the London Control Centre operator.
‘I have all of it now. I better crack on with it.’ He responds waving Kwame to go away.
**
Commute log didn’t turn out to be as easy as Thicke anticipated it only a few days ago. Six days have gone by and only a fraction of the log facial and biographical data has been skimmed. It took Chloe, Agim and Kwame to try and resurrect the overall project from Thicke’s hands. He was getting depressed with the load. So, he pulled away from other cases by outsourcing the lot. Now with the full team in hand, Thicke reckons that this upcoming weekend is the reckoning day for the first short across the bows of the killer. He must deliver the goods.
6
Hanbury Street mishap!
Many moons ago, Amelia would’ve been the natural heir to a family business run mostly by men for over eight decades and more. Today, she is a successful millennial with a very impressive job and a career. She is the Head of Public Relations at the British Museum. It’s not the job that provides her with most of the pride she has in her. She is a woman of many talents, amongst those she counts the scuba diving, martial arts, poetry, and football. She is a fitness fanatic and a meditation addict. A quiet soul with a lot to give to the world but not much to say. She is an introvert with the tendency to be very shy and utterly silent. She is known at the workplace as somebody who just gets on with it. Not very popular at work as everybody tends to ignore her, although having said that, you wouldn’t mistake her with somebody who just sits there behind her raised desk and doesn’t make herself known when its time. She had a particularly bad day today. There seems to be a large amount of ‘formaldehyde’ missing at the museum depot and she has been asked to help with running the internal investigations. ‘Not my area of expertise and I don’t know what they want me to do. I mean for Christ’s sake what do I know about all things ‘formaldehyde!’ She wrote to her colleague Marta who isn’t a specialist in the field either. ‘I know. I know. We were offered the opportunity, but we all turned it down. Fuck that. I wouldn’t want to be near that stuff.’ Marta had said to her. For days she contemplated looking for another job, but her specialty is Museums and History of Antiquity and not much of this field is out there in the market. Partly laziness and the sense of comfort she gets from her current role, makes her dither and delay. She attended the first meeting with her line manager this morning. The evidence presented to her has been quite overwhelming and they have a suspect but will need to be careful how they handle this whole saga. For Amelia, this isn’t easy. She knows the suspect well. She attended same college at Cambridge. At Corpus Christi, the suspect was known to be a kind and an unassuming person. She took her in her stride and soon became a good and loyal friend. Many years later after they graduated, they lost touch. Amelia came back to London whereas her friend Tabitha disappeared completely off radar, until well until they met ten years later at the Museum workshop. Initially they didn’t recognize each other. Amelia thought that Tabitha’s face was very familiar, and she has immediately approached her and remade friendship over a nice plush dinner. At that dinner, Amelia understood that Tabitha has been through hell after she had been in a trip to see her family in Africa. There, she encountered a man whom she fell in love with. Unbeknown to her, this man had other three wives married within the family rules and traditions. The man couldn’t understand how she could have not been a virgin when they first slept together. So, he convinced her to undergo reinstatement surgery where she would have to have an operation to reinstate her virginity and then soon after she would lose her virginity. Then a few weeks later she would have to undergo genital mutilation – the seizure of pleasure – which was bloody atrocious and for a highly educated woman to fall for this archetypical cruel tradition to Amelia this was shocking. Anyhow, Tabitha had three children from the marriage and after eight years being a housewife prisoner, beaten, raped and imprisoned, she managed to escape thanks to another fellow Cambridge graduate who happen to discover her when she was teaching some children English in the nearby village. Tabitha came back to London and had fallen out with her family. Her mother was instrumental in getting her to meet this man in Africa, marry and whatnot. Too much of her regret, her Mumma was not regretful at all quite the opposite – she berated Tabitha of her attitude and causing embarrassment to her family. So, she left family and set about to free herself and just enjoy life. Heartless at first as she couldn’t take her children with her. But then after two years of toil, she has managed to bring three of her children to the UK.
Still unsettled and soar, Tabitha entered a relationship with another man who didn’t look after her at all. A cheat, a womanizer, and a woman-beater, she left him and had to survive living in her cousins one-bedroom flat with her three children until she kicked her out and had to fend for herself. Cap-in hand asked the local council for help and managed to get some shelter. Finding life hard and unbearable and unable to feed her children, she had to give them away to a foster couple. As if the heartbreak wasn’t enough, she was then dealt a blow when she discovered she had stage three breast cancer. Devastated, she decided not to go ahead with the treatment and had not told anybody in the family or any of her friends. She began to drink a lot, drug-taking and then fell into depression. She attended most of the London night life and enjoyed herself. One night at the club she meets this nice geezer with whom she falls in love very shortly. This guy was a renowned doctor at the Kings College Hospital in Brixton. A professor of Oncology proves the saving miracle of her life. Poor woman had gone through hell and the professor was there to help her and he did. She beat cancer and reclaimed her life soon after that. When Amelia and Tabitha met at the workshop a year or so ago, Amelia couldn’t believe it how much Tabitha has changed. They had a good and long catch-up together but then things started to set them apart. Amelia changed roles and became much more senior than her and then Tabitha started to build this distance with Amelia. They never went out again. She rejected Amelia’s request on WhatsApp she sent her a few months ago and they just greet each other every morning now and then. For Amelia, this is a hard thing to do. Investigating her friend means that she must interact with her on daily basis or as frequently as it is required. Otherwise, Amelia won’t be able to do the job. So, I guess somebody in the management team, high up the food chain, knows about the friendship between the two and wants to make life a bit awkward for them. Or, for Amelia.
First thing Amelia does is to get in touch with Tabitha. Her first email to her sounds professional and to the point. ‘Only information fetching.’ She calls it. Tabitha is cooperative and they decide to go out for a coffee. In Tabitha’s mind, all Amelia is after is to rebuild their friendship. But soon she finds out that is not the aim of the meeting. Amelia wants to know more about this piece of history on Africa. This tapestry which dates back in the early millennium 1111. The tapestry has been found in the Museum depot. The tapestry explains the human evolution from the early years of extra-terrestrial intervention all the way down to early writings. The surface of the tapestry seems to have been coloured in human blood. Coagulated and well preserved, the tapestry is in an intact form. This is mind boggling for Tabitha. Only recently started to read a lot about African tapestry history and coincidentally enough she had read about this work of art. She thought that the work of art had disappeared, and that the Chinese had bought it from a corrupt African ruler who sold it for a large amount of money in the Underground Dark Arts Exhibition. When Amelia takes her to the depot to see the display of the tapestry, she is stunned and becomes absorbed in the detail. Whereas Amelia standing two steps back, gazing at Tabitha’s features and her reaction, can’t help but think of all the stuff she has gone through. Less obliged to offer another helping hand, Amelia is aware that she has got Tabitha where she wanted, and the hunting begins. What that means is that Amelia must find a way to indulge Tabitha somehow and the way she does it is through a process of befriending, politeness, vulnerability, and a sense of needing one’s moment, one’s presence and companionship. So, dinner is set at Amelia’s place in Hanbury Street. Life in this super cosmopolitan part of London is less nefarious than previously thought, ugly at first but rich in people spirit. For Tabitha this part of town brings a lot of good memories from the Cambridge years. The plush but antiquated shops, the curry houses, and the niche shops with a bubbly presence of the youth in the ever-busier roads of Brick Lane, is something that she has missed seeing for some time now. Lamb steaks with lots of rice and brussels sprouts, the special Hanbury recipe cooked by Amelia is served at exactly six in the evening. ‘No wonder you don’t miss out much of what the other London has to offer. You have everything here don’t you!?’ Tabitha said. ‘Oh absolutely. I love this place. Although, to be honest I just can’t see myself living anywhere else less plush…ha-ha.’ She laughs. ‘I don’t blame you to be honest.’ Tabitha responds before adding ‘You know what! When I came back from Africa, there was so much life I could explore by coming back to London. At one stage I did forget how to live and was unsure which buttons to press. I did forget where the nearest theatre or cinema was. I mean, as you know London is very much a city totally enamoured with itself. Everything has to be perfect and only work in London’s way.’ ‘I agree!’ Amelia responds. They enjoy the dinner and soon afterwards, Amelia invites her to go for a quick walk down the Brick Lane ‘To see how other cope with pleasure!’ As Amelia refers to the Brick Lane life. They plod along the street without any worry in the world. They laugh and they shed tears because of the hard laughter, and they have a take-away coffee and Ice-Cream and they do have all the best picks of the Brick Lane. They return at Amelia’s but, ‘Only for a quick drink!’ Tabitha says. Amelia would like her to stay slightly longer and offers her to stay overnight if she would like. ‘I don’t mind but it feels weird though! Doesn’t it not?’ Tabitha responds to Amelia’s offer. ‘Not weird at all. Don’t be silly. It will be a pity if you decide not. Don’t worry. I have lots of room here.’ It doesn’t take too long for Tabitha to agree and stay on for the night. It made both happy and happiness isn’t an easy trait that both warm up to easily. As the night goes by, Amelia becomes more nervous and eager to get Tabitha talking. She wants to pose the question about formaldehyde and if it is used a lot in her line of work. But her gut feel is that Tabitha might get spooked. She then thinks about asking her if she has heard about the theft and if she has heard any rumours about it. But, again, it is too much of a risk. After she had offered all the drinks in the world, a shot of whiskey here and a glass full of port there, Amelia couldn’t time it better. Tabitha has drunk too much by now, offering the best opportunity for Amelia to go for the difficult question. ‘I tell you what, since my last promotion, my job has become much harder, and I am at the point where all these additional responsibilities need to find a better place to bed. I am not cut to be a manager.’ Amelia said. Tabitha laughing disagrees with her. ‘To be honest you are a born leader. I mean you can pull this off. I just envision you; I just see you as a future leader, leading this institution…!’ All the blurred lines that Tabitha could muster through, because by now she is heavily drunk. Amelia wants to speed up with questioning. ‘Oh, you heard about the theft?’ Tabitha seems unmoved or unimpressed and totally not interested.
‘Theft? What theft?’ Tabitha said sounding surprised.
‘Well. There seems to have been a huge, industrial scale theft of this chemical …what do they call it formaldehyde!’ Tabitha stops the drink half-way through.
‘Is there an investigation?’ Sounding panicky. ‘Yes. A huge one and all. I mean Alistair is involved in it imagine how bad this is!’ Amelia sips her whiskey. ‘Ahhhh. Oh no.’ Tabitha says. ‘I thought this whole shit isn’t needed anymore. I mean…blimey.’ She said frustratingly. Amelia acts surprised. ‘What do you mean? What do you know about it?’ Tabitha regrets why she said those words. ‘Nothing. It’s just nothing. I think I need to go now!’ Amelia senses that her chance to make it big in the company is about to disappear right in front of her face. ‘What do you mean Tabs?’ Amelia said putting more pressure on Tabitha. ‘Where is my jacket? I need to go. I don’t know what I said. I am sorry. I just need to go. I think I had too much alcohol. Can I please go? Can I have my jacket please?’ Amelia stands there next to the kitchen island sipping her drink and not moving. ‘I don’t know where your jacket is. Where am I supposed to have put it? You had it on you!’ Tabitha is a bit confused. She brushes her face with her right arm and looks herself in the mirror trying to get herself back together. She feels that she has cocked up by letting out those words “…whole shit isn’t needed anymore!” She knows that Amelia isn’t going to let go off that easy. She needs to explain.
‘Listen, all I know is that there are about six people involved in all of this. I am just a facilitator. That stuff is kept in my flat. All of it. Am having to put up with all that shite. I mean can you imagine if it explodes or some of it leaks!?’ Amelia is done with her drink and places it in the sink. ‘Well. My friend I don’t know what you were thinking. But you know that you are going to be in trouble! I mean I can try and pull some strings…like letting a few details go past me so I can just shut my eyes before it. But I don’t know what more I can do to help. I don’t understand why would you do things like that? Why? Is it money?’ Tabitha leans against the wall next to the bathroom and stares at Amelia. ‘Sorry I need to go to the bathroom!’
Amelia circles around in the lounge thinking what to do and what to say next. She knows full well that this woman is trouble. This could be her ploy to get Amelia involved. She thinks hard until she hears the flash in the bathroom. She knows that once Tabitha comes out, she needs to make a strong statement and turn all official. Tabitha comes out of the bathroom and asks for her coat. ‘Where did you leave it?’ she opens a few cupboards in the corridor but can’t find the coat. She keeps looking everywhere. Amelia disappeared right in front of her eyes. Tabitha is drunk and tired and can’t think straight. She opens the bathroom door ‘Ams are you here? Where are you? What are you playing at?’ No sign of Amelia. As Tabitha looks in the bathroom mirror, there is Amelia with a long Jimmy Lile knife just behind her and slash she goes on her back pushing Tabitha against the mirror breaking the whole thing into small pieces while Tabitha is touching her face Amelia whooshes another round of slay in her face. Tabitha begins to scream. Amelia picks her leg and pushes her in the bathroom. She closes the door behind her. She opens her phone puts her Bang & Olufsen on with a loud Prodigy music on. ‘Slut, slut, slut, slut. slut, slut…you are fucking slut!’ Tabitha’s face is all turned into live flesh, her throat is pouring out a lot of blood, whilst her left leg shakes, and her right arm is slowly letting go of the shower cover sheet. Tabitha is shocked and about to be lifeless. Her stare on Amelia’s face scares her a bit. ‘Slut, slut, slut!’ She goes plunging her long knife straight into her stomach and pushing it vertically so she can open as much as her stomach and diaphragm as possible. A lot of blood comes out and all she hears is Tabitha saying the words ‘Noooo, please…my kids!’ Before her eyes freeze lifeless.
Amelia lifts Tabitha’s body and pushes it in the bath sink. Pours cold and hot water. She needs to drain the blood away and there is a lot of blood coming out of everywhere. She picks up her Dos Plumas shears and begins to cut Tabitha’s clothes off. The combination of pouring water and the slow draining of blood away from Tabitha’s body, makes Amelia relax and focus. She lowers the volume on the speakers. Picks up two wet towels and begins cleaning the floor and the smashed mirror pieces in the floor. She tidies up quickly. She goes closer to the sink to see how far the blood draining has gone. Tabitha’s lifeless body is quickly turning into purple and pinkish colour. She throws salt in the water until the trapped water becomes all blurred and soon Tabitha’s lifeless body sinks under water for only her curly black hair remains floating at the top. She turns the music off and heads for the study room. There, the hidden door just behind her vast collection of rare books, opens slowly, as she presses the button. She walks in and turns the light on. The small five by five room is purposefully build as a storage room. Temperature on the panel shows minus five. The empty plastic bags placed on the shelves that resemble a morgue are cold but clean. She removes all her stored meat and pickled eggs, onions, and gherkins. Places them in the kitchen cupboards and some of the items in the big American fridge-freezer. She tidies up the storeroom and checks that the temperature has picked up slightly due to the door being kept open. She then, inches up the temperature. Minus twenty-five is sufficient for the first phase. Then she walks out of the room and shuts the heavy hidden door from behind. She turns the tap off and throws more salt into the water and leaves the body to take the salt in proper. She turns the fan in the bathroom on, turns the light off and closes the door behind. She opens the window of the apartment and looks down at Hanbury Street. Night life is surging with people. There is a lot of noise and commotion out there. For a second or so the ambulance noise is followed by the police noise coming from a far distance and she got a little bit frightened but then she realised that she can always rely on her planning and her meticulous creativity.
She lights up a cigarette and then writes a few lines in her beige notebook.
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