Kill Chase (A Detective Ryan Chase Thriller Book 1) Read online

  “What about fingerprints?”

  “I need a dry skin surface in order to take a fingerprint. With the body parts being submerged for so long, when they’re dried out, the skin forms a kind of glove,” she pointed at the area she was referring to, “and the fingers themselves become difficult to print. The level of decay on the second victim is too great to print, but I think, with some work, I might be able to get a print from the first one. I’m going to need to inject chemicals into the hand to plump and firm up the fingers again and see if I can get some prints that way.”

  Ryan exhaled a breath. “Getting prints will be a great help. We have no idea who these men were, and if we can’t learn their identities, it’s highly unlikely we’re going to figure out who killed them and disposed of their bodies.”

  “It’s a bit of a lengthy process, I’m afraid, so you’re going to have to be patient.”

  Ryan smiled. “I’d say patience is one of my virtues, but I’d be lying.”

  “I can tell you that a hacksaw was used to cut up the bodies.” Nikki gestured to the severed ends of one of the arms. “You can see the ridges the teeth had made across the bone where it’s been severed on both bodies.”

  “Do you think it’s likely the same person did this to them both?” Ryan asked.

  He didn’t think there was much chance of their being two killers who just happened to cut up their victims, wrap them in plastic bags, and dump them in the river, but the more evidence he could gather, the better.

  “Yes, and it was a rough job, too. Whoever did this didn’t really know what they were doing. The cuts aren’t clean at all, the flesh around the edges is ragged, and parts of it is even torn, as though whoever did it got fed up with trying to cut and pulled the final pieces apart.”

  “That’s a lovely image.”

  She grinned at him. “Isn’t it just.”

  “Are there any distinguishing marks we can use to narrow down our mispers?”

  Nikki nodded. “I believe the second victim has a large tattoo down his right forearm. It might even be several tattoos that have blurred together. Again, down to the water damage and level of decomposition, I can’t see what that tattoo might have been as of right now, but I’ll keep working on it, and hopefully I’ll be able to get you some more distinct images.”

  “Thanks, that would be useful. Finding out who these two men were will go a long way to tracking down their killer.”

  He wished they had better age estimates and descriptions for the men. With no height, and a wide age range, it was going to be near impossible to narrow down their current missing person’s cases. They didn’t even know if the men had been local.

  “What about how long each of the victims had been in the water?” he asked.

  “The epidermis on the second victim has blistered and turned a greenish-black, which is what I’d expect in a body that had been submerged beyond just a few weeks. The first victim, however, has bleached skin, indicating it hasn’t been underwater as long. The first victim who was found, I’d say you’re looking at between a week and ten days. The second victim was substantially longer, at least a month, if not more. The difficulty with bodies submerged in water is that there are so many variations that lead to different speeds of decomposition. The river would have been cold, running water, which means the speed would be less than if it had been in warm, stagnant water, for example, but it has been hot recently, which may have increased the water temperature and led to the body parts breaking down faster.”

  “At least that gives us some time scale to work around.”

  “I’ve taken DNA samples from beneath the nails of both victims in case they fought their attacker, but I believe bleach may have been used to clean down the bodies before they were dumped.”

  That surprised Ryan. “Did you find traces of bleach on the skin, even though they’d been submerged for so long?”

  Nikki shook her head and pointed at the first arm that had been found. “Do you see those red marks?”

  Both detectives stepped in closer to look.

  She continued, “I believe those are bleach burns.”

  Ryan tried not to show his disappointment. “So our chances of getting the killer’s DNA off the body parts is going to be slim.”

  If they couldn’t ID the victims from the bodies, or get the DNA of the killer, they weren’t going to be left with much to go on. Forensics were working on the carrier bags, but otherwise, the amount of evidence they had was limited. Since they assumed the men hadn’t been killed at the river, they didn’t have a crime scene to analyse, and working with moving water made things even more difficult.

  “Without the rest of the bodies, it’s impossible for me to say what the exact causes of death were. I believe the limbs were removed posthumously, but could they have been cut and caused enough blood loss for the victim to have suffered heart failure?” She shrugged. “I just can’t say for sure. If we had the upper torso of either victim, I could check the lungs to see if they were drowned first, but unless those parts are located, I’m at a bit of a dead end.”

  “Searches of the area are still being carried out,” Mallory said. “Hopefully, we’ll find more.”

  Nikki turned and picked up a silver kidney dish “There was something I found of interest on both bodies. There were paint flecks in several of the severed ends.”

  “What kind of paint is it?” Mallory leaned in to look.

  Ryan bent his head over the tray as well, but the flecks of paint were barely visible.

  Nikki placed the kidney dish back down. “I’m going to need to send them off to forensics to be analysed.”

  “Any idea where it might have come from?

  “There’s a possibility the paint was already on the hacksaw before it was used to severe the limb. They’re miniscule pieces, so there’s a good chance the killer didn’t notice it before they used the saw.”

  Ryan pursed his lips, thinking. “Then it would have been a saw they already owned. They didn’t go out and purchase a new one for this purpose.”

  “It’s impossible to say for sure, but no, I don’t think the saw was saved for this particular job.”

  “Then they might not have planned it. They just grabbed whatever tools they had handy.”

  “There are two bodies,” she pointed out. “If there was only one, I’d say it wasn’t premeditated, but who kills two people at different times, accidentally?”

  He liked the way her mind worked.

  “Someone who did it once,” Mallory suggested, “and promised themselves it wouldn’t happen again, but then couldn’t stop themselves.”

  Ryan sucked in a breath. “Someone who is out of control.”

  He hoped that didn’t mean there would be another body—or body parts—showing up soon.

  Chapter Seven

  Clara readied herself for another day of doing exactly the same thing.

  She’d slept fitfully, tangled in the sheets and waking every hour. The room was hot and stuffy, but she didn’t dare open a window overnight. She was on the ground floor and was terrified of someone climbing through the window while she was asleep. She’d seen enough horror films to be able to picture some shadowy figure standing over her while she slept, so she suffered through the heat.

  She wished she could be one of those people who woke up feeling positive and energised about the day, but every morning was a struggle just to get out of bed. It was part of her reason for volunteering at the soup kitchen—at least when she knew she needed to be somewhere, it gave her that extra boost not to just roll over and go back to sleep.

  If left to her own devices, she could easily spend the entire day hidden under her covers, staring at her bedroom wall. She knew it wasn’t normal to feel this way, but though she’d been to the doctors’ multiple times and they’d promised to help her, nothing seemed to work.

  The loneliness was the worst. Even when she was around other people, she was still on the outside of things. Everyone else always s
eemed so relaxed and comfortable with each other, while she always felt like the new girl at a party, standing awkwardly on the outskirts of other people’s conversations, trying to find a way to join in.

  The alcohol helped her feel like a part of things. Even though it left her headachy and overtired the following day, it did help to make her feel normal. Plus, it was an expense she couldn’t really afford. She was ashamed to admit her booze budget was greater than what she spent on food. She was fine to live on toast and microwaved jacket potatoes, with beans, or soup, or on occasion, if she splashed out, some cheese. She’d never really been interested in posh food or cooking. It was fuel to keep her going, that was all.

  Perhaps she should get a real job instead of a volunteer position—she could certainly use the money rather than living on benefits—but it wasn’t that easy. When you volunteered for something, people were grateful to have you. They might ask a few questions, but that was all. The idea of sitting in a regular interview and having people in suits grilling her about her past work experience—which was very little—and her qualifications—of which she had few—terrified her. Just the mental image sent her heart racing and her breath tightening in her chest. She knew with utter certainty that she wouldn’t be able to do it. She would only humiliate herself.

  No, it was good that she was doing the volunteer work. She needed to give herself a pat on the back for that. She was getting out there, interacting with people and actually helping. Making a difference. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have much money, at least that’s what she kept trying to convince herself of and was failing at. Everyone said that it couldn’t buy happiness, though she was sure the only people who actually believed that were people with money. She couldn’t imagine being able to buy something without first calculating it into her budget and bargaining with herself that if she bought such and such, she would go without lunch next week to pay for it. She felt guilty for spending so much of the little money she had on alcohol. In a way, she was no different than the men and women she served in the soup kitchen. Everyone judged them for spending money on booze instead of food, but didn’t she do exactly the same? She did it to escape the torment inside her head, and they did it to escape the misery of their surroundings. Neither one of them was any better or worse than the other.

  Clara checked the time on her phone. Shit, she’d lost track of time. She needed to get a move on. She was going to be late for the lunchtime shift. A couple of paracetamols and a tall glass of water would hopefully keep her burgeoning headache at bay.

  She left the flat, pulling the door shut behind her so it locked, and then hurried up the road. The sky was a peaceful blue, barely a cloud breaking it up. She felt better being out in the sunshine, and almost regretted that she’d need to go back inside when she reached the shelter. Perhaps she’d have been better to spend the day sitting in the park with a good book? But she didn’t want to let anyone down—she wasn’t the kind of person to just not show up—so she kept going. Though it was only mid-morning, the heat made the dirty streets stink of old rubbish. She stepped on a piece of discarded chewing gum that had melted on the hot pavement, and it clung to the bottom of her trainer.

  “Shit.” She grimaced. People were so disgusting. Why not put it in a bin?

  Her foot now tacky and sticking with every step, she kept going. She didn’t have time to try to get it off now.

  Clara reached the building that housed the soup kitchen. Already, people were queued up outside. They were certainly eager today. The line trickled right down the street. They all wore that uniform of grubby, holey t-shirts and filthy jeans. The heat and sweat combined with having nowhere to wash made for an unpleasant result, and the odour of stale bodies drifted over to her on the tepid air. She did her best not to show her dismay, forcing a smile, and nodding hellos to those she recognised. A few shouted out good-natured comments about how they’d been waiting forever and were wasting away. Clara didn’t reply but ducked her head and slipped down the alleyway between this building and the next so she could go in through the rear entrance.

  She pushed open the door to the bustle of a busy kitchen: metal clanging, steam hissing into the air, and people calling out to one another.

  “Clara, there you are,” Wendy called out to her over a tray of chips. “Was starting to worry we wouldn’t see you today.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

  Wendy dumped down the tray. “No harm done. Plates and cutlery still need to be set out.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Putting the twisted sense of unease to one side, she busied herself setting out bowls and plates and cutlery for everyone. The final silver trays of food were brought out and stashed beneath the heaters, and everyone got into position to serve out their part of the meal.

  “Opening the doors,” one of the other volunteers announced.

  As they’d promised, the doors were opened, and the rush began.

  Clara spotted a familiar face in the line.

  “And where have you been?” she asked Kyle. “We were all getting worried about you.”

  He held up his hand, the bandage bundled around it already grey with grime from the streets. “Had an accident. Spent the last couple of days in hospital.”

  Clara grimaced. “Poor you. What happened?”

  “Some idiot on a motorbike mounted the pavement and didn’t see me lying there. Ran straight over my hand. Don’t feel too sorry for me, though. I got a couple of nights in a hospital bed. Clean sheets, three meals a day, and nurses running around after me.” He threw her a wink. “And let’s not mention the pain meds on top of that. Best time I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Well, don’t make a habit of it.” She smiled. “You were missed.”

  He shrugged. “Only for a short while. If I’d been gone any longer, I doubt anyone would have even remembered.”

  “That’s not true,” she chided him.

  He didn’t bother to argue with her, but deep down they both knew he was right.

  Kyle moved on to get his serving of mushy peas to go with the battered fish and chips, and Clara turned her attention to the next in line, offering a smile together with a serving of lunch.

  Chapter Eight

  Ryan and Mallory grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading back into the office. Ryan had paperwork from a previous case to work on. It was frustrating being taken away from this case, even if it was only for a couple of hours, but it was the nature of the job to have to juggle several cases at once. He knew he should probably spend more time in the office rather than on the streets, but he’d never quite been able to give up that part of his job. He liked the insight that speaking to people face to face gave him. He probably increased his own workload by doing so, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as though he had a busy home or social life to get back for.

  “I’m going to check for any mispers with a tattoo on their forearm as an identifying feature,” Mallory said, “and also go over some old cases to see if anything resonates with this one.”

  Ryan cast his mind back over the cases he’d worked. Nothing immediately jumped to mind, but hopefully Mallory would pull something up. Other members of his team drifted back in after working on the actions he’d given them the previous evening.

  “I’ve got the CCTV footage from the area,” said DC Dev Kharral. “There’s a lot of it over a long period of time, so it’s going to take me a while to get through.”

  “No problem. Take whatever time you need. Focus your attention on footage from a week to ten days ago. Nikki Francis at the coroner’s office believes the first body has been in the water at least a week. The second body is looking to be more like a month.”

  “Okay. I’ll watch out for vehicles that reoccur in those two intervals.”

  “I’m not sure how far you’ll get with such vague times for the bodies to be put in the water, but it’s a good place to start.”

  Both the female DCs on his team, Linda Quinn and Shon
da Dawson, also returned.

  “How did you get on?” Ryan asked them.

  Linda took the lead. “Haven’t uncovered anything of interest yet. Sorry, boss. A couple of the properties had security doorbells, but since we don’t even know that the body parts were dumped from that side of the river, I’m not sure how worthwhile it’ll be to spend our time going through the footage. No one has seen anything or anyone suspicious.”

  “Okay, Linda, can you help Dev with going through the CCTV footage from the park. Shonda, give Mallory a hand with past mispers. We know we’re looking for a male between the ages of twenty to fifty who has a tattoo on his right arm.”

  Shonda tilted her head to one side. “That’s not narrowing it down much. Every other bloke these days has a tattoo.”

  “The coroner is working on getting a clearer image of it. If you can put a list together of possibilities, hopefully we can narrow things down again once she’s got a better idea of what the tattoo is.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Anyone know where DC Penn is?” Ryan asked.

  “He got a hit from a professor of geography at Bristol university who knows about rivers,” Shonda said. “He went to have a chat with him.”

  “Okay, good.”

  Hopefully, this professor would be able to give them a better idea about exactly where the body parts had been thrown into the water. Had they been moved from the positions where the divers had found them by the flow of the water, or would they have stayed pretty much where they had been dumped?

  Ryan lost himself in paperwork for a couple of hours, until his sergeant interrupted him.

  “Boss, I’m not sure if I’ve got something or not, but almost ten years ago a body was discovered in the Mendip Hills.” She paused as though for effect. “The head and hands were missing. It was assumed at the time that the removal of the body parts was to prevent the body being identified, but the killer hadn’t taken into account a birthmark the victim had on his back. Shortly after the body was discovered, it was matched to a misper report, and identified as nineteen-year-old Jacob Tater. Jacob was a student, but he still lived at home with his mother and travelled into university each day. He had some...issues. He was heavily involved with drugs and liked to take ecstasy and cocaine and stay out all night. His mother didn’t report him missing until after the weekend when he still hadn’t come home. She’d figured he’d crashed at a friend’s house for the weekend. When he still hadn’t shown up on Monday and she got in touch with his university tutor and discovered he hadn’t turned up to his lectures either, she’d started to get worried and called the police.”