Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

Jon was watching the giant screen flashing up the day's headlines. The bulletin came to an end and he glanced down to see a weasel-faced man with wiry ginger hair walking towards him. Just before he looked back up at the screen he half noticed a brown leather bag in the other man's hands. It seemed odd that a man should be carrying a handbag, but his attention was on the trailer for some new series starting on Channel Four.

A minute later Alice appeared at his side, visibly upset.

'What's up?' He held a hand towards her.

She stopped short of his reach and banged a fist angrily against her thigh. 'Oh Jon, I'm such a stupid arse. I've just had my bag snatched. I was trying to…'

Jon remembered the ginger-haired man. He thought that he'd looked dodgy, but now he realized the bag held against his stomach was Alice's. Without saying a word he spun round and ran back towards the sliding doors at the station's entrance, taking in the number of people around, already knowing the chances of spotting him were slim. There was no sign of him. Looking to his right, he saw a passage leading into a car park — no way of telling which way the man had gone.

'Shit!' He strode angrily back into the station. A policeman was standing next to Alice and Jon walked up to them. 'No sign of the little shit,' he said.

'This, by the way, is my partner,' Alice told the uniformed officer.

He gave Jon a cursory nod and turned back to Alice, pen and notepad ready.

Jon looked round the station and saw the CCTV cameras positioned all around. Getting out his warrant card, he interrupted the officer. 'Where's the control room? I got a glance of this guy — he has to be on film.'

Seeing Jon's rank, the officer immediately turned his attention away from Alice. 'This way, sir.'

They followed him over to an anonymous-looking door marked 'Private' and the officer punched in a code. Once inside they walked down a short corridor into a dark room lit by a stack of TV monitors. A man sat before them sipping a cup of coffee.

Taking his helmet off, the officer said, 'Simon, DI Spicer. His partner just had her bag snatched from outside the toilets and DI Spicer might be able to provide an ID. Madam? You can use this phone to cancel your cards.'

Jon crossed the room and, staring at the screens, sat down next to the man. Looking at the variety of views, he said, 'Quite some system you get to play with here.'

The man smiled. 'Where were you when you saw him?'

'Under the departures board — he went right past me.'

The man pulled his chair closer to the array of controls on the angled desk before him, punched a few buttons and turned on a screen to his right. 'How long ago?'

'Four, five minutes, max.'

The view from a camera directed at the area by the departures board came up with a date and time display in the right-hand corner. The tape rewound, and Jon watched as all three of them walked backwards into the picture. Next Jon reversed out of the shot, followed by the police officer. Alice stood on her own for a bit before Jon jumped backwards up to Alice's side then turned around. They talked for an instant before Alice backed off the screen. Jon now stood on his own looking upwards. A stream of people reversed past, before Jon suddenly said, 'Stop!'

The image froze without a flicker or shake and Jon jabbed a finger at the monitor. 'That's him.'

'Here we go, the wonders of digital technology,' said Simon, zooming in on the man. Alice's bag was just visible in his hands.

Simon leaned closer to the screen. 'Well I never, it's the Ferret. Haven't seen him for many a month.'

'The Ferret?' asked Jon. 'You've got his details?'

Simon shook his head. 'Unfortunately not. That's just my name for him. He's a nasty piece of work. Before the new station was built he used to tax the beggars for prime positions — by the entrance to the old Wimpy, next to the ticket office windows, those sorts of spots. The lowest of the low. Plus bag snatching — plenty of people could describe him, though we've never actually caught him in the act. But we didn't have this CCTV system then.'

Jon stared at his image. 'Can you send me a print of that?'

'You can have one right now.' Simon pressed another button and the printer to his side began to whirr. 'And I think I can go one better than that.' He checked the time frame on the image of the Ferret then brought up the view from the camera trained on the entrance to the toilets. 'He wouldn't still be snatching bags if he had any idea of the power of this video system.' He rewound to twenty seconds before the Ferret had passed Jon, pressed play and there was Alice, standing at the turnstiles, searching through her purse. She turned towards a lady, holding out a hand with two coins in it.

The Ferret entered the picture on her left, moving slightly quicker than the flow of people walking past. A hand shot out and Alice's handbag vanished.

'Gotcha!'Simon announced. 'That's good enough for a prosecution. Now you just need to find the Ferret himself.'

Half an hour later, Jon was staring at his boss's door, running through a quick mental check. Satisfied nothing so far in the investigation had been overlooked, he knocked twice. 'Come in,' said the voice. Jon opened the door and stepped inside.

'Morning DI Spicer; it is still morning isn't it?' McCloughlin said, leaning forward to check the clock standing on the corner of his large desk. 'Ah, yes it is.'

Knowing this was McCloughlin's way of saying he was late, Jon replied, 'Sorry about the delay, sir. My partner had her handbag snatched in town.'

McCloughlin held his eyes for an instant, checking that it was a genuine excuse.

Jon took the chair opposite, file balanced on his lap. 'Certainly feels later than 11.30 to me.'

'Long day already?' McCloughlin said with some sympathy. 'Come on then; what are the developments so far?'

Jon opened the file. 'Well, not a major amount to be honest. We're just completing the Major Incident First Actions. The mother, Diane Mather, has filled us in on the basics of her daughter's life. Twenty-two years old, single, worked shifts in the Virgin Megastore on Market Street, vocalist in a band called The Soup — fairly well known locally. Few gigs in Band on the Wall and The Night and Day Cafe.'

McCloughlin raised his eyebrows to indicate he had no idea what Jon was talking about. 'Don't worry, it's my age. Carry on.'

Jon gave a half smile. 'Enjoyed clubbing, a regular out and about round town. Socialized mostly with the other band members and a few of the staff at Virgin, people she'd met on the club scene and old mates from college. Her neighbour described her as a bit of a ravehead, intimating that she used drugs. There was evidence of that in her house, too. Could be relevant.'

McCloughlin nodded his agreement. 'Which college did she go to?'

'Stockport. HND in Communications and Media.'

His senior officer rolled his eyes. 'What happened to courses where you actually learned something useful?'

Jon carried on. 'Her mum insists, as they always do, that she didn't have an enemy in the world.'

'Have you put together her movements during her last twenty-four hours?'

'Pretty much; she spent the evening at home with the other band members, and they all left her at about midnight.'

'Boyfriend or recent ex?'

'Recent ex. Lead guitarist in the band. The other two band members concur it wasn't a nasty split. Can't have been too bad if they were still all doing their music together.'

'So what are your first ideas?'

'Well, I think she knew her attacker. She certainly trusted him enough to let him into the flat. There's no sign of a forced entry and no sign of a violent struggle inside. But somehow she ended up dead, suffocated by a load of white gel in her throat. There are also questions about how she was subdued for the stuff to be introduced in the first place. Initial toxicology analysis has shown up quite a cocktail of drugs in her blood.'