Mark Sennen - Touch

Savage brooded, her own thoughts blocking out the chat of the other two officers. Had they missed something which might have led them here earlier? The house flagged Harrison up as different, but should someone else have spotted other things that might have drawn him to the attention of the authorities and prevented him being able to work at the nurseries? Savage didn’t know, but she reckoned she had done her best. In the end no one could expect more.

‘Ma’am?’ Enders nodded toward the house. The front door opened and light washed out onto the street. Two girls dressed for a night on the town tottered down the steps and walked along the road.

‘Students,’ Riley said. ‘Ground floor and basement are rented out. Harrison has his studio on the first floor, flat on the second and third.’

‘Nice looking tenants,’ Enders said as the girls breezed past the car, a whiff of perfume noticeable a few moments later. ‘Don’t suppose that is a coincidence. Whatever, they will be searching for new digs come tomorrow.’

‘Maybe your missus would be happy to give them a room, eh?’ Riley said.

‘Shut up, ladies,’ Savage said. ‘Here we go!’

The TAG van drove by and drew up alongside the curb in front of them. The rear doors opened and six men jumped out, Frey leading the way. Black clothing, body armour, SWAT team boots and guns. They jogged down the street to Harrison’s house. Two of the team now held the enforcer — a tubular steel battering ram — between them while a third peered through the letterbox. ‘Clear,’ he mouthed.

The two officers swung the ram and the door crashed open, splintering around the lock. Two more officers with weapons drawn now raced past and into the house. Savage heard muffled shouting from inside and the rest of the team rushed in.

‘OK, we’re on.’ Savage opened the door and got out of the car. As they walked down the street and neared the house they heard commotion from inside. A crash as an internal door caved in and a high-pitched warble sound from a burglar alarm. More shouting. Bodies thumping up and down stairs. Now doors were opening on houses either side and a couple of the TAG team were screaming at the residents to get back inside.

‘Give me CID any day,’ Enders said. ‘All this running around would leave me too knackered for anything.’

Frey appeared at the front door.

‘Clear so far. No lights evident on the inside so seems like he’s not around. Burglar alarm would indicate that as well. Give my lads another five minutes and then you can call your CSIs in.’ Frey indicated the white SOC van pulling over up the road. He grinned. ‘Methinks there will be plenty for them to get their teeth into.’

Layton climbed down from the van and began unloading gear from the back as Savage went over.

‘I want a quick search around inside,’ she said. ‘And then I will leave you to it.’

‘That’s what they all say,’ he said, shaking his head at the sight of the TAG team members leaving the building. ‘Honestly if you knew the pain that causes me. All those sweaty bodies clumping around over my lovely crime scene.’

‘Want me to get suited up?’

‘Ma’am, that would make my day. Your boys too, please.’

The three of them got into the garb Layton provided and padded into the house. They had the place to themselves now the TAG team had left and it was quiet.

The hallway had stairs that led up to Harrison’s studio and the flat above and Savage led the way.

‘Patrick, you take the studio. Darius and I will go to the flat. Prelim scout only. Leave the digging for Layton and his crew.’

The stairs and the studio area seemed neat and tidy. Bright white walls, cleanish. When they ascended the next set of stairs to the second floor flat that changed. A stale odour of sweat and unwashed clothes invaded Savage’s nostrils. Something else too.

‘Darius?’

‘Not sure, ma’am. Unpleasant anyway.’

The door to the flat led straight into the living area. A big bay window looked out to the Sound, lights sparkling in the distance across the water. In front of the window, but set back from the glass, three cameras on tripods reminded Savage of the Martian machines from the War of the Worlds. One camera had a long lens and pointed towards the Hoe. Savage went into the room, aware as she did so of something scattered over the floor.

‘Huh?’ Savage glanced down at her feet where sheets of paper overlapped each other, a white carpet made of A4.

Riley bent down and picked up one of the sheets.

‘Printouts, ma’am. Must be a computer somewhere.’

‘Interesting?’

‘Jesus, no. Sick. Ranting. Nonsense.’ Riley laid the piece of paper back where it came from.

‘OK,’ Savage said. ‘I wanted to examine those cameras, but I think I’ll leave it. Too much to disturb in here. Let’s check out the rest of the flat.’

On the same level a kitchen didn’t hold anything of interest. Old linoleum lay on the floor, sticky and smeared with grease and scraps, and a bin in the corner overflowed with fast food packaging. In stark contrast the stainless sink and chrome taps gleamed as if from a showroom and the gas hob was spotless. The black granite worktops looked clean too, but the inside of the fridge stank; a half-empty bottle of milk had gone sour.

‘Not much for us here. Let’s go upstairs.’

Savage led the way up to the next floor. A series of three rooms jigsawed themselves into the odd space. The master had a large double bed and inside the room a bad taste gagged at the back of Savage’s throat. Acrid, bitter, just plain off, she thought. Various items of clothing lay strewn around the floor and at the end of the bed two piles of white hand towels; one pile neatly folded, the other in a jumble.

‘Jesus wept,’ Riley poked the jumbled mess with his foot while covering his nose with his forearm. ‘This smells bloody disgusting.’

‘What is it?’

‘Semen I think, ma’am. The towels are absolutely saturated and the whole lot stinks as if it is rotting. Looks like he has been wanking for England.’

‘This is where we need DC Calter. I am sure she would be able to come up with something witty.’

‘”Come” being the operative word, ma’am.’

‘Quite.’ Savage turned and left the room. ‘Let’s move on, I promised Layton this would be a quick scan around.’

The next room was about half the size of the master and seemed to function as some kind of storage area. There were cardboard packing boxes, an old mattress on its side, a rolled up carpet, a computer base unit with no monitor, no leads.

‘Layton will take care of sifting through this lot,’ Savage said, moving to the final room.

The door opened and when she flicked the light switch she knew at once they had hit gold. ‘Box room’ would have been an honest estate agent’s description for the space measured no bigger than Savage’s arm span. A large window overlooked the road, but you wouldn’t know it because the glass was covered with thick black paint and not a chink of light penetrated from the outside.

‘Darkroom?’ Riley said. ‘Once anyway.’

With the advent of digital photography the darkroom had become redundant, but it appeared as if Harrison had elected to keep the room sealed to the outside world for other reasons. Against one wall a small computer workstation had a printer shelf to one side, a base unit below and two large widescreen monitors on the desk. Apart from the space taken by the workstation the rest of the walls were covered in prints. A4 in size, each print overlapped the next and ran up the wall in a column reaching all the way to the ceiling with no space between each column. In fact, Savage noted the ceiling had been plastered with prints as well. The prints seemed to bear down on the room, compressing the space and threatening to bury them in an avalanche. Of girls. Savage recognised some shots Harrison must have taken in the nurseries he visited because the girls sat staid and starched in formal poses. However, most of the shots appeared candid, many taken from Harrison’s front room. They showed girls passing by on the street or sunbathing on the Hoe, unaware of Harrison’s long lens sucking them in.