Luke Delaney - The Jackdaw

‘I’m thirty-fucking-three, Nick. Does that sound like fast-track to you? This whole job’s beginning to feel like waiting for dead-man’s shoes.’

‘Then you’ll be happy to see him dispose of a few of them,’ Nick suggested.

‘Ha, ha,’ she mocked him.

‘The higher you climb the less positions there are,’ Oscar chipped in. ‘Besides, with this lunatic running around out there, who’d want to be a CEO of anything?’

‘I would,’ she almost snapped at him in her clipped accent, her long, wavy brown hair falling forwards. ‘I just need him to bump off another couple of hundred and I should be fine.’

‘I doubt there’ll be any more,’ Nick argued. ‘I heard he was killed by some Eastern European gang he’d been laundering money for. Apparently his rates were beginning to piss them off so …’ He spread his hands as if an explanation wasn’t necessary.

‘That’s bollocks,’ Georgina told him. ‘Eastern Europeans would have chopped him to pieces.’

‘An expert on these matters, are you?’ Oscar asked.

‘I’ve heard things,’ she told them, trying to sound mysterious.

‘More like seen things,’ Nick teased her, ‘on the telly.’ Both he and Oscar laughed at her.

‘Well one thing’s for certain,’ she silenced them, ‘none of us have anything to worry about, sitting here doing these shit jobs. Nothing to worry about at all.’

Sean parked in the ambulance bay at Guy’s Hospital, leaving the police vehicle log on the dashboard to prevent his car being towed away. He strode off through a part of the grounds rarely seen by most hospital employees, let alone the public, and made his way to the mortuary where he found Dr Canning already examining the body. Canning looked up to see who had entered his domain.

‘Good morning, Inspector.’

‘Morning, Doctor,’ Sean replied, no feeling in his voice. ‘Here we are again then.’

‘Quite,’ Canning agreed. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already cleaned the victim up. There’s plenty of photographic documentation as to the body’s state when it first came out of the river. I’ve already examined it for anything unpleasant the river left behind.’

‘D’you find anything?’

‘Not particularly. The usual organic life forms and other debris. I’ve taken samples and plenty of swabs for you. If there’s anything deeper in his throat, stomach or lungs I won’t find it until I open the poor fellow up later today.’

Sean moved closer and scanned the body slowly from head to toe, the man’s face close to unrecognizable from the image in the photographs Sean had seen – his expression in death a tortured grimace, the vivid rope-burn ring around his neck a stark reminder of how he died. The rest of his body was relatively untouched except for some reddening around both his ankles and wrists – from where he’d been taped to the chair, Sean guessed. Other than that the river had left its mark, but nothing of note, the victim’s clothing having protected his dead body from too much exposure to other floating debris.

‘These other cuts and marks,’ Sean checked, ‘they caused by being in the river?’

‘Almost certainly,’ Canning assured him. ‘I had a quick look and found most of them to be post-mortem and none that would have contributed to his death even if he had been alive before being disposed of in the river.’

‘He was, wasn’t he?’ Sean interrupted.

‘Was what?’ Canning asked.

‘Disposed of. Like he was nothing. Something to be rid of. An annoyance.’

‘Not like the last unfortunate victim we saw together,’ Canning reminded him. ‘Quite the ritual of guilt.’

‘Best not to think of it too much,’ Sean told him, trying not to let the images of the small boy on Canning’s autopsy table invade his mind.

‘Trial on that one must be coming up soon. Had a letter from the CPS putting me on standby.’

‘We’re just waiting for our slot at the Bailey to be confirmed and then the trial begins,’ Sean informed him. ‘I’ll try to make sure they don’t keep you hanging around too long.’

‘Appreciated.’

‘Anyway.’ Sean pulled them back to the matter in hand. ‘Apart from the rather obvious cause of death, can you tell me anything else?’

‘Ah,’ Canning began. ‘The cause of death is not as straightforward as you may think.’

Sean’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like surprises. ‘Meaning?’

‘Cause of death wasn’t hanging, it was strangulation.’

He had Sean’s interest. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Technically hanging is when someone falls from a height with a ligature around their neck, causing both a broken neck and fatal restriction of the blood supply. Death is more often than not instantaneous. Strangulation is the compression of the carotid arteries or jugular veins, causing cerebral ischaemia – which is the brain dying as a result of the lack of oxygen – while at the same time there is a compression of the larynx or trachea, causing asphyxia. Strangulation is a much more unpleasant way to leave this mortal coil than hanging. I’m afraid your victim was hoisted to a slow and painful death as opposed to being dropped to a relatively quick and painless one.’

‘Then he wanted him to suffer?’ Sean asked himself more than Canning.

‘I couldn’t say, Inspector. We both know that’s your domain, not mine. But I saw the Your View footage. The killer looked and sounded pretty angry at the world to me. The sort of person who would want to make others suffer.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean answered.

‘Keeping your options open, Inspector?’ Sean just shrugged. ‘Well, unfortunately the killer took the rope from around his neck before disposing of the body, so we don’t have that to work with, but from the video I could just about tell what sort of knot he used.’

‘Go on,’ Sean encouraged, glad to be discussing simple, tangible, physical evidence.

‘I’m pretty sure it was a poacher’s knot – used primarily in sailing.’

‘Sailing.’ Sean took the bait. ‘What type of sailing?’

‘All types of sailing,’ Canning replied. ‘Royal Navy, Merchant Navy, a yacht owner. Maybe he had a small dinghy as a child or a rowboat or … the possibilities are endless.’

‘I can’t see this one on a yacht,’ Sean told him, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing them with a pinched thumb and index finger. ‘Not a great look for a man of the people – sailing around on a yacht.’

‘No. I don’t suppose it would be,’ Canning agreed, ‘but it’s definitely the sort of knot someone would use out of habit – without thinking about it.’

‘Or they learnt it specifically so they could use it on the victim,’ Sean suggested.

‘I suppose so,’ Canning agreed, ‘but there are easier knots to learn, so why pick this one?’

‘God only knows, but you’re probably right – he knew this knot, so he used it. He could be ex-navy – merchant or royal, or even an ex-docker. Plenty of them have lost their jobs in recent years.’

‘Doesn’t really narrow it down for you, does it?’

‘No, but it might help me know if I’m heading in the right direction later on.’ Sean thought for a few seconds before speaking again. ‘When you watched the video, what did you think?’

‘Like I said,’ Canning answered, ‘the killer struck me as being very angry. Angry at the world.’

‘In what way angry? What specifically was angry about him?’

‘His words,’ Canning told him. ‘His words were angry.’

Sean thought silently again. ‘You’re right, his words were angry, but …’ He stopped, unsure of his own thoughts.

‘But what?’ Canning encouraged.

‘But the killing seemed cold and impersonal. More like an execution. It was slow and the victim suffered unnecessarily. That could have been because the killer didn’t know what he was doing … and why would he, unless he’s killed before?’