On the Loose(46)

‘You are not going to smoke that in here!’

‘Actually, I thought the scent of my Aromatic Rough Cut Full Strength Navy Shag might dispel the smell of damp. I’m glad you popped by, Raymond. I was about to come in and see you. I am the bearer of good news. We have an identity for the body in the freezer. His name’s Terry Delaney and he lives just a couple of streets away, in Wharfdale Road. He was arrested on a D and D some years back, but no charges were pressed. He listed his profession as a builder. There’s nothing else on file, but that’s enough.’

‘So they did have his prints, after all. How did you get hold of them?’

‘Oh, I didn’t. Kershaw used the St Pancras office to request them. Longbright and Renfield are on their way right now. I’m not sending anyone in alone where there may be organised crime involved.’

Land was relieved. ‘Then all we need to do is round up his mates. He probably crossed his drug dealer. We could get a lock on a couple of suspects by nightfall.’

‘Let’s not jump the gun, Raymond.’ Bryant tamped his pipe and lit it. ‘I have a feeling things aren’t going to be quite so simple as you’d like.’ Bryant held in his head the image of a murderer dressed in the skin of a stag, but decided not to share it with the detective inspector for now.


Jack Renfield’s shoulder did the trick. Terry Delaney’s landlord lived in Holland, and the woman downstairs had no spare key, so there was no choice but to break down Delaney’s door. Renfield had played rugby until a back injury had put him out of the game, and was easily able to smash the lock apart.

‘Blimey.’ Longbright stepped into the hallway and tried the overhead light, but the bulb was broken. ‘Someone’s had a real go at this place.’

The apartment had been ransacked. Progressing from room to room, the detectives were shocked by the scale of the destruction. Every sofa cushion, mattress and seat had been slashed open and picked apart, every cupboard emptied and its shelves removed, every stick of furniture disjointed. A shelf contained books on the history of King’s Cross, but every copy had been tipped down and torn apart. The carpets had been pried up and the floorboards examined, and some of the bathroom tiles had been removed. In the main bedroom even the wall radiator had been taken off, and yet there was order here. The dissection had been carried out with elaborate care; the component parts were laid in careful rows as if they were all to be reassembled.

‘Whoever did this expected Delaney to have hidden something well,’ said Longbright.

‘What did they expect to find inside a chair, for God’s sake?’

‘Drugs? High-denomination banknotes?’ Longbright suggested.

They tried the bathroom. Longbright watched as the sergeant removed the side panel of the bath and rolled under it with a torch. ‘No blood on any of the surfaces, but I think Delaney was murdered here.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The bath’s been cleaned by an expert, but he forgot to empty the U-bend trap. Hang on.’ Renfield rooted about. ‘There’s a piece of shredded paper towel inside, looks like it’s absorbed blood. I can’t see it clearly but I can smell it.’

He slid back out covered in dust balls, and tapped the side of his thick nose. ‘Never lets me down, this. Banbury might be able to fish whatever it is out without it breaking apart, but I shouldn’t think he’ll be able to perform much useful analysis on it.’ He set the drain trap to one side for bagging. ‘The killer didn’t cut Delaney’s head off here. That would have emptied blood all over the apartment. This is just a small amount.’

In the kitchen, Longbright pulled a folded newspaper from the cascaded spice pots and sugar bags on the counter. It was a copy of the Daily Mirror, dated April 25. She needed to check Delaney’s clothes for anything that could give her a later date. It would be useful to turn up a photo.

She went through the ransacked jackets and jeans in the bedroom wardrobe, and found an Oyster tube pass tucked inside a plastic sleeve. ‘Hey, technology we can deal with,’ said Renfield, bagging it. The card would show when and at which station it was last used. ‘There’s more.’ He dug into the jacket and produced an employee photocard.

‘You sure this bloke’s involved with organised crime?’ asked Longbright.

‘Why?’

She examined the laminated square. The head shot showed an innocuous, pleasant-faced shaven-headed man in his early thirties. There was a softness in his eyes that somehow suggested he was a husband and father. ‘Delaney just doesn’t look the type to me. He’s got a kid, a little girl. There’s a picture of her in the bedroom.’