The victim was one of the protestors from outside the office yesterday, the neatly dressed man with the trimmed goatee. The fussy little glasses were sprawled open on the bedside table, as if he’d been fumbling to put them on as his intruder came in.
Robbie made a low sound behind me, just the tiniest noise, but then I knew. The protestor was his uncle.
‘Who are you?’ Roberts demanded, frowning at the hulking ogre.
‘He consults with Unit 13,’ I interjected before things could get ugly. ‘This case is one of ours. We’ll be taking it from here. We’re already working on another case, same MO.’
Just like Atkinson, Roberts hated giving up a case, but he nodded reluctantly, knowing I was already on it – had a head start. ‘Fine. You want me to finish up here?’
‘No, you’re good. You and Atkinson can leave as soon as I have my DC on the door. Before you go though, talk me through what you’ve already found.’
Roberts scratched the back of his neck. ‘Signs of forced entry. Front door was kicked in, and the lock splintered. Bold for this type of neighbourhood – it doesn’t normally see trouble. That’s what screwed the pooch. A shift worker, a neighbour, one Tom Gribbins, called it in. He had returned home at approximately 5.30am and was getting undressed for bed. As he closed hiscurtains, he saw someone kick down the door of Number 24 and called it in. On attendance at 5.45am, we found the resident, Mr Drummond, newly deceased. No other damage downstairs, no sign of a struggle. Victim’s wallet and phone were still on the bedside table, so not a burglary gone wrong.’
‘And Mr Gribbins?’
Roberts had a sour look on his face. ‘Looks like he did his good deed and went straight to sleep. I’ve noted his telephone number for later questioning.’
He flipped to a page in his notebook and frowned down at the corpse again. ‘No defensive wounds that I can see. He was either asleep when it happened or knew whoever did it. Massive trauma to the torso: ribs crushed, chest cavity practically collapsed inwards. I’m thinking some sort of blunt instrument, though it would’ve had to be bloody heavy. No signs of a weapon on the property, so whatever it was, the killer took it with them.’
I leaned in for a closer look at the gaping injuries to the victim’s sternum and stomach. Roberts wasn’t wrong about the ribs – they were caved in, but not in the way a baseball bat or hammer would do it. I saw the gouges and knew what they meant. An ogre. Or, more specifically, poor Thrain Olofsson’s head.
The killer, or killers, had really fucked up here. The victim had been lying in bed when the head was used to kill him. A real ogre would have had to bend double to make the same wounds. Sloppy. Arrogant. Stupid.
I peered closer at the deceased. Strangely, around some of the gouges, the skin looked pale and puckered. I hadn’t seen anything like that before.
‘Thanks Roberts.’
He grunted and left.
I waited until I’d heard several creaks before speaking in a low voice to Robbie. ‘It’s him?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. Alasdair Drummond.’
‘I’m sorry, Robbie.’
‘He wasn’t anything to me,’ he said, ‘but I’ll be seeing justice for him all the same.’ The words were soft, but the warning in them was unmistakable: he’d see the killers dead. Luckily, that aligned nicely with my marching orders.
‘I’m green-lit for a kill order on this,’ I confirmed quietly to him. ‘Trust me to do my job, and you’ll get your justice.’
‘I trust you, Inspector.’ He closed the distance between us, and though I didn’t want any public displays of affection at work, I let him pull me into a cuddle. The hug wasn’t for me; it was for him.
Alasdair might have been estranged, but he had been the last link to Robbie’s mum, and now that link was severed. Whatever Drummond was to Robbie, that still hurt. Still stung. And I got it.
So I let myself be held.
Chapter Seventeen
Kate arrived before Channing but after Frost. So by the time Channing arrived, hair still damp from a shower, the scene had been secured by those wholly Other.
‘Where do you need me?’ he asked.
I checked the time – 6.45am. ‘It’s early, but not obnoxiously so. Give it fifteen and then go door-knocking. See if anyone saw or heard anything during the night. Try to rouse the shift worker, Gribbins.’
Kate piped up. ‘I’ve done a quick on-scene examination, and based on witness evidence, the time of death was between 5.30am and 5.45am. I can corroborate that time frame. Mr Drummond has not been dead for long. Death came to him quickly. He bled out within a minute or two.’
‘Aortic dissection?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘Precisely.’
