I Know It Was You

Chapter 3

THREE

As she entered the MIR, Grace looked around at the familiar faces. She had requested that the same team who had been with her during the investigation into the murders of Donald and Janet Jarrett murder be assigned to this investigation. (see ‘Dead Girl Found’ published by Next Chapter Publishing in 2020)

Terry Horton had already set up whiteboards with a map of the murder site, the position of the body highlighted together with crime scene photographs, including those of the body of the victim.

‘Good morning, everybody,’ she said as the team settled down at the conference table, cups of coffee and briefing notes in front of them. ‘This is the first briefing of the operation that central computer has designated ‘Operation Chatsworth’ For the record I am DCI Grace Swan, the SIO. DS Terry Horton will be the Deputy SIO. Again, for the record, please identify yourselves’

‘DS Terry Horton, as the DCI has stated, I am the D/SIO.’

‘DS Fred Burbage.’

‘DC Emma Cox.’

‘DC Jessica Babalola.’

‘DC Brian Endcliffe’

‘DC Danny Moss.’

‘So, you made it, lad?’ said Fred Burbage, looking quizzically at the young detective. Danny Moss had still been in uniform on a three-month assignment as part of his CID training during the Jarrett investigation and Grace had been impressed with the young trainee and had specifically requested that he be assigned to this investigation.

‘Aye, it’s good to be back,’ answered Danny, ‘so I can now show you how it’s done these days, we’ve got things like computers and DNA profiling. Wouldn’t have had those things back in your day, would you Fred?’

‘Less of the cheek, sonny. You’ve still got to get your boots broken in. You started shaving yet?’

The two men grinned amiably at each other, the older, cynical world-weary Fred Burbage, who looked as though he slept in his clothes and ate his breakfast from his tie, and the young fresh-faced Danny Moss who together had formed a surprisingly good partnership, trading insults and banter in jovial good grace.

‘OK, OK, you two,’ said Grace, ‘let’s get on with it. This is day one following the death of a male victim now identified as a Mr Mohammed Khan. Mr Khan, who was the driver of a Mercedes Benz was apparently stabbed to death during an altercation with an as yet unknown cyclist. A witness, Derek Jefferson, who was in the car immediately behind Mr Khan, heard the two arguing. Mr Khan claimed that the cyclist had scratched the car with his bike, which was denied. Mr Jefferson also heard some racist remarks aimed at the victim, who is of Pakistani origin.

Two other witnesses clearly saw the cyclist, whom they described as a young white male wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt, pull a knife from about his person and stab Mr Khan, who unfortunately died at the spot. The killer then rode away at speed on his bicycle.’

Grace walked over to the third whiteboard, picked up a black Sharpie, and wrote:

WHAT + WHY +WHEN + WHERE + HOW + WHO, the standard formula for every murder investigation.

‘What? The murder of Mr Mohammed Khan, stabbed to death on Midland Road,’ she said.

‘WHY? An apparent altercation between a motorist and a cyclist, possibly with racist implications.’

‘They’re a b****y nuisance, these cyclists,’ grumbled Fred Burbage, ‘some of them think they own the road, ‘specially if it’s a group of them. And why they have to wear that b****y ridiculous skin-tight Spandau clothing, God only knows.’

‘Thank you, Fred, your insights are always appreciated, and I think you’ll find it’s Spandex not Spandau,’ answered Grace with a smile.

‘Spandau, Spandex, whatever, they still look like t***s’

Even though the murder investigation was taken very seriously, it helped everyone if there could be a little levity from time to time

‘As for them stupid helmets they wear, they look like pie crusts, don’t they? Never had nowt like that in my time’ Fred persisted, as always determined to have the last word.

‘Would’ve thought you needed a helmet, sat up there on top of your penny farthing, it’s a long way down if you fall, in’t it?’ joked Danny.

‘Cheeky sod.’ Fred responded.

‘Thank you, Fred. Thank you, Danny,’ Grace interceded. ‘WHEN? This can be timed precisely as the call to the emergency services was taken at 4.17 yesterday evening, probably no more than a minute, or at most two, after the stabbing. When we get the CCTV and dash cam records from vehicles in the vicinity, we can precisely pin down the moment.

WHERE? Midland Road, close to the junction with Chapelgate,’ Grace said, rather unnecessarily pointing to the location on the pinned-up map.

‘HOW? Again, there is no ambiguity, Mr Khan died from a single incised stab wound to the chest and died from blood loss at the scene.

WHO? The big question, who?’

‘N doubt some scrote who should’ve been drowned at birth,’ said Fred vehemently.

‘Yeah, second that one, there should be stronger laws against carrying a knife, fifteen years at least,’ Danny said. ‘Maybe twenty.’

‘Nobody has need to carry a knife’ added Jessica Babalola.

‘They claim it’s for self-protection, don’t they, these thugs?’ Brian Endcliffe added. ‘It’s all total bollocks, of course, they carry ‘cos it makes them feel big, no other reason.’

‘I think we all agree that the epidemic of street knife crime has to stop. This is not the first stabbing here in Garside and won’t be the last, but this is the only fatality,’ said Grace, returning to her seat.

‘So far! The only fatality so far! Stop and search,’ Jessica, an attractive woman of Nigerian heritage, said fervently, ‘it’s not the only answer but it helps, and don’t think I subscribe to this nonsense that it’s only black people who get searched. Black, white, brown, yellow. If they look dodgy, search ‘em! I don’t care what these bleeding heart liberals say about stop and search being a breach of human rights. If you’re not carrying, why should it worry you if it helps keep you safe?’

‘Well said, Jessica,’ said Grace, ‘but we have to concentrate on this particular stabbing. We can save the world afterwards, so let’s get to it. Fred!’

‘Yes, Boss, er Grace,’ DCI Swan did not stand on ceremony with her team, not for her the formal ‘ma’am’ that so many senior female officers insist upon. They were a team and she believed they worked better as a team without rigid formality. But even so, the team had no doubts who was boss and could feel the sharp edge of her tongue if needs be. Fred Burbage in particular had felt the lash of her wrath when he made crass inappropriate remarks deemed racist or sexist. However, he still found it hard to break the habit of his long police career not to refer to his team leader as ‘Boss.’

‘Fred, I want you to act as Receiver again. You did a good job before and you know the routine. All information to be channelled through you. Everything to be indexed, collated, cross checked. Everything, phone calls logged and followed up, Anything you consider of particular importance or relevance you send to me first.’

‘OK Grace, I’m all for that again. Anyway, I’m too old for chasing about all over the place. A nice cosy desk and a pot of tea’ll do for me,’

‘More like Horlicks, I should think, I’m surprised they let you out of the old folks home unescorted, Fred!’ Danny grinned at him.

‘Cheeky sod, I can still clobber you with my Zimmer frame, you know.’

‘Brian!’ Grace said firmly, to bring the briefing back on track.

‘Yes, Grace.’

‘Brian, I want you to dig into the victim’s history and background, his family, his businesses, is there anything there that might have motivated an attack. We can’t simply assume that this was a random attack, a road rage incident, we need to look at all possibilities. OK?’

‘Yes, Grace, I’ll get right on to it.’ answered Brian. At 6’4” and with the build of a second row forward, Brian Endcliffe was a formidable sight. He was solid and effective, but he probably would never rise above his rank of Detective Constable. Brian was a follower, not a leader.

Grace took another drink from her now cold coffee and consulted the notes she had made last night.

‘Emma and Jessica.’

‘Yes Grace?’ they responded almost simultaneously. Emma Cox, a size twenty blonde, comfortable in her size and gay sexuality, the ends of her shoulder length hair dyed a vibrant pink and the diminutive Jessica, who at barely 5’2” represented the county in taekwondo and was a black belt in karate.

‘I want you both to start scrolling the CCTV and dash cam film, traffic was able to collect most of them from the vehicles nearby. If we are lucky, we should be able to identify this man.’

‘OK, Grace, I’ll start on the CCTV,’ answered Emma, ‘Jess, do you want to take the dash cam stuff.’

‘Yep, will do.’

‘Danny, would you please assist Emma and Jessica, you’ve got sharp eyes, take it turn and turn about, it’s mind-boringly tedious and you each need a break away every hour or so, so that nothing gets missed. This killer is on those tapes. Find him.’

‘I’d bet what’s left of my career that this scrote is known to us,’ said Fred. ‘These hoodie creatures don’t come out of nowhere. He’s there on’t CCTV tapes. You find ‘im girls, and I bet you a doughnut that I’ll know who the scrofulous little turd is.’

Grace nodded, sure that Fred was probably right in his theory, secretly amused at Fred’s use of the word scrofulous, wondering if he even knew what it meant. Fred Burbage was not generally known for his extensive vocabulary.

‘Terry, will you please coordinate with uniform and get them interviewing all the shops and premises along both Midland Road and Chapelgate. Then, if you could commence interviewing the witnesses. Start with,’ she consulted her notes, ‘Derek Jefferson, he was in the car immediately behind Mr Khan and had the clearest view of the incident.’

Grace checked her notes again, and then checked once more, convinced there was something she had not taken care of, but nothing more came to mind.

‘OK people let’s get to it, meanwhile I have to go to Sheffield for the post-mortem. No need for anyone else to come, unless, Danny, you want to come?’ she said with a smile, remembering how much Danny had hated the experience when he accompanied Grace to the autopsy of Donald and Janet Jarrett. An unpleasant task but one that Grace thought necessary as part of his learning experience.

‘Er, no thanks… er… Grace, I’ll give it a miss. Maybe next time,’ he answered with a wry smile. He would have to be carried kicking and screaming before he ever went near an autopsy again. ‘Besides, I’ll be of more useful helping Jess and Emma.’

‘If you’re sure? It’s no bother?’

‘Quite sure, thanks,’

Before leaving for the Medico-Legal Centre in Sheffield, where the post-mortem of Mohammed Khan would be held, Grace issued a prepared statement for the press; ‘This is an horrific incident in which a dedicated father and husband has lost his life. Our sympathies go out to his devastated family who are being supported by specially trained officers. We ask that they be left alone at this tragic time so as to come to terms with the enormity of their loss.

Our enquiries into this death continue and further statements will be issued as and when appropriate.’