Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chief Superintendent Walker stood shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets at the harbour wall. He fixed his eyes on a dozen dead bodies. The corpses hung, tangled in old fishing nets as discarded puppets. Sightless eyes bulged, limbs contorted in weird positions. With their internal gases expanding, their stomachs were beginning to swell.

Behind him was a line of ambulances, police cars and reporters.

He turned to Chief Inspector Malin. "What do you make of it?"

Malin shrugged. "It's not a pretty sight. I reckon they drowned in the storm last night."

"I can't figure out how their bodies ended up in the harbour. Contact the coastguard. They may have information about a vessel in trouble. Have them recovered and let our forensic team do their job."

"The divers are in their dry suits, sir," said Malin.

Walker turned. "Give the order. I'm returning to my office."

Malin smiled. "I'll keep you informed, sir. What shall I tell the media?"

Walker gave Malin a strange look. "Tell them we are investigating the possibility of a vessel foundering in the storm last night."

"Whatever you say, sir."

***

Chief Inspector Malin glanced at the large clock on station wall 1400 before he knocked on the superintendent's office door and entered.

"Twelve corpses in the morgue, Gov. Forensics have begun checking for the cause of death."

A concern crossed Walker's face as he sat back in his chair. "The coast guard has no reports of any vessel in distress. It would be best if you found out where they came from before the media went mental and constructed their own story."

Go back to the postmortems, and you let me know the second they discover anything of use.

"I'll send a sergeant."

"What part of what I said, don't you understand?"

"On my way, Guv."

"And don't slam the fucking door."

***

Malin hated Postmortems. Standing and watching someone butcher a corpse always made him feel sick. En route, he stopped at a telephone box and phoned his wife. The telephone answered on the third ring. "Hi love, we have a panic on. I'll be home late tonight. You and the kids eat without me."

Much to his annoyance, she said, "Before you were promoted, we had some family time. These days you're a stranger in your own house. I'll see you when I see you." The line went dead.

He sat in his car for almost fifteen minutes before entering the county centre for specialist postmortems. When he arrived, there were a few parking spots free. He signed in and dressed in a gown and surgical gloves.

Braced for the smell of blood and death, he entered the examination room. On each of the five tables lay a body. Three were in the process of being scrutinised. Sally Murphy, the senior pathologist, glanced up as he entered and continued to talk into the microphone. She made the necessary observations, height, shoe size, hair colour, and weight, before inspecting the smashed hand, "Both hands, fingertips ripped. The body is badly damaged and appears to have been battered by a blunt instrument, maybe a crowbar or similar shape."

She stopped and turned to the corpse on the next slab. "Inspector. We did a cursory check on the clothes but found no identification whatsoever. Don't you think that's strange, and did you notice that every one of these unfortunates has similar injuries? Fingers shredded, trunk scarred, ripped or battered. Wherever this happened, they were together."

"Sally," said one of her colleagues.

"What have you found, Linda?"

"Fresh water in the lungs. The police discovered them in the harbour, but this man drowned in dirty freshwater. As a quick guess, I would say it was rainwater."

"Send a sample for analysis, and ask for a fast response."

She returned to her examination and drew a sample of liquid from the victim's lungs. "Inspector, who would drown these people in fresh water and then go to the trouble of dumping them in the harbour? It makes no sense whatsoever."

Malin shrugged. "To be honest, none of it makes sense, but every clue you can find helps us build a picture. When do you think the water analysis will be back?"

Sally looked at the clock on the wall. "A couple of hours. We intend to work on and finish our examination of all the victims tonight. "Come back in the morning, and I might be able to tell you something."

He checked the time, 1930. "I think I'll return to the station and let my boss know we have to wait until tomorrow."

She looked at him, waved and carried on working.

Back at the police station Malin went straight to his governor's office. It was in darkness. He considered contacting him at home but said, "It's alright for some. Fuck it. Fish supper for dinner, again."

***

The following morning, Malin arrived for the results of postmortems early, signed in, and waited for Sally to arrive.

At nine on the dot, Sally arrived dressed as if she worked in an office rather than the centre. She looked at Malin, neither hostile nor defensive. "You're early."

"I had to be here."

She pointed. We'll talk in there. It's quiet, and we won't be disturbed."

Malin strolled into an empty room, pulled out one of the many chairs and sat at the table.

Sally carrying a yellow folder, returned five minutes later. "I won't make this formal, but here are the facts. White males drowned in freshwater. Every carcass had damage from being dragged across rusty steel rods of different lengths. There were no identification marks of any kind. Three were overweight, the remainder of average built but muscular." She pushed the folder across. "Photographs that we took when they arrived. Recognise any of them."

"I don't buy it," said Malin. "Twelve bodies and we haven't a clue. Fingerprints would be a waste of time. You could call it the perfect murder scene." He shuffled through the folder. He shuddered. "Wait, this face or what's left of it is familiar." He covered the damaged portion with a sheet of blank paper. "Have you cleaned them"?

Sally sat with her arms folded. "We always do."

"Can I see this one again?"

"No problem. Follow me."

Malin grabbed the folder and hurried after her as they proceeded to the fridge room.

"What was the number on the photo," she asked.

Almost dropping the folder, Malin checked. "Number six."

She pulled open the drawer and removed the face covering. "Who is he?"

He smiled. "I could be wrong, but I reckon fatty is David Little."

"Isn't he one of the local villains?"

"You'd better believe it. Thanks for your help. By the way, any report on the water from their lungs?"

"I need to check my fax. We asked for rapid analysis."

"As they entered her office, she smiled. "Wait here." She removed a sheaf of paper from the machine and scanned each sheet. "Here we are. It is fresh rainwater containing earth fragments. Is that any help?"

"I don't know. At least we might have a name."

She looked Malin in the eye. "You sounded so sure."

"Well, if nothing else, it's part of the jigsaw."