The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER NINE

Tuesday, 14th August. Late afternoon 

At Sheehan's behest, Stewart drove the car as close to the crime scene as she could. Neither paid any attention to the beautiful views, to the wild and rugged landscape, or to the screeching birds above.Another murder had been committed. Both were grim-faced as they quickly exited the car and ducked under the yellow police tape that was already cordoning off the area to deter curious walkers from entering and contaminating the crime scene. Sheehan stopped to talk to a scene-of-crime officer who was hunkering down as he poured some liquid plaster-of-Paris on to some tyre tracks. He recognised the slight figure of George Rice. 

"Hi, George. Think you'll get a good impression?" he asked. 

The man stood and nodded seriously to Sheehan. He wore the same dispassionate expression that he had worn at the judge's house. "Yes, sir.But I don't believe that will benefit us much." 

Sheehan gave him an enquiring look but said nothing, waiting for the man to continue.The officer pointed to some continuation tracks just beyond the slowly setting mixture. "Good threads, no wear, so no obvious irregularities. We'll get a first-class impression, sir, but the thread here is what you call symmetrical." He pointed again. "See. Same pattern across the whole tyre. Very, very common. Just about everybody, unless they're driving high performance cars, uses this kind of thread." The officer brushed his hands against each other and shrugged. "We'll make the cast as usual, sir, but it'll be a match for about seventy percent of the cars on the road." 

Sheehan nodded glumly. He cast his eyes backwards and forwards across the path. "Footprints?" 

The officer's lips tightened as he turned his head sideways towards the area where the car had been parked. Oh, oh. Something's actually stirred him up a bit, thought Sheehan. "I think there might have been some, sir, but the perp took the time to erase them with a stick or a branch or something. I couldn't even find a partial." 

Sheehan scowled. "So he's a smart fella, huh? Okay. Thanks, George."

He turned and headed to where Doctor Campbell was just rising from his knees beside two shapes concealed under crime-scene throw blankets.Campbell, too, was brushing his hands together when the two detectives approached him. "Hi, Dick," Sheehan said. 

"Good afternoon, Chief Inspector," the pathologist said, smiling. "And good afternoon to you, too, Sergeant Stewart. I trust you are well today?" 

"I'm fine, thank you, Doctor," Stewart answered, returning the doctor's smile. Doctor Campbell never seemed to take things too seriously. "Just a pity we had to discover this lovely area because someone has been murdered." 

The doctor nodded, serious now. "Indeed, someone, and—" He pointed to the smaller heap. "—a beautiful dog, as well." 

"A dog, and ... a human being," Sheehan said, a little tersely. 

"And I am fully aware of that and all its implications, Jim," Campbell retorted, "but that does not mean one cannot also have sympathy for a poor,blameless animal that must have suffered a most painful death." He noted Sheehan's questioning look and said, "If my suspicions are correct, the unfortunate creature was poisoned with strychnine. Not only does it produce some of the most dramatic and painful symptoms of any known toxic reaction, but the victim's awareness of what is happening is heightened to extremes." He shuddered. "This lovely Labrador died a most horrible death.How could one not have sympathy for it?" 

Stewart was almost in tears. "The killer did that to the poor wee dog just to keep it out of the way? That's .... that's sick." She turned to her superior and said fiercely, "Sir, we're going to get this creep and make him pay." 

"We will, Sergeant," Sheehan said, "and we'll make him pay for killing the poor wee human being as well." He turned his gaze to the pathologist. "What can you tell us, Dick?" 

"White male, late-sixties, maybe seventy. Blunt force trauma to the head. Pretty much a carbon copy of the Judge Neeson murder, right down to the truncheon in the rectum." 

Sheehan glanced at him sharply. "Is it now?" 

"Well, the blow is slightly higher on the back of the head. I'd guess the victim was kneeling at the side of his dog trying to comfort it, or maybe trying to figure out what was wrong with it. The killer struck from behind and above. One blow. And it was more than enough." He pulled back the cover from the corpse's head. "Very precise. No angry hammering." 

Sheehan studied the victim and frowned. "Odd. I'd swear that I've seen this face before, but I know I've never spoken to him nor have I ever had any dealings with him." He stared a while longer, searching his memory but came up with nothing. Shaking his head in puzzlement, he said, "Nah! Nothing. Must've just come across him on the street or in a supermarket or something." His lips tightened as he stared around the scene, his eyes searching. 

Campbell pointed to a SOCO walking up the path, studying something in his hands. "That officer over there might just have the information you're looking for." 

Sheehan stared at the officer, then back to the doctor. "What? You clairvoyant now?" 

Campbell grinned. "Maybe." 

"Dick!" 

"Oh, God. I hate to explain. I'd rather leave you guessing." Campbell's grin remained wide. "Actually, that officer was standing exactly where you are a while ago. He said he was going down to the car park to find the victim's car. Maybe he found some useful information in it ... the guy's name, maybe, or something that might ring a bell for you." 

Sheehan turned and stalked off, leaving the grinning medic standing there. Stewart almost ran to catch up. "Boss..." she said, "you know I didn't mean—" 

"It's okay, Stewart. I know what you meant. And don't worry. We'll nail the bastard and make him pay for all his crimes." 

As they walked down the path to meet the approaching officer, Sheehan recognised him. They had met on crime scenes before. Sheehan offered his hand. "Hi, Frank." He nodded towards Stewart. "You know my colleague,Sergeant Stewart." 

Frank gave her a friendly nod. "Find anything in the car?" Sheehan asked. Frank gave him a sharp look. Sheehan shrugged modestly and said straight-faced, "I'm a chief inspector. It's my job to keep tabs on everything." 

Frank didn't look very convinced, but said, "Yes, Chief. His wallet was in the glove compartment, along with his driving licence and insurance papers." 

"Who is he?""Don't have the full story yet, but I've sent a couple of officers to question his neighbours. According to the insurance papers, he's M rSeamus Redmond, and he has an address in Strathye Park on the MaloneRoad, sir." 

Sheehan absorbed this. "Redmond?" He shook his head and muttered."No, doesn't ring a bell." His eyebrows lifted. "Strathye Park? Classy neighbourhood." 

The SOCO nodded agreement. "Yes, sir." He looked again at his notes."Date of birth on the insurance policy is the nineteenth of April, nineteen forty-nine." 

Sheehan did a brief mental calculation. "Dick wasn't far out." 

"Sir?" 

"Nothing. Just thinking out loud. Anything in the wallet?" 

"Some cash, couple of credit cards, organ donor card. Oh?" He stared at the card, seeming reluctant to continue. 

 Sheehan pursed his lips. "Yep. Somebody's life is going to take a massive turn for the better this evening." He seemed to focus on the distant hills but his eyes weren't seeing them. "Life's vicissitudes. Somebody dies.Somebody lives. Weird," he said eventually. "Okay, Frank. Send those couple of men to my office as soon as they've finished canvassing the neighbours. I want to know right away what they find out." He nodded to the officer, and said across his shoulder, "Let's go, Stewart."