The Dark Web Murders

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Tuesday, 21st August. Morning 

Parking his car some distance from the crowd of gawkers jostling around an opening in a high dilapidated fence, Detective Robert Williams of Belfast's Policing 'A' District, pushed his way through the craning heads, and flashed his warrant card at the two officers protecting  the gate. The gateway was sealed off with yellow police tape, but the  officers allowed the inspector to pass while they calmly and proficiently kept the crowd at bay. Their eyes, however, searched restlessly for any  unusual facial clues, atypical body tics, or simply signs of something other than mere curiosity that someone in the crowd before them might be exhibiting. Williams nodded approval. It was known that on occasion, the killer in such instances could well be part of the crowd, his ego driving him there to observe the impact of his handiwork. He noted, too, that there were already some members of the press, holding their press passes high and seeking privileged access to the crime scene. Not a chance, he thought.Press and members of the public were deliberately kept in as much ignorance as possible, not only to preserve the scene but to prevent any leakage of details about the crime. Too often in the past, information from a crime scene hampered the investigation and had led to hoax calls and false confessions. 

Once inside, Williams paused to survey the area, a piece of wasteland,partially cleared by some building machinery, but currently left devoid of protection or attention. SOCOs in pale blue protective Tyvek suits, armed with cameras, lights, or sticks, walked or crawled the scene, searching for clues, large, small or infinitesimal, marking out footprints, tyre tracks or other scuff marks that might have been left by the perpetrator. Two teenagers, segregated from the crowd, were held to one side by an officer who was interrogating them and taking notes. Away from the gate,some yards along the inside of the fence, a makeshift tent had been erected,and close to it, pieces of transparent waterproof sheeting had been draped over what he could make out to be a battered suitcase and some clothes. There were waterproof sheets spread over some patches of ground as well,which experience told him almost certainly contained footprints, scuff marks, and maybe tyre tracks or blood spatter. 

It was a scene Williams had seen many times, but one that never failed to clutch at his stomach as he wondered who the unfortunate victim might be this time. As he made his way towards the tent, he watched the photographers painstakingly snap pictures of areas and items, alongside each of which were small cards with numbers on them. While they were carefully placed to portray height, distance and radius for the photographs, Williams knew that the numbered markers would also be used to cross reference any evidence against future reports that might be made or, indeed,they could often find themselves as numbered exhibits in subsequent court proceedings. 

As he stood there, he couldn't help wondering. Could this be the one? Williams was nearing the end of his career yet, despite limited talent and an almost pathological inability to make any decision that contravened 'the rules', he continued to harbour hope that he would one day make Chief Inspector. But to do that he would need to bring a major case to a successful conclusion, and that was something he had not yet done. He did have his chance a while back with the murder of that social worker, but it turned out that her death was linked to a series of other deaths in Jim Sheehan's patch.He had fought at the time to hold on to the case, but the Assistant Chief Constable had insisted that he hand it over to Sheehan. 

He heaved a sigh.Jim was a friend and a great fellow, but he had made Chief Inspector at a young age and all the breaks seemed to fall his way.Williams was too decent a human being to wallow in jealousy, but he did experience a twinge of envy. A wry grin curved his lips. He wasn't just envious of Sheehan's promotion. He had to admit that he was envious, too, of his friend's talents. Jim was a brilliant detective who had the respect both of his fellow officers and the authorities. That, together with a penchant for operating outside of 'the book' if it would yield results, made it inevitable that he would solve practically every crime that landed on his doorstep.Success equals promotion. And, no doubt there's more to come.