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As Benson approached the girl with her baby, standing before the doorway to her flat, she glared at him in disgust.
“How many more of you lot are there? I’m trying to get me fuckin’ kid to sleep. People been paradin’ through here all night. Don’t care for how much noise you make.”
Benson studied the girl, startled at her appearance. He figured she was no more than seventeen. Her long black hair sat matted and unwashed upon her head. She sported a purple bruise under her left eye, uneven teeth, and puncture marks on her arms. She wore scruffy faded denims and a ripped black T-shirt. Appalled by her unkempt appearance and rancid odour, Benson took an involuntary step back.
“I need to take a statement from you, miss.”
“You’ll be lucky,” she replied. “Seen what time it is?”
“Look, it won’t take long. What’s your name?”
“Why?”
“Don’t give me any grief. The boss man up there’s in no mood for games.”
“Really? Who does he think he is, Dirty Harry? What’s that fucking hat all about?” she mocked.
Gardener’s voice from the landing above stopped her in her tracks.
“Are you going to get that statement, Benson, or do I have to spend all night in this human cesspool?”
Benson opened his mouth to reply when Gardener spoke again, much louder.
“You can tell her if she doesn’t cooperate, I’ll nick her for obstruction and have her down the station so fast, she’ll think her feet have been spit-roasted.”
The girl’s expression changed. “Nicki Carter,” she said sullenly. “Has anyone told him about police harassment?”
“Have you been here all night?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me five minutes and a statement and I’ll leave you in peace.”
Chapter Five
The flat bore all the characteristics of the rest of the building: shitty carpets, warped wood, peeling wallpaper. No doubt the room smelled under normal circumstances, but he doubted it could compete with the decayed remains on the carpet.
The corpse had somehow disintegrated inside the clothing. A bubbling brown mess remained, which leaked across the floor. It was basically a skin sack hugging a skeletal frame. The brown gunge was still secreting its way through the clothing. Gardener’s brain worked overtime trying to assess the cause of such a rapid deterioration.
A few things came to mind. Acid, paint stripper, or possibly even a poison of some kind. The most prominent question by far, though, was whether or not it was something contagious.
One floor below, there was a young baby to consider. The child would be far more susceptible than any adult. He sighed. Two solid weeks without a break or a partner, and now a riddle the size of the Dead Sea Scrolls. He had no choice. He would have to return to the front door, stop anyone else from entering the building. The crime scene had probably been contaminated already. He needed to make a call.
There were two distinct directorates within the Crime and Response service – each with its own bronze, silver and gold command structure. Response had already worked. The uniforms had attended. Gardener was Crime, and bronze. His Detective Chief Inspector, based in the control room, was silver. They were twenty-four seven.
Gardener called DCI Briggs and declared a Hazchem incident.
&nbs
p; Within thirty minutes, the boys in the suits arrived and cordoned off the house. They distributed paper overgarments for everyone at the scene. They collected stepping plates and clear tenting from the van, and began the process of sealing the building up.
Gardener felt completely helpless. The whole process was now on a go-slow. He wouldn’t be allowed near the crime scene until it had been cleared. Lord only knew what time that would be.
Chapter Six
Outside, Gardener studied a group of people whispering to each other across the street.
He wondered if any of them had seen anything. He seriously doubted it. No one ever did.
