An Imperfect Killing. Luke DelaneyЧитать онлайн книгу.
it back and forth until he was satisfied it was clean enough to be examined and then placed in an evidence bag. He lifted it from the bowl and again held it to the light. ‘Not much to see,’ he declared, twisting the shapeless metal object so he could see it from all angles. ‘Looks like lead.’
‘A manufactured bullet wouldn’t lose its shape that badly,’ Sean told him, ‘and it’s definitely no dum-dum bullet.’
‘Homemade then,’ Canning deduced.
‘That would be my guess,’ Sean agreed.
‘If the bullet was made,’ Canning surmised, ‘then the gun probably was too – a re-commissioned replica no doubt.’
‘Most guns out there are,’ Sean explained, ‘but we won’t know for sure until ballistic forensics examine it. I need to take it with me.’
‘Of course. Do you have an evidence bag?’ Sean produced a small plastic bag from his pocket and handed it to Canning. ‘I see you came prepared.’ The pathologist took the bag and filled in the required details with a pen he’d pulled from underneath his apron as if it was a magic trick. He used his initials and the fact it was his first exhibit to label the bag: RC/1. He signed it, sealed it and handed it to Sean. ‘Good luck,’ he told him with a slight raising of his eyebrows. ‘I think you’re going to need it.’
‘Thanks,’ Sean told him and headed towards the exit without ceremony. ‘I’ll let you know what ballistics find.’
Canning watched him disappear through the plastic swing doors. ‘An interesting fellow, don’t you think?’ he said to Justin, who just pulled a face of disinterest and shrugged. ‘I’ve got a strange feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of DS Corrigan.’
***
When Sean arrived back at the Murder Investigation Team’s office, Featherstone was already briefing the rest of the unit as to what they’d discovered so far. Images of the CCTV covering the car park played on a large roll-down screen behind Featherstone, who provided a commentary of the events that led to the death of Sue Evans. Sean used the relative darkness of the room to approach unnoticed and stand at the back of the gathered detectives. Featherstone used a long wooden ruler to point at the things he wanted his audience to pay attention to.
‘Now we see the victim’s car approaching the entrance,’ he continued. ‘She swipes her ID card to raise the barrier and drives in. Here we can see she drives around to her named bay and parks up. There’s a delay for a few seconds while she does something inside the car – we don’t know what – probably gathering up her bits and pieces.’ He swept the ruler to the top of the screen. ‘While she’s still in the car the suspect appears from around the side of the studio building and jogs across the car park.’ Sean watched the small figure of the man dressed all in black as he headed towards the victim’s car. Where had he been hiding before he appeared from the corner? Or had he simply walked along the Southbank in the boiler suit, putting the balaclava on just before he came into view?
‘He stands slightly to the rear of the car,’ Featherstone explained, ‘presumably so the victim can’t spot him and waits a few seconds until she climbs out and sees him, by which time he’s already pointing the handgun at her head …’
‘She says something,’ Sean found himself saying too loudly before he could stop himself.
Featherstone hit pause and searched in the dark for the source of the question until he squinted in Sean’s direction. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I think she says something,’ Sean repeated sheepishly.
Featherstone looked at the screen and then back to Sean. ‘And if she did?’
‘Must have been a hell of a shock – to step out of your car and see a man pointing a gun at your face. Yet she still managed to say something. As if she …’
‘As if she what?’ Featherstone pushed him.
‘As if she knew him,’ Sean finished. ‘If she knew him, maybe she tried to appeal to him – asked him not to pull the trigger. I don’t think she would have spoken if she didn’t know him.’
‘Interesting,’ Featherstone tried to play along, ‘but how could she have recognized him? He was completely covered.’
‘Not his eyes and mouth,’ Sean pointed out. ‘She recognized his eyes. She recognized his lips. Maybe she said his name.’
There was a silence in the room for a few seconds before Featherstone spoke again. ‘Maybe. Let’s get a lip reader from somewhere and see if they can’t tell us what she said. If we’re lucky DS Corrigan may be right and she said this bastard’s name. Make life easier for us. Any more questions?’ The room was silent. ‘Good. And if we could hold our thoughts until the end of the footage that would be helpful.’ Sean felt the eyes of the room burning into his skin as Featherstone pressed play. A split second later a bright flash burst from the end of the revolver, but also from the front and back of the chamber, accompanied by a huge smoke cloud that momentarily obscured both figures until it drifted away in the light breeze, by which time Sue Evans was already lying on the ground breathing her last breath. A few moments later the shooter ran off in the direction he’d come from, disappearing around the corner of the studio.
‘As I’m sure you all noticed,’ Featherstone told them, pausing the footage, ‘that was a hell of a flash and a shitload of smoke for a revolver. My guess is it’s a re-commissioned replica, just like every other gun out there, and it couldn’t handle the charge in the cartridge.’
Sean cleared his throat self-consciously, remembering he was supposed to keep his thoughts to himself, but needing to share what he had learnt.
‘Something else to add that couldn’t wait, DS Corrigan?’ Featherstone asked.
‘Sorry,’ Sean apologized. ‘It’s just I went to see the victim at the mortuary and …’ he cleared his throat again, ‘managed to persuade the pathologist to recover the bullet.’
‘You did what?’ Featherstone asked, his back stiffening.
‘I didn’t think we could wait until the post-mortem,’ he tried to explain. ‘With all the media attention I thought we needed the most important piece of evidence immediately.’
‘And what did you discover – if anything?’
Again Sean could feel the eyes of the room boring into him. ‘That the bullet’s homemade too and not very well. Forensics have promised to get back to us as a matter of urgency.’
‘A homemade bullet and a re-commissioned replica or poorly made blank-firing revolver,’ Featherstone spoke his thoughts out loud. ‘I guess we can rule out a professional hit then.’
‘Maybe it was all the hit-man could get?’ one of the gathered DCs suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Featherstone half-heartedly agreed, ‘but his approach and escape are all wrong too. No decent hit-man is going to risk covering that sort of ground to the victim. A shooting out in the open – why isn’t he riding pillion passenger on a motorbike, or at least riding one himself? That’s the norm these days isn’t it? Ride up, pull the gun out, fire the shots and speed off. Simple. Clean. This is all too much of a mess.’
‘She was very attractive,’ Sean changed the direction of their communal thinking. ‘Beautiful, even and a celebrity. She must have attracted her fair share of unwanted attention.’
‘The flame that drew the moth, eh?’ Featherstone nodded. ‘I’ve already got DC Benton checking it out. Will someone turn the bloody lights back on please? Can’t see a damn thing.’
A few seconds later bright light from the overhead fluorescent tubes flooded the room just as DC Zack Benton hurried in looking like a man who’d made a great discovery. Featherstone noticed it immediately.
‘You got something for us, DC Benton?’ he asked.
‘Looks