The Common Enemy. Paul Gitsham

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      The container was a large, heavy, dented affair with a lid, a design long since supplanted by plastic recycle bins. Sutton supposed it must have been an old one that the centre used if they filled the newer ones.

      He squatted down and looked beneath. The wheels were rusted and at least one looked as though it would fall off if the bin was lifted.

      ‘We’ll get scenes of crime to take a closer look, but I doubt this has been wheeled anywhere for years.’ He pointed to white score marks leading back to a slightly darker patch of tarmac in front of the fence about three metres away. ‘I’ll bet it was dragged over.’

      ‘So no chance of it being an accident, then.’ Hardwick looked at her notes and then back at the door. ‘Imam Mehmud said that they rarely opened the back door and it hasn’t got a window so it’s unlikely anyone noticed when the bin was moved.’

      Back on the street, Hardwick and Sutton were met by DS Hutchinson and a team of constables ready to start house-to-house inquiries.

      Sutton consulted his notebook. ‘OK. According to the log, there was a patrol car with two uniforms sitting here as a visible deterrent until about 14.02 when they were called to the town centre to deal with the riot.

      ‘That leaves a twenty-six-minute window during which the arsonist or arsonists set the fire.’ He gestured at the street. ‘The street is a mixture of student and non-student properties and there was a fair-sized crowd of rubberneckers by the time the fire brigade turned up. Some of the morbid bastards were even filming it on their mobile phones. Let’s see if anybody saw anything suspicious; strangers hanging around, cars they didn’t recognise, people pouring petrol through the letter box, that sort of thing. I’d also like to know if there were any issues before Saturday. What were relations like with the neighbours?

      ‘Can anyone pin down when that charming graffiti appeared? We think it was late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning. Did anyone hear the bin being dragged? I imagine it wasn’t quiet. What about the CCTV camera? It was broken in the early hours of Thursday morning.’

      As they headed back to the car, Sutton looked over at his younger colleague.

      ‘You were very quiet back there, Karen.’ Sutton had noticed her pale complexion.

      ‘I’m still a bit under the weather.’

      ‘That bug you caught on holiday still bothering you?’

      ‘It’s been over a month now. Every time I think I’m getting over it, it starts again.’

      ‘What did the doctor say?’

      ‘I haven’t seen him yet, I can’t get a bloody appointment.’

      ‘How’s Gary?’

      ‘Fit as a butcher’s dog, the lucky bugger. He was sick first. By the time he’d finished puking, I was just starting. He was done in twenty-four hours, but it took me nearly three days to get over the first bout.’

      ‘And you’re certain it’s the food poisoning coming back?’

      ‘Not one hundred per cent, but the doctor that treated me in France reckoned it was a viral infection, and warned me it might.’

      ‘You’d think they’d be able to make an omelette properly in Paris.’

      ‘I guess not.’

       Chapter 7

      ‘Single stab wound to the chest. Almost certainly a knife or bladed implement. Curved blade, no serration.’

      Professor Ryan Jordan’s accent was still predominantly American, but decades living in England – married to an Englishwoman – had left their mark.

      ‘What can you tell about the attack?’ Warren had the phone on speaker so he could look at the emailed files Jordan had sent him without getting a crick in his neck.

      ‘It pierced his left lung, catching a rib on the way in. It didn’t reach the heart, but it nicked an intercostal artery. The knife was pulled out without twisting. He’d have bled out in less than a minute. From the shape of the pool of blood under the body and the lengthy smear, I’d say he expired where he finally collapsed. I see no evidence that his body was moved post-mortem.’

      ‘What about his killer. Any ideas?’

      ‘From the angle and position of entry, I would guess someone of a similar height, probably standing face-on.’

      ‘So his attacker would have been covered in blood?’

      ‘No question. Even if he jumped back, I’d say he’d have got a good spattering.’

      Warren really hoped Andy Harrison and his team found the killer’s clothing, only a tiny speck of blood would be needed to tie it to the scene.

      ‘Anything else you can tell me about the weapon?’

      ‘Not a lot, but I’ve photographed the marks on the rib, so I should be able to match any suspect blade.’

      ‘What else have you found? Any defensive wounds?’

      ‘Inconclusive. He had a number of pre-mortem injuries. A cut on his scalp was clearly inflicted sometime earlier, it had already started to bruise. His knuckles also had contusions consistent with fighting, but again they were probably picked up a few minutes before he was killed. Unless there was a pause of several minutes between him meeting his attacker and the final wound, I’d say the injuries occurred during the ruckus in the square. I’ve scraped under his fingernails just in case.’

      Warren thanked him and hung up. The first twenty-four hours of any investigation were crucial. The clock started ticking the moment a crime was committed, as evidence disappeared, memories began to fade and killers continued to cover their tracks. It had been a promising start and a couple more hours remained. He just hoped they could maintain this momentum over the coming hours and days.

       Chapter 8

      Arranging a preliminary interview for all those present at the previous day’s riot was no trivial task. Many of the members of the British Allegiance Party were from East London, or further afield, and those who had managed not to get arrested had returned on the coach late Saturday night. To help process them more easily, Welwyn had sent a minibus full of officers clockwise around the M25 and taken advantage of the generosity of the Metropolitan Police in securing the use of some interview suites. The news of their leader’s murder had shocked most of the BAP members into docility and, to everyone’s surprise, all of those invited to give a statement had meekly turned up first thing on Sunday morning. Anybody with something interesting to say would be interviewed more formally, under caution if necessary, at a later date. Establishing alibis prior to the fire breaking out as well as in the last minutes before Tommy Meegan’s demise were equally important at the moment; Warren was acutely aware that a quick arrest over the fire would go at least some way to making good the mistakes made by the police that day.

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