UntitledAki_Kaze
Chapter Two
  • นิยายเรื่องนี้เขียนส่งวิชา Creative Writing Skill and Technique ซึ่งเป็นวิชาแรกที่เรียนในระดับป.โท เป็นแนวสืบสวน สอบสวน ดำเนินเรื่องหลักด้วย DI และ DS ชื่อเรื่องยังไม่มีเลยค่ะ ฮ่า ฮ่า ฮ่า มีจำนวน 2 ตอน อยากเขียนต่อแต่เป็นเรื่องที่เขียนยากเหลือเกิน เลยเอามาให้อ่านเพราะปล่อยไว้ก็เสียดาย 😂

     

    On the whiteboard,Wheelan looked at a photo of a woman; long brown hair and green eyes. Rachel Leech, was written under the photo. Next to it were photos from the crime scenes; the stairwell where they found the wallet and blood on the wall, the rooftop where the body was found. Her body was laid on the floor, blood on her right temple. Her lower half was exposed. There were bite marks on each of her thighs. Her purse was left beside her body. Her pencil case was opened, and the stationery was scattered on the floor. 

    Wheelan studied them closely, his eyes traced from photo to photo until he could re-create the crime scene. He found himself walking down the stairs, followed the victim. It was early in the morning. No one was there. He’d seen her from time to time when she went to work at this hour. He’d just lost his job. He’d got nothing left. At least, he could have her.

                It was a spur of the moment decision when he decided to push her to the wall. He carried herunconscious bodyto the rooftop where no one would disturb him. She regained consciousness. He panicked so he strangled her with her scarf. It was his first kill. He wanted to experiment every possibility he could do to her body. 

                He reached into her purse, searched for something he could use. Her pencil case contained everything he needed, including a cutter knife.

                “This person is white male, mid-twenty to mid-thirty, unemployed or has part-time job, and is mainly nocturnal. He has either lived in the building, worked there, or knew his way around pretty well for some other reason. He is single and has no relationships with woman. He lives with his parents or older relative. His post-offence behaviour would be a change in eating and drinking habits and nervousness. You’ve already talked to the guy since he lived in the area. He would appear as cooperative.”

                “Why did he cover her face? Ashamed?” Turner asked.

                “If he felt ashamed, he would use something more decent to cover her face and her body. This was depersonalised, so he could live his sexually violent fantasies.” Said, Wheelan. “We go through statements once again, door-to-door, and hit the local pubs. He would engage in conversation about the case.”

                Everyone was energetic and ready to work except Hunter, who internally questioned every word the DI had said. When Wheelan went into his room, Hunter approached Scott.

                “Our boss is boss, don’t you think?” Scott said.

                Both Scott and Hunter were born and raised in Liverpool, they used their own accent and dialect when they talked to each other, but not to other colleagues. Scott had a strong accent, while Hunter lost some when he moved to London at the age of eighteen.

                “You believe him?”

                “He’s never wrong.”

                “Not yet.” Hunter said.

                Scott took one of her criminal law books from her desk. She opened it. Before she could say anything, Hunterinterrupted.

                “I’m not going to recite it.”

                “You have this, and he has that.” She smiled.

                “Hunter!” Wheelan called, walked out of his office. “We’re going to the crime scene.”

                 “You’ll see.” Scott waved at him. She went back to her desk, started to work.

                Hunter followed the inspector to the parking lot. He wanted to ask Wheelan how he came up with the criminal profile, but he might not understand. It’d be better if he observed him closely and learned. 

                They were stuck in traffic on St James’ Boulevard. The football stadium was in their sight. It’d been six months since Hunter moved here, but he’d never been there. He was a football fan, considered himself as a Gooner. He barely missed the home matches when he lived in London. Hopefully, he could attend one here to support his favouriteteam. 

    The traffic didn’t get any better when they turned on Barrack Road. Hunter started getting nervous because neither he or Wheelan had spoken yet. He was not good at small talk. When he drove with Burrows, the inspector was the one who kept talking. He did not mind because he could tune out anytime he wanted. It seemed like Wheelan was not up for a small talk either. Apart from the engine sound, it was quiet.

    Should he make a conversation?

                “Uh,

                They both said at the same time.

                “You first, sir.”

                “You go.”

                “You think the killer is one of the residents.”

                “I don’t think. I know” Wheelan did not intend to sound cocky, but he did. He continued. “With all the reports and photos, I know what he’d be. And I also know if we don’t stop him, he’ll kill again.”

                “If it’s the right direction we’re going,”

                “Keep questioning me, Hunter. That’s your extra job.” Wheelan said, half-joking.

                The sergeant did not comment and concentrated on driving.

                They arrived at the crime scene, thirty minutes later. Wheelan stepped out of the car, looked at the flat. He saw the CCTV at the front door. The police report said that no one walked in or left the building prior to the time of the event. This suggested that the killer lived in the building. It was consisting with his interpretation.

                They took the stairs to where the blood was found. The bloodstain was still visible. There was an old wooden door which led to the rooftop. The handle was loose, it could open by a slightly push. The floor was weathered and dirty, and the view was blocked by other buildings. There was nothing to admire, it explained why the resident barely came up here.

                “This is where they found the body.” Hunter led Wheelan to right side of the rooftop.

                The DI looked around, tried to find the nearest window from other buildings that would allow someone to see the attack.

                “No witnesses.” Hunter told him. 

                “Killers usually come back to the scene of crime or go to the graveyard, to re-live their fantasy.” Wheelan lowered his body. He fished a pen out of his suit jacket. “Was that here before?”

                A used condom was in the gutter.

                “When did you release the crime scene?”

                “Two days ago. But I’ve still got the boyfriend’s spare key.” Hunter used his pen to collect the evidence into a plastic bag. He definitely was going to buy a new one.

                “It was raining last night, we might get nothing.” Wheelan said, stretching his legs. The cracking sounds of his knees reminded him of his age. “Since we’re here, should we knock some doors?”

                Hunter did not understand why Wheelan had to ask when he did not wait for the answer. The DS called Jerry from the Lab to come and collected the evidence, he didn’t want to walk around with this thing in his pocket.

                “So, Foster is a neighbour.”

                “Yes, he lives next door on 3rdFloor but MrsBaker lives on 4thFloor. If you’d like to talk to her first.” Hunter suggested. “Room 404, on the left.”

                The DI knocked on the wooden door.

                “MrsBaker? I’m Detective Inspector Wheelan. I’d like to ask you a few more questions about the incident.”

                The old lady answered the door, holding a white cat in her arms.

                “Do you happen to know any white male residents, age between 25 to 35, probably right around 30, unemployed, lives with older female relative? He would be known as a trouble maker.” 

                “Oh, that could be MrWeaver, room 407.” She looked to her left, behind Hunter. “He used to live with his gran. She passed away two months ago. I know because she always yelled at him in the morning and then one day she didn’t. She died in her sleep. God rest her soul.”

                “MrWeaver, aged 30, is recently unemployed. He said he was asleep. It’s a habit because he was a night-shift security at K Industrial.” Hunter told the inspector.

                “Did you see him leave the room around five or five-ten on 14 September?” Wheelan asked the old lady.

                “I wouldn’t know. I woke up at 4.30, had a cuppa and watched the news with my cat.”

                “Thank you for your help. Have a good day, ma’am.” Wheelan nodded at her.

                “You think he…”

                “Nothing is concrete. We just follow up.” Hunter replied and helped her close the door.

                They knocked on room 407, identified themselves as detectives. There was no answer, neither was there the sound from the other side of the door. Wheelan raised an eyebrow at the sergeant. Hunter went back to Mrs Baker’s, told her to give him a call when Weaver came back.

                The two detectives moved on to Foster on the Third Floor, but he was not at home. While the inspector knocked on some more doors on the same floor, Hunter went outside to meet Jerry and gave him the evidence. 

                “Should I dust for fingerprints on the door knob?”

                Hunter was going to decline since they’d got nothing last time except Mrs Baker’s, but the killer could become sloppy this time.

                “Yes,” He said. “And if you see DI Wheelan, tell him I’m waiting outside.”

                The guy nodded and went inside the flat. Less than ten minutes later, the inspector walked out. His brows furrowed. Each footstep was heavy.

                “You all right, sir?”

                “I like this Weaver guy already.” Wheelan smiled. “Let’s go back to the station. I’ll brief Mr Church.”

                Once they got inside the car, the inspector asked.

                “Did you talk to Weaver?”

                “No, that was the uniform.” Hunter started the car engine and stepped on the gas, heading back to the station. “He has no motive or any relation to the victim. We…I focused on the boyfriend, so I didn’t pay any attention to him.”

                “His alibi?”

                “According to the CCTV, he returned to the flat at 11:02 p.m. on 13 September, and left at 2:41 p.m. on 14 September.”

                “Do you remember what he was wearing?”

                “On 13thhe was wearing light blue jeans, white t-shirt and long sleeve camouflage jacket. The next day was the same except it was black t-shirt.” Once Hunter answered, he realised he was being tested. The inspector must had read his file. He returned the favour. “You know how to profile why don’t you profile me, sir.”

                “You were born in Liverpool, moved to London when you were eighteen. You’ve eidetic memory.”

                “You can read that on my file.” Hunter objected, kept his eyes on the road.

                Wheelan’s lips curved into a smile. He said, without missing a beat.

                “You’ve a housemate who is a smoker. You probably argue with him several times about smoking in the house. He said he was going to quit, but he never did. You also have a cat, a domestic short hair, black and white.”

                Hunter wanted to ask how, but he kept his cool.

                “What I do isn’t a magic.” Wheelan reached his hand to Hunter’s notched lapel, picked up the cat’s hair. “It’s observation. For criminal profiling, I’ve seen it enough to understand the patterns, I read many case files and also took several courses.”

                “Shouldn’t you work with the NCA?” Hunter brushed his lapels, didn’t realise that Lucky left his hairs on him when they played this morning.

                Wheelan paused for a moment.

                “I’m a detective. Criminal profile is one of many tools we use to catch the perpetrator. Mr Church wouldn’t ask for me if you already have him.” 

                That led to another question that Hunter had not yet dared to ask. He read The River Tyne Killer unsolved case file. They’d lost a detective sergeant, that was why Hunter was transferred here. While everyone on that case continued their work, Wheelan took leave.

                Guiltwas the only explanation which came into Hunter’s mind. He couldn’t imagine what it felt like to watch someone dying. He’d seen so many deaths, many bodies, but never once experienced what Wheelan had been through. 

                The phone vibrated in his breast pocket, Hunter reached for it, saw Jerry’s name on the screen.

                “Yes,”

                The inspector gave him the side-eye. Hunter made his phone call as brief as possible. He hung up without saying thanks.

                “Jerry found a finger print on the door knob.” He sounded excited, couldn’t wait for the result. “It has to be a murderer.”

                “It has to.” Wheelan repeated, showing no emotion.

                Once they arrived at the station, Wheelan went to PCS Church’s office, while Hunter headed to the department. Scott was on the phone when he sat on his chair. The sergeant couldn’t help but stretched his back and legs, then went through the case file again, focused on Weaver. There wasn’t much information about this person. It was true that the man had no motive, but he had opportunity. No one knew his whereabouts at the time of the murder.

                “Did he profile you?” Scott asked from her desk.

                “I asked him to.”

                “Couldn’t resist, huh?” She chuckled.

                He shrugged his shoulders. Their conversation was interrupted by the phone call. Hunter answered his mobile. He got up as he talked to the caller, grabbed a coat, and put it on in a hurry.

                He hung up as Wheelan came in. His face must have shown something odd, the inspector held the door for him. Hunter said as they walked out of the department.

                “They found another body.”     

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