Basic Element: A dark gipping detective thriller (Crane and Anderson Book 2) Read online

  Basic Element

  A dark, gripping, detective thriller

  Crane and Anderson

  Book 2

  By

  Wendy Cartmell

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Boy

  Aldershot Mail Online

  Crane

  BBC News

  Theresa

  Ciaran

  Theresa

  Anderson

  Boy

  Theresa

  Ciaran

  Theresa

  Boy

  Holly

  Crane

  Theresa

  Aldershot Mail Online

  Ciaran

  Theresa

  Boy

  Crane

  Theresa

  Ciaran

  Theresa

  Crane

  Theresa

  Boy

  Crane

  Theresa

  Holly

  Aldershot Mail Online

  Theresa

  Ciaran

  Crane

  Ciaran

  Holly

  Boy

  Crane

  Theresa

  Tim

  Holly

  Anderson

  Crane

  Holly

  Crane

  Boy

  Crane

  Holly

  Boy

  Holly

  Crane

  Anderson

  Theresa

  Holly

  Boy

  Donna

  Crane

  Anderson

  Crane

  Tim

  Holly

  Tim

  Holly

  Ciaran

  Crane

  By Wendy Cartmell

  From Wendy

  Rules of the Earth

  1

  As Oscar Wilde put it

  “All men kill the thing they love.”

  Asphyxiophilia

  Asphyxiation or breath control play,

  is the intentional restriction of oxygen to the brain

  for the purpose of sexual arousal.

  He’s not a killer. He’s ordinary. It’s just that he has an addiction.

  The papers call him the Choker. Crane and Anderson call him a sadomasochist. But whatever his name is, the Major Crimes team have to find him. And fast. Because time is running out. It won’t be long before he kills again.

  Boy

  You’d be surprised how still I can sit. I’m doing it now. My bottom is on the floor, my knees are pulled up and my arms wrapped around them. I’m watching a spider. A big, black, fat one. He’s just behind that rock. He came out once, but I frightened him by moving, so he ran away and I had to start over. I won’t make that mistake again. I can wait for ages and ages.

  Here he comes. I can see one black leg poking out. Here comes another and another. A spider has eight legs. I learned that at school. I like school, it’s interesting. I’m not like some of the other children. They mess about, don’t concentrate and don’t try their hardest. I always try my hardest. Daddy makes sure of that. Daddy helped me to learn to sit still. He said I was a terrible wriggler, so he tied me to a chair until I stopped. He doesn’t have to tie me down anymore. I can sit still for ages, until he tells me I can get down. It makes me feel funny inside. I quite like that feeling. So I do as I’m told.

  I can see the spider’s body now. He’s inching his way out from his hiding place, his legs reaching out ahead of him, making sure there’s nothing in his way. And there isn’t. Not really. Only my little hand and if I keep it still enough he’ll crawl right onto it.

  The spider is climbing onto my hand now. One leg, two. He’s an old slow coach but I can wait. Nearly there…

  My fingers curl over his body, trapping him inside my hand. Got him!

  I hold the spider’s body between my finger and thumb, leaving his legs dangling in the air. Now I can count them. The first leg comes off easily, making him wriggle even more. He isn’t as good as being still as I am. As I pull off each leg I sing quietly to myself…

  Incy wincy spider…

  Aldershot Mail On-line

  Local Murder

  An unknown male is being sought by police, after a body was found yesterday in an apartment in Aldershot. The woman, yet to be positively identified, is thought to have been found tied to the bed, with a silk scarf around her neck. Due to the apparent sexual nature of the crime, police believe she could have been partaking in a sex game. They are awaiting the results of the post mortem, which will take place today, but the working theory is that she was choked to death with the colourful silk scarf that was found wound around her neck.

  We believe Aldershot Police will be holding a press conference later today, when they hope to release the name of the victim, and the results of the post mortem. At that time, we hope to find out if they have any leads as to the identity of this mysterious choker.

  Crane

  “A mysterious choker!” snorted Anderson as he threw his tablet across the table and ran his hand over his hair, trying to tame the wisps of grey that should have covered his bald spot, but never did.

  Crane winced and caught it just as it teetered on the edge. “Careful, Derek,” he admonished. “Your tablet isn’t as robust as the files of paper you normally chuck around. You need to be more careful with the technology we’ve been given, otherwise all your budget will be taken up with repairs and replacements.”

  “Well!” Anderson glared at Crane, in an amusing role reversal of their emotional traits, at least amusing in Crane’s eyes.

  But he was careful not to smile. DI Derek Anderson of the Hampshire Police Major Crimes Team (effectively his boss) seemed to be acting more like his civilian consultant (Sgt Major Crane Retired ex-army SIB investigator) in his anger and mannerisms. The current focus of his derision was the latest article by the new editor of the Aldershot News, Diane Cambers. Online - the day after they had found the dead girl and when no formal announcement had been made about the murder.

  “She is obviously taking full advantage of modern communication methods, now she’s editor,” Crane said, indicating the home page of the Aldershot News On-Line.

  “Yes, but who is her source?” Anderson looked through the office window at the rest of his team. “We didn’t release the information that a silk scarf was found around her neck, nor that we thought it could be a sex-game gone wrong.”

  “It could be anyone, Derek. It’s not necessarily one of ours, but it could be any neighbour, paramedic, or member of the hospital staff, including the morgue assistants.”

  It still seemed strange to Crane, to think of the civilian police as ‘one of ours’. After nearly twenty-two years in the British Army it had taken quite a while for the adjustment in his circumstances to begin to appear normal.

  “Yeah, alright, I get it. The possibilities are endless.”

  “Exactly.” Crane pulled up the cuff of his white shirt and glanced at his watch. “Anyway, are you ready for the off?”

  “What?” Anderson seemed momentarily confused. “Oh, right, the autopsy.” He stood and began to collect his things, stuffing his phone and his keys into the pocket of his tweed jacket. “Not that we really need to go, Diane Chambers seems to have all the facts at her finger tips,” he grumbled. “I’m sure we can read all about the post mortem online later.”

  “Oh cheer up,” Crane said, grabbing his stick and levering himself up from his chair. “Look, the sun is shining; it’s a beautifu
l day…”

  “And we’re going to spend the rest of it watching Major Martin slice up a beautiful young girl who didn’t deserve to die.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “I do,” said Derek, pulling open the office door. “I do.”

  “So, is it true then, boss?” DC Ciaran Douglas addressed both men as Crane and Anderson arrived back at Aldershot Police Station from their visit to Frimley Park Hospital.

  “Is what true?” Crane asked, although he suspected he knew full well what Douglas was talking about.

  “That she was killed by being choked to death during sex? What did Major Martin say?”

  “Just in case it was a sex-game related death, I’ve been looking up asphyxiophilia, guv,” Holly their computer analyst butted in. “I’m collecting lots of background information for you.”

  “Oh, joy,” was Derek’s response. “Get the coffees in, Ciaran, and we’ll talk about it in my office.”

  Since the formation of a major crimes team, consisting of DI Anderson, Tom Crane, DC Ciaran Douglas and computer expert Holly Abbott, Anderson had been allocated a larger office, which was big enough to contain a conference table and, at Crane’s insistence, a large white board all along one wall. Douglas and Holly sat outside at desks facing each other. Holly’s was crammed with various pieces of technical equipment Crane neither knew the names of, nor understood how they worked. Crane himself had a desk on the other side of Anderson’s door. He still wasn’t used to not having an office of his own and as a result spent far more time in Anderson’s than he really should do.

  Holly Abbott, a computer sciences graduate, had joined the police, as she put it, ‘to put her skills to good use, rather than helping capitalists make even more money than they already had, or by developing new products people couldn’t live without and paid an absolute fortune for’. Crane definitely got that point of view, having a young son who was growing up fast and would inevitably want the latest devices before long. Her brown shoulder length hair was pulled into two plaits. Nothing strange about that. But when you added a startling blue fringe and pink sides, it started to look rather avant-garde. Her long sleeved tee-shirt in muddy green matched the colour of her many-pocketed cargo pants. She was painfully thin and rather studious in her large black framed glasses. She never drank coffee, only green tea, or some blended mush or other that sat in the fridge quietly fermenting.

  DC Ciaran Douglas, quite trendy in his slim trousers and knitted ties, which mostly never matched his shirt, was a police graduate on a fast track career path. Aged in his mid-twenties, he looked younger, at least to Crane and Anderson. Bringing to the party the new policing methods and being fresh out of Hendon, Douglas now needed on the job experience.

  Crane had to acknowledge he and Anderson were dinosaurs by comparison to the two bright young things, but as a team, the four complimented each other. Age and experience versus the brave new world and technologically savvy younger members.

  By the time Douglas came in balancing a tray with four mugs on it, Anderson indicated to Crane that he should start the briefing.

  Dressed in his usual work uniform of black suit and white shirt and leaning on his stick, courtesy of the injury that had invalided him out of the British Army, he began, “Well, Major Martin, our friendly local medical examiner, is definitely floating the idea of asphyxiophilia being the main contributor to Sally Sawyer’s death.”

  “Told you,” grinned Holly.

  “But it wasn’t the cause?” Douglas frowned.

  “No, death was due to a massive heart attack. As her heart was completely healthy and she had no other underlying medical problems, he feels the evidence he found showing starvation of oxygen to her brain, caused by pressure being put on her carotid arteries, led to a heart attack. There were faint bruises on her neck from thumbs and indication that the scarf we found wound around her neck, had been pulled tight. He thinks the silk scarf was used to ensure maximum potency and least bruising.”

  “Was it consensual?”

  “Probably, as there was no other bruising found, nor injuries. There was minimal bruising from the restraints. If she’d been tied up against her will, the Major says there were would more in the way of abrasions.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Holly, chewing one end of her platted hair.

  Crane indicated the photographs he’d put up on the white board of Sally lying dead on her bed.

  “As we saw from the crime scene, the bed linen had been removed and was found in the washing machine. There was an overall smell of bleach in the flat and the Major has confirmed her body was washed down with the stuff. Presumably that was all done by the perpetrator. Sally’s flat mate, Donna, didn’t do it and the smell of bleach was particularly strong when she arrived back home yesterday and found her friend’s body.”

  “And there’s no forensic evidence on her at all?” asked Douglas.

  “No, none. Not after all that bleach.”

  “No semen?”

  “No, Ciaran, only faint traces of a lubricant commonly used on condoms.”

  “He really made sure there was nothing of himself left in the flat,” said Anderson. “Right down to dousing the scarves he’d used in a solution of bleach as well.”

  “Or her, sir,” said Holly and they all turned and gaped at her. “Our killer could equally be a woman. It’s not just blokes that enjoy BDSM, you know,” she said.

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Crane, a slight flush creeping up his face.

  BBC News

  “This is the BBC Local News at six-thirty with Ingrid Strange. Our top story this evening. A young woman found dead two days ago in a flat in Aldershot, Hampshire, has been identified as Sally Sawyer, aged 24. A single girl, she shared a flat with a friend, who has declined to be interviewed. Neighbours of Sally have described her death as ‘tragic’ and ‘unbelievable’.

  “We can now cross to our correspondent, Carol Walker, who is near to the flat where Sally lived. What more can you tell us, Carol?”

  “Thank you, Ingrid. Well, as you can see, I’m about 100 yards away from the block of flats where Sally lived and standing by the police cordon. The whole community is in shock. I have with me Gloria Simms, a near neighbour. Thank you for talking to us, Ms Simms. What was Sally like?”

  “She was a wonderful, caring, young woman. I just can’t believe she’s gone!”

  “Did you know her well?”

  “Oh, oh, just to say hello to…. but I saw her most mornings and she always had a smile on her face!”

  “Thank you, Ms Simms. Well, Ingrid, the police have issued a statement which says they are doing everything they can to bring Sally’s killer to justice and that her family have asked for privacy at this most difficult time. I do know the police have been conducting house to house enquiries in the vicinity of her apartment.”

  “Is there anything more on the manner of her death, now an autopsy has been completed?”

  “Well there have been rumours that some sort of sex-game was involved, and as she was found with a colourful silk scarf around her neck, the current thinking is that possibly ‘breath control play’ was a factor in her death. This is the intentional restriction of oxygen to the brain for the purpose of sexual arousal. Some people find reducing or severing air flow via strangulation or suffocation can heighten sexual arousal and orgasmic pleasure. Colloquially, a person engaging in this activity is sometimes called a ‘gasper’ and is the submissive. The ‘choker’ takes the more dominant role, which is why some newspapers have been calling the killer, The Choker.”

  “Can you tell me what charges the perpetrator is likely to face?”

  “That’s a good question, Carol. I talked to the police about that and they said it depended upon the killer’s intention. If it was accidental, then a charge of manslaughter would be brought, but if it was intentional, it would be a clear case of murder. In the meantime, the mound of flowers left at the entrance to the apartment block where Sally lived, co
ntinues to grow and there is talk of a silent candlelight vigil to be held this evening. Back to you in the studio, Ingrid.”

  “Thank you, Carol. And now on to other news…”

  Theresa

  Theresa snapped off the television with the remote control when the item had finished. That poor girl, she thought, being killed for someone’s sexual gratification. What was the world coming to? She wasn’t exactly a prude; she was sure she liked sex as much as the next person. But to be strangled whilst having it? The thought made her shudder and her hands went instinctively to her neck.

  He’d tried that once, her husband Tim, but she’d hated it. She’d thought it disgusting, depraved and very dangerous. She was clearly right, in the light of what had just happened.

  They’d had a huge row about it at the time and he’d promised never to do anything like that to her again. But she still flinched every time his hand went anywhere near her exposed neck. She had never told anyone about the awful incident and had worn a scarf for a week afterwards until the bruises faded. She’d got some funny looks, but when anyone enquired, she’d managed to mumble something about having a sore throat and wanting to keep it warm.

  Getting off the settee, she wandered to the window and looked out, the net curtain twitching, but all she could see was her own face reflected back at her, giving her a glimpse of how she might look in old age. Her long hair was bleached grey, her eyes dulled by worry and a slight flaw in the glass made her mouth, chin and neck distorted with wrinkles. Turning away from the depressing image she wondered how many men would want that type of sex? She smoothed her neck, this time to dispel the wrinkles she’d see in her reflection. Mr Jones across the street? Kevin and Clive, the gay couple next door? Her two sons, now grown men? No surely not, the very thought was preposterous.

  Leaving the window, she wandered the house, putting an ornament straight here, smoothing the curtains there. There was no cleaning to be done. She’d finished it all that morning, with the usual programmes on the television for company. She alternated between BBC and ITV. She liked This Morning but it got a bit silly at times, so then she turned over and watched Homes Under the Hammer, returning to ITV for Loose Women.