Clay People

By Mark Lalbeharry

A murder at the site of a disused hospital leaves police with more questions than answers. Who was murdered, what has happened to the body and how many more victims are there? And what links an engineering company, a former charity worker and a missing caretaker?

DCI Tony Lane and his team are assigned to the case. They soon discover that some prominent men have a lot to fear, as an astute predator moves quietly through society, concealing his or her tracks, and true motivation.

Clay People is a fast-paced tale of murder and deception.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Lalbeharry
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463663295

Book preview

CLAY PEOPLE

Copyright © 2019 by Mark Lalbeharry. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

ALSO BY THE SAME AUTHOR

The Simian Curve

Execution Only

CONTENTS

1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6

7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12

13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18

19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24

25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30

31 • 32 • 33 • 34 • 35 • 36

37 • 38 • 39 • 40 • 41 • 42

43 • 44 • 45 • 46 • 47 • 48

49 • 50 • 51 • 52 • 53 • 54

55 • 56 • 57 • 58 • 59 • 60 • 61

CHAPTER

1

Ray Maynard was fifty-two years old and homeless. He had been homeless since his early forties, following the breakdown of his marriage and the loss of his job. Those things were distant memories now, memories which came back to him vividly sometimes, when he didn’t have alcohol to blur his senses.

Finding food wasn’t a problem. He had been on the streets for so long he knew where all the soup kitchens and canteens were. In winter he knew the best places to find shelter, but now that the weather was becoming warmer he had decided to look for somewhere new to stay.

He knew about the old hospital in Acton. It was still owned by the local trust, but it had stood disused for more than a year before the demolition crew had moved in. They had closed off the area, erecting high wooden fencing before demolishing the buildings.

Not all the buildings had been pulled down however. Several at the rear of the site had been left intact, much to Maynard’s surprise. He had watched as the wrecking crew packed up and left, sealing off the area with a padlock and chain across the main gates.

The gates were nearly eight feet high – too high for Maynard to scale, but he knew that there was another way on to the land. The back of the nine-acre site bordered on to woods which were frequently used as a dumping ground. Here the wooden fencing was replaced with wire-mesh, and Maynard knew of a break, allowing access.

It was late on Monday evening when he crept on to the site. He had with him a small rucksack containing food, whisky and a tightly rolled-up sleeping bag. He was planning to stay in one of the remaining buildings. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to stay for. In any case he’d have the place to himself, if only for a short while. He wouldn’t have to worry about sharing his space. It wouldn’t be like living in the shelter – the coughing, the shouting, the disagreements over alcohol or drugs. He’d have peace and quiet.

The ground was covered with footprints and tyre marks. Streetlights in the distance illuminated the yard. Maynard knew his way around, having seen it in daylight. There were large piles of rubble where buildings once stood. Everything was neatly ordered, with piles of bricks squared off.

He made for the ground floor of the largest remaining building. The door had been secured with a padlock, but a window to one side was smashed. Maynard carefully climbed through. Once inside, he took out a torch and turned it on. He was in a room next to the main corridor. It looked like an office. He didn’t linger, and made his way along the corridor. There were numerous small rooms. One looked like a laboratory. He decided to go up to the second floor, and that was when he heard noise.

In the distance he could hear a dragging sound. He stopped. Something was definitely being moved. Maynard felt curiosity and then fear. The only light came from his torch, and he thought about turning it off.

The dragging was coming from close by. The corridor was L-shaped, and he suspected it was coming from the next wing.

He lowered the torch and slowly moved towards the bend. He paused, debating what to do and listened.

Something was definitely moving.

Maynard thought he could hear breathing. Should he leave? No, he didn’t want to do that. This was his place. He intended to stay for as long as he could.

He decided to confront whoever was there. He steadied himself. He rounded the corner and saw a large figure in the distance. It was pulling something. Maynard lowered the torch and saw plastic sheeting. He was filled with fear as he saw pale flesh wrapped up inside. He saw arms and legs, and then a head.

• • •

Seconds passed and Maynard remained still. He turned and ran. He dropped his rucksack as he looked for the way out.

All the offices had windows, but he had to find an open one.

He was aware of someone behind him. The person he had disturbed was following. Maynard felt fear and shock. He turned to his right and went into an office. He saw a window on the far wall but it was shut.

Panic seized Maynard. He turned back and slammed the door. He turned the catch, and seconds later there was a thud.

He held the door and tried to focus. He shone his torch along the base of the window and saw a latch. He made for it and pushed the window up. The drop below was less than six feet. Maynard felt relief and forced himself through.

He hit the ground and could see the sweep of the yard. Behind him he could hear a splintering sound.

Maynard ran towards the break in the perimeter fence. He found the damaged section and ducked down. The top of his coat caught on something and he was pulled to a halt. Seconds passed, and he bent low, trying to release himself. That was when he felt a hand on his back.

Fear spiked. Maynard could hear breathing and a ripping sound.

Frantic with terror, he bent to the ground, and there was another ripping sound as he broke free. He struggled forward, moving through undergrowth until he could see the main road. The road was less than twenty yards away, and cars were moving at speed. He glanced back and saw a person.

Without thinking, Maynard ran into the road. A horn sounded, and a car swerved.

Ray Maynard was hit and thrown across the carriageway.

CHAPTER

2

At Homicide West headquarters, in central London, the incident room was quiet. Detective Chief Inspector Tony Lane was seated at his desk. Several lever-arch files were open, and he was filing case notes. Every so often he took out a document that was superfluous, screwed it up and aimed for the waste bin. More often than not he missed, and there was a collection of scrunched-up paper on the floor.

Lane was in his mid-fifties, a large, heavy-set man, with an expansive face which frequently displayed a dour look. He wasn’t like that however. Those who knew him well said that he was more cheerful underneath, and that he simply hid the fact as he enjoyed complaining and seeming discontent.

At a desk opposite sat a younger man, Detective Inspector Steven Perez. Perez was taller and slimmer than Lane, and altogether more optimistic. He had been working with Lane for several years, and had surprised fellow officers by getting on well with him.

Perez was attaching a rectangular, grey box to his computer. They had closed their last case two days before, and had spent the previous day completing paperwork and tying up loose ends. Both men were looking forward to another busy week.

Lane stopped what he was doing and looked at Perez. What is that thing you’re fiddling with? His face looked sour. It looks like a damn toaster.

It’s called a network-attached storage device. I’m linking it to my computer. Perez continued with what he was doing. He felt comfortable around Lane, and knew when his criticism was heartfelt and when it was not.

Lane stopped to study the device and decided that it looked ugly. They could have made it look better. It really does look like a toaster.

Perez was connecting cables. When I’m finished here, I’ll be able to access this via my PDA.

Lane looked at Perez, and knew that he had potential. Within a few years he’d be a chief inspector, and would make a good one. You should speak to IT about that. They’ll just complain when they find out what you’ve done.

I’ll take my chances, said Perez to himself.

Lane shook his head, screwed up another piece of paper and aimed for the bin.

He missed.

You wait till Chief Superintendent Travers comes in. He’ll take one look at that and complain.

He won’t even notice it’s here, said Perez. You’re too harsh on Travers, although I agree he can be difficult.

Lane felt that his junior still had things to learn. It was something that he saw in many young officers. People aren’t always promoted because of how good they are – Travers being a case in point. He’s a caricature – he’s what people expect the top brass to be like. That’s why he got the job. Lane considered that as the phone on his desk rang. He let it ring several times before leaning across.

"Lane," he said quickly. He listened and then stopped, and Perez realized something was up.

OK, said Lane, we’ll be there. His face changed as he put down the receiver. Come on … we’re needed.

• • •

St. Swithun’s Hospital, near Chiswick, looked new and efficient. Too new and efficient, in DCI Lane’s mind. He parked his car in a disabled parking bay, and walked with Perez into the accident & emergency unit. He ignored the people at reception, and looked about until he saw DI Len Newman.

Newman was a small man, of a similar age to Lane, with grey hair and worn features. He looked as if the job was getting to him, but he had a smile for Lane.

Tony. How’s it going?

Lane shook his hand. Not too bad, Len. I was having a quiet morning till I got your call. He felt curious. So what’s the story here?

Newman led him up the stairs to the trauma unit. They stopped outside a door with a window in it. Beyond was a small room with one bed. A late-middle-aged man was lying on it. He was unconscious, and attached to him were a number of wires and tubes, several of which led to a machine that was periodically flashing.

His name’s Ray Maynard, said Newman. He looked towards the glass, but didn’t look directly at Maynard, as if doing so was uncomfortable. He was brought in last night, with multiple injuries after being struck by a car. Newman held up a medical report. Compound fracture of the right leg, two broken arms, as well as swelling on the brain. They’ve sedated him. They’re trying to bring the swelling down.

Lane looked at the hospital staff and felt there was a distinct lack of urgency. Was it attempted murder?

He’s homeless, said Newman. He wasn’t struck deliberately. It looks like an accident. The driver was unable to avoid him – he ran into the road.

Understood. Lane waited patiently, not something he did for everyone.

Maynard was conscious at the scene. The driver who struck him got out and called for help – thank heavens there’re still some decent people. Maynard was muttering something. He spoke about a man and a murder, and being chased. He said there was a body. Newman consulted his notes. "Yes, he said he’d seen a dead body."

Lane looked at Perez, who was growing interested.

The thing is, said Newman, we might have discounted his story, had it not been for the driver who struck him. The driver is adamant that he saw another man chasing Maynard, seconds before the impact.

What happened to this other man? said Perez.

No one’s sure. After Maynard was hit, things became confused. The driver who struck him stopped, and two cars collided. We think Maynard was running from an abandoned building. I’ve got the area sealed off. As crime-scene coordinator, I’m about to send over a forensic unit. I also thought you might want to see the site for yourself.

Lane wanted to know more. This is a lot of effort to go to for a homeless person – someone who may well have been drinking. Newman was holding something back, and Lane sensed it. Newman spoke.

The driver who struck him – he works in the mayor’s office as a special advisor. They’ve taken an interest – hence the call to you.

Lane disliked politics. The powers that be were often influenced by external factors, and tended to move officers around at will.

Great.

If you want to head over, I’ll tell Forensics you’re on the way.

Lane made to leave and paused. Any idea when Maynard will regain consciousness?

Newman looked doubtful. He’s been heavily sedated. They’re not sure when he’ll come round, or what condition he’ll be in. It’s the swelling they’re worried about.

Lane looked down the corridor. Put an officer outside his door.

Perez was surprised, as was Newman.

Just in case. said Lane.

CHAPTER

3

Merl & Grey Construction had a sign at the entrance to their demolition site. It was 11 A.M., and DCI Lane was at the site in Acton, close to where Ray Maynard had been found.

Excellence through labour. Lane looked at the logo of Merl & Grey and frowned. Sounds like something from a Russian gulag.

Perez smiled. He liked Lane’s dry sense of humour. I was thinking the same thing.

The gates of the site were open, showing a large space, with rubble and masonry gathered into piles. At the back of the site were three buildings that had been left intact. They were connected at ground level, and had a dated look.

Very 1960s, said Lane.

Lane had been a police officer for nearly thirty years. He had seen many crime scenes, and became more alert than normal when faced with a new one. Perez watched Lane, trying to learn from him. He was coming to realize that there were certain things that just couldn’t be taught in a classroom.

Lane walked across the site, noting the earth on the ground. A walkway had been laid down, and forensic officers were already inspecting the area, checking for footprints. Lane knew he was disliked by many of the forensic technicians. In truth, it was a situation of his own making. Many of the younger technicians would not take criticism from officers who appeared ungrateful, or expected information too quickly, or reached conclusions that didn’t agree with the science.

Lane noted one technician who particularly disliked him.

It might be best if you speak to the SOCO people.

Perez nodded. He was keen to avoid conflict. Perhaps if you didn’t rub them up the wrong way …

Yeah, but then I wouldn’t be me, would I?

You like being a miserable sod, don’t you? Perez smiled to himself.

Talking to them is like taking a pee in a tumble dryer: pointless.

Perez wished Lane was more cheerful. He felt life could be made easier with a few simple changes. You’re too impatient.

And rude, and disrespectful, said Lane. You forgot to mention those.

True enough. Anyway, I’ll go and have a talk with them. Perez stopped as he saw someone walking on to the site. There was a flash from a camera.

I don’t believe it, said Lane. He had caught sight of the stranger too. Lane’s lips became thin and his cheeks reddened. Standing thirty yards away was a middle-aged man in a brown suit. He had fair hair and a pale face, with a pointed nose. The man lowered his camera.

What the hell’s he doing here? Lane knew the journalist.

That guy has no respect for a crime scene, said Perez. His face mirrored Lane’s.

I’m not going to stand for this. Lane left Perez and marched towards his target.

• • •

Perez walked into a building at the rear of the site. Were it not for the medical charts and notes on the walls, it could have been an old company office.

Forensic technicians had laid down a walkway, and Perez looked down the main corridor towards Maddy Webb. Maddy was in her early twenties, of small build, with long, dark hair which was tied up. She had on white overalls, and was inspecting the floor.

She saw Perez and was pleased. Steve, good to see you, she said with a smile. She stood up and looked behind him. Where’s the big guy?

Outside, hassling a journalist.

Maddy had a knowing look. It’s what he does best.

Perez wasn’t going to apologize. He liked Maddy, but didn’t feel like siding with her. He felt a strong sense of loyalty towards Lane, in spite of any faults he might have.

So what’s the story here?

We’ve found signs of disturbance and damage to a window. Maddy pointed along the corridor. I’m tempted to say more than one person broke in.

That would agree with the information we received.

A man’s been hospitalised, right?

Perez nodded. He’ll probably be unconscious for some time, assuming he survives his injuries. The more you can tell us, the better.

I’ll give it a go. Maddy breathed in and tried to look confident. She was comparatively new to the job, and wanted to impress Perez.

There’re a number of tyre marks outside, some fresher than others. One or more vehicles could conceivably have driven up to the building. Aside from the break-in, there are also signs of a confrontation. And beyond that bend in the corridor, it looks as if something was dragged. She led Perez towards the spot. He could see linoleum floor – black and white checks, with streaks across them. Something had been dragged along the passage, and he saw a door at the end that was shut.

I was thinking the same thing, said Maddy. She walked up to the door. When she opened it, Perez could see a dozen steps leading down to the basement.

Maddy made a face. The room down there was used for the disposal of clinical waste. When the hospital ran, it used to take in medical waste and burn it. Dr Croft is going through it now. Hopefully he’ll be able to tell us more soon.

• • •

Lane and Perez were returning to Homicide West. It was an hour later, and they were in Lane’s car, with Perez driving. Lunchtime traffic was heavy, and Lane had delegated driving duties.

You look pleased, said Perez.

I feel pleased, said Lane. There was a smirk on his face. I enjoyed hassling that journalist. He should have known better – some people really make the case for population control.

There was something about Lane’s comments that Perez liked. If you said that in public, you’d be in trouble.

Tell me about it … Lane felt police officers were overwhelmed by rules and political correctness. It had been so different when he had first started out.

So what did you make of the hospital? said Perez.

We’ll have to wait and see what Doctor Croft has to say. Lane was calm and rather matter-of-fact. Perez felt more concerned.

This could escalate. If that homeless man was correct, in what he said about a body –

Then that could explain what someone was doing there. Lane was a practical man, and tried to think logically. Doctor Croft is examining the scene. Hopefully he’ll have something for us soon.

Perez slowed the car as they reached traffic lights. I don’t know, it all seems rather gruesome …

You and your feelings. Lane was speaking absentmindedly, and thinking ahead. Have you got your PDA with you?

Perez reached into his jacket and took it out. It was a small, black device, rectangular, and about four inches long. He handed it to Lane, who slid it open. He began typing on the keyboard, his large fingers having difficulty with the keys.

"Oh, crap."

What’re you doing?

Sending a message to Len Newman. He said that Ray Maynard was chased – that he was chased from the hospital to the road.

And?

I want to know what other people saw. I’m getting details of the driver who struck him. We can speak to him and get his version of events.

CHAPTER

4

Daniel Riley was having family problems. He would never admit it, but sitting at the table, watching his family eating lunch, he thought about what he should do.

Riley was in his early forties, a well-built man, with long dark hair, which was swept back. He was dressed in an expensive suit, and had a confident look that bordered on the arrogant.

His wife, Erin, was at the worktop, preparing something for herself. Daniel looked at her and felt resentment. It hadn’t always been like that. Something had changed, and he was wondering what the future held.

One of his children looked up. Daddy, what’s wrong? Fran was only six, but she was good at studying people and reading emotions.

Daniel looked down. Nothing, honey. I was just thinking about work. Erin sat next to him, bringing a bowl of fruit with her.

How long will you be gone for? She asked the question in casual way, but Riley knew what she wanted. She didn’t want him to be out late, celebrating.

"There’re a couple of things I have to