Eternal Empire by Alec Nevala-Lee

Author:Alec Nevala-Lee [Nevala-Lee, Alec]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, General
ISBN: 9781101627709
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2013-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

33

In the bedroom of the house in Hackney Wick, Wolfe could see several distinct sprays of blood. The bodies themselves had been taken to the mortuary, leaving behind only the thick stench of decomposition, as well as a sour smell, like ammonia, that floated unaccountably above it all.

At her side, the scenes of crime officer produced a set of forensic photographs. “Two bodies. One was Andrew Ferris, the driver who was taken hostage. The other has been identified as Ivan Sturza. You’ve seen his file?”

Wolfe studied the photos with a connoisseur’s eye. “Moldovan national with a Romanian passport. Petty criminal record. Based on video from the riots, he was one of the men at the prison break.”

She pointed to the picture on top, which displayed two bodies, one tied to a chair, the other slumped awkwardly across the other. “Ferris, the hostage, was killed first. Sturza was shot as he was bending over the other man’s body. And I don’t think he was expecting it.”

“That’s consistent with our analysis,” the officer said. “I spoke with the lab in Lambeth. The bullet was smooth, with no rifling, which implies it was fired from a reactivated gun, possibly a converted starter pistol. And they used ammonia to remove trace evidence from the rest of the scene.”

“They did the same thing in the van on Mare Street,” Wolfe said. “We should check the database for similar crimes. What else?”

“One partial shoeprint in the blood. The men in the house wore smooth gloves. Plenty of latex smears, but no prints. With one exception.”

“You mentioned that earlier.” Wolfe headed for the door. “Let’s take a look.”

She left the room, glad to move away from the smell of death, and went back into the hallway, keeping to the approach path. The house itself was small and depressing, abandoned, like so many others, in the recent downturn, which had pushed repossession rates to their highest level in ten years.

At the center of the kitchen stood a warped table with two plastic chairs. The table was covered with gray smears of fingerprint powder, as well as a pair of white cards that marked where two glasses had been found and bagged. Wolfe pointed to the nearest card. “Here?”

The officer nodded. “The only set of prints we found. Clear impressions on one of the glasses. And they belong to Ilya Severin.”

Wolfe frowned. “He must have removed one of his gloves. I wonder why—”

Looking down, she saw something else. On the linoleum floor by one of the chairs, in which Ilya had evidently been seated, there was a worn dishrag, apparently taken from the counter by the sink. Picking it up with one gloved hand, Wolfe saw that it had been tied into a loose knot.

She set the rag on the table and carefully undid it. There was nothing inside.

The knot reminded her of something, but before she could put it into words, her partner entered. “I spoke with the sergeant,” Asthana said. “They’re checking cameras nearby. Ferris was a

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