destiny. A disturbing thought which had been kicking around in his subconscious mind for a while chose that moment to surface but he was unable to attend to it.
‘Listen, Damen. There’s been some muttering about the way
‘There’s always muttering,
Greatorix held up a placatory hand, flicking chips onto the floor. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Inspector. I just want to help. I could be very useful. I’ve got contacts.’
‘That’s the point-the Chief doesn’t want the wrong people being contacted, getting their snouts into the trough and spreading alarm.’
Greatorix stopped cutting and chewing. Brook had found his target. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Brook smiled and clambered to his feet. ‘I’ll make a deal with you, Bob. You tell me what Brian Burton wants from you and I’ll put in a word with McMaster.’ Brook walked away.
Greatorix glared at his back. ‘You’re a real prick, you know that, Brook?’ he spluttered towards the retreating figure. Brook turned.
‘Of course I know.’
‘You’ll never have any friends in this nick, you fucking toffee-nosed know-it-all. I was nabbing villains when you were still working out how to undo bras.’ Greatorix was standing now, shouting, almost apoplectic in his sudden rush of anger, but Brook had already gone. The canteen was hushed, waiting for Greatorix to come to his senses. Other people’s problems were meat and drink to the social whirl of station life and nobody wanted to miss a thing.
After a few seconds, Greatorix flicked a glance round the room and sat down to contemplate the rest of his meal. When it was clear there would be no more gossip fodder, a likely lad at the front of the queue bawled out, ‘Encore!’ to gales of laughter and derisive hoots.
Greatorix, who had a penchant for
Chapter Ten
It had started to rain by the time Brook and Noble arrived at the mortuary. They hurried inside and walked the short distance to Pathology.
A short man with a chubby, cheerful countenance and round pebble glasses hailed them. Although nearly sixty, Dr Habib’s hair was still brown and his eyes soft and without wrinkles.
The green apron he wore sported dark stains as did the cranial blade of the saw he carried slightly behind his back, having just realised it wasn’t the done thing to greet people holding an implement for cutting heads.
‘Inspector Brook. And the faithful Sergeant Noble,’ he exclaimed, removing a face mask. He went to shake hands before realising the potential hygiene risk and withdrew with a shrug. ‘How are you?’
‘As well as ever, doctor.’
‘Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear it, Inspector,’ he replied with a glint in his eye. ‘Still no improvement, eh?’
Brook let out a polite laugh. The jokes didn’t get any better. ‘What have you got for us, doc?’
Habib tossed his bloodstained gloves into a disposal bin and turned into a small office. He washed his hands vigorously in a small sink before turning to rummage through a sheaf of papers. ‘The Wallis family. Bad business. Bad business. Do you want to see the bodies?’
‘It can wait until the formal ID unless you’ve something you need to show us,’ answered Brook.
‘Not really, not really. Fairly straightforward.’ He picked up some papers and skimmed through them before glancing up at Brook. ‘I think maybe you’re looking for an Asian gentleman for this, no?’
Brook looked across at Noble and turned back to Habib. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Just a thought, Inspector, but these killings seem to me very ceremonial, like the Halal ritual slaughter.’ Habib pierced him for a reaction.
‘It’s not figured in our profile yet. Interesting thought though.’
‘Statistically speaking, the majority of serial killers are white males, doctor,’ offered Noble.
‘So they are,’ nodded Habib. ‘Just an idea. Well, let’s see.’ Habib peered up from the manila folder. ‘Hmm. You’re not going to like it, Inspector.’
‘Try me.’
‘This gentleman must be the cleanest killer in history. He knows what he’s doing. It’s too early to be conclusive yet, we’re still working on some things,’ he said, shooting an apology towards Brook. ‘We’re not exactly overstaffed, don’t you know?’ Brook smiled his understanding.
‘But, let’s see. Assuming it was a man,’ Habib glanced up at Brook in case of a rebuttal, ‘we’re looking at a right-handed individual. Difficult to assess height as none of the victims were standing, though from the angle of the incisions on the two adults, I’d say the killer was medium height at best. No more than 1.72, 1.74 metres. Around 5–8 if you prefer old money. Possibly smaller.
‘The weapon was very sharp with a thin blade, probably a scalpel because the incisions are too precise for most knives.’
‘Could it have been an old cut-throat razor, doctor?’
‘Indeed yes, Inspector, as long as it was well maintained. Now if I can just show you,’ he said, adopting the posture of the killer. ‘He cut from behind each of the victims from the left ear, through the trachea-the windpipe,’ he beamed at Noble, ‘and finishing at the right ear. Only the girl’s windpipe was completely severed. The parents would have taken several minutes to lose consciousness as they still had partial breathing.
‘There is…no sign of any sexual assault in either female or the male for that matter.’ Brook caught the hesitant note in Habib’s voice and narrowed his eyes. ‘Interesting thing. There was no struggle from the victims at point of death and yet they weren’t restrained or struck unconscious-I’ll come back to that in a minute-and nothing under the nails, unless you include enough dirt to grow a field of potatoes.’
‘Most of us don’t feel compelled to scrub up every fifteen minutes,’ observed Brook.
‘Indeed it is so. What else? There were no alien fibres on any of the victims, no skin, no foreign hairs. He’s been very careful. Assuming he has hair. Lots of people don’t, you know.’
‘Most people have skin though,’ Noble chipped in.
The good doctor could only shrug. ‘Maybe your own forensics people can find something on the clothing. The parents had drunk a little wine before they died, if that helps. The killer must have drunk the rest. Not a surprise, it looked expensive…’
‘How do you know he had a drink?’ interrupted Brook.
‘Because of the bottle.’ Brook and Noble showed no signs of enlightenment so Habib continued. ‘There isn’t enough wine left, Inspector.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Noble.
‘I’m guessing, of course. I saw the bottle at the scene. Going by what was in the glasses and the minute amount ingested by the victims…’
Brook nodded. ‘If we add what’s in the glasses to the bottle, some will be missing. More than Bobby and Mrs Wallis can account for.’ Habib smiled his assent. ‘Just because he left no trace of having drunk any wine, doesn’t mean he didn’t raise a glass of his own to celebrate then take it with him.’
‘Christ,’ muttered Noble.
‘Only a small one. He wouldn’t want to contravene Her Majesty’s drink driving laws,’ added Habib, with a guilty chortle.
‘No,’ agreed Brook. ‘He wouldn’t want to get himself in
‘Well. Let’s see.’ Habib adjusted his glasses. ‘The blood on the wall, the writing, is from the girl I think, AB negative, quite rare. Your lab people will have to confirm that as well but the smears on her neck indicate that someone has pushed their fingers into the wound.’
‘Have you got anything we can use to catch this man, doctor?’ asked Noble impatiently.
