'And people actually pay money to look at these pictures?' Kate asked the room in general as crime-scene photos of the mutilated women appeared on the computer screen.
Diane shrugged. 'Kate, people pay a licence fee to watch
Kate nodded, she had a good point. How close-ups of heart surgery, ribcages being cracked open and worse, had become evening family viewing on the BBC she had absolutely no idea.
'Can they be traced, whoever's putting up these pictures?'
Diane shrugged again. 'Paddington Green has their best technical people on it but they don't hold out much hope. Not of finding the guy who posted these pictures. Anyone can set up a bogus account, from an Internet cafe or a library. Hack into our systems, download the photos and put them up where they like. It can be impossible to trace.'
'Why lead us to it then?'
Diane rummaged in her handbag. 'Because we hadn't mentioned it to the press. These sad fucks need an audience, Kate. Pardon my fucking French.'
Kate sensed that Diane Campbell was hanging out for a cigarette. She was proved right as Diane found what she was looking for in her handbag, opened the window in front of Delaney's desk and lit one up.
Kate looked at the photos on the screen, pausing at one and then flicking through her files to look at the same photo in hard copy. She leaned in and peered at the computer screen when a voice behind her made her heart leap into her throat.
'You better have one of those for me, Diane.'
Kate spun round and jumped out of her chair. She didn't know whether to kiss him or slap him.
'Where have you been, Jack?'
'Christ, Delaney. You look like you've been run over by a combine harvester,' Diane Campbell added.
Delaney ran a hand over the rough stubble of his chin and nodded. 'I've had better days.'
Diane Campbell threw him a cigarette which he just about managed to catch with one hand. He leaned in for her to light it for him. 'Jimmy has identified the first two victims,' she told him. 'They both worked at the South Hampstead as did the third. The escorting isn't the link, it's the hospital itself.'
Kate pointed at the computer monitor. 'And there's something else. Look at this picture that was posted on the web. Sally Cartwright left me a note, something she'd picked up on. Asking me to check our forensic records.'
Diane walked round. 'What is it?'
'Look closely at this picture of the second victim. You can just about see the foot of the photographer reflected in the bit of mirror that the killer left.'
'And?'
Kate held up the photo from her file. 'And in this one you can't see anything. The mirror is clear, no reflection. No foot.'
Delaney shrugged. 'So? What does that mean?'
'The second is from our files and the first isn't. We don't have it. It means that whoever it was who put these pictures up on the Internet in the first place hasn't hacked into our files. Because that photo wasn't in our files in the first place.'
Diane nodded, taking it in. 'So that means—'
'Christ!' Delaney interrupted her as the implications hit him. 'Where's Sally Cartwright?'
Skinner ran a hand over his head. 'She said she had a hot date tonight.'
'Michael Hill.'
'That's right,' Skinner answered him. 'Danny Vine wasn't too happy about it, been moaning all
