Sally looked across at him, frowning as she fired up the engine. 'Sir?'
'What? You surprised I know a little Shakespeare? They do have schools in Ireland, you know.'
'Yeah, I do know that. Put your seat belt on.'
Delaney sighed and pulled the strap across. 'And it's cockney rhyming slang.'
'What is?'
'John Thomas. So the expression came first.'
'Oh.' Sally smiled. 'So what does it rhyme with?'
Delaney considered for a moment, then sighed and flapped his hand. 'Just drive the car, Constable.'
'On average two and a half million people use the tube system every day and I'm guessing something like bloody plenty of them use South Hampstead station,' Delaney said as he stood up from the computer, rubbed his sore eyes and yawned.
Sally paused the CCTV footage and looked up at him, amusement quirking the corners of her mouth. 'Must have been some night.'
Delaney yawned again, putting his hand in front of his mouth. 'You have no idea.'
Sally gestured at the computer screen. 'We're up to twelve o'clock.'
Delaney nodded and stretched his eyes. 'Let's get these photos in front of the nurse, see if she recognises any of them.'
Sally collected three photos that had been printed out of some possible men that matched the description of the flasher they had been given by Valerie Manners and stood up.
Kate Walker was sitting at her computer typing up her notes for the post-mortem on the mystery woman. She pushed the print icon and some moments later picked up a ten by eight, black-and-white close-up of the woman's neck. Someone had slashed her hard enough to slice the flesh clear to the bone. What kind of anger could have fuelled such brutality? Even if the attack was sexually motivated it still came down to anger. Impotent rage, maybe, as it was clear the woman had not been sexually assaulted. No evidence of it at least. The irony of the thought was not lost on her and she shivered again, thinking about the possibility that it could have been her dead body being examined by one of her colleagues. How close a tightrope to death we walk in life, she thought. How fragile the human body is. How soft and defenceless against true purpose, true will to hurt. And yet we dance on the tightrope blindfolded, and laugh while we do it. Only Kate didn't feel like laughing today. She wasn't sure she ever would again. The telephone rang suddenly, shrilly. She started, her heart thumping in her chest, and snatched the phone up, taking a moment or two to steady her shattered nerves before answering. 'Kate Walker.'
'Kate, it's Caroline Akunin.'
Kate took in a deep breath. 'Go on.'
'I haven't got the blood work back . . .' She paused.
'But?' asked Kate.
'But, I ran a check on Paul Archer.'
'And?'
'He's out on police bail at the moment, Kate. Pending trial. He's already been charged with rape.'
Kate was puzzled for a moment. 'What do you mean?'
'His estranged wife. She's charged him with rape. The court case is coming up this week. He's a rapist, Kate.'
Kate nodded, taking it in, she couldn't speak for a moment. 'I'm coming in to White City now for a briefing, I'll come and see you while I'm there.'
