Lazybones

'Go on…

Stone glanced down at the piece of paper. 'Ian Anthony Welch.' He half turned towards the body. 'Released eight days ago from Wandsworth. Three years of a five-stretch for rape.'

Thorne spoke to nobody in particular. 'I don't know why we never considered it. Remfry wasn't killed because of who he was. He and Welch were killed because of what they were. Christ, this is the sort of case we normally get brought in for…'

Brigstocke stretched, his plastic bodysuit rustling. 'Well, this time, we've got our very own.'

Now, things were going to change: in the previous week and a half, priorities had shifted. Older cases that had been downgraded in the immediate wake of the Renfry murder had, suddenly, three unsuccessful weeks on, been shunted forward again. Members of the team found themselves knee-deep in court preparations for a domestic, processing the arrest of a teenager who'd stabbed his friend for a computer game or gathering the papers on a drug-related shooting. This reallocation of resources was normal and now it would need to be done all over again. Now that the Remfry murder was the Remfry and Welch murders, the more straightforward cases would slide back on to the back-burner.

Now, Team 3 would be handling no other cases at all…

'One, two, three…'

Thorne watched as four officers heaved the body off the mattress and on to the black body bag which had been stretched out on the floor next to the bed. The belt had been removed but the hands were still clenched tightly together behind the back, fingers entwined. Rigor mortis had set in hours ago and the body rolled awkwardly on to its side, knees drawn up to the chest. The officers looked at each other and, after a few moments, a DS stepped forward. He placed a hand on the chest and as he rolled the body on to its back, he pushed the legs downwards as far as they would go. Flattening the body just enough to zip the bag up.

'I forgot to ask,' Brigstocke said, 'how was the wedding?'

Thorne was still watching the sergeant, whose eyes were closed the whole time his hands were on the naked body.

'Not a lot more fun than this,' Thorne said.

Fifteen minutes later, just after midday, the core of the team gathered in the lobby. They were about to go their separate ways. The postmortem was being rushed through at two o'clock and while Thorne would be following Hendricks to Wexham Hospital, Brigstocke and the others would be heading back to the office. While the DCI spoke on the phone to Jesmond and then to Yvonne Kitson back in the Incident Room, the others sat on mock-leather armchairs and shared a pot of coffee. Less animated than the small gaggle of hotel staff and guests, they stared out through the plate-glass windows in reception at the body being loaded into the mortuary van. Brigstocke joined them, sliding his mobile back into the inside pocket of his jacket. 'Well, that's everybody up to speed, me included…'

'What words of wisdom from the all-knowing Detective Chief Superintendent?' Thorne asked. Outside, the mortuary van was moving away. Hendricks waved as he climbed into his car to follow it. Thorne raised a hand in return.

'Nothing I can argue with,' Brigstocke said. 'We'll have reporters here before they've put new sheets on the bed. So here it is. Officially, we can't confirm or deny a link with the Remfry murder.' He paused, making sure the message was sinking in. 'It makes sense. The tabloids would have a fucking field day with this one. Screaming about vigilantes, running polls. Is the killer doing a good job? Yes or no?'

'Is that a possibility, you think?' Stone asked. 'Could this be some sort of vigilante thing?'

Thorne reached for the coffee pot, poured himself another cup.

'This is something very personal. The man who's doing this isn't doing it for you or me…'

'Maybe,' Brigstocke said. 'But all the same, there will be people asking whether or not we should be grateful…'

The hotel manager walked through reception, talking quietly to a small group of guests in golfing gear. They stopped at the main doors and chatted some more. The manager shook their hands before watching the bemused golfers duck underneath the police tape and walk away, shaking their heads. It was a game Thorne had little time for, but he guessed they'd have something other than new cars and holidays to talk about on the first tee.

Brigstocke cleared his throat. 'Right. Forensics will be moving as quickly as they can, but while we're waiting, there's plenty we need to do…'

'We'll get nothing,' Thorne said. 'It's cleaner than the last place, but it's still a hotel room. They'll be gathering samples into next week.'

'We might get lucky,' Holland said.

'More chance of six numbers coming up Saturday night…'

Brigstocke tapped a spoon against his coffee cup. 'Let's cut the morale-building short for a minute, shall we? Talk about what we can do.'

Holland raised a hand. 'Sir. If I do get six numbers up on Saturday night, I'm officially requesting permission to resign from the case and fuck off to Rio de Janeiro with twin supermodels.' The few seconds of laughter did everybody good.

'I want to know exactly what Ian Welch has been doing since he came out,' Brigstocke said. 'Where he's been staying, who he's been seeing…'

Stone cut in. 'He came out NFA. The prison gave me the address of a hostel…'

Brigstocke nodded. 'Good, and you're going to be calling a lot more governors before we're finished. We'll need to contact every prison in the country housing sex-offenders, talk to anyone with an imminent release date. That's the easy bit. We're also going to trace every rapist, groper and flasher who's been released in the last six months. Check that none of them have received letters. Warn them in case they get any.'

'How many are we looking at?' Holland asked.

Brigstocke picked up a small pack of biscuits, sealed in plastic. He dangled it between two fingers. 'Based on the last set of Home Office stats, probably one serious sex offender is released somewhere in the country every day.' He tore open the packet with his teeth, spat out the plastic, looked at the faces of the other men around the table. 'I know. Frightening, isn't it? Just going back to the start of this year, we're going to be looking for something like a hundred and fifty offenders…'

Stone raised his eyebrows. 'Well, we should know where most of them are, in theory at least. Still might be a shitload of work, though.'

'Yes, it might be,' Brigstocke said.

'Are we going to be able to justify that? I mean, like you said, these aren't exactly innocent victims, are they?'

Brigstocke blinked, opened his mouth to shout. Thorne got in first.

'Not your worry, Andy.'

'I know. I was just saying…'

Thorne raised a hand. 'What we can't justify are bodies…'

They walked out to their cars. Brigstocke drifted away from the others towards his Volvo, took Thorne with him. He glanced towards Andy Stone.

'Have a Word…'

Thorne nodded. 'Well, he was making the same sort Of point you made yourself earlier. Remfry, Welch, doing what they did, being what they are. Some people might well think that…'

Brigstocke pressed the remote, deactivating the car alarm with a squawk. 'I'm not talking about what he said back there. I'm talking about the Gribbin business.'

Thorne had been waiting for this. He had known that Stone's behaviour during the raid was not just going to be forgotten. 'Right…'

'Don't worry, it's not going as far as the Funny Firm. All been put down to protecting the girl. Still, I want you to let him know he overstepped the mark.'

'Fair enough…'

Brigstocke got into the car, started the engine. He began to pull slowly away. 'Call me from the Wexham as soon as Phil's finished…'

Holland loped across the gravel as Thorne walked to the Corsa.

'You up for a drink later?'