leather from the sleeve until I was satisfied that I’d got something that could have been snagged on a nail or the sharp corner of a lock. I tucked the scrap in a drawer, then I chopped the rest of the jacket into shreds, stuck it in a plastic bag with eggshells and vegetable peelings, and drove into town until I found a skip to dump it in. By the time I needed to use the red herring, the remains of the jacket would be long buried in some anonymous landfill.
I couldn’t help feeling a thrill at the thought of how many man-hours the police would waste trying to track down where this strange little piece of leather had come from, but they’d never tie it in to me. Apart from anything else, no one in Bradfield has ever seen me wear it.
This time, the publicity outshone everything I’d achieved so far. At last, the police admitted that one mind was behind all four killings. Finally, they had realized it was time to take me seriously.
With Damien off the planet and in my computer, I still had one more person to deal with before I could return to my original project. I couldn’t settle to the task of finding a man worthy of me, a man to share my life as an equal and respectful partner, not until I had punished the man who had publicly treated me with such contempt.
Dr Tony Hill, the fool who hadn’t even realized that Gareth Finnegan was one of my bodies, was the target. He had insulted me. He had poured scorn on me, refusing to acknowledge the extent of my achievements. He had no idea of the calibre of the mind he was up against. He was going to have to pay for his arrogance.
I couldn’t help but see his disposal as a challenge. Wouldn’t anyone?
15
Can they not keep to the old honest way of cutting throats, without introducing such abominable innovations…?
The sound of a roaring crowd greeted Carol as she closed the door of the flat behind her. Michael, sprawled on one of the sofas, didn’t even take his eyes off the rugby match on the television. ‘Hi, sis,’ he said. ‘Needle match. Ten minutes, and I’m all yours.’
Carol glanced at the screen where muddy giants in England and Scotland’s colours were sprawled across the turf in a collapsed scrum. ‘Very hi-tech,’ she muttered. ‘I need a shower.’
Fifteen minutes later, brother and sister were sharing a celebratory bottle of cava. ‘I have some print-out for you,’ Michael said.
Carol perked up. ‘Anything significant?’
Michael shrugged. ‘I don’t know what’s significant to you. Your killer used five different-shaped objects to make the marks. I separated them out into five separate patterns. You’ve got what looks like a heart and some rudimentary letters. A, D, G and P. Mean anything to you?’
Carol shivered involuntarily. ‘Oh, yes. Plenty. You got the print-out here?’
Michael nodded. ‘It’s in my briefcase.’
‘I’ll look at it in a bit. Meanwhile, can I pick your brains again?’
Michael drained his glass and refilled it. ‘I don’t know. Can you afford me?’
‘Dinner, bed and breakfast at the country-house hotel of your choice, first weekend I have off,’ Carol offered.
Michael pulled a face. ‘At this rate, I could be collecting my pension before I collect on that one. How about you do my ironing for a month?’
‘A fortnight.’
‘Three weeks.’
‘Consider it a done deal.’ She offered her hand and Michael shook it.
‘So, what do you want to know, sis?’
Carol outlined her theory about the computer manipulation of the killer’s videos. ‘What do you think?’ she asked anxiously.
‘It’s a can-do,’ he said. ‘No question about that. The technology’s available, and it’s not difficult software to use. I could do it standing on my head. But you’re talking serious money. Say three hundred for a video capture card, four hundred for a ReelMagic card, another three to five for a decent video digitizer, plus at least a grand for a state-of-the-art scanner. The real killer is the software, though. There’s only one package that will do what you’re talking about to any real quality. Vicom 3D Commander. We’ve got it, and it set us back nearly four grand, and that was six months ago. The last upgrade cost us another eight hundred. Manual thick as a house brick.’
‘So it’s not a piece of software that many people would have?’
Michael snorted. ‘Damn right it isn’t. It’s a serious bit of kit, that. Professionals like us, video production studios and very serious hobbyists only.’
‘How readily available is it? Could you buy it over the counter?’ Carol asked.
‘Not really. We dealt directly with Vicom, because we wanted them to run us a full demo before we committed ourselves to laying out that much dosh. Obviously, some specialist business suppliers sell it, but they wouldn’t be shifting it in bulk. That would be mail order, anyway. Most computer stuff is.’
‘The other stuff you mentioned – are they things that lots of people would have?’ Carol asked.
‘They’re not uncommon. Off the top of my head, say two or three per cent market penetration on the video stuff, maybe fifteen per cent on the scanner. But if you’re thinking of tracking down your man, I’d start with the Vicom end,’ Michael advised.
‘How do you think they’d be about letting us look at their sales records?’
Michael pulled a face. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. You’re not a competitor, and this is a murder investigation. You never know, they might be happy to cooperate. After all, if this guy is using their stuff, it’d be bad PR if they didn’t. I can dig out the name of the guy we dealt with. He was their sales director. Scottish bloke. One of those names you can’t tell which is the Christian name. You know, Grant Cameron, Campbell Elliott… It’ll come to me…’
While Michael searched through his contacts book, Carol refilled her glass and savoured the prickle of bubbles against her palate. Lately, pleasure seemed to have been in short supply. But if she could come up with some leads on her theory, all of that might change.
‘Got it!’ Michael exclaimed. ‘Fraser Duncan. Give him a ring Monday morning and mention my name. Time you got a break, sis.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Carol said with feeling. ‘Believe me, I deserve it.’
Kevin Matthews lay sprawled across the rumpled kingsized bed, smiling up at the woman straddling him. ‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘That was a bit nice.’
‘Better than home cooking,’ Penny Burgess said, running her fingers through the dark auburn hair that curled across Kevin’s chest.
Kevin chuckled. ‘Just a bit.’ He reached for the remains of the hefty vodka and coke Penny had poured for him earlier.
‘I’m surprised you could get away tonight,’ Penny said, moving forward languidly so her nipples brushed his.
‘We’ve had so much overtime lately she’s given up expecting me home for anything except for a bit of kip.’
Penny let her upper body fall heavily on Kevin, thrusting the breath out of his body. ‘I didn’t mean Lynn,’ she said, ‘I meant work.’
Kevin grabbed her wrists and wrestled her off him. When they subsided, lying side by side, giggling breathlessly, he finally said, ‘There wasn’t much to do, tell you the truth.’
Penny snorted incredulously. ‘Oh yeah? Last night Carol Jordan finds body number five, the suspect is arrested trying to leave the country and you tell me there’s nothing much doing? Come on, Kevin, this is me you’re talking to.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong, darling,’ Kevin said magnanimously. ‘You and all the rest of your media cronies.’ It wasn’t often he got the chance to put Penny right and he intended to make the most of it.
‘What do you mean?’ Penny propped herself up on one elbow, unconsciously covering her body with the duvet. This wasn’t a bit of fun any more; this was work.
‘Number one. The body Carol found last night wasn’t one of the serial killer’s victims. It was a copycat job.
