'Look, I don't know what the hell is going on, right?' snapped Gregson as the lift bumped to a halt at their floor. He stepped inside. 'All I know is there's something fucking weird happening.'
'Ten out of ten for observation, Frank,' said Finn, smiling thinly. 'I think I'd have to agree with you there.'
Gregson glared at his companion.
'If you've got something on your mind you should tell me,' the DS said irritably.
'I'll tell you what's on my mind. That you should go home now and leave me to check a few things out. Got it?'
'Like what?'
'Go home, Stuart. Leave it to me. If it checks out then I'll tell you. If it doesn't, it's only my time that's been wasted, right?'
'We're supposed to be working together on this,' Finn reminded him.
The lift came to a halt and the doors slid open but Finn shot out a hand and closed them once more, his finger pressed on the 'DOOR CLOSE' button.
'What the fuck are you doing?' snapped Gregson.
'Level with me, Frank. Tell me what you're thinking,' the DS said, looking his partner in the eye.
Gregson looked down at Finn's hand, his finger still on the button.
'I'm thinking that if you don't move your fucking arm I'm going to break it,' he hissed.
Finn released the button and the doors slid open. Gregson stepped out, looking back at his partner.
'Leave this to me for the time being,' he said. Then, as the doors slid shut, he turned and walked away.
***
The MO was the same.
Gregson had known it from the first time he'd seen Paula Wilson's body.
Now he was sure.
Multiple stab wounds, no rape, but the vagina of the victim stuffed with rubbish.
He flipped through the file before him, checking the photos, comparing them to those he had of Paula Wilson. The photos in the file were eighteen months old.
Three different girls, but each one had been killed the same way. Each one had been mutilated, each one had been defiled.
Gregson ran a hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. He reached for his mug of coffee and took a sip, wincing when it was cold on his lips and tongue. He put the mug down, his gaze skipping over the pictures laid out before him.
Three girls, murdered eighteen months ago. Stabbed and beaten, their vaginas stuffed with rubbish.
And now, four hours ago, Paula Wilson, stabbed and beaten, her vagina stuffed with rubbish.
The DI reached for his phone, picked it up and jabbed the extension number for the Records Office. He waited as the phone rang.
Waited.
Finally it was picked up and he heard Steve Houghton's voice.
Gregson didn't bother to announce himself.
'Steve, have you got a file down there on a bloke called Mathew Bryce?' he said, drumming his fingertips on his desk.
Houghton said that he had.
'When you've got a minute, I'd like to see it,' the DI told him.
***
It was there again.
He'd found it in more or less the same place as before. Removed it from the shattered, burned remains of the second killer's head.
Barclay looked at the blackened piece of matter in the dish; it was smaller than his thumb nail. Next to it was the portion of the mysterious substance he'd taken from the first body.
Both were blackened by the fire, both melted.
He frowned as he prodded first one, then the other with the end of his pen.
Analysis of the two pieces had shown that they were indeed composed of plastic and a number of other elements. Silicon had been found in both.
He exhaled deeply, wondering if he should include this piece of knowledge in his report, wondering if he should mention his findings to Gregson. He decided to withhold the information for the time being. Until he knew more. Until he had some idea, however vague, what these strange, melted objects were.
So far, he was clueless. And that worried him.
THIRTY-FIVE
'I think we've got trouble.'
The door to Jim Scott's office had been flung open without a knock and Zena Murray was standing before him, her face pale.
'What sort of trouble?' he asked, getting to his feet and following her out of the office.
'Two fucking drunks,' she said, her tone a mixture of annoyance and anxiety.
'Where the fuck is Rick?' Scott demanded. 'He's paid to keep things running smoothly. What kind of bouncer is he?'
'Rick's watching them but they've got some friends with them, too.'
Scott nodded and followed Zena out into the main floorshow area of 'Loveshow'.
He glanced across at the bed and saw Carol lying on it, her basque open to reveal her breasts, her tiny G- string barely concealing the tight curls of her pubic bush. On either side of the bed the seats were full.
He counted five men, all in their thirties, watching the tableau before them.
Close by him Rick Calder leant against the wall, hands dug in the pockets of his jeans.
Scott jerked his head towards the bouncer, a gesture designed to bring him closer. When Scott spoke he had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the loud music accompanying Carol's act.
Calder, a couple of years younger than Scott, kept his eyes on the five men as he listened.
'What's going on?' Scott shouted.
'Those fuckers over there,' Calder said, nodding in their direction. 'A couple of them are pissed.'
'Then why the hell did you let them in in the first place?' Scott demanded.
'I was having a squirt. I didn't see them come in,' Calder said defensively.
One of the men was on his feet, swaying in time to the music and also to Carol's gyrations on the bed. He took a stumbling step towards her, then seemed to sway and fall backwards into his chair. The other men laughed.
Scott looked on, his eyes blazing.
Carol continued with her act, trying to ignore the men close by.
'Show us everything,' shouted one of the men, his voice audible even above the thunderous music.
'Show us your cunt,' another called.
