Pushing through the double doors she followed her partner into the Dungeon: metal slabs lined the floor, only two in use for Michael and Harriet Fuller, thin plastic sheets covering their departed modesty. The ancient brickwork of the room curved above them in graceful reinforced arches, modernisation and dim florescent tubing having done little to tone down the room’s morbid depth.
Charles Kilroy was writing a toe-tag at his desk when he realised he wasn’t alone. He looked up, a huge beam splashed across his face.
‘Nicolas, my boy,’ he sang, ‘how are you? And Holly, my-oh-my, look at that face. I swear you get younger every time I see you.’
Kilroy climbed to his feet, white lab coat covering one of his trademark ill-fitting suits, and limped towards them. Nobody quite knew why the aging pathologist walked with a limp, or how old he actually was. Nobody ever asked. Newport had him pegged for somewhere between fifty-five and a hundred and five, and yet his tidal wave of silver hair helped him maintain an almost handsome edge. He hadn’t bothered to wage war with the indifference of time, graceful was his way. But one thing that was certain about the man was his utter charm. Never married, most officers in the building believed him an inveterate womaniser. It was an easy rumour to accept.
‘You don’t look well, Nicolas, my boy,’ said Kilroy sporting a paternal frown. ‘Have you been sleeping?’
Newport glanced down.
‘I’m fine, Charles, really.’
‘And how about you, Holly?’ the pathologist asked, redirecting his attention. ‘My word, if only I was younger. You really are quite lovely, aren’t you?’
Newport couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m very well, Charles, thank you. Which is more than can be said for these two.’
The three of them moved over to the steel slabs.
‘You’re right about that, my love,’ Kilroy agreed. ‘These two were dealt the Devil’s hand, no question.’
‘They were playing the Devil’s game, it’s what happens.’
‘Yes indeed.’
York had fallen silent. Newport took the lead. ‘So what can you tell us about them?’
‘Actually I can tell you very little you won’t already have guessed.’ He pulled the sheet back exposing Harriet Fuller’s naked torso, a fatal black abyss where her heart should’ve been. ‘I ran the tissue comparison on the two hearts, and they do indeed belong to our two vics, no doubt about it. What worried me were the teeth imprints.’
‘What about them?’ York muttered.
Kilroy looked back to York. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Nicolas? You look positively awful.’
Newport turned to her partner. The doctor was right, he’d turned bed linen pale, his face moist and clammy.
‘I said I’m fine!’ he snapped. ‘Why does everybody keep asking me that?’
‘I’m just concerned, my boy.’
‘Can we just crack on? Thank you,’ York said firmly. ‘How were they subdued? Can’t be easy to incapacitate two targets at once.’
‘Agreed,’ Kilroy acknowledged. ‘But there was nothing in the bloodstream of either of them, no toxins whatsoever. My guess is they were chloroformed. Heavy anaesthetic. If you apply enough to the facial orifices, you’ll down an elephant.’
‘What about sexual abuse?’ asked Newport.
‘Nope, nothing. I checked the walls of the female’s vagina, and the anus of both vics, and there’s no evidence of tearing or forced entry anywhere.’
‘So we’re back to basics. What were you saying about the teeth imprints?’
‘Well…’ Kilroy hesitated.
‘Charles, what is it?’ Newport pressed.
‘It’s quite disturbing, but the teeth marks are human. I ran it twice, there’s no question. I sent it off to the lab for the boys to make a mode-imprint. Hopefully we'll get a dental match.’
Unexpectedly York stumbled backwards, falling against Michael Fuller’s cadaver.
‘Guv?’ mouthed Newport. Running to her partner’s aid, she pushed her weight under him. He was too heavy and he was going over one way or another. He looked gonzoed, totally out of it.
‘Jesus Christ, Charles, help me!’
Charles came limping hurriedly around Harriet Fuller’s block, but it was too late. Newport danced out of harm’s way, and York went down like a sack of potatoes.
25
‘Where the hell is York?’ Mason growled.
Standing with her arms folded to the rear of the briefing room, Newport shrugged. ‘Don’t know what happened, guv. He just collapsed.’
Mason rubbed her eyes. ‘For the love of..! Where is he now?’
‘Left him in the Dungeon with Kilroy. Said he’d take care of him.’
‘Kilroy specialises in corpses, Holly. Are you sure your partner was still breathing?’
‘He’s still breathing,’ she confirmed.
‘Good, you can brief him later, presuming he’s still alive. Moving on. Will Graham and CSU are still on scene, we’re waiting for their report to come in. The girl’s body has been cleared by the coroner and is on its way to the Dungeon. We’ll know more once Charles has had a look at her. Holly, without me reading the official autopsy report, what can you tell us about Michael and Harriet Fuller?’
Stepping up to the table Newport reeled off everything Charles Kilroy had said, right down to the human teeth marks in Harriet Fuller’s heart.
Jonathan Wheeler physically shuddered. On the opposite side of the table was the station newbie, Tony Braddock, a criminal psychologist transferred in from MI5. Mid-forties and more serious looking than a dose of Hep B, the man never flinched. ‘Kilroy said with confidence that the MO is not sexual?’
‘There’s no evidence to suggest it, Newport confirmed.’
Mason nodded. ‘Then until we know more, we have to assume the new vic will be consistent. Jonathan, what about you?’
The large man rose to his feet and slid the plastic evidence bag into the centre of the table, a small voice recorder sealed tightly inside. ‘York was right, the recorder was in the light fixture.’
‘And?’ pushed Mason.
‘Again there wasn’t much to clear up, the recording is impeccable.’
