After Brookes consented, Alice switched on the recorder and Gus continued the interview…
****
An hour later, suffering the effects of prolonged mask usage, Gus stormed back into the incident room, pulled his mask down to hang around his neck and looked at Carlton who had watched the interview with Miranda Brookes’ husband. ‘Well?’
Carlton, not usually one to be concise, surprised Gus. ‘Not a chance in hell that he did this. He’s not our man. I’d wager a doughnut on this … a Krispy Kreme one.’
Gus rolled his eyes, understanding the not-so-subtle hint that they were out of doughnuts and picked up his phone asking the duty officer to organise Sebastian Carlton’s sugar fix. It was easier than arguing with the man – besides, he did offer his services for free.
Throughout the rest of the afternoon, results from forensics and the interviews from the door-to-door enquiries filtered through. It was nearly five o’clock and Gus was getting frustrated at the lack of leads coming from the door-to-doors. Although he’d hoped for a different outcome, Gus wasn’t surprised to learn that the lavender candles were a popular brand, with thousands sold every day. It would be a thankless task, dredging through all the outlets that sold them, but it needed doing. Gus pitied the poor soul who was tasked by Alice to do this. Again as expected, the paper containing the nursery rhyme was bog-standard A4 office paper, which Gus decided not to follow up on, reckoning it would be a waste of resources that could be better used elsewhere. When they finally caught this sicko, they’d be able to spend time then with a narrower search parameter, matching the printer ink to an accessible printer carrying the same paper – but that was a job for later.
One bit of joy was that Compo had found that the sketch paper that the drawings were on, had elicited prints – none of which matched on IDENT1, still it was a valuable piece of evidence. Compo had also tracked the manufacturer of the paper to a firm in the Highlands of Scotland. Again, it was a popular brand, selling many sketchpads in the size of their sketch, and once again, it was circumstantial evidence that could be further explored later.
‘You know, it’s strange, don’t you think, that the killer left prints on the sketches, but none on the nursery rhyme paper or on any of the other ritual items.’
Gus turned to look at Carlton. The man was right, and Gus kicked himself for not realising it sooner. ‘What do you think it means?’
‘Too early to say.’ As if dismissing Gus, Carlton wandered over to the crime board, hands in his short’s pockets, socks pulled halfway up his shins. Somebody really needs to tell the man that that is not a good look. Immediately contrite for his malicious thought, Gus was about to turn away when Carlton spoke again. ‘Could we be talking two killers? Or one killer with an artistic accessory? Or perhaps he’s just a clever bastard leading us up the garden path.’
Gus digested Carlton’s observations, unsure which of the three scenarios made most sense. It was always harder for two people to gain access to a property – made them doubly visible. On the other hand, maybe one gained entry and then allowed the other access afterwards. ‘A man and woman? Two men? Two women?’
Gus’s tone expressed his disgust at their lack of concrete facts and Carlton responded soothingly. ‘Exactly – it could be any of the above, which is what makes me feel our chains are being well and truly yanked by this killer.’
Turning to the list of actions on the board, Gus saw a picture of their pulley had appeared next to it, with a printed list of its main distributers. He turned to Alice. ‘Any luck with the pulley?’
‘We’re working on it. The manufacturer produces millions of them every year, and we’re trying to get a list – shall I put that on hold too?’
Gus considered. ‘No, check out local outlets and get their records. Might as well start there and see if we get a hit. We might be lucky.’
With no warning, Compo jumped to his feet, raised both fisted hands in the air and did a sort of uncoordinated sideways shuffle on one leg. While Alice and Sebastian smirked, Gus glowered at his colleague and folded his arms across his chest. ‘This better be bloody good Compo, because you’ve built it up now.’
Compo grinned and ground to a halt right in front of Gus, enveloping him in the scent of bacon butty, the remnants of the ketchup that Compo had doused it in, rubbed into a splotch right on The Artist Formerly Known As Prince’s eye. ‘Picked up a fingerprint on the dressing table that doesn’t match either of the Brookes. And I got a hit on IDENT1.’
Compo began bouncing on his heels again and Gus wanted to reach out and grab his shoulders with both hands to stop him. Fortunately, Alice intervened. ‘Come on then, Comps, spit it out.’
‘It belongs to Jerry Jones.’
Gus glared at Compo. He recognised the name. It belonged to one of a pair of rough sleepers that Gus had befriended a few years previously. ‘Don’t be daft, Jerry can’t possibly be our killer – it’s just not possible. You must be wrong.’
But Compo was nodding, strongly resembling a nodding dog. ‘Yep, that’s what the science says, and you can’t question science – that right, Prof?’
Carlton frowned and, seeing his mentor’s expression, the smile faded from Compo’s face. Nibbling a loose bit of skin from his sun chapped lips, Carlton exhaled. ‘Well, Compo, I know I usually say that, but, occasionally – very occasionally – the science can be wrong.’
Compo pouted. ‘It’s not wrong, it’s here – look.’ He pushed the report towards Carlton, who smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I have absolutely no doubt that your data search was accurate or indeed that the
