Youre not, he assured her in his most cheerful tone his smile friendly, but his eyes serious and flirtatious. Itll be my pleasure. He felt her slipping away. You know what? he said, trying to sound genuinely excited. I just remembered: we have some really nice tables in the storeroom. Theyre old stock, due to be taken away, but theyre great tables. If you wanted one of them, I could do you a really great price and deliver today. I could even drop it round myself. He gave her a few seconds to understand what he was really saying. Got to be worth a look dont you think?
He watched her lips her pupils the tone of her skin the pulse quickening in her neck everything. If she went for it within the next few minutes hed have both her trust and her address. Maybe he would indulge in a brief affair with her until the time came to slit her throat. He watched her mouth begin to open as the answer formed, but it wasnt her voice that he heard it was the all too familiar voice of his area manager.
David, she ambushed him, making him curse himself for having not kept an eye on the shop entrance. A word please. Her voice was sharp, as if she was scolding an unruly dog.
He took a step back, before recovering from the surprise and answering, Of course. Turning to the customer, he apologized: Sorry to keep you I wont be a minute.
The area manager had set off towards the far corner of the shop, indicating she wanted privacy. Where she was concerned, this was never a good thing. Reluctantly, he followed.
Jane Huntingdon was younger than him, but had been an area manager for more than a year and was clearly destined for higher things. Hed wanted the job she now had, but the company passed him over in favour of her. A clear signal he would never progress and would do well to hold on to what he had. In so many ways she looked and sounded like the customer hed been trying to seduce, only she was formally dressed and had short blond hair.
What the hell are you doing, David? she demanded, her eyes looking over his shoulder at the customer. Havent you learnt anything?
I was trying to sell her a coffee table, he lied. That is my job.
Bollocks, she cut him down. I heard you offering to personally deliver to her home. I know what you were trying to do.
I was trying to make a sale, he insisted.
Youre a salesman, not a delivery driver.
Store manager, he told her. Im a store manager not a salesman.
I dont care what you call yourself, she replied. What I care about is your conduct while youre at work. Jesus, if its not female staff members, its female customers.
Im a single man, he tried to argue. I can do what I like.
Maybe if youd changed your behaviour, you wouldnt be single, she told him.
He knew what she was getting at. You have no business bringing my wife and children into this, he warned her. That has nothing to do with you.
Look, she relented somewhat, holding her hands up. That wasnt my intention. Youre right: youre a single man and you can do as you like but not here. Not in the store. This is not your private pulling place. Its work. You understand? He said nothing, merely stared blankly into her blue eyes. After your last transgression, you cant afford any more mistakes. Still he didnt answer. Listen, David, Ive fought for you more than once at central office. There are others whod gladly see the back of you, but you do a decent job here and I believe everyone deserves a second chance. Dont blow it thats all. Do you hear me, David?
Again he didnt answer. He didnt trust himself to speak, not while his mind was flooded with images of the blood flowing from her neck, images of cutting and pulling the teeth from her pretty mouth. It took an act of will to remind himself that killing her would have too much of an element of vengeance. His work was about so much more than petty human emotions no matter how extraordinary her warm, viscous blood would feel as it covered his hands.
Do you hear me, David? she repeated, her voice raised.
I hear you, he managed to answer, pulling himself back into the world. I hear you.
Good, she said. Ill check back with you later in the week. In the meantime, make sure you keep your social life and work life separate. OK?
Fine, he replied, managing to fake a slight smile. It wont happen again.
She dismissed him with a shake of her head. Ill see you later, she said, and headed for the exit watched all the way by Langley as he studied every inch of her body.
When she was gone he spun around, hoping to find the customer and pick up where hed left off, salvage something from the day. The store was empty; she was gone. Fuck, he swore under his breath as the anger swelled, making his head hurt. He needed something. He needed something soon. Something to allow the thoughts in his head to become reality instead of beautiful images of what could be. He needed to feel skin and flesh in his hands as a sculptor needs to feel wet clay. Needed to feel blood run between his fingers as an artist needs to feel paint. He needed another victim.
Donnelly stirred late his eyes flickering open, then closing again as they registered the grey winter light seeping in through the windows. Through the fog of the previous nights drinking he began to realize he was not alone in his bedroom and that it was his wife whod opened the curtains and was now talking to him. Though he couldnt yet make out what she was saying, he could tell from her tone that she was lecturing him. Slowly her words came into focus.
Dave, she pleaded. Youve got to get up. Youre late for work.
Jesus, Karen, he complained. What time is it anyway?
Getting on for nine oclock. Ive got to get Josh to school. The others have taken themselves off. Christ, she moaned as she got closer to him. You stink of booze. Where were you last night?
Eh? he bought himself some thinking time. Just had a few beers with the boys, he lied. In fact hed remained drinking in the Lord Clyde until it came time to head off for London Bridge Station stopping at the Barrow Boy and Banker en route for a couple of scotches then catching a train home, only to stop at his favourite pub in Swanley, Kent, for more shots. By the time he got home it was all he could do to walk. We picked up a new case, he elaborated on his lie. Looks like a bad one. Thought wed grab a few while we had the chance.
Looks like you had a few too many, she pointed out. Whats happened to you lately? she asked. You always used to be up with the birds. Now you struggle to get up at all. You sure youre OK, love?
Aye, he tried to laugh it off. I told you. Just not as young as I used to be, eh?
Maybe you should lay off the booze for a bit, she suggested.
Aye, he played along. Maybe.
Right, she announced. Im officially out of time. Ive got to go. Fix yourself something to eat and get cleaned up, she ordered. And then take yourself off to work or Corrigan will have your head.
Dont worry about Corrigan, he tried to reassure her. He needs me more than I need him.
Not like this, he doesnt, she warned him. Weve been married a long time and if theres one thing youve taught me about the police its that no one is indispensable not even you. Plenty more detective sergeants in the sea, I should imagine. Ill see you later.
Not like this, he doesnt, she warned him. Weve been married a long time and if theres one thing youve taught me about the police its that no one is indispensable not even you. Plenty more detective sergeants in the sea, I should imagine. Ill see you later.
Donnelly grunted a reply as he watched her stride from the bedroom. For a second he considered going back to sleep, but knew if he did hed be out for hours. Instead he forced himself to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing and groaning with every movement. He rubbed his face with both hands, feeling the stubble Jesus, he complained and stood on unsteady feet, the nausea of the morning after the night before taking its revenge.
He headed downstairs in his old T-shirt and boxer shorts, flicked the kettle on and thought about eating something to counteract the lingering effects of the alcohol, but couldnt stomach the idea of food. A wave of nausea hit him and made him close his eyes, but the darkness allowed images to invade his mind images of bullets ripping through Jeremy Goldsboro, pinning him to the side of the van until he slid to the floor spitting blood. Donnelly snapped his eyes open. Fuck, he cursed his own memories. Leave me alone, he found himself pleading. Leave me alone.
He checked his watch and winced at the time. His mobile would soon be ringing with people wondering where the hell he was. He needed to get straight and he needed to do it quickly, but he couldnt eat and coffee alone only intensified the tremors in his hands. His eyes wandered to the kitchen cupboard where the spirits were kept a cupboard that until recently had rarely been disturbed other than at Christmas. He told himself it was self-medication, safer than antidepressants, but in his heart he knew what he was becoming. He opened the cupboard looking for the vodka much harder to smell on the breath than scotch. A shot or two of the clear, oily liquid and hed be good for a few hours. Even with a few drinks on board, he could do his job better than most. Mouthwash and mints would disguise the truth well enough until he could find a reason to be out on enquiries and head off to a pub close to his home. But this wasnt going to be another routine day helping other teams and units with their enquiries; this was a new murder investigation, so the pressure would be on and people would expect him to be visible and vocal the old Dave Donnelly.
Shit, he cursed and reached for the vodka, his fingers connecting with the glass of the bottle then recoiling the magnitude of what it meant cutting through his clouded mind. The last time hed taken a drink first thing in the morning had been a stag do over twenty years ago. This was different. This would mean losing himself possibly forever. No, he told the room, and shut the cupboard door. No.
Sean walked along the sterile corridor that led to the morgue at Guys Hospital. It wasnt an easy place to find, hidden away from the main hospital complex, out of sight from the public and staff alike neither of whom wanted to be reminded of the grimmest possible outcome for a loved one or a patient. But he knew the route well, having walked it many times in the past. He paused for a few seconds outside the large rubber doors at the entrance, took a deep breath, then entered.
Inside the morgue, six sparkling metal trollies were lined up in two banks of three. Two had bodies on them, hidden under clean, pressed, green hospital sheets, whereas the others were empty. Only two sudden deaths today for Dr Canning to explain. People who died of obvious natural causes, the old or terminally ill, were not deemed suitable for his special attention. Sean saw Canning hunched over the naked body of a young white male, his face close to the dead mans skin. Satisfied, he straightened up and began to scribble notes on the pad held in his hand.
Sean recognized the corpse, though as ever it looked different from the crime scene photographs less garish and vivid, and somehow less real. Like a yellowish, rubber imitation of a real, living person.
I see youve met William Dalton? he asked loudly enough to distract Canning from his examination.
Indeed, Canning answered, glancing up from his notes. I heard this one was yours.
Yes, it was passed to SIU because of the probable link to another murder.
Tanya Richards, Canning confirmed. Ive read the file, but havent seen the body. She hasnt been buried yet, so I should be able to take a look before she heads off to a better place. In the meantime, you certainly have an interesting one here. A rather unfortunate end for a rather unfortunate young man.
Yes, Sean agreed. Yes, it was.
They both remained silent for a few seconds, paying their last respects to the victim. Then all emotions were set aside in order to find the evidence that would catch and convict his killer.
What have we got so far? Sean asked.
What we have so far is unusual and rare. Most of the dead Ive seen with their throats cut were victims of organized crime. South American drug gangs are particularly fond of cutting throats, but its rare in this country. I cant remember ever seeing it in a domestic murder scenario or anything of that nature.
Its too cold for that, Sean told him. Domestic murders are hate-driven or anger-driven, which means uncontrolled stabbing, or strangulation, but slitting a throat is cold and precise. Not an act of anger. Not rage, or at least not as we know it. But its not gang stuff either. Something else.
Interesting, Canning said. And the removal of the teeth also something Ive only ever seen in gang-related deaths. West African, usually. Bit of a habit from the old country they brought over here with them: if someones double-crossed you or stolen from you, punish them by taking their teeth and use the gold ones to settle the debt.
Nice, Sean winced.
But I fear thats not what we have here, Canning said.
No. I doubt William Dalton had any gold teeth.
Im sure youll check with his dentist anyway? Canning grinned.
Naturally, Sean admitted, allowing himself the briefest of smiles. And the removal of fingernails, he brought things back to the grim reality in front of them. First time Ive seen that.
Same here, Canning told him, tilting his head to study the dead mans hands. Judging by the fraying of the soft tissue that attaches the nail to the finger, its clear the nails were pulled off as opposed to being cut away. Most likely used a pair of pliers no doubt the same pair he used to extract some of the teeth, although there are also clear signs of a bladed instrument being used to cut away sections of the gums to make extraction easier. Canning moved to the victims head and opened the mouth to better show Sean the internal wounds. Do you see?
Sean moved in closer, unclipping the small torch from his belt and shining the beam of light into the unholy sight that was now William Daltons mouth. Deep cuts to swollen gums and gaping holes marked the places where hed once had teeth. I see, he said, and clicked off the torch.
Clearly, your killer isnt the squeamish type.
Psychopaths rarely are, Sean reminded him.
I suppose not. You think he might have some link to dentistry? Even for a psychopath, the removal of healthy teeth isnt easy to accomplish either physically or mentally.
I dont think so, Sean answered. Perhaps if hed only taken the teeth Id consider it more likely, but with him taking the fingernails as well