Im afraid so, said Donnelly.
Roddis turned to Sean. Anything special you want from us?
No. Our moneys on a domestic, so stick to the basics. You can keep the expensive toys locked away.
Very well, Roddis replied. Blood, fibers, prints, hair, and semen it is.
Donnelly and Sean were already walking away. Sean called over his shoulder, Im briefing my team at eight A.M. Try to get me a preliminary report before then.
I might be able to phone something through to you. Will that do?
Fine, said Sean. Right now he would take anything offered.
It was shortly before 8 A.M. and Sean sat alone in his bleak, functional office in the Peckham police station, surrounded by the same cheap wooden furniture that adorned each and every police building across London. The office was just about big enough to house two four-foot battered oblong desks and an extra two uncomfortable chairs for the frequent visitors. Two ancient-looking computers sat, one on each desk, enabling him to view different inquiries at the same time, and the harsh fluorescent lights above painted everything a dull yellow. How he envied those TV detectives with their leather swivel chairs, banks of all-seeing, all-dancing computers, and most of all the Jasper Conran reading lamps slung low over shining glass desks. Reality was mundane and functional.
Sean thought about the victim. What sort of person had he been? Was he loved? Would he be missed? He would find out soon enough. The phone rang and made him jump.
DI Corrigan. He rarely wasted words on the phone. Years of speaking into radios had trimmed his speech.
Mr. Corrigan, its DS Roddis. You wanted an update for your briefing? Roddis didnt recognize any ranks above his own, but his powerful position meant he was never challenged by his seniors. He decided the forensic resources assigned to each case, and it was he who knew the right people at the right laboratories across the southeast who could get the job done. Everybody, regardless of rank, respected his monopoly.
Thanks for calling. Whatve you got for me?
Well, its early days.
Sean knew the lab team would have done little more than get organized. I appreciate that, but Id like whatever youve got.
Very well. Weve had a cursory look around. The entry and exit point is surprisingly clean, given the nature of the attack. And the hallway was clean too. Perhaps well find something when we get better lighting and some UV lamps. Other than that, nothing definite yet. The blood spray marks on the walls and furniture have me a little confused.
Confused? Sean asked.
Having seen the victims wounds, Im pretty sure the blow to the head all but killed him, and it certainly knocked him down. I have a blood spray pattern on a wall that would be consistent with a blow to his head with a heavy object.
So whats the problem?
If the victim was prostrate when the other injuries were inflicted, then I would only expect to find small, localized sprays, but Ive got numerous others, over the carpet, broken furniture, up the walls. Theyre not consistent with his wounds.
Then he must have other wounds we havent seen yet, Sean suggested. Or maybe the blood is from the attacker?
Possibly. Roddis sounded unconvinced. No obvious murder weapon yet, he continued, but it will probably turn up when we get into the search properly.
Anything else? Sean asked, in hope more than expectation.
Theres plenty of documentation: address books, diaries, bank books, and so on. It shouldnt be too hard to confirm the victims identity. Thats it so far.
Sean may not have particularly liked Roddis, but he valued his professionalism. Thanks. Itll be a help in the briefing. Might keep the team awake. He hung up.
Reclining in his chair, Sean stared at the lukewarm cup of coffee on his desk. What would it mean if the splash patterns didnt match the wounds on the victim? Had the killer been badly injured himself and the blood sprays came from his wounds? He doubted it, especially if Roddis was right about the victim being all but taken out with the first blow to the head. And if he was knocked down with the first blow, then what the hell were the other injuries about? The answers would come, he reassured himself. Wait for the full forensic examination of the scene, the postmortem of the victim. The answers would come. They always did.
He stood and looked out of his window down at the station parking lot. He saw DS Sally Jones outside furiously smoking a cigarette, laughing and joking with a couple of girls from the typing pool.
He watched her, admiring her. A five-foot-three bundle of energy. He thought she had a good pair of legs, but she carried too much weight up top for his taste. He tried to remember if he had ever seen her fair hair not tied back in a ponytail.
He loved her ability to connect with people. She could talk to anyone and make them feel that she was their best friend in the world, and so Sean sometimes used her to do the things he would find impossible to do well. Speaking with grieving parents. Telling a husband his wife had been raped and murdered in their own home. Sean had watched in awe as Sally told people unthinkable things and then half an hour later she would be laughing and joking, puffing on a cigarette, chatting with whoever was close enough. She was tough. Tougher than he would ever be. He smiled as he watched her.
Sean wondered why she was still alone. He couldnt imagine doing this job and then going home to an empty house. Sally told him she was clearly too much for any man to handle. He had often tried to sense some sorrow in her. Some loneliness. He never could.
He checked the time. She was going to be late for the briefing. He could call out the window and warn her, but he decided it would be more fun to leave it.
He walked the short distance along the busy, brightly lit corridor: doors on both sides; old and new posters pinned and stuck to the walls, uniformly ignored by passersby all too single-mindedly trying to get to wherever they were going to stop and take notice of someone elses appeals for assistance. He reached the briefing room and entered. His team continued to chatter away among themselves. A couple of them, including Donnelly, mouthed a greeting. He nodded back.
The team was relatively small. Two detective sergeants-Sally and Donnelly-and ten detective constables. Sean sat in his usual chair at the head of a rectangular wooden table, the cheapest money could buy. He dropped his mobile phone and notebook in front of him and looked around, making sure everyone was there. He nodded to Donnelly, who understood the cue. Theyd been working with each other long enough to be able to communicate without the need for words.
All right, people, listen up. The guvnor wants to speak and weve got a lot to get through, so lets park our arses and crack on. The murmuring faded as the team began to sit and concentrate on Sean.
Detective Constable Zukov spoke. Dyou want me to grab DS Jones, boss? I think shes having a smoke in the yard.
No. Dont bother, Sean told him. Shell be here soon enough.
The room fell silent, Sean looking at Donnelly with a slight grin on his face. They both turned to the briefing room door just as DS Sally Jones came bursting in. There was a low hum of stifled laughter.
Shit. Sorry Im late, guv. The hum of low laughter grew. Sally swatted Zukov across the head as she walked past. He threw his hands up in protest. I told you to come and get me, Paulo. The constable didnt answer, but the smile on his face said everything.
Sean joined in. Afternoon, Sally. Thanks for joining us.
Its a pleasure, sir.
As Im sure youve all worked out, weve picked up another murder. Some of the team groaned.
Sally spoke up. Were only in summer and already weve had sixteen murders on this team alone. Eight still need preparing for court. Whos going to put those court presentations together if were constantly being dumped on? There was a rumble of approval around the room.
No point in moaning, Sean told them. All the other teams are just as busy as we are, so we get this one. As youre all no doubt aware, we dont have a live investigation running, so were the obvious choice.
Sean was prepared for the grumbling. Police officers always grumbled. They were either moaning about being too busy or they were moaning about not earning enough overtime. It was a fact of life with police.
He continued. Okay, this is the job. What we know so far is that our victim was beaten and stabbed to death. At this time we believe the victim is Daniel Graydon, the occupier of the flat where were pretty certain the crime took place. But his facial injuries are severe, so visual identification has yet to be confirmed. We are treating the flat as our primary crime scene. Dave and I have already had a look around and its not pretty. The victim would appear to have been hit on the head with a heavy object, and that may well have been the critical injury, although well have to wait for the autopsy to confirm that. The stab wounds are numerous and spread across a wide area. This was a vicious, brutal attack.
Sean was prepared for the grumbling. Police officers always grumbled. They were either moaning about being too busy or they were moaning about not earning enough overtime. It was a fact of life with police.
He continued. Okay, this is the job. What we know so far is that our victim was beaten and stabbed to death. At this time we believe the victim is Daniel Graydon, the occupier of the flat where were pretty certain the crime took place. But his facial injuries are severe, so visual identification has yet to be confirmed. We are treating the flat as our primary crime scene. Dave and I have already had a look around and its not pretty. The victim would appear to have been hit on the head with a heavy object, and that may well have been the critical injury, although well have to wait for the autopsy to confirm that. The stab wounds are numerous and spread across a wide area. This was a vicious, brutal attack.
It is suspected the victim may be gay, and the early theory is that it was probably a domestic. If thats the case, then the killer himself could be hurt. Were already checking the hospitals and custody suites on the off chance he was picked up for something else after fleeing the scene. I dont want this to get complicated, so lets keep it simple. A nice, neat, join-the-dots investigation will do me fine.