The hair on the back and side of the head was matted with blood-it looked sticky. Sean could clearly see the gashes in the side of the head and the small stab marks all over the naked body.
Seventy-seven, Canning told him.
Sean realized he was being spoken to. He glanced up at the doctor. Sorry?
Separate stab wounds. Seventy-seven in total. None in the back of the body. All in the front. Made by some form of stiletto knife, or an ice pick, but its the first blow to the head that killed him. Eventually.
Dr. Canning pointed to the head wound. Sean forced himself to lean closer to the body. One can see the ear is missing. Not cut off, but more a case of the victim being hit so hard that whatever he was hit with crushed the skull and still had enough energy to tear the ear away as the swing of the object carried through.
Nice was all Sean said.
And the victim was on his knees when the first blow was struck, the doctor continued. We can see the cut to the scalp is angled downward, not upward. The killer swung low, not high.
Or he was hit from behind? Sean offered.
No, Canning told him. He fell backward, not forward. Look at the stains from the flow of blood. They run to the back of the head, not toward the face.
He looked at the detectives, making sure they were concentrating on what he was saying and not what they were seeing. He had their attention.
But thats all straightforward. The interesting thing is the angle of the stab wounds. Bearing in mind of course that our friend here has wounds from his ankles to his throat, I can be almost positive the victim was already prostrate on the floor when he was stabbed. That in itself isnt unusual. The doctor paused to catch his breath before continuing his lecture. The interesting bit is this-most of the stab wounds are at the wrong angle of entry. You see?
Im not quite with you, Doctor.
Its like this. Canning looked around for a prop. He found a pair of scissors. First, I know the killer is probably right-handed. The angle of the stab wounds tells me that, as does the fact the victim was hit on the left side of his head. Now, imagine Im the killer. The victim can play himself. In order to stab somebody from head to toe, the killer would have to be at the side of the body. Not on top, as you would first imagine. If he sat astride the body then it would have been difficult to reach around and stab the thighs, the shins. The doctor twisted his body back toward the victims feet so as to give a practical demonstration. His point was well made.
Also, the entire body has puncture wounds. There isnt a large enough unmolested area to suggest the killer was sitting astride the victim.
So the killer was kneeling on the side of the victim when he stabbed him. That doesnt help me, Sean told him.
Canning continued. What Im saying is that the killer didnt crouch down next to the victim and stab away as we would expect in most frenzied crimes of passion. This killer moved around the body stabbing at different areas. Theres no doubt about it. Its as if the killer didnt want to be uncomfortable. He didnt want to overstretch, almost as if he was placing ritual stab wounds, or something of that nature. Its a strange one.
If you ask me, Id say this was probably not a frenzied attack. These stab wounds are deliberately placed. Controlled. The killer took his time.
Sean felt a coldness grip his body and mind as he flashed back to the image hed had of the killers careful, machinelike actions as he stabbed the victim to death. He ran a hand slowly through his short brown hair. He could deny many things, but he couldnt deny his instincts. His gut told him things were going to become difficult. Complicated. The domestic theory was beginning to leak, and in all likelihood they werent looking for a scared lover anymore. There would be no tearful suspect surrendering to custody because he couldnt deal with the guilt. They were now after something else. Sean was sure of it. He exhaled deeply, his mind swirling with questions.
We need to get back to the office. Are you finished here, Doctor?
Almost. One last thing. He pointed to the victims wrists. Its very faint, but its there. On both wrists.
Sean looked closely. He could see some discoloration of the victims skin. Thin bands of slightly darker tissue. Canning continued his analysis.
Theyre old bruises. Probably caused by ligatures. He was tied with something. Ill have a look under ultraviolet; thatll show up any other old injuries. Ill check the entire body. All my findings will be in the final report.
Fine, Sean said, the sense of urgency clear in his voice.
Please, Inspector. Dont let me hold you up. Ill keep you informed.
Donnelly spoke. Dyou want me to sack looking for a boyfriend, boss?
Sean shook his head. No. Lets check it out as a matter of course. The boyfriend could still be the killer. Young Daniel here may have hooked up with some freak and not even known it. No forced entry to the flat, remember? Sean said it, but he didnt believe it. Besides, if there was a boyfriend around, he had a right to know about Daniel. They needed to find him anyway.
Wed better get back and break the good news.
You gonna tell the superintendent about this, boss? asked Donnelly.
I dont have much choice. He glanced at his watch. Its getting late. I wouldnt want to spoil his night. Better to tell him tomorrow-after that it looks like the circus will be coming to town. Just dont be one of the clowns.
And the rest of the team?
Theyve got more than enough to be getting on with for tonight. Sort out a briefing for tomorrow morning. Ill put them in the picture then.
Sean and Donnelly made for the exit. Sean needed the fresh air. They walked through the swing doors and were gone.
CHAPTER 4
If only you were capable of understanding the beauty and clarity of what I am doing. You see, my very being is testament to Nature. To her mercilessness. Her complete lack of compassion. Her violence. You have cast aside Natures rules and chosen to live by other laws. Morality. Restraint. Tolerance. I have not.
So here we stand, packed into this mechanical coffin, trundling under the streets of London. They humorously call this one the misery line. Look at you. None of you has the faintest idea of what I am. You look at me and see a reflection of yourselves. That is my necessary disguise.
Come closer and Ill show you who I really am.
Damn, these trains can be unbearable in summer. All of us forced to breathe in each others filth. Six thirty in the afternoon-everybody trying to get home to anesthetize their brains with alcohol, cocaine, television, whatever. Anything to black out the awfulness of their miserable, pointless lives. But before they can indulge in those little pleasures they have to suffer this final torture.
I usually distract myself by picking a passenger at random and imagining what it would be like to cut their eyes out and then slit their throat. The stench of all these potential subjects is very stimulating to my imagination. Maybe I could introduce myself to someone before going home to my dutiful wife and well-behaved children? One day, when I work out how to get away with it, Ill slit their throats too.
What about that passenger there? A nice-looking young lady. Well dressed, attractive haircut, good figure. No engagement or wedding ring. Interesting. Telltale signs like that give me all the information I need. The lack of rings could mean she lives alone or with some girlfriends. I could follow her back to her flat. Yes, Im almost certain she lives in a flat. Id pretend to be a neighbor who has just moved in. We would walk through the building entrance together. I would be sure to jangle some keys so she wouldnt suspect foul play. Then she might invite me in for coffee: its happened before. A quick check to see if anyone else was in or expected soon, and, if not, well then I could have some fun with the pretty girl with the nice haircut.
Not tonight though. I must get home on time and be the good husband. Disguises as successful as mine need a lot of maintaining. But I cant wait much longer. Before the little queer it had been more than a week since I visited anyone properly. The one before that was nothing but a quickie. A mere sketch. Some lawyer type with a briefcase. I made that one look like a robbery. Stabbed him twice through the heart and remembered to take the cash from his wallet.
He looked surprised. I asked him the time and as his lips parted to speak, I stabbed him. I pulled the knife out of his chest, then stabbed him again. This time I left the blade in and held on to it as he slumped to the ground. He had the same look in his eyes as the others. More quizzical than afraid. He was trying to speak. As if he wanted to ask me, Why? Always people want to know why. For money? For hate? For love? For sexual pleasure? No, not for any of these petty motivations.
So I whispered the true reason why in his ear. It was the last thing he would have heard. Because I have to.
CHAPTER 5
Friday morning
It was hot in the way only a giant metropolis can get. The heat mixed with the fumes of four million cars, taxis, and buses. It made the road warp.
Sean was late. He had a briefing to give at ten and had wanted to be at work at least an hour and a half before that to prepare his thoughts. Thanks to the traffic along the Old Kent Road and his three-year-old daughter, Mandy, whod decided to throw a tantrum because of Seans broken promise to take her to Legoland, he would barely have time to read through his incoming e-mails. Hed tried to read them on his iPhone as the traffic staggered forward, but after almost driving into the back of the car in front of him for the third time hed thought better of it.
His team had been assigned initial tasks the previous day-now he hoped those tasks had moved the investigation forward. The briefing he would soon be chairing was an opportunity for the team to tell him what they had discovered so far. DS Roddis and his forensics crew had finished at the scene and Roddis would be present to detail their findings. Findings that could be critical to the investigation.