‘That’s good. Anything else?’
‘Just … you know I’m here right? To pick up any slack, that sort of thing.’
‘Yeah. Course. Did you get around the houses near the scene?’
Brannon straightened up. ‘Yes. Everyone was asleep. No one saw anything. Except that nutty bloke you spoke to. I organised the uniforms into teams, got it done quicker. Time is of the essence and all that.’
Like a child with a painting of nothing more than a blob of colour, brought home from nursery, expecting a parade to be thrown in his honour. Murphy just nodded at his work. Let him squirm.
‘Right. I’ll go chase up that CCTV then?’
‘Okay.’
Brannon left Murphy. The atmosphere around his desk becoming less polluted as a result.
He checked his phone again, waiting on a response from Rossi. He’d messaged her twenty minutes previously to let her know they had a name. His phone was still blank.
Murphy had updated HOLMES himself, internally complaining about having to use the computer to do so. Every piece of information on an investigation was stored on the HOLMES system, leaving no chance for a piece of evidence to be overlooked. Just more admin for him to sort out.
The TV shows get at least one thing right. The first forty-eight hours are crucial. The longer time goes on, the less likely someone is to remember something they may have witnessed, or that an offender will still be in the area. Yet Murphy was stuck on his arse, transferring information from one place to another.
At that point he had a name, and from the look on the face of the young DS making her way to Murphy’s desk, a partner who was struggling to hold down whatever food she’d been able to grab that day.
Murphy smiled, sitting back in his chair and lacing his hands together across his stomach.
‘Fun?’ Murphy said, as Rossi stopped next to him.
‘You know. Could be worse I suppose. Death was caused by asphyxiation.’
Murphy smiled. ‘I knew the letter was bollocks. Bet it’s an ex.’
Rossi noticed something under a fingernail and used another one to scrape underneath it. ‘Not necessarily. Houghton has a theory. In the letter he doesn’t specifically state she’d actually died from the overdose, only that the last dose was fatal. Houghton said it’s unlikely any human could die from an LSD overdose. Well … he actually said near impossible at first, but changed his mind. The level needed to OD on LSD is far too large to be ingested at one time. Plus by the time they’re able to take more, the last dose is beginning to wear off. He’s sent samples off to the lab though and expects there to be a large amount in her system. But cause of death was asphyxiation, nonetheless.’
‘Interesting. I still think it’s bollocks though.’
‘How so?’ Rossi said, perching herself on the edge of Murphy’s desk.
‘The letter wants us to believe she died as the result of some weird experiment,’ Murphy said, pulling a copy of the letter out from underneath a coffee cup. ‘When really he’s just distancing himself from the fact he killed her with his own hands. He sees himself as something he’s not. Possibly thinks he’s better than any other murderer, when in fact he’s strangled some poor girl. My money is still on a boyfriend. He’s just created this thing to tone down his own guilt.’
‘What if it’s real?’
Murphy paused. Experiment Three, the letter had said. That would mean two others and a pattern. And he really didn’t want to start thinking about what that would mean.
‘We cross that bridge if we come to a river of evidence.’
Rossi nodded slowly. ‘At least we have a name now.’
‘Yeah. Harris got it. Donna McMahon. She’s a student at the university.’
‘Are the parents on the way? Houghton is waiting for them to ID her.’
‘Harris is sorting it out.’
‘Time for something to eat?’
Murphy raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘Feeling better already? Usually it takes a while for you to be feeling okay after a PM.’
‘I’m getting better at it, sir.’
‘Good. And how many times do I have to tell you? Stop calling me sir. There’s barely five or six years between us.’
‘Sorry. Habit.’
Murphy sighed, rising up from his chair. ‘We’ve got nothing from canvassing the surrounding area. CCTV will be here soon. Brannon is chasing it up.’
Murphy smiled as Rossi snorted at the mention of Brannon’s name. ‘He causing you problems?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle. To be honest, nothing a five year old couldn’t handle. He’s not exactly quick with the insults.’
‘Yeah, well. If he crosses a line let me know. I’d love an excuse to tear him a new one.’
They walked side by side towards the lift. Rossi’s shorter legs moving quicker as she tried to keep pace with Murphy. He allowed her to move ahead of them as the lift doors opened, pressed the button on the lift as they both entered.
‘It’s been a while since we’ve dealt with a suspicious. Even then it’s usually the husband or wife,’ Rossi said as the lift doors closed.
‘True. What was that one last year we worked together? Wife did her husband in with the spud peeler he’d bought her for her birthday?’
Rossi laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of the small lift. ‘That’s right. That was a good one. Stuck him right in the neck with it. Blood everywhere. Do you remember what she said in the interview?’
Murphy smiled remembering. ‘He got my birthday wrong. It’s not for another three months.’
Rossi tried to stifle her laughter. Failed.
Murphy sniggered quietly along with her, remembering the DCI’s face when they’d gone into her office after the interview.
Murphy snorted. ‘We’ve got a proper case here, and you’re with me all the way. Hopefully it’s open and shut, and we have a closed one for your record. We just have to make sure there’s no cock-ups, and we catch the bastard.’
‘We will. He’s given us a lot to go on.’
Murphy sighed, leaning against the back of the lift compartment. ‘Yeah. You’re probably right. It was the mole you know, that got us the name. All these advances in technology and it’s a bloody birthmark that gives us the lead.’
‘The mole eh? Always good to have a distinguishing feature. It’s why I’ve got the tattoo.’
‘Of course that’s why. Nothing to do with being young and foolish I’m sure.’
Rossi turned away, suddenly finding the lift display interesting.
Murphy smiled to himself. The smile disappearing as the images of that morning entered his mind again.
Not as easy. Not as easy as it used to be.
Cold. It was always cold down there. No matter how many times he was told it was normal room temperature in the corridors away from the rooms where post-mortems were held, Murphy had to stop himself from shivering when he was there.
It had been a while.
Heels smacking against hard floors, echoing around a colourless corridor. Houghton’s assistant came to a stop near their group of four. Two detectives, two parents. One of them silent