He felt his ears tingle with a blush and turned back to the map. ‘So he’s a night owl,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’d like to take a look at the area tonight, if I can. Maybe you can get someone else to show me round so you can catch up on your sleep.’
Carol shook her head. ‘No. If we can get through here by five, I’ll go home and grab a few hours’ shut-eye. I’ll pick you up around midnight and we can go then. Is that OK?’ she asked, belatedly.
‘Perfect,’ Tony said, getting to his feet and retreating behind his desk. ‘As long as you don’t mind.’ He picked up the photographs and forced himself back behind Handy Andy’s eyes. ‘He’s made a real mess of this one, hasn’t he?’
‘Paul’s the only one who’s been beaten up like this. Gareth has cuts to his face, but nothing as extreme. Paul’s face has been smashed to a pulp – broken nose, broken teeth, broken cheekbone, dislocated jaw. The anal injuries are horrendous as well; he’s been partially disembowelled. The degree of violence is one of the reasons why the Super felt we were looking at a different perpetrator. Also, none of his limbs are dislocated, unlike the other three.’
‘This is the one the papers said was covered up with bin bags?’
Carol nodded. ‘Same variety as the scraps found under Adam’s body.’
They moved on to Gareth Finnegan. ‘I’m going to have to give some serious thought to this one,’ he said. ‘He’s changed his pattern in at least two significant ways. First, the dumping ground moves from Temple Fields to Carlton Park. It’s still a gay cruising area, but it’s an aberration.’ He stopped himself short and gave a hollow laugh. ‘Listen to me. As if his whole behaviour isn’t wildly aberrant. The second thing is his letter and video to the Sentinel Times. Why did he decide to announce this body and none of the others?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Carol said. ‘And I wondered if it had something to do with the fact that it could have lain there for days, even weeks, otherwise.’
Tony made a note on his pad and gave her the thumbs-up sign with the other hand. ‘These wounds to the hands and feet. I know it sounds off the wall, but it almost looks like he was crucified.’
‘The pathologist wasn’t crazy about going on the record with that one either. But the hand wounds, coupled with the dislocation of both shoulders, makes crucifixion a conclusion that’s hard to resist, especially when you remember this probably happened on Christmas Day.’ Carol got to her feet, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She couldn’t manage to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. She paced round the small office, shrugging her shoulders to loosen the taut muscles. ‘Sick bastard,’ she muttered.
‘The genital mutilations are getting more severe,’ Tony observed. ‘He’s virtually castrated this one. And the fatal wounds, the cutting of the throat. That’s getting deeper too.’
‘Does that tell us anything?’ Carol asked, almost unintelligible through another yawn.
‘Like your pathologist, I’m reluctant to speculate just yet,’ Tony said. He moved on to the final set of pictures. For the first time, Carol saw his professional mask slip. Horror swept across Tony’s face, widening his eyes, drawing his lips back in a hissed intake of breath. She wasn’t surprised. When they’d turned Damien Connolly over, a six-foot rugby-playing detective had keeled over in a dead faint. Even the experienced police pathologist had turned away momentarily, visibly struggling not to be sick.
Rigor mortis had frozen Damien Connolly’s limbs in a parody of human gesture. The dislocated joints stuck out at crazy angles. But there was more, and worse. His penis had been severed and thrust into his mouth. His torso was branded from chest to groin in a bizarre, random pattering of starburst burns, none more than half an inch across.
‘Dear God,’ Tony breathed.
‘He’s really getting the hang of this, isn’t he?’ Carol said bitterly. ‘Takes a pride in his work, doesn’t he?’
Tony said nothing, forcing himself to study the appalling photographs as closely as he’d done with the previous sets. ‘Carol,’ he eventually said. ‘Has anybody come up with any theories as to what he’s used to make these burn marks?’
‘Not a one,’ she said.
‘They’re odd,’ he said. ‘The patterns vary. It’s not like he’s used some random object and kept on using it. There are at least five different shapes. Have you got anybody who can do computer pattern analysis? To see if there’s any hidden message here? There must be dozens of these bloody burns!’
Carol rubbed her eyes again. ‘I don’t know. Me and computers are about as compatible as the Prince and Princess of Wales. I’ll ask when I go back to the office. And if we don’t have someone, I’ll ask my brother.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Michael’s a computer genius. He works in games software development. You want a pattern analysed, manipulated, turned into a shoot-’em-up arcade game, he’s your man.’
‘And he can keep his mouth shut?’
‘If he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be doing the job he does. Millions of pounds depend on his company getting on the next rung of the ladder before anybody else. Believe me, he knows when to button his lip.’
Tony smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to sound offensive.’
‘You didn’t.’
Tony sighed. ‘I wish to God I’d been brought in sooner on this. Handy Andy’s not going to stop here. He’s too much in love with his work. Look at these pictures. This bastard’s going to carry on capturing and torturing and killing until you catch him. Carol, this guy’s a career killer.’
FROM 3½″ DISK LABELLED: BACKUP.007; FILE LOVE.005
I walked boldly up the path and pressed Adam’s doorbell. In the seconds before he answered the chime, I composed my face into what I believed was an apologetic smile. I could see the fuzzy outline of his head and shoulders as he walked down the hall. Then the door opened and we were face to face. He half smiled quizzically. As if he’d never noticed me before in his life.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said. ‘Only my car’s broken down, and I don’t know where there’s a pay phone, so I wondered if I might use your phone to call the AA? I’ll pay for the call, of course …’ I let my voice trail away.
His smile broadened and relaxed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘No problem. Come in.’ He stepped back and I moved inside the door. He gestured down the hall. ‘There’s a phone in the study. Just on the right there.’
I moved slowly down the hall, ears alert for the sound of the front door closing behind me. As the lock snapped back into place, he added, ‘There’s nothing worse, is there?’
‘I’ll just look up the number,’ I said, pausing in the doorway to reach in my backpack. Adam kept on walking, so that when I pulled out the Mace spray, he was only a couple of feet away from me. It couldn’t have been more perfect. I let him have it full in the face.
He roared in pain and stumbled back against the wall, hands clawing at his face. I moved in swiftly. One foot between his ankles, hands on his shoulders, a quick twist and down he went, face crushed into the carpet, gasping for breath. I was down on top of him in seconds, gripping one wrist and twisting his arm up his back while I snapped the handcuff over it. He was struggling against me by now, tears streaming down his face, but I managed to grab his other flailing arm and snap the other half of the cuffs on it.
His legs were thrashing under me, but my weight was enough to keep him pinned to the floor while I took a ziplock plastic bag from my backpack. I opened it, extracted a pad soaked in chloroform and clamped it over his nose and mouth. The