‘Bad enough,’ Sean replied.
DI Townsend made to cross the threshold of the bedroom. Sean shot a hand up, palm outstretched towards her. ‘Not dressed like that you don’t.’
She looked herself up and down. She was wearing one of her favourite suits, dark blue and tailored with two-inch heels to match. She feigned insult. ‘This is my best suit.’
‘Then you wouldn’t want me to take it off you and stick it in a brown paper bag as evidence.’
‘You would too, wouldn’t you?’ she asked. ‘Well, you certainly haven’t changed.’
‘You wouldn’t want me to.’
‘No, probably not.’
DI Vicky Townsend waited for Sean outside the flat in the street. She watched him pulling off the forensic suit and laughed a little as he carefully placed the suit and shoe covers into evidence bags and sealed them. Ever the professional, she thought. He’d always been the most meticulous detective she’d worked with. Back in his street clothes, he approached her.
‘How you been, Vicky?’ he asked.
‘Good, Sean. Good. Kids drive me mad, but you know.’
‘I’ve got two myself now,’ he told her. ‘Two girls.’
‘Still with Kate then?’ She’d only met Kate a couple of times, briefly. Most police liked to keep work and home very separate.
‘Yeah,’ Sean answered. ‘She’s good, you know. A good mother.’
‘Good,’ Vicky replied. They were both avoiding the obvious question. This was Vicky’s territory. It was up to her to challenge Sean, friend or foe.
‘So what are you doing over here, Sean? Why’s a DI from SCG South arriving at my murder scene before I know about it?’
Sean looked a little sheepishly at Vicky. She hadn’t changed much either. She kept her auburn hair short and neat, for the practicalities of being a mother rather than those of being a police officer. Her plain face was improved by lots of laughter lines.
‘I think this murder’s linked to others,’ he told her.
‘Linked in what way? A drug war? Gangland?’
‘If only. This is something else. A possible repeat offender.’ He hated using the term serial killer. It seemed to somehow glamorize tragedy.
‘As in Yorkshire-Ripper-type repeat offender?’ Vicky asked.
‘I suppose so.’
‘And you’ve been authorized to run a task force on this?’
‘My superintendent is happy for me to take on any suspected linked cases. He’ll square it with yours in due course. In the meantime, I could do with all the help I can get.’
‘Such as?’ Vicky asked.
‘I need a few things to happen straight away.’
‘Go on.’
‘Check the mouth area for tape residue. I think her mouth was taped and the killer took it away with him. Check the drainpipe at the side of the house, and the bathroom window needs special attention. That’s how he got in and out. And I would like you to use my pathologist. He’s the best in London and he’s worked one of the other victims. I can make the call to him and get him to look at the body while it’s still in the flat. After that he’ll probably want it taken to his own mortuary at Guy’s Hospital.’
‘All victims from West London should go to Charing Cross,’ said Vicky. ‘The post-mortem should be performed by the pathologists for this area. There’s a lot of red tape around things like that. People get pissed off pretty quick if you start to ignore protocols.’
‘I understand, But the man who did this is still out there and he doesn’t give a shit about our red tape. He doesn’t care if he kills in South London, East London or West London. He just kills, and he’ll do everything he can do not to get caught. So why don’t we stop helping the bastard and break a few rules ourselves? Because if we don’t, I reckon we’ve got about one or maybe two weeks before I’ll be standing outside some other flat in some other part of London having the same conversation with some other DI.’ He ended with a plea. ‘Let’s not let that happen. Please.’
Vicky studied him for a couple of seconds. ‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘I have a pretty good relationship with the pathologist for this area. I’ll explain it’s an unusual situation.’
‘Thanks. Now we need to get started. Time is not my friend here.’
‘It never is,’ she reminded him. ‘And it never will be.’
Sally waited for the door to the Surbiton house to open. When it did she noted the look of surprise on Paul Jarratt’s face.
‘DS Jones,’ he said.
‘Sorry to disturb you again,’ she apologized, ‘but would you believe it, I just happened to be in the area when I suddenly remembered something I needed to check with you.’
‘Such as?’ Jarratt asked, before remembering his manners. ‘Please. Come in.’
Sally stepped inside and followed him to the lounge. ‘I spoke with an old colleague of yours, DC Graham Wright − only he’s a DS now.’
‘Graham?’
‘I was doing some digging into Korsakov’s history and was hoping to compare his conviction fingerprints with marks found at our murder scene.’
‘And?’
‘They’ve gone missing. Seems they got up and walked out of Scotland Yard all by themselves.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that was possible.’
‘No. Nor would I,’ Sally agreed. ‘DS Wright told me that he’d taken the prints from the Yard at your request. Do you recall why you pulled the prints?’
‘I seem to remember the prison where Korsakov was doing his time wanted them, but I can’t remember the details. Although I do remember giving the prints back to Graham so he could return them.’
‘And return them he did, at least according to Fingerprints’s records.’
‘Then I don’t see how I can help you find them.’
‘It’s just that you requested them back in ninety-nine,’ said Sally. ‘Not long before Korsakov was released from prison. That seems a little unusual.’
Jarratt laughed. ‘DS Jones, everything to do with Korsakov was a little unusual. However, I remember now. The prison needed the prints to copy on to their records. They liked to keep fingerprints of prisoners they deemed to be more dangerous than the norm. I suppose they consider it to be some sort of deterrent.’
‘Why would they wait until a few months before his release before deciding Korsakov needed such a deterrent?’
‘That, I cannot answer,’ Jarratt told her. ‘You would have to speak to the prison.’
Sally sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any need for that,’ she lied. ‘At the end of the day it still wouldn’t explain how the prints went missing. Probably just an administrative cock-up at Fingerprint Branch. I’ve wasted enough of your time.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Jarratt.
They said their goodbyes and Sally made her way to her car. She drove a couple of blocks before pulling over and retrieving the Korsakov file from her bag. She flicked through it and found the number she was looking for. Then she paused momentarily, remembering that Sean knew nothing of her investigation’s progress. Perhaps she should call him now, put him in the picture; but he had so many other things on his mind it would be better to speak