with the jaw hanging dislocated. Sean wondered how many teeth would be missing. The right ear was nowhere to be seen. He hoped to God the man had died from the first blow to his head, but he doubted it.
The pool of blood by the victim’s head was the only heavy saturation area other than his clothing. Elsewhere there were dozens of splash marks: on the walls, furniture and carpet. Sean imagined the victim’s head being whipped around by the ferocity of the blows, the blood from his wounds travelling in a fine spray through the air until it landed where it now remained. Once examined properly, these splash marks should provide a useful map of how the attack had developed.
The victim’s body had not been spared. Sean wasn’t about to start counting, but there must have been at least fifty to a hundred stab wounds. The legs, abdomen, chest and arms had all been brutally attacked. Sean looked around for weapons, but could see none. He returned his gaze to the shattered body, trying to free his mind, to see what had happened to the young man now lying dead on his own floor. For the most fleeting of moments he saw a figure hunched over the dying man, something that resembled a screwdriver rather than a knife gripped in his hand, but the image was gone as quickly as it arrived. Finally he managed to look away and speak.
‘Who found the body?’
‘That would be us,’ Donnelly replied.
‘How so?’
‘Well, us via a concerned neighbour.’
‘Is the neighbour a suspect?’
‘No, no,’ Donnelly dismissed the idea. ‘Some young bird from a few doors down, on her way home with her kebab and chips after a night of shagging and drinking.’
‘Did she enter the flat?’
‘No. She’s not the hero type, by all accounts. She saw the door slightly open and decided we ought to know about it. If she’d been sober, she probably wouldn’t have bothered.’
Sean nodded his agreement. Alcohol made some people conscientious citizens in the same way it made others violent temporary psychopaths.
‘Uniform sent a unit around to check it out and found our victim here,’ Donnelly added.
‘Did he trample the scene?’
‘No, he’s a probationer straight out of Hendon and still scared enough to remember what he’s supposed to do. He kept to the edges, touched nothing.’
‘Good,’ Sean said automatically, his mind having already moved on, already growing heavy with possibilities. ‘Well, whoever did this is either very angry or very ill.’
‘No doubt about that,’ Donnelly agreed.
There was a pause, both men taking the chance to breathe deeply and steady themselves, clearing their minds, a necessary prelude before trying to think coldly and logically. Seeing this brutality would never be easy, would never be matter-of-fact.
‘Okay. First guess is we’re looking at a domestic murder.’
‘A lover’s tiff?’ Donnelly asked.
Sean nodded. ‘Whoever did this probably took a fair old beating themselves,’ he added. ‘A man fighting for his life can do a lot of damage.’
‘I’ll check the local hospitals,’ Donnelly volunteered. ‘See if anyone who looks like they’ve been in a real ding-dong has been admitted.’
‘Check with the local police stations for the same and wake the rest of the team up. Let’s get everyone together at the station for an eight a.m. briefing. And we might as well see if we can get a pathologist to examine the body while it’s still in place.’
‘That won’t be easy, guv.’
‘I know, but try. See if Dr Canning is available. He sometimes comes out if it’s a good one, and he’s the best.’
‘I’ll do what I can, but no promises.’
Sean surveyed the scene. Most murders didn’t take long to solve. The most obvious suspect was usually the right suspect. The panicked nature of the crime provided an Aladdin’s cave of forensic evidence. Enough to get a conviction. In cases like this, detectives often had to do little more than wait for the laboratory to examine the exhibits from the scene and provide all the answers. But as Sean looked around something was already niggling away at his instincts.
Donnelly spoke again. ‘Seems straightforward?’
‘Yeah, I’m pretty happy.’ He let the statement linger.
‘But …?’
‘The victim almost certainly knew his killer. No forced entry, so he’s let him in. A boyfriend is a fair bet. This smells like a domestic murder. A few too many drinks. A heated argument. A fight kicks off and gets nastier and nastier, both end up beaten to a pulp and one dies. A crime of passion which the killer had no time to prepare. He’s lost it for a while, killed a friend. A lover. Now all he wants to do is run. Get away from this flat and be somewhere safe to think out his next move. But there’s a couple of things missing for me.’
‘Such as?’
‘They’ve probably been having a drink, but there are no glasses anywhere. Can you remember dealing with a domestic murder where alcohol wasn’t involved?’
‘Maybe he cleaned the place up a bit?’ Donnelly offered. ‘Washed the glasses and put them away.’
‘Why would he bother cleaning a glass when his blood and fingerprints must be all over the place after a struggle like this?’
‘Panic?’ Donnelly suggested. ‘Wasn’t thinking straight. He cleaned up his glass, maybe started to clean up other stuff too before he realized he was wasting his time.’
‘Maybe.’
Sean was thinking hard. The lack of signs of alcohol was a small point, but any experienced detective would have expected to find evidence of its use at a scene like this. An empty bottle of cider. A half-empty bottle of Scotch, or a champagne bottle to fuel the rage of the rich. But it was the image he was beginning to visualize that was plaguing him with doubt – the image his mind was piecing together using evidence that was missing as much as evidence that was present. The image of a figure crouching very deliberately over the victim. No frenzy, no rage, but evil in a human form.
‘There’s something else,’ he told Donnelly. ‘The killing obviously took place in the living room. We know he must have gone out the front door because everything else is locked up nice and tight. But the hallway is clean. Nothing. The carpet is light beige, yet there’s no sign of a bloody footprint. And the door handle? Nothing. No blood. Nothing.
‘So our killer beats and stabs the victim to death in a frenzied moment of rage and yet stops to clean his hands before opening any doors. After killing a man who may have been his lover, he’s suddenly calm enough to take his shoes off and tiptoe out the place. That doesn’t make a lot of sense.’
Donnelly joined in. ‘And if our boy did stop to clean himself up before leaving, then where did he get clean? He had two choices. The sink in the bathroom or the sink in the kitchen.’
Sean continued for
