difficult to reach around and stab the thighs, shins.’ The doctor twisted his body back towards the victim’s feet so as to give a practical demonstration. His point was well made.
‘Also, the entire body has puncture wounds. There isn’t 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 doesn’t help me,’ Sean told him.
Canning continued. ‘What I’m saying is that the killer didn’t 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. There’s no doubt about it. It’s as if the killer didn’t want to be uncomfortable. He didn’t want to over-stretch, almost as if he was placing ritual stab wounds, or something of that nature. It’s a strange one.
‘If you ask me, I’d 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 he’d had of the killer’s careful, machine-like 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 couldn’t 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 weren’t looking for a scared lover any more. There would be no tearful suspect surrendering to custody because he couldn’t 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 victim’s wrists. ‘It’s very faint, but it’s there. On both wrists.’
Sean looked closely. He could see some discolouration of the victim’s skin. Thin bands of slightly darker tissue. Canning continued his analysis.
‘They’re old bruises. Probably caused by ligatures. He was tied with something. I’ll have a look under ultraviolet; that’ll show up any other old injuries. I’ll 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. Don’t let me hold you up. I’ll keep you informed.’
Donnelly spoke. ‘D’you want me to sack looking for a boyfriend, boss?’
Sean shook his head. ‘No. Let’s 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 didn’t believe it. Besides, if there was a boyfriend around, he had a right to know about Daniel. They needed to find him anyway.
‘We’d better get back and break the good news.’
‘You gonna tell the superintendent about this, boss?’ asked Donnelly.
‘I don’t have much choice.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s getting late. I wouldn’t want to spoil his night. Better to tell him tomorrow – after that it looks like the circus will be coming to town. Just don’t be one of the clowns.’
‘And the rest of the team?’
‘They’ve got more than enough to be getting on with for tonight. Sort out a briefing for tomorrow morning. I’ll 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.
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 Nature’s 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 I’ll show you who I really am.
Damn, these trains can be unbearable in summer. All of us forced to breathe in each other’s filth. Six thirty in the evening − everybody trying to get home to anaesthetise their brains with alcohol, cocaine, television, whatever. Anything to black out the awfulness of their miserable, pointless lives. But before they can indulge 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, I’ll 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, I’m almost certain she lives in a flat. I’d pretend to be a neighbour who has just moved in. We would walk through the communal entrance together. I would be sure to jangle some keys so she wouldn’t suspect foul play. Then she might invite me in for a coffee: it’s 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 can’t wait much longer. Before the little queer it had been a couple of weeks since I visited anyone and 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.’
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.
It was Friday morning and 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
