to a series until it was too late. If we’re unlucky enough to get another scene, you’ll get it before anyone else steps foot in it.’
‘Except you,’ Roddis accused him in advance.
‘I’d be interested in your observations,’ Sean encouraged him. ‘And I want you to look for a couple of things the other forensics team may not have considered.’
Anna gave him a knowing look.
‘Such as?’ Roddis asked, intrigued. He’d worked enough investigations with Sean to know to expect surprises.
‘Semen. Probably close to where the body was found, but could be anywhere in the garage or just outside it.’
‘You think he sexually assaulted the victim?’ Roddis asked, confused by Sean’s suggestion.
‘No, but it’s possible he felt the need while at the scene. To reduce his heightened state of excitement.’
‘The need?’ Roddis questioned. ‘A killer masturbating at the scene when no sexual motivation is suspected? I’ve seen defecation, urination, killers that like to eat and drink from the victim’s fridge, but never what you’re suggesting, not when the crime isn’t sexually motivated.’
‘Let’s just say this one’s possibly confused,’ Sean told him. ‘Let’s not assume there was no sexual element to his motivation and let’s look for traces of semen.’
‘If you really think it’s worth it,’ Roddis climbed down in the face of Sean’s irritation. ‘But it won’t be easy – not at a scene of this type and not after it’s been trampled over.’
‘I know, but just do it for me, will you?’
‘Very well,’ Roddis conceded. ‘And the other thing?’
‘There was a lot of blood at the scene,’ Sean reminded him. ‘He was in close proximity to the victim when he cut through his carotid artery, meaning he must have had a significant amount of blood on him.’
‘One would imagine so.’
‘Which means he needed to clean up,’ Sean continued. ‘At least enough to get him past casual looks. There’s no water supply in the garage, so chances are he brought his own, something he may have chosen to dispose of after he’d used it – a plastic bottle, anything. Check inside the cordon – further afield too – for anything he could have used.’
‘Why you so worried about finding it?’ Roddis asked. ‘All it’ll give us is more DNA and fingerprints. We already have plenty.’
‘It’ll help paint a picture,’ Sean explained. ‘It’ll show he planned it. That he’s organized and careful – premeditating. If he tries to plead diminished responsibility, we’ll be able to disprove it.’
‘So be it,’ Roddis sighed. ‘We’ll look for your water bottle. Anything else?’
‘No,’ Sean told him. ‘You find anything interesting or unexpected, phone it straight through to me. Understand?’
‘I understand,’ Roddis answered.
Sean ended the call and threw his phone back on to the desk where it immediately started chirping and vibrating again. ‘Christ,’ he complained, snatching it back up. He didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway. With an investigation like this, he’d be getting a lot of calls from numbers his phone didn’t recognize and he’d have to risk answering them all or miss something potentially vital. ‘Hello,’ he said, withholding his name until he knew who he was speaking to.
‘DI Corrigan?’ a man’s voice asked.
‘Who’s calling?’ he probed.
‘PC John Croft,’ the man answered. ‘The Coroner’s Officer.’
‘You’re speaking with DI Corrigan,’ Sean told him. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘Dr Canning will be doing the post-mortem on your victim, William Dalton, later today. I’ve had a message from him asking if you’ll be there.’
My victim, Sean thought about Croft’s expression. Was that what Dalton was – another of his victims? ‘Yes,’ he said after a slight pause. ‘Tell Dr Canning I’ll be there.’
‘About eleven a.m. then,’ Croft told him, and hung up.
‘The post-mortem?’ Sally asked.
‘Yeah,’ he answered.
‘Want some company?’
‘No. I’ll go alone. You’re better off staying here and keeping everybody on it.’ As he spoke, his eyes scanned the main office through the Perspex wall. ‘Where the hell is Dave?’
David Langley paced the showroom floor of the furniture store. Head office had given him the grand title ‘manager’, but since they refused to supply him with a team of sales assistants to command – just an ‘assistant manager’ who was more trouble than he was worth – most of the time Langley was reduced to the role of a glorified salesman. There was a time when that would have bothered him, but now he knew it was simply something he had to put up with while he laid the foundations for his true purpose in life, his reason for being. He congratulated himself on possessing the strength of character to continue the charade of working in the furniture store until the time came to reveal his legacy to the world. The fantasies that had begun as a young teenager were now becoming a reality. He had everything planned, culminating in a final act that would see him seize complete control over the endgame. Something no one could imagine or predict. Not even Corrigan.
The automatic doors at the entrance to the shop slid open with an electric whoosh, drawing his attention to the attractive, dark-haired woman in her early thirties who casually drifted into the shop. He took in the fitted jacket and tight jeans that showed off her trim figure. No doubt another bored, wealthy housewife – plenty of those had moved into the area over the last two decades. She didn’t look old enough to have children, not for this part of London anyway. He’d had plenty of success with the bored ones in the past and fancied his chances with her, but at the same time he found himself looking on her as something other than a potential conquest, evaluating her instead as a possible victim. It would be risky; dangerous, even. This was no homeless loser or prostitute whom no one cared about; this woman would be missed and mourned, and her family would push the police hard to find her killer – not to mention the press, who would be all over it. For that reason alone, taking her life would be worth it. She would give him ten times the publicity he’d gained from killing the druggie and the whore.
He began to walk towards her as she moved between coffee tables, watching the pulse twitch in her slim, tanned neck – imagining slicing through her perfect skin until he cut through her carotid artery, pinning her to the floor as the warm, red blood emptied from her in intermittent sprays until the flow subsided with her dying heart and finally she lay lifeless. He imagined she’d smell of expensive perfume and cosmetics.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ he asked, flashing his practised seductive smile.
‘Hi,’ she smiled back, her eyes making momentary contact before returning to the coffee tables, but it was enough for him to tell she was interested. His nostrils flared at her
