Page 20 of First Blood
‘Okay, you can get up now,’ she said, stepping aside and handing the ruler back to the pathologist.
‘Strangely compelling,’ he said, placing it on the work surface.
‘Hmm… so what are the rest of the photos in your hand?’ she asked, as Bryant jumped to his feet with more agility than she would have expected.
‘Observant, Inspector,’ he said, laying out the last three prints.
She looked closer. ‘What’s that?’
‘Brown paper,’ he said. ‘Placed just inside the mouth. Nothing written on it. Just a perfect square about an inch wide of brown paper. I suspect it’s the kind used for parcels and packaging, but it’s gone off to the lab for analysis so there may be something more to come from that.’
‘Accidental or intentional?’ Bryant asked.
Kim shook her head. She really had no idea.
‘Anything else, Keats?’ she asked, edging towards the door.
He shook his head.
* * *
Bryant waited until they were in the corridor before speaking.
‘Guv, that wasn’t some kind of first day initiation prank, was it?’
‘No, Bryant, it was a whole lot more than that.’
‘Such as?’
‘It told me what this murder was all about.’
‘Go on.’
‘Intimacy, Bryant. Intimacy and power.’
Chapter Fifteen
Stacey considered holding out her hands to see which ball in the air would fall down first.
She was trying to research the life of their victim and pin down his last known address. Once she’d got that she could approach the phone companies to see if they could offer any details on his phone. She was still trying to check the CCTV of the areas around the crime scene and the feeling of not putting something together in her stomach was not going away.
And DS Dawson was staring out the window.
Admittedly he’d returned to the office after lunch with a smile and a whistle and had then proceeded to do bugger all.
‘Hey, do yer fancy giving me a hand with?…’
‘I’m thinking,’ he said, looking past her and out of the window. ‘There has to be an easier way.’ He looked pointedly towards the papers strewn across her desk. ‘And it ain’t the method you’re using.’
‘You mean good old-fashioned police—’
‘You got a washing machine?’ he asked, cutting her off.
She frowned. ‘Of course.’
‘Did you know they used to hand-wash every garment at one time. Hot soapy water, squeeze, rinse and mangle?’
Of course, she knew. Many years ago she’d watched an elderly aunt do it.
