Read Online A Matter of Blood by Sarah Pinborough - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Pinborough
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he’ll probably be around for a while. Under that thick layer of stupidity he’s surprisingly clever. He’s started to use his initiative too. Had the swabs done on this one before I’d even got my scrubs on.’
‘Then maybe get Eagleton to pick you up a few flies to play with too. See if you can find a way to get them to drop the eggs so precisely.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘I’m sure for a man of your capabilities it’s child’s play.’
Farmer’s perma-tanned skin was like worn leather, and with his long grey curls he looked like an ageing hippy, but Cass reckoned he could see the ME’s colour fading as they spoke, as if his body knew it wasn’t going to be going near a sunbed or swanning off on a quick weekend to the Costa del Crap any time in the near future.
He sighed and returned to the subject at hand. ‘And the writing on her chest? That was done in blood, yes?’
‘Ah, “Nothing is Sacred”,’ Farmer said, ‘although I can’t see what was possibly sacred about this girl to begin with.’
Cass’s irritation with the doctor rose again, but he bit it back and let the man continue.
‘Yes, it’s written in blood and it’s a DNA match with the others. It doesn’t belong to any of the victims - not the ones we’ve found thus far at least.’ Farmer shrugged. ‘It could be his own, of course, but it’s not on file so I can’t give you anything from that. We’re still running a comparison against trace evidence found at the scenes, but he’s not exactly leaving these girls in clean environments. There are hairs and body fluid residues all over the squat this one was found in, from dozens of people. But we’ll do our best.’
‘Maybe next time he’ll fuck up and leave us something. In the meantime, do what you can with what you’ve got and stay in touch.’
‘You think there’ll be a next time?’
‘That’s why they call them serial,’ Cass said, dryly. ‘Because they just keep on coming.’
By the time they got back to Paddington Green the profiler was waiting for them. Cass took the case files and sent Sergeant Blackmore to make copies for the profiler to keep. He grabbed two coffees from the machine and strode along the corridor towards the far end stairs up to the third floor, where there were a number of small conference rooms.
As he passed the Incident Room - his Incident Room, now - it looked like everyone was working. Officers at both ends of the room were on the phones, and bits of paper and files were being passed around. He hadn’t expected anything less. Murder Squad officers were not known to be slackers - aside from the passion for the job most of them shared, the official bonuses were too good if they actually scored a conviction. And it wasn’t as if the two units didn’t have enough to be working on.
The Miller and Jackson team were using the new information in the grainy film to build a more accurate timeline of events. That would help them piece together Macintyre’s movements, as well as the two boys’. They still desperately needed to find out how the shooter had known Sam Macintyre would be in Formosa Street at that precise time. Someone must have grassed him up, but getting any information from anyone Macintyre associated with would be like getting blood out of the proverbial. No one wanted to look like they were in on the hit, but nor were they wanting to be seen talking to the filth. Sorting that timeline was going to be a long and painfully slow process.
On the far side of the room he spotted Claire, hunched over a phone by the window. He’d told her to find the cabbie who’d dropped Macintyre off outside the Café de la Seine, and he imagined that was what she was doing. She probably had a name for him by now. He was most likely a daytime driver, so he could be anywhere in the city right now. By the time she got the man in, she’d have a file an inch thick on him, his life, his family, and whatever bad habits he might have
‘Then maybe get Eagleton to pick you up a few flies to play with too. See if you can find a way to get them to drop the eggs so precisely.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘I’m sure for a man of your capabilities it’s child’s play.’
Farmer’s perma-tanned skin was like worn leather, and with his long grey curls he looked like an ageing hippy, but Cass reckoned he could see the ME’s colour fading as they spoke, as if his body knew it wasn’t going to be going near a sunbed or swanning off on a quick weekend to the Costa del Crap any time in the near future.
He sighed and returned to the subject at hand. ‘And the writing on her chest? That was done in blood, yes?’
‘Ah, “Nothing is Sacred”,’ Farmer said, ‘although I can’t see what was possibly sacred about this girl to begin with.’
Cass’s irritation with the doctor rose again, but he bit it back and let the man continue.
‘Yes, it’s written in blood and it’s a DNA match with the others. It doesn’t belong to any of the victims - not the ones we’ve found thus far at least.’ Farmer shrugged. ‘It could be his own, of course, but it’s not on file so I can’t give you anything from that. We’re still running a comparison against trace evidence found at the scenes, but he’s not exactly leaving these girls in clean environments. There are hairs and body fluid residues all over the squat this one was found in, from dozens of people. But we’ll do our best.’
‘Maybe next time he’ll fuck up and leave us something. In the meantime, do what you can with what you’ve got and stay in touch.’
‘You think there’ll be a next time?’
‘That’s why they call them serial,’ Cass said, dryly. ‘Because they just keep on coming.’
By the time they got back to Paddington Green the profiler was waiting for them. Cass took the case files and sent Sergeant Blackmore to make copies for the profiler to keep. He grabbed two coffees from the machine and strode along the corridor towards the far end stairs up to the third floor, where there were a number of small conference rooms.
As he passed the Incident Room - his Incident Room, now - it looked like everyone was working. Officers at both ends of the room were on the phones, and bits of paper and files were being passed around. He hadn’t expected anything less. Murder Squad officers were not known to be slackers - aside from the passion for the job most of them shared, the official bonuses were too good if they actually scored a conviction. And it wasn’t as if the two units didn’t have enough to be working on.
The Miller and Jackson team were using the new information in the grainy film to build a more accurate timeline of events. That would help them piece together Macintyre’s movements, as well as the two boys’. They still desperately needed to find out how the shooter had known Sam Macintyre would be in Formosa Street at that precise time. Someone must have grassed him up, but getting any information from anyone Macintyre associated with would be like getting blood out of the proverbial. No one wanted to look like they were in on the hit, but nor were they wanting to be seen talking to the filth. Sorting that timeline was going to be a long and painfully slow process.
On the far side of the room he spotted Claire, hunched over a phone by the window. He’d told her to find the cabbie who’d dropped Macintyre off outside the Café de la Seine, and he imagined that was what she was doing. She probably had a name for him by now. He was most likely a daytime driver, so he could be anywhere in the city right now. By the time she got the man in, she’d have a file an inch thick on him, his life, his family, and whatever bad habits he might have
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