but his powerful position meant he was never challenged by his seniors. He decided the forensic resources assigned to each case, and it was he who knew the right people at the right laboratories across the south-east who could get the job done. Everybody, regardless of rank, respected his monopoly.
‘Thanks for calling. What you got for me?’
‘Well, it’s early days.’
Sean knew the lab team would have done little more than get organized. ‘I appreciate that, but I’d like whatever you’ve got.’
‘Very well. We’ve had a cursory look around. The entry and exit point is surprisingly clean, given the nature of the attack. And the hallway was clean too. Perhaps we’ll find something when we get better lighting and some UV lamps. Other than that, nothing definite yet. The blood spray marks on the walls and furniture have me a little confused.’
‘Confused?’ Sean asked.
‘Having seen the victim’s wounds, I’m pretty sure the blow to the head all but killed him and it certainly knocked him down. I have a blood spray pattern on a wall that would be consistent with a blow to his head with a heavy object.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘If the victim was prostrate when the other injuries were inflicted then I would only expect to find small, localized sprays, but I’ve got numerous others, over the carpet, broken furniture, up the walls. They’re not consistent with his wounds.’
‘Then he must have other wounds we haven’t seen yet,’ Sean suggested. ‘Or maybe the blood is from the attacker?’
‘Possibly.’ Roddis sounded unconvinced. ‘No obvious murder weapon yet,’ he continued, ‘but it will probably turn up when we get into the search properly.’
‘Anything else?’ Sean asked, in hope more than expectation.
‘There are plenty of corres: address books, diaries, bank books and so on. It shouldn’t be too hard to confirm the victim’s identity. That’s it so far.’
Sean may not have particularly liked Roddis, but he valued his professionalism. ‘Thanks. It’ll be a help in the briefing. Might keep the team awake.’ He hung up.
Reclining in his chair, Sean stared at the lukewarm cup of coffee on his desk. What would it mean if the splash patterns didn’t match the wounds on the victim? Had the killer been badly injured himself and the blood sprays came from his wounds? He doubted it, especially if Roddis was right about the victim being all but taken out with the first blow to the head. And if he was knocked down with the first blow, then what the hell were the other injuries about? The answers would come, he reassured himself. Wait for the full forensic examination of the scene, the post-mortem of the victim. The answers would come. They always did.
He stood and looked out of his window down at the station car park. He saw DS Sally Jones outside furiously smoking a cigarette, laughing and joking with a couple of girls from the typing pool.
He watched her, admiring her. A five-foot-three bundle of energy. Her slender athletic legs contrasted with her slightly stocky, masculine upper-body. He tried to remember if he had seen her fair hair not tied back in a ponytail.
He loved her ability to connect with people. She could talk to anyone and make them feel that she was their best friend in the world, and so Sean sometimes used her to do the things he would find impossible to do well. Speaking with grieving parents. Telling a husband his wife had been raped and murdered in their own home. Sean had watched in awe as Sally told people unthinkable things and then half an hour later she would be laughing and joking, puffing on a cigarette, chatting with whoever was close enough. She was tough. Tougher than he would ever be. He smiled as he watched her.
Sean wondered why she was still alone. He couldn’t imagine doing this job and then going home to an empty house. Sally told him she was clearly too much for any man to handle. He had often tried to sense some sorrow in her. Some loneliness. He never could.
He checked the time. She was going to be late for the briefing. He could call out the window and warn her, but he decided it would be more fun to leave it.
He walked the short distance along the busy, brightly lit corridor: doors on both sides; old and new posters pinned and stuck to the walls, uniformly ignored by passers-by all too single-mindedly trying to get to wherever they were going to stop and take notice of someone else’s appeals for assistance. He reached the briefing room and entered. His team continued to chatter away amongst themselves. A couple of them, including Donnelly, mouthed a greeting. He nodded back.
The team was relatively small. Two detective sergeants − Sally and Donnelly − and ten detective constables. Sean sat in his usual chair at the head of a rectangular wooden table, the cheapest money could buy. He dropped his mobile phone and notebook in front of him and looked around − making sure everyone was there. He nodded to Donnelly, who understood the cue. They’d been working with each other long enough to be able to communicate without the need for words.
‘All right, people, listen up. The guv’nor wants to speak and we’ve got a lot to get through, so let’s park our arses and crack on.’ The murmuring faded as the team began to sit and concentrate on Sean.
Detective Constable Zukov spoke. ‘D’you want me to grab DS Jones, boss? I think she’s having a smoke in the yard.’
‘No. Don’t bother,’ Sean told him. ‘She’ll be here soon enough.’
The room fell silent, Sean looking at Donnelly with a slight grin on his face. They both turned to the briefing room door just as DS Sally Jones came bursting in. There was a low hum of stifled laughter.
‘Shit. Sorry I’m late, guv.’ The hum of low laughter grew. Sally swatted one of the constables across the head as she walked past. He threw his hands up in protest. ‘I told you to come and get me, Paulo.’ The constable didn’t answer, but the smile on his face said everything.
Sean joined in. ‘Afternoon, Sally. Thanks for joining us.’
‘It’s a pleasure, sir.’
‘As I’m sure you’ve all worked out, we’ve picked up another murder.’ Some of the team groaned.
Sally spoke up. ‘We’re only in summer and already we’ve had sixteen murders on this team alone. Eight still need preparing for court. Who’s going to put those court presentations together if we’re constantly being dumped on?’ There was a rumble of approval around the room.
‘No point moaning,’ Sean told them. ‘All the other teams are just as busy as we are, so we get this one. As you’re all no doubt aware, we don’t have a live investigation running so we’re the obvious choice.’
Sean was prepared for the grumblings. Police officers always grumbled. They were either moaning about being too busy or they were moaning about not earning enough overtime. It was a fact of life with police.
He continued. ‘Okay, this is the job. What we know so far is our victim was beaten and stabbed to death. At this time we believe the victim is Daniel Graydon, the occupier of the flat where we’re pretty certain the crime took place. But his facial injuries are severe, so visual identification has yet to be confirmed. We are treating the flat as our primary crime scene. Dave and I have already had a look around and it’s not pretty. The victim would appear to have been hit on the head with a heavy object and that may well have been the critical injury, although we’ll have to wait for the autopsy to confirm that. The stab wounds are numerous and spread across a wide area. This was a vicious, brutal attack.
‘It is suspected the victim may be gay, and the early theory is that it was probably a domestic. If that’s the case, then the killer himself could be hurt. We’re already checking the hospitals and custody suites on the off chance he was picked up for something else after fleeing the scene. I don’t want this to get complicated, so let’s keep it simple. A nice, neat, join-the-dots investigation will do me fine.’
Sean looked towards Sally.