Anna could answer, Sally walked into the office and slumped into the one vacant chair, too tired to notice the tense atmosphere. ‘I wish I still smoked,’ she announced. ‘A ciggie and a coffee would go down very nicely round about now.’
‘What you got for me, Sally?’ Sean ignored her plea for vices of the past.
‘Well, the victim’s Oyster card is being examined today, so we should know his movements soon enough. And we’ve seized the CCTV from Borough tube station. The transport police are going to find out what train he used and seize the CCTV from that too, so if he was being closely followed we might get something. It was late and the station was pretty quiet. Could be our best bet.’
‘Then he didn’t follow him,’ Sean killed off any optimism. ‘He waited for him. He’s too smart, too careful to get caught following either victim on CCTV. But check it out anyway. You get anything from your trip to the West End last night?’
‘Nothing that sounds like it’s going to help,’ she admitted. ‘We tracked down plenty of his so-called friends and associates from the street. He was well known and well liked, but nobody has any idea why this happened to him. There were lots of sightings on the day and night he died, but he headed for home alone. No one knows what happened.’
‘Can they say what tube station he used?’ Sean asked.
‘Some reckon Tottenham Court Road,’ Sally told him. ‘We’ll know for sure once the Oyster card is examined.’
‘OK, fine,’ Sean agreed distractedly, suddenly aware of an absence in the room. ‘You seen Dave this morning?’ he asked Sally.
‘No,’ she shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.’
Sean thought about his other trusted second in command for a few seconds, remembering how in the past he was virtually always the first one into work every morning. Since the Goldsboro shooting, he was usually the last. ‘If you see or hear from him,’ he told Sally, ‘let him know I need to speak with him, will you?’ Sally nodded as Sean’s mobile began to ring. He checked the caller ID and answered.
‘Andy,’ he began. ‘What you got for me?’
‘Early, peripheral findings only,’ DS Roddis from SIU’s specialist forensic team told him. ‘The Crime Scene Log tells me you’ve been to the scene, twice, so I doubt I’ll be able to tell you anything you haven’t worked out for yourself. Why wasn’t I given this scene when it was fresh? It doesn’t help that I’ve had to contend with another forensic team trampling over most of it and making off with exhibits.’
‘Exhibits that will be handed over to you,’ Sean tried to calm the unlikeable perfectionist that was Roddis, the best at his business Sean had ever known. ‘And the murder wasn’t connected 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