Blood Work

'It's not her, sir.'

Delaney could barely hear the words. He wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth and looked up to see Sally standing above him. 'What?'

'It's not her, sir. It's not Dr Walker. It's her scarf, by the looks of it, but it's not her. That woman. She's wearing a wig.' She could barely get the words out. 'She was wearing a wig.' She corrected herself.

Sally took a step towards him and then had to put her hand on the wall. She looked down to the car park below. Taking a few deep breaths herself. Her face was the colour of a white lily pressed in an old hymnal.

Delaney took a long swig of water from the bottle that Sally had just given him and wiped his mouth as Diane Campbell came up the steps and walked over to join them.

'You got anything for me?'

Delaney shook his head. 'Just got here, Diane.'

'Is it the same guy?

Delaney shrugged. 'It's the same kind of butchery. Worse than the first.'

'Is he escalating?'

Delaney gestured helplessly. 'Seems to be, but honestly, I don't know, boss. We're pretty much in the dark here.'

'What about the suspect? The flasher?'

'We've tracked him down but he wasn't at home.'

'Why don't you get out of here and go and find him then?'

'Shouldn't I stay here, process the scene?'

'I've got it covered. The super is on his way over, cowboy. He wants your balls in a chocolate fountain and served up at the ambassador's party.'

Delaney grimaced. 'The guy from the hospital made a complaint?'

Campbell shook her head dismissively. 'You can tell me about it later.' She jerked her thumb back towards the murder scene. 'For now we have more important things to worry about than some paediatrician you've been having a pissing competition with. Now fuck off before he gets here.'

Delaney gestured to Sally Cartwright and led her back down the stairs. Campbell watched them leave for a moment and then put a cigarette in her mouth and then barked at the uniform standing by the open door. 'Get me a sodding light!'

Delaney held his warrant card up again for the old lady at the door to read, but she knew very well who he was. She backed away resignedly as Delaney and Sally walked in. Delaney told the two uniforms that were with them to wait outside and keep an eye out for Ashley Bradley, and if the little bastard ran they had better damn well catch him.

Mrs Bradley led Delaney to the back of the flat to her grandson's bedroom. Delaney didn't consider him likely for the two killings. It was a very big step from flashing nurses on the common to murder and mutilation. It did happen of course. Serial killers were often profiled as having been cruel to animals in their youth, going on to sex offences like peeping through windows and flashing before maturing into full-time psychopaths. It was pretty bloody rare for it to happen overnight, mind.

The door to Ashley Bradley's bedroom was locked and his grandmother didn't have a key. Delaney didn't even apologise as he used his shoulder to smash the door open. But what he saw inside made him rethink the matter entirely and curse himself for every kind of fool in God's cruel Christendom.

Superintendent George Napier stood at the top of the stairs at the flats in Camden Town, glaring at Diane Campbell as she took another satisfying drag on her cigarette.

'Is that absolutely necessary?'

Diane jerked her cigarette back at the crime scene where the suited-up SOCOs were now processing every square inch. 'Have you seen what he did to her in there?'

'You know damn well I haven't.'

Diane took another drag on her cigarette and pointedly blew out a long stream of smoke. 'Talk to me about it when you have then.'

Napier looked far from happy but let it rest. 'Where's Delaney?'

'Following up a lead.'

'I've had a complaint that he assaulted a paediatrician at South Hampstead Hospital yesterday morning and then physically threatened him again today.'

'I'm sure he had his reasons.'

'I don't give a damn if he had his reasons or not. I will not have members of my police force roaming around assaulting members of the public.'

'I'll have a word, sir.'

'You'll do more than that. I want him suspended pending a full inquiry.'

'Why don't we get his version of events before we do anything?'

'The man's a loose cannon, you know that, Diane. But he's gone too far this time. I want him closed down.'

'Can't do that, sir.'

'You'll do as you're damn well told. This ain't Dodge City, Chief Inspector.'

'Why don't you tell that to the press?'

'What are you talking about?'

Diane pointed her cigarette behind the superintendent. 'Melanie Jones seems to think the killer has some kind of connection with Jack Delaney. She wants to liaise with him about it.'

George Napier swore under his breath as he turned round to see Melanie Jones and her cameraman coming up the stairs towards them.

'How the hell did she know about this?' he hissed.

'Seems the killer has a thing about her too. Likes to call her up for cosy chit-chats.'

Napier turned his back on the approaching reporter. 'Jesus Christ, Diane. This kind of thing can ruin careers.'

'If Jack is suspended, sir, I guess she can deal with you.'

Napier glared at her. 'You've made your bloody point, Diane. Let's not push it, eh?'

Delaney stood in the centre of the small room. A bed in the corner, a wardrobe, a desk with a laptop computer on it and a digital camera beside it. A stack of pornographic magazines at the base of the bed with a waste-paper basket beside it full of old tissues. He picked up a couple of the magazines and flicked through the titles, voyeuristic stuff mainly, peeping Tom-type shots. Posed for the camera as though the subject was unaware the camera was there. And every spare inch of every wall of the room covered with photographs. Photographs of women genuinely unaware they were being photographed. A lot of them from South Hampstead Heath. A lot of them in nurse's uniform.

Sally waved a hand under her nose. The odour in the room was overpowering and distinctly unpleasant. The smell of stale sex. Solitary, self-administered sex. She crossed to the curtains, opened them and after struggling with the catch managed to release the window, letting a little fresh air into the room. She glanced at the waste-paper basket and grimaced at Delaney. 'The greatest love of all.'

But Delaney wasn't listening, he was staring at the photos on the wall.

'Have a look here, Sally.' He was pointing at a photo on the wall near to the desk. It was of a dark-haired woman dressed goth-style and walking on the South Hampstead common.

Sally looked at the picture. 'It's hard to tell, sir. The make-up makes them all look alike. Goths, I mean.'

Delaney tapped at the picture. 'Blow this up and I'll bet you we'll see a belt buckle with two green men on it.'

'It does look like her.'

'Check all the others.'

Sally and Delaney methodically worked their way along the photos. After five minutes Sally stopped and looked at a picture.

'I think this is the second one, sir. She's got blonde hair, but I think it's her.'

Delaney walked across and looked. The hair colouring was different but the face was the same, she was dressed in a nurse's uniform from South Hampstead Hospital. It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He deserved it. 'Shit!' he said.

'Sir?'

'We let the sick fuck get away.'

There is a connection between life and death. Delaney believed in that, if he didn't believe in much else. When he was four years old and living in Ballydehob, he had been bundled out of the house one day during the summer holidays. His two older, twin cousins, Mary and Clare, had taken him down to the old railway viaduct over the river. It was a scorching hot day and he had been given ice cream and lemonade in the village, then taken down to the river and up on the viaduct where they allowed him to pick up pebbles and throw them into the water cascading far below.