"Now, the man. He's the better bet, by a long chalk. The pullover is dark green, army-style with leather-patched elbows, designed by Capability Brown and retailing only through Harrods at a price of one hundred and three pounds." He smiled at Frank Cheever's grunt of excitement. "That's only the beginning, my friend. The shirt is a casual green-brown check from Hilditch and Keys in Jermyn Street, retailing at eighty-five pounds. Trousers by Capability Brown again, one hundred percent lined cotton, with pleated front and button detail, color described as taupe, and retailing out of Harrods for two hundred and fifty pounds. Socks by Marks and Spencers, shoes probably purchased in Italy because Jerry has no record of an importer who deals in that particular brand, but he's working on it. His best advice is that our chap has an account with Harrods and probably one with Hilditch and Keys as well. He has located some interesting fibers on both sets of garments which he believes are from the same carpet, probably a thick-pile, off-white Chinese rug, and some hairs which he suggests tentatively are cat hairs, but give him a few more days and he claims he'll be able to describe the room these two were in before they were taken to Ardingly Woods."
"Anything else?" asked Cheever.
Clarke chuckled. "Isn't that enough to be getting on with? Good God, man, we've had them less than twenty-four hours. What else are you expecting?"
"Some reasonable fingerprint impressions," Cheever said. "You were doubtful yesterday, but perhaps you've had new thoughts today? If either of them have previous records, that's got to be the quickest route to identification."
"Yes, well, I'll be in a better position to judge that when we've got them out of the bags."
"What about the green nylon twine that was used to tie their hands and feet? Anything useful to say about that?''
"Not really. It's available in most garden centers, DIY stores, and supermarkets. Impossible to break and takes years and years to wear through. The knots were standard grannies, repeated several times to stop them slipping, and they were very tight, so presumably the victims struggled to get out of them. That's an avenue worth exploring. How does one man tie up two healthy adults? And when did he do it? Before he transported them to Ardingly, or after he got them there? If it was before, how did he get them to the middle of the forest? If it was after, why didn't one of them run away while the other was being trussed? I really think the most likely scenario is that you should be looking for two or more suspects."
DI Maddocks rubbed his jaw in thought. "Are you sure it was a hammer and not a heavy branch? If it was a branch, we could be looking at a rather more spontaneous attack. Our maniac, and I use the word advisedly, stumbles on a sleeping couple in the wood, renders them unconscious, ties them up, and then bludgeons them to death before absconding with their money. Could it have happened like that?"
"Not with a branch," said Dr. Clarke amiably. "Whatever made that neat hole in the woman's skull was cleanly and symmetrically shaped, very hard and heavy, and was probably at right angles to its shaft to penetrate so deeply. I wouldn't put my life on a sledgehammer, but I'd certainly put my savings on it."
The third policeman, Detective Sergeant Sean Fraser, who was leaning against the wall by the open window, stirred into life. "With respect, Governor," he said to Maddocks, "if it had been a spontaneous killing, we'd have found a car somewhere. A guy who buys his clothes at Harrods isn't going to hitch a lift to Ardingly Woods for a snooze with his bird." He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his leather jacket sleeve. "It's interesting listening to the doctor's description of how it happened. Pick any war you like, and you'll have seen film footage of victims kneeling in front of open graves before they're dispatched with a shot in the back of the head to topple forward into the pit. I'd say it's a fair bet these two were executed."
The others digested this in silence for a moment.
"What sort of execution are we talking about?" asked Superintendent Cheever finally. "If it was a professional contract killing, we'd be looking at X rays of bullet holes. You said yourself, a shot in the back of the head. I can't see a pro using a sledgehammer."
"I've known gangs take each other apart with baseball bats, sir," said Fraser, "but looking at what we've got, a man and a woman, mid-thirties to forties, I'd say it's a jealous husband we should be after. An execution of passion, that's my guess."
Cheever punted the idea about his head. "I still don't understand why no one's reported them missing. Well-dressed people don't vanish for two weeks without anyone noticing."
"Unless it's their families who've done away with them," said Maddocks. "Perhaps we've got a Menendez situation on our hands, wealthy parents slaughtered by teenage sons out of greed for money or revenge for prolonged sexual abuse, depending on who you believe. It happens far too often for comfort. There was Jeremy Bamber-remember him?-did away with his entire family for the house and money and then tried to blame it all on his dead sister. Makes you wonder why any of us bothers to lumber ourselves with the next generation."
Dr. Clarke consulted his watch and stood up. "Well, unlike you chaps, I don't earn enough to make it worth my children's while. A little kudos now and then for getting it right, that's my only real satisfaction for all the hours I put in on your behalf. Look for the bloodstains. Your individual, or more likely your duo or trio, will have had quantities of bright red hemoglobin splattered across their fronts. Someone, somewhere, will have seen it and said: 'Ah!' "
"Assuming Joe Public notices anything beyond his stomach and his prick," said Maddocks sourly.
"All being well," went on Clarke, opening the door, "I should be able to pinpoint their ages a little better for you by the end of the day, probably get some usable fingerprints, and in addition, tell you if the woman has ever given birth." He ushered them into the corridor. "But first I'll have to unzip those charming bags. Care to lend a hand, any of you?" He was chortling to himself as he headed for the lab.
"He's a miserable old fraud," said Superintendent Cheever to the others. "He earns twice as much as I do and puts in half the hours."
The smell of death issued from the lab as the pathologist opened the door and went inside.
"I suppose you noticed," said Maddocks, grinning at his boss while nodding towards the young sergeant, whose face had taken on an unhealthy hue under its thatch of blond hair, "that the good doctor ate his biscuits without washing his hands."
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-MIDDAY
Jinx was standing in her bay window, leaning against the back of a chair for support. She was aware of the ginger head poked around her door for a long time before she said anything. "Why don't you come in?" she said finally to the pane of glass in front of her.
"You talking to me?"
"There's no one else here."
Matthew eased his thin frame through the gap in the door and joined her in her study of the garden. He found it impossible to stand still for very long, and out of the corner of her eye, she watched his nervous twitching with amusement. God, he was unattractive.