‘Besides, this kind of thing is more common than you think. Jack the Ripper took out his victims’ organs; so did Jeffrey Dahmer, Richard Chase and several others. Having said that, however, none of what has happened goes any way towards making my job easier.’
Collins slowly walked around the table holding the body of the third victim, the first of the group to do so. ‘What’s this mark here?’ The others gathered around and saw that Collins was pointing to what appeared to be a pale smudge on the outside of the man’s thigh, though it was partly obscured by a patch of dried blood and the fluids leaking out of the body.
‘Let’s see.’ Matthews gathered up a soft sponge and began gently wiping the area.
‘Just an area of discoloration, mild scarring, possibly the result of childhood eczema.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Collins. ‘The pattern seems a bit too regular.’
Matthews picked up a magnifying glass from a nearby desk and examined the area again. ‘I think you’re right. It looks like an incredibly faint tattoo. My guess is that this man underwent laser-removal treatment. It usually takes about five or six sessions to get rid of the tattoo completely so he must have had one or two procedures still to go. That’s a good spot.’
Anderson looked from Matthews to Collins and back again. Collins could feel herself starting to blush as she spoke. ‘It might be possible to reconstruct the tattoo. Even without knowing exactly what it is I can use it to eliminate hundreds of names from my list. Better still, if we get something we can put out to the media we might get lucky.’
Matthews nodded. ‘I’ll have the patch of skin removed. I’m sure we can get the pattern to show up more clearly under certain kinds of light. Bravo, Detective Inspector Collins.’
Anderson’s face remained stern as he nodded in Collins’s direction. ‘Good work. Get a copy out to the press a.s.a.p. and let’s see if we can give this poor bastard a name.’
Matthews explained that X-rays showed none of the bodies had any broken bones, other than those caused by the opening up of the chest cavities. External examination of the bodies had failed to reveal the presence of needle marks or puncture wounds, though it was possible that the relevant areas of skin had been removed.
As Matthews spoke, Collins looked at the three bodies around her, her eyes fixed on the marbled fat and muscle on the inside of the open ribcages. All three victims had been turned from men into carcasses. It was an image she was finding impossible to get out of her mind.
‘How long did you say it would be for the toxicology reports?’ asked Collins.
‘I did an initial test with the equipment we have here,’ explained Matthews, ‘but nothing came up in large-enough concentrations to be detected. That makes me think it’s unlikely we’ll find anything but I want to be absolutely sure. The spectroscope at the FSS HQ is a lot more sensitive but it will be at least a week before they can run any of the samples through it. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.’
The examination over, the three officers made their way out of the mortuary, ready to head back to the incident room. Collins was the last to leave and looked back at the figure of Jessica Matthews through the glass window in the centre of the rubber-edged double doors. The pathologist’s plan to help get Collins into her senior officers’ good books by telling her about the faded tattoo, which Collins could then ‘discover’ during the autopsy, seemed to have worked like a charm.
Matthews glanced up and saw Collins looking over at her. She smiled and, raising a blood-smeared gloved hand, gave her a thumbs-up sign.
7
The three teenage boys emerged from the school gates half an hour after most of the other pupils had left. They had been held behind in detention but the time they had spent struggling over maths problems had done little to dampen the rowdy behaviour that had got them into trouble in the first place. The noisy trio jostled and teased one another as they lazily made their way home.
‘They’re not going to expel us,’ said Nick, the tallest of the three, shaking his head slowly. ‘And even if they do I don’t give a fuck. The only reason I go to school at all is so I can hang out with you two. If we get kicked out, we’ll just hang out somewhere else.’
‘You can; I’ll be dead,’ said Chris, the youngest. ‘My mum will fucking kill me if I get kicked out again. I’ll be on the streets.’
‘If that happens,’ replied Nick, slapping the flat of his hand on the back of his friend, ‘you can always come and live with me!’
‘What, in your shithole of a house?’ gasped Alex. ‘No one in their right mind would ever want to live there.’ The three boys burst into fits of giggles. They were a few streets away from the school and still giggling when they first spotted the girl.
She wore a pair of skinny jeans and a cream summer blouse. Her lips were bright red with lipstick and her eyes lightly painted with black mascara. Her hair was blonde, moving gently with the breeze.
‘Here, look at that. She’s well fit,’ said Alex.
‘No way, she’s a tramp,’ said Nick.
‘And a brass,’ added Chris.
‘What, you think she’s on the game?’
‘Well what’s she doing, then? Ain’t no bus stop there.’
She was leaning back against a low wall, her elbows resting behind her, one leg folded up beneath. Two thin white wires led down from her ears and into an iPod fixed to a clip on the side of her belt. Her eyes were closed and her head bobbed gently in time with music none of the boys could hear. A soft smile was on her lips.
It was only as they got a little closer that Nick had a revelation.
‘Shit, that’s Sophie Collins.’
‘She doesn’t look like that when she’s got her uniform on.’
‘But she looks like a fucking brass!’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Nick put his finger to his lips and his two friends stopped speaking as the three drew almost level with the girl. Her eyes were still closed as Nick reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.
Sophie smiled lazily and spoke with her eyes still shut. ‘You took your time,’ she said, stretching her arms up above her head. Then she opened her eyes and instantly realized her mistake. ‘Oh, what the hell do you want?’
‘Hey, Sophie, what you doing here?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Why you all dressed up? You meeting your boyfriend?’
‘Piss off.’
‘Who is it?’ asked Chris. ‘Mr Glover?’
The boys laughed. Glover was the physics teacher notorious for his bad teeth and powerful foot odour.
‘I told you to piss off.’
‘I bet she’s waiting for a customer,’ said Alex.
‘Or her pimp,’ snorted Nick.
‘Yeah, how long you been on the game for, eh, Sophie? Not getting enough pocket money? How much for the three of us?’
‘I ain’t paying for it,’ said Alex. ‘You don’t know where the slag’s been.’
Sophie’s eyes narrowed with anger. ‘Who you calling a slag? What the fuck are you three talking about, you little shits? Why don’t you fuck off before my friend arrives and kicks the living daylights out of you?’
‘Check her bag,’ shouted Chris. ‘I bet it’s full of condoms.’
Before she could protest Alex had darted forward and snatched the handbag from her shoulder. She moved towards him but he immediately threw it high over her head towards Chris, who caught it neatly.
Sophie turned and advanced on him but he threw the bag across to Nick. Sophie spun on her heels. ‘Give it back, give it back, you bastards, give it back.’ There were tears of frustration building up in the corners of her eyes.