But then on the morning of Saturday March 29th, the stabbed form of Albert Beck, a tanner, of nearby Clarendon Road, North Kensington, was discovered in the undergrowth of St John's Church by a passer-by close to Ladbroke Grove. He leaves a widow and two small children in penury. The third victim was named as Leonard Childe, a 38-year-old blacksmith of Harrow Road, North Kensington, who leaves a widow and four children, the eldest being just thirteen. He was discovered during the early morning of Tuesday April 1st, near to Notting Hill station. Police authorities have called for calm in the area and are said to be closing in on the ghoul who perpetrated these wicked acts. Those who have witnessed any suspicious activity among relatives or neighbours, such as the sighting of blood-drenched clothes or lunatic behaviour, are entreated to present themselves at North Kensington police station to provide information.
Nigel finished reading, then left the room, headed down the short flight of stairs, all the time dialling Foster. By the time he made it out of the doors the phone was ringing.
Foster answered straightaway.
'I've found a report of the murder of Albert Beck.'
'What does it say?'
'The killer struck three times. A body was found on Tuesday 25 th, Saturday 29th, and Tuesday 1 st April.' He paused. 'April 1st is tomorrow,' Nigel added.
He heard Foster sigh. 'I'm aware of the date,' he drawled. 'That's not the only thing that bothers me.
If he's following this pattern, then he killed someone last Saturday and we haven't found the body. Where were the first and third victims found?'
Nigel trawled his memory. Years of scanning documents had given him almost photographic recall.
'The first was Brick Field, Notting Dale. The third near Notting Hill station.'
'Find out as much as you can about each of the killings, in particular the spot where they were found.
Call in when you have something.'
Foster collected his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on. He went through to the incident room and clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
'Listen up. I've just had Nigel Barnes on the phone: he's found a newspaper report from 1879 about three killings in North Kensington in the space of a week.
The second killing was of Albert Beck.'
'The second}' Heather said.
Foster nodded. 'That's not the only surprise. The third victim was murdered on 31st March 1879, the body found the next day.'
A silence fell across the room.
'So this is what's going to happen. Andy and Heather, get a team to Notting Hill Gate. That's where Barnes says the third body was found in 1879.
Scout it out, get plain clothes on the street, digging up the roads, begging for small change, whatever you can think of, as long as it's low-key: just get some bodies around there. Find a place overlooking the station if you can and keep an eye on it. I'll come and join you there later.'
'What about the first killing?' Heather asked. 'If he's followed the pattern . . .'
'I'll deal with those who might already be dead.
You try and stop someone else joining their ranks.'
The mortuary attendant, the only person on duty that evening, at least until the inevitable victims of a Saturday night in the city were wheeled in later on, looked ill at ease when DCI Foster strode in purposefully.
'Can I help?' he asked, blinking furiously behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
'You can. I want to see every body that was brought in last weekend. The ones you still have, anyway.'
'Did you ring and ask about this in advance?' he asked nervously.
'Look,' Foster stopped himself. 'What's your name, son?'
'Luke.'
'Luke, I'm in the middle of a murder investigation.
It is extremely important that I see those bodies and that I see them immediately. Now I'm going to walk in there and have a look. I think it's best you don't try and stop me. Agreed?'
Luke nodded slowly.
'Good man.'
Foster left him at his desk and barged through a set of double doors that led downstairs to the cold store. He could feel the temperature fall as he went further into the depths. At the bottom was another door. Locked.
'Luke!' he shouted. He could feel a draught coming from somewhere, he guessed the hidden approach where hearses and ambulances came to load and unload.
The young man scurried downstairs and punched a code into a keypad to one side of the door. There was a click and Foster pushed. He was inside. The air was chilly, though not freezing. He exhaled and caught a fleeting glimpse of his breath in front of him. Rows of cabins filled either side of the room, leaving a wide central area in the middle where a few tables stood. Only one was in use; Foster saw a black body bag. It wasn't empty.
'That one's waiting to be prepared for the tray,' Luke said, noticing where Foster's eyes were straying. 'Alcoholic,' he added, as if that explained the delay.
At the far end of the room was a chrome mechanism, a lift, a sort of dumb waiter that delivered the body to the autopsy room upstairs. Next to it Foster saw a large whiteboard. On it were the numbers of each cabin, written beside the surname of the deceased.
'Do you have any record of when these people died, or when their bodies were brought in?'
'It's in the register.'
'Get it, please.'
Luke departed while Foster went to a dispenser and put on a pair of latex gloves. By the time he'd worked them on, Luke had returned, his breathing slightly heavier, with a large black book in his hands.
'What dates interest you?'
'For a start, I want to have a look at everyone who was brought in late last Saturday night or on Sunday, regardless of when they actually died.'
Luke put the book down on one of the unoccupied metal tables, running down the page with his finger, then flicking it over. Foster wanted to grab it and look himself but, as he was about to, the technician spoke.
'Right, we have Fahey.'
Foster looked at the whiteboard. Couldn't see the name.
'Released to the funeral parlour on Thursday,'
Luke added. 'Road traffic accident.'
Foster made a note of which funeral parlour.
'Gordon.'
This one was on the wall. Cabin 13. Foster went over himself and pulled hard on the handle and the drawTer slid out. He unzipped the bag to reveal a man, slightly overweight, in his early fifties, he guessed.
His colour was pale blue and his jaw hung open.
Foster looked closely at his chest and torso, then lifted both arms. When he found nothing, he summoned Luke and asked him to help sit the body up.
With much effort, Foster carefully inspected his back.
There wasn't a blemish on the whole body.
'Heart attack?' he asked Luke, who nodded.
'At home on Saturday night.'
'Perhaps he won the lottery,' Foster said, zipping up the bag and shunting the cabin back into its home.
The next name on the list was Ibrahim.
'This one's in the deep freeze. Number 30,' Luke said.
Great, Foster thought, just what I need. There was always at least one cabin where the temperature was 200 below. It stored bodies that required freezing to prevent decomposition. Then, when they were needed, for a second autopsy perhaps, they were thawed out with hot water from the boiler.
'Is this a keeper?' he asked.
Luke shook his head. 'No, it was in an advanced state of decomposition when it was found.'
'Marvellous,' Foster muttered.
He pulled the door open and dragged out the tray.
The bag was smaller, not body-shaped. He opened it carefully, breathing deeply.
The cold prevented the stench from overpowering him, but what he saw almost did. The body was in bits. An arm here, a leg there, the torso in the middle, the head missing; it was green, not pale blue, and had obviously been maggot food for some time. Foster recalled the case. Another team was on it; probable honour killing was the word.