He and the Head of CID crossed the room to Dorward's table, which was larger than the other. It was piled with papers and notebooks, and in one corner sat a television monitor, connected by a cable to the dead man's video camcorder.
'What did you find in the house, Arthur, apart from that?' asked Martin.
'Nothing I didn't expect to find, sir. Loads of the victim's fingerprints… we lifted them for comparison before the body was taken away. There was another set too, all over the house, but I wouldn't get too excited about that. They were at their heaviest in the kitchen, and we found some on the Domestos and Flash bottles and on the Hoover, so my best guess is that he had a cleaning lady.
'The front door was unlocked, and there was a good palm print on the outside. I'm guessing that it might belong to the guy who found the body.'
'Whatever happened to Alec's dog?' The Head of CID murmured.
'It's at North Berwick nick,' Rose answered. 'When we arrived it wouldn't let anyone near the body, so a couple of the boys took it away.'
'I'm sure we'll find it a home,' said Skinner. 'What else, Arthur? No obvious weapon?'
'Only one, sir. There were plenty of objects that could have been used to inflict the head injuries — there's a whole range of tools down in the cellar — but they were all absolutely clean. We did find a blowlamp, down there, but there's no chance that it was the one used on Mr Smith. It was stone cold and it had a full gas-fuel cylinder. The cellar door was open too, sir. It was very slightly ajar and there were footprints leading to the ladder that goes down to the beach. It looks as if that was the perpetrators' exit route, right enough.' 'I take it we're-'
Rose read the DCC's mind. 'I had uniformed officers begin a search of the beach as soon as the light was good enough, Boss. The trouble is, though, there was a high tide last night, so if the killer did discard something, he probably threw it in the sea. It might be difficult to definitely tie anything we do find to Alec's house.'
Skinner grunted agreement, then looked at the scene-of-crime inspector. 'Write up a provisional report as quick as you can, Arthur, and let DCI Rose have it.'
Martin pointed to the camcorder. 'You played that back yet?'
'No fear, sir,' said the Inspector. 'That quick look through the viewfinder was bad enough; I've got no wish to see it blown up. I'll only watch that again if you order me to.' He paused. 'Oh, by the way, there was nothing on the still camera, other than pictures of wee boats sailing in the bay out there. I've told the lab to print them anyway, but there'll be bugger all in them for us.'
Skinner tapped the pile of papers on the desk. 'There may well turn out to be bugger all in these too, but we'll still have to go through them.' He turned back to Rose. 'This is something your old man could do, Mags. If Alec hung on to any of his old SB contacts, Mario might recognise the names.
'Arthur, you'd better go for a walk on the beach now. DC Ghosh, you're excused too. The front-line officers are going to have to look at that video now.' Dorward and his assistant looked at him gratefully and headed for the exit. For a moment, Skinner thought about following them; instead he switched on the monitor, picked up the camera, found the 'play' button and pressed it. Rose and Steele crossed the room to stand between him and Martin.
For around ten seconds a scrambled image appeared on the screen, until it turned to black. Then gradually a picture appeared; Alec Smith, hanging, naked, from his hook. His mouth was covered by the brown tape, but his eyes were blazing with fury. Skinner used the remote to turn up the volume, and the room filled with the sound of the trussed-up ex-detective cursing unintelligibly behind his gag.
'No blood,' said Martin. 'The head wounds aren't there at this stage. So how the hell did they get him up there?'
Suddenly, out of shot, they heard a click, followed by a soft hiss, which mutated into a husky roar. As they watched the look in Smith's eyes changed from belligerence to terror, as the nozzle of a blowtorch appeared in shot.
'The same person.' Rose's voice was almost matter-of-fact, but a slight tremor gave away her horror. 'It's the same person holding both the camera and the blowlamp.'
'Look for shadows,' Martin whispered. 'Anything, any sign of anyone else coming into shot.'
But all they saw was a hand in a red rubber glove, with a long cuff, gripping the roaring torch as it moved towards Smith. 'How tall do you think the person holding the…' Steele began, but his voice tailed into a gasp as the white flame seared against the helpless man's penis. The twisting victim's eyes bulged, threatening to come out of their sockets. His shouts became an awful, muffled scream. His back arched as he tried to pull away from his torturer, but he had been hauled so high up on his toes that he was completely helpless.
'Try not to look at him,' Skinner barked, urgently. 'Look for the killer instead, listen for him; any sights, any sounds that aren't Alec'
He tried to follow his own instruction, but it was virtually impossible in the face of the most awful horror movie any of them had ever seen. The blowlamp did its work on the genitals, charring, scorching, blackening, then moved up to the nipples, the heat melting Smith's chest hair. Finally, Skinner looked away as the lance of flame aimed for the eyes. He tried to shut his ears against the awful noise. There was a scrambling beside him, Stevie Steele heading for the door, yet no other sound, only Smith's choking screams, rising to a crescendo, then gradually, weakening and fading. Then the roar of the flame dying away, replaced by another noise, a rending, tearing sound, and by one last muted howl from the doomed man on the hook.
At last, Andy Martin pressed the remote to switch off the monitor. 'My God,' Maggie Rose whispered, over and over again, until a sob forced its way out. Skinner leaned on the table, grasping it almost hard enough to splinter the wood, staring once again at the empty screen, listening to the hum as the camcorder continued to replay its tape.
'No other officer is to see that recording,' he ordered. 'Chief Inspector, I want you to take personal charge of it. Take it back to Haddington when next you go there, and lock it in your safe.' He turned to look at her with a gleam in his eyes that she would rather not have seen. Two people had; they were both dead.
'When we arrest this beast, Maggie,' he said, grinding the words through his teeth, 'you'll have to interview him. But not alone; with Brian, if he's back by then. If not, with someone other than one of us, someone who hasn't seen that. I don't know about you, but if I caught the people who did that right now, I'd have a hell of a job keeping my hands off them… I don't think I'd even try.'
Martin's voice broke the silence. 'There was nothing on it to help us catch them,' he muttered. 'Mags was right, the killer held the camera while he did that stuff to Alec. There's not a sign of anyone, not a sound… and no indication that there was more than one person in the room.'
'What a terrible person, though.' The DCC looked at his colleagues, as Stevie Steele came back into the van, sheepishly. 'What the hell could Alec Smith have done for someone to do that to him?'
'Like I said to Karen,' Andy Martin murmured, 'that sort of mind doesn't necessarily need to have a reason.'
'Don't say that, for fuck's sake!' said Skinner, urgently. 'If that's true, he might do it again!
'I don't need to say it, people, but I will. All the stops! Maggie, what are you doing about the press?'
The DCI glanced at her watch. 'Alan Royston's issuing a statement around now, up in Edinburgh. I'll take a press conference once we've done the initial door-to-door sweep.'
'Where?'