DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 5-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network and The Toy Taker. Luke Delaney

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СКАЧАТЬ have let her pass out,’ Sean assured him. ‘He wouldn’t have let her escape into unconsciousness. Not even for a second.’

      Canning raised his eyebrows. ‘It would appear he had knowledge of auto-erotic asphyxiation,’ he continued. ‘Popular with sado-masochists.’

      Hellier’s face flashed in Sean’s mind.

      ‘She was sexually assaulted, too. Raped both vaginally and anally by the look of things. No immediate signs of semen or a lubricant. I suspect he used a dry condom.’

      Canning spoke to DC Zukov. ‘Could you pass me that halogen lamp, please, Detective?’ Zukov passed him a metal-cased lamp that was big enough to be a helicopter searchlight. Canning flicked the lamp on. It gave off a less bright light than expected, but that wasn’t its purpose. Held at the right angle, it would allow the naked eye to observe otherwise near-invisible marks. Fingerprints, footprints, hairs, tiny fragments of metal …

      Canning began to slowly sweep the light across the body. He started at the lowest point. In this case it was the knees. The legs were still bent and tied back so her feet almost touched her buttocks. The light moved to her back. ‘Hello there.’ Canning had found something. He froze the light on the victim’s back. Sean moved two steps closer.

      ‘Careful,’ Canning warned him. ‘We haven’t examined the entire area around the body yet.’

      Sean stopped and crouched down. He craned his neck to get a better view of the victim’s back. ‘What is it?’

      ‘If I’m not very much mistaken,’ Canning said, ‘it’s a footprint.’ He moved the lamp to another angle. ‘Yes. There.’ The shoe-shaped bruise came more into focus. ‘Definitely a shoe mark. Pretty plain, though. No ridges or pattern.’

      ‘A plain-soled man’s shoe, between size eight and ten.’

      ‘Yes,’ Canning agreed. ‘That would be my guess. I’ll have it photographed back at the mortuary. Should show up well enough.’

      ‘Why would he do that?’ DC Zukov asked the question, the disgusted look clear on his face.

      Sean knew why, but he wouldn’t say. He knew Canning would work it out.

      ‘He pressed down on her back with his foot while pulling the ligatures tighter. That’s probably when the other marks around the neck were caused.’

      ‘Sick bastard,’ Zukov said. ‘Sick, evil bastard.’

      No one disagreed.

      Needing a break from the scene, Sally stood outside in the street smoking. She doubted whether the male officers felt what she did for the victim. Did they ever feel vulnerable and scared like a woman could? Did they ever consider how intimidating a big man could be to a woman, just by standing a little too close in a bar, at a bus stop? Probably not.

      What must it have been like for Linda Kotler? Those last minutes, God forbid hours, of her life. Totally overpowered by this man, this wild animal. Did the male officers have any real idea how hundreds of thousands of women across London would feel when details of the latest murder were released to the press?

      Many would stop going out at night until he, the killer, was caught. Others would rush to buy rape alarms, some would start to carry offensive weapons. All would check the locks on their doors and windows. They would want their men home before dark.

      Sally would be no different. When she thought of Linda Kotler, the way she had died, she couldn’t help but see her own face on the body. She shivered repeatedly. The cigarette helped a little.

      God, she wished she had a lover. Someone special to share her life with, good or bad. Her achievements and her failures. Her hopes and her fears. This wasn’t an easy job to do alone.

      Her thoughts turned to Sebastian Gibran. Was that what he wanted? To be her lover? When they’d first met his eyes had definitely rested on her for longer than normal. She was pretty sure he would be married, but maybe that didn’t matter to him. How did she feel about being a mistress to a wealthy benefactor? Was the whole ‘something sensitive to discuss’ a ruse to get her to meet him for lunch? Wine and dine her? Seduce her? She couldn’t deny she had found him attractive: power and presence in a man were strong aphrodisiacs. She would find out soon enough.

      The cigarette grew hot between her fingers, snapping her back to the present. She tossed it away and headed back inside the scene, all thoughts of pleasanter things a distant memory.

      Dr Canning moved the halogen lamp to the victim’s head. He held a fine-toothed comb in his other hand, the better to groom the victim’s hair before the body was moved. A tiny, vital piece of evidence could easily be lost when moving a body. With the help of DC Zukov, he’d lifted the head very slightly and slipped a three foot by three foot white paper sheet under her head. He began to comb the hair slowly from the scalp outwards.

      As he combed, a little of her hair fell on to the sheet. Then he saw it, floating the short distance to the sheet. It landed gently. He dared not breathe. He swapped the comb and lamp for a plastic evidence bag and a pair of delicate metal tweezers. He moved the tweezers stealthily closer to the hair. When he was no more than an inch or two away he suddenly moved quickly, grabbing the hair in the small metal claw. He allowed himself to exhale.

      Sean had been watching intently. As Canning held the hair above his head, Sean could see it glistening. ‘The victim’s?’ Sean asked.

      ‘Definitely not,’ Canning replied. ‘Too long and too fair. And there’s a root on it. Your lab shouldn’t have too much trouble getting DNA off it.’

      Sean hid the excitement swelling in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. The root of that hair could solve this murder on its own.

      ‘What are the chances it belongs to our killer?’ he asked.

      ‘Unless there was another person here with the victim last night, I’d say it’s almost certainly the killer’s,’ Canning answered. ‘This hair wasn’t buried deep in amongst the victim’s. It was virtually sitting on top of hers, waiting to be found.’

      Sean was still concerned. He wanted it to be absolute. In court it would have to be absolute. ‘How could that be?’ he asked. ‘A hair, with a root, just lying there?’

      ‘Most likely caused by the killer removing a head cover of some description,’ Canning surmised. ‘When you remove a hat or similar there is always a good chance you’ll pull a hair out, and often the root will come with it.’

      ‘So you think he took his off?’ Sean asked.

      ‘Yes. Hairs like this, with roots attached, don’t fall out naturally.’

      ‘Why the hell would he take his head cover off?’ Sean wondered.

      ‘That I can’t answer,’ Canning said. ‘But if he did take a head cover off, then we’ve a good chance of finding more hair on the body or around it. That would further diminish the possibility of an accidental transfer of hair from body to body at some other point during the day at another location.’ Sean understood the importance of eliminating that possibility. Defence solicitors had become skilled in arguing their way around forensic evidence.

      The pathologist handed the evidence bag containing the hair to DC Zukov. He handled it as if it was an unstable СКАЧАТЬ