back in a single day?’
‘It’s Professor Henson.’
Langton snatched at his desk phone and snapped, ‘Put him through.’
‘DCI Langton?’
‘Speaking.’
‘I had the “tooth fairy” in to look over the details.’
‘What?’
‘Just a joke name we use for the odontologist. You were right and I was wrong. He agreed with you, it was a human bite. Although we have only the top row of teeth, we should be able to make a good impression and get a set made up.’
‘Human?’ repeated Langton.
‘Yes,’ Henson admitted rather sheepishly. ‘So, all you need to do now is find him.’
‘Well, I’m working on it. Thanks for getting back to me so fast.’
Langton replaced the phone. This was a step forward, though deeply worrying.
Though they still had no suspect, they now had confirmation that their killer was becoming more sadistic. He was not dormant, far from it. The monster who murdered Melissa Stephens was active and would kill again, unless they stopped him in time.
Chapter Five
Anna stood in the long line of passengers at Luton airport, waiting to board from Gate 4. The plane was half-empty and it was no wonder, she reflected, given the ungodly hour of the checkin. She sighed; it was going to be a very long day.
In London, Langton was watching as Henson carefully splayed a section of tongue cut from Melissa’s mouth in order to record and photograph every detail. He placed one ruler along the side of it and another lengthwise. The angle of the camera had to be precise, exactly perpendicular to the bite mark. These photographs would later be enhanced by computer technology using an infrared camera. The painstaking procedure would take a long time.
Henson was using a sterile cotton swab, moistened with distilled water and gently taking swabs from the tongue. The hope was to find traces of the killer’s saliva and therefore his DNA.
‘It’s got clear indentations,’ remarked Henson. ‘The odontologist was able to get a good impression.’
The airport at Palma was so stiflingly hot that Anna was thankful she had travelled light. Exiting the terminal, she found the taxi rank and gave her driver Southwood’s address: Villa Marianna, Alcona Way. The taxi driver wore a baseball cap, a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He seemed to be sweating, an indication the taxi had no air conditioning, though it was a registered cab, with a radio.
‘Do you know the area?’ Anna asked the driver. He turned, grinning, and with a broad Liverpudlian accent, said he knew the whole place like the back of his hand. He informed her that Southwood’s address was on the outskirts of Palma. Anna leaned back and opened her window for some air as the driver, whose name was Ron, gave her his life story. He had met his wife in Palma on a package holiday. Now he had turned his hand part time to carpentry and also helped in real estate deals.
Without drawing a breath, he focused on Anna now. ‘So, what you over here for? Lookin’ fer property, are you? See ya got no luggage, like. How long you stayin’? I can show you some nice places, dependin’ on the price range. There’s some good bargains still to be had, but yer gotta know where to look, like.’
‘I’m a police officer,’ she said.
‘Gerraway. A cop! Christ, they’re gettin’ younger! What you over ‘ere for, then?’
‘Just an enquiry. Is it much further?’
Unfortunately, it was. The midday sun beat down relentlessly. Even with the window down, Anna was sweating.
‘What’s the enquiry about, then?’ Ron asked. Not for the first time, Anna caught him watching her in the rear-view mirror rather than the road ahead.
‘Can’t discuss it, I’m afraid,’ she said, hoping it would shut him up. It didn’t.
‘Drugs, is it? We get a lorra junkies over ‘ere, ’specially in the high season. Is it drugs?’
‘No, it’s not drugs.’ To distract him from this line of questioning, she asked the driver to give a rundown of the area. For the next half
‘It’s Professor Henson.’
Langton snatched at his desk phone and snapped, ‘Put him through.’
‘DCI Langton?’
‘Speaking.’
‘I had the “tooth fairy” in to look over the details.’
‘What?’
‘Just a joke name we use for the odontologist. You were right and I was wrong. He agreed with you, it was a human bite. Although we have only the top row of teeth, we should be able to make a good impression and get a set made up.’
‘Human?’ repeated Langton.
‘Yes,’ Henson admitted rather sheepishly. ‘So, all you need to do now is find him.’
‘Well, I’m working on it. Thanks for getting back to me so fast.’
Langton replaced the phone. This was a step forward, though deeply worrying.
Though they still had no suspect, they now had confirmation that their killer was becoming more sadistic. He was not dormant, far from it. The monster who murdered Melissa Stephens was active and would kill again, unless they stopped him in time.
Chapter Five
Anna stood in the long line of passengers at Luton airport, waiting to board from Gate 4. The plane was half-empty and it was no wonder, she reflected, given the ungodly hour of the checkin. She sighed; it was going to be a very long day.
In London, Langton was watching as Henson carefully splayed a section of tongue cut from Melissa’s mouth in order to record and photograph every detail. He placed one ruler along the side of it and another lengthwise. The angle of the camera had to be precise, exactly perpendicular to the bite mark. These photographs would later be enhanced by computer technology using an infrared camera. The painstaking procedure would take a long time.
Henson was using a sterile cotton swab, moistened with distilled water and gently taking swabs from the tongue. The hope was to find traces of the killer’s saliva and therefore his DNA.
‘It’s got clear indentations,’ remarked Henson. ‘The odontologist was able to get a good impression.’
The airport at Palma was so stiflingly hot that Anna was thankful she had travelled light. Exiting the terminal, she found the taxi rank and gave her driver Southwood’s address: Villa Marianna, Alcona Way. The taxi driver wore a baseball cap, a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He seemed to be sweating, an indication the taxi had no air conditioning, though it was a registered cab, with a radio.
‘Do you know the area?’ Anna asked the driver. He turned, grinning, and with a broad Liverpudlian accent, said he knew the whole place like the back of his hand. He informed her that Southwood’s address was on the outskirts of Palma. Anna leaned back and opened her window for some air as the driver, whose name was Ron, gave her his life story. He had met his wife in Palma on a package holiday. Now he had turned his hand part time to carpentry and also helped in real estate deals.
Without drawing a breath, he focused on Anna now. ‘So, what you over here for? Lookin’ fer property, are you? See ya got no luggage, like. How long you stayin’? I can show you some nice places, dependin’ on the price range. There’s some good bargains still to be had, but yer gotta know where to look, like.’
‘I’m a police officer,’ she said.
‘Gerraway. A cop! Christ, they’re gettin’ younger! What you over ‘ere for, then?’
‘Just an enquiry. Is it much further?’
Unfortunately, it was. The midday sun beat down relentlessly. Even with the window down, Anna was sweating.
‘What’s the enquiry about, then?’ Ron asked. Not for the first time, Anna caught him watching her in the rear-view mirror rather than the road ahead.
‘Can’t discuss it, I’m afraid,’ she said, hoping it would shut him up. It didn’t.
‘Drugs, is it? We get a lorra junkies over ‘ere, ’specially in the high season. Is it drugs?’
‘No, it’s not drugs.’ To distract him from this line of questioning, she asked the driver to give a rundown of the area. For the next half
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