student.’
‘Possibly. Forensic science is a rapidly growing sector. When I started a thousand years ago there were only a handful of us in the country. Now, thanks to the advent of DNA profiling and those god-awful CSI programs, our universities are spitting out nearly two thousand graduates a year.’
‘Which is no bad thing.’
‘Not if you’re one of the lucky few to secure one of the two hundred or so positions that arise each year.’ Knowles graced her with a warm smile. ‘Forensic science may be the new rock and roll, but it hasn’t got the budget to turn all its graduates into the new Gill Grissom or Horatio Caine.’
‘Thought you didn’t watch those shows?’
‘Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I don’t watch them.’ Knowles shot her a wink.
She said, ‘I’m thinking we check out the university tomorrow.’
‘I wouldn’t be too hasty.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Think about it. Why are we here discussing this?
‘Because the killer’s good at leaving zero evidence of his being at the scene.’
‘No. He’s not just
good
, Cathy, he’s
brilliant
. Only a CSI could be so talented, right?’
She saw where this was going.
‘Chances are if our boy does have a CSI background it wouldn’t have come from the job or a university degree. And especially a local university.’
She met Knowles’ sharp blue eyes. ‘Because that’s where we’d be looking for him, right?’
‘Right. This boy excels in covering his tracks. That’s his craft. The last thing he’s going to do is leave us a trail of breadcrumbs straight to the place he learned it.’
Jessop stared into her lager, reluctantly conceding Knowles was right.
‘Nevertheless,’ Knowles added, ‘in the interest of thoroughness, I’ve put the discreet word out to some of my closest colleagues in the teaching sector. However, my guess is your boy picked up the tools of his trade either from some online forensic course, of which there are hundreds, or just by watching too much TV and youtube.’
‘Whoa…wait a sec’, Mike. What did you just say?’
Knowles fixed her with a quizzical frown. ‘About watching too much TV…’
‘ No,’ she said reaching beneath her chair for her briefcase. ‘About the tools of his trade. Shit…’
‘What?’
Jessop opened the briefcase, fumbled out Darren Spencer’s case file and flipped to the coroner’s report. ‘According to this our boy used a Stanley knife to open up Darren from sternum to pubis. The direction of the incision suggested the killer had used his right hand. The incision itself was ragged and crooked, probably due to Darren’s squirming and the knife’s small blade.’
‘Yep, I’ve read it.’
‘But why choose such a small knife for such a big job? I mean, there’re plenty of more suitable knives on the market, butcher knives or chef’s knives, all with blades designed to carve through sinew and muscle.’
Knowles answered with a shrug.
She reached back into her briefcase, pulled out the file on Spartan the dog, again flipping to the coroner’s report. The fatal wound to the dog’s neck was caused by a blade roughly 18 mm wide and 74 mm long, consistent with that of a penknife.
‘Thacker did this with a penknife?’
Mason’s question to Neil Harris as he looked down on George Armitage’s mutilated body.
‘Spartan was killed with a penknife,’ she reminded a bemused looking Knowles. ‘The next day, Thacker kills George Armitage with a penknife.’ Prickly with a sudden adrenaline rush, she fingered through the file until she found the transcript taken of Thacker’s interview. Ran her finger down the page until she found the paragraph she sought. Read aloud:
‘That’s when I go for him
.
I don’t give a shit if he blinds me. He can fucking cut my head off for all I care. He killed my fucking dog and he’s gonna pay. I land a punch and floor the fucker. But just as I go in for the boot, he punches me in the bollocks and floors me. Next
‘Possibly. Forensic science is a rapidly growing sector. When I started a thousand years ago there were only a handful of us in the country. Now, thanks to the advent of DNA profiling and those god-awful CSI programs, our universities are spitting out nearly two thousand graduates a year.’
‘Which is no bad thing.’
‘Not if you’re one of the lucky few to secure one of the two hundred or so positions that arise each year.’ Knowles graced her with a warm smile. ‘Forensic science may be the new rock and roll, but it hasn’t got the budget to turn all its graduates into the new Gill Grissom or Horatio Caine.’
‘Thought you didn’t watch those shows?’
‘Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean I don’t watch them.’ Knowles shot her a wink.
She said, ‘I’m thinking we check out the university tomorrow.’
‘I wouldn’t be too hasty.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Think about it. Why are we here discussing this?
‘Because the killer’s good at leaving zero evidence of his being at the scene.’
‘No. He’s not just
good
, Cathy, he’s
brilliant
. Only a CSI could be so talented, right?’
She saw where this was going.
‘Chances are if our boy does have a CSI background it wouldn’t have come from the job or a university degree. And especially a local university.’
She met Knowles’ sharp blue eyes. ‘Because that’s where we’d be looking for him, right?’
‘Right. This boy excels in covering his tracks. That’s his craft. The last thing he’s going to do is leave us a trail of breadcrumbs straight to the place he learned it.’
Jessop stared into her lager, reluctantly conceding Knowles was right.
‘Nevertheless,’ Knowles added, ‘in the interest of thoroughness, I’ve put the discreet word out to some of my closest colleagues in the teaching sector. However, my guess is your boy picked up the tools of his trade either from some online forensic course, of which there are hundreds, or just by watching too much TV and youtube.’
‘Whoa…wait a sec’, Mike. What did you just say?’
Knowles fixed her with a quizzical frown. ‘About watching too much TV…’
‘ No,’ she said reaching beneath her chair for her briefcase. ‘About the tools of his trade. Shit…’
‘What?’
Jessop opened the briefcase, fumbled out Darren Spencer’s case file and flipped to the coroner’s report. ‘According to this our boy used a Stanley knife to open up Darren from sternum to pubis. The direction of the incision suggested the killer had used his right hand. The incision itself was ragged and crooked, probably due to Darren’s squirming and the knife’s small blade.’
‘Yep, I’ve read it.’
‘But why choose such a small knife for such a big job? I mean, there’re plenty of more suitable knives on the market, butcher knives or chef’s knives, all with blades designed to carve through sinew and muscle.’
Knowles answered with a shrug.
She reached back into her briefcase, pulled out the file on Spartan the dog, again flipping to the coroner’s report. The fatal wound to the dog’s neck was caused by a blade roughly 18 mm wide and 74 mm long, consistent with that of a penknife.
‘Thacker did this with a penknife?’
Mason’s question to Neil Harris as he looked down on George Armitage’s mutilated body.
‘Spartan was killed with a penknife,’ she reminded a bemused looking Knowles. ‘The next day, Thacker kills George Armitage with a penknife.’ Prickly with a sudden adrenaline rush, she fingered through the file until she found the transcript taken of Thacker’s interview. Ran her finger down the page until she found the paragraph she sought. Read aloud:
‘That’s when I go for him
.
I don’t give a shit if he blinds me. He can fucking cut my head off for all I care. He killed my fucking dog and he’s gonna pay. I land a punch and floor the fucker. But just as I go in for the boot, he punches me in the bollocks and floors me. Next
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