The Rule Book by Rob Kitchin

been stripped here – a lot more private than out on the path. We might pick up something.’
    ‘Is there any chance we can get the bag off his head so we can identify him?’ McEvoy added. ‘We need to get started. We need to catch this bastard before he kills number three.’
    ‘As soon as we get a clean route in, we’ll do that,’ Deale said, calming a little. ‘The pathologist should be here shortly.’ She moved away to one of the bags of equipment.
    One of her two colleagues, the taller of the two men, sidled over to McEvoy. ‘She’s only in this mood because she hates Charlie Deegan,’ he whispered. ‘Anything goes wrong it’s our fault, otherwise he claims all the credit. He’s shafted us a few times.’
    ‘Brendan,’ Cheryl interrupted sharply, ‘can you trace back the route of the body, tape it off, and see if you can find anything.’
    ‘I’m on it,’ the man said, pulling a tight smile at McEvoy. He plucked a role of blue and white tape from a bag and started to follow the edge of the yew trees, searching for the body’s path.
    McEvoy stood to one side and watched Cheryl Deale and her other colleague start to work. Behind him he could hear Charlie Deegan and his three DSs approach. His mobile rang again.
    ‘McEvoy.’
    ‘Dermot Brady hasn’t been out of our sight since yesterday,’ Plunkett said, ‘except for when he was in his apartment.’
    ‘So he couldn’t have killed our man here then,’ McEvoy replied.
    ‘Doesn’t look like it. Not unless he managed to sneak out,’ Plunkett answered. ‘I’d say he’s off the hook.’
    ‘Seems that way.’
    ‘Should we keep a team on him?’ Plunkett asked. ‘Just in case.’
    ‘What?’ McEvoy asked, his mind wandering. ‘No, no. There’s no need. We know where he was. Look, I’d better get off. Keep in touch, okay?’ McEvoy ended the call.
    He turned his attention back to Cheryl Deale.
    ‘Haven’t you got anything better to be doing,’ she asked, looking up, ‘than watch us?’
    Colm felt his face start to redden. ‘I’ll … I’ll just go and see if Elaine Jones has arrived yet,’ he said, embarrassed, feeling like a spare part.
     
     
    Cheryl Deale stood with her feet wide apart, well away from the body, and leant over the victim’s head. She cut one of the handles of the plastic bag with a scalpel and took hold of the corners and eased it back over the man’s blue-grey face and slightly greying hair. Pulling it free she dropped it into a clear bag held open by one of her assistants.
    The man’s eyes stared up at them, wide and vacant rather than surprised. His lips were slightly parted, the bottom of his top teeth just visible. His forehead was grazed, grit still embedded in the wounds. There were two pinch marks at the top of his nose where his glasses usually rested. Deale shuffled her feet back a little and stood clear of the body.
    McEvoy waved Martin Cleary forward from where he waited a few yards away with Charlie Deegan. He took a couple of steps and leaned towards the body, his hands shoved deep in tweed suit pockets.
    ‘David Hennessey,’ he growled. ‘Worked in the politics department. I used to see him around. Liked a pint and a bit of a flutter, but nice enough man.’ He leant back and looked at McEvoy. ‘Don’t know what he could have done to have deserved this, poor bastard.’
    ‘Probably nothing,’ McEvoy replied. ‘Probably just another random victim. Do you know where he lives? Anything about him?’
    ‘I doubt it’s random, Colm,’ Cleary said. ‘Too much thought has gone into this. The place, the time, the way the body is painted. It’s lots of things, but it ain’t random.’
    McEvoy pursed his lips, thinking about what Cleary had said. The man might have retired, and he might be a cantankerous old git, but he’d a lot of experience to draw upon.
    ‘Personnel will be your best place to start,’ Cleary continued. ‘They’ll have a file with his personal details in. Maybe a staff