fear of the killer, just as he wants it. Snapping into my protective suit, I stride into the house while flashbulbs and rolling cameras continued to cover my every move.
A hand motions me through to the lounge where Mandy Arthur is lying on the floor, minus her legs. I see Grimes talking to forensics, ignore him and get as close to the body as I can without compromising any evidence.
Bloody hell; she’s lying face down, the body entirely naked. Cuts run the full length from the base of her skull down to the base of her spine. I can actually make out portions of the spinal column. The legs have been hacked off, similar to Frankie Bush; hard swinging had caused downward cuts on the bones protruding around pools of red blood. She isn’t long dead, I know that for sure.
The FME, Clive Chambers, is a relative newcomer to the field, and I’m a little disappointed that it isn’t my lovely lady again. He carries out the usual tests for body temperature, sexual acts, and forensic evidence. Grimes catches me off guard while I’m watching; it proves a deadly mistake.
‘I’ve got a copy of the third riddle, does it make any sense to you?’ asks Grimes.
‘Nothing makes any sense at the moment,’ I reply, feeling like my brain is fried.
‘Mack’s been down to the store, no CCTV,’ he says. I didn’t really expect it; this is one clever son of a bitch who wouldn’t have made that simple a mistake.
‘We’re in the process of interviewing the staff, but no one seems to recall anyone who looked suspicious,’ he snaps.
How can you tell what a serial killer looks like? It’s not as if he walks in with a sign stapled to his head. In fact, most of the serial killers that I’ve read about came across as quite intelligent, normal-looking people.
By the time Grimes has moved off, the body has been placed in a bag and is being wheeled out. I can see from the impressions on the bag that she’s now been turned face up. Damn it! I grab hold of Clive Chambers, and yank him towards me.
‘How long have you been doing this job?’
Faces stare at me from all around the room as if I’ve gone crazy.
‘About two months,’ he replies, looking hesitant.
‘Didn’t they teach you anything at medical school?’ I snap, my fist clenching and unclenching as if it can’t make its mind up whether to smack him in the face or not.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he falters.
‘Didn’t you see the spots of blood on her back?’ I reply.
‘Yes, arterial spotting from the cuts,’ he eyes me like I’m some sort of raving lunatic.
‘Maybe,’ I reply. ‘But just what if, for argument’s sake, the spots had come from the killer?’
‘What do you mean?’ His face visibly pales as I can see his brain cogs slowly begin to whirr round.
‘Even I noticed that those blood spots were a different pattern to the ones round the edges of the cuts. Now let’s take it a step further; if the killer had hacked through her legs first, the blood would’ve sprayed up at him, causing him to have blood on his body. Then say he decided to cut through her back for the hell of it, so that when he leaned over the body, hacking into her, the blood fell from him, splashing onto the back .’ Realisation dawns onto his face.
‘You mean we might have had some of the killer’s DNA mixed in there?’
‘You catch on real fast.’ I do want to punch him in the face now, I so want to.
He shakes his head in despair. ‘Oh shit.’
‘Well it’s all long gone now.’ Rage infests me, and writhes throughout me.
‘We can turn the body back over,’ he replies lamely, his head lowering.
‘It’s too late; the remaining blood in her back will have seeped out, washing all the spotting away. Any evidence we might have had has now been either completely eradicated or compromised.’
He has the good grace to look completely mortified, but I don’t give a shit.
‘You’re a star, Clive, bound to go far in the job with an intellect such as
A hand motions me through to the lounge where Mandy Arthur is lying on the floor, minus her legs. I see Grimes talking to forensics, ignore him and get as close to the body as I can without compromising any evidence.
Bloody hell; she’s lying face down, the body entirely naked. Cuts run the full length from the base of her skull down to the base of her spine. I can actually make out portions of the spinal column. The legs have been hacked off, similar to Frankie Bush; hard swinging had caused downward cuts on the bones protruding around pools of red blood. She isn’t long dead, I know that for sure.
The FME, Clive Chambers, is a relative newcomer to the field, and I’m a little disappointed that it isn’t my lovely lady again. He carries out the usual tests for body temperature, sexual acts, and forensic evidence. Grimes catches me off guard while I’m watching; it proves a deadly mistake.
‘I’ve got a copy of the third riddle, does it make any sense to you?’ asks Grimes.
‘Nothing makes any sense at the moment,’ I reply, feeling like my brain is fried.
‘Mack’s been down to the store, no CCTV,’ he says. I didn’t really expect it; this is one clever son of a bitch who wouldn’t have made that simple a mistake.
‘We’re in the process of interviewing the staff, but no one seems to recall anyone who looked suspicious,’ he snaps.
How can you tell what a serial killer looks like? It’s not as if he walks in with a sign stapled to his head. In fact, most of the serial killers that I’ve read about came across as quite intelligent, normal-looking people.
By the time Grimes has moved off, the body has been placed in a bag and is being wheeled out. I can see from the impressions on the bag that she’s now been turned face up. Damn it! I grab hold of Clive Chambers, and yank him towards me.
‘How long have you been doing this job?’
Faces stare at me from all around the room as if I’ve gone crazy.
‘About two months,’ he replies, looking hesitant.
‘Didn’t they teach you anything at medical school?’ I snap, my fist clenching and unclenching as if it can’t make its mind up whether to smack him in the face or not.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he falters.
‘Didn’t you see the spots of blood on her back?’ I reply.
‘Yes, arterial spotting from the cuts,’ he eyes me like I’m some sort of raving lunatic.
‘Maybe,’ I reply. ‘But just what if, for argument’s sake, the spots had come from the killer?’
‘What do you mean?’ His face visibly pales as I can see his brain cogs slowly begin to whirr round.
‘Even I noticed that those blood spots were a different pattern to the ones round the edges of the cuts. Now let’s take it a step further; if the killer had hacked through her legs first, the blood would’ve sprayed up at him, causing him to have blood on his body. Then say he decided to cut through her back for the hell of it, so that when he leaned over the body, hacking into her, the blood fell from him, splashing onto the back .’ Realisation dawns onto his face.
‘You mean we might have had some of the killer’s DNA mixed in there?’
‘You catch on real fast.’ I do want to punch him in the face now, I so want to.
He shakes his head in despair. ‘Oh shit.’
‘Well it’s all long gone now.’ Rage infests me, and writhes throughout me.
‘We can turn the body back over,’ he replies lamely, his head lowering.
‘It’s too late; the remaining blood in her back will have seeped out, washing all the spotting away. Any evidence we might have had has now been either completely eradicated or compromised.’
He has the good grace to look completely mortified, but I don’t give a shit.
‘You’re a star, Clive, bound to go far in the job with an intellect such as
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