Part 17 (1/2)

The woman shook her head. 'You just missed him.'

Delaney cursed himself. 'Army-type clothes and a woolly hat?'

'That's right. He's gone. But he's been with me all the other times.'

'Can we come in, Mrs Bradley?'

'The woman shook her head nervously. 'I'm having my Weetabix.'

Delaney would have responded but his phone rang, startling him out of his introspection, and he snapped it open. 'Delaney.'

'Jack, it's Diane.'

'I'm on it.'

'Never mind that. Where are you?'

'Chalk Farm, why?'

'Good. I need you to get to Camden Town.'

'What's going on?'

'We think there might be another one. And it's bad, Jack. Really bad.'

'Give me the address.' He listened as Diane gave him the details and closed the phone. 'Come on, Sally, we're out of here.' He turned back to the old lady. 'We'll be back.'

They hurried back down the stairs and Delaney pulled out his phone again, hitting the speed dial. It rang for a few times, again, and then cut into Kate's voice message again. He snapped the phone angrily shut. 'Where the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l is she?'

'Sir?'

Delaney hadn't realised he had spoken aloud. 'Don't worry about it, Sally, just get us to Camden.'

Just as a human face is a map, in most cases, of the kind of life a person has had a sad, happy, hopeful, despairing a so a building has a personality every bit as decipherable. Grosvenor Court in Camden Town was built in an era that had more hope than it deserved. Hope that experience soon wiped off its facade, just as the bright green paint was now faded, scabby and sore.

The apartments were built on three sides of a square, with a car park in the middle. A single police car blocked the back entrance. Sally pulled Delaney's Saab to a groaning stop alongside the police car and they both got out.

It wasn't even lunchtime yet but Delaney was yawning expansively. He had hardly slept the night before. After Kate had left him in the Holly Bush and wouldn't answer her door to him he had gone home, where, for the first time in four years, he didn't even contemplate drinking himself into his usual oblivion. But the night had brought no relief in sleep, as he knew it wouldn't. It was part of the price he had to pay.

Danny Vine was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with Bob Wilkinson and the police photographer, Delaney couldn't remember his name, and a couple of SOCOs. They were waiting for Delaney to see the scene before recording every detail. Bob nodded at Sally and Delaney as they approached. 'I hope you haven't had breakfast.' He wasn't joking.

Delaney didn't reply. He hadn't eaten since the bacon sandwich he had had for lunch yesterday, but sensed this wasn't the time for small talk. He could see it in the pale faces of the three men watching him.

'Who called it in?'

'The cleaner. She walked in on it. Staggered back and fell down the stairs. Nearly broke her neck. She came round in the ambulance and the paramedics alerted us.'

Delaney walked up the stairs and two uniformed policemen at the top stood aside. Their faces were drained, one was shaking visibly. Delaney pushed open the door and stepped into the darkness of the room, Sally following closely behind.

Delaney's eyes didn't need time to adjust to see what lay on the floor. What had once been a human being was now rendered into a thing of slaughter and his world tilted on its axis once more. Delaney's heart felt like it had been gripped by a hand made of frozen steel and he gasped out loud. He fought to catch his breath. He wanted to tear his eyes away from what he was looking at but couldn't. Among all the blood and ripped flesh, among the blood sprayed on the walls and the tissue splayed over the floor and the guts strewn like the wet, grey tubing of a squid's tentacles, was what was left of a once beautiful woman; she had hair the colour of blue midnight, lips as sweet as an Elgar cello concerto and a scarf trailed around her naked body soaked in her blood. A long, thick and multicoloured scarf, just like Doctor Who used to wear.

'Kate . . .' Delaney's voice was a tortured whisper.

And the roaring in his ears was like an ocean now.

Delaney gagged, again, and turned and stumbled from the room. Outside he turned and half ran, half fell to the end of the walkway, where he bent over and retched, sank to his knees, coughed and retched again, gagged until there was nothing left in him to throw up.

Superintendent George Napier looked at his wrist.w.a.tch and took a sip of coffee. One of the first things he had done when taking over the office was to bring in his own espresso coffee maker. A hand-pumped La Pavoni machine, a design cla.s.sic in s.h.i.+ny chrome. He ground his own beans, a particular coffee he ordered over the Internet called Jumbo Maragogype a the elephant bean. He swallowed and sighed. One cup of real coffee and ten minutes to himself, if he could organise it, was a small luxury he could rarely afford.

The telephone on his desk rang and he deliberated for a moment or two before answering but finally s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

'Napier.'

He listened for a moment, the frown on his forehead deepening. He nodded finally. 'I'll take care of it.' He replaced the phone in its cradle and sighed as he looked at his cup of coffee. The moment was ruined. 'b.l.o.o.d.y Irishman!' he said and slammed his hand on his desk, causing his phone to rattle and his precious coffee to spill out on the perfect order of his highly polished desk. But Napier didn't even register it. 'd.a.m.n them all,' he said and slammed his hand down again.

'It's not her, sir.'

Delaney could barely hear the words. He wiped the sleeve of his jacket across his mouth and looked up to see Sally standing above him. 'What?'

'It's not her, sir. It's not Dr Walker. It's her scarf, by the looks of it, but it's not her. That woman. She's wearing a wig.' She could barely get the words out. 'She was wearing a wig.' She corrected herself.

Sally took a step towards him and then had to put her hand on the wall. She looked down to the car park below. Taking a few deep breaths herself. Her face was the colour of a white lily pressed in an old hymnal.

Delaney took a long swig of water from the bottle that Sally had just given him and wiped his mouth as Diane Campbell came up the steps and walked over to join them.

'You got anything for me?'

Delaney shook his head. 'Just got here, Diane.'

'Is it the same guy?

Delaney shrugged. 'It's the same kind of butchery. Worse than the first.'

'Is he escalating?'

Delaney gestured helplessly. 'Seems to be, but honestly, I don't know, boss. We're pretty much in the dark here.'

'What about the suspect? The flasher?'

'We've tracked him down but he wasn't at home.'

'Why don't you get out of here and go and find him then?'

'Shouldn't I stay here, process the scene?'

'I've got it covered. The super is on his way over, cowboy. He wants your b.a.l.l.s in a chocolate fountain and served up at the amba.s.sador's party.'

Delaney grimaced. 'The guy from the hospital made a complaint?'

Campbell shook her head dismissively. 'You can tell me about it later.' She jerked her thumb back towards the murder scene. 'For now we have more important things to worry about than some paediatrician you've been having a p.i.s.sing compet.i.tion with. Now f.u.c.k off before he gets here.'