It took her twenty minutes to get to Kensington. She stopped under the shade of an old plane tree, then climbed out and studied the two-story building across the road. It wasn't, as she'd expected, a house, but rather a retirement home — and an expensive one at that, if the gold fittings on the front door were anything to go by.
She collected her bag, slammed the door closed and walked across the road. She'd barely reached the steps when heat flashed across her skin, a white-hot rush that exploded her senses outward.
A kite was close. So close his evil itched at her skin and turned her stomach.
Her gaze went upwards. The kite was on the roof somewhere, moving to the left. She'd have to find the stairs and get up there — the thought was cut off as glass shattered.
A second later, the screaming began.
Chapter Six
Gabriel glanced impatiently at his watch. John Hartwell, the postman who'd delivered the mail to the doctor thirteen minutes before she'd been murdered, should have been back from his rounds by now. Hopefully he was just late and not the victim of some careful after-the-event cleanup by the murderer.
He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. Around him, machines hummed, sorting through the mail, watched by disinterested men and women of various ages. No one talked — probably couldn't be bothered, given the noise and the fact they all wore ear protection. A lonely job, and not one he would have ever opted for. The lack of human interaction would have driven him crazy. Despite what his twin seemed to think, he wasn't a loner. Not by a long shot.
"Oi! Agent Stern!" He glanced around. A big man in a sweat-stained brown shirt pointed towards the back door. "Johnny just came in."
Gabriel waved his thanks and headed toward the back. John Hartwell was a weedy looking character with slick black hair and pockmarked skin.
"Heard you were looking for me," he said, opening a locker that had seen better times. "What can I do for you, Agent Stern?"
"Just a routine follow-up. You heard about Doctor Brandon being murdered yesterday?"
Hartwell nodded. Gabriel could almost see the grease flying off his hair.
"Yeah, shame that. She was a nice lady."
"When you delivered the mail yesterday, did you see or hear anything suspicious?"
"Nah. She was alone. The receptionist usually heads out for lunch after twelve, and the doc's generally handling the calls when I come in."
"No patients?"
"Not yesterday."
Gabriel shoved his hands on his hips. This was great. They finally get someone who was actually at the scene minutes before the murder, and he didn't see one damn thing wrong.
"What about the mail? Was there anything unusual?"
Hartwell pulled off his tie and threw it in the locker. "Hey, it was just mail. I never take much notice."
"What about the parcel?"
"Parcel?" A frown briefly creased his brows. "You know, that was strange."
"In what way?"
"I think it was live cargo. I mean, it's illegal to send live cargo through regular mail, but it happens, and it's not always picked up. Odd thing to send to a people doc, though."
Live cargo? The murderer had posted herself to her victim? Now that took balls. "You mean it was an animal of some sort?"
"Yeah. I could hear it scratching round. The poor thing didn't seem to have an air hole. It was a wonder it survived."
"Is there any way we could find out who sent the parcel?"
Hartwell shook his head again. "As I said, it was sent ordinary mail. Unless a signature is required, we have no way to trace it."
Great. Just great. "What did it look like then?"