stuff, Mr Bran- don. I've just got the close-ups to go," the photographer said.
"There's a lot of wounds and bruising; I want to make sure I've got it all."
"Good lad," Brandon said.
From behind them, Carol added,
"Harry, when you've done that, can you snap all the cars parked up in the immediate area?"
The photographer raised his eyebrows.
"The lot?"
"The lot," Carol confirmed.
"Good thinking, Carol," Brandon chipped in before the scowling photographer could say anything more.
"There's always the outside chance that me lad do left the scene on foot or in the victim's car.
He might have left his here to collect later. And photographs are that much harder for the defence brief to argue with than a bobby's notebook. "
back to the corpse. The brief exchange had given Tony time to get a grip on his churning stomach. He took a step closer to the body, trying to glean some primitive understanding of the mind that had reduced a man to this. "What's your game?" he said inside his head.
"What does this mean to you? What translations are going on between this broken flesh and your desire? I thought I was the expert in keeping things battened down, but you're something else, aren't you?
You are truly special. You're the control freak's control freak. You are going to be one of the ones they write books about. Welcome to the big time. "
Recognizing that he was dangerously close to admiration for a mind so disturbingly complex, Tony forced himself to focus on the realities of what lay before him. The deep slash to the throat had virtually decapitated the man, leaving the head tilted as if hinged at the back of the neck. Tony took a deep breath and said,
"The Sentinel Times said they all died from having their throats cut. Is that right?"
"Yes," Carol said.
"They were all tortured while they were still alive, but it's the throat wounds that have been fatal in each case."
"And have they all been as deep as this?"
Carol shook her head dubiously.
"I'm only completely familiar with the second case, and that was nowhere near as violent a gash as this.
But I have seen the photographs of the other two, and the last one was nearly this bad. "
Thank God for something recognizably textbook. Tony thought. He took a couple of steps back and scanned the area. The body aside, there was nothing to distinguish it from the back yard of any other pub.
Crates of empties were stacked against the walls, the lids on the big industrial whee lie bins were firmly closed. Nothing obvious taken away, nothing obvious left behind except for the corpse itself.
Brandon cleared his throat.
"Well, everything seems to be under control here, Carol. I'd better go and have a word with the press. I saw Penny Burgess trying to rip the sleeve out of your coat when I got here. No doubt the rest of the pack are baying at her heels by now. I'll see you back at HQ later. Drop by my office. I want to have a chat with you about Dr Hill's involvement. Tony, I'll leave you in Carol's capable hands. When you're finished here, maybe you can arrange a session with Carol so she can go through the case files."
Tony nodded.
"Sounds good. Thanks, John."
"I'll be in touch. And thanks again." With that, Brandon was gone, closing the gate behind him.
"You do profiling, then," Carol said.
"I try," he said cautiously.
"Thank God the powers that be have finally seen sense," she said drily.
"I was beginning to think they'd never get round to admitting we've got a serial killer on our hands."
"You and me both," Tony said.
"I was worried after the first one, but I've been convinced since the second one."
"And I suppose it's not your place to tell them that," Carol said wearily.
"Bloody bureaucracy."
"It's a sensitive point. Even when we have a national task force set up, I suspect we're still going to have to wait for the individual police forces to come to us."
Chapter 3
Carol's reply was cut off by the banging of the yard gate as it was thrown open. They both swung round. Framed in the doorway was one of the biggest men Tony had ever seen. He had the solid brawn of a prop forward run to seed, his beer gut preceding his massive shoulders by a good half-dozen inches. His eyes protruded like boiled gooseberries from a fleshy face, the source of Detective Superintendent Torn Cross's nickname. His mouth, like that of his cartoon namesake, was an