The Mermaids Singing Page 0,34

beaten up like this. Gareth has cuts to his face, but nothing as extreme Paul's face has been smashed to a pulp broken nose, broken teeth, broken cheekbone, dislocated jaw.

The anal injuries are horrendous as well; he's been partially disembowelled. The degree of violence is one of the reasons why the Super felt we were looking at a different perpetrator. Also, none of his limbs are dislocated, unlike the other three. "

"This is the one the papers said was covered up with bin bags?"

Carol nodded.

"Same variety as the scraps found under Adam's body."

They moved on to Gareth Finnegan.

"I'm going to have to give some serious thought to this one," he said.

"He's changed his pattern in at least two significant ways. First, the dumping ground moves from Temple Fields to Carlton Park. It's still a gay cruising area, but it's an aberration." He stopped himself short and gave a hollow laugh.

"Listen to me. As if his whole behaviour isn't wildly aberrant. The second thing is his letter and video to the Sentinel Times. Why did he decide to announce this body and none of the others?"

"I've been thinking about that," Carol said.

"And I wondered if it had something to do with the fact that it could have lain there for days, even weeks, otherwise."

Tony made a note on his pad and gave her the thumbs-up sign with the other hand.

"These wounds to the hands and feet. I know it sounds off the wall, but it almost looks like he was crucified."

"The pathologist wasn't crazy about going on the record with that one either. But the hand wounds, coupled with the dislocation of both shoulders, makes crucifixion a conclusion that's hard to resist, especially when you remember this probably happened on Christmas Day." Carol got to her feet, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She couldn't manage to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. She paced round the small office, shrugging her shoulders to loosen the taut muscles.

"Sick bastard," she muttered.

"The genital mutilations are getting more severe," Toby observed.

"He's virtually castrated this one. And the fatal wounds, the cutting of the throat. That's getting deeper too."

"Does that tell us anything?" Carol asked, almost unintelligible through another yawn.

"Like your pathologist, I'm reluctant to speculate just yet," Tony said. He moved on to the final set of pictures. For the first time, Carol saw his professional mask slip. Horror swept across Tony's face, widening his eyes, drawing his lips back in a hissed intake of breath. She wasn't surprised. When they'd turned Damien Connolly over, a six-foot rugby-playing detective had keeled over in a dead faint. Even the experienced police pathologist had turned away momentarily, visibly struggling not to be sick.

Rigor mortis had frozen Damien Connolly's limbs in a parody of human gesture. The dislocated joints stuck out at crazy angles. But there was more, and worse. His penis had been severed and thrust into his mouth. His torso was branded from chest to groin in a bizarre, random pattering of starburst burns, none more than half an inch across.

"Dear God," Tony breathed.

"He's really getting the hang of this, isn't he?" Carol said bitterly. Takes a pride in his work, doesn't he? "

Tony said nothing, forcing himself to study the appalling photographs as closely as he'd done with the previous sets.

"Carol," he eventually said.

"Has anybody come up with any theories as to what he's used to make these burn marks?"

"Not a one," she said.

"They're odd," he said.

"The patterns. vary It's not like he's used some random object and kept on using it. There are at least five different shapes. Have you got anybody who can do computer pattern analysis? To see if there's any hidden message here? There must be dozens of these bloody burns!"

Carol rubbed her eyes again.

"I don't know. Me and computers are about as compatible as the Prince and Princess of Wales. I'll ask when I go back to the office. And if we don't have someone, I'll ask my brother."

"Your brother?"

"Michael's a computer genius. He works in games software development.

You want a pattern analysed, manipulated, turned into a shoot-'em-up arcade game, he's your man. "

"And he can keep his mouth shut?"

"If he couldn't, he wouldn't be doing the job he does. Millions of pounds depend on his company getting on the next rung of the ladder before anybody else. Believe me, he knows when to button his lip."

Tony smiled.

"I didn't mean to sound offensive."

"You didn't."

Tony sighed.

"I wish to God I'd been brought in sooner on this. Handy Andy's not going to