Human beings less inured to the disturbing images of women stabbed to death might have drawn a collective breath. This lot, Lorimer was pleased to note, didn’t react at all. Instead every officer’s attention was focused on the pictures as he took them through the discovery of the body and the initial post-mortem examination.
Jacqui White had done a decent job, he thought, as the pictures moved from the pend where the victim’s body had been found to the city mortuary.
‘Sixteen stab wounds, all inflicted with a sharp instrument,’ he went on. ‘The pathologists have given measurements that suggest the weapon may have been some sort of sword.’ He paused again to let this new detail impinge on their minds. ‘This was exactly the same suggestion given after Carol Kilpatrick’s murder,’ he told them. ‘Obviously one of our major lines of enquiry is going to be into the sale and possession of such weapons.’ He enlarged the image of one of the stab wounds, a lengthy gash in the abdominal area.
‘I have to tell you,’ he continued, ‘the severity of this was much worse than any of the wounds inflicted upon Carol Kilpatrick.’ He hesitated for a moment. Even these battle hardened men and women were going to react to this one.
‘This particular wound penetrated the victim’s body and came out the other side,’ he said. ‘The pathologist’s report tells that the victim was probably standing against the wall. There’s blood on the bricks at just the height of the victim’s waist,’ he went on, pulling the image back once more to show where the weapon had been thrust. ‘Carol Kilpatrick also had wounds to her stomach and abdomen but none as deep and penetrating as these,’ he went on.
‘Once again, we cannot afford to make any assumptions, but it’s hard to ignore the glaring similarities in the deaths of these two young women.’
This time there was an undercurrent of murmurs as they concurred. It was going to work, he thought. They were already on his side, united in the search for this girl’s killer.
He took a deep breath.
‘I’m going to ask as many of you as possible to delegate your current cases in favour of this one,’ he said quietly, staring out at them with a determination that he hoped they now shared. He let his words sink in, then, ‘Any questions?’ he asked, scanning the group of men and women, turning at last to include the bearded psychologist who was beginning to look a trifle queasy.
‘Who’s going to mind our ongoing cases if we’re to drop them for this…?’ someone asked.
Lorimer stared at the big red-haired man who had spoken, wondering at the way his question had tailed off, at the nod he had given towards the pictures on the screen. Had he really detected a note of disgust in this man’s voice? And, anyway, who was he? Not one of Helen’s … then it came to him. This must be DI Sutherland, one of the men who were currently pursuing inquiries into the delicate area of the Ministry of Defence. He might not share it, but Superintendent Lorimer could see things from this man’s perspective. Why muck up an important government inquiry just to root around into the deaths of four prossies? Without allowing his expression to change, Lorimer nodded towards the man.
‘DI Duncan Sutherland?’
The answering grunt that was given for affirmation was so breathtakingly rude that he could hear Solly’s sudden gasp of astonishment. Sutherland was showing remarkable gracelessness, something Lorimer knew was quite deliberate. Was he trying to wind him up? And if so, why? For a few seconds the rest of the officers assembled in this room appeared to be holding their breath.
‘I didn’t hear a sir after that inaudible response, DI Sutherland. Something stuck in your throat, perhaps?’ Lorimer asked smoothly.
The man stared back defiantly, arms folded across his black leather jacket.
Lorimer took a step forward, his blue eyes raking the man’s face. When he spoke again, there was no mistaking the venom in his tone.
‘Perhaps it’s the search for the man who has murdered four street women that sticks in your craw? Hmm? Don’t see the point of wasting police resources in chasing after the killer of four wee junked-up lassies that nobody’s going to miss? Is that it?’
Every officer watched, mesmerised, as Sutherland continued to stare back at the tall man who was slowly bearing down on him. For a moment the tension in the air was almost palpable,