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tracing an ancient script and identifying it, he was the man. “I would recognise them at a glance.” The three other officers in his team looked at each other and rolled their eyes skyward. They called him Google as it seemed there was no limit to his knowledge. Or so he claimed. “I could spot them a mile away.”
                  “Of course you would,” Gwen said sarcastically. She had worked alongside him for two years and understood his enthusiasm for the task at hand. She often told him that he should have been a forensic investigator. “Why don’t we Google ‘ancient text’ and eliminate them in alphabetical order?” The others nodded in agreement. “Surely it will speed things up.”
                  “No need to,” Watkin shrugged as he typed commands onto his keyboard. “Most ancient scripts are Runic in their origins but this is definitely not runic. That in itself negates much of what you’ll find on the net. I’m guessing these are biblical texts carved into the victim.” He mused as he scanned the screen with his tongue between his teeth. His thick lenses and chubby face gave him a schoolboy appearance. “I’ve seen this before and I am certain it is a type of Cyrillic.”
                  “Put your tongue back in your mouth,” Gwen teased him. “It makes you look simple.”
                  “Using this word here as a template, it matches with Glagolitic!” he sat back and folded his arms proudly, ignoring her jibe. “I knew it. Some schools of thought in the old Eastern Block call it the ‘witches language’ because there are many dark books of spells and the like written in it.”
    “Spells?”
    Gwen folded her arms and nodded in agreement. “They used it in case the books fell into the wrong hands.” She shrugged. “So that the uneducated couldn’t use the content unwisely.”
    “They also use it in case the authorities found them. Practicing witches were burned at the stake.”
    “They found a pentagram at the scene didn’t they?”
    “Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.” Google looked at their faces and grinned. They didn’t look as excited by his discovery as they should. “What are you waiting for?” he pointed to their computer screens. “Google Glagolitic and pull up the alphabet. Take a photograph each and get on with translating the script. We can have this done by tonight!” he grinned again.
                  Gwen blew air from her cheeks and whistled. “Oh goodie,” she mumbled. “Let’s see what our latest psycho has to say shall we. I’ll take a five pound bet that it’s gobbledygook.”
                  “Oh no you’re very wrong,” Watkin said sternly. “Anyone who can learn this script and uses it to this extent, has something very important to say but he wants the reader to work very hard to decipher his words. I’ll take your five pound bet that it’s gobbledygook,” he leaned over the desk and held out his hand. Gwen shook his hand and scoffed. A second later, Google was scribbling letters onto a pad. 
                  “It’s probably the lyrics to an Eminem album,” she muttered. She picked up a crime scene image of the victim and immediately felt a pang of guilt for making light of the text. It was after all, carved into her flesh. “Whatever it says,” she looked at the others, “Let’s hope it helps us to find this sick bastard.”
                  “Amen,” Google said. His team looked surprised. He smiled and shook his head, “Amen! It’s the first word on her left collarbone. I knew there would be something Biblical!”
    “Of course you did,” Gwen smiled, hiding the urge to poke him in the eye with her finger.          
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
            CHAPTER 11
     
                  P.C. Bowers sprinted as fast as his expanding waistline and arthritic knees would