impressions,” he said.
Theo sat down rather abruptly on a convenient garden bench and lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking slightly. Kate was going to say something, tease him a little about coming to work on a hangover, before deciding that she’d better keep her mouth shut. She and Olbeck exchanged a look and then stepped through the doorway, into the conservatory.
T he same heavy green silk curtains they had glimpsed from the garden had been drawn over the panes of glass that made up the walls. The floor was tiled in the same checkerboard pattern as the hallway. Kate and Olbeck stepped cautiously through into the house. They came out into a large room; a sitting room, beautifully furnished, with pale green walls, a polished dark-wood floor and a large, cream rug. Antiques stood against the walls, too many beautiful things to take in at once. The lights were on, blazing from the overhead chandelier and the curtains were drawn back from the ceiling height windows.
The beauty of the room made what was in it worse. Jack Dorsey ’s body lay in front of the fireplace. Kate had to look twice to be sure it was him, he had been so savagely attacked. She looked once at the knife wounds to his face and chest and then looked away, swallowing. She groped for her neutral mask and tried to fix it back onto her face, which wanted to grimace and crumple. She could feel Olbeck at her side, his arm touching hers, and the warmth of his body momentarily brought a little comfort. She fixed her eyes on the rug, purposefully not looking at the body. Dorsey’s blood had spurted in arcs and splashes and sprays, marking the pale rug in an awful abstract artwork. It was dry now, brownish red, stiffening the long fibres of the carpet. She realized now why Theo had looked so bludgeoned. Her gaze was drawn to another dark splash on the far wall, next to the huge, gilt-framed mirror that reflected the horror contained within the four surrounding walls. Something written in blood, in dragging, jagged letters a foot high. KILLER.
She and Olbeck remained at the edge of the room while the technicians did their work. Camera flashes went off a t monotonous intervals, Kate trying not to flinch at every one. After what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes, Olbeck turned to Kate and, with mutual appeal in their glance, they turned and left the room.
Once again, out in the open air, Kate drew in a shaky breath. The air outside tasted indescribably fresh and sweet after the abattoir inside. She and Olbeck walked over to where Anderton and Theo sat on their bench. Anderton looked up in silent enquiry.
“Jesus,” Olbeck said eloquently. He sat down on a low garden wall that edged what looked like a kitchen garden.
“Exactly,” agreed Anderton. “Butchered. I think that’s the word I’d use.”
“Was there another victim?” asked Kate, remembering the ambulance.
“Dorsey’s wife, Madeline. She was lying next to him when we got here. Terribly injured but , incredibly, still alive.”
“Alive?” asked Kate. She felt her pulse quicken. “Do you think she’ll make it?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. But – well, if you’d seen her…”
“What were her injuries?”
“Knife wounds, same as Dorsey. She looked like she’d lost a lot of blood.”
“God,” said Olbeck. He pushed himself up off the wall and began pacing around. “Was it – I mean, we’re certain there was an intruder?”
Anderton looked pleased. “Ah, you’re thinking it could be a domestic? It’s possible, although from the fact that the security guard is also dead, unlikely. We’ll obviously know more if Mrs Dorsey pulls through.”
“Who reported it?” asked Kate.
Theo spoke up for the first time. “Cleaner,” he said, a little thickly. Clearing his throat, he threw his cigarette butt into a flowerbed and went on. “She’s currently in the kitchen with a WPC, having hysterics.”
“Understandably,” Anderton said, also getting to
Theo sat down rather abruptly on a convenient garden bench and lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking slightly. Kate was going to say something, tease him a little about coming to work on a hangover, before deciding that she’d better keep her mouth shut. She and Olbeck exchanged a look and then stepped through the doorway, into the conservatory.
T he same heavy green silk curtains they had glimpsed from the garden had been drawn over the panes of glass that made up the walls. The floor was tiled in the same checkerboard pattern as the hallway. Kate and Olbeck stepped cautiously through into the house. They came out into a large room; a sitting room, beautifully furnished, with pale green walls, a polished dark-wood floor and a large, cream rug. Antiques stood against the walls, too many beautiful things to take in at once. The lights were on, blazing from the overhead chandelier and the curtains were drawn back from the ceiling height windows.
The beauty of the room made what was in it worse. Jack Dorsey ’s body lay in front of the fireplace. Kate had to look twice to be sure it was him, he had been so savagely attacked. She looked once at the knife wounds to his face and chest and then looked away, swallowing. She groped for her neutral mask and tried to fix it back onto her face, which wanted to grimace and crumple. She could feel Olbeck at her side, his arm touching hers, and the warmth of his body momentarily brought a little comfort. She fixed her eyes on the rug, purposefully not looking at the body. Dorsey’s blood had spurted in arcs and splashes and sprays, marking the pale rug in an awful abstract artwork. It was dry now, brownish red, stiffening the long fibres of the carpet. She realized now why Theo had looked so bludgeoned. Her gaze was drawn to another dark splash on the far wall, next to the huge, gilt-framed mirror that reflected the horror contained within the four surrounding walls. Something written in blood, in dragging, jagged letters a foot high. KILLER.
She and Olbeck remained at the edge of the room while the technicians did their work. Camera flashes went off a t monotonous intervals, Kate trying not to flinch at every one. After what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes, Olbeck turned to Kate and, with mutual appeal in their glance, they turned and left the room.
Once again, out in the open air, Kate drew in a shaky breath. The air outside tasted indescribably fresh and sweet after the abattoir inside. She and Olbeck walked over to where Anderton and Theo sat on their bench. Anderton looked up in silent enquiry.
“Jesus,” Olbeck said eloquently. He sat down on a low garden wall that edged what looked like a kitchen garden.
“Exactly,” agreed Anderton. “Butchered. I think that’s the word I’d use.”
“Was there another victim?” asked Kate, remembering the ambulance.
“Dorsey’s wife, Madeline. She was lying next to him when we got here. Terribly injured but , incredibly, still alive.”
“Alive?” asked Kate. She felt her pulse quicken. “Do you think she’ll make it?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. But – well, if you’d seen her…”
“What were her injuries?”
“Knife wounds, same as Dorsey. She looked like she’d lost a lot of blood.”
“God,” said Olbeck. He pushed himself up off the wall and began pacing around. “Was it – I mean, we’re certain there was an intruder?”
Anderton looked pleased. “Ah, you’re thinking it could be a domestic? It’s possible, although from the fact that the security guard is also dead, unlikely. We’ll obviously know more if Mrs Dorsey pulls through.”
“Who reported it?” asked Kate.
Theo spoke up for the first time. “Cleaner,” he said, a little thickly. Clearing his throat, he threw his cigarette butt into a flowerbed and went on. “She’s currently in the kitchen with a WPC, having hysterics.”
“Understandably,” Anderton said, also getting to
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