his feet.
Kate remembered something; a flashback from her interview with Jack Dorsey at MedGen. His desk, a silver-framed photograph: blonde wife, blonde children, arms interlinked. She felt a coldness spreading in the pit of her stomach. “The children,” she said, feeling as if she didn’t quite have control of her mouth. “The Dorsey children… are they – has anyone checked—”
Anderton looked at her properly for the first time since she’d arrived. A flicker of sympathy crossed his face. “They’re at boarding school, both of them. Both safe. Thank fuck,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Kate sat down on the wall herself, feeling almost queasy from the wave of relief that spread over her. Then she thought about having to break the news to them. Sorry, kids, about your mum and dad… Resolutely, she turned her mind away from the thought.
“We’ve searched the rest of the house and we’re spreading out into the grounds.” Anderton had been speaking for a few moments before she became aware of what he was saying. She tried to concentrate. Anderton went on. “There’s no sign of forced entry. We haven’t yet had a look at the CCTV footage, that’s obviously top priority once the SOCOs are finished here.”
He stopped speaking and for a moment, they all faced each other, sharing an odd moment of solidarity. Kate, despite all the horror of the scene, felt a warm thrill of belonging, of coming home, back where she should be. It was the first time she’d felt it since she had come back to work and, for a moment, she luxuriated in the sensation. It was as if life had suddenly come back into focus.
“So,” said Anderton quietly. “Thoughts?”
“Someone came to the door,” said Kate. “The security guard let them in and he was walking back through the hallway when they attacked him.”
“Given the position of the body, I’d say that was a fairly accurate guess,” Anderton said. “And why would he let someone in through the door, given that he’s supposed to be guarding the house?”
“Because it was someone he recognized,” said Kate. “Someone he knew. Someone he didn’t think was a threat.”
“Exactly. Hopefully the CCTV will tell us exactly who that was.”
“Is that likely?” asked Olbeck, in a cynical tone.
“Well, we won’t know until we look. I agree, anyone who comes ready to kill three people is probably going to take some pains to conceal their identity.” He raised a hand to his head, tousling his hair in a characteristic gesture. “You mentioned a possible domestic, Mark. I don’t think we should discount that, out of hand. I don’t think we can comfortably do that. We don’t know enough about the victims, their relationship with each other – we know nothing about the Dorseys’ marriage, their history. I agree with you, Kate, that this has all the hallmarks of an outsider, an intruder killing – all I’m asking is that we need to keep an open mind.”
Everyone nodded.
Theo lit another cigarette. “The writing on the wall,” he said. “What’s with that?”
“Yes, ” agreed Anderton. “The literal writing on the wall. What’s that telling us?”
“The most obvious answer is that it’s a message, isn’t it?” suggested Olbeck. “Telling us Jack Dorsey’s a killer. It’s a motive.”
“Is it?” asked Anderton. “Perhaps it’s a very mentally disturbed person, telling the world what he – or she – has done. It’s a sign. ‘I am a killer’.”
Olbeck shrugged. “Yes, could be.”
Kate rubbed her temples. “We don’t yet know who the intended victim is, do we, sir?” she asked. “I mean, if there was one intended victim. I’m assuming it’s Jack Dorsey – and maybe his wife…”
“That’s a reasonable assumption,” said Anderton. “But nothing is definite.”
“It’s just – the guard looked like – well, like that was a quick, almost clinical killing. To get him out of the way, perhaps. Whereas Jack
Kate remembered something; a flashback from her interview with Jack Dorsey at MedGen. His desk, a silver-framed photograph: blonde wife, blonde children, arms interlinked. She felt a coldness spreading in the pit of her stomach. “The children,” she said, feeling as if she didn’t quite have control of her mouth. “The Dorsey children… are they – has anyone checked—”
Anderton looked at her properly for the first time since she’d arrived. A flicker of sympathy crossed his face. “They’re at boarding school, both of them. Both safe. Thank fuck,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Kate sat down on the wall herself, feeling almost queasy from the wave of relief that spread over her. Then she thought about having to break the news to them. Sorry, kids, about your mum and dad… Resolutely, she turned her mind away from the thought.
“We’ve searched the rest of the house and we’re spreading out into the grounds.” Anderton had been speaking for a few moments before she became aware of what he was saying. She tried to concentrate. Anderton went on. “There’s no sign of forced entry. We haven’t yet had a look at the CCTV footage, that’s obviously top priority once the SOCOs are finished here.”
He stopped speaking and for a moment, they all faced each other, sharing an odd moment of solidarity. Kate, despite all the horror of the scene, felt a warm thrill of belonging, of coming home, back where she should be. It was the first time she’d felt it since she had come back to work and, for a moment, she luxuriated in the sensation. It was as if life had suddenly come back into focus.
“So,” said Anderton quietly. “Thoughts?”
“Someone came to the door,” said Kate. “The security guard let them in and he was walking back through the hallway when they attacked him.”
“Given the position of the body, I’d say that was a fairly accurate guess,” Anderton said. “And why would he let someone in through the door, given that he’s supposed to be guarding the house?”
“Because it was someone he recognized,” said Kate. “Someone he knew. Someone he didn’t think was a threat.”
“Exactly. Hopefully the CCTV will tell us exactly who that was.”
“Is that likely?” asked Olbeck, in a cynical tone.
“Well, we won’t know until we look. I agree, anyone who comes ready to kill three people is probably going to take some pains to conceal their identity.” He raised a hand to his head, tousling his hair in a characteristic gesture. “You mentioned a possible domestic, Mark. I don’t think we should discount that, out of hand. I don’t think we can comfortably do that. We don’t know enough about the victims, their relationship with each other – we know nothing about the Dorseys’ marriage, their history. I agree with you, Kate, that this has all the hallmarks of an outsider, an intruder killing – all I’m asking is that we need to keep an open mind.”
Everyone nodded.
Theo lit another cigarette. “The writing on the wall,” he said. “What’s with that?”
“Yes, ” agreed Anderton. “The literal writing on the wall. What’s that telling us?”
“The most obvious answer is that it’s a message, isn’t it?” suggested Olbeck. “Telling us Jack Dorsey’s a killer. It’s a motive.”
“Is it?” asked Anderton. “Perhaps it’s a very mentally disturbed person, telling the world what he – or she – has done. It’s a sign. ‘I am a killer’.”
Olbeck shrugged. “Yes, could be.”
Kate rubbed her temples. “We don’t yet know who the intended victim is, do we, sir?” she asked. “I mean, if there was one intended victim. I’m assuming it’s Jack Dorsey – and maybe his wife…”
“That’s a reasonable assumption,” said Anderton. “But nothing is definite.”
“It’s just – the guard looked like – well, like that was a quick, almost clinical killing. To get him out of the way, perhaps. Whereas Jack
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