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Authors: Tony Parsons
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here. I’m sure they wish they could do it on the pavement outside the Odeon Marble Arch. But I’m hoping they care too much, that it’s too important to them. I’m guessing that they are so obsessed with all that symbolism that we will have our chance to nail them.’ I turned to look at our SIO. ‘You want to get Marble Arch staked out?’
‘I should have done it sooner,’ Whitestone said. ‘After the first one. It’s not a difficult place for a team of undercover officers to watch, especially in summer when there are more bodies sleeping out around Hyde Parkand Marble Arch. But if they do it again, they have to come back here. And next time we’ll be waiting.’
‘And they’re going to do it again, aren’t they?’ I said.
‘I don’t see how they can stop now,’ she said.
Edie consulted her phone. ‘The Divisional Surgeon has arrived to check that Welles is really dead,’ she said. ‘I’ll escort him in.’
I looked at Whitestone.
‘And the history man is here,’ I said.
‘Let’s give him one last try,’ Whitestone said.
I walked across to the perimeter and the old-looking young man who was waiting there. He had got off his bike and placed the helmet on the pillion and was sucking on a soggy roll-up cigarette. It did not seem to be giving him much joy. Despite the motorbike, and despite the fact that it was going to be another brutally hot day, Professor Adrian Hitchens wore a two-piece corduroy suit, a shirt and tie and a V-neck jumper that had been munched by moths long gone. His head still looked remarkable to me – so egg-shaped that it was almost pointed. It glistened with heavy beads of sweat.
‘Professor Hitchens,’ I said.
‘I feel that we got off to a bad start,’ he said. ‘You and I. Your theory about Tyburn – I dismissed it out of hand. That was wrong. You were correct. And I apologise.’
I shrugged. ‘It was just a hunch. I also told you that they would never dump a body on a traffic island in the middle of the West End.’ I nodded to the white tent. ‘And that’s exactly what they did. So I was wrong, too,’ I said.
I held out my hand to him and he went to shake it until he saw the blue latex gloves I was offering him.
‘Put these on and keep them on until you sign out at the perimeter. Don’t touch anything. Follow my instructions at all times.’
He signed in with the uniformed officer and put on the gloves and baggies. The officer and I held up the DO NOT CROSS tape as Professor Hitchens eased his great bulk under the tape. I had never seen a man so young who was so fabulously unfit.
‘Take your time, sir,’ the young uniform said, without irony.
Safely under the tape, Hitchens smoothed his corduroy suit and cleared his throat. We began walking towards the white tent and I found I had to slow my pace so that he could keep up.
‘We need to find the kill site,’ I said. ‘If the dump site has a ritualistic value for them, then possibly the kill site will have some significance too. The place where both the victims were hanged feels like it should ring some bells. There can’t be many late Victorian basements left in this town. If we find the kill site, it leads us to them. Any thoughts on where it could be?’
‘Where we are right now is London’s primary place of execution, as you so correctly observed.’
‘But they didn’t do it here, did they? They dump the bodies at Tyburn but they can’t hang them here. So where’s the next best thing?’
‘If ritual is that important to them, they’re spoilt for choice. It could be any one of a number of places of execution. Kennington Common, Shepherd’s Bush, Tower Hill, Charing Cross. Pirates were hanged at the execution dock at East Wapping. There were executions at Smithfield – although burning and boiling were preferred to hanging, especially during the sixteenth-century heresy trials. Charles I was executed in Whitehall. But Charles was beheaded – if we are talking specifically about
‘I should have done it sooner,’ Whitestone said. ‘After the first one. It’s not a difficult place for a team of undercover officers to watch, especially in summer when there are more bodies sleeping out around Hyde Parkand Marble Arch. But if they do it again, they have to come back here. And next time we’ll be waiting.’
‘And they’re going to do it again, aren’t they?’ I said.
‘I don’t see how they can stop now,’ she said.
Edie consulted her phone. ‘The Divisional Surgeon has arrived to check that Welles is really dead,’ she said. ‘I’ll escort him in.’
I looked at Whitestone.
‘And the history man is here,’ I said.
‘Let’s give him one last try,’ Whitestone said.
I walked across to the perimeter and the old-looking young man who was waiting there. He had got off his bike and placed the helmet on the pillion and was sucking on a soggy roll-up cigarette. It did not seem to be giving him much joy. Despite the motorbike, and despite the fact that it was going to be another brutally hot day, Professor Adrian Hitchens wore a two-piece corduroy suit, a shirt and tie and a V-neck jumper that had been munched by moths long gone. His head still looked remarkable to me – so egg-shaped that it was almost pointed. It glistened with heavy beads of sweat.
‘Professor Hitchens,’ I said.
‘I feel that we got off to a bad start,’ he said. ‘You and I. Your theory about Tyburn – I dismissed it out of hand. That was wrong. You were correct. And I apologise.’
I shrugged. ‘It was just a hunch. I also told you that they would never dump a body on a traffic island in the middle of the West End.’ I nodded to the white tent. ‘And that’s exactly what they did. So I was wrong, too,’ I said.
I held out my hand to him and he went to shake it until he saw the blue latex gloves I was offering him.
‘Put these on and keep them on until you sign out at the perimeter. Don’t touch anything. Follow my instructions at all times.’
He signed in with the uniformed officer and put on the gloves and baggies. The officer and I held up the DO NOT CROSS tape as Professor Hitchens eased his great bulk under the tape. I had never seen a man so young who was so fabulously unfit.
‘Take your time, sir,’ the young uniform said, without irony.
Safely under the tape, Hitchens smoothed his corduroy suit and cleared his throat. We began walking towards the white tent and I found I had to slow my pace so that he could keep up.
‘We need to find the kill site,’ I said. ‘If the dump site has a ritualistic value for them, then possibly the kill site will have some significance too. The place where both the victims were hanged feels like it should ring some bells. There can’t be many late Victorian basements left in this town. If we find the kill site, it leads us to them. Any thoughts on where it could be?’
‘Where we are right now is London’s primary place of execution, as you so correctly observed.’
‘But they didn’t do it here, did they? They dump the bodies at Tyburn but they can’t hang them here. So where’s the next best thing?’
‘If ritual is that important to them, they’re spoilt for choice. It could be any one of a number of places of execution. Kennington Common, Shepherd’s Bush, Tower Hill, Charing Cross. Pirates were hanged at the execution dock at East Wapping. There were executions at Smithfield – although burning and boiling were preferred to hanging, especially during the sixteenth-century heresy trials. Charles I was executed in Whitehall. But Charles was beheaded – if we are talking specifically about
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