Then he looked down at the photograph I was holding, which showed the wedding ring on the necklace.
He nodded slowly to himself.
‘Yeah, I know him.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
I waited some more, but he didn’t volunteer anything.
‘And?’ I said. ‘What about a name?’
‘Fifty.’
‘That’s a weird name. Parents are cruel, right?’
‘I meant—’
‘I know what you meant.’
I looked around. Just outside the entrance, the flames were crackling louder than before. I had that same impression that something was waiting down here in the shadows. The pressure felt like it had gone up a notch. I wanted out of here; my forehead was suddenly damp. But instead, I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, and tried to smile.
‘You do receipts?’
Ten
‘D EREK EVANS,’ I SAID.
Laura glanced up as I walked triumphantly back into the office. I didn’t know how long she’d been back from the postmortems, but she still looked a little pale. Still managed to whip out the sarcasm, though.
‘You’ve got the wrong office then. This is Laura Fellowes and some jerk called Hicks.’
‘Lame.’ I closed the door behind me. ‘That’s the name of our John Doe. Derek Evans.’
‘Okay.’
She began typing. As she pulled the name from our files, I told her what I’d found out in Troll East.
According to the guy I’d spoken to, Evans was somewhere in his fifties and had been a squaddie when he was younger. After leaving the service, he’d wandered for a bit, never landed fully on his feet. Dragged a troubled history underground with him and found some kind of god to help salve it with. He was a big guy that nobody messed with.
‘Nothing on the files for him.’
‘No convictions,’ I said. There were a dozen other databases we could check. Evans was bound to show up somewhere, especially having served. And despite my unease about the man I’d spoken to in the tunnels, the details all fitted. ‘He hadn’t been seen around for a few days, but that’s not unusual. Evans liked the open air, apparently—liked to sleep outside when the weather was good enough. So that seems right.’
Laura nodded.
‘Where does this leave us?’
‘We’ll need to check for connections to Vicki Gibson. Seems unlikely, but you never know. What did we get from the postmortems? You still look a bit green, by the way.’
‘Mmm. I think you got the better deal after all.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
She told me what the autopsies had revealed, although a lot of the information remained provisional and tests still needed to be run. The upshot so far was that Dale was convinced the same weapon had been used in both attacks—or, at least, the same type of weapon.
‘A hammer, he guesses.’
‘That fits.’
‘Time of death is also roughly what we were expecting. Sometime between two and three in the morning, although it’s hard to be totally sure. He can’t say what order they were killed in. Well, not from that, anyway.’
I frowned. ‘Not from that. Explain.’
‘There’re two things. The first is the ferocity of the attacks. It’s not conclusive, but a lot more damage was meted out on Evans. That might indicate that after Gibson, the killer wasn’t …’ she grimaced, ‘ spent .’
‘Nice.’
‘That’s Dale’s choice of words.’
‘Dale needs to see a psychiatrist,’ I said. It didn’t seem all that conclusive to me, not necessarily. ‘What’s the other thing?’
‘The other thing is what makes it almost certain that we’re dealing with the same killer. Dale found traces of polythene in both bodies.’
‘ Polythene? ’
‘ Traces of it,’ she said. ‘In their wounds, to be precise. And there was much more of it in Evans’s skull than in Gibson’s.’
She let that sink in.
‘A carrier bag?’ I said.
Laura nodded. That’s Dale’s guess. Still to be confirmed. But it looks like the hammer was in a bag when the killer hit the victims with it. It must have got slightly damaged while he
He nodded slowly to himself.
‘Yeah, I know him.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
I waited some more, but he didn’t volunteer anything.
‘And?’ I said. ‘What about a name?’
‘Fifty.’
‘That’s a weird name. Parents are cruel, right?’
‘I meant—’
‘I know what you meant.’
I looked around. Just outside the entrance, the flames were crackling louder than before. I had that same impression that something was waiting down here in the shadows. The pressure felt like it had gone up a notch. I wanted out of here; my forehead was suddenly damp. But instead, I reached into my back pocket for my wallet, and tried to smile.
‘You do receipts?’
Ten
‘D EREK EVANS,’ I SAID.
Laura glanced up as I walked triumphantly back into the office. I didn’t know how long she’d been back from the postmortems, but she still looked a little pale. Still managed to whip out the sarcasm, though.
‘You’ve got the wrong office then. This is Laura Fellowes and some jerk called Hicks.’
‘Lame.’ I closed the door behind me. ‘That’s the name of our John Doe. Derek Evans.’
‘Okay.’
She began typing. As she pulled the name from our files, I told her what I’d found out in Troll East.
According to the guy I’d spoken to, Evans was somewhere in his fifties and had been a squaddie when he was younger. After leaving the service, he’d wandered for a bit, never landed fully on his feet. Dragged a troubled history underground with him and found some kind of god to help salve it with. He was a big guy that nobody messed with.
‘Nothing on the files for him.’
‘No convictions,’ I said. There were a dozen other databases we could check. Evans was bound to show up somewhere, especially having served. And despite my unease about the man I’d spoken to in the tunnels, the details all fitted. ‘He hadn’t been seen around for a few days, but that’s not unusual. Evans liked the open air, apparently—liked to sleep outside when the weather was good enough. So that seems right.’
Laura nodded.
‘Where does this leave us?’
‘We’ll need to check for connections to Vicki Gibson. Seems unlikely, but you never know. What did we get from the postmortems? You still look a bit green, by the way.’
‘Mmm. I think you got the better deal after all.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
She told me what the autopsies had revealed, although a lot of the information remained provisional and tests still needed to be run. The upshot so far was that Dale was convinced the same weapon had been used in both attacks—or, at least, the same type of weapon.
‘A hammer, he guesses.’
‘That fits.’
‘Time of death is also roughly what we were expecting. Sometime between two and three in the morning, although it’s hard to be totally sure. He can’t say what order they were killed in. Well, not from that, anyway.’
I frowned. ‘Not from that. Explain.’
‘There’re two things. The first is the ferocity of the attacks. It’s not conclusive, but a lot more damage was meted out on Evans. That might indicate that after Gibson, the killer wasn’t …’ she grimaced, ‘ spent .’
‘Nice.’
‘That’s Dale’s choice of words.’
‘Dale needs to see a psychiatrist,’ I said. It didn’t seem all that conclusive to me, not necessarily. ‘What’s the other thing?’
‘The other thing is what makes it almost certain that we’re dealing with the same killer. Dale found traces of polythene in both bodies.’
‘ Polythene? ’
‘ Traces of it,’ she said. ‘In their wounds, to be precise. And there was much more of it in Evans’s skull than in Gibson’s.’
She let that sink in.
‘A carrier bag?’ I said.
Laura nodded. That’s Dale’s guess. Still to be confirmed. But it looks like the hammer was in a bag when the killer hit the victims with it. It must have got slightly damaged while he
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