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Authors: Mark Roberts
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expert advice and
there’s no ritualistic precedent; there’s no significance in the murder dates and try as we might we can’t detect a pattern in the body drop-offs.’
‘Satanism’s got something in common with Christianity, David,’ replied Bellwood. ‘It’s a social activity. The sheer lack of forensic evidence shouts out that this
is the work of one man, not the collective action of a gang of counter-culture weirdos.’
Rosen suddenly heard Harrison’s voice in another room, coming closer.
‘Bear with me. Put the occult idea on the back burner. What have we got here and now?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘About the potential of this ear print,’ said Bellwood. ‘It’s clearly the most significant clue he’s left—’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Willis. She handed a small evidence bag to Parker, one he clearly hadn’t seen before. ‘I just went up for one more look; I had a feeling, you
know.’ Parker looked back at Willis, perplexed. ‘I fell asleep while I was waiting for you to tell you about it.’
It was short and black and looked greasy, almost wet.
‘Where’d you find it?’
‘It was jammed between the loft entrance and the flooring, right above the Catons’ bathroom. Near the ear print on the frame. He lost a hair in the process of spying on
them.’
Rosen gazed at the hair, transfixed. The ear print was one thing but the sight of Herod’s hair sent a surge of electricity through his body.
‘It was hard to get hold of the hair with the tweezers, as there was just a small piece poking out through the join between the entrance and the flooring. It felt coated in oil. To be
honest, even though I went over and over the loft entrance, I nearly missed it. What are we going to do with it?’ Willis asked.
Rosen knew exactly what he was going to do.
‘You remember that guy John Mason, the forensic artist who reconstructed the head and face of the first victim in the Black Box case? He had just one section of skull to work
from.’
‘Yes,’ said Bellwood. ‘Mason Forensic Images.’
‘Fingers crossed he’s available. Every constabulary in the country queues up for his help. We’ll copy him in on the hair and ear print. He did the Black Box job in twenty-four
hours.’
Rosen noticed that Harrison, who had now joined them in the kitchen, was positioning himself just out of his eyeline.
‘Any news, Robert?’ asked Rosen. ‘On the door to door?’
‘Yeah, actually. The old lady at number 35, she hasn’t answered her door. Until now. Says she’s got something to tell us.’
‘What did she say exactly, Robert?’ Rosen turned his head to look Harrison in the eye.
‘She said,
I want to speak to the nice young woman.
She’s been watching the comings and goings and she described you, Carol. She wants to talk to you,
the black
girl
, she said.’
‘OK, Robert,’ said Rosen. ‘Thanks for that. Now I’ve got a job for you.’ Rosen handed him a piece of paper on which Harrison silently read the words, ‘Alessio
Capaneus’.
‘Internet search. Go back to Isaac Street and find out as much as you can about this guy. There won’t be much but just keep going. Go as far as two hundred pages. Print off every
page. Show me you’ve been there. Go into any sites that throw up a meaningful match, print those sites off.’
‘Who is Alessio Capaneus?’
‘That’s what I want you to find out. While you’re looking, I want you to focus on any reference at all to a book or a pamphlet this Capaneus may possibly have
written.’
Rosen recalled the one detail that stood out from Harrison’s skills profile. He could speak Italian. He’d followed Sebastian’s pronunciation of the surname but Harrison had
turned ‘Cap-a-nay-us’ into ‘Cap-a-knee-us’.
‘And make a note of this name. Father Sebastian. I want you to get in touch with the Vatican and find out what his working history was in Rome. Was he or was he not a papal adviser, mid to
late
there’s no ritualistic precedent; there’s no significance in the murder dates and try as we might we can’t detect a pattern in the body drop-offs.’
‘Satanism’s got something in common with Christianity, David,’ replied Bellwood. ‘It’s a social activity. The sheer lack of forensic evidence shouts out that this
is the work of one man, not the collective action of a gang of counter-culture weirdos.’
Rosen suddenly heard Harrison’s voice in another room, coming closer.
‘Bear with me. Put the occult idea on the back burner. What have we got here and now?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘About the potential of this ear print,’ said Bellwood. ‘It’s clearly the most significant clue he’s left—’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Willis. She handed a small evidence bag to Parker, one he clearly hadn’t seen before. ‘I just went up for one more look; I had a feeling, you
know.’ Parker looked back at Willis, perplexed. ‘I fell asleep while I was waiting for you to tell you about it.’
It was short and black and looked greasy, almost wet.
‘Where’d you find it?’
‘It was jammed between the loft entrance and the flooring, right above the Catons’ bathroom. Near the ear print on the frame. He lost a hair in the process of spying on
them.’
Rosen gazed at the hair, transfixed. The ear print was one thing but the sight of Herod’s hair sent a surge of electricity through his body.
‘It was hard to get hold of the hair with the tweezers, as there was just a small piece poking out through the join between the entrance and the flooring. It felt coated in oil. To be
honest, even though I went over and over the loft entrance, I nearly missed it. What are we going to do with it?’ Willis asked.
Rosen knew exactly what he was going to do.
‘You remember that guy John Mason, the forensic artist who reconstructed the head and face of the first victim in the Black Box case? He had just one section of skull to work
from.’
‘Yes,’ said Bellwood. ‘Mason Forensic Images.’
‘Fingers crossed he’s available. Every constabulary in the country queues up for his help. We’ll copy him in on the hair and ear print. He did the Black Box job in twenty-four
hours.’
Rosen noticed that Harrison, who had now joined them in the kitchen, was positioning himself just out of his eyeline.
‘Any news, Robert?’ asked Rosen. ‘On the door to door?’
‘Yeah, actually. The old lady at number 35, she hasn’t answered her door. Until now. Says she’s got something to tell us.’
‘What did she say exactly, Robert?’ Rosen turned his head to look Harrison in the eye.
‘She said,
I want to speak to the nice young woman.
She’s been watching the comings and goings and she described you, Carol. She wants to talk to you,
the black
girl
, she said.’
‘OK, Robert,’ said Rosen. ‘Thanks for that. Now I’ve got a job for you.’ Rosen handed him a piece of paper on which Harrison silently read the words, ‘Alessio
Capaneus’.
‘Internet search. Go back to Isaac Street and find out as much as you can about this guy. There won’t be much but just keep going. Go as far as two hundred pages. Print off every
page. Show me you’ve been there. Go into any sites that throw up a meaningful match, print those sites off.’
‘Who is Alessio Capaneus?’
‘That’s what I want you to find out. While you’re looking, I want you to focus on any reference at all to a book or a pamphlet this Capaneus may possibly have
written.’
Rosen recalled the one detail that stood out from Harrison’s skills profile. He could speak Italian. He’d followed Sebastian’s pronunciation of the surname but Harrison had
turned ‘Cap-a-nay-us’ into ‘Cap-a-knee-us’.
‘And make a note of this name. Father Sebastian. I want you to get in touch with the Vatican and find out what his working history was in Rome. Was he or was he not a papal adviser, mid to
late
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