Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 135

‘We’ve got scores,’ DC Grounds replied, raising his eyebrows. ‘He liked to keep on the move. He was like a snail, moving round Southampton with his possessions on his back. Always trying to keep one step ahead of his enemies, real or imagined.’

‘Run them down, every last one. If we can find the crime scene, maybe we can link him to Lyra more clearly. We need to know the circumstances of his death. DC Grounds will take the lead.’

Helen wrapped up the meeting and pulled Charlie aside. She wanted to quiz her on her progress tracking down the other forum users, but she never got the chance. Front desk buzzed through with a development that stopped everyone in their tracks – Angel had killed again.

‘Looks like it was quite a struggle.’

Charlie and Helen stood together in the freezing cargo yard, looking at the carnage in front of them. A young man – mid-twenties and heavily tattooed – lay on the tarmac, a large pool of blood encircling his head. A deep cut in the centre of his face was being photographed by the SOC team, but what interested Helen was his torso. It had been slashed to ribbons in what looked like a frenzied knife attack, but his internal organs remained untouched.

Helen drew her eyes away from the grizzly sight in response to Charlie’s comment. She was right. There was blood all over the place, splattered against the crates where someone had landed heavily, smeared over the ground where the struggle had taken place and spread in short bursts along the connecting pathway as the surviving party had fled. The footprints were small and looked to have been made by high-heeled boots – Angel.

‘I guess she met the wrong guy this time,’ Charlie continued.

Helen nodded but said nothing. What had happened here? Why hadn’t she drugged him like the others? It looked like a desperate fight to the death. Perhaps Charlie was right. Perhaps Angel’s luck had finally run out.

‘A sailor. Probably foreign. Probably unmarried. An odd choice for her.’ Helen spoke out loud, as she surveyed the strange tattoos on the body of the corpse.

‘Perhaps victims are getting harder to find.’

‘But still she can’t stop,’ Helen replied. It was a sobering thought.

Charlie nodded but said nothing. The body was partially clothed and Helen examined it more closely now. Presumably Angel had been disturbed by the encounter and had been unable to go to town on her victim in the usual way. His chest looked like it had been hacked at – there was none of her usual precision here. Just a frenzy of brutality.