‘What’s surprising about it?’
‘The blood is localised, but there’s too much here for the killer to be able to leave the place completely clean. If they washed up here, they were extremely thorough, or else they could have used another room in the hotel. How many are there?’
‘Thirty in this wing – they start at 100 and go up to 130. They’re all cleared at this point. It will take a while to check them individually.’
‘Start with the rooms closest. I can’t see this killer walking along the landing covered with blood. There is another possibility, though.’
‘Which is?’
‘He or she brought their own equipment for cleaning.’ Kate walked over to the bathroom. ‘Guys, any residue down the plughole?’
Again the techie nearest the door answered: ‘No. It was the first place we checked.’
‘And nothing at all in the sink?’
‘Nothing.’
She turned back to Lynch. ‘There may be nothing on the PULSE database, but this killer has acted before, done something very similar.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘The scene is too organised and controlled. The killer came prepared. They knew every step they wanted to take and, most likely, everything they did, they did for a very good reason. Nobody reaches this level of violence overnight. If there’s nothing on PULSE, there’ll be something on Europol or Interpol, but you might have to go back a long way.’
‘How long?’
‘Ten years, possibly more. There will be a trail, nothing surer. It’s simply a question of finding it.’
HARCOURT STREET POLICE STATION, SPECIAL DETECTIVE UNIT
KATE USED HER own car to drive to Harcourt Street police station, keen to have some time alone. It was partly why she liked to go out running whenever she got the chance, getting away from the multitude of voices and opinions. The killer, she thought, carried a large calling card – ropes, a sizeable knife, possibly enough drugs to sedate the victim – and had most probably planned everything about the attack, including the clean-up operation afterwards. When it came to planning a murder, men and women were very similar, but the taking of another person’s life was less likely to be random when it came to a female killer. A lot would depend on whether Rick Shevlin was sedated or not, and whether the lipstick on the victim’s lips had belonged to the escort.
Pushing through the double doors into the Special Detective Unit, she practically bumped into Lynch. ‘Perfect timing,’ he said. ‘I’m about to chat to the hooker, Annabel Weston.’
‘I meant to ask you, Mark, about the hotel security cameras. You never mentioned them.’
‘Out of order.’
‘What?’
‘I know. The chief super wasn’t impressed either.’
She followed him along the corridor to Interview Room 4C, where a uniformed female officer stood to one side.
‘Shall we?’ he asked.
Kate nodded. ‘Her name is Annabel?’
He paused. ‘I doubt it’s her real name. In that line of business, it’s less about the truth and more about getting laid.’
There was no denying his smarmy inflection. Mark Lynch was letting his rank as SIO, senior investigating officer, go to his head, she thought. ‘Remember you said you’d check her brand of lipstick?’
‘And I will. I’m not a rookie.’
‘I didn’t say you were.’
This interview was going to be interesting. If she had to, she would rein in the detective’s fervour. As if he was reading her mind, he practically bounced into the room. ‘Annabel, good of you to wait for us.’
The escort stood up immediately. Kate could tell she was nervous, but she soon regained her composure. Even though she was dressed in black leather and knee-high platform boots, like a dominatrix, she didn’t look tacky. As soon as she spoke, Kate noted her upper-class Southside accent. Her clothes were part of her working image, but not necessarily part of her.
‘I didn’t really have a choice,’ she said.
He smiled at her, then said, ‘This is Dr Kate Pearson, Annabel. She’s a psychologist.’
Kate reached out to shake the girl’s hand, noting how young she looked, and how expertly her makeup had been applied. With her raven black hair, she wouldn’t have looked out of place in a fashion magazine, but she wasn’t in the mood for shaking hands: she kept her arms firmly folded in front of her, like a form of protection.
‘I’ve met her kind before,’ she said, looking at Kate. ‘They want to mess with your head.’
‘Very well,’ Lynch replied, unconcerned. ‘Let’s talk about Rick Shevlin, the dead man in Room 122.’
‘He was alive when I left him.’ She practically spat the words. ‘Look, I don’t know anything. I didn’t even know the guy’s name. But now you say it, he did look like a Rick. It rhymes with prick.’