Thanks again for all the favourites. This chapter has a brief description of a crime scene that is a bit nasty. You have been warned.
Gene watched Keats and Sarah leave. He had a nagging headache and the odd feeling in his chest was back. Fun as it was to find new ways of tormenting Keats, he didn't really want to drag the new skirt into the middle of it all.
Last time they'd come to blows Alex, Ray, Chris and Shaz had each gotten caught in the crossfire, and they'd left the force. God only knows where they ended up, but each had declined to keep in touch. Chris and Shaz he could sort of understand, they were probably all sprogged up somewhere, and Ray was hardly the sort of bloke to write a letter, or phone for a chat. But Alex? Given that usually he could barely shut her up, he could only assume that she'd deliberately chosen to break off contact.
Bloody Keats and his D and C bastards. He'd like to punch that stupid smug smile right off his stupid smug face. But it wouldn't help, and Gene would be the one who ended up worse off for it. Nope, it was the long game that mattered with Keats, and Gene intended to score as many small victories as he could amass along the way.
His office door opening interrupted his chain of thought.
"Guv," DI John Simpson, his newest recruit, poked his head around the door. "There's been another one."
Within seconds Gene was in the Merc and heading for the scene of the crime. John was filling him in on the details.
"Madeleine Jacobs, 17 years old, on her way home after a night out with friends. They said goodbye to her at around 2.30am outside Expressions nightclub. She never made it back to her house. A street sweeper found her this morning in an alleyway behind the club, she barely got around the corner."
Gene scowled. All his troubles seemed insignificant in comparison to this. Some sick bastard getting his kicks by murdering young girls. Five, now six, in the last month, all aged between 17 and 20. There was no reason, no rhyme to the killings. None of the girls had been robbed, nor sexually molested in any way. There wasn't even any evidence to suggest that the murderer had laid a finger on the bodies. It was as if someone was simply smacking them over the head and leaving them to die where they fell.
Gene had seen almost everything in his time as a copper, and could usually see the motive for most crimes, even if it sickened him, but this left him completely stumped. Once again he cursed Alex for leaving him. She was the one who was good at figuring out all this stuff.
They arrived at the crime scene and Gene stood back as the forensics team did their work. The murder scene was horrific, even by his jaded standards. The girls' skull had been caved in, and the blood, spread by the rain, had turned the entire area a deep, sticky red. That wasn't the worst of it; the dead girl had this look on her face, frozen there at the moment of death. It was utter terror. The other girls had been the same.
Gene was busy giving orders to his team when he saw the PC lifting the police tape to allow Keats and Sarah through. Keats strode ahead purposefully towards Hunt, while Sarah hesitated at the edge of the cordon, notepad in hand.
"Ah, I wondered what the smell was." Gene said loudly.
"Report," Keats demanded, ignoring him.
"Dead girl, Madeleine Jacobs, 17 years old. Blunt force trauma to the skull. Found at ten AM this morning by a road sweeper," DI Simpson pointed to a pale elderly man, who was very obviously in deep shock, being tended to by paramedics. "No signs of robbery or sexual assault."
"Same M.O. as the others," Keats mused. He went to walk toward the corpse.
"You shouldn't have brought her here," whispered Gene, indicating Sarah. "She's not a plonk, just a typist."
"She's got to learn," Keats hissed back. "Police work is a nasty, dirty business, Gene. The sooner she realises it the better motivated she will be to help me eradicate scum like you." He turned back to where Sarah was standing. "Sarah, with me please. I may need you to take notes."
Sarah reluctantly joined her boss, keeping her eyes on the ground. Gene caught her arm.
"He can't force you to be here, love," he began. "He's more than capable of taking his own stupid notes; assuming he knows how to read and write, that is."
"Thank you, DCI Hunt," Keats gripped Gene's arm hard and pushed him off of Sarah. "Come on."
Keats walked towards the body. Sarah followed, her skin paling with every step. He stopped at the foot of the corpse and stared.
"Can you believe the evil some men are capable of, Sarah?" He asked.
Sarah kept her eyes averted. "No."
"I mean, look at the expression on her face. What happened to her?"
She kept looking away.
"Sarah, I need you to catalogue the crime scene, write down everything you observe here about the body, the surroundings. I don't trust Hunt's team. This is the sixth dead girl this month. They're missing something. We need an independent record."
Tears pricked Sarah's eyes as she forced herself to take in the scene before her. The girl was so young and so beautiful. But the blood. And the look on her face.
"I'm sorry, I can't do this." Sarah thrust her notepad at Keats and turned and ran, past Gene, back under the cordon and to where the police cars were parked. Unseen, Keats allowed himself a small smile.
"Oi, what's this? Are you respraying my car a lighter shade of puke?" Gene caught up with Sarah as she vomited her canteen breakfast by the Merc's rear wheel. "Alright, alright love, better out than in."
He waited as she finished being sick, and handed her a tissue.
"Napkin from Luigi's. There might be a bit of dried tomato on there, but it'll do."
She straightened up, wiping her mouth. "Thank you."
"He shouldn't have brought you here. I thought D and C were supposed to be by the book. Secretaries at bloody crime scenes, for God's sake," Gene grumbled.
"I should have been able to deal with it," Sarah said. "I'm not cut out for this job. I'm not strong enough. I can't just look at something like that and feel nothing."
"Neither can I," Gene muttered. "And anyone who can shouldn't be in this bloody job in the first place, they should be in the funny farm with all the other nutters. Don't you worry love. You only did what we'd all like to."
"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Keats emerged from behind Gene and walked over to Sarah. He put his hands on her shoulders gently. "Are you alright?"
"No she's bloody not," Gene raged. "She's just thrown up her breakfast all over my car. I don't know what you think you're playing at Keats, but this is my crime scene, not some ruddy peep show."
"Come on, I'll take you for a coffee." Keats slipped an arm around Sarah's shoulder and led her away, throwing a baleful glare at Gene over his shoulder.
Gene kicked the Merc's tyre in anger. "Simpson, get one of those bloody PCs to clean this puke off my car, pronto."
Sarah sat in Luigi's drinking the hot, sweet tea that Keats had ordered for her. Her colour had returned and she had started to feel slightly more normal again, although her head was pounding. Keats sat next to her sipping from an espresso mug and watching her carefully.
"Are you alright now?" He asked.
"Yes, I'm sorry to make such a fuss," she sighed. "It's not exactly been a great first day so far, has it?"
"It's my fault," Keats placed his cup back on the saucer. "I should never have taken you to the crime scene. Please forgive me." He turned towards her, his eyes imploring. "The thing is, Hunt really needs to catch the man who is responsible for those murders. But he hasn't. So all the time more girls end up like the poor, sorry wretch you saw today. And that makes me angry, Sarah. I'm angry that more young women are going to be slaughtered for the sake of that dangerous little man and his ridiculous empire." He covered her hand with his and squeezed it. "That's why what we are doing is so important. We need to bring him down, Sarah. I need to dismantle his department and build a new one that works, and I need you to help me. Now do you see why this is so important?"
Sarah thought for a moment. "Yes, I suppose I do."
His fingers idly caressed her hand. It felt nice. He was looking into her eyes, the same way he had in her dream.
"Destruction cometh; and they shall seek peace and there shall be none."
"Pardon?" Asked Sarah.
"Ezekiel, seven twenty five," Keats explained. "Sorry, force of habit. Biblical upbringing."
"You're an interesting man, James Keats," Sarah smiled.
"You have no idea."