WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC CRIME SCENE IMAGERY THAT MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL READERS. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
Chapter Four
The paramedics had the dressing room attendant sitting on a chair by the handbag displays while they monitored her pulse. The plump, brightly dressed woman was still shaking, clearly in shock.
"She—she walked right b-by mm-me," she stammered to the tall, grim detective recording her statement. "S-She walked b-by me an' I—I didn't notice, I didn't see… B-but then, that other c-customer w-went in an'— And she…she screamed an' I… Oh, oh God!" She covered her eyes quickly, as if trying to block the image in her head. "Oh my God, there was so—so much b-blood!"
"Is there anything you can tell me about the suspect's face?" the detective asked calmly. "What she looked like, what she was wearing…?"
The woman shook her head, struggling to focus.
"I…I don't know. She had, erm, short hair—brown, I think. She was thin, but not bone thin, she had some meat on her."
"You think you could describe her to our sketch artist?"
"Er, I might. If you think it's all right…?" She glanced nervously at the paramedic, who had been holding her wrist throughout the interview.
"You're fine to go," the uniformed woman said. "But don't push her too hard," she warned the detective. Looking back at the dressing room attendant, she said, "I want you to take it easy for the next few days. Nothing strenuous or stressful. If you have trouble sleeping, come see us at the hospital. We'll get you a prescription and someone to talk with. Post-traumatic stress is no joke."
The attendant nodded and the paramedic helped her to her feet. The detective took her arm and started to lead her slowly toward the department store's exit.
"Come on," he said, "I'll take you to our sketch artist."
As they left, Commander Dai Thomas strode in through the electric doors, followed closely by the Excalibur team. The stocky man walked quickly up the vinyl tiled aisle with his chin down and his fists shoved deeply into the pockets of his long, beige trench coat.
"Bloody vultures," he grumbled, still irritated after being barraged by the press and by the dense crowds that had gathered outside.
The center of Kingston-Upon-Thames was a major tourist draw; an ancient market town just across the River Thames from Hampton Court Palace, with an eclectic mix of historic buildings, sandwich shops, fine restaurants, an open market and a large, modern mall arranged around its broad, cobblestone streets. TK Maxx was right on the corner of all that, and the crowds of noon-time shoppers had certainly taken notice of the fleet of cop cars, ambulances, forensic vans, and fire trucks that had set up a cordon around the closed-off block. Just a little further down the street, closer to the car park Dai had ordered cleared to provide Excalibur a landing space for the Blackbird, a small cavalcade of news vans, their satellite dishes raised high, served as a base for the reporters who had rushed to cover the breaking story.
Nightcrawler had managed to avoid most of the worst of what could have been a dangerous logistical nightmare by having Captain Britain and Meggan fly over the crowds while he teleported the rest of the team directly onto the concrete ramp that led up to the department store's entrance. That hadn't stopped a few of the more daring reporters from trying to break through the police barrier to snag an interview, though. Nightcrawler had dispatched Captain Britain, the team's unofficial public relations liaison, to go placate them with a few soundbites while the rest of the team followed Dai up the ramp.
"Alas, the price of fame," Dr. MacTaggert had sighed, and sneezed into her handkerchief.
"Ja," Nightcrawler had answered, his golden eyes scanning the faces of the cheering, shouting crowd as they jostled each other for the best view of the superheroes. "But if we must draw the public's attention, I'd rather it be like this than the fear and anger the X-Men faced before the war."
"Aye, and no question," the doctor had agreed. "But this is a murder case, Kurt. Reactions like this eclipse our purpose here. We are not performers, after all, but agents of the law."
"Undoubtedly," Nightcrawler had said. "But you must admit there is a degree of showmanship expected of us. It inspires trust. We are billed as their national heroes, after all. And Excalibur's open, approachable image is a big part of what has earned us their respect, and allowed us to maintain it."
"Perhaps you're right—about the public," Dr. MacTaggert had said. "But it's not always the same with the police."
Now, as they followed Commander Thomas past the store's display mannequins, stuffed shelves, and racks of colorful clothing, Dai's bitter attitude seemed to be proving her right.
"An' you lot don't help matters," the cop grumbled as they walked, "buzzin' around in that flashy jet of yours, grabbin' the attention of the whole town! Bad enough dealin' with the crowds out there already, without turnin' a media circus into a bloody feedin' frenzy."
Shadowcat shrugged.
"Well, what can we say? It comes with the job."
Dai shot her a look.
"Yeah, yours maybe. But in general the people don't tend to cheer like that when we cops show up."
"Now, Dai, you know us better than that," Nightcrawler said. "You called us in as professionals, and we are here to help you however we can. So, tell us: what is the situation?"
Dai sighed, his expression grim.
"Probably better I show you," he said, and led the way into the thick of the investigation. Uniformed forensic experts covered the area, combing the carpet, taking pictures, using special light wands to hunt for fingerprints and blood spots. Dai stepped over one as he headed toward a dark-skinned police officer standing by the door to the main crime scene: the woman's dressing room.
"Crime happened in there, around ten thirty this morning," Dai said with his usual gruffness, gesturing with his thumb toward the dressing room. "Victim's name was Jeanine Prestcote. We know that 'cause the perp left her purse and cards. My lads are in there now, but they'll make room for us. Right, Andrews?"
The uniformed officer nodded and strode into the dressing room. Through the thin walls, they heard him say, "Right you lot, everyone out. The supes are here."
"'Supes'?" Kitty mouthed.
Kurt shrugged. It was only natural for the police to resent them. After all, they did essentially the same job—investigating crimes—with no special powers and very little of the appreciation Excalibur received from the public. The main difference was Excalibur specialized in stopping criminal mutants who often possessed powers that could knock the entire human police force flat.
Which was, in truth, another reason for resentment.
Dai waited until his officers had evacuated the crime scene and Andrews had resumed his place by the door before charging in. Excalibur followed closely, only to jolt back in horror at the sight that met their eyes. The heavy, mineral scent of blood and offal and the early stages of decay hit them like a wall, and Alice coughed behind her hand.
"Mein Gott, Dai, you could have warned us it was this bad!" Nightcrawler snapped.
Dai shrugged.
"I did tell you the scene weren't pretty," he said.
Shadowcat blanched, and Meggan burst into tears, flying from the room with her long, blonde hair trailing behind her.
Nightcrawler grit his teeth, trying very hard for the sake of interdepartmental harmony to hold in exactly what he wanted to say to Dai at that moment.
"Shadowcat, go see to Meggan," he said. "Dr. MacTaggert? Is there anything that you can tell us about…what we are seeing here?"
The spectacled redhead nodded and stepped in closer, then crouched down for a better look at the victim's corpse. As a medical doctor, she had long ago come to terms with the sometimes grisly realities of death, decay, dissection and autopsies, but this scene was enough to rattle even her professional shields.
The victim had been posed on her back, her eyes open, her head tilted to the left. Her torso had been slit from the abdomen up, and her inner organs sorted into neat piles beside her. The blood soaking the dressing room carpet was still tacky, and stained Moira's boots as she moved around the body.
"Och, me poor quine," the Scotswoman whispered sadly as she completed her examination. Rising back to her feet, she turned to her team.
"I believe the victim was strangled first," she reported, her accented voice as clear and professional as she could manage. "By a right-handed attacker. There's bruising on her neck to indicate the killer attacked her from the front, then lay her down. The way the blood's pooled beneath her implies the killer slit her throat from the right after her heart stopped its beatin', then went to work on the rest of her. It's a clever move that, as you see, certainly cut down on the blood spatter an', so long as he wore gloves, would have left the killer relatively unmarked. Whoever this monster is, I'd wager heavily he's had some medical trainin'. The cuts are professional and clean, an' it's obvious from the way he's sorted the viscera around the body he's quite familiar with anatomy. There's jus' a few wee details that disturb me."
Alice raised an eyebrow.
"Just a few?"
"Aye," the doctor said. "There's a kidney missin' here. An' from the way this poor lass's thigh has been split, I'd say the murderer collected a fair portion of bone marrow as well."
"Bone marrow...?" Nightcrawler swallowed hard as the implications hit. "Lieber Gott. Are you saying… Are you telling us that the killer—"
"May well have done this deed with the aim of harvestin' parts?" Dr. MacTaggert finished. "Aye. 'T'would be my theory, at least. An' you say this lass was a mutant?" she asked Dai.
"Well, you can see from her face, the way her skin's so stretched an' all, there's definitely something not-normal about this woman," the cop said. "'S likely what attracted the killer in the first place. Plus the fact the other two homicides have been mutants. But we won't know for sure if this one carries the X-gene 'till the lab sends us their report."
"So, you do believe there to be a connection between these crimes," Nightcrawler said. "That we are in fact dealing with a serial killer?"
"A serial killer that targets physical mutants," Alice added with a frown.
Dai nodded grimly.
"If you take the three crime scenes as a whole," he said, "there's a clear pattern of escalation typical of a burgeoning serial killer. The first vic, Mary Anna Lowell, she was strangled but the only knife wounds on 'er were small cuts around her chest an' abdomen. The second, Chloe Harrow, also strangled, had her throat slit clean through, but there were hesitation marks around the wound. Both women lived an' worked in the London suburbs, both were obviously mutants, an' both were attacked in public places."
"A supermarket bathroom in South Croydon and a New Malden Laundromat, am I right?" Alice asked.
"Yeah," Dai said. "So, 's just possible those two were practice an' this," he indicated the victim's prone body, "was her true intent all along."
Dr. MacTaggert tilted her head.
"Did I jus' hear you right?" she said. "Is our killer a she, then?"
"Could well be," Dai said. "At least, that's accordin' to the only eyewitness we got so far. We've still got the shop's surveillance footage to go through. No CCTV in the dressin' rooms, of course, but the attendant outside said she saw a brown-haired woman enter in here shortly after the vic. She left some minutes later without a word, but she slid a blood-specked plastic chit sort o' thing back over the counter. We've sent it up to our lab for analysis. Woman admits she weren't payin' attention, though, and she claims to have heard nothin' while the crime was goin' on 'though she was perched out there the whole time. Detective Inspector Carlyle's taken her out to our sketch artist jus' in case she did notice somethin' helpful."
"Well that is certainly unusual," Dr. MacTaggert said. "A female serial killer that preys on women."
"Perhaps not so odd if it's part of some underground for-profit organization?" Alice suggested.
"Maybe, maybe not," Dai said. "After all, 's not unusual for psychopaths with this MO to take trophies."
"Dear God." Alice shivered in disgust.
Nightcrawler narrowed his golden eyes, staring down at the sad corpse before them. Lying there, brutally exposed, the murdered woman's body looked so small, so defenseless.
Kurt felt a surge of fury swell in his heart, and he lashed his long tail like a whip. The shadowy mutant looked so intimidating, Dai actually took a step back.
"When we find whoever did this," Kurt growled, his sharp teeth bared, "I pray God will show me His mercy. For I will show none to the monster behind this crime."
To Be Continued…
NOTE: "Quine" is Scottish slang for lady, girl, woman, particularly around Aberdeen.
