The Jigsaw Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

it’s rather out of my line, psychology,’ said Baker. ‘You see I’m … ah … I’m a detective …’ he let the statement trail off.
    This must be leading somewhere, I thought.
    ‘Am I right in thinking that your work gives you an insight into what motivates people and how they become who they are?’
    ‘Yes, in very broad terms,’ I said, cautiously.
    ‘Well, I’m involved in a rather difficult murder investigation and I wonder if you’d mind coming to see me? I’d appreciate your help.’
    I was intrigued. What could I possibly bring to an investigation? My knowledge of police work came from being a police cadet at the age of sixteen and reading Sherlock Holmes stories as a child. Then I remembered Lynda Mann and stopped myself.
    ‘Of course,’ I said, ‘will tomorrow do?’
    ‘Have a good breakfast before you come,’ he said, rather cryptically. ‘You won’t want any lunch.’
    At the County Police Headquarters, on the London Road in Leicester, Baker’s office was littered with the evidence of his twenty-seven years on the force. The walls carried pennants and photographs and adorning his desk was a set of the delicate scales used by drug dealers to measure their wares. In his late forties, Baker wasn’t a tall man although quite heavy-set, with thinning hair and an almost cherubic face. He had a slight military bearing and favoured immaculately pressed dark blue suits with a stripe. He sat with his jacket on.
    ‘There aren’t any established rules for what I’m about to ask you,’ he began, like somebody who knew that he might sound foolish. ‘If I were to show you the scene of a crime, pretty much unchanged since it happened, is it possible for you to tell me things about the person who was responsible for the murder?’
    I took a deep breath and again my mind went back to Lynda Mann.
    ‘Depending on what you can show me, yes.’
    He relaxed just fractionally. ‘Have you heard about the death of Caroline Osborne?’
    I was surprised. ‘No, I’m sorry …’
    ‘Her body was found last August in waist-high grass in Aylestone Meadows, beside the Grand Union Canal in Leicester. Certain aspects of the attack are very puzzling.’
    I nodded.
    As he continued, Baker wavered slightly, unsure of how to proceed. The previous year, 1983, had been a bad one for Leicestershire CID, with three unsolved murders. In July the body of Caroline Hogg, aged five, was found on a grass verge close to Twycross Zoo, ten days after going missing from Edinburgh’s Portobello area. That same month, Caroline Osborne, a pet beautician, was murdered while walking her dogs in Leicester, and then came Lynda Mann’s killing.
    Caroline Osborne, aged thirty-three, had lived and worked in the corner terrace house in Danvers Road, Leicester, for seven years. She ran her business, Clippapet, in the front rooms of the house and lived in the rear and upstairs. On the day she died, she left the parlour at 6.00 p.m. to walk her dogs through Aylestone Meadows; a large green-belt area of sports fields, allotments, waste ground and walking paths. She took her black Labrador Tammy and a neighbour’s brindle-coloured Labrador-cross of the same name, letting them run off their leads.
    Later that night, Caroline’s dog was found wandering alone by John Douglas, a local resident, who recognized Tammy and noticed she’d been in the water. He took her back to his house and then told her to go home. Three hours later, neighbours in Danvers Road heard Tammy howling and called the police.
    A late-night search found no trace of Caroline. It resumed on Saturday morning and at 10.30 a.m. a police dog handler spotted Caroline’s fully clothed body lying in waist-high grass.
    ‘There are some rather disturbing aspects,’ said Baker, pulling out several loose-leaf spiral-bound folders marked, ‘Property of the Chief Constable’. ‘Her hands and feet were bound with twine. She was stabbed in the neck five times and the chest twice,