The Soul Collector Read Online Free PDF Page B

above the forehead with a similar blade, again no traces found in proximity of body.’”
    “Trophies?” Turner asked.
    “I’d have thought the ear was enough of a trophy.”
    Oaten rubbed her chin. “Remember those Satanists that we caught a year ago? They took hair and nails, and used them in their so-called spells.”
    “They were vile people,” the Welshman said with a shiver.
    “There’s also the pentagram in the garden to suggest this is some kind of ritual murder.” Karen Oaten raised a hand. “Hang on, Taff. We’re not finished yet. Redrose is nothing if not thorough. ‘The prone position of the body is worthy of note—i.e. it was turned over by the murderer after the pubic hair was removed. Examination of the rectal area shows damage compatible with sexual abuse. However, no semen or condom lubricant have been The Soul Collector
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    detected. A possible conclusion is that the butt of the knife used to disfigure the victim was inserted into the anus. Underwear was repositioned with care.’”
    “Christ,” Turner said, his face pale. “What the hell kind of animal uses a knife-butt to sodomize a dead woman?”
    Oaten caught his gaze. “Maybe we should be thankful it wasn’t the kind of animal that would have used the other end of the knife.”
    The inspector gave his boss an appalled look.
    “We have to keep our emotions in check, Taff.” Oaten moved to the next report. “The CSIs say ‘Muddy footprints, size nine footwear with heavy tread, probably workman’s boots, to be confirmed, leading from back door to area around body, mud matching that in victim’s garden. Impressions from same footwear on other side of wall inside Brompton Cemetery, in direction of house, but impossible to follow far on asphalt road. Footprints lead from body to front door. Also decreasing amounts of mud on steps and pavement to right of house. Impossible to follow beyond twenty-seven point two-four meters.’”
    Oaten looked up. “That’s interesting. He got in the back door, but went out the front, bold as you like.”
    “‘No other footprints apart from victim’s near the back door, those at least twenty-four hours old,’” Turner continued. “‘But there were traces of black wool fibers around the body, as yet unidentified. No fingerprints apart from victim’s on any surfaces. The CD had been burned on a computer, “Sympathy for the Devil” copied ten times. The CD player in sitting room was activated by the machine’s timer, which had been set for 20:30.’”
    “Presumably giving himself time to get away.” She shuffled through the papers. “Someone must have seen 40
    Paul Johnston
    him. Even if he got over the wall of the cemetery unseen, there are plenty of houses whose occupants could have seen him in the street.”
    Turner was examining DI Neville’s report. “No witnesses found as yet, locals still being questioned by uniforms. At least they’ve identified the body. In the absence of any relatives in her address book, the neighbor agreed to do it. That must have been a hard job, given the state her face was in. Additional confirmation by dental records is also under way.”
    Oaten leaned back in her chair. “So what have we got? A cool customer, who managed to get in the back door—
    a standard Yale lock, with minimal signs of damage, so he knew what he was doing. He was also lucky as the victim must have forgotten to bolt the door. He was calm enough to draw the pentagram and write the Latin words with a steady hand. The pattern of footprints suggests that Mary Malone hadn’t been in the garden for at least a day and the chalk was recently applied. So, a cold-blooded killer, who waited for the victim. I’d guess the cat was mutilated to terrify her. The killer was determined enough and had sufficient strength to tighten the ligature, though the victim was probably unconscious from the fall. Then he took the ear, hair and nail clippings, and—get this for weird—put her underwear