The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(62)

It was, to Phillips’ mind, a stroke of policing genius.

“Wouldn’t have been able to go rifling through people’s things without this drugs hoo-ha,” he said. “We’d have needed to get a search and seizure order.”

Ryan smiled wolfishly.

“There are very few times in life when you’ll hear me say that I’m glad we have a drugs problem, but this is one of them.”

“What’re we going to do about Draycott?”

Ryan lifted a shoulder.

“He hasn’t confessed to any crime except theft of prescription drugs and providing false statements to the police. It’ll be a matter for the Drugs Squad and the Crown Prosecution Service as to whether it’s in the public interest to prosecute him for it down the line but, whether or not that happens, it’s very likely he’ll be struck off anyway.”

“Still might be more to him than meets the eye,” Phillips said, watching as the search moved on to the next locker.

Ryan nodded.

“Draycott spun a sad, sorry tale of human frailty but I haven’t forgotten that he, more than anyone else here, had the means, the opportunity and the surgical skill to tear those women apart.”

“Aye, but does he have the motive, or the character?”

Ryan considered the question carefully, watching the man himself stride down the hallway as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“We all put on a mask to face the world each day,” he murmured. “The question is, what lies beneath it?” He shook his head. “I don’t know what drives men to kill like that and I don’t much care. We’ve heard it all before. Mummy didn’t love me, so I became a killer. A girl once rejected me, so now I hate all women. I’m sure whoever killed these women has his own pathetic reasons for taking life but, underneath it all? It’s not about any of that. They kill because they like killing. They like the sense of power, the feeling of omnipotence. So, I couldn’t care less if their mum loved them or not, Frank. Plenty of people have a rough start in life and they don’t all become serial killers.”

“And if he hurt one of your loved ones, if it cut too close to home…would the reasons matter then?”

Ryan gave an irritable shrug.

“I don’t believe in an eye for an eye, Frank. I know the law draws a distinction between what counts as sane and insane but, let’s face it, whether they were in control of their actions or not, whether they knew their own minds or not…you still need to have a screw loose to be cutting people up like that. I’ll be satisfied if we can get them off the streets, by fair means or foul.”

“Amen to that.”

*

While the search team continued their task, Ryan and Phillips took another trip down to the hospital mortuary to visit its resident pathologist. There had been a day’s grace since their last confrontation, and they judged it was time to mend the breach.

But when they walked into the open-plan room, the welcome they received was even frostier than the air temperature.

“Pinter.”

The pathologist looked across and then returned to his task, barely giving them the time of day.

“Jeff,” Ryan said. “We came to get an update on Nicola Cassidy’s post-mortem.”

Pinter sent them a wintry smile.

“I only have one pair of hands and since I’m not allowed to work without supervision, that hardly helps to move things along, does it? A fine state of affairs for the Head of Pathology, I might add.”

Phillips pursed his lips.

“Howay, man, Jeff. You know it’s not just a case of doing things above board, it’s about being seen to do things above board.”

Pinter continued to look down at the inanimate mound of flesh in front of him but found himself softening a bit. If he’d only been straight from the beginning, none of this mess would have come about.

“We had some time to start the post-mortem yesterday evening,” he said grudgingly. “Give me a minute and I’ll take you through.”

Phillips opened his mouth to protest but one quiet look from Ryan had his jaw snapping shut again.

“We had another two come in this morning,” Pinter said. “I’ve put them on the back burner—figuratively speaking, of course.”

The other two exchanged a pained look. The jokes never got any better with time.

“She’s through here.”

They followed him through to one of the private examination rooms—the same one that had housed Sharon Cooper’s body only a few days before—and huddled around Nicola Cassidy’s remains.

“I think you’re going to find a lot of similarities between the injuries on this woman’s body and the finished product with Sharon and Isobel. In their case, our killer had time to finish his work.”

Pinter peeled back the paper covering to reveal Nicola’s face, oddly serene in death.

“With the other two, he only had time to sever their major joints,” Pinter said, with as much sensitivity as he could muster. “With this poor girl, he was drawing it out for as long as he could, and she suffered numerous smaller amputations. Here, you can see she lost several fingers. Same goes for her toes, although there doesn’t appear to be any particular pattern to it.”

Ryan looked at her hands and feet, saying nothing.