The Mark of Halam Read Online Free Page A

her team. It had been a late night. The orders had been to grab some sleep and be in the station before midday. Detectives sitting round the trestle table rested heads on hands, some yawned, others flicked pen tops and stared at the array of notes and photos strewn across the tabletop.
    Moana strode to the front of the room and held up the identikit photo. “Lucky for us we have this likeness of the attacker. Can anyone tell me what that means?
    “It means we are knocking on doors.”
    “Right first time, Red. It’s all we have. There is no other evidence . Until there is wear soft shoes and get walking.”
    A few exaggerated groans drew a glare from Moana.
    Her team of five men and one woman would be working round the clock until they found the would-be killer. Plans had been made and now the lot of the copper had kicked in. Their lives would be put on hold. No dinners, no kissing the kids good night, no beers with friends, dates and budding romances cancelled.
    Sure, there had been no murder, but they would treat it as a murder all the same. That the two women had survived through the efforts of the gutsy Mary Sumner did not lessen the truth that they might both have died. And they needed to assume the assailant might try again. No one fantasised that knowing what the offender looked like would make discovery easier. Identikit sketches were not photographs. The killer would have altered his appearance; shaved off his beard, maybe dyed his hair.
    “How about manpower?” Red asked. “There are a lot of doors in the area.”
    “Sorry, guys, for the moment you’re it,” Moana said.
    Her boss had none-too-politely informed Moana that extra personnel would not be forthcoming. Manning shortages had affected the whole country and other districts were in the same boat, her D. I. had ranted, parroting the words of the area commander. None of them had complained, he had said, stabbing the air with his forefinger as he said it.
    Moana didn’t believe for one minute that no one else had complained. Of course she had kept these thoughts to herself. She had two boys in university. Education wasn’t cheap and her salary barely covered her living expenses as it was. The increase in salary from her promotion to senior sergeant was going to be a big help and she was not about to toss it away.
    She pinned the identikit on the crime board next to the Auckland Central City street map.
    “I’ve marked the territories and put you in pairs. Get round as quickly as possible and don’t cut corners. Remember our offender is a dangerous man. We need to find him. Any questions?”
    There were none. As her team filed from the room Moana eased back into her seat. Forensics had recovered hair and skin samples from the assault on Mary Sumner. She didn’t expect a match to be found but they might get lucky. Not surprisingly there were no finger prints. No doubt the offender had worn gloves.
    Moana picked up the file of reports close to hand and began scanning through it. Forensics had swept the apartment but turned up very little. If Mary Sumner’s flatmate had been away Mary would be dead. Of that she had little doubt, and the piece of paper inside a plastic folder supported her thinking. The note from the killer had left her flabbergasted. The message included a name she knew from the newspapers but someone she had never met. Well, that was about to change.
    Mary had not been shown the note. The first police officers on the scene had seen it for what it was, a message from the man who assaulted her and they had removed it before it was seen. Moana was still deciding when Mary should be informed. A few days either way would make little difference.
    She had ordered patrol cars and beat police to stop and question any suspicious-looking characters walking alone at night. Moana laughed out loud as she thought of the instruction. Auckland was a twenty-four-hour city. The streets filled with suspicious-looking characters every night.
    The words