The Murder Bag Read Online Free Page B

the banker’s mutilated throat. ‘Although nobody’s aim is that bad.’
    ‘She may have delegated,’ I said. ‘She has the money to hire someone good.’
    ‘That was my thought,’ Mallory agreed. ‘But then there would be glove prints. And we can’t find any glove prints. And unless she hired someone who didn’t have any idea what they were doing, there should certainly be glove prints in this room. As you know, glove prints can be as distinctive as fingerprints. If the gloves are thin enough, fingerprints can pass through the material. Fingerprints can also be present inside the gloves. Few villains take their gloves home, preferring to ditch them close to the crime scene. So we’re looking for a pair of gloves as well as glove prints.’
    ‘And what happens if we can’t find glove prints?’
    ‘Then we have to eliminate every print in the room.’
    I looked again at the photograph on the desk. And I could see it now – the boy the man had been. Hugo Buck was standing on the far right of the photograph and one tiny spot from the spray of blood had flecked his image. Twenty years had gone by but the smooth good looks of the future banker were there, buried under a shallow layer of puppy fat. The boys become the men, I thought, and the living become the dead.
    ‘Did you see his hands?’ Mallory said.
    Buck’s hands had fallen by his side but still gripped the vial of pills he had been holding in the last moment of his life. It was another thing I was seeing for the first time.
    ‘Cadaveric spasm,’ Mallory said. Smiling now, perhaps happy to show me that I hadn’t seen everything yet. That I hadn’t seen anything yet. ‘Instant rigor, caused by shock of sudden death, locking the body in its final second of life. That Pompeii moment. Can you make the pills out?’
    I crouched by the corpse and peered at the label, trying to shut out the copper stink of his blood.
    ‘Zestoretic,’ I read. ‘Take one daily as directed. Prescription only. Made out to Mr Hugo Randolph Buck. Zestoretic?’
    ‘For hypertension,’ Mallory replied. ‘Blood pressure pills.’
    ‘He was a bit young to be taking blood pressure pills, wasn’t he?’ I said, standing up. ‘Must be a lot of stress working in banking.’
    ‘And more stress at home,’ Mallory added.
    We stared at the dead man in silence.
    ‘Why didn’t they just shoot him?’ Mallory asked suddenly.
    I looked at him. ‘The banker?’
    ‘The bomber,’ Mallory said. ‘Your bomber. The chief super panics. The surveillance officer freezes. Nobody’s sure if it’s the man they want. I understand all of that. Nobody wants Jean Charles de Menezes on their CV. Everyone’s jumpy because any fatal shooting has to go before an IPCC inquiry now. You’ve got the Crown Prosecution Service waiting in the wings. The human rights lawyers.’ Mallory smiled shyly, blue eyes twinkling. ‘But you confirmed a positive ID. You overruled the surveillance officer. It was your call. You had seen the man. Watched him. Followed him. Studied him. It was your career on the line. Your liberty. Why didn’t they shoot him?’
    ‘They can only shoot him in the head, sir,’ I said. ‘New rules of engagement. Everything else is too risky. Can’t shoot him in the torso because he could be wearing a vest. Can’t shoot him in the arms or legs because then he still has a chance to detonate whatever he’s carrying.’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe they didn’t feel confident they could get a clean head shot. Maybe they believed the SO and the chief super and not me. All I can say is, there was a genuine element of doubt. And maybe shooting a man in the head when there was an element of doubt seemed . . . rash.’
    Mallory nodded. ‘And maybe we’re becoming afraid to do our job. How do you like this for a robbery?’
    ‘This wasn’t robbery,’ I said. ‘The Rolex on Mr Buck’s wrist has to be worth fifteen grand.’
    ‘Unless it was a robbery that was disturbed,’ Mallory