Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

'Could belong to some very interesting characters,' remarked Jon.

Just before lunch the forensics lab in Chepstow called with the initial report on Polly's blood sample. 'What's showing up?' said Jon, grabbing a pen and hunching over his desk.

'It might be easier to approach this from the stance of what isn't,' replied the man at the other end of the line. 'Gas chromatography gave me a graph with enough peaks in it to put the Himalayas to shame. We've got all the usual suspects in there — cannabis, heroin, speed, alcohol and ecstasy.'

'In what sort of amounts? Enough to render her unconscious?'

'Could be. It depends on her tolerance. Was she a frequent user?'

'Seems like she was no stranger to it.'

'Well, I'd say the levels weren't enough to prove fatal. But I got an interesting blip on the graph, just above the background reading. It doesn't match any profile for the types of drugs we routinely test for, so I'll need to separate the ions in the mass spectrometer if you want to know what it is. The pH reading is acidic, so it could be some type of tricyclic antidepressant or something derived from ecstasy. Whatever it is, your run of the mill narcotic it is not. Want me to go ahead?'

Jon thought about the budget he had to play around with. Delaying a decision he said, 'How about the sample from her throat?'

'Haven't had a chance to look yet. It's set in the test tube, though.'

'How do you mean?'

'Become firmer, like jelly does in the fridge. 'There was a pause. 'Come to think of it, perhaps her residual body temperature was keeping it gel at the time of collection. Odd stuff, whatever it is.'

Jon came to a decision. The nude photos had given him a very promising line of enquiry. 'OK, hold off on the mass spectrometer test for the moment, cheers. And please-'

The man interrupted him. 'Call you as soon as I know anything more. Don't worry.'

The Outside Enquiry Team began to filter back after four. By half past the briefing area of the incident room was full as the process began of entering completed actions on to HOLMES and trawling over the day's findings. No residents on the street had noticed anyone unusual hanging around and no one had observed anyone leaving number fifteen that morning. The other two members of the band had been interviewed but, because they were both single, neither had any bed-partner to vouch for the fact they didn't return to Polly's flat later that night. The same applied to Phil Wainwright.

'Right,' Jon announced. 'We've had the toxicology report back. Like we thought, she was pumped full of all sorts, heroin and ecstasy included. The neighbour tells me that she would hold impromptu parties after the nightclubs had shut. She said that she used to see all sorts coming and going. I want to know where she was getting her drugs from. Someone go back to Phil Wainwright and lean on him. He's got priors for possession and he was obviously close to her.'

Next Jon retrieved the evidence bags from the exhibits room and showed them to the team. 'Any possible significance?' he asked the room in general.

'Could her ex — this Phil Wainwright — have found out and lost it?' someone asked.

'Possibly,' nodded Jon. 'Of course, she'll have had some pretty freaky people calling after she placed an ad in one of those magazines. And there are three unregistered numbers from her phone records.' He looked at his watch. 'People will be getting back from work soon. Let's get back over to Berrybridge Road and press on with the door to doors. We'll start working the contacts magazine angle tomorrow.'

At 8.15 Jon phoned home. 'Hi Al, it's me.'

'Hello to the SIO. How's it going?'

Jon sighed. 'Coming along, I think. There's some promising stuff to follow up so I'll be a while longer.'

He hated being trapped in the office for too many nights on the trot, not least because it forced him into eating grease-laden takeaway food.

'I've bunged a stew together. It's in the slow cooker. There's enough for a couple of nights…' She left the comment open-ended.

'That sounds great, but I'll have to save it for tomorrow. The team is phoning out for some pizza.'

'That's fine,' said Alice. 'It'll keep.'

With the issue of food sorted, Jon sat back. 'How was your day?' Alice gave a two-note hum. 'OK. Not too busy. Melvyn's “Backs, Cracks and Sacks” is going a storm. Word's out by the looks of it.'

'I'll try and put that image out of my mind.'

'Oh yeah, Ellie rang, 'Alice said. 'She wanted to know if we're on for going to Edale this Sunday. We could walk up to Kinder Scout and then head back down to the Nag's Head Inn for a late lunch.'

Jon remembered that his little sister had just been dumped by her boyfriend. 'How is she?'

'Putting on a brave face, I think. She's started to make an effort to get out of her flat more often, starting salsa lessons at Havana's in Manchester. I recommended that; you get some really fit men turning up.'

'Why not bring her down to the rugby club?'

'What, and have that crowd of grunts you play with crowding round her, pints of bitter drooling down their chins?'

Jon pictured the club after most matches: a couple of dozen blokes milling around on a beer-soaked floor, each one recounting his version of how the match had turned out. He loved it, but not many women seemed to. 'Yeah, you're right. But salsa? Won't it be full of sweaty Latino types?'

'Exactly,' said Alice. 'In fact, I might go along too.'

Jon smiled. 'That sounds like a good idea — Edale, I mean.'

'Good, 'Alice replied. 'I already said we'd go.'

'I'm briefing the team in at eight thirty tomorrow and not due to see McCloughlin until eleven thirty. We could meet in town just after nine. You're not doing the morning at the salon, are you?'

Alice sounded surprised. 'No, I'm due in after lunch.'

'How about it then?'

'Yeah, sounds lovely. Jon,' she said suddenly, 'have you spoken to Tom yet?'

'Oh shit, I meant to visit his office today. I totally forgot.' He glanced at his watch. 'I'll drive round on my way home. There's a guy there who usually works late at night. He should be able to fill me in.'

The traffic was almost nonexistent by the time he got away. Ten minutes later he hit the junction with Great Ancoats Street, then cut right into Ardwick. As he drove slowly along Ardwick Crescent the narrow strip of park was in darkness to his left. The glow of the petrol station across the road revealed the forms of two men as they lurked in the shadows beneath the trees. But unless they started mugging someone, he couldn't be bothered.

Instead he looked to his right, getting a glimpse through the open doors of The Church and seeing it packed with drinkers. Thursday night. In these parts the weekend kicked off tonight and kept going until Monday.

Getting to number seven he looked across the street, then climbed out of the car, confused. The office door was blocked up with a sheet of heavy-duty chipboard that had already been covered in a mishmash of graffiti. He walked over, eyes on the most legible line of writing.

There's nothing smart to dying , read the fat felt tip.

Below it a thinner scrawl replied, Piss off and do it then .

Looking between the bars in front of the windows, Jon could see a mound of post on the reception floor. He walked to the glass panels screening off the alleyway between the two houses: the pair of rubber plants stood tall and brittle, their leaves yellow and curled to parchment. Glancing up he saw the remains of an estate agent's sign hanging by a couple of nails, most of it torn off.

As Jon walked slowly back to his car, he thought back to the summer, analysing his last encounters with Tom, probing for any clues in what he'd said and how he'd appeared. There was no doubt he was sick of Manchester when he got back from the Seychelles.