Mark Pearson - Blood Work

Delaney came crashing through the undergrowth closely followed by Danny Vine. Bob Wilkinson brought up the rear at a leisurely pace.

Delaney looked around, confused. 'What the hell happened, Sally?'

'I had a thought.' She could see he wasn't looking too impressed and rushed ahead before he could say more. 'About the belt buckle, sir.'

'What belt buckle?'

'That the dead girl was wearing. The silver buckle. The Green Man in the woods.'

She had his attention now. 'Go on.'

'"What are belt buckles for?" he said.'

'Get on with it, Sally.'

'Well, traditionally, when a nurse qualifies, they are often given a belt buckle by a loved one to mark it. Often silver. Often an old one. Victorian. That kind of thing.'

Delaney nodded, pleased.

'I think she's a nurse, sir.'

Delaney waved at Danny and Bob Wilkinson. 'Okay, guys, I think we can call this off for now. You two get back to the station.'

Wilkinson looked at his watch and nodded. 'Five past bacon-butty o'clock.' He crooked his finger at Danny Vine. 'Come on, Kemo Sabe.'

Danny glared at him. 'That had better not be a racist remark.'

Wilkinson looked at him as though highly offended. 'I am a white male English policeman in his fifties, what are the chances of me being racist?'

Danny laughed. 'Absolutely none at all.'

'I'll even drink my tea with you.'

Delaney watched the uniforms walk away, the future and the past of the Metropolitan Police, and figured a blend of the two wasn't perhaps such a bad thing.

He turned back to Sally and nodded at her, pleased. 'Brains as well as beauty. Not sure there's a place for that on the job.'

Despite herself Sally felt herself blushing. Compliments from Jack Delaney were like goals from England trying to qualify for Euro 2008. Which, as her grandfather said at the time, were fucking few and fucking far between.

'Come on then, you can drive.'

Sally blinked. 'Where to?'

'South Hampstead Hospital. You should fit right in.'

Sally pulled her dark, woollen cloak about her, feeling like a character from a Carry On film, and set off following her boss to where his car was parked just off the common.

A few moments later, about thirty yards from where Sally had been, a dark-haired man zipped himself back up and scuffed up some wet leaves with the sharp toe of his boot to kick over the evidence of his shameful pleasures. Though, in truth, he felt no shame at all. Just the thrill of the hunt… the thrill of it beginning all over again.

Last night was just another chapter. Long way to go yet.

Delaney's expression was grim as he pushed open the main entrance door to the South Hampstead Hospital, the muscles in his jaw flexed and bunched as though he were chewing on gum rather than memories. Sally stole a sympathetic glance at him as they walked up to the reception desk. She knew why he didn't like hospitals, knew exactly why he didn't like this one in particular. His baby had died here after his wife, wounded badly by shotgun fire, had had to undergo an emergency Caesarean section. Very premature and traumatised by the injuries to his mother, the baby had survived only a matter of moments after the procedure. Delaney's wife survived her son's death by no more than a few minutes. Sally Cartwright knew that her boss still carried the guilt for both their deaths like a member of Opus Dei carries a scourge to beat themselves with daily. Delaney had never let the scar tissue heal, each day he'd make it bleed afresh.

She remembered reading the details of his wife's murder the day before; something about it had struck her as odd, but she didn't feel now was the right time to discuss it.

Delaney held his warrant card up to the bored-looking receptionist who betrayed no emotion at the display. Police and their warrant cards were, after all, not a rarity at any city hospital.

'I want to see whoever is in charge of the nurses here.'

The receptionist glanced back at her horoscope. Sally could see it was written by Jonathan Cainer. 'Depends what wards they work on. They all have their own senior sisters.'

'I don't know what ward she worked on. Isn't there someone from personnel who deals with them all?'

Sally could hear the irritation in his voice. The receptionist picked up the phone. 'I'll see if I can find someone to talk to you. Can I ask what it is about?'

'It's about police business. Tell them that,' Delaney said curtly.

The receptionist sighed heavily and punched some numbers into the telephone keypad. Delaney walked across to read the notices pinned on the adjacent wall on the other side of the reception desk and Sally smiled apologetically at the woman behind the counter. 'He doesn't like hospitals very much.'

'Not really interested.'

Sally shrugged. 'What's he say for Capricorn?'

The receptionist looked back at her, frowning. 'What?'

'Jonathan Cainer. He's very good, isn't he?'

The receptionist pointedly turned the page. 'I don't know. I only buy it for the Sudoku.'

Sally shrugged again, and wandered over to join Delaney as he was studying a poster advertising an STD drop-in clinic.

'Something you're worried about, sir?'

Delaney gave her a flat look. 'You may have done well with the belt buckle, Detective Constable, but don't push it.'

'Sir.' Sally grinned, she knew Delaney wasn't annoyed. Not with her at least.

A little while later, a short woman dressed in a navy-blue suit, with iron-grey hair cut fashionably short, strode briskly up to Delaney and thrust out her hand.

'Margaret Johnson. I understand you have some questions regarding one of our staff?'

Delaney shrugged. 'Possibly about one of your staff, Mrs Johnson.'

'Why don't you come through to my office?'

Margaret Johnson's office was surprisingly colourful and cluttered. She moved a stack of files from one of the chairs facing her desk and gestured at them to take a seat.

'What can I do to be of assistance?'

'We are trying to identify someone. We think she may have worked here.'

'And she's dead?'

'How would you know that?' Sally asked.

Margaret Johnson looked at her sadly. 'Call it an educated guess. If she wasn't dead she herself could tell you who she was, especially if you knew where she worked.'

Delaney placed a file on the desk in front of him. 'I'm afraid these photos are going to be rather unpleasant to look at.'

'That's okay, Inspector.'

'You know all the nurses who work here?'

'I would have interviewed them all at least once, yes.'

Delaney opened the file. 'We're trying to find out who she is. She wore a belt with a distinctive buckle. It's why we think she might have been a nurse.'

He took out a ten by eight black-and-white photo of the belt and buckle and handed it across to her.

Sally leaned in. 'We thought it might have been a qualifying gift. She was found near the hospital and we figured she may have worked here.'

The woman nodded. 'It's a possibility. It's the sort of buckle that a nurse might well have. When you say she was found… may I ask what the circumstances were?'

'She was murdered,' Delaney said shortly. 'Her throat was cut and her body was slashed. Repeatedly, and with some force.'

Margaret Johnson swallowed and nodded at the folder, steeling herself. 'I had best take a look then.'

Delaney handed the file across to her and Sally could see moisture forming in the older woman's eyes as she looked through the photos one by one.

'The poor woman.' Her voice cracked, and she brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. 'I'm sorry.'

She handed the file back.

'I'm sorry you had to see those, but we need to know,' Delaney said.

'I meant I'm sorry because I can't help you.'

'Mrs Johnson?'

'She may well have been a nurse. But she didn't work here.'