Killing the Beasts

Jon grimaced. 'I've seen more artistic shots in the Readers' Wives section of a bog mag.'

'Bog mag?' asked Nikki.

Jon let out a self-conscious cough. 'Well, that's where they get read a lot: in toilets.'

'You blokes,' said Nikki, half amused and half disapproving. 'This was at the back of the album.'

She held up another bag inside which was a page from a contacts magazine. Printed on cheap paper-stock, the page was divided into a load of boxes, the text and photo inside each one slightly blurred. Looking more closely, Jon saw adverts for amateur glamour models, charges ranging from £60 to £120 per private photo session. Turning to Polly's details in his notebook, he checked her mobile number against the ones in the adverts. He quickly found a match.

'So what do you reckon? Was she in debt? Trying to pay it off by doing this sort of stuff?' asked Nikki.

'More like saving up, I think,' answered Jon. 'She was planning to bugger off on a backpacking trip round the world for a year. Shall I take them back to the incident room?'

'So long as you sign for them.' Nikki held out her log book. 'And no stopping off in the bogs en route,' she added, with a quick glance at his crotch.

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be embarrassed, but that was what he liked about Nikki: such foul things from such a sweet face.

Back at the incident room he handed in the evidence bags to the exhibits officer and sat down. 'Anything in yet?' he called over to the office manager.

The other man walked over, several pieces of paper in his hand. 'Nothing significant from the drains or the dustbins in the immediate area. Her bank records are due any time now and these are her mobile phone records — incoming and outgoing calls. Most caller numbers are registered, with the exception of three pay-as-you-go mobiles. Who they belong to is, as you know, anybody's guess.'

'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.'