Lynley examined it, Havers looking over his shoulder. In the picture, he saw the bruising that St. James was talking about. He discerned that it was actually more of a pattern than a bruise, most distinguishable on Kimmo Thorne’s body because he was the only white youth. On Kimmo, a central pale area was ringed by dark bruiselike flesh. In the centre of the pale portion of this, two small marks had the look of burns. With variations due to the pigment of each boy, this distinctive mark was the same on every successive photograph that St. James handed over. Lynley looked up once he’d seen them all.
“Did SO7 actually miss this?” he asked. What he thought was, Christ. What a bloody cock-up.
“They mention it in the autopsies. The problem was in their term of reference. Calling it a bruise.”
“What do you make of it yourself? It looks something between a bruise and a burn.”
“I had a good idea, but I wasn’t entirely sure initially. So I scanned the photos and sent them over to a colleague in the States for a second opinion.”
“Why the States?” Havers had taken up one of the pictures and had been frowning down at it, but now she looked up curiously.
“Because, like nearly anything else you might imagine as a weapon, they’re legal in America.”
“What?”
“Stun guns. I think that’s how he’s incapacitating the boys. Before he does the rest.” St. James went on to explain how the characteristics of the bruiselike wounds on the bodies compared point by point to the kind of bruise that was the result of being jolted by the fifty thousand to two hundred thousand volts of electricity that such a weapon discharged. “Each of the boys was hit in relatively the same place on the body, on the left side of the torso. That tells us that the killer’s using the gun in the same way each time.”
“If you’ve got something that works, why mess about with it,” Havers said.
“Exactly,” St. James agreed. “The electricity from the stun gun scrambles the body’s nervous system, leaving the victim-as the name implies-literally stunned, unable to move even if he wants to. His muscles work rapidly but without any efficiency. His blood sugar is converted to lactic acid, which depletes him of energy. His neurological impulses are interrupted. He’s weak, confused, and disoriented.”
“While he’s in that condition, the killer has time to immobilise him,” Lynley added.
“And if he starts to come round…?” Havers said.
“The killer uses the gun on him again. By the time he’s back to normal, he’s gagged and restrained, and the killer can do what he wants with him.” Lynley handed the pictures back to St. James. “Yes. I think that’s exactly what’s happening.”
“Except…” Havers handed her own photograph back to St. James although she spoke to Lynley. “These are streetwise kids. You’d think they’d notice someone about to shove a gun in their ribs, wouldn’t you?”
“As to that, Barbara…” St. James dug out a few sheets of paper from an in basket on the top of a filing cabinet. He handed over to Lynley what first appeared to be an advertisement. On closer inspection, however, Lynley saw that the document had come from the Internet. On a site called PersonalSecurity.com, stun guns were offered for sale. But these were stun guns of an entirely different order from the pistol-shaped weapon one might associate with the name. Indeed, these didn’t appear to be guns at all, which was probably the point of owning one of them. Some of them were manufactured to look like mobile phones. Others looked like torches. All of them worked identically, however: The user had to make physical contact with the victim in order for the electrical charge to pass from the gun into the victim’s body.
Havers gave a quiet whistle. “I’m impressed,” she said. “And I reckon we can suss out how these things get into the country in the first place.”
“No difficult feat to smuggle them into the UK,” St. James agreed, “not looking like that.”
“And from there on to the black market,” Lynley said. “Well done, Simon. Thank you. Progress. I feel moderately encouraged.”
“We can’t give this to Hillier, though,” Havers pointed out. “He’ll put it on Crimewatch. Or hand it over to the press before you could say ‘Kiss my arse.’ Not,” she added hastily, “that you’d say that, sir.”
“Not,” Lynley said, “that I wouldn’t want to. Although I tend to like something a little more subtle.”
“Then we may have a difficulty with our plan.” Helen spoke from the table where she and Deborah had been flipping through their magazines. She held up one of them and Lynley saw that it featured clothing for infants and children. She said, “I have to say it’s not subtle at all. Deborah’s suggested a solution, Tommy. To the christening situation.”
“Ah. That.”
“Yes. Ah that. Shall we tell you, then? Or shall I wait till later? You could consider it a break from the grim realities of the case, if you’d like.”
“By switching to the grim realities of our families, you mean?” Lynley asked. “Now that’s diverting.”
“Don’t tease,” Helen said. “Frankly, I’d christen our Jasper Felix in a dishcloth if I had my way. But since I don’t-certainly not with two hundred and fifty years of Lynley history bearing down on me-I’ve wanted to come up with a compromise that will please everyone.”
“Hardly likely to happen with your sister Iris marshalling the rest of the girls to her side in favour of Clyde family history,” Lynley said.
“Well, yes of course, Iris is rather daunting when she sets her mind to something, isn’t she? Which is what Deborah and I were discussing when Deborah made the most obvious suggestion in the world.”
“Dare I ask?” Lynley looked at Deborah.
“New clothes,” she said.
“But not just new,” Helen added. “And not the usual gown, blanket, shawl, and whatever. The point is to get something that announces itself as a new tradition being established. By you and me. So naturally, that’s going to take a bit more effort. No simple dash through Peter Jones.”
“That’ll be a crushing blow to you, darling,” Lynley said.
“He’s being sarcastic,” Helen told the rest of them. And then to Lynley, “You do see it’s the answer, don’t you? Something new, something different, something that we can pass along-or at least claim we’re going to pass along-to our children so that they can use it as well. And you know it’s out there: what we’re looking for. Deborah’s actually volunteered to help me find it.”
“Thank you,” Lynley said to Deborah.
“D’you like the idea?” she asked him.
“I like anything with the promise of peace,” he said. “Even if it’s only momentary. Now if we can only resolve-”
His mobile chirped. As he reached for it in the breast pocket of his coat, Havers’ mobile went off as well.
The rest of them watched as the information was passed from New Scotland Yard to Lynley and Havers simultaneously. It wasn’t good news.
Queen’s Wood. In North London.
Someone had found yet another body.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HELEN WENT DOWN TO THE CAR WITH THEM. SHE stopped Lynley, saying only, “Tommy darling, please listen to me,” before he got inside. She cast a look towards Havers, who was already buckling herself into the passenger seat, and then said quietly to Lynley, “You’ll solve it, Tommy. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”
He let out a breath. How well she knew him. He said just as quietly, “How can I be otherwise? Another one, Helen.”