Shallow Ground (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt] 📗

pointed at the spire. ‘That’d come down, for a start,’ he said, winking. ‘Every morning, the clerk of the works gives me a little tinkle and says what he needs. I might let a little in, or let a little out. Keep it level and everyone’s happy.’

The man unlocked the gate and walked into the field. He turned. ‘It’s not just the cathedral, mind. Whole city’s practically afloat. Five rivers run through it, don’t they? Like arteries.’

He waved and strode away.

‘He took a litre of blood from Aimee Cragg,’ Ford said, watching the man ratchet up the sluice gate.

‘Shit! Did he drink it?’

Ford shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Hannah says you’d vomit if you tried to drink that much.’

She nudged him in the ribs and grinned up at him. ‘Oh, Hannah says, does she?’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean, DC Harper?’

She put a hand, fingers splayed, over her chest, and popped her eyes wide in a show of innocence. The grin widened, though. ‘Nothing. No, nothing at all. Absolutely not one thing.’

‘Good. As I was saying—’

‘—before I so rudely interrupted you, talking about Hannah.’

‘The blood, Jools. Please?’

‘Did he take a litre from the other victims?’

‘Is the right question. Hannah,’ he continued, glaring at her, daring her to say anything, ‘is working on it. But let’s assume he did.’

‘If he’s not drinking it, is he keeping it? Is that his trophy?’

‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’

She shuddered. ‘I can just see it. A home blood bank with typed labels and him having a wank right in the middle of it.’

‘Thanks for that charming image.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘If Olly’s right, he’s got two more kills planned. So what I’m wondering is, why six? Why would he want six? Why not seven, or ten, or a hundred?’

‘How much blood is there in a body?’

‘None, in our cases.’

‘No, I mean how much blood does the average human being have?’

‘I don’t know. We were taught it was eight pints at school.’

Jools wrinkled her nose. ‘Surely it depends on the size. I mean, look at us. You’re six foot in your socks and what, thirteen stone?’

‘Something like that, if I don’t hit the beer and curry too hard.’

‘I’m five foot six and eight one, ditto. We can’t both have the same amount of blood. Never mind some of those people you see lumbering about the market square on a Saturday.’

Ford took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Jools, you’re a genius.’

‘Thanks, guv. Er . . . why?’

‘Georgina told me the human body is seven per cent blood, right? That’s the formula. So if I’m thirteen stone, I’ve got seven per cent of that in blood and if you’re, sorry—’

‘Eight one.’

‘—then you’ve got seven per cent of that.’

‘Sorry, guv. You’ve lost me.’

‘He’s planning on taking six litres of blood, one from each of his victims, yes?’

‘OK.’

‘What if that’s how much blood he’s got? In him, I mean.’

Her eyes widened as the import of his words hit her. ‘Then we can calculate his weight.’

Ford pulled out his phone and spoke aloud as he tapped numbers into the calculator.

‘Six litres equals seven per cent of the killer’s body weight.’ Tap. ‘How much does a litre of blood weigh?’

Jools looked it up on her phone. ‘Just under a kilo. Nought point nine four, to be exact.’

‘OK, so seven per cent of the killer’s body weight equals six times nought point nine four, which equals’ – he paused, tapping some more – ‘five point seven-six kilos. Help me out, Jools. How do I get from seven per cent to a hundred percent?’

‘Divide five point seven-six by seven and multiply by a hundred.’

‘Eighty-two point three kilos,’ he said.

‘Hold on, let’s just do a quick online conversion,’ she said. ‘That comes out to thirteen stone, near enough.’

‘So, if our assumption about the six litres is correct, we’re looking for a thirteen-stone man.’

‘I think we can say more than that.’

‘Go on.’

‘He’s fit, right?’ she asked. ‘He manhandled Aimee’s dead weight over the lip of the tub and supported her while he tied the clothes line round the top of the window.’

‘So you’re saying it’s thirteen stone of mainly muscle, not fat?’

‘Which means that he’s going to have a strong build. Plus, the pathologist has already given his height as five ten or taller.’

‘Like Abbott,’ Ford said.

She frowned. ‘Who has an alibi. Like Matty Kyte.’

‘Who also has one. Bloody hell, Jools, it has to be one of them. I’m sure of it.’

She nodded. ‘Then let’s find out which one it is and get him in an interview room.’

Back at Bourne Hill, Ford and Jools took the stairs to the fourth floor.

At the door to Major Crimes, he turned to her. ‘Can you run all our interview lists against that body type? Deprioritise anyone of the wrong weight or build.’

Jools smiled, nodded and returned to her desk. He liked that about her. No dumbass questions like ‘Why?’ and ‘Can’t you get someone else to do it?’, like Olly. She just got on with it.

He believed in giving the younger detectives on his team a bigger share of the grunt-work; after all, he’d done it, and you needed to break them in properly. But if they knuckled down to it uncomplainingly, he’d make sure he rewarded them with something juicier to keep them keen and to develop their skills.

He went straight to his desk, and the collated findings from Georgina’s post-mortems. All four adult victims had been exsanguinated, which had killed them. Kai Halpern had been given a lethal dose of fentanyl. Ford was just as sad for the little boy as his mother, but had to conclude that from the killer’s perspective, Kai was just an obstacle to his getaway. No sexual assault at any of the crime scenes.

I have to stop him.

He picked up his phone and called Abbott, who sighed when Ford introduced himself.

‘What now?’

‘How much do you weigh, Mr Abbott?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Your weight, Mr Abbott. What is it?’

‘I’m sorry, how is this relevant?’

‘Please. Your weight?’

Ford waited the consultant out. Three strikes