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  Chapter Eight

  Magee strolled into his office rather late the next morning. An unusual event in itself which, judging from his rugged appearance, had more to do with whisky than the possibility of working late the night before. Although slightly worse for wear, he could nevertheless sense an atmosphere in the room. He caught Melissa’s attention and asked, ‘What's going on?’

  ‘And a good morning to you too, sir.’

  Magee sighed. The increasingly trendy concept of political correctness was not his forte. ‘Sorry, Melissa, I was up late last night, bemoaning the Home Secretary’s interference to Jenny.’

  ‘I’m sure she enjoyed that, sir.’

  Magee looked at his sergeant out of the corner of his eye. If his head didn’t hurt quite so much, he might have had something to say about her tone. As it was, he would save it for later. He motioned for her to join him in his office. ‘There’s something in the air out there, Melissa, what’s up?’

  Melissa took a deep breath before responding. ‘There’s been another murder, sir. During the night. We’re just getting the details through now.’

  ‘When you say “another murder”, you mean of the same mould as the Conners’ case?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes, sir.’

  ‘Shit!’ It was all Magee could think of to say as he collapsed into his chair. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Coffee first?’

  ‘Oh, yes please. Plenty of it. And a glass of water too.’ He sat rubbing his eyes until Melissa returned. ‘Thanks. Okay, spill the beans.’

  ‘The victim is one Mike Harwood. Lives on the edge of Preston Park in Brighton.’

  ‘Nice area, that. Who’s out there, on the scene?’

  ‘Chris Auckland is, sir. He was there by eight thirty. We tried to contact you, but . . .’

  ‘Jenny was taking Carolyn and Jason up to the Wallands School. I was, erm, still getting ready.’

  The top of Melissa’s lip curled slightly. ‘Right. Anyway, sir, Chris Auckland has reported in already. The victim had three young kids.’ She looked down at a handful of notes in her hand. ‘His wife died a year ago from ovarian cancer.’

  ‘Damn! Did he kill the kids as well?’

  ‘No, sir, but he did make orphans out of them.’

  ‘And the similarities?’

  ‘It looks like the killer crept into the house during the night. There’re no signs of a forced entry. The victim was in bed when the attack occurred. His throat was slashed. He was stabbed in the chest, the dagger left in place.’

  ‘Please don’t tell me the dagger is similar. Not a Buddha effigy again?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, but the description is the same, and I don’t just mean similar.’

  ‘Oh, hell!’

  ‘Mike Harwood’s kids found him first thing this morning. They’re in a state of shock, to say the least. The oldest girl is still hysterical, I understand.’

  ‘We’d better get over there.’

  ‘Just one other point, sir,’ Melissa added quietly. ‘Guess who was discovered in the vicinity.’

  Magee frowned then sighed heavily before replying. ‘Not Paul Mansell? Don’t say that.’

  ‘Sorry, sir, but yes, he was there.’

  ‘Oh for pity’s sake!’ Magee could just imagine the lecture he’d receive from the Home Secretary for letting a mass murderer out of a police cell to commit another crime. ‘Where is Mansell now?’

  ‘He’s been held most of the night over in Brighton. He was picked up around two in the morning.’ Melissa paused for a few seconds before continuing, ‘He was soliciting, sir.’

  ‘Soliciting? You mean he was looking for a prostitute? Oh, for god’s sake, that's all I need. We've got the full trio now. Murder, religion and sex. I can see the press having a field day over this one. And I’ll be lambasted for letting the bastard walk free.’

  ‘But he seemed to have a pretty good alibi before.’

  ‘But not quite good enough, eh? With hindsight, that is. What time was the murder last night?’

  ‘The doctor says about one o’clock, give or take a few minutes. Mansell's arrest was logged at the station at five past two.’

  ‘Nothing to suggest Mansell had been up to something? No blood on him by any chance?’

  ‘Nothing, sir, sorry. It wasn't until this morning that some bright spark put two and two together. After the discovery of Harwood they figured Mansell and checked him out.’

  ‘Come on, then. Get packed up. I'll be with you in fifteen minutes. I need another coffee first. And I suppose I'll have to let Rees Smith know. We can't have our precious Home Secretary hearing about this secondhand.’

  ‘Good luck, sir. I’ll go and get the car ready.’

  Magee asked DC Collins to put a call through, an urgent call, top priority to the Home Secretary, and sat quietly, composing himself, calmly drinking his coffee, needing five minutes sanity before he went into battle. He smirked at the thought of ruining the politician's day.

  His phone buzzed, shattering his peacefulness. He picked the receiver up only to hear a raging voice. ‘Magee? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What the hell is the emergency? I've just been hauled out of a meeting, an extremely important meeting, I'll have you know. You'd better have a damn good explanation.’

  ‘I have sir.’ Magee played it cool, relishing the fact that he had annoyed the Home Secretary. ‘A murder was committed last night, sir. It appears to be similar to the Conners’ case. I didn't want you to hear it from anyone other than me.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘The body was found first thing this morning,’ Magee continued. ‘The victim was still in bed. His throat was slashed and he was stabbed through the heart. The dagger has an effigy of a Buddha carved into the handle. The victim lived in Brighton. His name was, erm, Michael Harwood,’ Magee said as he looked down at Melissa’s hand written notes. ‘He was forty two years old, a widower, had three young children.’

  ‘Michael Harwood did you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I did. Also, similar to last time, Paul Mansell was picked up in the neighbourhood. Apparently he was looking for a prostitute.’

  ‘A prostitute? What the fuck is the idiot playing at? Have you spoken to him yet?’

  ‘No, sir, not yet. I'm just on my way over to Brighton now.’

  ‘Well, crucify the bastard! Don't you dare let him go, Magee! There'll be uproar if you let him out again and I'll personally castrate you!’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ He allowed himself a smirk before adding, ‘What if Mansell is innocent, sir?’

  ‘Innocent? How can the bastard be innocent? At the scene of a murder, twice in a row? He's guilty all right, Magee. Just you lock him up and prove it!’

  Magee was just about to counterattack when the line went dead. He sat looking at the receiver, seething at the politician's intervention and intrusion into his authority. ‘Fuck you too,’ he muttered as he stood up.