Death Row - Mark Pearson [62]
Diane flapped a dismissive hand and pointed at the severed head. ‘Exactly. Maybe this is connected to some kind of devil worship.’
Kate knelt down by the altar, examining the cut marks at the base of the decapitated woman’s head. ‘Maybe the murderer was spelling out the name Horus.’
‘Who?’
Kate turned round to look up at the chief inspector. ‘Horus was an Egyptian deity. Had something to do with the dead, I think. He was depicted as having a human body but a falcon’s head.’
Jack looked back at the altar. ‘The fact that her head is shaved …’
‘Yes?’ said Kate, gesturing for him to continue.
‘You think she might be a nun?’
Kate considered it. ‘It’s possible. The priest didn’t seem to know a great deal about the woman except he thinks she must be the volunteer cleaner. Apparently she only worked at night, when no one else was around.’
‘Maybe she’s an ex-nun,’ said Delaney. ‘Maybe if this is some kind of ritual killing, a Satanist sacrifice or the like, it gives more power or energy to the spell if the sacrificed person is religious.’
‘Might make a sick kind of sense, I suppose,’ agreed Kate. ‘Wouldn’t they have painted a pentagram or something, though?’
‘Satanists in Harrow on the Hill, decapitating bald nuns and desecrating churches!’ Diane sighed heavily. ‘Sweet Jesus, as if we haven’t got enough on our plates already!’
‘So the thing about this Horus fellow having a human body but a bird’s head – is it significant, do you think?’ Delaney asked Kate.
‘It could be. If that’s what the letters mean. But we have no way of knowing that yet.’
Diane yanked a packet of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket and snapped one into her mouth. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘So the rest of her body is somewhere having a hawk’s head grafted onto it by some devil-worshipping Egyptologist.’
‘Don’t even think of lighting that, Diane,’ said Delaney.
‘Jeez, Jack. Of course I’m not going to light it: this is a crime scene. Anyway, I thought your Catholicism was in the lapsed category?’
Delaney looked over at the row of saints marching along both walls, preserved in fractured and coloured glass, their eyes glowing now that dawn had finally broken from outside and shards of light were piercing through the dark clouds that still hung low over the church.
‘I’m a betting man, boss, you know that. Let’s just say I like to cover the odds.’
Robert Duncton and a woman whom Delaney had never seen before came into the church. The woman was in her mid-thirties, about six foot one or two tall, with short cropped blonde hair. She didn’t seem to be wearing make-up and it didn’t stop her being strikingly attractive – she had cheekbones you could have sliced cheese on.
‘Step away from the evidence, please, Doctor Walker,’ said Duncton.
Kate stood up and fixed him with a cool look. ‘She’s still a person, detective inspector.’
The tall woman held out her hand to Delaney. ‘You’ll be Jack Delaney?’
‘That I will,’ he said, almost smiling as he felt Diane’s frowning gaze upon them. Her displeasure might not be merely a matter of breach of professional etiquette, he guessed. Diane Campbell admired a pretty woman just as much as the next man.
‘Sergeant Halliday,’ the tall woman said, introducing herself. She smiled, revealing a row of teeth as neatly arranged as a march by the Grenadier Guards and as white as a Lyons sugar cube. ‘Emma. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘Ahem,’ said Diane Campbell with a stage cough.
‘I’m sorry, chief inspector,’ said the sergeant. She smiled again, holding her hand out once more. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you as well, this time all good.’
Diane nodded wryly and shook Emma Halliday’s hand.
‘Well, isn’t this lovely?’ snorted Duncton sarcastically. ‘Shame we can’t all have a cup of tea and an iced bun!’ He glared across at Kate, who had produced a camera and was firing off shots, her flash lighting up the church like bolts of lightning. ‘But now that we’ve all met, can we stop contaminating my crime scene and keep the area clear for SOCO and the forensic pathologist?’
‘He won’t