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than the rest of the graffiti, too fresh.’
    The captain’s eyes returned to the printout.
    Hunter paused and all of a sudden started searching his desk.
    ‘What are you looking for?’ the captain asked.
    ‘The DVD with the video file we got from the morgue yesterday. I want to check something.’ He found it and popped it into his computer’s disk drive.
    Garcia and Captain Blake joined Hunter by his desk.
    As the video started playing, Hunter fast-forwarded it to the scene where Doctor Winston retrieved the bomb from inside the stitched victim. The player application in Hunter’s computer didn’t have a frame-by-frame function. He had to keep on clicking the play/pause button to slowly advance it to the exact spot he wanted. He watched a small segment a couple of times before turning to face Garcia and the captain.
    ‘His back is towards the camera, so we have to guess the correct moment,’ Hunter said, ‘but look at Doctor Winston’s arm movement right here.’
    All eyes were glued to the screen.
    Hunter rewound and played the sequence twice over.
    ‘There’s a small jerk.’ Garcia nodded. ‘As if his hand came unstuck.’
    ‘Exactly,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Do you have a stopwatch?’
    Garcia pulled his sleeve up to reveal his wristwatch. ‘Sure.’
    ‘Time it. Ready? Go.’ Hunter clicked the play button. Exactly ten seconds later, the screen was filled with static.
    ‘A ten-second delay trigger mechanism?’ the captain said, looking at Hunter. ‘Like a grenade?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    ‘Most grenades’ trigger mechanisms have to be manually activated,’ Garcia said. ‘Who activated that one?’
    Hunter rubbed his face. ‘That’s the question that’s been knocking around in my head. Whoever placed the bomb inside the victim couldn’t be sure of the exact moment of extraction. That means that the bomb couldn’t have been on a timer or have been remotely activated.’
    Garcia nodded.
    ‘So what if in this case the trigger was held in place not by a pin like most grenades, but by the confined space where the bomb was placed?’ Hunter suggested. ‘A spring trigger of some sort, held tight by the victim’s own body.’
    Garcia and Captain Blake exchanged glances as they considered it for a moment.
    ‘So extracting the bomb from the victim would’ve released the trigger,’ Garcia said, scratching his forehead. ‘It’s possible – and very creative.’
    ‘Fantastic,’ the captain said, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘To the killer this is all just a game.’ She showed Hunter the printout again. ‘He even told us it was inside her.’
    Hunter shook his head. ‘The killer wasn’t informing us, Captain.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘The killer was informing the victim .’

 
Thirteen
     
    Captain Blake leaned against the edge of Garcia’s desk and folded her arms. ‘You’ve lost me, Robert.’
    ‘Have a look at that printout again, Captain,’ Hunter said. ‘The killer wrote “It’s inside you ” not “It’s inside her ”. He wasn’t communicating with us.’
    ‘Why would the killer try to communicate with a dead body?’
    ‘Because she wasn’t dead when he left her.’
    The captain ran a finger over her right eyebrow and pulled a face. ‘You lost me even more now.’
    Hunter walked up to the pictures board. ‘There were several things that were bothering me about the crime-scene photos. That’s why I wanted to have a look at the butcher’s shop again myself.’ He pointed to one of the pictures. ‘Look at the position the body was found in, the arms in particular. One is hanging down from the side of the counter and the other is resting awkwardly on her chest. The fingers on her right hand are spread apart and half bent, as if she was trying to dig at something. I don’t think the killer left her in this particular position.’
    ‘The body might’ve been interfered with, Robert,’ the captain countered. ‘It was an anonymous phone call that gave us the