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pulled her into a close entrance before he did it, then left the body where he killed her. Found by some poor bastard who lives on the third floor. The deed couldn't have been done more than three or four minutes. The guy checks out, by the way.'
    There's a bit of a silence. We're all mad, tough bastards here, but this kind of thing is always going to stick in the throat, regardless of how many thugs you've arrested, regardless of how many bodies you've seen decapitated and dumped in a pile in the middle of a forest.
    'Why do you suppose he did that?' says Bloonsbury.
    'What?'
    'Stab her over a hundred times.'
    Herrod shrugs. 'I don't fucking know, do I?' he says bluntly. I can't help smiling at that, but quickly wipe it off.
    'Aye, right, fine. Any ideas people?' says Bloonsbury looking around the room.
    He wants to ask some idiot doctor with letters after his name and a mind for lunatics, not a bunch of Feds more used to dealing with car theft.
    DS Harrison speaks up. An attractive woman in her way, if a little brutish. Reminds me of my Aunt Maureen. I've heard tell she wears a chain around her waist, although have never had the desire to try and see for myself. Anyway, there's a rumour that she prefers the company of women, which is something I have to admire, because so do I.
    'He knew her, hated her, got carried away with an act of vengeance.'
    'Maybe,' says Bloonsbury. Never know with the guy if he's being cagey or slow.
    I shrug and decide to participate. 'The guy was hardly rational. From the ferocity of the attack we know that he absolutely lost it. You stab someone over a hundred times, you're not thinking straight.'
    Bloonsbury sighs, shakes his head. 'Aye, I suppose you're right.' Starts rubbing his eye. The man needs a drink. 'I'll speak to that doctor, what's his name?'
    'Arkansas,' volunteers a voice from the floor.
    'Aye, right, how could I forget a fucking stupid name like that? All right, anything else? Did the knobs at pathology have anything illuminating to tell us?'
    Herrod. 'Aye. Apparently she'd had sex yesterday afternoon. There were still traces of semen in her,' and he looks shyly around the women folk again, 'you know, inside her. Unrelated to the murder. From that we've got male, mid-thirties, blood group AB neg, and that's our lot.'
    I tell you, Baird and Balingol are something else. How did they manage to work out that the guy's male just from his semen?
    'Ties in with the boyfriend, presumably,' says Bloonsbury, looking at Taylor.
    'Aye,' says Taylor. 'Did it in the afternoon, in the toilets in his work in town, he says. It was after that she told him about the present from her ex. They argued, the usual thing. She left without it being resolved whether he'd go to the cinema. He thought about it, and decided not to.'
    'Right,' says Bloonsbury.
    He looks around the room, not sure where else to go with this.
    'Right,' he says again, 'this is a sick bastard we've got here. People are going to be shitting their pants, so we need this guy off the streets before Christmas. So, I know we've all got things to do at this time of year, but the quicker we get this out the way, the more time we can spend on enjoying ourselves. So let's give it everything we've got for the next couple of days.'
    Very inspiring.
    'Right. We've got descriptions of the lassie going out on the news, phone lines open, and all that. You all know what you're doing, so get out there and get on with it. I've got to go and speak to the fucking papers.'
    The meeting starts to break up. All hands on deck. Let's hope there's no more crime in the area for the next few weeks. Bloonsbury leads the way out the room and then we all start to shuffle after him. Taylor puts his hand on my shoulder.
    'I need a drink, Sergeant. You coming?'
    Where better to increase pressure in the investigation than from the pub? I nod and lead the way. The group disperses around the station, each with things to do. Not much conversation. All this is very intense.