Free Concrete Evidence by Conrad Jones Page B

a lot,” Annie said to herself. The image of the jawless corpse at the first scene entered her mind. She shuddered and walked towards the hallway. Stirling filled the bathroom doorway with his bulk. He turned as she approached and grimaced. Annie looked inside and shook her head. It was the opposite of the previous scene. Blood stained the enamel sink and the stainless steel fixtures. There had been no detailed clean up here. The mirror was smeared with congealed blood and the words, ‘when you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’ were written on the glass.
                  “What indeed?” Annie answered the question, wondering what the animal that had written it saw when he looked in the mirror. She avoided looking at her own reflection. She hated the false eye with a passion. The jagged scar beneath it had faded significantly and her surgeon had recommended a concealing foundation used by burn victims, which all but hid it completely but she still couldn’t bring herself to linger in front of her reflection.
                  “Is this all for shock value or is our killer a real loon?” Stirling growled. “I never was good at riddles.”
    They glanced into the living room. It was a wide space with real wood flooring and a huge flat screen plasma mounted on the wall. Three White leather settees and two recliners seemed lost in the room. “Mobile beauticians must be raking it in these days,” Annie raised her eyebrows. Stirling grunted in agreement. Blood stained both arms of a reclining armchair as if someone had sat for a while resting or watching television. The black stains stood in stark contrast against the leather. The thought of the killer relaxing before, during or after such an evil act worried Annie to her core. He was ice cold, detracted from reality with no empathy for the victims. They were hunting the most dangerous type of killer that one could encounter.
    As they approached the bedroom the air grew thick with decay. Not as bad as the first scene but still stomach churning. She could smell fresh vomit mingled with the decomposition. Although hardened to seeing murder victims in situ, the sight that met them was enough to make her take a sharp intake of breath.
            “Mrs Webb saw this?” Annie raised her eyebrows and looked at Stirling. “Jesus.”
                  Stirling frowned and nodded. “According to PC Bowers she did, although she hasn’t spoken a word since. The paramedics sedated her and took her to the Royal. Bowers threw up,” he added pointing to a pool of sick. “Don’t step in it.”
                  “Same killer?” Annie asked no one in particular as she stepped over the gooey puddle. She stepped inside and analysed the carnage. The victim lay dressed in a basque, stockings and suspenders, her skin striped by hundreds of narrow cuts and slashes. Her head had been severed and placed on the dressing table facing the mirror. The same words, ‘when you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’ were smeared on the glass in blood. “See the makeup,” Annie pointed at the severed head. She walked to the dressing table and studied it closely. “That’s been put on her by a man. Clumsily,” she paused. “She looks like a clown.” She scanned the body and saw ink on her toe.
                  Stirling stared at her foot. “The flower tattoo,” he said looking at Annie. “This is Jayne Windsor.”
                  “Yes,” Annie agreed. “We have to assume that it is. Our killer is playing a game with us and I for one, am not enjoying it one bit.” She tossed ideas around in her mind but nothing made sense. “Jackie Webb was killed in Jayne Windsor’s house and dressed in her uniform.” She shrugged. “Jayne Windsor is here, tortured to death, beheaded and dressed in lingerie?”
                  “Could be his fantasies,” Stirling offered. “Cop’s uniform,