gloves hide fingerprints. But it is not true, especially with more modern gloves made of latex or something similar. The thinner the glove, the more likely the telltale ridges, whorls, arches and loops are to be left behind.
‘And what’s the bad news?’ I said.
‘None of it rings any bells on IDENT1.’
IDENT1 is the country’s major database for storing fingerprints and contains the fingerprints of knocking on for ten million people. That only leaves about fifty million people who are not on there – the part of the population who have never come into contact with the police.
‘And both of our potential suspects are on IDENT1,’ I said. ‘Because both Paul Warboys and Barry Wilder have criminal records.’
‘Wilder for his youthful indiscretions at the football, and Warboys because crime was what he did for a living,’ Edie said.
‘Are we sure it’s not them?’
Fingerprint analysis is not the exact science that it is always cracked up to be in the movies. Fingerprint officers have been known to get it wrong. Until 2001, a sixteen-point standard existed for fingerprint matches – meaning there were sixteen identical points required on a latent print to legally match it to a suspect. The system was scrapped because it didn’t work.
‘It’s not even close, Max.’
‘But we still don’t have the kill site, so we don’t have prints on surfaces, do we?’ I argued. ‘Paul Warboys or Barry Wilder could have glove prints, fingerprints, footprints and DNA all over the kill site. This one print found doesn’t mean either Barry Wilder and PaulWarboys – or both of them – weren’t there. It doesn’t mean they had nothing to do with it.’
‘It makes it a lot less likely though, doesn’t it?’
I had to give her that. ‘Yes.’
Jackson came into the loft, soaked in sweat from his evening run. Stan got off the sofa and padded across to greet him. The pair of them stared at me talking on the phone.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Edie said.
‘There’s a very strong possibility that these guys don’t have criminal records.’
‘Clean skins,’ Edie said. ‘I bloody hate clean skins. I’ll see you in the morning, Max.’
‘This is the thing on the news,’ Jackson said, his fingers scratching the back of Stan’s neck. ‘The Hanging Club.’
I nodded.
‘So what are they?’ Jackson said. ‘Some kind of vigilante group?’
‘We have a psychologist who works with us,’ I said. ‘Dr Joe. American. His theory is that they think of what they’re doing as capital punishment. They don’t think they’re committing murder. They don’t see it like that. They believe they are carrying out a death sentence.’
‘But they’re only killing scumbags, right? A child groomer and a hit-and-run driver.’
I smiled. ‘They’re not allowed to kill anyone, Jackson. It’s against the law.’
He looked thoughtful.
‘Still – it can’t feel good having to go after them. For you, I mean, Max. Like you’re a lawyer or something.’
I shouldered my kit bag.
‘Did they give you any choice about going to Afghanistan, Jackson? Did they ask you if there was somewhere you would prefer to go?’
He shook his head.
‘You went where you were sent,’ I said. ‘Same here. We just do our job. That’s all we do. The law’s not just there for nice people. I’m off to the gym.’
‘Bit late to be training,’ Jackson said.
‘I need to work off the day,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll never get any sleep.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You just had a run.’
He laughed. ‘Another hour of cardio won’t kill me.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘I’m just saying – what they’re doing is illegal. But does that make it wrong?’
‘You talk like you admire them.’
‘And you talk like you don’t. A child groomer, Max. A hit-and-run driver. No great loss.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘What is the point?’
‘The point is – who made them God? Who elected them judge,