Free A Killing Karma by Geraldine Evans

comfort to
his master or to confirm his words, Casey couldn't tell.
    'I wondered,
Mr Abernethy,’ Casey said tentatively, ‘whether the location of this man's
death might indicate he was local. Did you recognize him?’
    Again, Cedric
Abernethy shook his head. 'I don't believe so. But I know few young people;
they have little time for an old dodderer like me. Besides, so many young men
look alike, don't they? With their heads half-scalped by the barber and with
that scruffy stubbly growth of beard that simply looks slovenly. Grow a beard
or don't grow a beard. That in-between look just appears messy and indicates a
sloppy lack of personal hygiene. Shame they've done away with National Service.
Some of today's young men could do with a sharp burst of military discipline.’
    Mr Abernethy
met Casey's gaze and gave a brief smile. ‘Sorry. It's one of my hobby-horses.
But the appearance of young men these days is, I suppose, the same rule that
says all old men look the same — bald, jowly and with glasses. The same rule
seems to convince all old women that they have to perm their hair. Some sort of
generational unofficial uniform.’
    Mr Abernethy —
neither bald, nor jowly, and with piercing grey eyes that wouldn't have shamed
a bird of prey — clearly hadn't either voluntarily or involuntarily adopted the
uniform of the aged male.
    But, for all
his composure, he was able to tell them nothing more. After thanking him for
his help, Casey, anxious the question might be construed as an insult by the
old soldier, tentatively asked if he was okay after the shock of finding the
body or whether he would like them to contact his doctor.
    ‘Thank you,
no. I'm fine. Anyway, all he'll do is give me a sedative, thereby postponing
any nightmares from tonight to tomorrow. What's the point of that? Not that I'm
likely to suffer nightmares, anyway. I'm long past them now. Don't trouble
yourself, Chief Inspector. I'll be all right. I've seen a lot worse in my time.
But thank you for your concern.’
    After he had
handed Mr Abernethy a card and had extracted a promise that their witness would
contact him if he recalled anything more, Casey left, with Catt at his heels.
    ‘There's CCTV
in the High Street and Carey Street,’ Casey commented as they returned to the
scene. ‘Worth checking to see if our victim shows up.’
    Catt nodded.
‘I'll get straight on to it.’
    By now,
forensic and uniform between them and doubtless having struggled against the
wind, had erected protective screening around the body. Having pronounced life
extinguished and given his preliminary findings, Dr Merriman was on the verge
of departure. He nodded a brisk goodbye to Casey and set off to the mortuary
without another word.
    Since they had
left the scene to speak to Cedric Abernethy the number of gawping bystanders
had grown. But as Casey had instructed, they and the press were herded to the
far ends of the street in which the alleyway was found. Further guards were set
at both ends of the alley in case some enterprising journalist attempted to
gain an advantage over his colleagues. Such a precaution was a bit late,
though, Casey noted. Already, one or two of the more forceful of the Fourth Estate
were stationed at bedroom windows in the houses facing the alley; he could see
their cameras jutting brazenly through the wide-flung windows and recording
every movement. They must have bribed the householders to gain such a
grandstand view. Casey, imminently expecting word of his connection to the
commune killings to leak out through the sieve of careless talk, was surprised
he didn’t already feature prominently in their sensation-hungry rags.
    After watching
forensic go about their painstaking routines for a few minutes, Casey said to
ThomCatt, ‘We can do nothing further here. I'll see you back at the station.
Finding our victim's identity is our first priority.’
    They fought
their way through the crowds to their respective cars and drove to the