Brotherhood of Blades by Linda Regan Read Free Book Online Page A

need for speed, not only to avoid antagonizing the residents more than they had to, but also because they were working against the wind and rain.
    Each little spot was meticulously scraped from the concrete floor or the grey brick walls, then carefully dropped into phials and sent post haste to the South London lab. The police exhibits officer videoed the pattern of drops of blood between the stairs and the walkway. Uniformed police were holding sniffer-dogs with noses and tails erect; the dogs ran up and down the stairway, following the scent from a fragment of the dead woman’s clothing. One barked excitedly and panted over a spot of blood on the stairway. A forensic officer quickly scraped the spot into a phial, then the dogs were off again. Moments later another barked outside the white tent that covered the murdered woman. The handler praised the dog, and held another scrap of the victim’s torn clothing under its nose. It set off again in search of more bloodstains, or better still, the weapon that had delivered the fatal damage.
    Now the residents of the block had learned this was a murder enquiry, they receded into their flats with front doors firmly shut and bolted. They were all afraid of the consequences of talking to the law; grassing was punishable by a beating to within an inch of their lives, or worse. Haley Gulati was the proof of that.
    The police remained undeterred. They knocked on every door, even using loudhailers to wake the supposedly sleeping occupants. Most of them eventually opened their doors a couple of inches, to tell the police they had heard or seen nothing. Dogs growled and snarled from inside some flats as sniffer-dogs ran up and down walkways in search of the weapon.
    It was now one a.m. on Saturday. DI Georgia Johnson had told her team that their long night would continue into the next day.
    The blue and white criss-crossed tape that barred access to Chantelle’s flat was guarded by two uniformed officers. One kept trying to button his jacket across his rotund stomach to keep the wind out, and eventually gave up. The other was a handsome, fair-haired constable whom Georgia recognized from a Christmas do at the station. Stephanie, a little the worse for wear, had left the party draped around his neck, and kept throwing significant looks at him. Between them they afforded Georgia some welcome light relief from the grim situation.
    The activity outside intensified. Georgia and Stephanie went back into Chantelle’s flat, and looked again at the faint handprint on the inside of the door.
    ‘Are you sure no one has been in your flat this evening?’ Georgia asked Chantelle for the third time.
    ‘No, but I had a nosebleed earlier,’ Chantelle said nervously.
    Georgia closed her eyes. ‘OK. So where’s the tissue or handkerchief you used to stem the blood?’
    Chantelle put a hand to her forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I can’t think straight.’
    ‘Spare us the theatricals,’ Georgia said sharply. ‘There’s blood on the walkway outside too. Someone has been to this flat, and not too long ago. The blood outside is being tested as we speak. If it turns out to be your aunt’s, as I suspect it will, the DNA of whoever has been here will be in it too. If you know who it is, you need to tell us now. We’ll know anyway in twenty-four hours, but the sooner we know who killed your aunt, the sooner we can do something about it.’
    Stephanie flicked a doubtful glance at Georgia. Twenty-four hours for forensics results these days was wishful thinking; they had both been in the murder squad long enough to know it could take up to two weeks.
    She decided to play out the bluff. ‘Who are you trying to protect, Chantelle?’
    ‘No one.’
    None of them spoke for a few seconds, but Georgia’s eyes held Chantelle’s. The girl stuffed a shaking fist in her mouth.
    ‘Did your aunt have any enemies?’ Georgia asked. ‘Had she upset anyone?’
    Chantelle’s whole