Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart by George Mann Read Free Book Online Page B

deep, warm brown.
    “Right,” said Newbury, coming up behind the two men and clapping his hands. The sound ricocheted off the tiled walls. “Tell me about your corpses, Charles.”
    “You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic about it,” said Veronica, although she was careful to keep any disapproval out of her voice.
    Newbury laughed as he followed Bainbridge over to the three trestle tables and their gruesome occupants. She decided to wait with Professor Angelchrist, who, like her, was content to watch the proceedings from a safe distance. She noted the mortuary attendant had slipped away during their conversation.
    “Three victims,” Bainbridge began, indicating each of the corpses in turn with a swift chopping motion. “All killed in the same fashion within the space of a week. No obvious links between the victims, although we are continuing to explore that possibility. Each of them has been opened up in the same way, and their hearts removed.”
    “Hearts removed?” Newbury echoed, leaning over so that he might peer into the open chest cavity of the nearest victim, the young man who had so fascinated Veronica earlier. He wrinkled his nose at the festering scene inside.
    “Yes. We’re wondering if there’s any ritualistic or occult significance,” said Bainbridge. There was a tinge of hopefulness—even desperation—in his tone. Veronica felt for him. It was an awful job, and an even more awful responsibility, to be the one accountable for bringing the killer to justice. More so, for explaining to the victims’ families exactly why their loved ones had been so brutally executed.
    “Where were they found?” asked Newbury, circling the grisly diorama, drinking in the facts. “Indoors, evidently.”
    “In their own homes,” Bainbridge confirmed. “The first one, the young man, here, had been dumped in his bathtub for the servants to find the next morning. The makeshift surgery had clearly been performed in the same bathroom, too; the walls had pretty much been redecorated with the poor bastard’s blood.” He sighed heavily as he moved round to stand over the corpse of the older man. “This chap, Mr. Geoffrey Evans, was found in his kitchen by his wife, who woke up in the middle of the night, realised he wasn’t there beside her, and went downstairs to look for him. He was spread out on the tiles in a sea of his own blood. And this last woman was discovered by her maid this morning on the floor of her expensive library. This one’s slightly different, though. The victim clearly put up a fight. There were signs of a struggle at the scene, and you can see the wounds on her forearms where she raised them in self-defence.”
    Newbury lifted the woman’s right arm and studied the crisscross pattern of gashes. “It looks as if the killer came at her with a long-bladed knife,” he said.
    Bainbridge nodded.
    “You mentioned the occult. Did you find anything at the scenes that might suggest as much? Any symbols marked out in chalk? Icons drawn in the spilt blood? Tatters of paper covered in strange runes and secreted upon the bodies?”
    “No,” Bainbridge admitted. “No, none of that. I only thought there might be some significance behind the removal of their hearts.”
    “So you have no motive, and nothing to connect the victims?” Newbury was chewing on his bottom lip, lost in thought.
    “Nothing. The only thing I’m sure about is that it’s the work of the same killer,” replied Bainbridge.
    “Well, you’re right about that. You can tell from these wounds that the victims were all hacked open with the same implement, cutting through the breastbone in the same direction. But why? Why would the killer take their hearts?” He tapped his foot in frustration, as if that might be enough to conjure up an answer.
    Bainbridge sighed. “I was rather hoping you were going to tell me that,” he said, resignedly.
    Newbury looked up from the corpse of the woman. “Well, I don’t think there’s a