The Domino Killer Read Free

at the park. He’d had to leave his car on the nearest main road so he was panting as he arrived at the scene. The access road was clogged with police vehicles, the team assembled ahead in white forensic suits, stark and bright against the dark stone walls. The uniformed officers were at the top of the road, keeping away the ghouls, but there was a regional office for a newspaper at the junction and Sam could see a camera lens poking through an open window.
    There would be more officers arriving soon, vans filled with those used to search in a long line, a sweep with sticks and dogs. They didn’t reveal much usually, not in a public space like this. It was partly cosmetic, to show that they were doing something, one less fault to pick up on later.
    The day hadn’t really got going. A light mist hung over the park, the dew evaporating in the early morning sun, but the Murder Squad was assembled. There was another horror story to decipher.
    The park was a retreat, accessed through a metal gate, a cluster of trees and gently rolling lawns, a children’s playground in the middle. Sam knew it from visits with his own children. The Pennine hills were behind, the rural vibe spoiled by the occasional rumble of a lorry from the haulage yard next door. The allotments running alongside would get busy later, as the curious gave in to the urge to tend to overgrown plots so that they could peer over the fence at the activity in the park.
    Charlotte Turner put her hands on her hips as Sam approached. They’d formed an unofficial partnership, the newest recruits to the Murder Squad, even though Sam had been on the squad for a couple of years now. Above them were egos and reputations, pressed shirts and puffed chests, so they looked after each other, made sure their contributions were recognised. It was the little things, like suggesting in the team briefings that the other had thought of something, even though it was pre-planned, taking it in turns to remind people they were there.
    ‘Not eager for the action?’ she said, her eyebrows raised but her eyes shining her smile. She tapped her watch theatrically, her hood down, her long dark curls stark against the pristine white of the forensic suit.
    ‘I had children to say goodbye to,’ he said, as he ripped the plastic bag containing the forensic suit he’d grabbed from a crate. ‘So what do we have?’
    ‘Another day in paradise,’ she said. ‘Someone beaten to a pulp.’
    Sam looked around. It wasn’t the best part of Manchester, but it wasn’t the worst, more tired old cotton-town than inner-city concrete. The park was a magnet for gangs of kids at weekends, with poor lighting and dark corners. Fences along one edge bore the multicoloured scrawls that the artists proclaimed as art, whereas in reality they were just names that shouldn’t go beyond the cover of a school exercise book.
    ‘Any idea who it is?’ Sam said.
    ‘No, not yet, except it sounds like someone who shouldn’t have been here,’ Charlotte said. ‘I haven’t been to the body yet, but the uniforms first on the scene said that it was someone in a suit. There were crushed flowers in the blood.’
    Sam frowned. ‘A romance gone wrong, around here? It’s not a cruising place, is it?’
    ‘I don’t think so. The door-to-doors might give us more of an idea, a bit of local knowledge, but nothing has come up on intelligence.’
    Sam pulled on his paper suit. As he snapped his face-mask into place, he said, ‘Who’s the SIO?’
    ‘Brabham.’
    Sam rolled his eyes. ‘Looks like we’ll be getting more work then.’
    Before Charlotte could respond, Brabham walked over.
    ‘Just in time,’ he said to Sam. ‘Ready to go?’
    ‘As I’ll ever be.’
    Brabham was the DCI most detectives wanted to avoid. He was known for loving the cameras but ducking the difficult issues. Whenever there was a high-profile arrest or conviction, he was first to the microphones on the police station steps. His favoured look was