Equinox

Chapter 38

Oxford: 30 March, 9.35 p.m.

Monroe felt utterly depressed as he drove along The High, heading out of the city centre towards Headington Hill. Another couple had been murdered. Although it vindicated his suspicions that Cunningham could not be the killer, it also meant that two more young people had died and he was no nearer finding the maniac who was responsible. It also proved beyond doubt that Laura Niven and Philip Bainbridge had been right all along about the astrological connection; this latest abomination had been committed exactly when they had predicted it would.

He punched a key on his car phone and the duty officer at the station answered almost immediately. 'Any luck contacting Bainbridge?' Monroe asked.

'Nothing sir, just his voicemail again.'

'OK, call his mobile every five minutes and keep trying the house. I want to know the moment you reach him.'

Just before Headington Hill, Monroe turned off into Marston Road. A few hundred yards down on the left he swung the car onto a muddy track called Kings Mill Lane. He saw immediately, fifty yards ahead, the floodlights and the reflective jackets of his team. Three police cars and an ambulance were parked to one side of the lane. As he drew closer, he could see an elderly man sitting just inside the ambulance with a red blanket over his shoulders. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face.

Monroe pulled the car over beside the other vehicles, and walked over to the ambulance. 'What's happened here?'

The paramedic took Monroe to one side. 'Old boy found the bodies about forty minutes ago. He's in shock.' Monroe raised an eyebrow. 'Says he walked right past them on his way towards Mesopotamia Walk from Headington but then realised something was up when he saw them again on his way back home. Take a look — you'll see what I mean.'

The lane was soaked from the heavy rain and Monroe's shoes squelched in the mud. It was all he could do to keep his balance. But a few yards further on, the track led onto a narrow tarmac path that ran on towards an old mill and the river walk.

Ten yards ahead, Forensics had just finished erecting a white plastic screen across the path. As Monroe approached, a young constable held a flap open for him and he ducked under the retaining bar to emerge on the other side.

Two floodlights had been set up and they produced a harsh lemon light. Another wall of white plastic stood twenty feet away along the path. It started to drizzle again and the floodlights caught the droplets of water, making them glisten in the pallid night. To his right, Monroe could see a bench beside the path. He caught a glimpse of two figures seated there, but they were partially obscured by someone dressed in a Forensics suit. As the man stood up Monroe recognised a grim-faced Mark Langham, who stepped back to allow Monroe his first clear look at the dead couple.

They had been positioned to appear as though they were embracing, their faces close together, lips almost touching. A passer-by giving them a casual glance would think that they were simply a couple in love. Monroe felt a momentary frisson of disgust.

He bent down to take a closer look. In the floodlight beams the skin of their faces and hands had taken on a puce hue. Their dead stares were fixed ahead. Both of them were fully dressed but their clothes were dishevelled and stained. Gail Honeywell had her left palm at Raymond Delaware's neck as though pulling him towards her lips. Monroe felt his jaw clench as he spotted the black and red gash of the victim's ripped throat.

Langham crouched down beside Monroe. 'They've been dead for at least two hours,' he said. 'And if you look here' — he pointed to a blood-soaked area just above the hem of the girl's opened jacket — 'I would imagine this is where the murderer removed an organ. . assuming it's the same killer, with the same MO. And then there's this. .' He gently turned Gail Honeywell's head.

The side of the girl's face was a patchwork of deep gashes. Broad streaks of blood ran down her neck and across her right shoulder, drenching her blouse red. Her right eye was missing.

'The amount of blood would indicate that these injuries were sustained pre-mortem,' Langham remarked. 'This is different from the earlier murders. Really weird.'

Monroe made no comment. He straightened, staring at the lifeless faces of the young couple. Then he noticed a dull and faded metal plaque screwed to one of the wooden planks across the back of the bench. It must have been there for as long as the bench had stood in this spot. It said: 'Oh Rest a Bit for 'tis a Rare Place to Rest At.'

'How very droll,' he said under his breath.

Monroe was a few paces away from the car when his phone rang.

'Rogers, sir. I thought you wouldn't mind being disturbed. Just got the report back from the lab on the blood sample from the second murder.' 'And?'

'A perfect match — it belongs to Malcolm Bridges.'