Shallow Ground (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (to read list txt) 📕

which Abbott then wrote on before peeling off the shiny yellow backing paper and smoothing it on to the small plastic cylinder of blood.

‘There! Happy now?’ he said, handing it to Ford. ‘I dare say you’ll want to send it off to a DNA lab, too,’ he added, smirking.

‘Thank you,’ Ford said, fighting down the black cloud of depression forming in his head. ‘Tell me, how easy would it be to do a blood transfusion at home?’

Abbott paused, stroking the side of his nose. ‘At home? Well, it would be unorthodox, but then I don’t suppose serial killers are exactly what you would call conventional people, are they?’

‘Not as a rule, no.’

‘You’d need a sterile environment. There’s a very real risk of infection,’ he said. ‘As to the equipment, rather simple, to be honest. A tube fitted with a delivery needle and a bag. A stand would make life easier, but you could suspend it from a hat-rack, or even a light fitting.’

‘What level of expertise would you need?’

‘Not very high. You have to be able to find a vein and insert the needle. After that, it’s just plumbing, really.’

‘Could a hospital porter do it?’

Abbott nodded. ‘Or a healthcare assistant,’ he added breezily. He frowned. ‘Just a minute. A porter? I told you to talk to that dreadful man. Are you following that up? It’s him, isn’t it?’

Ford stood and offered his hand. ‘Thank you. You’ve been a great help. I’ll collect the blood chart on my way out.’

‘Wait!’ Abbott shouted as Ford reached the door. ‘He organised a blood drive.’

‘Who did?’

‘Kyte! The porter! He badgered me into it one day when we happened to be working together in the warehouse at the Purcell Foundation. Said it would give “his” customers a sense of dignity.’

Ford made a note. Pieces clicked into place like the tumblers on a cell-door lock. Maybe my gut has been lying to me. Maybe I’ve just got a weak stomach, like Mick thinks.

‘What else?’

‘Don’t you see?’ Abbott was out from behind his desk. ‘We had to blood-type each donor for the labels. Kyte assisted me. He knew – knows – their blood groups, Ford. He knows!’

Ford bestowed a huge smile on the secretary as she handed him the sheet of A4 paper with the grid of letters, symbols, ticks and crosses. She blushed, which made him smile harder.

As he strolled back to his car, whistling ‘St James Infirmary Blues’, he checked the blood comp chart. If the blood transfusion hypothesis was correct, then the killer had to have A-positive or AB-positive blood to accept donations from his adult victims. And Abbott had just cheerfully given him a blood sample of what he claimed was his O-positive blood. His good mood evaporated.

Back at Bourne Hill, he took the blood sample to Alec.

‘Abbott just drew this from his arm. I watched him do it. He said he’s O-positive, but I want to know for sure. Can you test it?’

‘Of course, dear chap. Couple of minutes short enough for you?’ Alec said, winking.

‘It’s acceptable, I suppose.’

Alec’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Acceptable? It’s a bloody miracle!’

Ford waited while Alec ran the blood through a handheld gizmo. He felt a leaden sense of his most promising line of enquiry collapsing before his eyes. And he’d been so sure. Maybe Jools, Mick and Sandy were right after all.

What Alec said next confirmed it. ‘It’s O-positive.’

Ford’s black mood darkened further. Abbott wasn’t transfusing himself. And he’d even said that Ford should get the blood DNA-profiled. A guilty man simply wouldn’t do that.

‘Bugger! Thanks, Alec. Look, just to be doubly sure, can you send it off to the DNA lab for me? Fast-track. We’ll compare the profile against the results from Lisa and then we’ll know one way or another.’

DAY TWENTY-ONE, 1.19 P.M.

Jools punched the air, freezing the frame on the video playback on her monitor.

‘Guv!’ she yelled at Ford, as she saw him leaving Major Crime.

He turned and came back to her desk. ‘What is it, Jools?’

‘We’ve got him! One of the Traffic guys was on Castle Street when Angie and Kai were murdered. He just called me. This is from his ANPR camera. Look.’ She pointed at the screen.

In a grainy but still clear shot was the front end of a VW Polo, with the index number visible.

‘Whose is it?’

‘It’s registered to Matty Kyte’s missus, but it’s him behind the wheel, look.’

And there he was, in all his glory.

‘Great work, Jools.’

She smiled and added a copy of the image to the file. ‘What about that list of hotels from Abbott?’

‘Leave that for now. His blood’s the wrong group. I’ve sent it off for a DNA profile, but it’s looking very unlikely that it’s him.’

‘Oh, shit, sorry, guv. I know you liked him for it.’

‘It’s fine. Matty Kyte’s now our prime suspect. Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to see him tonight and I want Hannah there. She’s got experience with psychopaths that none of us has.’

Jools smiled. ‘No problem. As long as we get him, I’ll be happy.’

‘Do me a favour, though. Chase up Abbott’s medical records.’

‘Because?’

‘Humour me.’

Hannah watched as Ford crossed Forensics to her desk. Her stomach turned over with anticipation.

‘Hi, Henry, what’s up?’

‘I’m going to pay a call on Matty Kyte, the Boy Scout hospital porter who just happened to organise a blood drive at the food bank. I want you along.’

‘Now?’

‘No, this evening. I want to catch him at home, get a feel for his domestic set-up and meet his wife.’

‘Shouldn’t you be taking Jools?’

‘I need your expertise. She’s OK with it, and a female presence might distract him, make him careless. Plus, after Olly’s little ethics fit, I want to look for trophies.’ He smiled at her. Her stomach coiled for another flip, then settled. ‘Come to mine for six. We’ll head over together in my car.’

Back at her desk, Hannah stared at her screen until it faded to black. In its polished surface she could see herself. She