Back The Dirty Dozen
Chapters (41)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. Chapter Thirty-One
  34. Chapter Thirty-Two
  35. Chapter Thirty-Three
  36. Chapter Thirty-Four
  37. Chapter Thirty-Five
  38. Chapter Thirty-Six
  39. About the Author
  40. Lynda La Plante Reader’s Club
  41. Letter from the author

When she got home Jane got a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and red roll neck jumper out of her wardrobe to wear in the cafe. She then had a hot bath, put on some tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, and poured herself a glass of wine. Feeling hungry, she cooked herself a large portion of spaghetti bolognese and some garlic bread, then turned on the TV. She flicked through the channels, but there was nothing on she wanted to watch, so she decided to read some more of Medea instead. The story about a woman’s revenge on her husband couldn’t help but make her think about the goings-on in the office. She hoped Kingston’s wife didn’t start poisoning people like Medea had.

The phone rang and she quickly answered it.

‘Hi, it’s Paul – we’ve just finished the PM.’

‘What was the result?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Inconclusive, I’m afraid. She died from an acute subdural haematoma.’

‘In layman’s terms, please.’

‘When her head hit the concrete, it cracked her skull open and probably knocked her out. But it also ruptured a vein, which then filled the brain with blood and ultimately led to her death. If she’d got immediate treatment, she might have survived.’

‘Was she pushed?’

‘There’s no bruising on her body to support that conclusion—’

‘But she could have been?’

‘Yes. I found some footprints in the men’s toilets—’

‘How on earth is that going to help? Dozens of people must have been in there.’

‘Christ, you can be impatient at times, Jane. The prints were on the cubicle toilet seat, which I don’t believe you need to stand on to have a crap.’

Jane could suddenly see it.

‘Oh my God, someone must have been hiding in there when she locked up.’

‘It’s possible. They look like trainer marks, but I can’t say when they got there, plus someone might have stood on the seat to fix the cistern. I’ve removed the seat and I’ll take it back to the lab for a closer examination.’

‘What about the Chubb key? Do you think you’ll get a print off it?’

‘I’m going to try a new technique using superglue.’

‘Superglue? How does that work?’

‘I’ll put the keys in a glass tank next to a tray with some superglue in it. Heating the glue makes it vaporise and releases fumes into the container. The vapours adhere to any fingerprints, making them visible, then I can enhance them by using dyes or powders. However, it’s a bit of a slow process and can take a day or two.’

‘Fingers crossed you get something, and it’s not Fiona Simpson’s print.’