As they passed the group playing blackjack, all eyes remained on them.

“Can anyone lend me a tenner?” asked Cael.

No reply. The table stared blankly at him.

“No one?”

Nothing.

“Oh well, in that case, this guy here has been using double-lifts to discard two cards at once, and this guy did a fake shuffle on his last deal.”

Suddenly, the men all turned to each other.

“Just saying.”

“By the way,” Omar shouted, “pay a visit to a friend of mine on Littleton Street, Edgware Road. He might be able to help you.”

“Name?” shouted Tyler.

“Baggs. He’ll tell you where that card came from.”

The blackjack players immediately broke out into a scuffle. Omar ran in to interject. Cael and Tyler fled without hesitation.


9

 

 

Cael sat alone in his car somewhere on the outskirts of London. He wasn’t quite sure where but it didn’t matter. Sometimes he had to escape the sensory overload that came from most London high streets. So far, he had one dead body, no forensic traces and a multitude of theories to go on. Back at HQ, Tyler was looking into this “Baggs’ person whom Omar Sabir had suggested.

Cael was 40 years old, unmarried with no children whom he knew of, although it was certainly a possibility. He had been a private detective for as long as he could remember. It had begun in his teens in the form of a passing interest in various cases, and was followed by his active involvement in the case of a murderer dubbed the Sideshow Killer around 18 years ago. Eventually, the London Metropolitan Police requested his skills upon following his successful profiling of the Sideshow Killer. He had assisted with some of the highest-profile murder cases in British history, culminating in the capture of notorious British serial killer The Executioner – his most successful case to date.

And now he was considered one of the best private detectives in the country. It wasn’t a career path he expected, or one he truly chased but one that provided unrivalled satisfaction following successful closure of a case.

An incoming call through his Bluetooth interrupted the familiar sounds of Planet Rock Radio.

“Ran away already?” the voice asked.

“The coffee at the London Met is awful. I needed some proper stuff.”

“I can’t disagree. Anyway, how far are you from Bayswater?”

“About 20 minutes or so.”

“I’m sending you the address of a manufacturing place. Trey Herrera over in Tech has done some digging. He’s found that this company uses the same steel for its machines as the traces found on Stephanie Brady’s skin.”

“Didn’t the Doc say most places use that type of steel?”

“He did but here’s something interesting. His autopsy report states that the victim was cut in half with a rotary blade. Most CNC machines use rectangular blades that drop down to cut pieces of metal without leaving a serrated edge. This is one of the few companies in the area that uses rotary blades.”

“Nice. I’m on it.”

“Great stuff. We’ve also tracked down Stephanie’s boyfriend. I’m heading out to interview him now.”

Cael started his car. He programmed the company’s address into his Sat-Nav.

“By the way,” Tyler continued, “you were right.”

“I usually am.”

“Modesty will get you everywhere.”

“If only. What was I right about?”

“The traces of DNA on Stephanie Brady’s BDSM table. Forensics has just swept it.”

“And?”

“The only traces they found belonged to her. No one else. In fact, they found no trace evidence of anyone else ever setting foot into that room except her.”

“That blows your prostitute theory.