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He put her first name and her dark hair and eyes together suddenly. “She’s half-Italian?” He swung toward Gennaro, who was also staring after her.
“Shesays she’s Australian. It is her mother who’s Italian.”
He sounded almost affronted.
“Sir.” Detective Constable Hartridge hailed him from the right, and James flicked up the collar of his coat against the rain and stepped out from under the awning.
“Thank you again for your help, Mr. Moretti. Much appreciated.” He tipped his head and strode back to Hartridge and the alley.
He’d brought Hartridge with him from the Yard to help at the scene. The young detective was three years or so younger than he was, but almost painfully keen.
“The pathologist wants a word, sir.” Hartridge gestured in the direction of the alleyway, and then fell into step beside James as he walked back to the scene.
“Was that the witness? The girl in the traffic warden uniform?”
“Miss Gabriella Farnsworth. She heard rats fighting over the body on her way past the alley and looked in to see what was going on.”
“Oh, God.” The horror of the situation was clear in Hartridge’s voice, and James liked him more for it.
“Quite.”
The pathologist was Dr. Jandicott again, which James was glad of.
“Likely the same killer?” he asked, stepping over a puddle tinged with blood.
“Same as the man in the car, you mean?” Jandicott asked. “Yes. Could be. Our killer likes stiletto knives, so that’s a commonality, and there is the fact that the bodies were found mere feet from each other.” He gave a slow nod. “Stab wound is in the same general place, too. Though there wasn’t any other mark on her, not like that nasty head cut we had on the other one.”
“He was bigger. More able to fight back, maybe?” James said. “This girl is five foot two if she’s an inch.”
“Any sign of the weapon?” Jandicott asked.
James glanced over at Hartridge, who shook his head.
“Not yet. Maybe he has a limited supply. Decided to keep this one.”
James didn’t like the assumption implicit in that statement. “Keep it for next time, you mean?”
There was a moment of silence.
“You think this is a madman?” Jandicott asked. “A homicidal maniac?”
James shook his head. “If you mean someone killing for the sake of killing, no. I think there’s something going on in this street, and everyone who’s been killed so far is mixed up in it.”
“Like what?” Hartridge asked.
“I don’t know.”
But he was going to find out.
* * *
“There were coppers all over Clematis Lane again,” Solomon said from behind her.
Gabriella had heard his cheerful call hello from the front door as he’d come in, and she turned from the stove and gave a tight nod. “Another body.” She turned back and lifted the lid off the roasting tin. “A young girl.”
Solomon blinked. “How’d she die?”
Gabriella lifted her shoulders, feeling unbelievably weary. “I don’t know.” She carefully put the bread back in the oven, set the timer for thirty minutes, and leaned back against the counter that ran next to the oven range.