She opened the report and read it on the computer screen. Stanley Green’s body had been in a mild state of decomposition when he was discovered in the fishing net. There was no water in his lungs. The sea water had barely affected his tissues and organs, which suggested he had only been in the sea a short while. The cause of death was a series of heavy blows to the back of the head. The skull was fractured in three places and the parietal lobe of the brain had suffered severe trauma. The body had been sliced in two. The lacerations were uneven, suggesting he was cut in half in stages. One of the eyes was missing and the ring finger had been removed. Barring the blows to the head, all of the other injuries had occurred after his death.

It was hardly bedtime reading. Taylor winced when she read the report again. Dr Finch’s conclusion was no surprise to her. In his professional opinion, Stanley Green had been hit on the head, hidden away for around a week, chopped in half and dumped in the sea. None of it made any sense.

Why hold on to the body for so long? Why not get rid of it straight away? She was baffled. She printed the report and put it in her bag. The special meeting was about to get underway.

The atmosphere in the main conference room when Taylor walked in told her the next few hours were going to be far from pleasant. The stern faces and low mumbling hinted that a change was on the cards. A change nobody was going to welcome. Taylor sat in the seat between DS Duncan and PC Eric White. Duncan looked very pale.

“What’s this all about?” Taylor whispered to Duncan.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like the look of it. A meeting the whole station is invited to attend can only mean crap from the top.”

“Where’s Killian?” she asked.

“In a meeting with the super.”

“I reckon we’re in for a bollocking,” Eric White chipped in. “It’s been a week and we’re still running around like headless chickens. Three murders on our patch and nothing’s been done about it.”

“What? We’ve been working round the clock since Milly Lancaster’s car was found,” she said.

“And what have we got to show for it?” Duncan pointed out. “Sweet Fanny Adams.”

Killian came in with Superintendent Brian Lemon, a short man in his late fifties. Taylor realised she had only spoken to him twice since arriving in Trotterdown and one of those times had been at her second interview for the DC position. A third man entered the room behind them. Dressed in an expensive-looking suit and looking stunningly sure of himself, he made an immediate impression.

“Who’s that?” Taylor asked Duncan.

“No idea, but I don’t like the look of him either.”

“Good afternoon, everybody,” Killian said into the microphone at the front of the room, “sorry to drag you away from your work. This shouldn’t take long. Over to Brian.”

Killian handed the floor over to the superintendent. Lemon had to lower the microphone before speaking.

“Right,” he said, “good afternoon. I’ll get straight to the point. As you’re all aware, there’s been a number of unfortunate incidents over the past week or so. Three suspicious deaths of elderly people. Three in the space of a week. I’ve been liaising closely with DI Killian and it appears that the investigative team have hit a brick wall of sorts.”

Taylor flinched when she looked at Killian. His head was bowed. He looked like a naughty schoolboy who had been caught bunking school.

“I do not doubt your abilities as police officers,” Lemon continued. “Every one of you is an asset to this team.”

“Here we go,” DS Duncan whispered, “we’re being substituted before half time.” Eric White sniggered.

“However,” Lemon paused for a second, “we need to get to the bottom of this and I believe what we need here in Trotterdown, right now, are a few tactical changes. We’re simply not equipped to deal with matters on this scale. People out there are already speculating about a serial killer. I’ve been instructed from high up to hand over the whole investigation to a team more experienced in matters like this.”

The whole room radiated anger.

“I’m sure you’re all aware,” Lemon carried on, unperturbed, “that we can’t hide away these days. We cannot afford to step out of line. The police force in general needs the support of the people we are sworn to protect.”

Taylor wondered if this guy actually believed the guff that was coming out of his mouth.

“I’ll hand you over to DCI Warren James from Exeter. DCI James will fill you in on the restructuring that is about to be put into place. Warren.”

“Thank you.” DCI James raised the microphone stand and flicked an imaginary fleck of dust from his suit. He looked too young to be a detective chief inspector but he sounded extremely confident.

“Before I begin,” he said, “I can see what this looks like to you and I expect you to be resentful about that. I would be, if the shoe were on the other foot.”

Nice opening, Taylor thought, you can’t argue with a statement like that.

“Nevertheless, we need to face the facts. Three dead bodies and not a single lead. Let’s put aside any thoughts of territorial pissing and try to work together.”

Superintendent Lemon’s eyed grew wide. He was obviously not pleased with James’ language. Despite herself, Taylor was impressed.

“I’m not here to kick you off your own turf,” James continued. “I’m here to offer you a new spin on things. New ideas and fresh minds. I won’t bore you with my own track record, but let’s just say, that’s why I’ve been called in. So this is how it’s going to work. A new team will be put together. The structuring will be based on how things have worked for us in the past. Most of the team will be brought in from Exeter for the duration, but we’ll also need everything you can offer us too. Everybody will report to me directly. As this is not up for debate, I won’t ask if there are any questions. I will be conducting the interviews for the team personally and you’ll all have a chance to impress. You will be talked to during the course of the day. Thank you.” DCI James turned the microphone off.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Taylor sat with Killian and DS Duncan in the canteen. Killian was halfway through his third cup of coffee in an hour. Everybody was on tenterhooks, awaiting their fate. PC Eric White had been called into Killian’s office fifteen minutes earlier.

“That bastard has even taken over your office, Jack,” Duncan said. “Who does he think he is?”

“He’s good,” Killian admitted. “Maybe he can bring some new ideas to the table.”

“You can’t just give up. This is our patch and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some Exeter arsehole tell me what to do.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it. Orders from high up.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to take this lying down. It’s not like you.”

“Sometimes we have to take a step back and figure out what’s important. And right now I need to be with my wife. Maybe it’s for the best for DCI James to step in.”

“Walk all over us, more like it. Well, I’m not going to give up without a fight,” Duncan said.

“How’s your wife doing?” Taylor asked Killian.

“As well as can be expected. At least her temperature’s normal again. She recognised me for a while yesterday. I’m going to visit her again this afternoon.”

PC Eric White announced his presence by kicking open the door to the canteen so hard it banged against the wall. He looked furious.

“That bloke is a total bastard,” he said. He sat down next to Taylor.

“What happened?” she asked.

“He’s only a couple of years older than me, for Pete’s sake. He reckons I have an attitude problem. There’s nothing wrong with my attitude. I have a great attitude.”