“The old man was in fine health, save a missing leg,” Waynton said, removing his gloves and donning a new pair. “I can tell you this, the person who murdered him was shorter than him. Can’t tell you if it was male or female, only that it is possible for it to be either sex.”

“What about the wound? Did the killer know what they were doing?”

“I think that they aimed for the heart. Although he was only stabbed once, the knife didn’t go deep. Only half the knife entered the chest cavity. Fortunately for the killer, they struck right on target. The good news is that he was dead almost instantly.”

“As far as you can tell, this murder was not done by a professional?”

“No, well, I suppose it might have been, but it could have been committed by anyone else too.”

“Male or female.”

“Yes. Male or female.”

So, really we have nothing to go on?”

“I’ve collected a few fibers, but unless the killer screwed up and left some mark on the knife I’m not sure you’ll be able to find him or her from the autopsy results.”

“What about the leg? Why was it removed?”

“It’s hard to say. I looked up the man’s health records but all it said was his leg was amputated due to an infection. How he received the infection is unknown. The amputation was done by a doctor in the NHS. Can’t remember the hospital off-hand.”

The tox screen also proved disappointing. Other than a few common medications relating to high blood pressure all in their proper doses, there were no unusual substances found. He had not drunk in days and suffered from nothing life-shattering. If he had not been stabbed, he would probably have lived for years to come. How could the man manage to make someone angry enough to plan this murder? The reason was not apparent to either detective.

Three phone calls to forensics only depressed Theo further, for there were no useful prints other than what belonged to the deceased and the nurse. No footprints, no other blood. Any hopes for useful DNA leading to an arrest of a suspect were unrewarding. It was a standard kitchen knife. No unique brand name.

“The public doesn’t like a senseless murder of a crippled old man just heading out to retrieve his newspaper. It makes the populace afraid and their fears fall on us. It really is important, but I think you know how important it is. Don’t you?” Theo said.

Dorland nodded.

“We must be running backwards,” Theo said, walking toward his office, “because I sure feel like vomiting.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sophia spent the afternoon going through all the files she could find on Gikhrist Stewart. Although there was a lot of information and countless missions, they had always failed to catch him. Sophia stared at the face of the man who killed Liam’s wife.

She laid the picture to her right and piled other papers on top. The papers were the notes from Doc Tipring’s Uncle Earnest. She had forgotten all about them. The events of the last few days completely occupied her thoughts. And she had assured Theo she would get back to him.

Sophia dropped those thoughts and headed for Crystal’s desk instead. “I need you to track Liam’s mobile for me.”

Crystal just stared at her but didn’t respond. That’s why Sophia loved her; she didn’t ask questions. “It’s available on your computer or mobile.” She handed Sophia a paper with some login information.

Sophia preferred to follow Liam privately and chose to use her mobile instead. A small flashing light indicated where Liam was, but he was on the move. A half hour later, the light finally stopped. Where was he? She pulled out her A–Z and looked around. He must be in one of the shops along the street.

Halfway to Liam’s location, Sophia almost turned her car around. He was a grown man and could take care of himself.

The rain turned from drizzle to downpour and the traffic almost stopped. By the time she reached him, he would have moved on. However, after forty-five minutes, the dot indicating Liam’s location still hadn’t moved. The GPS locater wasn’t getting her closer than five hundred meters which left her a large area to search, and Liam’s four-door non-descript surveillance car did not help either. The light turned red. She put her car into park and turned around to look. She couldn’t see anything with the rain running down her windows.

The light turned green and a car honked behind her. She moved on, but she couldn’t slow down enough to examine each car. No, she would have to make a search—on foot. Liam’s car should be parked nearby. At the end of the street she circled around and parked down the street in one of the few spaces available for her larger Merc.

The prospect of getting out of the car wasn’t a pleasant one for none of the men and women who made their way on foot outside her car looked happy. Most stood under the protective cover of the shop’s doorways or inside. She reached in her back seat for her black umbrella and soon realized it wasn’t there so now she would have to tromp through the rain in her leather flats instead of her more practical Wellies. She pulled off her socks and placed them on the passenger seat. She rolled up the legs of her trousers but knew it wouldn’t really matter; she would be drenched anyway.

Her first step from the car landed her in a puddle of frigid water. What was she doing? She ran into an off-license and grocery shop and asked the man behind the counter for an umbrella. The man grunted and pointed toward the front of the shop. She scanned the aisles until she finally saw one umbrella in a bin. One of the arms of the umbrella flopped sideways when she lifted it from the space.

“It’s broken,” she yelled to the owner.

He shrugged. “It’s all we have.”

“How much?”

“A fiver.”

“What, for a broken umbrella?”

He shrugged again.

With a huff, she reached into her handbag and brought out a five pound note from a zipped pocket. “This is thievery, plain and simple thievery. You’re only charging this because it’s raining.”

“Then don’t buy it.”

She bit the side of her cheek to hold her tongue. This wasn’t the time to make a scene. Back in the rain with a limpy umbrella, she scanned each car along the street. She could barely see, but halfway down the street, on the other side, she spotted his car. As she approached from behind, she could see a form in the driver’s seat.

What was he doing? The car wasn’t running and he wasn’t moving. For a split second, panic hit her. He wasn’t depressed, was he? He did yell at her but he wasn’t angry enough to take his own life. She laughed aloud at her stupidity.

The closer she came to his car, the clearer Liam appeared. She saw he wasn’t sleeping but looking ahead, down the street. He didn’t seem to see her but he was focused on something.

The light turned red and Sophia made her way across the street between the stopped cars. She hesitated when she reached the pavement. The last time she spoke to Liam, he yelled at her. What could she possibly say to him that wouldn’t get the same reaction?

Distracted in her thoughts, she didn’t see the group of six people walking down the street toward her until she and her umbrella walked headlong into a burly man. The man pushed her aside, pressing the umbrella against her face.

“Get your gamp out of my face,” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” she replied and placed the umbrella upside down on the pavement. Another spoke had broken against her cheek and the device now resembled a parachuting spider.

Another man, with a woman on each arm—in order to use his raincoat as a cover—stopped and stared at her in contempt. Sophia placed a hand on her cheek, both to stop the stinging and the shock at who she faced—Stewart. She studied the killer’s eyes—he was clearly annoyed.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, barely audible, and ran past.