Today's Reading
"Time of death?" Nicola asked Reeta.
"Three or four hours ago, maybe less. Dumped here, not killed here. Too soon to be sure on cause, but the back of the head has evidence of blunt force trauma. The blood seems to be from the deer scalp, rather than his."
Nicola could already feel herself dividing into two states of being. The first was detached, professional, factual: OK, major incident. She knew the last murder in the west of the county had been more than a decade ago.
The other state was human and emotional: a life had been ended. A few hours ago, this man was going about his day, presumably with no inkling of what was to come. The people who loved this man would not yet know they had lost him. The ripples of this death hadn't yet begun to spread. Soon they would affect everyone who'd known him.
Killed somewhere else, deposited here. Trussed, transported, left.
Where was he killed? Why move him? Why here? And those antlers. Why antlers?
Most importantly, who was he? Was he local? If not, where was he from? Where should he have been right now in the normal run of things? The normal run which was now a distant and alternative reality.
"No ID, I presume?" Nicola asked, stating the obvious, given the absence of clothing.
"Not on him, no," said Reeta, humoring Nicola. "Not that we need it."
"How d'you mean?"
Reeta Patel looked back at Nicola, grim. "We know who this is."
CHAPTER THREE
Less than four hours later in the small market town of Bredy, some five miles from where the antlered body had been found, Frankie Winters finished disinfecting the razors and scissors and arranged the display of products they'd brought in from the company van on arrival that morning.
Frankie stared at the empty black leather chair, still absent a client.
Frankie looked at the clock: 7:47 a.m. The chair should have been occupied since seven thirty. First Wednesday of every month, that was the appointment. Regular as clockwork.
But not today.
Not after last night.
It was bad. Frankie knew it was bad. The door opened, the bell tinkling.
"All right?" A lad Frankie didn't recognize, couple of years older than them, probably. Frankie put him at twenty-threeish. He peered, sizing Frankie up.
Frankie flicked on the big, beaming smile. "Hi, mate!"
An upward flick of the head passed for hello. "You do skin fades?"
Duh."Oh yeah."
"How long's the wait?"
Frankie gestured round the otherwise empty shop with a grin. It was a small site, smartly kitted out with the latest equipment. Frankie kept it glistening.
"You're in luck. Had a cancellation, so I can do you now. Wanna hang your coat up there?"
The lad looked around, taking his North Face off awkwardly. New surroundings, not sure where to put things. Frankie knew the type, saw them in here most days. Outwardly a little cocky, but not that practiced at life.
Probably been to the same hairdresser all his life. Now, in this new place, a recent opening, he was nervous and didn't want to signal it.
"You always open this early?" he asked as he placed the coat on the rack. "Wednesdays and Saturdays," said Frankie, spinning the chair toward him. It had been Frankie's suggestion, knowing plenty of market workers, tradespeople and teens who griped about hairdresser opening hours. The boss had initially balked and later recanted. Frankie knew the idiosyncrasies of this town.
As the new client sat down, Frankie fluttering and fastening the apron around him, he said, "Just a skin fade. Long on top. I don't want the nose-and ear-fire thing."
"Got it," said Frankie.
...
