LITMIR.BIZ

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it himself. Had priors for low level theft when he was a kid, around fifteen or sixteen. One punch up in a pub when he was twenty-five. Received a good behaviour bond and nothing since.”

      Ballard jotted down the main details before looking up for John to continue.

      “He was shot Tuesday morning at around 2 a.m. Crime Scene boys think the slug is a .45 calibre. Despite the damage to it, they believe it’s a hollow point.”

      Ballard winced. John’s expression echoed Ballard’s feelings. “Mario has two guys who work here part time. Both have been interviewed and given statements. They claim they knocked off the previous evening around 5.30 p.m. We’ll interview them again, along with Mario’s wife some time tomorrow.”

      Ballard looked up from his day book. “Do we know for a fact Mario was hung, as opposed to being intimidated for information before he was shot?”

      John smiled wryly. “Very astute Mr Ballard. I can tell you this wasn’t any run-of-the-mill murder. Yes he was hung, no doubt about it. All the tell-tale signs... significant bruising around the neck, swollen protruding tongue. So we have a killer who is physically strong, malicious and a sadistic prick.”

      Ballard grimaced. “I read somewhere that unless the body drops at least one and a half to two metres the neck doesn’t break, as a result death is slow, most likely occurring from asphyxiation. The poor bastard could’ve been jerking around on the rope for minutes. It’s possible that’s why the killer shot him to get it over with, not wanting to hold onto the rope any longer.”

      John massaged his forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Jeez Mike. I’ve never thought too much about what happens when someone’s hung. I guess I’ve always had the Hollywood version in my head that it’s instant.”

      Ballard shook his head. “Far from it my friend. In many countries years ago, strangulation hangings were common place with the poor buggers taking up to twenty minutes to die, if they were lucky. A lot depended on the position of the knot on the noose. If blood flow to the carotid artery was restricted, death in those instances was pretty quick. With this guy, I’m not so sure. The results from the autopsy will clear that up.”

      John shook his head, his features pained as he looked up at the beam again. Ballard followed his gaze. “I’m sticking with the theory the killer was torturing Mario to get information from him. Then, when he got what he wanted or couldn’t get it, he kicked the chair out. Mario jerked around on the rope for a bit before the shooter plugged him. You can see where some of the nearby ornaments have been removed to be tested for blood spatter.”

      John shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I must admit I hadn’t figured on the torture angle. Perhaps we should talk to our resident profiler to see what he thinks?”

      Ballard smirked, knowing John’s comment was laced with sarcasm, a result of a long held mistrust of police profilers after receiving bad advice a number of years earlier. An inexperienced profiler had offered a theory on a very nasty homicide that had John pursuing a line of enquiry that wasted three months investigation. As a result he almost lost the case in court and ever since viewed profiler input with great scepticism.

      Ballard on the other hand had been fortunate to have had positive assistance from profilers on a number of cases. Despite this, he always regarded their contributions as alternative theories warranting consideration.

      Keeping a straight face, he said, “Er, yes John. I think we’ll nip over and touch base with Ken after we get back to the office.”

      John scowled, knowing Ballard was poking fun at him, while at the same time recognising profiler opinions were part of the job. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

      Ballard grinned, deciding not to push the ribbing any further. “Ok. What else do we have?”

      “Nothing of consequence. That’s the reason Delwyn’s looking over her shoulder to see how close the Chief is and why we’re here scratching our heads. All we can do is tick the boxes and keep accumulating facts.”

      Ballard closed his day book, tucking it under his arm. “Let’s go and talk to the other factory owners. I can’t wait to hear what the rumour mill has for us.”

      Both men took one last look around the room before heading back through the office. John led the way out, returning the camera to its case. Ballard followed, pulling the front door shut behind him, locking it before resealing the police tape.

      As they peeled off their gloves and overshoes, William hurried towards them, his demeanour one of suppressed excitement. As he flipped open his police issue notebook, John looked up. “Ok William. What’ve you got for us?”

      “Well, nothing for this particular address, but in the street there have been four burglaries and two smashed windows, as well as numerous graffiti reports in the last two years.”

      “Anyone charged?”

      Disappointment flickered across William’s face as though the non arrests were his personal responsibility. “Uh… no, ‘fraid not.”

      John remained poker faced. “What! Nobody arrested? No suspects?” William’s bottom lip protruded as Ballard gave John a firm kick out of the constable’s view. John laughed dryly. “It’s ok William. Crime solving isn’t something where shitheads throw themselves at you. In most cases it’s just plain mind numbing hoof-work with the occasional stroke of luck. In ten years time you’ll be saying the same thing to another fresh faced constable when you’re attending a homicide.”

      William’s face broke into an enormous grin. “I hope so. I’ve seen you and Mr Ballard, er Michael plenty of times on TV and I can’t wait to do Investigator Training.”

      John clapped his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I’m certain with your enthusiasm you’ll top the course. William, we’re going to interview some of the other factory owners before heading off to Forensics. Keep up the good work and ensure no-one other than authorised police enter this building. If you have any doubts ring my mobile.” He handed William his business card. The policeman thanked both detectives, reluctantly returning to his vehicle.

      As John placed the Crime Scene case in the boot, Ballard leaned over and said, “Well, tough guy. Behind that facade you’re a big pussy. Thank God… I was beginning to wonder.”

      John pulled the boot shut, glancing across at William sitting in the police car. “Yep, wet behind the ears, but I guess he has promise, if he can overcome his bloody annoying effervescent naivety.” Picking up his day book he said, “How do we tackle the factory interviews Mike?”

      Ballard looked around the court, counting aloud. “Seven… eight… nine. Nine other factories. I think we’ll split up John or it’ll take all day. You do the four over there and I’ll tackle the four alongside. If we finish up much the same time we can knock over the last one together.”

      CHAPTER

      6

      For the next thirty minutes both men introduced themselves to factory owners and staff, asking a series of standard questions that elicited almost identical answers.

      After his fourth interview, Ballard waited in the street; five minutes later his partner emerged. As John approached Ballard he shook his head. In his best European accent he drawled, “I saw nothing! I heard nothing! I know nothing!”

      Ballard laughed. “Same here. He looked across at the remaining factory located alongside the crime scene building. “Lucky last. Let’s see what we can dig up here.”

      They approached the factory with ‘Tony’s Custom Designed Kitchens’ emblazoned across the front entrance. Both men walked up the steps, entering the small show room.

      A short, trim, middle aged

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