Nash simply nodded to her as she came in and the background chatter fell to a bare minimum. At the front of the room were six whiteboards, each containing basic details for the victims and killers in each case. Each whiteboard was topped with two pictures, killer and victim respectively and each fell away beneath them into a flow chart of work, family, friends and hobbies. At the exact same point on each one was a question mark. It was next to the subheading: SUN DROP DOWNLOAD LOCATION and as Izzy came to the front of the room, it was there that every eye was looking.

Nash spoke first, his voice calm and measured. ‘Today’s victim is Richard Coben. He falls within the same age bracket, body mass index and ethnicity as victims one to five. He was killed in exactly the same way, with ten strokes to the back of the head delivered by a heavy metal object. Forensics are currently testing the crowbar the killer, Geraint Morgan, purchased the previous day. Morgan, on the other hand, is in his fifties, one hundred and ten pounds and has an arthritic right knee. Preliminary medical work ups suggest that in this instance, the killer was able to boost his adrenal glands to compensate for his size and medical condition. He’s receiving counselling and, once again, was unable to say which site he had downloaded the memory from. His Sun Drop was empty.’

Izzy took up the slack, stepping forward as she did so. ‘Coben’s wasn’t. At the moment all we have is speculation as to why, but it seems to be at least partially due to the difference in physical size between attacker and victim. It’s entirely possible that the killer simply lacked the physical strength to destroy it. Regardless, we have the Drop on the premises now.’

This was it; this was the moment they were all waiting for. Police officers, Izzy had decided a long time ago, could be divided into two categories. There were a few genuine altruists, a group she counted herself amongst on her better days, the sort who stood on the line and made sure no one got hurt on their watch. Then there were those looking to feather their nests and climb to the top as fast as possible; the politicians, the bullies and inadequates who would do whatever was necessary to get to a point where they could hide behind a desk and wait for retirement. The question she was about to ask would force every single one of them to decide which category they fell into.

She folded her arms and looked straight out at them. ‘The victim recorded his own emotional state and memories at the time of the murder. It’s not much but it’s the first break in the pattern. If we can read them then we can finally start to get a handle on this. So I need to ask, are there any volunteers?’

There was dead silence. At the back of the room, a Detective Constable raised his hand. She recognised him as Simon Trent, a new transfer. ‘DC Morrow?’

She nodded. ‘Yeah.’

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