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#BSC6 was printed on the side in large black letters.
Flynn said, ‘What’s that mean?’
‘We have no idea,’ Nightingale said. ‘We can’t find any reference to it online.’
‘If it’s on the internet, Tilly will find it,’ Poe said.
‘We also have no idea how the mug ended up under their Christmas tree,’ Nightingale continued. ‘It wasn’t the one that Barbara was supposed to open. The paper used to wrap the mug is interesting too.’
She brought it up on the screen. Four pieces of paper. Crumpled and torn by Barbara Willoughby when she had opened her gift, then flattened by CSI so they could be photographed. A4 size according to the forensic ruler that lay beside them. Each piece was patterned with silhouettes of a black water bird. A swan, or possibly a duck with an elongated neck. Nothing else. No words, no message.
‘These sheets of A4 appear to be bespoke. We think they were produced on an ordinary household printer. Other than the bird symbol, there was nothing of any forensic value on them. Detectives are interviewing staff at John Bull but we don’t think anyone from the firm was involved.’
‘How can you tell?’ Poe said.
Nightingale didn’t answer. Instead, she tapped her laptop again. The exterior of a church appeared on the screen. It was constructed from red sandstone and had high, arched windows filled with stained glass. A tall steeple towered above an imposing ironbound oak door.
‘Crime scene number two: Saint Luke’s on the outskirts of Barrow-in-Furness.’
The photograph changed.
It was a close-up of the church font. The bowl was made of brass or copper, and was ornately carved with religious symbols. Two severed fingers lay in the middle of it.
Poe stared at the image, burning it into his brain. This was his first impression and he needed to see it as the killer had intended him to. The horror would have to wait.
The fingers were clearly female again. One of the fingernails was pierced at the end with a gold stud. Nightingale displayed a close-up. The stud was in the shape of a teddy bear. Poe thought the fingers looked younger than the ones found at the previous crime scene.
The next photograph was of a hymn board. It was light oak and had five rows for the service’s hymn numbers to be slotted into. The middle row held a piece of folded-up A4 paper. #BSC6 was written on it.
‘We don’t know how this deposition was achieved either. The fingers definitely weren’t there during Midnight Mass. The warden found them at 6 a.m. when he went in to turn on the heating for the Christmas Day service. There’s no sign of forced entry and only he and the vicar have keys.’
Poe raised his hand.
‘Sergeant Poe?’
‘Can you bring up all the images you have of the inside of the church, ma’am?’
Nightingale did. There were several.
Poe studied them. Saint Luke’s was like most churches Poe had been in. A Bible lectern on the left, a pulpit on the right and an altar front and centre. The stone floor looked well worn and uneven. Ornate candleholders and offertory boxes flanked two rows of oak pews. Wrought iron curtain rods framed the back of the door. A pair of heavy curtains were tied back, no doubt ready to be used as draught excluders during a service.
He made his way to the front of the room.
‘Creeping round in the early hours of Christmas morning is too risky; anyone out then has burglar written all over them,’ he explained. ‘Any copper worth their salt will give them a pull. Even if it’s just out of boredom. A quick search to check they’re not going equipped, and instead of a screwdriver or crowbar, the cop finds severed fingers? I don’t think so. This isn’t how our guy likes to play.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Midnight Mass is the one service of the year that’s packed with non-regulars. I think our perp will have attended the service, slipped away at the final whistle when everyone was wishing each other merry Christmas, and found somewhere to hide. Churches like this have cubbyholes everywhere. The warden would have been so eager to get home I doubt he checked for stragglers. Probably just a shout out that he was about to lock up.’
Nightingale nodded. Poe saw others were nodding too.
‘Thoughts on how he broke back out?’ Nightingale asked.
Poe pointed at the front door and the thick draught curtains tied back beside it.
‘He didn’t. All he had to do was wait until the morning and hide behind the curtains when the warden came to turn on the heating. He’d only have been popping in so I doubt he’d have locked the door behind him and it would have been too dark to see what was in the font. The perp only had to wait until the warden was in the back before walking out the front door.’
Nightingale stared at him.
