Public Safety: The Hyde Park Murders

by Karen Page

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Hyde Park was one of the largest of the Royal Parks in inner London. During summer days it was one of the places Londoners went to relax. They could stretch out on the green grass and watch the day go by. Runners and Cyclists used the many paths.

It was idyllic. During the day there was always something going on. Even early in the morning, you might catch early joggers, or a Tai Chi or Qigong group. At night it was deemed safe. The main routes were well lit, and CCTV cameras were everywhere. Crime was low.

Yet there had been two unexplained murders. The victims were found the next day with their bodies drained of blood. The newspapers were claiming that police thought it was a new cult, but nobody could explain how the blood was gone. All that was found were two puncture marks on the wrist.

With any repeated murder, police stepped up their presence. Extra CCTV cameras were added. The public were reminded to stick to the well-lit paths. There was a gap, of almost a month before the second body. It was found on a patch of grass at the other side of the serpentine from the café. Everybody sighed with relief that they would still be able to get their morning latte on the way to the office.

* * *

Thomas was just collating the documents when his phone rung. He looked out and saw it was dark. Where had the time gone?

"Hey babe," he answered, seeing it was his girlfriend, Trixie.

"When are you coming home?" she asked. Then a bit suggestively, "I have something special for you."

Thomas was a lawyer and had met Trixie a few months ago at a bar. She wasn't too bright, but she more than made up for that with her personality. She was fun and loving. And that is what he needed at the moment. And she looked fantastic, which would be great for his social reputation.

"I'll be on my way in a few minutes," he said. Just her calling had lifted his spirits. Dealing with deadlines and legalese at this time of night was never fun.

"If you're home in thirty minutes, it will be even more special," she added.

He swallowed. His body was responding to her suggestions. "I'll see you soon."

And he was out of the door. The documents could be packed by his secretary in the morning. The security guard bade him a cheery goodnight as he left. Everybody seemed in such a good mood.

In his pocket he'd got a surprise for Trixie. She was a massive rugby fan, and he'd managed to get tickets for this weekend's international at Twickenham. It had taken quite a lot of calling around, but he'd found someone happy to receive a small fortune for them. Perhaps the job wasn't as bad as it seemed.

The weather forecast had been right for once and he wouldn't need to use his trusty umbrella. The rain from earlier had disappeared, and he saw a few dim stars in the sky. London was too bright to see much more than that, which was always a disappointment. Growing up in a small village by the coast had meant he grew up with thousands of stars. Now he was lucky if he saw five.

There was no sign of the moon, but with the brightness of London, it wasn't as important as it was in the country. Wanting to get home as quickly as possible, he crossed the road and went into Hyde Park, humming as he went.

Hyde Park was his secret pleasure. Walking through it was always an escape from the city. As he went further away from the roads, he could smell the grass, still damp from the days rain. His apartment had no garden. It was one of his aims that when he made it big, he'd get a house with a garden. Somewhere without lights. Somewhere he could look up and gaze at the stars.

Being so late in the evening, there were only a few people rushing along the main path. A cyclist zoomed along, ignoring those walkers around them. He went past the edge of the serpentine and took the path that would take him near the Old Police House. He'd walked about half-way to it when he stopped and looked around. He sensed someone was following him, but he didn't see anyone.

"Hello?" he called, but there was silence. He scolded himself for being silly. If someone were following him, they wouldn't answer. Something didn't feel right though and he frowned.

After a moment's thought, just standing there alone on the path, he realised what was disturbing him. It was the silence. It wasn't normally this still. At night, there was always something moving among the undergrowth. Small creatures that lived within the park. One of the gulls might make a sound. But tonight, there wasn't anything. It was eerie.

He wasn't frightened, but he certainly felt apprehensive. He looked around one last time and started moving again. His footsteps seemed loud in the still air, but he didn't stop again. Trixie was waiting for him, and he had a gift for her.

A torchlight shone from the distance and a minute later he saw a pair of police officers approaching. "Evening," Thomas greeted them.

They nodded a greeting but continued on their way. He felt a bit foolish. He remembered hearing that after the last attack the police had stepped up their patrols. He started walking again, Trixie came to mind. The stillness still made him uneasy, but his other thoughts pushed that to one side.

A fluttering of wings made him smile. He felt better hearing that sound and wondered if those stories about deaths in the park had him spooked.

It was the last sound Thomas heard. He never made it home. He never got to see Trixie again.

* * *

"Morning," Martyn muttered as he made his way into the office. It was in the basement, and it seemed to have missed the last two refurbishments the upstairs offices had.

"What's made you so chirpy?" Izzy asked sarcastically, looking up from her laptop screen.

"Delays on the Victoria line," he muttered as he switched on the kettle. He didn't take off his coat.

"But you come in on the Northern line?"

"Yeah," was all he said. "You want a tea?"

She glanced at her empty cup. "Please."

"Has there been any calls?" he asked eagerly, taking the offered cup. "Has Shane called?"

She looked up at her colleague in horror. "You didn't tell Shane your theory, did you?"

Shane Huntington, Director of Public Safety in the Home Office was their boss. He had a nice office a few floors above them. It had a window and actual daylight.

"Just that I thought they would strike again last night. He said that just because the last two victims were killed when there was a new moon was probably a coincidence, and he didn't think that the Met Police should be put on alert."

"Idiot," Izzy muttered. "We have enough work without looking for more. And no, Shane hasn't called. It is still with the Met Police. We can't investigate."

"I was so sure," Martyn muttered, pouring the boiling water into the teapot. He set out the teacups ready. Nice Royal Dalton teacups with matching saucers. No mugs at all in their office. The set had been there when they joined. Since they were both tea drinkers it had stayed. Royal Dalton lasted forever.

Martyn's phone rang. It was the only modern thing he allowed, but he'd changed the ringtone to sound like a 1980's landline. Lorraine was their boss when they joined and she had insisted Martyn had a mobile phone and use it. She told him he would never know when he was needed.

"Hi," he answered, not even looking who was ringing.

Izzy's heart fell. No matter how she'd gently mentioned the official office policy on phone etiquette, he'd never followed it.

"Fantastic news," he said and hung up. "Tea will have to wait. We have a body in Hyde Park."

"I'm not sure a dead body is fantastic news," she mentioned, grabbing her bag.

He looked at her and realised how what he said could be misinterpreted. Oops. Shane would understand.

Hyde Park was a forty-five-minute walk from Marsham Street. They didn't often have investigations so close to home, so this made a nice change. It was a nice morning, but Martyn didn't want to delay. He hailed a black cab, and they were soon hustling through rush hour traffic.

When they got there, it was like any other day in Hyde Park. People were rushing along, others strolling and relaxing. Workers and visitors mingling to use the space as they desired. There wasn't any indication of trouble.

It wasn't until they got further into the park that they saw an area taped off. A few constables were patrolling the perimeter making sure nobody entered.

"That looks like the place," Izzy commented, her strides easily keeping up with Martyn's insistent ones.

When they got to the tape, Martyn held it up for Izzy and she'd just made it under when one of the constables came rushing up, his arms out as if he could stop them. "Oi. You can't just come in like that. This is a crime scene."

"Oh good," Izzy said dryly. "We've come to the right place then. Where is the body?"

He spluttered. "Where's your identification?"

Martyn rolled his eyes. Each time they were asked to assist with a police investigation It was the same dance. It would be easier if they were given a special card, but then something would need to be official. "Contact your control room. Code Hotel-Oscar-Papa-Siera-Indigo."

Scowling, he got on his radio. Martyn imagined the conversation. A pause while they type it in, and then telling the constable to give all assistance requested and that they were never there.

"Er, go right ahead," the policeman said, looking dazed. This was England, not America. England did things by the book. It didn't have secret teams. "Keep going along the path."

"Thanks," Martyn said, giving him a big smile. The constable frowned.

"Why does that always work for you, and never me?" Martyn asked Izzy as they moved away from him.

"I've no idea," she responded, trying to keep a straight face.

They continued, now inside the keep-out zone. By the time they reached the body, word would have spread and they wouldn't need to explain themselves again.

They didn't rush up the path, but strolled slowly, examining the ground at each side. It would give the lead officer chance to get confirmation from their superior.

The Inspector was waiting as they approached. Martyn wasn't sure if he was scowling at them, or if that's how he normally looked.

"Are you taking over this investigation?" the Inspector snapped.

"And good morning to you," Martyn said, slightly miffed at the inspector's attitude. "No. We aren't here to take over your investigation. We are here to assist. I'm sure you want to be the one that brings in the Hyde Park Serial Killer, don't you?"

The inspector sighed. It matched what he'd been told. He'd also been told to give them whatever they needed. "I'm Inspector Oscar Ascot. So, what do you want?"

"Access to the body. We'll don forensic clothes so not to contaminate the scene. When are you speaking with his next of kin and close associates?"

Oscar looked at Martyn. He came across as a ditz, but he spoke the right lingo.

"I've got a pair of officers at his workplace now. Liaison has been with his girlfriend for a few hours."

Martyn frowned. Shane should have contacted them earlier. But what was done was done. A secondary chat was never a bad thing. People get to think about things, and sometimes extra details come to light.

A team of people were carefully combing the ground, and they followed a safe route to the forensic van. They knew and valued the data these teams gave and didn't want to get in their way. But the body was where Izzy needed to be. This was her background. This was her passion.

They put on the garb, and Izzy grabbed a few additional items. They made their way to the body following a marked route so not to contaminate any evidence. The forensic photographer circled the body, capturing it fully clothed and undisturbed, along with the scuff marks and imprints around it. It was about four meters from the path. Far enough that in the gloom of night, in an area not close to a lamp, it was hidden until early light.

Assuming the victim was walking along the path, why wasn't he on it? Was he dragged there or was he attempting to avoid the killer?

There was a forensic pathologist examining the body, and Izzy joined her. The pathologist wasn't happy, until Izzy started asking questions. Her expression softened a fraction. Izzy not only had the training, but her queries indicated only the most rigorous detailed postmortem would be acceptable.

"What's your colleague doing?" the pathologist asked Izzy, pointing with her head in the direction of Martyn. He was stood with one foot on top of a park bench to get as much height as possible.

Izzy shrugged, "Probably trying to get a better view. I'd have used a drone, but he prefers his own eyes."

After a minute, he jumped down and made his way via a wide arc to the bush line at the other side of the path. It was nowhere near where the body lay. After a moment's inspection, he came back the way he'd come, following the same wide arc.

He went to one of the officers who was taking pictures, and a drone was sent up, snapping images of the ground Martyn had indicated. The area he'd walked around so carefully.

Inspector Ascot was watching and shaking his head. He thought what Martyn was doing was a waste of his officer's time. Someone somewhere surely had some strange ideas about sending that pair. He'd expected specialists. Instead, he'd got ... whatever this was.

He'd been so caught up with his internal frustration that he didn't see Martyn come up to him. "Do you have the inventory of his belongings? Also, has an analysis been done on his phone? If so, can you provide me with a list of his incoming and outgoing calls?"

"Do you want me to print it out for you?" Oscar asked between clenched teeth.

"Ah, very kind of you," Martyn responded, and gave him a big smile.

No, that smile didn't work this time either. How did Izzy do that?

Martyn was sat in the forensics van, taking off the protective gear when a constable came up and thrust a few pages of paper into his hands. Glancing at it, he saw it was what he'd asked for.

"Thanks," he said to the rapidly departing woman. They must have a printer in one of the vehicles. Perfect.

He murmured to himself as he went through the inventory. Latest iPhone, wallet with money and cards, keys, card for office and a pocket pack of tissues – one missing. That seemed oddly specific, but you never know.

The calls were nicely laid out. They'd even gone to the effort of adding people's names against numbers and their relationship to him. Impressive. This was a thorough team. He'd made no calls or received any for three hours. He got a call from his girlfriend, and he was out the office door.

Izzy came in and started extracting herself from the forensic jumpsuit. Martyn placed the sheets of papers in front of her, so she could go through them.

"Give me a second," she muttered.

"So, anything interesting?"

"He's dead. And drained, like the last two," she confirmed. "Was he left or right-handed?"

"I've no idea. Why?"

"There appeared to be some small bruises on his left arm. It might be nothing or it could be a defensive wound trying to fend off the attack. Penny will let me know about them in the postmortem. It was difficult to find much with him out in the open. When she has him on her table, things will be clearer. With no blood, toxicology becomes guesswork. Penny will have to go by physiological effects rather than standard analysis. It won't be quick, and it won't be perfect."

"What about the wound on the arm where the blood was drained. Any clue to what was used?"

She shook her head. "No. Whatever they used was precise. There was no sign of repeated entry wounds and no spilled blood."

Martyn rubbed his head contemplating what Izzy had told him. Seeing she was ready, he said, "Let's go talk with his work colleagues. The company isn't far."

His phone rang. Muttering about technology, he answered it. "Hi."

Izzy frowned. Whoever rang didn't talk long, and Martyn didn't say anything before thanking them and hanging up.

"You should have access to the case notes," Martyn informed Izzy. "Just read only."

"You have access too," she retorted. It was no different from other assistance they'd given to various forces. She preferred the other work. Strange murders were too close to her previous job.

He glared at her, and she glared back. Grinning he said, "Let's get a drink and review."

There were a few places overlooking the serpentine. They went into the first one, which was at this end. It was pointless going as far as the Lido café, even though Izzy thought it had a nicer view.

Martyn ordered a breakfast and offered to get one for Izzy. She refused, never liking to eat before lunch. In silence, they both went through the case notes. Looking at the timeline, interviews, maps, and images.

When his food arrived, he ate, glancing out of the window at the swans gliding gently across the water. It was peaceful and relaxing, a contrast to the information he was still contemplating.

"Why did you request the drone photographs from where you did?" Izzy asked, her cup empty.

Martyn glanced across, waving the waiter away. "It seemed to be the direction the killer came from. Thomas was away from the path. The footprints had the heels dug in. Like he'd been pushed back or was trying to keep his balance. Those bushes seemed an obvious place to come from."

She frowned. "The drone shots didn't show anything. There were no specific footprints or any other indications."

"Yes. Surprised me too. Even though it is a well-used area, it was damp yesterday and even though it was dry when he was murdered the ground would still have been soft. There wasn't sign of activity at the bushes either. No footprints on the mud or broken branches. Just signs of wildlife use, which isn't unexpected in Hyde Park."

"There was also none mixed in with his footprints," Izzy pointed out.

He nodded, frustrated by the bizarre neatness of it. "At the moment it doesn't make sense. But something happened. So, we just have to think more about it. We're not brought in for our conventional thinking. Let's think about this practically and traditionally. He died by his blood being drained, but apart from the attack there was no sign of a struggle. We don't know any more about how his blood was drained. We know the when, but no idea why. And we aren't going to find out sitting in here."

"You're the one who wanted breakfast."

Martyn stood up. "And now I'm ready to face his office. Lawyers hide behind their words. They're their armour and their weapon. Look at the interview notes. All they gave is meaningless praise. We need something real."

The lawyer's office had a modern glass and minimalistic feel. It didn't feel like it had a soul. The name of the company was on the wall behind the receptionist, but there was nothing about them. Not even a painting or piece of artwork that some companies added to make it seem either friendly or pretentious.

"We're here to see Arthur Hazlehurst," announced Martyn at reception.

"And you are?"

"Martyn Booth and Izzy Sutton, consultants on the investigation to the death of Thomas Mason."

She consulted her computer. "Yes, Inspector Ascot confirmed you would be visiting. Arthur's next availability is ten o'clock, a week on Tuesday."

"That's nice for him," said Martyn, giving a fake smile. His eyes though were blazing. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving us some of his time today. And Thomas's secretary, Hannah Bridge?"

Izzy looked on, trying not to grin. This was Martyn with his heckles up.

"If you wait a moment, she will come down." She handed over two visitor badges and pointed them to the seats.

Izzy didn't budge, and Martyn came back. The receptionist looked back up. When Izzy saw she had her attention she said, "I notice your employees use a badge to get past reception."

"Yes?"

"Do you have access to run a report for, say, the last two months. When Thomas entered and left the building? And did anybody leave at a similar time to Thomas last night?"

The hostile glare that Izzy got didn't even cause her to blink. She looked impassively at the receptionist.

"This will come from the company that monitors our building."

"A professional company," Martyn said mildly, his slight dig at the receptionist. He'd worked out Izzy's train of thought and was running with it. "Can you please ring them now. It would be useful for our conversations with the staff. I'm sure they already know about the murder. Most security companies update their systems to flag enquiries when there has been as serious crime."

Izzy scribbled on a sheet of paper. "This is the crime number. The security company can upload directly to the police system. It saves it getting lost in your email."

Martyn and Izzy waited at the reception desk while she made the call. They didn't trust her not to stall or claim the phone system was down. In the end, it went smoother than the receptionist had thought. She rang them up and the call was handled by their local investigations team. Slightly stunned, the receptionist said, "They said you should have it in ten minutes."

"Thank you," Martyn said. "I know we come across as brisk, but we want to stop other people dying. We'll go and sit down now and wait for Hannah."

Hannah wasn't quick to arrive, but the security company the lawyers used was top notch. Six minutes after sitting down, they had the report.

"Great thinking," Martyn murmured as they both looked through the data. "This gives them so many questions to answer."

Izzy blushed. Martyn knew her strengths and weaknesses. Good work wasn't just expected, it was demanded. So, praise was rare, but when it came it always made her glow.

When Hannah appeared, Izzy felt a small unwelcome pang of jealousy. Hannah was in her late thirties, her brunette hair perfectly coiffed. Her outfit made her sophisticated, but approachable. Her heels weren't too high, but professional. A person who was expected to not just sit behind a desk but attend meetings with the lawyers.

As she got closer, Izzy noticed her eye makeup was worn, and her eyes were red. She'd been crying.

"Do you want to come upstairs?" Hannah asked, when she'd confirmed who they were.

Martyn agreed, and she flashed them through security. They were taken to a meeting room where there was another person waiting in there.

"This is Julie Matheson," Hannah stated as they sat down. "She is one of the partners."

"I'm Martyn, and this is Izzy," Martyn stated, as they sat down. He was next to Izzy, and Hannah and Julie sat at the other side of the table. "We have a few questions about Thomas and the work he did."

"Okay," Hannah said shakily, glancing at the table.

Julie was quiet. She had her legal pad open, her pen at the ready.

"Tell me about Thomas," Martyn said. "Where did he fit into this company? What type of legal work did he perform?"

"Thomas was one of our senior associates," Julie replied, stepping in before Hannah. "Very capable, very reliable. His work centred on contract law, and he specialised in mergers and acquisitions. He had an excellent eye for detail. Thomas reported to me. Hannah provides administrative support to five of our lawyers, Thomas among them."

"And just to be clear, you report to Arthur Hazlehurst?"

"Yes."

"And where do you both sit? Are you close to where Thomas's office was?"

"My desk is near his office," Hannah answered quietly. "Ms Matheson is on the floor above."

Martyn gave an understanding smile. Hannah was clearly struggling with Thomas's death.

"Julie, what was his work like?" he asked to take the attention away from Hannah. "Was he well liked? Did he do his work well?"

"He was exceptionally good at what he did," Julie said, her tone softening. "Thomas had a way of bringing something extra to every client engagement; a level of insight you don't often see at his stage. He got on well with the team, and with clients too. He had an instinct for saying the right thing at the right moment. He fitted in effortlessly. He had a very bright future ahead of him."

"And what was he working on yesterday?"

"We're advising on a potential hostile takeover," Julie explained. "Thomas was reviewing the contractual documentation in preparation for a presentation we were due to give today. It's demanding work, but well within his capabilities."

"Was this the type of work he'd done before?"

"Frequently," Julie replied with a small nod. "It was one of his strongest areas."

Martyn leaned forward a bit and asked, "Then why was he working late last night and nobody else was? If this was the type of work he'd done before, why was he so behind with it?"

Julie looked stunned. She'd spent the morning going over the documents Thomas had left and dealing with the fallout of losing a valued employee. It hadn't dawned on her to ask why he'd been working late.

Hannah looked uncomfortable, but Julie didn't seem to notice.

Julie blinked, caught off‑guard. "I honestly don't know," she admitted. "It was unusual for him to stay late; particularly on his own. Normally one of the juniors would be supporting him on a matter like this."

"I have some client questions for Julie," Martyn said, turning over his notepad to a clean page. "Why doesn't Hannah show Izzy where Thomas used to work. We can then stop disturbing you."

Julie hesitated, torn between duty and compassion. She wanted to make sure Hannah had the support she needed, but Martyn was right, she had her job to do.

"I suppose if Hannah is okay with that," Julie eventually said, looking at Hannah worriedly.

Hannah nodded, wondering why they wanted to see Thomas's office. The police had been all over it already.

"Tell me about Thomas," Izzy asked, as she walked down the corridor towards the work area.

"What do you want to know?" Hannah asked, feeling a bit more comfortable than she had in the meeting room.

"Let's start simple. Was he left-handed or right-handed?"

Hannah gave a nervous giggle. "I had to think what side of the keyboard he had his mouse. Silly, I should have just known, but it's one of those things you never think about. He was right-handed."

"Hey, you're doing great. It isn't easy losing a colleague. Okay, next question. When he was reviewing contracts, did he do that on his computer, or did he print them?"

"Oh, that one is easy. He printed them. Red pens, green pens and annotations in the margins."

Izzy made a face. "Yikes. And you would need to decipher his scrawl?"

"Oh, it was fine. Now Justine, her penmanship has a way to go."

They got to Thomas's office. It had a modern desk paired with dark oak storage cabinets. A striking contrast of styles. Izzy made her way to his chair and sat down. She swivelled around, seeing what was in reach.

"What a view," Izzy stated, looking out. "You can actually see some of Hyde Park from here."

"He never said it outright, but I think he missed the countryside. Little comments here and there ... you pick things up. And then there is this office. He was given a larger one, but he swapped with Jean-Paul so he could have the view."

"On the noticeboard there was a warning about the deaths in the park. Staff were advised not to go through it at night. Any idea why Thomas did that?"

"No. Unless he was rushing. It would have cut a good ten minutes off."

"What was different about yesterday?" Izzy asked gently.

"What do you mean?"

"He was working late."

Hannah looked around, making sure nobody was in earshot. "He spent much of the morning trying to get a gift for Trixie. His girlfriend." Hannah stopped, coming close to tears again and whispered, "Trixie will be devastated."

"And it took him that long?"

Gathering herself together, Hannah said, "It was rugby tickets for the weekend. It took him three hours to track some down, and then he had to go and get them. It was early afternoon before he was working."

"Do you know if he succeeded?"

"Yes, he showed me them when he got back. He was so proud of himself." Hannah gave a small almost wistful smile. "Those two adored each other. Always arranging things they knew the other loved. He was going to give them to her that night."

"Did you ever meet her?"

"Sure. Julie's team had a meal a few weeks ago. They are always with plus ones. Such a kind and caring person. They were so in love. It was great to see. Thomas had always been so tied up with his work he never dated much, let alone someone long term."

Izzy didn't remember rugby tickets being on the inventory of personal belongings. She looked over his desk, and then into his pedestal. No tickets.

"Are you looking for something?" Hannah enquired, moving towards Izzy. "Can I help?"

Izzy's phone beeped and she took it out. The postmortem would take place in an hour.

"Did he keep important things anywhere but his desk drawers?"

"It was normally locked," Hannah said. "I unlocked it this morning when the police were making their inventory."

"Thank you for your help," Izzy said, getting up.

"Please find out who killed him," Hannah begged and then after a small pause asked, "Can you please keep it quiet that Thomas had been distracted yesterday. Ms Matheson doesn't know."

"We feed into the case notes, so there is always a chance one of the police might enquire. Knowing his movements and why they are different is always important. But knowing that Ms Matheson doesn't know will be flagged. That's important too."

Izzy got up, and Hannah realised she was getting ready to leave. "If I think of something else, how do I get in contact with you?"

"Did the police earlier give you a card with the crime reference on it?"

"Yes."

"Just ring 101 and give them that number. They can then put you through to the relevant person."

"But not you?" Hannah asked, a little anxiously.

Izzy gave a reassuring smile. "Think of us as consultants. There have been three deaths in strange circumstances, and we've been brought in as a second pair of eyes. We feed anything we find back into the main investigation. The police handle the casework, so they should always be your first point of contact. Can you show me back to the meeting room?"

Izzy could have found it herself, but in firms like this, visitors were never allowed to wander unescorted. Especially not the police; and to them, she and Martyn were the police.

The Westminster Public Mortuary wasn't far. Just over a mile. It was also close to their office, so somewhere they could meet up later and discuss the case in private.

"What did you find?" Martyn asked, as they walked briskly towards Horseferry Road.

Izzy updated him about the rugby ticket.

Martyn gave a low whistle. "Nice find. I will recheck the inventory, but I think we'd both have remembered seeing something like that. How long will the postmortem take?"

Izzy shrugged. "How long is a piece of string? It depends. This one will probably take longer due to the condition of the body. Probably up to four hours. If things get really exciting, Penny will take her time. Why don't you go and see Trixie? We both don't need to watch them look at each cut and graze."

"Good idea," he said, hiding his relief. "You're better at this bit than I am. See you in the basement later."

He hated sitting through postmortems, which Izzy knew. He found them tedious, and they always talked in strange medical terms.

"Ping me a message if you find anything useful," she said, and watched him hail a cab before continuing her journey to the mortuary.

When she got there, she made her way to where the postmortem would be. The police inspector was there, and he scowled slightly as she came in.

"Just you?" he asked.

"Just me. While we wait, let me update you on what we've been doing."

He was surprised that she was sharing. He thought they were trying to take over the investigation. "That would be nice. I saw some logs from his office you asked for. I noticed the anomaly on his work pattern."

"He spent the morning trying to acquire a pair of rugby tickets for Twickenham this weekend. He slipped out and back in without using his badge. He worked late to make up the time. His boss isn't aware."

He frowned. "I've not seen any tickets mentioned."

"It isn't in the inventory of what was on him. His secretary said he'd planned to give them to Trixie that night. They weren't on his desk or in his drawers. It might be nothing."

"His financials have been requested but aren't in yet. Hopefully he didn't use cash. Thank you for this. I'm disappointed the officers this morning didn't find this out."

"It was only by chance we found out," she said, stretching the truth a bit. She didn't want him to feel too badly about it being missed. "At the end of the day we both want the same thing. To stop these murders."

"You two can come in," said Penny at the door. "Have you witnessed a post-mortem before?"

"Yes," Inspector Ascot said.

"I've been at both sides of the table," Izzy murmured.

"At least you've not been on it," the Inspector quipped.

Penny shook her head. This wasn't the time for humour. "Let's keep everyone on the correct side of the table today, shall we?"

She stepped to one side and let them enter, then closed the door with her foot. Thomas was laid on the table, still fully clothed. She activated the dictation microphone that was hung over the table and started, "For the record, present are Dr Penelope Hart, Inspector Oscar Ascot and specialist consultant Isabel Sutton."

She lifted the sheet to check the tag. "This is the body of Thomas Mason, male, thirty‑four, identified by scene continuity and police documentation."

Penny glanced up at them. "Before I begin, is there anything either of you want me to pay particular attention to?"

Oscar cleared his throat. "We're looking for any signs of restraint, puncture wounds, or anything that might explain the blood loss. Can you also check we haven't missed any personal belongings that might be in discreet jacket pockets "

Izzy added, "There were faint bruises on the left arm at the scene. I'd like to know if they're consistent with gripping. And any bruising on his calves or lower legs; anything that might indicate how he ended up on the ground."

"Noted," Penny said, already pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. "Let's get started."

The forensic recorder captured video and audio of the post-mortem, but Izzy took her own notes. She made no comments as Penny worked, letting the expert do her job. Each step Penny took was deliberate and meticulous. Five hours later, the examination was finished. Detailed organ analysis wouldn't be ready until the next day, along with some toxicology results.

"Thank you," Izzy said to Penny. It was just the two of them now; Oscar had rushed off to the toilet. "That was very detailed and precise."

"I hope it helps," Penny said, breathing a sigh of relief. She hadn't felt under this much pressure since her pathology exams.

"So do I. Do you have any thoughts about the clamp used on the left wrist. It seemed an odd shape."

Penny's eyebrows lifted. "You noticed that?"

Not that she was surprised. She'd only glanced at Izzy twice during the examination, but each time she'd seen that intense, unblinking focus.
"The two injection points straight into the vein were incredibly precise. Whatever was used, I've never seen anything like it. And why the wrist? If you wanted to drain blood, there are far better access points."

"True," Izzy murmured, "but perhaps not as easy to clamp."

As Izzy packed up and departed, Penny frowned. Pathology was a small community. You might not meet someone from the other side of the country, but you would know them by reputation. Izzy was a conundrum. She was clearly trained and had practiced, yet Penny had never heard of her. And that level of intensity ... sheesh. There had only been one person like that, and he'd been a pathologist in Birmingham. But he'd died in a car crash seven years ago.

It only took five minutes for Izzy to get back to her office. When she came into the room, Martyn was pouring her a cup of tea.

"Were you stalking my phone again?" she laughed.

"Of course. I was getting worried. Post-mortems don't normally take that long."

"It's a complex case. Penny didn't want to miss anything important. She checked the clothes before examining the body. Nothing was missed."

"Well, that's something. Anything else from the post-mortem?"

"He's dead," Izzy said, deadpan.

Martyn grinned at the banter. "Thank goodness for that. I'm sure it would've surprised everyone if he'd sat up."

"Bruising and the footprints suggest he stumbled backwards and fell. There wasn't any sign he was tripped. One set of defensive wounds, and the puncture site on the wrist where the blood was drained. Same M.O. as the other two cases."

"But there are better forensics this time. The rain earlier made the ground soft, and it stayed dry from the attack until he was found. That preserved a lot of impressions."

Izzy nodded. "Did your interview with Trixie yield anything?"

"Just that he worked hard and she loved him. She didn't know of any enemies or why anyone would want to kill him. She did like rugby though." He slowly exhaled. "At the moment, Trixie doesn't look like she can add much to what we know."

"Inspector Ascot said they're still waiting on his financials, and we're waiting on toxicology. So far, nothing is making sense."

Martyn scratched his chin. "Let's take it step by step. Thomas spent most of the morning hunting down those rugby tickets. He left the office and came back in without using his card. After working late to make up the time, he got a call from his girlfriend and rushed out."

He glanced at Izzy, still holding her empty teacup. "He took a shortcut through Hyde Park, knowing there'd been two previous murders. On the way, he passed two police officers who noticed nothing unusual. He was attacked and driven backwards off the path. He only managed one defensive move before he went down."

Izzy sighed. "He still had his phone and wallet, so it didn't look like a robbery gone wrong."

Martyn frowned, thinking it through. "Maybe ... A phone leaves a trace. We don't know how much cash he had on him. If it was a robbery, they could've left the fiver in his wallet to make us think it look like it wasn't. And rugby tickets can be resold without trace. Unless we find the seller, we've no idea what seats they were."

Izzy sat up straight, her cup rattled in the saucer as she placed it down carelessly. "Phones leave a trace. We don't have to wait for the financials. His phone will tell us where he went."

Martyn grinned and swung around to his laptop. "Ah, Apple refused to give any details, but forensics were able to extract quite a lot of information. His phone logged a stop at Canary Wharf." He tapped away, looking at where it led. "Wow, that's a large office. Most of it is leased to one of the UK's largest law firms, though there are a few other companies in there."

"Perhaps his last call before going for the tickets would match an employee there."

"I like your thinking," Martyn said, cross referencing the employees with the call log. "Indeed. Joshua Higgins works in that building. Do you fancy a field trip?"

"The Tube, will be quicker this time of day," Izzy said, grabbing her coat.

Marsham Street was very well situated, just around the corner from the Palace of Westminster, and the underground station on the Jubilee Line. This would take them directly to Canary Wharf.

As they strode toward the tube station, Martyn pulled out his phone. "Inspector, it's Martyn. I just thought you should know we managed to track who sold Thomas the rugby tickets."

"How?"

"Izzy's idea. Phones are trackable. We knew he went out to collect them. We checked which building he visited and cross-referenced the call log. We're going there now to talk with him. I thought you should know, just in case you had an objection or wanted to tag along. We should be at Canary Wharf station in about thirty minutes."

"He might not be there," the inspector said, but Martyn heard the sound of him rushing out of the door.

Neutrally, Martyn said, "He is. I checked. Well, his phone is and I doubt he would have left without it."

There was a slight pause, and the sound of a door slamming shut. "I don't think I want to know how you checked that. I'll meet you at the shopping centre exit."

In the end it was uneventful. They met up with the inspector and went to see Joshua. There wasn't any stonewalling. He confirmed he'd sold a pair of tickets. He'd sent a picture of them on his social media, which included the two seats.

"I hope we don't have to wait until the weekend to find out who uses them," said the inspector as they left. "Don't get me wrong, it might be an important lead. If the killer did take them, it might be a big clue, but on the other hand, it might have been resold to whoever is at the match, and we spoil their entertainment."

* * *

When Izzy turned up at the office the next day, Martyn was already there. She knew he'd been home as he had on different clothes and had shaved. But the wall was covered in documents. The day before it had been plain white.

"Have you been raiding the Blu Tack?" Izzy asked, staring in wonder at the scene.

"I ran out. I'm also using sticky tape on some."

In the centre of it all was a huge map of Hyde Park showing the location of the three murders, the paths the victims had been on, and where the attack appeared to have come from. On the other wall were four questions on separate pieces of paper.

Why did the attacks start?
Why every New Moon?
Why these victims?
Why drain their blood?

Izzy moved across and grabbed another A4 page and wrote, "Why Hyde Park?" and added it to the wall. Martyn nodded in approval. It was a good question to ask.

"Let me make a pot of tea, and then you can go through the similarities and differences between each attack. What time did you start this?"

"About five this morning. These questions were playing on my mind most of the night. I came in early to work on setting up the walls. I thought it might help."

While the kettle boiled, Izzy reached into the cupboard and chose a jar of tea leaves. Martyn raised his eyebrows at her choice. It wasn't a type they had often. In fact, it wasn't one they'd had since the chaos during the case at Worth Matravers.

As the tea brewed, Martyn continued, "I don't think we're going to get much further with just Thomas's death. We need to look at the bigger picture. We might get some more clues from the toxicology results, but we can't just wait for that."

Izzy nodded, "I get that. Looking at the map, all three deaths have been to the north of The Serpentine. Nothing further west than the North Gallery and nothing further east than a line from Reformer's Tree to the eastern side of the lake. Three murders aren't much to go on, but it seems they are keeping to that wooded area. Plenty of places to hide."

"And even though there are more enhanced CCTV camera's now in place, none of them picked up anything unusual. Thomas was in an area between cameras."

"It is the most wooded area of the park. Easier to hide and move around undetected. What are those buildings there?" Izzy pointed to the buildings just west of where Thomas had been found.

"The Old Police House, the Ranger Lodge and a nursery."

"Nursery? It's a bit big. How many children do they look after?"

Martyn laughed. "Not that type of nursery. It's where they grow plants from seeds or saplings. Think of it as a large greenhouse. They use the plants grown there across the royal parks."

"I feel a bit silly now," she muttered, pouring the tea into the two cups. "You said 'Old Police House'. I take it isn't used as that anymore?"

"I was told it is now where most of the Royal Park admin and IT are based, though the police horses for the royal park are still based there."

"Okay, perhaps the question shouldn't be 'Why Hyde Park', but 'Why that area of Hyde Park'. "

Both of their phones pinged. They both glanced. It was an update on toxicology on the case notes. Izzy opened it and scanned the details. Her eyes opened wide as she read on. By the end she was looking incredulous.

"And?" Martyn asked. He'd not bothered looking, knowing Izzy would understand more of what was said and would give him the details in an understandable way.

"The eye fluid and liver analysis both showed traces of a sedative. There was also some strange DNA found on the wrist." Izzy took a deep breath, not sure what to make of the next detail. "The closest match is Cygnus olor, but it's not a direct match."

Martyn's eyebrows shot up at the second part. "A swan licked the wound? I suppose it's possible. There are a lot on The Serpentine. Anything else?"

"Not yet. Swans don't lick. They hiss and bite." Izzy shook her head slightly and with a hint of resignation in her voice said, "Why do we always get strange cases?"

Martyn didn't answer. He swivelled round and pulled up the picture of the wound on Thomas's wrist. His cup of tea, untouched. He sat there gazing at it, thinking over a theory.

Martyn suddenly turned. "Izzy, can you liaise with Royal Parks Agency HR. Get a list of employees that have worked there in the last twelve months, including leavers. How long they've worked there. Their current role, and any previous position in the last year. What shift patterns they are on. What access they have."

"I'll make some calls," she responded. She was glad that he didn't think a swan had committed the crime and stolen the rugby tickets. They dealt with strange cases, but a pickpocketing swan would be too strange, even for them.

While the two of them worked, Martyn remembered the tea and was able to savour the rare blend that Izzy had made. His thoughts seemed to fill in all five of the questions. Now it was the painful legwork to see if his theory held water.

Eventually Izzy got off the phone. "Samir Abdullah is head of HR. He didn't want to send the information via email but would be happy to meet us at his office. He's based at the Old Police House in Hyde Park. He should have everything we need by the time we get there."

"Let's hope this field trip is more productive than yesterday afternoon's."

They didn't get far because their boss, Shane, appeared at their office. He took one look at the walls plastered with documents and maps and gave a low whistle.

"Have a seat," Izzy said when Martyn didn't show the expected civilities.

"Thanks, but it was just a friendly visit to make sure you'd got all the access you need. A case like this is high profile, and sometimes police can be territorial."

"The inspector was a bit put out at first, but when we shared information with him, he has been almost pleasant."

"Good," responded Shane, shifting a bit in his seat.

"And the other reason you came to see us?" Martyn asked, sitting on the edge of a table so he could look directly at his boss.

"The pathologist you interacted with yesterday. Penelope Hart. A flag was raised when she searched about the death of a pathologist in Birmingham seven years ago."

Izzy shrugged. "It's a small community. I take it she didn't find anything unexpected?"

"No. I just wanted you to know."

Shane got up to go, when Martyn had a brainwave. "One thing. Royal Parks Agency payroll is handled through the Department of Culture, Media and Sport. We're going to HR for information, but I'd like to cross reference with payroll. Just the employees from payroll for each of the last six months."

Shane scowled. Payroll was tightly controlled. The request would be logged and on record. "Are you sure?"

Martyn nodded. "Not salaries. Just names."

"Leave it with me," Shane said, realising it was something that Martyn wouldn't have been able to request himself. It would be a pain to get, but part of his role was to get Martyn and Izzy things to aid the investigation. He was director of Public Safety.

When Shane had gone, Martyn and Izzy grabbed their coats and rushed out. Shane had delayed them and Samir would be waiting.

"Are you okay?" Martyn asked, as they strode down Great Peter Street. She wasn't normally this quiet and introspective.

Izzy was silent for a bit. Eventually she sighed. "I thought all of that was behind me."

"It is. Shane was just letting you know. He has your back and will protect you."

Izzy gave a nod of thanks and Martyn dropped the conversation knowing more at this time would only raise her barriers.

The Old Police House was what it said. It used to be a police station. Today it was used by the Royal Parks Agency. An old building refurbished in the 1970's and time had stood still ever since. They were expected and taken to a small meeting room on the top floor.

"This looks like a fishing exercise," Samir said, when Martyn and Izzy were seated. There was no politeness. No pleasantries, just straight out with his feelings.

"Not at all," Martyn responded, trying a reassuring smile. "It is just a continuation of the enquiries. The police have been going through CCTV, identifying all the people in the park. Yet there are a group who work in the park that need to be ruled out."

"With three deaths in the area some of your employees work, I thought you would have been eager to assist in their protection. I think it comes under employee welfare," Izzy added. "I didn't ask for anything confidential. I didn't ask to see employee records. Just a list of the Royal Park Agency employees and shift patterns. Then we know who should have been in the area. Help the police so they don't have as many people to track."

Samir glared at them for a moment before blinking. He opened a manilla folder and took out two sets. Each contained several sheets of paper stapled together. He handed one set to each of them. "Here is the details requested. While you look over them, do any of you want a drink?"

"A water please," Izzy said. Martyn didn't respond. He was already going through the document, creating notes and marking certain names. "You better get him one too."

This type of work wasn't where Izzy was quickest, but she knew it would be good to have two sets of analysis. With a small sigh, she picked up her pen and started looking for any clues.

Izzy scanned the document to get a feel for it, then started mapping out the promotions, and in one case a demotion. What job they had, and what they now did.

As she went through the document, a young man came in with two glasses of water, "Mr Abdullah had a call. He will be back with you soon."

"Thank you," Izzy said as he departed. Martyn hadn't even noticed, his pen scribbling away as he made notes.

Once she was in the groove, Izzy developed a pattern. The names were grouped by department, so it was easier to search. When she finished, she glanced across at Martyn who was watching her.

"We're missing someone," Izzy said. "Roland Haywood was promoted into the deputy‑head ranger post, but the report shows no one held it before him. That doesn't make sense. Either the role's been wiped clean, or someone's been removed from the record. We need to find out which."

Martyn turned over his notebook and showed it Izzy. It had the same conclusion that Izzy had just outlined.

"Are you going to confront Samir?"

Martyn gently shook his head. "Not yet. I want to get a name, which Shane will get us. Then we have something. At the moment it's just a theory."

"Where is Samir?" Izzy said. "It's strange he'd take a call while in this meeting."

Martyn mused, "It must have been important. He came across as someone who wouldn't do that."

It was a minute later that Samir came back in. He didn't look as neat as he'd done when he left and it took Izzy a minute to realise what was off. His tie was slightly askew, and his hair looked like he'd been raking his hands through it.

"I'm sorry about that," he said coming into the room. "Did you manage to go through the documents? Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"You've been most helpful," Martyn said, thinking about smiling but decided now wasn't a good time. "If we have any more queries, do you work standard working hours?"

"Yes. You know where I am."

"Are you okay?" Izzy asked, concerned about his abrupt change from earlier.

"I'm fine," Samir said, trying to give a smile. "There are responsibilities to the staff and to the crown. It can be a stressful job, but it is worth it. These parks are historic and some of the wildlife in them are protected."

When they got back to the office, Izzy put on the kettle, while Martyn looked at his email. He was in high hopes that Shane would have sent the employee names from payroll. He was disappointed to see there was no new messages in his inbox.

The tea making was interrupted as the door opened and a man who looked like he was in his sixties came in. "Martyn Booth?"

"That's me."

"I'm Ash from the post room. This just arrived by bike messenger. It's marked as urgent, so I brought it straight here. I'd no idea this office was still used. I thought all the basement offices had been closed during the last refurbishment."

"Thanks, Ash," Izzy said, going across to take the envelope. They never normally got mail. "Did the courier say who sent it?"

"No. It wasn't one of the usual couriers." With a shrug he went back to the post-room, leaving a surprised Izzy and Martyn.

Izzy handed it to her colleague who opened it. It was full of photocopies of old newspaper articles. Attacks in Hyde Park during 1992, 1970 and 1932. There weren't any details of how they died, just that they'd taken place.

"Well, that is unexpected," Martyn muttered, handing them to Izzy.

She glanced over them and frowned. "Someone not only knows we are investigating, but they are trying to help. Why don't they just tell us rather than sending old newspaper articles?"

"Perhaps they don't know who it is. It certainly adds something to the questions we had. And if there was a death in 1932, it isn't likely to be the same person. That was 77 years ago. Even if they were a teenager in 1932, they would be in their 90's now. I doubt they would be physically capable of committing the murders today."

"Is this just muddying the water?" Izzy asked, handing a cup of tea to Martyn.

"The newspapers aren't telling us much. A trip to see Inspector Ascot might give us more information. Hopefully the 1992 file isn't full of cobwebs. I doubt he will be happy though."

"Before we got this delivery, you had a theory. Do you want to tell me? Does it answer our five questions? Why did the attacks start? Why every New Moon? Why these victims? Why drain their blood? Why that area of Hyde Park?"

"I don't have all the answers, but my theory is it's an employee in the park. That is why there. There was a series of promotions just before the murders started. Perhaps they have a job which puts them in a position to commit the murders which they didn't have before. The victims appear to be indiscriminately chosen. Probably because they were passing by at the right time."

"That just leaves questions about why every New Moon and why their blood is drained."

Martyn shrugged, "If the theory is right. I might be barking up the wrong tree."

They both sat, quietly drinking their tea. Eventually Martyn asked, "Earlier you mentioned the toxicology showed swan DNA, but it wasn't a direct match. What does that mean?"

"Each person has slightly different DNA. That is why DNA checks can match a suspect. However, the differences between individuals are in specific areas. Differences outside those specific areas raise flags. Neanderthal to Homo sapiens is a 99.7% match. This test shows it isn't a direct species match. It might be a divergent lineage or something different. They have an escalation procedure to get it analysed by someone who understands Cygnus DNA."

"How long would that take?"

"At least a few weeks." When Izzy saw his face, she added quickly, "I know we need answers before there's another death. I'll check whether they've identified a specialist."

"Thank you," Martyn said stiffly, but she was already reaching for her phone.

At a bit of a loss, he picked up his own and called Shane.

"Martyn," Shane said, as he answered the phone. Without waiting to see what Martyn wanted, he continued, "You've really opened a can of worms."

"Which can?" Martyn enquired, not wanting to comment to any grievance that might have been reported.

"I got authorisation for payroll to extract that information. However, the payroll value didn't tally with the ledger which flagged an error. Someone's tampered with the data without leaving an audit trail. IT, internal audit and internal security are all involved."

"I hope you get a promotion for finding the problem," Martyn said.

Shane gave an exasperated sigh. "No Martyn. People who uncover problems don't tend to get rewarded. They've pulled the payslip archive and are performing a matching exercise. Finding the alterations in nearly four hundred employees will take time."

Martyn thought about mentioning their trip to HR but decided against it. He didn't want to contaminate the payroll investigation. If it came back with a name and they used to be deputy-head ranger of Hyde Park, then he'd have two separate converging lines of evidence.

"Okay. Can you let me know when the information is available? I'm hoping it will corroborate what we found earlier."

"You're making progress then?" Shane asked, eagerly.

Martyn mentally chastised himself. "Perhaps. We have seen something, but it might be unrelated. We've not closed off any lines of enquiry."

"Okay. I'll let you know when the information is available."

Izzy was still on the phone, so he decided to ring Inspector Ascot.

"Ascot," he snapped sounding annoyed to be called.

"It's Martyn. I've been given some information about related incidents."

"Another one?" Oscar Ascot almost groaned.

"A few. Do you have a pen? On the 12th of October 1992, the death of Mary Roberts. On the 6th of January 1972, the death of Andrew Hudson and 3rd of February 1972, the death of Margret Attkins."

"Really?"

Martyn was not put off. "I have one more. There was a death on 22nd of March 1932. No name was given."

"Is this a wild goose chase?"

"I hope not. I'm not sure what it tells us. They might not be related, but I thought the 1992 case might be easier to find."

He laughed sarcastically. "Do you have case numbers?"

"No."

Ascot paused, weighing irritation against curiosity. Nothing in this case had been straightforward and most of the big clues had come from these two strange consultants. "I'll send John to the archives in Brighton House. He's going to love a trip out."

When he got off the call, Izzy was just wrapping up hers.

"And?" she asked.

"Inspector Ascot is sending one of his team to the metropolitan police archives. It might be a dead end, but someone thought it important enough to send it. Someone who knows who we are. And Shane's request to payroll is still being processed. Someone has been messing with the data, just like they did with the employee data. What about you? That sounded a mammoth call."

"Indeed. Toxicology had sent an inquiry to the Natural History Museum. They hold current and historical zoological information. It matches a rare extinct swan called the Cygnus palatinus. It was closely related to the Cygnus olor."

"Extinct?" Martyn repeated, surprised.

"Their data comes from a collection of feathers in the Rothschild collection at Tring. They suggest we talk to an Emma Hilliard at Slimbridge. She is the country's leading expert on swans."

"This case is getting stranger by the day," Martyn muttered.

"I don't think it's reached the level of Porthmadog yet," retorted Izzy.

Martyn laughed. "No, we still have a way before we get to that level, but there is still time."

It wasn't until five that evening that Emma rang Izzy back.

"I've got a message to ring you," Emma stated. "Who are you?"

"During a postmortem some unusual DNA was identified. It was eventually identified as Cygnus palatinus. We were told you were an expert."

There was silence for a moment. "I presume you were told Cygnus palatinus is extinct?"

"Yes," Izzy replied, "but the evidence suggests that classification might be ... premature."

"It was a rare swan, bred for the French and British royal households in the fourteenth century. After the French revolution, the French line died out. That left very little genetic diversity, and the species eventually became extinct."

"And?" Martyn prompted.

"I'm in London tomorrow to collect some of my uncle's things. I'm staying at Courtland House. Meet me there for breakfast at nine. Don't wear white or anything brightly coloured. Black, dark grey or dark green is best. And nothing fancy. Courtland House doesn't have a dress code, so you should be fine."

The line went dead, leaving Martyn and Izzy staring at each other in confusion.

"Courtland House?" Martyn said after a moment. "That's one of the most private hotels in London. You have to be introduced to stay there."

"Tomorrow's going to be interesting," Izzy responded. "Meet here first and we can go together?"

* * *

The four-story Victorian facade gave nothing away. There was no doorman, no brass plaque, no hint the building was anything other than another converted townhouse. If not for its reputation, Courtland House would have been invisible; hidden within a dozen other anonymous buildings in what had once been the homes of the wealthy.

Martyn opened the door and ushered Izzy inside. There was no reception desk, no concierge, no soft murmur of a lobby. Just a small, well-lit entrance hall with a door at the right and another at the back. There was no sign of wealth. The walls were plain white, and the floor was composed of large ceramic tiles. They exchanged a glance. This wasn't what either of them had expected.

The rear door opened and a young man in black trousers and a black shirt stepped out. He was neat, tidy and entirely unremarkable. He was the kind of person who could vanish into any background.

"Can I help you?" he asked, already guiding them down a narrow corridor. "Who are you here to see?"

"Emma Hilliard," Martyn said. "She said we should meet her for breakfast."

"Perfect."

He didn't ask their names. He simply led them through another door and into a room they hadn't noticed until they were standing in it. They had seen no lobby, no lifts, no hint of the rest of the hotel.

There was a single dining table with seating for six. A waiter was there and the young man introduced them as "Mrs Hilliard's guests."

"Mrs Hilliard will be with you in a moment," the waiter said warmly. "Please, take a seat. Are there any allergies or dislikes the chef should be aware of?"

Neither of them did.

"This is the tea and coffee menu," he continued, placing two slip leather-bound booklets on the table. "I'll take your orders when Mrs Hilliard joins you."

He withdrew silently, leaving them alone.

Izzy opened the tea menu and gasped. There was about thirty different teas, each with a paragraph describing its origin, flavour, and ideal brewing time. She recognised barely a dozen.

A woman in her mid-forties came in, smiling when she saw the two guests looking through the menu. "I'm Emma," she said, taking a seat opposite them. She was in dark jeans and a black polo-neck sweater.

"I'm Martyn."

"And I'm Izzy."

"Why don't we order breakfast, and we can have a chat while its cooked?" Emma suggested.

As if instructed, the waiter appeared. "Mrs Hilliard?"

"We'd like to order breakfast, please."

"Certainly," the waiter said. "The Irish Breakfast tea is back available."

"Oh excellent. Can I have a pot of that, with your house special breakfast."

"I'll have the Ceylon Orange Pekoe," Izzy said, closing the tea menu. "Can you recommend something light to eat. I'm not a big breakfast person."

"I'm sure the chef will produce something appropriate."

"I'll have a Darjeeling and your house breakfast."

"Of course. We have a second flush available if you prefer a fuller flavour."

Martyn hesitated, remembering the only other time he'd been offered curated tea. He'd once taken a girlfriend to afternoon tea at Grosvenor House. The memory of the occasion had lasted far longer than the relationship.

"If you have the first flush, I think the more delicate taste would be preferable."

"Of course. Your tea will be about ten minutes."

He left, closing the door behind him. The three of them were alone.

"Cygnus palatinus. Why are you interested? It is a footnote in a much larger lineage."

"There have been three deaths in Hyde Park. Cygnus palatinus DNA was found on the third victim. The first two postmortems weren't as thorough."

Emma studied them. "Yet you aren't police, are you?"

"No," Martyn replied. " We've been asked to pursue lines of enquiry that don't always emerge through traditional methods."

"My father and uncle were the reason I studied swans. They were experts, especially my uncle. When I was still learning to walk, they took me to see swans. I grew up around them. My youngest daughter started at university a few months ago, wanting to follow in our footsteps."

Martyn and Izzy glanced at each other, unsure where this was going.

Emma continued, "In 1992, my uncle was called to London for a meeting. He stayed. He died four months ago. He was the one who introduced me to this hotel. Somewhere safe to stay close to where he worked. It took me years to understand how unusual this hotel is."

She paused, trying not to show her upset.

"It wasn't until yesterday that I read his notes on Cygnus palatinus. He'd spent the last seventeen years looking after the last remaining eight."

"Did he work for the Royal Parks Agency?" Izzy asked.

"I don't think so. Something I read mentioned other animals in his care."

"So, what is it about Cygnus palatinus that DNA ended up on a murder victim."

Emma exhaled slowly. "In trying to preserve the species, they occasionally bred them with normal mute swans. The palatinus strain is dominant and carries through reliably. It prevents the genetic problems that come from inbreeding. But every so often, there's a complication with the cross‑breeding."

She looked down at her hands.

"A mutation. One my uncle believed originated from the old French line. When it appears ... the bird develops an abnormal feeding drive."

Martyn frowned. "Meaning what, exactly?"

Emma met his eyes.

"Meaning once it matures, it develops a cyclical feeding drive. Roughly every twenty-eight days, it seeks blood. The rest of the time it eats normally."

"Are you saying there are vampiric swans in Hyde Park?" asked Izzy.

"Okay," Martyn said. "I think we've reached Porthmadog level."

A small light came on at the side of the table.

"Let's continue this in a few minutes," Emma said, and pressed the button next to the light.

Two waiters entered with trays of tea, followed by another with their food. Once everything had been set down, the door closed again, leaving them in silence.

"You two seem remarkably accepting," Emma said. "I freaked out when I read my uncle's notes."

"There's more in this world than most people realise," Martyn said. "Our remit is public safety. As long as that's maintained, we take a laissez-faire approach. It isn't for us to tell people, or anything else, how to live. If these swans exist, that's not the problem. The problem is when they start killing."

Izzy gave Emma a reassuring smile. "There hasn't been a death from the swans while your uncle looked after them. When he died, someone else took over. Your uncle did a great job."

"But—" Emma began.

"Swans don't pick pockets, do they?" Martyn asked.

"No," Emma said, baffled. "Why would they?"

"Exactly. The swans aren't the problem. Someone is corrupting them. Using them for their own ends."

Emma shook her head. "But there can't be just one person looking after them. Though to keep exposure minimal, it won't be a large team."

"I'd bet your uncle worked a lot of nights. If this person took over from him, he probably does too."

Emma swallowed. "What now? Do you go to the police with this?"

"No. This isn't something they can or should handle," Izzy said, her eyes hardening. "This is something Martyn and I need to do."

"I want to be there," Emma insisted.

"Why? Because you've never seen one before?" Martyn asked.

"No. Because you don't know how to handle swans. I do. If you've got to arrest someone, you need someone to look after them until the dayshift arrives."

Martyn nodded slowly. "Okay. Meet us at Speakers Corner at eight tonight. You knew we would be going to see the swans, didn't you? That's why you told us to dress the way we did."

"I suspected," Emma admitted. "It seems my warning was premature."

"You said you were still clearing out your uncle's things," Martyn said. "See if you can find anything else that might help. Let us know tonight. Izzy and I still have things to uncover, like why this has been allowed to continue. To the people who look after these swans, these deaths must have been obvious. Why did no one stop it?"

When breakfast was finished, Martyn rose from the table and followed the waiter out. "I'd like to pay for all three breakfasts."

"There's nothing to settle," the waiter said.

"Sorry?"

"Most of our guests are extremely wealthy. They pay for the level of service we provide. Guests like Mrs Hilliard stay at a rate comparable to a normal hotel. It isn't charity, simply how we operate. All meals are included, including those taken with invited guests."

"That seems ... wrong."

"You and your friend have been nothing but politeness. The fact you offered to pay, rather than assume says a great deal about you."

"Well, thank you. It's been a treat."

Back at the office, a note waited on Martyn's desk. Shane wanted to see them both.

"Both of us?" Izzy queried. Martyn was usually her shield.

"He doesn't bite," Martyn reassured. "He knows we keep things discreet."

"I know, but with this case being so close to home, it's always going to be more visible than normal."

Shane's secretary, Tanya, looked up as they approached. Efficient as ever, she said, "He's waiting for you in meeting room C‑zero‑four."

Martyn and Izzy exchanged a look. The C rooms were in the core of the floor. Windowless, sound‑insulated and access‑controlled. Not quite COBR level, but close. When the door unlocked for them, they knew Tanya hadn't been joking.

To Martyn's surprise, Shane was on his own. A room like this usually meant an audience or an ambush.

"Come in and take a seat," he said when he saw them hovering at the door. When they were seated, he continued. "I've just been briefed by DCMS internal security. A name was deliberately removed following an established process when a government employee moved into a role of lifetime service. This process has existed for over a century, but modern IT systems and crosschecks have triggered a review. Payroll and audit staff have been cautioned to keep what they found confidential, and the entry has been restored, flagged as redacted, so it won't trigger future discrepancy alerts."

Martyn waited a moment to see if Shane would continue. When he didn't, he said, "We received confidential information that indicates a standard judicial process can't be followed. The police will have to put this down as an unsolved crime. We plan to confront the individual ourselves tonight. What we don't understand is why their supervisor didn't pick this up."

"I can't help you there," Shane replied. "I wasn't told what or who was involved, only to relay the reason for Paul Wayland's name being removed. Unless I need to know, the confidential aspects of your investigation stay with you."

"Thank you for your guidance," Martyn responded, not daring acknowledge the name Shane has discreetly given. It was the only set of rooms in the building he could have done so.

"If you're going to be busy tonight, you may want to lay some groundwork with the police. Make sure they understand the case will be buried."

Izzy suddenly had a revelation. Whoever had sent them the historic cases had expected them to pass information to the police. With the level of security surrounding a single employee, those cases would be sealed. "I think that will already become apparent to him later today."

"Good." Shane stood. "I look forward to your report tomorrow morning."

That simple expectation made Izzy's heart swell. He had every confidence they would survive.

* * *

Emma was waiting as Martyn and Izzy got out of the cab. They were ten minutes early and had hoped to be there first. Emma looked excited and eager. A combination that didn't bode well when facing an adversary which had killed at least three people.

"How did the clearance of your uncle's apartment go?" Izzy asked Emma as they went into the park. They were still on a main path, but even that wasn't as busy as it would have been. People were heeding the warning about keeping out of the park at night.

"He didn't mention in his notes where the entrance is," Emma said. "But he told me years ago that he worked out of the Rangers Lodge, so that's probably the place to start. I found some notes saying the swans usually prefer to stay where they are, but occasionally one flies out when the door opens. That's actually why the swan upping ceremony still happens. They've identified a few palatinus cygnets that way."

"That would imply there are some in the wild," Martyn said. "Yet there aren't any deaths like the ones in Hyde Park."

"I've not seen any at Slimbridge," Emma confirmed. "Their beaks are slightly different from olor, but the difference is subtle while they are young."

As they approached the Ranger Lodge, Izzy said, "I thought this was a private residence?"

Emma shrugged, but Martyn had been researching. "It was a grace-and-favour property but transitioned back to Royal Parks use a few years ago."

"So probably an entrance somewhere outside the property," Izzy suggested. "Leading underground?"

That was what all three of them had assumed. Hiding something that large meant going down, not out.

The Lodge itself was impressive, but none of them had any desire to go inside. Whatever they were looking for wouldn't be behind a front door. Keeping to the shadows, they circled the building. The manicured lawn, a left over from its time as a family home, showed no sign of trapdoors. If anything had been installed there, it would have stood out.

"What's that?" Martyn said, pointing across the lawn. "Is that some type of outbuilding?"

They skirted the boundary until they reached it. A small stone structure nestled in a small thicket of trees. Above the door hung a weathered wooden sign: 'coal bunker'.

"That lock is a lot more sophisticated than you'd expect on a coal bunker," Izzy murmured.

Emma's face fell. "But how do we get in?" She was so close to seeing a species she'd believed extinct.

"We could wait," Izzy mused while glancing at Martyn. She knew he wouldn't want to demonstrate his lock-picking skills in front of someone outside their circle.

Martyn rolled his eyes and tried the handle. The door swung open.

"Genius," Izzy muttered as they gazed at the steps descending into the unknown.

There was a dim illumination. Enough so someone would be able to see the way, but not bright enough to make it feel inviting. It wasn't narrow either. There was enough room for two people to walk beside each other without feeling trapped. The walls weren't smooth rock, but looked like it had been excavated centuries previously, and never upgraded.

"The descent to hell," Martyn said quietly as he took the first few steps downwards, his camera torch lighting the way.

"Small camera on the left of the ceiling," Izzy noted, as she and Emma followed. A small nod was the only response from Martyn.

Modern British houses normally had thirteen steps between floors. This wasn't a house, and so far they'd gone down twenty-eight. It had started north, away from the serpentine, but as they descended it gradually arched to the right. After a dozen steps, the entrance was no longer visible.

"Wait," Izzy called barely loud enough for Martyn to hear.

He turned to see Emma pressed against the wall, her breath coming too fast and her eyes unfocused.

"Sit," Izzy said, her tone firm but gentle.

Emma obeyed, sinking onto the step. Izzy sat beside her and took her hands. "Look at me. Breathe with me. In ... and out ... in ... and out."

Martyn kept watch. He didn't hurry them. This was a time for patience and understanding. The camera that Izzy had spotted earlier was still the only one they'd seen. Either the others were well hidden, or there simply weren't many. After all, there were no branching corridors leading elsewhere.

Izzy held Emma's gaze, steady and reassuring. The rhythm of her breathing, the calm in her voice, slowly pulled Emma back from the edge. When Emma's breaths began to even out, Izzy fell quiet, letting Emma take over, but she didn't look away.

Emma was the one who broke the gaze. A small blink, a flush and a downward look. "Sorry," Emma whispered, mortified.

"At least it is quiet down here. The first time it happened to me, someone was trying to kill me. Car chases and shots being fired make it harder to calm down. And that was before I had this job, back when I lived a normal life."

"I've never felt so out of control," Emma murmured. "Sneaking around outside was thrilling. Now I'm terrified."

"We're just in a staircase. Are you worried about what's at the end?"

Emma nodded, still not wanting to look at Izzy.

"You already know. Swans. A type of swan that only a dozen people have seen in your lifetime."

Emma's gaze flew up to see Izzy still looking into her eyes.

"What do you want, Emma? You can go back up and wait for us. You can stay here. Or you can come with us and see the swans."

Emma gulped. Izzy had made it plain. They were going on and she could go with them or not. If she didn't, she would be all alone and would probably never get another chance to see what lay beyond the door.

"I'll come with you," she whispered.

If anybody had been watching the camera feed, the delay of them coming through the door at the bottom would have confused them. Martyn hoped this would be an advantage. With the help of Izzy, Emma got to her feet, and they continued the journey down the stairs.

A dark blue door awaited them. It had no lock, and a very old iron handle.

"Stand behind us," Izzy said, after a small hand movement from Martyn.

Izzy grabbed the handle and swung the door open, and Martyn rushed in. There was nobody waiting and Emma joined them in an underground wonderland.

It wasn't a room with stalls with the swans trapped, but a large dimly lit cavern. They were at the northern tip, and it extended back. There was a glint of water in the distance, and they made their way toward it, looking for Paul.

They passed a brick structure with windows and a door. Rather like a bungalow built underground. Izzy peeped in and saw an office, kitchen, bathroom, and a few bedrooms. Nobody was there.

Continuing on, they realised they were on some type of path. On either side, the rough stone made way to soil, and a type of grass. Flowers and bushes grew, and paths branched off into different areas.

"It's like a park under the park," Martyn commented.

A creature stirred and they looked across. Emma gasped, "Impossible."

Seeing no danger, the creature put its head back down. Martyn and Izzy didn't say anything, but continued their journey to the water that was becoming visible.

"It's a serpentine underneath the serpentine," Emma pointed out.

"Still no sign of the ranger," Izzy said.

They pressed on, and as they got to the underground lake, they saw the swans. A few were on the lake, and others were sitting in large swan nests.

Along the other side of the lake, a man was seen, rushing along the path towards them.

"Target noted," Martyn uttered to Izzy.

One of the swans close by raised itself from its nest and made its way towards them.

"Just like the books said," Emma uttered, not moving.

The swan saddled up, and didn't hiss or bark, but instead arched its head backwards and then slowly brought it up towards Emma.

"Emma Hilliard?" the approaching ranger asked, slightly out of breath. "Are you Emma Hilliard?"

"Yes."

"Oh my goodness. It is such a pleasure to meet you," he said, obviously in awe. "What are you doing here?"

"Paul Wayland?" Martyn asked.

"Yes. Who are you?"

"We are investigating three deaths caused by your swans draining their blood."

"She was hungry," he stammered. "She was only doing what was natural."

"And did she also pick the pockets and steel?"

"When I worked above, we always were finding lost things that supplemented our salary. I don't get that anymore. They couldn't use what I took as they were dead."

"Did you take the swan up and let her loose, or did you tell her to feed?" Emma asked, her voice sharp and authoritative. It was like she was back at Slimbridge sorting out an issue with the rangers there.

"I knew she was hungry. So told her to feed. It was only natural for her."

"She didn't do anything until you encouraged her?"

"No. I was just helping her."

"And what is the authorised procedure?" Emma demanded, her eyes blazing.

"We have blood-bags back at the office, but they were old," he responded, wilting under her authority. He looked at Martyn and Izzy. "Are you the police?"

Martyn responded, "No. The police are at a loss on the crimes. Under the eyes of the law, instructing someone to kill is just as bad as committing the crime. You committed three murders and at least one act of theft. Where is your supervisor?"

"He's been abroad. He got back a few days ago, but he oversees other royal conservation projects. I'm not expecting him until next week."

"C'était toi?" Emma said to the swan next to her. The swan fully extended her wings and hissed her beak wide open. Two small fangs were visible.

"I know, I know," Emma said gently, and the bird folded back her wings, and almost looked ashamed.

"They understand French?" Paul asked, astounded.

Emma shrugged. "It was something I read many years ago. They are a lot more intelligent than Cygnus olor. How many extinct or nearly extinct species do you have in here?"

He shrugged. "A few. Think of it like the National Seed Bank. For centuries, this and a few other reserves around the world have set out to preserve species that can't survive in the outside world. We try to stabilise the stock and grow it where we can. It isn't just animals. One of the bushes on the eastern edge of the lake was thought extinct."

"How many Cygnus palatinus are there now?"

"Twenty-three. The person who worked here before me did fantastic work bringing them from eight without causing genetic issues."

Emma's heart swelled for her uncle, but she stayed quiet.

"Why didn't you lock the door at the top of the stairs?" Martyn asked.

"I did. I thought you must have had a key."

"I thought there would be less damage if I let you in," a voice said from the shadows. A moment later, a man appeared on the path heading towards them.

"My boss," Paul stuttered. He gave no name. If was unclear if that was because he didn't know one, or he was sworn to secrecy.

"I heard your little confession. How did you hide her? When I heard about the first death, I asked your day colleague to check, but he reported there was no Level Two swans. We'd not had one for over a decade."

To Izzy, Level Two sounded like a polite way of saying blood thirsty.

"I kept her safe, so she could live a natural life," Paul said, trying to stand straight and look in control.

"I thought it might have been a wild palatinus, but that didn't turn up any results. On the third murder, this team was suggested. I'm pleased you found out what happened."

"What does lifetime service mean?" Martyn asked. "I was told that Paul has that status and his records from the Royal Parks Agency was removed."

"Because he worked close to here, his records were expunged. He still has a job, a salary and lives outside of here. It's just he will continue to work here for the rest of his life. For that he gets certain benefits. He also has responsibilities."

"He can't stay here," Emma spoke for the first time Paul's boss had arrived. "His caring style includes encouraging actions they have built up self-restraint to avoid."

"Then what? The authorities aren't equipped to handle something like this."

Martyn and Izzy had a whispered conversation.

The other three looked on as more swans came off the lake and settled at the water's edge.

Martyn turned and looked at Paul. "There is a place just outside Wells in Somerset. The existing guardian is getting old. A replacement is needed to learn the needs of the place before the existing guardian dies."

Paul's boss was agog. "The Trimantines exist?"

"Trimantities," Izzy corrected. "But yes, they exist. And someone with Paul's philosophy would fit in well there. Paul would need to agree though. It is a vibrant community which Paul would become part of. However, Paul will never leave there. If he does his job properly, it is unlikely he will see any other humans again."

"But they need someone like me?" Paul asked, astonished.

"Yes," Martyn said with conviction. "They need someone like you."

"Emma, what is your home situation?" Paul's boss asked.

"Just me and my work. My husband moved on a few years ago. My two children are at university."

"Would you like to work here? Continue preserving not just these fantastic swans, but the other fauna here? You'd still lead a normal life, but your job would be here. But you would never be able to publish again. You would never be able to tell anybody what you do."

Emma paused, looking slowly around her. "If they want me. It's their choice."

Emma moved across towards the lake and sat down on the stone floor. It was cold, but she didn't move. "Do you want me to stay?" she said in English and then repeated it in French.

There was movement. The swans got up and made their way towards Emma. One by one they sat around her, until she was surrounded by a circle of swans looking at her.

"It looks like I'm staying," Emma laughed. "I accept your job offer."

* * *

Mid-morning, they met with Inspector Ascot in a semi-deserted coffee shop, not far from his office. He was waiting for them when they arrived and waited longer as they ordered two hot-chocolates. Tea at a coffee shop wasn't palatable.

"The case is being closed," Ascot informed them as they sat down. "Those previous cases were sealed and when the commander read them, added my case to it. Have you just wasted our time?"

"The nature of the case wasn't known. If it wasn't for the work your team and forensics did, the case might never have been solved."

"There will be no more murders?"

"Not from that source. He has been relocated to somewhere he can do no more harm but still serve his country. This address might help bring you closure."

Martyn pushed a slip of paper across the table to the police inspector.

"This isn't the way things should be done," Ascot muttered, glancing at the paper before pocketing it.

"It isn't the way things are normally done, but in this case, it is the way it had to be done. Public safety is the key. That address will give you a name. It will mean nothing, and the commander will see that the case file is sealed. The crime will be classified as solved, just buried."

"This isn't like the church, where they just moved the priest to another parish to commit his crimes elsewhere?"

"No. Nothing like that. If he could commit another crime, then we wouldn't have done our job."

Ascot nodded, realising he wasn't going to get anything else out of them. He drunk up his black Americano, and bid them goodbye, hoping he never saw them again. It wasn't that he didn't like them. They were nice enough people. They just made his job really complicated.

Back in their office, Izzy created the report for Shane. He was old school and liked it on paper, not via email. It also wouldn't be logged in the Home Office system. Emma wasn't mentioned nor the species or hidden menagerie.

Their meeting was in C-zero-one. Nominally the six confidential meeting rooms were identical, but there was always rumours that C-zero-one had slightly more hardening.

When they went in, Shane was there as was another man. He was sat a few chairs away from Shane, his fingers slowly drumming against the table.

"Please ignore our guest," Shane said as Martyn and Izzy sat down opposite Shane.

Izzy passed her report to their boss and he read it, before he pushed it along the table to the guest. He wasn't one of the directors or deputy directors of the Home Office and Martyn was surprised how freely Shane was sharing it.

"There seems to be some things left out of that report," Shane said.

"Yes, Sir," Martyn responded. "There are items you aren't cleared for. The full report is stored under the correct classification."

"The report states that the perpetrator has been moved to a secure location and can't commit another crime like that. Is the public now safe?"

"Safe from him. The last attack was in 1992. So something in the future can't be ruled out, but a new person has been assigned the duty of care. They have more experience. After the first murder, it flagged an alert, but the safety checks were bypassed. The supervisor is going to be keeping a closer watch."

"Thank you. I know after a case like this you normally have a few days to close things up. However, there is a situation in the far north of County Antrim that needs your attention."

Shane got up and handed a folder to Martyn.

When Martyn and Izzy had departed, the guest said to Shane, "They're doing better than expected. You said you had faith in them, and I see what you mean. I just hope they are ready when the time comes."

"I thought you said it was a few years off," Shane said.

The man shrugged and handed back the report to Shane. "It should be, but with these things, you never know. They keep the public safe by getting to the root cause of an issue, not sweep it under the carpet. They are getting to know the true country, more than you will ever know. I just hope it is enough."