The Janus Project

Chapter 1 Wednesday 31 December 2031 The pouring rain didn’t help matters at all. Bad weather always brought with it the risk of losing vital evidence and this was a case where evidence was desperately needed. There had already been two victims found with similar wounds on their bodies but whoever had killed them had been very careful not to leave any trace of their identity behind at the scenes – the bodies of the previous two victims and the locations in which they were found had given up neither fingerprints nor DNA. The inclement weather wouldn’t affect how Chief Forensics Officer Elijah Boniface would do his job but, if the same person was behind this latest murder, he didn’t hold out much hope of finding anything useful. He’d be able to provide information about when the third victim died, and how she died, but not why she died or who killed her. He crouched down alongside the n***d body of the young woman, making sure his trouser legs didn’t accidentally drag on the ground and get muddy – the chinos were freshly cleaned – and cast his expert eye over the victim’s skin. The t*****e she’d endured was plain for all to see. The lacerations on her arms, legs, and abdomen, the burns on her torso, and the bruises from being struck with a blunt instrument bore testament to her suffering. He made a note of her injuries and the estimated time of death. Whilst he dealt directly with the body, he had a small team searching the immediate area for anything that might give a clue to answer those why and who questions but he wasn’t optimistic. Why should the killer suddenly make a mistake now? Most people looked forward to New Year’s Eve, to casting off the old year – which almost invariably had been rubbish – and welcomed a fresh New Year that brought with it new hopes and promises. Perhaps the victim had plans, ambitions, and desires that she had hoped to fulfil in 2032. Now those wishes had been dashed in the cruellest manner possible, by an unknown fiend. There was to be no happy New Year for her, nor her family and friends. To them, the final memory of 2031 and the first memory of 2032 would always be dominated by sadness, a sense of loss, and anger that another human could do such a thing to a daughter, a friend, a lover. Elijah had attended many such scenes in the course of his thirty-five-year career, but time had done nothing to diminish the horror that he felt at each senseless killing. How one human being could do such a thing to another was beyond him. But, as ever, he was the consummate professional and put these thoughts to one side to concentrate on the job in hand, compartmentalising them until he was back home and could release them in a controlled manner, under the watchful eye of a glass of Jameson Irish Whiskey. He heard familiar footsteps behind him. He didn’t need to look around to see who it was. Without turning Elijah addressed his colleague. “Do you recognise her, Richard?” Detective Inspector Richard Crossman squatted down so that he was at the same level as his Chief Forensic Officer, and Elijah’s intern adjusted the umbrella he was holding so that it would protect both men from the elements. Richard Crossman had an eidetic memory – a photographic memory – and needed only to see an image once to be able to recall it on demand at a later time. Where most people would check their emails first thing in the morning, Richard would check new additions to the Police Criminal Database, adding to the already flawless collection of data that nestled within his brain. “I can’t say I do, Elijah. She’s not in the PCD though, I can tell you that much. But with no clothing around, there’s nothing that can help us. For all we know she could be a princess or a pauper.” Elijah hoped that the dead woman had been chipped. If she was chipped they’d know who she was within a matter of seconds. There was still some resistance to the chipping of humans but it was becoming more commonplace now. It was a sad fact that it was situations like this where chipping proved a real advantage, allowing what would have been a Jane Doe only a few years earlier to now be identified almost immediately, letting the parallel processes of family grieving and police investigation begin that much sooner. He felt behind the victim’s right ear, hoping that he would feel the slight scarring that would confirm that she had indeed been chipped. He knew that if the woman had been a member of his family, he’d prefer to know of her passing sooner rather than later. And there it was. We’re lucky, Richard. She’s chipped.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out his portable scanner. There would be no need to defile the woman’s body any further than it already had been – the scanner would extract the relevant details from the chip and transmit them directly to the National Population Database which would return her identity directly to Elijah’s scanner in a matter of seconds. He spoke softly to the lifeless young woman. “Who are you, my dear?” He scanned the chip behind the victim’s ear. It took just 4.8 seconds for the scanner to send the database query and receive its response from the NPD. Elijah read the result out loud. “Eloise Hudson, Caucasian, female, twenty-five years old. Daughter of a local politician, James Aloysius Hudson and Evelyn Joy Hudson, a beauty salon owner. The couple are divorced and Eloise still lives at home with her mother.” Elijah’s use of the present tense in this situation was deliberate. Until her parents were informed of their daughter’s death, the unfortunate victim was still alive in their minds. It wasn’t until her family was aware of Eloise’s passing that Elijah considered a line to be drawn under her life. He knew it didn’t really make sense – especially in light of his profession – but somehow it helped him deal with the continuous parade of corpses that graced his virtopsy suite. Richard took a long drag on his e-cigarette, an item that rarely left his person. Today’s flavour was apple, easily the most popular choice for the last few years, although the Detective Inspector did have the occasional yearning for the taste of banana and cinnamon, much to the disgust of his wife. She hated both the habit and the smell of cinnamon. She’d rather her husband smoke nothing at all but it could be worse – he could be hooked on those antiquated nicotine cigarettes that yellowed your fingers and rotted your lungs. He cast an eye around the crime scene. “She wasn’t killed here, Elijah. This is a dumpsite. No blood. And with those wounds, there would be a lot of blood.” He knew he was telling his grandmother how to suck eggs – Elijah had been attending crime scenes for thirty-five years, fifteen of them as Chief Forensics Officer – so he wouldn’t have missed the lack of blood. Richard was merely speaking his thoughts out loud and Elijah just happened to be there. The DI frowned. “Pity. If she’d been killed here there’d have been more evidence to collect. As it is, we’re limited to what he’s left behind, which, I’m guessing, will be nothing. Just like the other two.” As the crime scene was secured by Richards’s team and the body was wrapped up in a body-bag in preparation for the journey to Elijah’s virtopsy suite, the two men walked slowly back towards Richard’s car. The DI took another drag on his e-cigarette before switching it off and opening his car door. “Well, that’s it, Elijah. That’s three now. We’ve officially got ourselves a serial killer.”