The Rain Killer Read Online Free Page A

longer existed – just the Great Serpent
disguised in a man’s body.
    He pulled a cigarette from its packet and lit it with the flame from a Zippo lighter, drawing the first taste of the smoke in hard and deep, enjoying the calming effects within his body, before finally blowing a long, thin stream of smoke from his lips into his own reflected face. It had been a while since the Great Serpent had been fed and he was growing impatient, but the rain had failed to fall. He remembered the rain in the ghetto, soaking him when he was a small child peering through the hole in the wall that acted as a window into the near-empty room he shared with his mother as she lay with another man. Always it had seemed to be raining.
    He wondered, dared to dream, that the mighty serpent’s next victim could finally be the
perfect one
. He licked his lips at the thought of finding one from the old country and how sweet it would be to taste that familiar flesh instead of the prey London had so far offered. He exhaled another stream of smoke into the mirror and left his reflection as he crossed the room to the cluttered coffee table where his knife waited, still inside the specially-adapted shoulder holster. He lifted the holster by the straps and slid the knife free, dropping the holster back on the table as he examined the blade. It still showed traces of dried blood – blood of the victims that he could still smell when he held it close to his face, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. The memories of those who’d been sacrificed to the Great Serpent
came flooding back, intensifying his need to find another – to feed the beast.
    He stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one before strolling back to the mirror to admire the body of the Great Snake and to dream of the coming of rain and the sacrifice it would bring.
    ***
    Sean and Townsend walked through the alleyways created by the mish-mash of adjoining buildings that spread across the complex that was Guy’s Hospital, close to London Bridge. They walked past buildings rarely seen and never visited by the public as they headed towards the mortuary.
    ‘You sure this is entirely necessary?’ Townsend asked. ‘We’ve copies of all the postmortem reports back in the office.’
    ‘I’d rather speak to the pathologist,’ Sean answered. ‘Face to face.’
    ‘If you insist,’ Townsend frowned as they walked, ‘but I should warn you that Dr Canning has a reputation for being a bit of a character.’
    ‘I’m aware of that,’ Sean told her.
    ‘You know him then?’
    ‘We’ve met,’ Sean replied as they entered the mortuary and walked along the corridor, passing through the soft plastic, double-swing doors that flapped silently as they pushed them aside.
    ‘I hate this place,’ was all Townsend answered. ‘Gives me the bloody creeps.’
    ‘Probably a good idea to try and get used to it,’ he advised, ‘given your chosen profession.’ They pushed through the final set of swing doors and entered a spacious and brightly-lit tiled room with shining vinyl floor and a raised viewing area at one end where visitors
could observe Canning doing his work from a safe distance. Sean looked down at the eight stretchers on wheels that lay equally spaced in the auditorium
,
three of which were occupied – human shapes lying under neat, green sheets. Another cadaver lay on the cold, stainless-steel operating table, only this wasn’t the flat, padded table you would find in a normal operating room, it was more like a giant shallow bath and indeed had running water and a sink hole for the body’s fluids to neatly flow away. The body’s chest and abdomen had already been fully opened as Dr Canning removed each organ for weighing and bagging before returning them to the owner who no longer had any need for them. He looked up from his work as the detectives entered, peering over the top of his spectacles.
    ‘Detective Sergeant Corrigan,’ Canning declared before scanning