Harry Price’s journal: We’ve been sent to investigate a spate of murdered and mutilated tramps in Soho. Hate Soho – it’s home to people into seriously weird shit, run by gangsters and crooks, and the coppers keeping a lid on things are bent as a nine bob note. First thing we find is these were no tramps – young men in top shape, well-looked after, no grime and scars.
There’ve been gangsters going missing too – Benny Bennet and Big Salvi’s Maltese mob are tooling up for a showdown and this looks like early skirmishes. But the bodies don’t match their descriptions. Not rent boys neither. We’re pretty sure they’ve been dumped to look like some nutter on a kill spree, but they’ve had body parts taken out with almost inhuman precision – and all different too – is someone Frankensteining?
We talk to the local coppers – Hart’s an odd one for Superintendent here – hard-nosed moralist, mentioning brutal policing back in the Far East. Young Tosh Lynes is a good lad – not yet had the idealism knocked out of him by the Job.
We look for missing persons that match our poor devils and get a breakthrough – athletes gone missing in same time frame. The swimmer who ended up with his lungs gone, the strong man with his muscles taken.
We talk to the locals – Big Salvi’s rattled by the killings – doesn’t want his business upset and punters scared off. Kind of crim I like – no weird shit.
But then there’ the Sisterhood – a union for sex workers, but something more, and weirder. Hanging out at a new caff, Stheno’s (and one of the educated bunch in the team says that’s the name of a gorgon from Greek myth), they casually have what look like petrified (properly petrified, turned to stone) gangsters in their clubhouse. That’s weird enough in itself, without the main case we have on our hands and a brewing mob war.