Deity (18 page)

‘Same as last time.’ Brooks sighed. ‘So The Embalmer . . .’

‘Sir, the Chief Super was very clear. As it’s not a murder case, Jane’s flying it solo at the moment.’

Brook shook his head in frustration. ‘I read the Kirk Forensics note. No other developments?’

‘That’s it. It looks the same MO as McTiernan. There are traces of make-up on the loincloth. The fabric is Egyptian cotton – identical to the cloth we found in the Derwent.’

‘Egyptian cotton,’ repeated Brook.

‘It’s pretty common. You think it’s significant?’

‘Who knows? What else?’

‘The
rest you know. The heart was chronically diseased – it was removed then put back; the rest of the organs and the large intestine were gone and the blood drained. There was the same stitching on the gash in his side. His remaining hair looked like it had been cut – it’s hard to tell. What fingernails Kirk had left were tidy and might have been clipped but they can’t tell if the body was cleaned after so long in the water.’ Noble shrugged.

‘And still no COD?’

‘The lab’s working on it. It’s tricky with an even longer immersion.’

‘So it could still be murder.’

‘Habib thinks not, but they’re still doing tests.’

‘What else?’

‘The scars below the nostrils were also caused by some kind of sharp tool pushed into the nose to puncture the membrane on the brain and let the fluid drain away.’

‘Same as McTiernan.’

‘Right. One difference: Habib said Barry Kirk’s brain was more cut up and the scarring was much deeper. The right upper lip was almost sliced through.’

‘Did you run the MO through HOLMES and the PNC?’

‘No hits on either database. Nothing even close to this MO came back.’

Brook fired up his computer and logged on to his internal email account. ‘Ancient anatomy,’ he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

‘Sorry?’

‘Something Dr Petty said. Is Egypt a member of Interpol?’

‘I think so. I can check.’

Brook took a sip of his tea and ran his eye down the list of
contacts. He clicked on Habib’s email address and typed a few words and numbers, then sent it off to him marked for Dr Petty’s attention. ‘If they are, run the MO past the Interpol database.’

‘You mean . . .’

‘Yes, I mean ask Jane to do it,’ replied Brook testily.

Noble raised an eyebrow. ‘Because of the cotton?’

‘No, because they have an ancient culture of embalming the dead.’ Brook sighed. ‘We have little enough to go on. The chances are the Egyptian police are still in disarray after the revolution, but it might be worth asking the question. Also . . .’ Brook blinked and turned to him.

‘What is it?’ asked Noble.

‘Kirk’s upper lip was almost sliced through, you say.’

‘Yes.’

‘Worse than Tommy?’

‘That’s right.’

Brook pushed his chair back and stood. ‘Kirk was dumped at least fifteen days before McTiernan.’

Noble’s face wasn’t registering enlightenment. ‘Maybe longer.’

Brook smiled. ‘My God, John. He’s practising.’

‘Practising?’

Brook nodded. ‘Practising on the bodies.’

‘For what?’

‘When we know that, we’ll know who we’re looking for. He’s removing all the organs, including the brain, and trying to leave the corpse cosmetically intact. But he’s having the most trouble extracting the brain without leaving a mark, so he needs more bodies. With Kirk he was clumsy and almost sliced through his top lip but with Tommy, his technique
had improved; the scarring wasn’t as pronounced.’

‘And you think Jock will turn up with less scarring than McTiernan under the nostrils because The Embalmer’s improving his technique – interesting.’

‘We should speak to Charlton.’

‘We can’t.’

‘We must. Suppose the vagrants are just the first? Suppose he perfects what he does and gets ready to show us what he can really do.’

‘Hasn’t he already?’

‘I don’t think so. He’s barely started. He’s honing his skills, getting better, but he’s still not good enough. Once he’d cut McTiernan’s upper lip, he stopped hacking at the brain. He needs to leave the body without a blemish. That’s why he didn’t try to hack up his brain as much as Kirk. He’d already ruined him. We’ve got to convince Charlton to—’

‘Sir, Charlton’s not here. He’s at a conference until next Monday.’

‘A conference?’ Brook was annoyed but then started to smile. ‘A conference,’ he said again. ‘Okay.’

‘Sir? I know that look . . .’

‘We have no choice, John. This is urgent. The Embalmer needs more bodies to practise on. He got Jock last night in Leopold Street.’

‘You’re not certain of that.’

‘As certain as I can be. He was grabbed before I could get to him.’

‘And the missing students?’

‘Students? You mean we’re missing more than one?’

‘As of yesterday evening we’re missing three – two girls and the Kennedy boy, Kyle.’

‘How
do we know they’re one case?’

‘We don’t, for sure. But apparently they were all at the same party last Friday night and no one’s seen them since.’

Brook raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘A party? How old are they?’

‘They’re eighteen, all attending Derby College, all very bright –’

‘– and all old enough to please themselves,’ finished Brook. ‘They’ve been to a rave, John, and got wrecked.’

‘Or Ibiza. Or a festival,’ Noble said. ‘I know. Nevertheless, it’s been reported and you’re SIO, so until we find them . . .’

Brook sighed. ‘Anything gone out to the press?’

‘Not yet. There’s no evidence of foul play or violence. Think we should?’

‘For once, yes. They can do our job for us.’ Then Brook changed his mind. ‘But I suppose we can’t let them run with it until we have a few facts.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Okay, John. For your sake, we’ll do it by the book. Round everyone up, DS Gadd included. We’ll have a joint briefing in two hours – both cases. Meanwhile, you can bring me up to speed on these students. I promise, tonight we’ll talk to the parents.’

As Brook finished his account of the episode in the Leopold Street squat he looked round the Incident Room, hoping the rest of his detectives were feeling the same urgency. ‘And the chances are we’re not going to find Jock alive unless we can work out who’s taken him. We don’t have a picture, we don’t have a surname and even “Jock” could be a nickname. On the other hand, we do have a name for whoever’s dropping off the alcohol. His name is Oz or Ozzy. He’s not Australian. He’s early middle-aged and powerfully built.’

‘Is
that all there is to go on?’ asked Cooper.

‘You have to remember who’s giving the description,’ replied Brook.

‘Ozzy. Do we know if
that’s
a real name?’ asked Gadd.

Brook shrugged. ‘Unlikely. But even if it’s an alias maybe it’s a nickname he uses at work, maybe even at one of those funeral homes or hospices we spoke to on Sunday.’ Brook looked around to see if the name rang any bells. ‘No? Well, make a note of the name for any follow-up. We may have to do it all over again, this time face to face.’ Brook tried to ignore the groans and turned to the large map of the Derby area.

‘But for now, we concentrate on the house where Jock was abducted. It’s our only active lead.’ He pointed to Leopold Street. ‘It’s derelict, with no power, no heating, and it’s home to about ten vagrants, though obviously that number is fluid. We’re going to be doing surveillance ourselves, starting tonight.’ More groans. Brook raised a hand. ‘When Charlton gets back, I’ll make sure we get more bodies on this, but until then it’s down to us.

‘Now, it’s a tight road, so position your car with care. Our suspect has transport and we don’t want to scare him off. You’ll take two four-hour shifts. Rob and Dave, you’ll take ten till two, so go home now and get some rest. John and Jane, you’ll relieve at two tomorrow and stay until six. I’ve been out there three days so I’ll take tonight off,’ he added, unable to meet eyes. ‘Remember, our guy’s a night owl so he’ll only come when the streets are deserted. This morning it was nearly three before he showed up.’

‘You think he’ll be back so soon?’ asked DS Gadd.

‘If he really has got Jock, probably not, but as it’s our only solid lead, we can’t take the risk.’

‘And
don’t forget, if we’re right, he has to keep the occupants happy or they might move on,’ added Noble. ‘So he might turn up just to deliver more booze.’

‘Exactly. If he makes a delivery, try to follow him but it will be almost impossible for him to miss you at that hour. So if he’s leading you round in circles, you’ll have to bring him in and hope we can take it from there and get him to
fess up
.’ Brook smiled and looked around the ring of four detectives who stared sombrely at the floor. He wished their expressions were an indication of the investigation’s gravity, instead of regret at losing a night of TV and a warm bed. ‘Finally, until Forensics puts us on the right track, we get stuck into the legwork. Jane, I want you to check out off-licences and bulk suppliers of alcohol tomorrow. You’re looking for anyone buying large amounts of whisky and barley wine.’

‘Barley wine they should remember.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody drinks that filth.’

Brook pulled a piece of paper from his jacket. ‘Which reminds me. There’s a funeral parlour opposite the house. Duxbury and Duxbury. Anyone remember who contacted them?’

‘Me, I think,’ said Morton.

‘How did you leave it?’

‘They were ringing me back.’

‘Right. I’ll follow them up.’ Brook held out his arms. ‘Any questions?’

‘Do we drop the missing students?’ asked Morton.

‘You missed out the adjective.’ Cooper laughed.

Everyone joined in; even Brook managed a thin smile. Normally he would have discouraged such levity about an active investigation but he felt the missing students were an unnecessary distraction.

‘John
and I will follow up on the students tonight. Anything else?’

‘Any usable film?’ said Cooper.

‘Local CCTV is trained on the shops further up Normanton Road but Jane will be in the Viewing Room, checking the hour between two and three last night. We may get a shortlist of suspect vehicles, we may not.’

‘What am I looking for?’ asked Gadd.

‘Vans, in particular. And get plates for follow-up if they look dubious.’

‘But we’re still not sure if this is a murder inquiry?’

‘No,’ said Brook. ‘But when people who like to play with dead things are ready to escalate, it’s the next logical step – especially if they run out of fresh corpses.’

‘What I don’t get, right, is – if this guy’s going for cosmetic perfection, why cut open these bums?’ asked Morton. ‘Most of them are in a right state.’

‘That’s the point,’ answered Brook. ‘He’s perfecting his technique on the most expendable members of society.’ An image of Phil Ward sprinting away from him on the track made Brook pause. ‘And let’s not forget these
bums
may have families. Once they had what you have: lovers, jobs, a future. They’ve lost all of that. Miserable though it may seem to us, all they have left is life, and no one has the right to take it away.’

While Noble knocked on the door, Brook ran his eye over the small, well-maintained suburban garden basking in the golden glow of dusk. A
For Sale
sign nestled up against the garden wall. The house itself was neat, if nondescript, similar to every semidetached they’d passed on the Brisbane Estate – a comfortable
and characterless modern home for a small, hardworking family.

The compact driveway, its garage outgrown by modern vehicles, had two cars squeezed on to it – a sleek black Jaguar tight up against the rear bumper of a battered Nissan Micra. A good metaphor for Poole’s relationship with Alice Kennedy, Brook decided. Poole had money from a generous pension and his former marriage and, even from the briefest encounter with the couple, Brook had gotten the impression that Poole’s relationship with her wouldn’t have existed without it.

‘Come in.’ Poole stood aside to usher Noble into the warmth of the house. ‘Inspector Brook,’ he nodded as Brook entered in turn.

‘Hello, Len.’

‘You remembered me then, Inspector.’

‘I never forget a face.’ Noble turned to raise an eyebrow but Brook ignored it. ‘How’s retirement treating you?’

‘Mustn’t grumble,’ replied Poole. ‘Still driving a Jag,’ he added, as though it were relevant.

Brook followed Poole and Noble into a small, softly lit living room where Alice Kennedy sat on a sofa next to the uniformed Family Liaison Officer already there. The petite Asian officer held a cup and saucer and balanced an untouched plate of biscuits on her lap. Her hat was on the arm of the sofa and her thick black hair had been wound into a tight bun. She looked ill at ease for some reason.

‘Constable.’ Brook nodded at her. Unsurprisingly he had forgotten her name and gave Noble the usual blank stare to prompt his DS to identify their colleague at the earliest opportunity.

‘Can
I get you some tea, Detectives?’ asked Alice Kennedy, her voice taut.

‘No, thank you,’ replied Noble. ‘We have . . . other calls to make.’

‘You mean the other parents, don’t you?’ She dabbed a handkerchief to an eye. ‘I heard. Those poor people.’

‘Has PC Patel brought you up to speed, Mrs Kennedy?’ asked Noble.

‘Yes. You’ve upgraded Kyle’s disappearance to medium risk because it’s been several days.’

‘That’s right. We’re widening the inquiry. We’ll be going to the college to ask questions, and we’ve circulated Kyle’s details and the picture you gave us to the British Transport Police – all the ports and airports are on the lookout for him. We also think it’s wise to email his details to Interpol as well.’ Noble tried to smile reassuringly.

‘Interpol?’

‘It’s an international Police Force, love,’ said Poole.

‘I know what it is,’ she said crossly. ‘But why?’

‘In case he’s jetted off to Ibiza or somewhere. They’ll let us know if he’s left Britain under the radar and slipped into Europe. Our border controls are not the best.’

‘No, no, no. That’s impossible,’ said Alice.

‘Why?’

‘He doesn’t even have a passport.’

Brook and Noble glanced at each other. ‘So it would surprise you to learn that Kyle applied for a passport three months ago?’ asked Noble.