Desecration (22 page)

“I’m actually investigating a murder, and it looks like the victim had a locker here. I need to see inside.”
 

The woman looked at once appalled and intrigued. The cop shows on TV made people want to be part of crime scenes these days.
 

“Of course, we have strict privacy regulations here but …” Jamie could see the interest in the woman’s eyes. “What was the victim’s name?”
 

For a moment Jamie wondered if Jenna could have used a fake name, but there were so many rules around multiple forms of ID, it was unlikely.
 

“Jenna Neville.”
 

The woman tapped on her computer. “Yes, I have her here. Number 714. It’s a mid-size lockup, able to store a three-bedroom house worth of stuff.”

Jamie pulled the key from her pocket. “Would this be the key for it?”
 

The woman glanced up. “Oh no, they’re all number coded on a keypad, but I can let you in with the override. I’ll take you right up.”
 

As Jamie wondered what the key could actually be for, the manager led the way through the sterile complex, the bright yellow walls only serving to highlight the dead space. Full of secrets, Jamie imagined. What else might be hiding in the corners of this place? What stories would be revealed by the objects within?
 

On the second floor, at the very back of the complex, the manager stopped in front of one of the myriad yellow doors. She tapped a code into the keypad and the door clicked.
 

“Go ahead, Detective,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it. Just come and check with me before you leave.”
 

Jamie nodded, wondering at her lack of curiosity about what might be inside. Perhaps it wore off after years of working here. She listened to the woman’s footsteps receding down the hallway, echoing around the empty space. She imagined Jenna coming here alone, keeping the location quiet and not trusting anyone with the information inside. Blake had said that she was afraid, worried, when she held the key, and Jamie felt the same way right now. She was afraid to go in, because the contents might not be enough to give her the answers she needed. What if this didn’t lead her to Polly? What would she do then?
 

Jamie pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, took a deep breath and pulled the door open. The space was about six foot wide, almost the same deep, with a high ceiling so that boxes could be stacked up. The only thing on the floor was a heavy metal safe and Jamie felt for the key in her pocket. She stepped inside the unit and saw that the walls were plastered with images and maps. Here was Jenna’s extensive research spread out and expanded, and Jamie could see that the notes she had seen in the legal office were just a tiny part of the whole.
 

There were newspaper cuttings about crimes involving bodies, notes on art shows using body parts, photos of teratology specimens, historical references to John Hunter and other anatomists, as well as gruesome pictures of anatomy and quotes from legal papers on the rights of the body. On one wall was pinned the logo of Neville Pharmaceuticals and radiating out from it were all kinds of documents and sticky notes, curling at the edges. There were pictures of vivisections and animal cruelty as well as a photocopy of a very old newspaper article about the violent death of a PhD student at Oxford, back when the Nevilles were students. There was a photo of Esther Neville, looking pale and gaunt, her arm thrust out to obscure the view of the camera. It wasn’t the type of picture that a daughter would usually want to keep of her mother.

Clearly, Jenna had quite a story here. Jamie couldn’t quite work out all the links but it was far bigger than she expected. She couldn’t keep this from the police investigation, but she could get a head start on finding the Lyceum. Pulling the key from her pocket, Jamie squatted down and opened the safe. With her heart beating in anticipation, she pulled open the metal door.
 

Inside were a just couple of pieces of paper. Jamie knew that she was breaking all the rules of police investigation but she was well past caring at this point. She had to know what was going on. Carefully lifting the top paper from the pile, Jamie unfolded it. A photocopy of a title deed for a piece of land in West Wycombe. Jamie frowned, not seeing any immediate significance, for there was no mention of the Lyceum.
 

“Found something?” The voice made her jump and she looked up, startled, her posture immediately defensive and shielding the safe.
 

It was Blake, holding two cups of coffee. His body was slouched against the door, languid confidence in his stance and Jamie couldn’t help noticing how good he looked, all tousled and sleep-rumpled.
 

“Damn it, Blake,” she said, “How did you find me?”
 

“Browser history.” He shrugged. “I woke up and found you gone but your note had me hooked. Plus, I want to help you.”
 

Jamie’s eyes softened as she stood to take the coffee from him. Her fingers touched his gloved hand briefly and even through the cloth she could feel a spark between them. She realized that she was actually glad to see him.

“Thanks.” She smiled up at him. “How’s the hangover?”
 

Blake blushed a little. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. When the visions get too much I have to escape. Tequila is the easiest, more effective way I know to tame the crazy. I hope I didn’t say anything … inappropriate?”
 

“Of course not.” Jamie took a sip of the coffee. “But I’m not sure that pickling yourself in tequila is a long-term life strategy.”
 

“You can talk,” he said, grinning. “Riding around town like some kind of vampire Goth when you should be looking after yourself.”
 

He paused, his eyes full of compassion. “I’m so sorry about your daughter.”
 

Jamie turned to the wall, hiding the tears pricking her eyes.
 

“Thank you … Well, since you’re here, what do you think?”
 

“It’s definitely yellow,” Blake said. “A bit bright for me at this point.”
 

Jamie pointed to the collage.

“Check this out. It’s on body snatching, and it looks like a full-scale investigation into her parents’ past and the history of Neville Pharmaceuticals.”
 

Blake came to stand next to her, close in the small space. He smelled of spicy soap and coffee and Jamie felt a sudden desire to lean into his tall frame. She pushed away the feelings.
 

“Wow, this is some serious investigative work,” he said. “She was a journalist?”
 

“A lawyer,” Jamie said, “but this is personal. That’s her mother and that there is her father.” She pointed at the aristocratic portrait of Christopher Neville, dressed in his regalia for the House of Lords but with his head turned towards the camera in a smile. The photo was softer, more emotionally resonant, than the one of Esther. Her choice of image painted him as someone Jenna had loved. But had he ultimately betrayed her?
 

Turning her head, Jamie caught a glimpse of another face she recognized.
 

“That’s Edward Mascuria,” she whispered. “He works for the Nevilles.”
 

Jenna’s research wall had linked him to various projects at Neville Pharma and there was a picture of him with Esther, an obsequious look on his face as she presented him with some award. Jamie remembered how she had felt in his flat, a crawling across her flesh, the look on his face that she had glimpsed as she rode away.
 

“What was on the document in the safe?” Blake asked, interrupting her train of thought, his head on one side to examine the material tacked up on the other wall.
 

“A property deed,” Jamie said. “For land in West Wycombe. I’m not sure what it means yet.”
 

They were silent for a moment as they continued to scan the densely packed walls of information.

“I think you should look at this,” Blake said.
 

Jamie turned to look at the montage, the word Lyceum scrawled in the center of the mass in Jenna’s looped handwriting. The images circling it were cut from old newspapers and magazines, others printed from the internet. They showed bacchanalian scenes of orgies and feasting, sacrificing to the Devil, sex on altars and then in one, a corpse being cut up and dissected as figures copulated around it, faces distorted by lust. A chill crept over Jamie’s skin.

“What is this?” she said, a frown creasing her brow as she bent closer to examine the pictures, trying to work out what they were about.
 

“Look here,” Blake said. “It says that the Hellfire Club had its headquarters in caves under the hills of West Wycombe. This picture shows a map of the cave system and Jenna’s research seems to point to this as the meeting place for the Lyceum.”

Jamie looked confused. “I’m sure I’ve heard of the Hellfire Club before.”
 

“It’s infamous,” Blake said. “It’s been in lots of films and books, but it was actually a real club. Back in the eighteenth century, it was established by Sir Francis Dashwood under the motto
‘Fais ce que tu voudras’
or
‘Do what you want’
and history is rife with rumors of what they did down there in the dark, beyond the reach of the law.”

Jamie looked at one image, a man carving his own heart from his chest and offering it to a laughing figure, who bent with jaws open to bite into it.
 

“If they met in the caves back then, maybe they still do now. So who owns it?”
 

She turned and bent to the safe again, removing the title deed to look at it more closely. It was registered to the Neville Foundation, one of the many holding companies of the Nevilles.
 

“I still don’t know what’s going on,” Jamie said, rubbing her eyes. “But clearly Jenna linked the Lyceum to this location and her family. Maybe she challenged them about it. Maybe she threatened to expose them.”
 

“And that may have been what got her killed,” Blake said, turning to her. He was so close inside the unit and as he looked down at Jamie, his blue eyes showed deep concern. Jamie felt the weariness of the last twenty-four hours pressing upon her, the emotional exhaustion and the edge of physical collapse. All she wanted to do was lean into his strength and wait for him to put his arms around her. She could sense an attraction between them, even in these desperate times, despite her overwhelming need to find Polly.
 

Jamie bit her lip, the stab of pain helping her to refocus.
 

“According to Jenna’s diary, the Lyceum meets tonight.”
 

There was a beat of silence.
 

“You want to go, don’t you?” Blake said finally. Jamie didn’t respond, staring at the images in front of her. “But I think it’s time to let your friends in the police deal with this.”
 

She looked at her watch.
 

“There’s no time,” she whispered.

Blake took her hands in his gloved ones, spinning her towards him.
 

“No, it’s too dangerous. You can’t go. Think of your daughter. She wouldn’t want you to put yourself in danger like this.”
 

Jamie snatched her hands away.
 

“I
am
thinking of Polly,” she shouted, tears spilling from her eyes. “I’m only thinking of her.”

Blake turned and banged his fist on the wall, the metallic sound echoing through the empty corridors. His face betrayed his frustration and Jamie was surprised at his vehemence, but she also felt a flicker of gratitude that he cared enough to protest.
 

“I need to call this in,” she said. “So the police team can get round here and follow the new leads. But I know they won’t be fast enough to get to the Lyceum tonight. There’s too much information to process. I have to go myself.”
 

“I’ll come with you, then,” Blake said, his eyes pleading.

Jamie sighed. “Thank you for your support, seriously. But I need to do this alone.”

“You don’t have to do everything alone, Jamie.” He took a step closer to her. “Taking the world onto your shoulders will only crush you unless you let people help … people who care.”
 

At another time, Jamie knew that she would have leaned into his embrace, but she felt her resolve would crack if he touched her. The deep grief she was barely holding in check would break over them both and she would never stop crying. She had to keep it together, and being alone was the only way.
 

She stepped back, her face stony and her voice cold.
 

“I’m a police officer, Blake. This is my job and I know what I’m doing. You wouldn’t be of any use.”

He looked at her and she held his gaze, unflinching.
 

“Fine.” Blake’s voice was curt, his jaw tight with emotion. Jamie almost begged him to stay, craving his strength and support. Instead, she turned to look at the wall again, studying the images there without seeing. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
 

Blake walked out of the lockup and took a few steps down the corridor, then stopped. Jamie thought he was going to turn and say something. Perhaps that’s all it would take to break her resolve. But then he walked on, without looking back.
 

When his footsteps had faded to nothing, Jamie took a deep breath and put her thoughts of Blake aside. She used her smart phone to carefully photograph the evidence that Jenna had collected: the title deed, the photos of key suspects and some of the newspaper cuttings. Jamie was convinced that Cameron or someone at the department was trying to frame Day-Conti, but this evidence would surely get him released and the investigation refocused on the Nevilles.

She called Missinghall, knowing that she couldn’t direct this to Cameron in case he really was involved with the Nevilles. The phone rang three times before he picked up.