by N. C. Lewis
"Okay," Fenella said, sensing the hug from Eduardo, and Nan's ham and eggs would have to wait. "What have you got for me?"
"That Dr Oz is a bloody buffoon. Might be as sharp as a blade when it comes to running the place, I'll give him that, but when it comes to my job, he hasn't got a clue."
Fenella waited. Dr Mackay was blowing off steam. Everyone knew Dr Oz was good. As a medical director, he'd risen through the ranks because of his political skills and quick wit. Not an easy task, climbing to the top job in a hospital. No, there was nothing buffoonish about Dr Oz. Nothing at all. But she was good at the wait.
"A damn fool, a clown who can't tell jokes, the man is a…" His voice trailed off, his steam apparently spent. "Can you come to my studio?" By which he meant the morgue. "I've been at work on Viv Gill and Pearl Smith."
The edge in his voice set her on high alert.
"What kind of work? What have you found?"
"Not over the phone. Be here in twenty minutes and we'll talk. And keep that damn notebook in your handbag. This is off the record."
Chapter sixty-six
Ten minutes later, Fenella eased the car into a space at the Port St Giles Hospital. As she stared at the entrance, rain sloshed down from the low clouds with soft thudding that would lull a small child to sleep. On another day she would have let its constant beat rock her mind to dreamland. But today she needed a coffee, strong and black, to keep her awake and to calm her stomach for what was to come.
She breathed in and out. The gruesome sights in Dr MacKay's lab were not for the squeamish. She tilted her head from side to side to ease the tension, then climbed out of the car. The rain splashed as cold shards of ice against her cheeks. Whatever the good doctor had on his slab in the lab, she was ready.
She met Dr MacKay in the hallway just outside his studio. His bronze skin gleamed, as a result, Fenella supposed, of the Kenyan sun. If his flight had caused jet lag, there were no signs of it in his glittering eyes.
"Oh, there you are, Fenella," he said. He always called her by her first name, had done so since she was a rookie who had turned green as he sliced into the gut of a corpse with a giant pair of scissors.
He wasn't in scrubs but wore a tweed jacket with patched elbows and corduroy trousers. That meant one of two things. He was about to scrub up for a demo of the corpse of Viv Gill, and Pearl Smith with her in tow. Or he'd done the job and was on his way back to his office for a cuppa.
"About time for a black coffee, care to join me?"
"That would be lovely," Fenella said as she fell into step at his side.
It was a short walk to his office. After Dr MacKay boiled the kettle and spooned instant coffee into two mugs, he turned his computer monitor so they could both see the screen.
He flushed with excitement as he tapped at the keyboard. "I want you to look at this. It is… well, just look."
A dull twinge pulled at Fenella's gut, like seaweed attached to a rock—the slow tug of anticipation intermingled with a deep pool of sadness. Always the same feelings as she prepared to uncover the secrets of the recent dead.
An image filled the screen.
It was red, raw with slim, blue veins, so it looked like a slice of beef under a microscope. Fenella leaned forward and studied it for a long while. Serrated edges ran from left to right, all equidistant apart.
"Do you see it?" Dr MacKay leaned forward on the desk, eyes gleaming.
"Aye," Fenella said. "I believe I do."
"Now look at this." He jabbed a finger at the keyboard.
A new image came on the screen. At first glance, it looked the same as the previous, a slab of raw flesh magnified so the veins snaked like the Pow Beck stream. Fenella focused; the coffee helped, so it only took two beats for her to see it this time: a series of irregular, serrated edges, which ran from right to left.
"Okay, I see the patterns; what does it mean?" Fenella said.
Once again, Dr MacKay jabbed at the keyboard. This time five images appeared on the screen. Two at the top, three below. Each framed by a white edge like an old-fashioned photograph taken with film.
Dr MacKay said, "The top two images were taken today. The left is from Viv Gill's cheek, the right Pearl Smith's." He paused a beat, then grunted with satisfaction. "See it, don't you?"
Fenella leaned forward.
"Aye, Dr MacKay, I think I'm with you."
"Oh, such a bright girl. Totally wasted on the police." He lowered his hand and pointed at each image. "See that?"
Fenella jerked upright. A headache stabbed at the back of her head, then stomped on her temples. It was absolutely clear. The Viv Gill and Pearl Smith images both had a series of irregular, serrated edges that ran from right to left. The bottom three images did not. Their serrated edges ran from left to right with a gap that looked as if it was precisely measured.
"Oh shit!" Fenella said, her mind now swamped with dreadful possibilities.
"Oh shit indeed!" Dr MacKay leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "The bottom three images are from the file, all known victims of Hamilton Perkins. I'll bet a bottle of Glenmorangie that whoever killed Pearl Smith and Viv Gill, it wasn't Mr Shred."
Chapter sixty-seven
There were only three tables in the Grain Bowl Café. Fenella and Dexter sat at one. The other two were empty. She had called him when she left Dr MacKay's lair. Ten minutes later, he arrived and pulled up a chair. It was getting dark, although it was only 3:15 p.m. The threat of a storm filled the air.
"What's up, Guv?" Dexter said.
He looked as rough as Fenella felt. There was a growth of stubble on his chin, and his breath wasn't the freshest. She glanced around and in a low voice told him what Dr MacKay had said.
His eyes grew wide at the news that they were looking for another killer. "Cor blimey!" He raked a hand over his rough jowls. "Are you saying we have two serial killers on our hands?"
"I don't know."
Dexter was shaking his head. "I know Dr MacKay is good, Guv. But is he sure?"
Fenella had asked the same question and replayed Dr MacKay's response. "Things are often not what they seem, even when viewed with the naked eye."
The waitress appeared with the food. Two flat white coffees and four croissants. She smiled at Dexter as she placed the food on the table.
"Enjoy," she said, then turned and walked away.
The swing to her hips seemed a little over the top, although Dexter watched with a grin for a moment, then brought his attention back to Fenella and said, "So, Dr MacKay might be wrong?"
"He bet a bottle of Glenmorangie."
"Did you take the bet?"
"No."
Dexter tore off a chunk of croissant and chewed for a moment. "So, Guv, what do we do about it?"
"The good doctor does not want us to share until he gets confirmation from the labs."
"That's not like Dr MacKay. He always goes out on a limb."
"Things change."
Dexter considered that. "Like what?"
"He's worked in the morgue labs for years," Fenella replied. "Not sure how long, must be close to forty by now. It seems the higher-ups are putting pressure on him to retire."
Dexter let out a low whistle. "The man lives for his work. He'll not last long without access to his blades and a freezer full of corpses." He thought for a moment. "Is that why he is dotting his i's and crossing his t's?"
"Aye. We'll have to wait three days for the labs to confirm, and given the nature of our investigation, they'll want a second opinion. That could take another week."
Dexter said, "What about Jeffery?"
"Let's not bother her until we have the facts." Fenella felt tired and hung-over from lack of sleep. Although she pumped her body full of coffee, it no longer had an effect. Now she wondered whether it would keep her awake all night, and she'd be even more tired the next day. "We have to work with the cards we are dealt."
"And what should we tell the rest of the team?" He sounded cautio
us. They'd worked together for so long that Fenella got the message. Dexter had her back. Always.
"Best wait, eh?" she said. "We don't want rumours to get out that might lead back to Dr MacKay. There's no way I'll upset his apple cart; I want him to stay."
Dexter nodded. "Same here, Guv." He took a gulp of coffee. "Don't stop us looking for the murdering bugger, though, does it?"
"Aye, maybe we'll land two salmon with one hook." Fenella thought for a moment. "What do Pearl Smith and Viv Gill have in common if it is not Hamilton Perkins?"
"Single women," Dexter said.
"Aye, and childless," she replied, thinking. "Are we looking for a person who has a grudge against childless women?"
Dexter shrugged.
As they ate and drank, they agreed to come up with a plan in the morning when their minds were refreshed. At last, Dexter left to get home to Priscilla. In the old days, he'd hang around for a chat. He seemed happy, and that meant more to Fenella than anything else. But she'd not had a chance to let Gail Stubbs know that he was off the market. She'd do that gently on the phone tonight.
Fenella's hunger had waned, but the tiredness ebbed and flowed in great waves. She wasn’t ready to set out for home just yet. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, and she wanted to work it out before she began the drive. So she ordered another coffee, decaf, and stared out the window to think. What other link was there between Viv Gill and Pearl Smith if it wasn’t Hamilton Perkins? The question gnawed at her mind. Were the two women friends? Did they socialise?
Nothing in the reports she read suggested they knew each other. She'd check again with PC Hoon. Then she thought of Vicar Briar. His image floated into her mind like a puff of smoke. Maybe they met at St Bees Priory? She'd been surprised that Pearl Smith went to church. Even more so with Viv Gil. Yes. That was the common link! Now her mind raced to find others. The more links found, the further down the trail they'd get, even if it led nowhere.
There was a crack of thunder. Fenella glanced through the window and wondered if she could get home before the downpour. If she made a run for it, she'd be in with half a chance. She ate what was left of the croissant and washed it down with the dregs of her coffee. As she stood up, her mobile phone rang. She didn't recognise the number but took the call.
"It's Nellie, Nellie Cook. That you, Fenella?"
"Aye, what's up?"
There was a moment of silence, then Nellie continued. "Viv Gill's murder has got right under my skin. None of my business, seeing as she was off my books, I suppose, but I can't help myself."
"Nowt wrong with a drop of curiosity," Fenella said. She was curious too, wanted to hear what Nellie Cook had to say.
"I've had a chat with some of my girls," Nellie said. "Found out a bit about Viv's business in St Bees. Not much of a market for her… services, but she had a big-paying client, bragged to the other girls about him. A righteous bugger with a fat wallet, they said."
"Do you have a name?"
"We don't use real names in our line of work. Take me: Madam DuPont to my clients, plain Nellie Cook to my friends. He calls himself Dragon."
"What do you mean by Dragon, Nellie?"
"Fire-breathing lizard with wings, let's out one hell of a roar. According to my girls, he likes to dress up in a green suit and puff hard on a cigar."
Chapter sixty-eight
Fenella got home as Nan set the table for the evening meal.
"Look what the cat's brought in," Nan said. "Thought you'd run away to live on the streets of London. Want a glass of Mr Bray's organic apple wine?"
Fenella sat at the scrubbed-pine table. She would have a long shower before she ate. "Maybe a quick one."
Nan poured a half glass, then wrinkled her nose. "You stink like you've been living in a shop doorway."
"Aye, that about sums up my past few days." Fenella sipped, enjoying the tart tang. "Hey, that's not bad. How many did you buy?"
"Thought you'd like it, luv."
"How many?"
"Three cases."
"That's thirty-six bottles!" Fenella said.
"It's organic," Nan said, "And anyway, Guzzle Gut will make short work of them."
"Did you call my name?" Eduardo came into the kitchen and gave Fenella a hug. He sniffed. "My wife returns, but I'm not sure you're the real one. My princess smelled like rose petals, not the fragrance of a warmed-up bowl of sour milk."
"Cheeky sod!" Fenella said, then added. "Anyway, you are on a diet, so don't be getting the greedy eye on Mr Bray's wine."
"The doctor said I had to cut down on food," Eduardo replied. "She didn’t mention anything about drink."
"He's a crafty sod," Nan said as she poured him a glass of wine. "He had to be to catch you as his wife."
Now it was Fenella's turn to sniff. "What's for dinner?"
"Smells great, unlike some," Eduardo added. "Asian scents with overtones of… oh, I don't know, something delicious."
"Crispy Asian chili beef with sticky white rice," Nan replied, then wagged a finger at Eduardo. "I've made you a bowl of salad: iceberg lettuce and cucumber. Don't add any salt; the doctor told you to cut back on that."
After her shower, Fenella joined them at the table just as Nan was dishing out.
"That don't look like salad," Fenella said to Eduardo, who was digging into a bowl of crispy beef and rice.
He sniffed. "You don't smell like my wife either."
"Couldn’t keep the bugger from the pot," Nan said as she spooned food into Fenella's bowl. "I'll not let him have seconds, though."
It was delicious. They chatted and drank wine until Nan said it was time for her to turn in. Eduardo gave Fenella a long hug, then wandered back to his study. He was under deadline for a new comic strip based on the Grimm brothers' fairy tales. Fenella washed up and put the dishes away, grateful for the mindless activity. It was only eight thirty when she dried the last plate and stacked it back in the cupboard. Filled with the warm glow of a delicious meal and homemade wine, sleep called her.
There was one more thing she had to do before she headed up to bed. She searched through her handbag for her mobile phone, taking her time so she could come up with the right words. For a long moment she stared at the screen. Not too late to call Gail Stubbs. But breaking the news about Dexter would spoil the warm glow of the meal. Instead, she typed a text message:
Fancy lunch, tomorrow at one?
The answer came back within a beat:
Yes. One is good. See you at the hospital canteen.
Chapter sixty-nine
Fenella slept through the night and awoke after nine. Eduardo had left the curtains drawn, so it took her a moment to realise that morning was well under way. Gone was the fog that had slowed her mind, as were the tired limbs. She got up refreshed, and pulled back the curtains. There was a blue sky with a globe-sized sun like she'd seen in an African movie, although by the sheen of frost on the grass, it was nowhere near as warm.
After a breakfast of Nan's ham and pancakes, she set out for St Bees. The briefing was scheduled for eleven, and she arrived in good time, body relaxed, her mind as sharp as a pin.
"Afternoon, Guv," Dexter said, a cup of tea in his hand. "Nice day for it."
Fenella noted his clean-shaven chin and bright eyes and once again thought Priscilla was good for him. She poured a cup of the Cumbria police brew and walked to the front of the room. The focus would be on the information she had received from Nellie Cook.
"I've had a lead from a contact who was close to Viv Gill," she began. "It seems Viv had a regular client." She paced in front of the whiteboard, stopped at the picture of Viv Gill, and stared for a long moment. Then she turned to the team. PC Hoon leaned forward in his seat, mouth slightly open as if he were hanging on her every word. For once, Jones looked rough around the edges, and PC Beth Finn sat at the opposite end of the row of seats. She couldn’t get much farther away from Jones. "The man goes by the name of Dragon."
"The Dragon of St Bees, now tha
t's a tag for a newspaper headline," Dr Joy Hall said. She'd dialled in by phone. "Do we know anything else about him?"
"By all accounts, he's the self-righteous type with a fat wallet," Fenella said.
"That figures," muttered PC Finn. "It's always the self-righteous types, isn't it?"
Fenella ignored her comment, sensing it was aimed at someone else. Jones folded his arms and scowled. She looked at PC Hoon and said, "Does 'Dragon' ring any bells?"
He lurched to his feet and looked at his hand and he looked at the whiteboard and he looked at Fenella. "I've not heard that name before. Dragon, no. Never!"
"Likes to dress up in green, all fancy like," Fenella added, hoping it might jog his memory. "Expensive suits, you'd have noticed. Might be a regular in the village. Maybe you met him at a fête or over drinks in the pub?"
PC Hoon slowly shook his head. "I'll ask around, ma'am."
Fenella thought a village bobby should have their ears to the ground and eyes on everything that went on in their town. If a big spender in a green suit, puffing a cigar, turned up in Port St Giles, it wouldn’t be long before she found out. PC Hoon didn’t seem to have his eyes or ears on anything. Doubts about the man crept in. "Oh, and he has a big wallet and smokes a cigar. Anyone seen a bloke that fits that description on your travels in St Bees?"
There was a long silence as everyone looked around. It seemed no one had heard of the Dragon or seen a rich bloke in an expensive green suit. PC Finn raised a hand.
"Might be worth a chat with Mr Chad Tate; he runs the village store. They sell cigars, don't they?"
"Aye, luv. Happen they do." Fenella smiled. "Wonder if he has a green suit?"
Dexter cracked his knuckles.
Fenella said. "Right, then. Jones, you find out what you can about Mr Tate's finances, phone records, taxes, anything. He's from New York but has lived in St Bees for donkeys' years, so there should be plenty to dig through."