Mutilated (DP, DIC02)

by Will Patching

  ‘A USB stick, labelled number two. Mmm. Intriguing.’

  With the cigar in his left hand and the scalpel back in his right, Koch appeared to slice the end off in preparation for lighting up.

  ‘You know exactly what it is, Bob.’ Doc’s voice was defiant in defeat. ‘And so do I. It’s the device you wanted Harding to use to frame Dickie Maddox, the thumb drive I found in his possession yesterday. But I made a few minor changes before loading the contents on to your computer.’

  ‘You’ve stooped that low, Powers? You came here to plant manufactured evidence on me. Wow! You thought that would work? How desperate must you be?’ A harsh chuckle, then, ‘I’d heard Sadie Dawson had thrown you off the Rawlings case for incompetence… Oh dear! How that must have hurt your enormous ego… This really is an unexpected delight after yesterday’s disappointment, missing out on the two brains I’d hoped to have here in time for my very last day as senior Medical Examiner.’ Koch licked his lips and placed the cigar in his mouth. Doc felt a moment’s panic as the end pointed at him. ‘Harding’s still clinging to life, but you, on the other hand, well, let’s see.’

  A pinprick in Doc’s neck cut off his next words.

  ‘You planned to kill Hard —’ He lost control of his mouth.

  This shouldn’t be happening.

  Yesterday, Doc had listened as Fiona recounted her experiences at the hands of Abimbola, her description of the disguised blowpipe, the dart, the effect it had on her. How she had been immobilized, but able to scream when the police had come to the cellar door.

  The moment he’d arrived in Koch’s office, Doc had spotted the humidor on the desk, had taken a look inside and realised it probably contained the same weapon, though had not told Jack, fearing he’d call the whole thing off. Having seen the giant cigars, Doc fully expected an attack, to be rendered helpless

  But not this.

  With his heart skipping, he felt his tongue swell and his mouth seemed to be paralysed too.

  This is not right… Is it a different drug?

  Poison?

  Jack’s voice bounced against his eardrum, no longer reassuring, full of urgency and concern.

  ‘Doc! Are you alright? What’s happening in there? Say the word and we’ll be in.’

  The word, the signal they had agreed Doc should use if he felt endangered at any point.

  Mutilated.

  No amount of effort would force any sound from Doc’s throat as he felt Koch’s hand on his bandaged forehead, pushing his head back from where it had flopped, the owlish face up close, the flat of the scalpel tapping the tip of Doc’s nose.

  ‘Let’s have a little fun, shall we.’

  Oh Christ, Jack! Help me!

  As the drugs took hold, all the plates and pins and screws the surgeons had used to put his shattered body back together again, three years ago, now seemed to tighten, sending bolts of pain lancing into his brain. The bullet wound to his scalp felt as if it had been torn open again, and an angle grinder was being used on his skull. Already in agony, he wished for the relief of unconsciousness, but knew from Fiona’s description that it would not be forthcoming.

  Doc was utterly — and literally — petrified.

  Koch held Doc in place with a hand on his shoulder while he dragged the executive chair from his office into the morgue, the wheels squealing against the tiled floor, then manhandled Doc on to one of the steel post mortem tables.

  ‘Now, let’s continue our discussion. This will make you more voluble again. I’m sure we can drag a few secrets from you in the next hour or so before I lock you in one of the cold room drawers. I doubt anyone will miss you until it’s way too late.’

  With his tongue still frozen, and having feared the worst, the burning syringe needle in Doc’s neck came as something of a relief, his panic receding with the knowledge Koch was administering a drug that would allow him to call for assistance. Jack spoke into his ear again.

  ‘Are you okay, Doc? What’s going on in there? If I don’t hear your voice in the next twenty seconds, I’ll set Sam and his boys loose.’

  Jack’s words calmed him further, along with the knowledge that Koch was in no hurry to finish him off. With the chemicals surging into his brain, every cell in his body sensitized, he tried to isolate the physical pain — though his mind was still hyper aware. Doc needed Koch to properly incriminate himself, and the gloating pathologist soon obliged.

  ‘My former associate came up with that rather ingenious disguised blowpipe design, based on a traditional African weapon, much favoured by the Pygmies. Wonderful continent. I planned to return to Kenya to take over the family’s agricultural estates next month, but will leave a little earlier than originally planned thanks to this unexpected development. Extradition treaties are such a bore, too. I’ll just have to disappear, which is rather disappointing.’ Koch pantomimed the emotion before perking up for Doc’s benefit. ‘Fortunately, a crooked hedge fund manager left a rather handsome sum in a Cayman Island bank account, one I now control, so I’ll get over it!’

  It was a struggle to ignore the pain firing along every one of Doc’s nerve bundles, but he forced himself to compartmentalize as best he could, to use this well practised technique along with his skills at meditation and yogic breathing to ameliorate the effects of the drugs.

  ‘A few seconds more, then you’ll be able to talk. Mmm. Wouldn’t it be fun to open up your skull and take a look inside, spend a little time exploring your brain? Ooh, so much better than a leaving party. First, let’s have a look at what Harding did to prepare you.’

  The bandage round Doc’s scalp was ripped off unceremoniously, an excruciating sensation that dimmed his vision as Koch crowed about his African roots.

  ‘It’s such a shame, though… My ancestral home near Nairobi is beautiful, and it’s where Akachi and I met as young lads. His mother worked for mine, a live-in housemaid, but Akachi was treated in many ways like the brother I never had. We boys grew up together, and became mutually attracted when we discovered how much we had in common.’ A smile warped Koch’s slug-like lips, as if some exotic pink species was slithering across his face. ‘We were separated in our early teens when my mother discovered my sexual proclivities not only favoured the male of the species, but more disgracefully to her colonial mind, a beautiful black boy. I was sent away to the UK to a private school, and it was not until some fifteen years later we were reunited. We spent many years as lovers, partners, fellow pioneers in the search for truth, joined in our quest to expose the innermost secrets of outwardly normal people.’

  A look of lust and regret for lost youth momentarily darkened Koch’s face, and Doc, his mouth starting to work, grunted a few words, more to reassure Jack than in any great hope of enlightenment.

  ‘W-why… k-kill… th-then?’

  Jack muttered in relief at hearing Doc’s voice. ‘Thank fuck you’re still able to talk! I wish we had eyes on you. Just say the word and we’ll have him. Admitting his links with Akachi may be enough to convince the Super to arrest him and justify a warrant to search his office and his home.’

  May be enough?

  Doc heard the uncertainty in Jack’s voice, would have to goad Koch to continue his confession, just to be sure.

  ‘Kill who?’ A genuine look of bafflement accompanied Koch’s question — there were so many victims.

  ‘Ak-a-chi.’

  ‘Oh, he was a greedy man, in every possible way. His fleshy appetites stretched beyond mine, to both sexes. I was never enough for him and, as I aged, well, the attraction he once felt for my youthful body gradually turned to disgust. He thought I’d forgiven him for dumping me, he thought we would fly to Kenya to start a new life there together. That was never going to happen.’

  ‘Su-i-cide?’

  ‘Well, after he abducted that Finch woman lookalike and left her as a gift for you, it seemed best that he should join his victim rather than hang around any longer.’ Koch chuckled at his own black humour. ‘He was very sloppy when
he worked alone, and I was a little concerned that the police might link him to Harding too.’

  ‘Har-ding?’

  ‘Yes, that low life criminal was a huge disappointment, only fulfilled part of his contract, but not my plans to bury my former friend Maddox under a mound of incriminating evidence, along with the rubble from his preposterous mansion. Another self-important narcissist who turned my advances down. Akachi didn’t realise he too was due for the scrapheap. He thought we were both setting up Maddox and Butler, that we’d be off to Africa together. Such a blind fool.’

  This was plenty for a warrant, enough for Soundbite to swallow her pride and accept she’d got it all wrong.

  ‘Rawlings… Mut-i-lated… Framed… Butler… Brilliant!’

  The scalpel now hovered dangerously close to Doc’s stitches but he hoped the praise might delay his tormentor’s blade for a few vital seconds — until the cavalry arrived.

  Where are they?

  On using the trigger word, Doc had expected an acknowledgement. Could Jack have missed it? Doc’s earpiece remained ominously silent. Had something gone wrong with the plan? Perhaps the signal had been lost just as Doc had found his voice.

  That didn’t bear thinking about…

  ‘Brilliant, indeed. When I found out about Harry Butler’s history with Maddox, well, I thought we’d play a game by framing them both for our crimes. Akachi was initially impatient when he learned the whole truth about the chap’s grandfather, had some plans of his own to punish the family, but he was enjoying our joint venture, learning how to operate, became quite skilled over the years. He planned to set up an unlicensed surgery once he was back in Africa — there’s a very lucrative black market for transplant organs, one he thought he could exploit.’

  Koch was in full flow, glorying in his smug recollections. Doc was keen to keep him talking, preening himself rather than torturing him.

  ‘Crem-a-torium? Clever… too.’

  ‘I sponsored him, got him his first job in the UK when he arrived. It’s very useful having someone with access to such a facility, being able to dispose of unwanted bodies without a trace. I was rather disturbed to discover he was stealing bones from my earliest victims before they were roasted, for his pathetic muti customers. Then I had a better idea. Working together on live specimens.’

  ‘Diana Davies — was she the first?’

  Doc’s mouth was almost back to normal now, so he asked, even though he knew she was not, having seen the files from Rupert the Skorpian. On hearing nothing from Jack, he had to keep playing for time.

  ‘Haha! Of course not. The only reason she was dumped where she could be found was because Akachi’s idiot client insisted she be cleansed in running water after we’d finished with her. Part of the ritual. That was no problem, we always planned to blame her death on her friend and ex-lover, Harry Butler. Not much of a challenge considering I’m the one who did the post mortem. The police lost interest, though. She was only a hooker, after all. Who would’ve thought it? Over a decade later and he’s finally being charged with her murder!’

  ‘You’ve been at this for a long time, haven’t you, Bob? You did well to get away with it for so long.’

  The words, designed to massage Koch’s ego, almost choked Doc as he uttered them, while his brain screamed:

  Send them in NOW, Jack!

  ‘I’ve been experimenting with the human form for over thirty years. Northern Ireland was, well, something of a training ground. I had a great deal of fun there working for Her Majesty, extracting secrets from terrorists…’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Oh, I watched you over the years and often wondered whether you’d be a match for me. Of course, you weren’t. So much for your reputation, your supposed genius!’ After a beat, Koch gave a grudging look of admiration as he added, ‘Mind you, when Dawson asked about a muti link during the Rawlings post mortem on Tuesday, I will admit, I was rather confounded. An inspired bit of thinking, Powers, along with your idea to use Morse to identify him. I was rather stunned when I heard the police had discovered his name, having thought he’d remain anonymous, but these things still got you nowhere.’

  Not quite…

  Doc went to speak but the tip of the scalpel suddenly appeared close to his left eyeball, freezing his vocal cords as effectively as Koch’s dart.

  ‘At first, I admired you for such insights. Gradually, I became more fascinated by your failures, the mental illness that you tried to hide while working for the Met… Your breakdowns. Your dalliance with that woman, the elusive Finch, after you killed your wife. Your undeserved fame, thanks to the Leech brothers fiasco. But you don’t realise, do you?’

  A crackle in Doc’s ear, then Jack’s voice.

  Finally!

  ‘We’re coming in, Doc!’

  For chrissakes, hurry, man!

  Doc managed to motivate his reluctant vocal cords, and croaked, ‘I don’t realise what, Bob?’

  ‘I see inside your mind, Powers. You’re like me. Admit it! Be honest, expose the real you, for once — the psychopath residing in your brain…’ The predatory stare returned to bore into Doc’s eyes, the scalpel still paused. ‘I’d always planned to challenge you like this, to play a game with you before I retired, even before your final insult last year.’

  The blade flashed before slicing the stitched gunshot wound, intense concentration on Koch’s face as he worked.

  Oh God, no!

  Despite the blinding pain, Doc was determined not to give Koch the satisfaction of hearing him scream, and tried to speak as calmly as he could.

  ‘Insult? Last year? What do you mean? Arghhh!’

  In Doc’s mind’s eye, he imagined the surgical steel delving, slicing into the thin layer of tissue, as Koch tried to uncover the crown of his skull, ready to tear back the flesh in preparation for the Stryker autopsy saw. The blade, spinning at seventeen thousand RPM would take just seconds to rip through the bone to expose the precious grey matter beneath. The images and overwhelming sensations almost blotted out all rational thought, but Doc managed to bring his panting breaths back under control in an effort to remain centred, present. Lucid.

  Where the hell is Sam and his team?

  Jack answered, as if Doc had spoken aloud. ‘Just hang in there, pal. We had a slight technical hitch.’

  What?

  Doc’s mind could not fathom what sort of technical problem would leave him helpless, alone at the mercy of this sadistic killer. Koch’s voice needled into him, whingeing about something ridiculous.

  ‘The TV programme. I wasted a whole morning of my life being filmed for your benefit, at your request, and you used none of it… I watched the entire dreadful series and my contribution is lying around in some director’s cutting room somewhere, unseen!’

  ‘The producer decided, not me —’

  ‘Bullshit, Powers! It was the best part of the show and you cut it as you couldn’t stand to be shown up for the fool you are.’ The bloody scalpel flashed again as Koch waved it in Doc’s face, his own contorted with rage. ‘You’ve always been arrogant, looking down your nose at others. You and Maddox are peas in a pod. Strutting around as if you both possess unique skill sets, some superior talent that others like me could never aspire to. But you were wrong — both of you. I’ve proved it. And you came here, stupidly thinking you could frame me for my own crimes! You egotistical fool…’

  Ego?

  Is that what this was all about?

  The shattering of the morgue door, an unexpected but very welcome explosion as far as Doc was concerned, startled Koch, still holding his scalpel hand in mid air. Doc could not turn his head, was unable to see Sam and the other policemen enter, yelling at Koch to Drop the weapon! but he heard the zap of the high voltage discharge of the taser’s metal hooks as they latched on to Koch’s chest. The evil pathologist’s shocked face disappeared from view to be replaced by Sam’s beaming visage.

  ‘I told you this was a shitty idea, Doc! We couldn’t open the door
— when I wheedled the access code from the hospital staff they didn’t think to tell us the ME could override it from the inside and lock everyone out.’

  ‘So that’s what took you so long…’

  ‘Yeah. And it’s high security material, heavyweight stuff to stop anyone coming in here and tampering with the stiffs. The lads had to use Hatton rounds on the hinges to be sure to get in here quick enough.’

  Specially adapted shotgun ammunition designed for door breaching. Doc had heard of Hatton rounds, but never before been present when they were used, had no idea Jack’s impromptu rescue team had them available. Implementing this hastily formulated plan could so easily have been a disaster.

  ‘That’s why you didn’t come immediately I used the trigger word.’ Despite some residual pain from the drugs, Doc’s overwhelming relief at being rescued was making him euphoric.

  ‘Yeah, this was such a half-arsed operation… Off the books with Jack suspended, and you playing at bloody hero. You could’ve died in here.’ Sam was genuinely upset at the prospect, then brightened. ‘At least your ruse worked. Koch really thought you came here alone. Twat! Well, we’ve got more than enough for a warrant with his taped confession. We know what we’ll find when we search his computers.’ Sam winked. ‘Job done, Doc.’

  Jack’s wheelchair arrived beside Doc’s steel bed, his head appearing on the opposite side to Sam’s. Doc remained immobile. The two detectives inspected him, apparently amused by his helplessness.

  ‘I can’t move, Jack. Just get me out of here!’

  ‘He gave you that stuff, didn’t he. Same as Fifi. Haha! It’ll wear off in an hour or two, mate.’ The grin on Jack’s face was borderline manic as he spoke. It occurred to Doc that his friend had been pretty stressed himself during the last ten minutes or so. ‘That wasn’t supposed to happen. Christ, if I’d known he was gonna fire that stuff into you, I wouldn’t have given you the go ahead to come in here alone like this…’