by Steven Dunne
‘Wilson Woodrow?’
‘That’s right.’ Rifkind managed a smile at last. ‘Not the sharpest knife in the box. There was a row about it and Wilson stormed out after having a go at Kyle.’
‘Why did he have a go at Kyle?’
‘Why do bullies have a go at anyone?’ Rifkind shrugged. ‘Anyway, it was Rusty’s turn to choose so we watched Picnic.’
‘I see. One final thing — which way to the Principal’s office?’ Rifkind’s face fell. Brook smiled, but this time felt a twinge of guilt. ‘I’ll need to inform him or her about the inquiry.’
Brook dropped Yvette Thomson back at her house only when he was sure she was okay. She had no relatives and few acquaintances who could stay with her, and she spurned any attempt by Brook to get a FLO to stay with her. Instead, Brook took her phone number and promised to call round at the earliest opportunity.
He paused over the next question. ‘Have you something with Russell’s DNA on it? A comb maybe.’
She looked at the floor. ‘In case you find. .’ Then: ‘No, he doesn’t use a comb.’
‘It’s just procedure,’ said Brook hastily. ‘Nothing to worry about, only I noticed there was only one toothbrush in the bathroom.’
She looked at him curiously for a second then bounded up the stairs. She returned empty-handed. ‘It’s my new one. Rusty’s toothbrush has gone.’
‘Maybe that’s a good sign,’ said Brook quietly.
Her face brightened. ‘Yes.’
‘Never mind. It’s possible Forensics will find something in his room, if you could keep it locked. .’
Brook pulled the BMW on to Leopold Street a little after midday and walked into the bare outer office of the funeral parlour. He pushed a button on the counter then turned to look at the derelict house across the road. Everything seemed quiet.
A tall, stooped man glided from beyond a curtain with a sympathetic smile already fixed on his face. He looked up and down Brook’s physique in a flash. Slab happy.
‘Welcome to Duxbury and Duxbury. I’m Lionel Duxbury. How may I be of service?’ he asked in a voice of pure treacle.
Brook held his warrant card in front of the man’s hooked nose. He gazed balefully at it.
‘Inspector Brook. Why, yes, we currently offer a ten per cent discount for all members of the emergency services — even the ambulance crews and paramedics who attempt to whittle away at our profit margins.’ He allowed himself a self-congratulatory simper. ‘Your loved one would be in good hands for the final journey.’
‘I’m only interested in the corpses you process.’
‘I’m afraid we don’t cater for such appetites.’
‘Knock it off. You were contacted a few days ago by DS Morton, Derby CID, about recent employee turnover.’
Duxbury screwed his small eyes towards the ceiling. ‘We were?’
‘You were. We’re looking for somebody who may have worked for a funeral parlour as an undertaker or mortician.’
‘May have?’ enquired Duxbury.
‘Maybe he still does. His name might be Oz or Ozzy.’
Duxbury took a sharp intake of breath and tried to disguise it. Then he said weakly, ‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘Funny, if that bell in your head had rung much louder, I’d need ear plugs.’
Duxbury looked at Brook but said nothing. Brook just waited — it would come.
‘Someone’s complained?’
As no one had complained, Brook raised an eyebrow. What do you think? ‘What’s he done now?’ asked Duxbury eventually.
‘Just tell me who and where he is.’
‘About a year ago Oz worked for us for two weeks as a hearse driver.’
‘Not to work on the bodies?’
‘No. We had an illness and were shorthanded so I reluctantly took him on.’
‘But you let him go.’
‘Two weeks later. We had to. He wouldn’t give us a National Insurance number, kept asking for cash in hand. Well, payroll were having none of that, obviously.’
‘So you don’t have an address?’
‘No. He kept promising us his details but we never got them.’
‘Full name?’
‘Ozzy Reece.’
‘Description?’
‘Well-built, about forty, brown eyes, cropped hair.’
‘Any tattoos, distinguishing marks?’
‘I never saw anything.’
‘Local accent?’
Duxbury nodded. ‘I think so. But maybe from further north. He could be quite broad sometimes.’
‘You said you didn’t get an address.’
‘No, but I think he lived near Shardlow.’
Brook looked up sharply from his notebook ‘Why Shardlow?’
‘He must have mentioned it once.’
‘Did you take any pictures of him?’ asked Brook.
‘What on earth for?’
‘ID badges, computerised records, that sort of thing.’
‘I told you. .’
‘You don’t have any records of him. I think I’m getting it.’ Brook pointed at the derelict house across the road. ‘Did he ever take an interest in that house?’
Duxbury looked at Brook as though he were a genius. ‘Yes, he did,’ he replied. ‘Always going over to that window to look in, sometimes even talking to the tramps inside. Once I asked him why he was so interested.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He just laughed and said he was drumming up business.’
‘Was he friendly with any of your other staff?’
‘Not at all. He wasn’t the type to fit in.’
‘Did he have a locker or any place unique to him that might give us a DNA sample or a fingerprint?’
‘No. There’s the hearse, but he hasn’t been with us for over a year, so. .’
‘And how did he turn up for work?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Clothes? Transport?’
‘We gave him the suit to take away with him. He turned up in that.’
‘Where is it?’
‘He never gave it back.’
‘And how did he get to work?’
Duxbury shrugged. ‘I assumed public transport. If he had a car, I never saw it.’
Brook snapped his notebook shut after tearing out a page to write his number on. ‘Anything else you remember about him, call me. For now, I want a list of current and ex-employees who would’ve known him. Round your current staff up now, we’re going to need to interview them all.’
Brook stared at Duxbury until he started looking for paper and pencil, before ringing Noble. ‘John, we’ve got a lead on Ozzy Reece. Get DS Gadd and a couple of other officers over to Duxbury’s Funeral Parlour on Leopold Street. And see if you can rustle up a composite artist to come with them. Yes, now.’ He rang off and flipped round Duxbury’s completed list. ‘Only four people?’
‘Yes. And they’re all current. There’s not a high turnover in our industry.’ Duxbury coughed. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
Brook nodded. ‘So what did Ozzy do?’
‘Do?’
‘That might make people complain.’
Duxbury looked away. ‘It’s a bit. . weird,’ he finally said.
‘I can handle it.’
‘Well, I walked into the Slumber Room one morning and Oz was in there.’ Duxbury hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘He was interfering with a corpse.’ He seemed reluctant to elaborate.
‘Go on,’ urged Brook.
‘Well, he’d undressed the deceased and removed the padding from the abdominal cavity.’
‘Padding? To keep the natural body shape?’
‘In the absence of internal organs, yes. Well, he was trying to force something else into the cavity.’
‘What was it?’ demanded Brook.
Fifteen
Twenty minutes before briefing, Brook was arranging photographs of the four missing students on a display board, having managed to obtain a photograph of
Russell Thomson from the college. DS Gadd was writing up a report on the interviews at Duxbury amp; Duxbury. Noble walked into the Incident Room carrying two teas. He gave one to Brook, smiling an apology at Gadd then pulled out a sheaf of papers from his jacket. ‘One search-warrant for the Watson house. And the Chief’s on his way back. You were right — he was out of the door as soon as I mentioned the press conference.’
PC Patel knocked and walked into the Incident Room. She handed Brook an HMV bag and a two-pound coin and headed for the entrance.
Brook extracted two DVDs of Picnic at Hanging Rock, an Edgar Allan Poe anthology and a packet of cigarettes from the bag and stared at her. ‘I gave you fifty pounds.’
‘The receipts are in there, sir,’ she said in mock disbelief. ‘The DVDs were eighteen quid each.’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she left.
Noble picked up one of the DVDs. ‘Any joy at the funeral parlour?’
‘Our man worked there briefly a year ago,’ said Brook, pocketing his change.
‘So he’d know about the tramps in the squat.’
‘All over it, apparently.’
‘So what are we waiting for? Let’s go get him.’
‘He was off the books, John. We didn’t get an address though Duxbury thinks he might have lived near Shardlow.’
‘Convenient for both dump sites,’ said Noble.
‘Very. Our suspect’s name is Oz or Ozzy Reece. Very much the lone wolf. Nobody got to know him and he didn’t give out any personal details, formal or informal. We’ve got an artist working up a composite.’
‘Ozzy Reece. That’s a name to get noticed,’ observed Noble. ‘Sounds phony.’
‘It is,’ said Gadd. ‘No hits.’
‘Odd to choose something so unusual.’
Gadd smiled slyly at Brook. ‘It wasn’t his name that got him noticed at the funeral parlour, John. There was a particular fetish which caught the attention.’
‘I’m all ears,’ said Noble.
‘He got caught stuffing a loaf of bread into a corpse’s body cavity. That’s why they let him go.’
Noble chuckled briefly but stopped when neither of his colleagues joined in. He looked from one to the other. ‘White or brown?’ he finally said.
Brook shrugged.
‘You’re kidding, right.’
‘Strange, but true, John,’ said Brook. ‘But when someone’s already interfering with corpses, nothing surprises.’
‘Any hits on the databases?’
‘Not one. Nothing on the PNC or HOLMES,’ said Gadd.
‘Hardly surprising,’ said Noble. ‘That’s one unique signature. Do we know if he did that to McTiernan and Kirk?’
‘The lab’s checking McTiernan again,’ said Gadd. ‘Kirk was in the water too long.’ She shrugged. ‘At least it’s a lead. I’m nowhere on the booze. Nobody seems to stock barley wine any more and, of course, everyone stocks whisky. I’ll have to plough through all the bulk sales. Unless. .’ She looked over at Brook.
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless I look for some empties outside the house.’ And as Brook prepared to voice an objection, ‘I’ll be careful, sir. It’s our only chance of getting a batch number to follow back to point of sale. And even then. .’
Brook nodded. ‘Be careful.’
‘I will.’ Gadd headed for the door. ‘I’m off to canvass all the local bakeries.’ Brook and Noble turned. ‘Joke,’ she grinned as she left.
Noble yawned.
‘You okay?’ asked Brook.
‘As long as I don’t pull another duty tonight.’ Noble stared at Brook, waiting for a reassurance that didn’t arrive. ‘Right.’
‘The house is our best lead, John. I know it’s tough so we’re switching to solo two-hour shifts tonight. Jane’s on first. You relieve her at midnight.’
Noble blew out his cheeks and nodded. ‘Who’s after me?’
‘Rob Morton’s on two to four,’ said Brook. ‘Then it’s me. I’ll talk to the Chief about extra bodies when he gets back. We can’t work both cases. They’re too labour intensive.’
Noble took a sullen sip of tea and eyed the photo array. ‘That our new student?’
‘Russell Thomson, Rusty to friends. Last seen the day before Kyle’s party.’
‘Bedroom tidy. .’
‘. . and phone and leaflet on the bed. No SIM card. The technicians are picking up his laptop.’
‘And the mother only notices her son missing when you call to tell her. Unbelievable.’
‘Well, she works nights, John. When you start a family. .’
‘Me? No chance. I like my independence too much.’
Brook smiled thinly at him. ‘It’s overrated.’
‘Want me to add his mother to the parental background check?’
Brook nodded thoughtfully. ‘I do. Yvette Thomson — single parent. You’ve got the address. She’s a bit over-familiar and seems nice enough, but I want to know about a mother who can’t produce a single photograph of her son.’ Brook broke into a sudden grin. ‘Speaking of single parents, my daughter has come to stay for a couple of weeks.’
‘You have a daughter?’ Noble enjoyed Brook’s discomfort. ‘I’m kidding. I knew that much. I’ve forgotten her name.’
‘Theresa — Terri. She’s over from Manchester University.’
‘How long since you’ve seen her?’
Brook hesitated over the information without knowing why. ‘A while.’
‘I’d love to meet her. We can compare notes.’ Brook was thin-lipped in the face of Noble’s grin. Brook’s mobile phone vibrated.
‘And that explains why you’ve got your phone turned on.’ Noble smirked in mock amazement. ‘Now that is news.’
Brook smiled back sarcastically.
‘Dad, it’s me.’
‘Terri.’
‘Are you near a computer?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Get the internet up and type in deity.com.’
Brook looked across at Noble. ‘Terri. How do you know about Deity?’
‘It’s on that leaflet you brought home.’
He shook his head. ‘I left it there? That was careless. You didn’t take it out of the plastic, did you?’
‘Dad, course not. But I had a look at the site, out of interest, see if it was anything to do with your case.’
‘It is.’
‘There’s an interesting bit of film on it. I checked and the same thing is also on YouTube and getting a lot of hits. You should take a look.’
‘I will.’
‘What time will you be-?’
But Brook had rung off and was already typing the web address into his computer. The Deity home page loaded. It was no longer under refurbishment. The background was in grey and black. Live Forever and the other slogans were there in large red lettering, just like the leaflet, but there were another couple of features. In one corner of the screen, a countdown was taking place. According to the clock there were another twenty-three hours and twenty minutes to go.
In the centre of the screen was a large black box with a Play button in the middle.
Brook looked at the interactive whiteboard on one wall of the Incident Room. ‘How do you get that screen working, John?’
Noble took a remote control from a slot at the side of the whiteboard and flicked at a button. He nodded at Brook who clicked on the website’s Play button. Morton and Cooper entered and turned to look at the brightening screen, unbidden.
A disembodied female voice spoke over the black back-ground.
‘What we see and what we seem
Is but a dream, a dream within a dream.’
Gradually the picture became clearer. It was night. The date on the display was 19 May — the night before the party. The person filming was elevated and a little distance away, but zoomed in almost immediately to show four burly young men surrounding another young man of slighter build.
Brook glanced at the photographs on the boards. Despite the distance,
despite the less than ideal lighting, Brook was convinced that the slender young man being surrounded was Kyle Kennedy. For the next few minutes, the four stocky lads cajoled, pushed and slapped Kyle from one to the other. The sound quality wasn’t the best but Brook and his team could clearly hear the laughing and jeering. One young man in particular seemed to be leading the assault. He was chunky to the point of being overweight with cropped hair and a malicious laugh.
‘We’re not going to witness a murder, I hope,’ said Morton. Chief Superintendent Charlton entered with a cup and was about to speak when Brook held up a hand and pointed to the screen.
At that moment, another teenager, taller than the others with an athletic frame, walked into shot. The assault stopped.
‘That’s Jake McKenzie,’ said Brook, without taking his eyes from the action. ‘He was at the college today.’
Kyle walked towards Jake. An exchange took place but a minute later, Kyle walked back to his tormentors. The ringleader swung a heavy punch and Kyle fell. The aggressors left, giving Jake a wide berth. Then McKenzie ran to minister to the prostrate figure and, shortly after, Kyle seemed to revive but then ran off, screaming.
The film ended and the screen blackened.
‘What was that?’ asked Charlton.
‘A serious assault on one of our missing students, sir,’ said Brook. ‘Broadcast on deity.com, which is a website address on a leaflet.’ He gestured to a copy beneath the photographs on the display. ‘We have four copies of that leaflet; one each found in the bedrooms of the four missing Derby College students.’
‘Four?’
‘Yes, sir. I think the lad getting beaten up is Kyle Kennedy, the first one to be reported missing. From the date on the film, it’s clear this was the night before he disappeared. His mother told us she saw him go out at nine that night, but he came back late and ran straight to his room without her seeing him. Now we can understand why.’
‘And after this party she found a small bloodstain on a plaster,’ said Noble. ‘The lab’s working up the DNA.’
‘From this film it likely belongs to this. .’ Charlton gestured towards the whiteboard.
‘Kyle Kennedy,’ obliged Brook.
‘Right. Let me see it from the start. And make a recording for the boffins to enhance.’