by Steven Dunne
‘Fascinating,’ said Charlton.
‘Yes, sir. But there’s something else. As we know, Ozzy Reece picked up his vagrants at a squat on Leopold Street. To keep them there he provided regular supplies of barley wine and whisky bought from a cash and carry in Nottingham. We also know he worked briefly across the road at a funeral parlour — Duxbury and Duxbury — presumably where he first became aware of the squat and got the idea that it could provide a steady stream of available subjects.
‘One day the proprietor of the funeral parlour caught Ozzy interfering with one of the corpses. He’d removed the packing placed inside the body cavity to maintain normal body shape and was trying to replace it with a loaf of bread.’
‘A loaf of bread?’ said Charlton, trying not to laugh. Others who hadn’t heard the story were less successful. ‘Why?’
‘Barley, sir. The Ancient Egyptians cultivated it. It was central to their existence. They ate it, baked bread with it, used it for medicine, brewing beer and at one time they even used it to stuff the bodies of the dead, it was so revered.’
‘That’s why he gave them barley wine,’ observed Cooper.
‘Whisky too,’ said Gadd. ‘It’s also made from grain. He was feeding it to them because he didn’t want his subjects to be tainting their bodies with anything else.’
Charlton looked at his watch. ‘But you said he was just practising.’
‘Look at the scarring under the nostrils, sir. Kirk was the first victim. He was the first body dumped. His upper lip is nearly sliced through. McTiernan was the second victim. The cuts under his nostrils are less obvious. The Embalmer’s getting better at what he does. He’s trying to prepare these bodies for the next stage and to leave them as perfect as he can. Removing the brain was his weak spot. My guess is that once he’s perfected this technique, the victims will start showing up fully embalmed, maybe even mummified.’
‘But not for a while,’ said Brook.
‘No, sir, the embalming takes much longer. That’s why we think Jock and Phil Ward’s bodies haven’t been dumped yet.’
‘As far as we know,’ said Morton.
‘That’s true.’
‘And that’s why you think he’s coming to the end of his process.’ Charlton nodded. ‘Anything from the appeal?’
‘We’ve got people manning the phones and taking names. We’re checking them against what we know — description, history.’
‘History?’
‘Well, given the level of skill, we think The Embalmer may have worked with the dead. And given that the bodies we’ve found were in the initial stages of preservation, he has a working knowledge of how to embalm as well.’
‘He could just be getting it all from the internet,’ said Cooper.
Gadd shrugged. ‘Possible. But the key question now is where he’s doing all this. He needs space for the bodies and equipment and, of course, absolute privacy. The two dump sites we know about suggest somewhere in the countryside east of Derby.’
‘What about the ambulance? You think he worked in a hospital?’ asked Morton.
‘It’s possible,’ replied Gadd. ‘But you’d be amazed how many secondhand ambulances can be picked up for a few thousand pounds.’ She looked across at DC Read.
‘We’ve been looking at CCTV footage for the night you were attacked,’ said Read to Brook. ‘We’ve found an ambulance that doesn’t belong to either city hospital or any private medical facility that we’ve contacted. It’s a 2002 Mercedes Sprinter — licence-plate BA52 SWT. We know you were attacked around four that morning, sir.’
Brook blanched, remembering his unscheduled nap. ‘Around then.’
‘It has to be, because a half-hour later, the rogue ambulance was caught on film turning off the southern ring road on to the Shardlow Road towards the A6 and the M1.’
‘Shardlow,’ said Brook. ‘And from there?’
‘No idea,’ answered Gadd, walking over to the large map of Derby. ‘But if we assume the cameras on the A6 would have picked up the suspect vehicle, the fact they didn’t must mean the ambulance either turned off into the housing estate around Boulton Moor or, more likely, the B5010 towards Shardlow. Taking that route, our suspect can head for Borrowash, where Tommy McTiernan was found in the river, or on towards Shardlow and the gravel pit where Kirk was found.’
‘He could also have turned off to Weston-on-Trent or Aston-on-Trent,’ offered Morton.
‘Also possible,’ agreed Read. ‘Either way, he has good transport links to a vast uninhabited area east of Derby in which to conceal himself.’
‘You’ve traced the ambulance?’ asked Brook.
DC Smee took over. ‘It was licensed in Birmingham and released from service at Birmingham General in 2007. It was bought at an auction in Lincolnshire, two years ago,’ Smee paused dramatically, ‘by a man called Ozzy Reece. Unfortunately, this being the motor trade, it was a cash deal and the vehicle has been untaxed since that time, so no lead there.’
‘Ozzy Reece,’ repeated Brook for no apparent reason. Everyone turned to watch him shake his head. ‘Ozzy Reece,’ he said again.
‘You’ve logged the number-plate into the Automatic Recognition database,’ said Charlton, looking sideways at Brook.
‘Yes, sir,’ answered Smee. ‘If that ambulance is on the streets with those plates and one of our ANPR cars spots it, the computer will cough out an instant alert and we’ve got him. We’re just waiting for him to show his face.’
‘Excellent,’ said Charlton. He stole another glance at Brook. This time the DI had a huge grin on his face. ‘Something to add, Inspector?’
‘Ozzy Reece,’ he said for the third time. ‘It didn’t strike you as odd?’
‘Odd?’ asked Charlton.
‘Why someone trying to escape detection should choose such a memorable alias — seemed a bit perverse to me.’ Brook walked across to the artist’s impression. ‘Ozzy Reece. May I present Osiris, Ancient Egyptian God of the Afterlife.’
With the Incident Room in darkness DC Cooper prepared to show the two pieces of CCTV film again for the benefit of those who hadn’t seen them. Brook stood at the back with Charlton but was distracted by Noble gesturing to him from the door and slipped out while Charlton, Gadd and DCs Read and Smee watched Wilson Woodrow preparing to jump to his death.
‘Poole wasn’t at his house and his Jag was gone,’ said Noble. ‘But Alice Kennedy rang me. Len arrived ten minutes after we left. She said he got a call on his mobile just as he arrived and he left straight away.’
‘Did Len say where he was going?’
‘No, but I’m guessing Yvette spooked him because Alice said he was coming here to speak to you.’
‘Did she say why?’
Noble shook his head. ‘Maybe he’s going to make a clean breast of things.’
‘That sound like him?’ answered Brook.
‘Not really.’
‘More likely he’s going to try and get ahead of the game, find out what we know about his relationship with Yvette. And if he’s found out he’s not Russell’s father, he’s got a much stronger hand.’
‘Maybe he’ll do a runner.’
‘I don’t think so, John. He’s got a lot to lose. And the way he’s kept Yvette secret all these years, I don’t see him panicking. And if he thinks we know how far they go back, he might even start cutting her loose.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He might try and turn the tables, John. After all, Yvette’s the one who’s followed Len from place to place. It wouldn’t be hard to characterise her as some kind of stalker, would it?’
‘It would if we started pulling his financials.’
‘He may have been careful,’ suggested Brook. ‘If his late wife was the one with the money, it would have been easier to hide any payments.’
Noble shrugged. ‘Not that easy.’
Brook looked back into the Incident Room. The first film had been shown twice with Cooper pointing out the mystery figure with a camcorder, in
the bushes. ‘Let’s not pin our hopes on Len. I know we don’t have a lot to go on, but their relationship is academic at the moment. We don’t even know if it has anything to do with our missing teenagers.’
Cooper started the second piece of film. He froze the image to show the young man on Exeter Bridge walking towards the camera. Here, Brook took up the reins.
‘Early this morning we were called out to the recovery of Wilson Woodrow’s body following the events you’ve just witnessed. Wilson was a Derby College student and a participant in the first Deity website broadcast.’ Brook pointed at the screen. ‘As we recovered Wilson’s body from the river, this unidentified young man was on Exeter Bridge watching and filming us. He’s wearing a G-STAR hoodie, identical to the garment Kyle Kennedy, one of our four missing students, was last seen wearing on the evening of May nineteenth — that’s according to Mrs Kennedy.’
‘So we think that’s Kyle Kennedy,’ said DS Morton, nodding at the screen.
‘We don’t know for sure,’ replied Noble. ‘We showed Alice Kennedy the film and some stills but she didn’t think it was Kyle — too tall. She couldn’t be sure for obvious reasons — his face and eyes are covered, the clothing is very baggy. She could only identify his hoodie. Same story with Russell Thomson’s mother.’
Brook picked up again. ‘The first film you saw shows that Wilson jumped into the Derwent at a quarter to midnight some two hours after he’d assaulted Kyle Kennedy. The figure behind the red dot in the trees is filming Wilson’s last moments and close examination leads us to believe that he appears to be wearing the same hoodie as our young man on the bridge.’
‘So the kid who got gay-bashed is getting his revenge,’ said DC Read. ‘Good motive, Guv.’
Brook was pleased to see Charlton frowning at the back of Read’s head. He’d obviously not been brought up to speed on how to conduct himself. Brook glanced casually across at Noble who acknowledged this with an amused nod.
‘When I restart the second film,’ continued Brook, ‘you’ll see the boy on the bridge using a camcorder to record the retrieval of Wilson’s body.’
‘Wasn’t Russell Thomson the kid with the camcorder?’ asked Gadd.
‘Yes.’
‘So that could also be Russell Thomson, wearing Kyle’s hoodie,’ concluded Gadd.
‘Yes. Or even a third person who’s holding Kyle and Russell hostage and has access to their clothes and possessions,’ replied Brook. ‘Including Russell’s camcorder and Kyle’s mobile phone which was used to text a message to Jake McKenzie at six thirty this morning.’
‘Who’s Jake McKenzie?’ asked DC Smee.
‘A friend of Kyle’s,’ said Noble. ‘He stepped in to stop the assault.’
‘I’m confused,’ said Charlton.
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Brook. Charlton wondered briefly whether to take offence. ‘Messing with our heads,’ explained Brook with a smile.
‘Did we get a trace on the phone?’ asked Charlton.
‘We did though we didn’t need one. The phone was on Exeter Bridge with the unknown male.’
‘How do we know?’
‘Because the operator told us that Kyle’s mobile number was being used at the exact same time and place as the bridge footage.’ Noble looked over at DC Cooper, who moved the film to six twenty-nine that morning. When he restarted the footage, the young man on Exeter Bridge had lowered his camcorder and extracted a mobile phone from a pocket. He began to tap out a text.
‘Hang on. If that’s Kyle, he’s got hold of another phone but put his own SIM card in it,’ said Morton. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Why not just get a new Pay As You Go? Then we wouldn’t know who’s doing the texting.’
‘Actually we don’t know who’s doing the texting, Rob,’ said Noble. ‘But that’s a valid point unless we assume they want us to know it was Kyle’s phone and that it was on Exeter Bridge this morning.’
‘They?’ queried Charlton.
Brook shrugged. ‘He. She. Whoever.’
‘All part of messing with our heads,’ nodded Charlton.
‘Exactly.’
‘And since the text?’
‘The phone was turned off as soon as the text was sent.’
‘So we can’t triangulate his present location,’ said Charlton, for once on sure ground.
‘No.’
‘And the phone didn’t have GPS?’
Brook looked over at Cooper for help. Cooper shook his head. ‘No. But we have a few CCTV images which put the suspect on the bike path travelling along the Derwent, past Pride Park, towards Borrowash.’
‘On a bike?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Great,’ said Charlton with a sigh. ‘So our students are hiding out somewhere to the east of Derby. That narrows it down to about a hundred square miles.’
‘Maybe they’re kipping down with The Embalmer.’ Cooper grinned.
Charlton’s glare prevented further jocularity. ‘Do we know what the text message was?’
‘I hate you, Jake. I hope you’re ashamed of yourself. You betrayed me when I needed you most,’ Brook recited from memory.
‘Funny thing to say to someone who tries to save you from a beating,’ muttered Charlton.
‘It’s complicated,’ answered Brook, deciding not to elaborate further. ‘But after receiving it, Jake McKenzie tried to kill himself. He’s recovering in the Royal.’
‘So it was Kyle on the bridge?’
‘The text message seems to point that way, sir,’ agreed Brook.
‘Any forensics from the crime scene?’ asked Charlton.
‘Crime scene?’ said DC Cooper, before he could stop himself.
‘Even if that boy jumped of his own accord, whoever’s filming from the trees is assisting a suicide,’ said Charlton in his direction. ‘That’s a crime — last time I looked.’
‘The Chief Superintendent’s right,’ announced Brook. ‘Until we get the PM results, all bets are on. We found tablets on the body which the lab should identify by tomorrow.’
‘So there’s a possibility Wilson was drugged to soften him up.’ Morton nodded. ‘He looked a bit shaky.’
‘At last — an old-fashioned murder,’ smiled Noble.
‘He could have self-administered,’ pointed out Gadd.
Charlton held up his hands. ‘Well?’ he said, to restate his question. ‘Were there any forensics?’
‘SOCO did take a look in the bushes, but it’s a public space, sir,’ said Noble.
‘And it was over a week ago,’ said Charlton. ‘Fair enough. What about the bridge?’ He glanced briefly at Brook before answering his own question. ‘Not even worth trying — no, I can see that. When’s the post mortem on Woodrow?’
‘Tomorrow morning, sir,’ said Noble.
Charlton waved an arm at the screen. ‘Why do you think he was filming you?’
‘I strongly suspect one or both of these home movies will make up a Deity broadcast,’ said Brook, looking at his watch. ‘Maybe even this afternoon.’
‘How long?’
‘Fifteen minutes.’
‘Anything else?’
Cooper stood up. ‘We’ve made a start on Fern Stretton’s computer to see if she’s got any pictures or messages.’
‘Fern who?’ asked Charlton, with a heavy sigh.
‘Best friend of Becky Blake and the girl who started the Facebook memorial site, dedicated to the disappearances,’ answered Cooper. ‘Lots of chit-chat with Becky, going back a year or more, but nothing of interest yet. No messages from Russell, Kyle or Adele. Various other Friends have tagged photos of our missing students and I’ve put a hard copy of them all on display. Nothing untoward that I could see, just the usual posing and gurning.’
Charlton stood up from the table. ‘Weren’t we searching the fields behind the Kennedy house?’
‘We had fifty uniformed officers all over that area. Nothing,’ said Noble, tight-lipped. ‘And cameras on the A38 drew a blank. We still don’t know
how they left the estate.’
Charlton surveyed the room with barely concealed frustration. ‘So what are we doing now?’
‘We’re doing what everybody else is doing,’ answered Brook. ‘Waiting for the next broadcast.’
‘And if it shows the film of Wilson jumping into the river, we’re going to have a media storm on our hands,’ snapped Charlton. He began to pace about. ‘We have to be seen to be doing something.’
‘The next broadcast-’ began Brook.
‘The next broadcast, the next broadcast!’ Charlton shouted now. ‘So we’re going through the motions waiting for four eighteen-year-old college kids to spoonfeed us clues, is that what you’re saying?’ He looked round at the wary faces, all trying to avoid his eye. ‘If that’s all we have to say at tonight’s press briefing, Inspector, then you’re the one who’s going to be saying it.’ Charlton’s finger jabbed at Brook. ‘No sick-notes this time.’
Brook nodded. A second later he broke the silence. ‘There is one thing. It may be a bit of a tangent but we’ve discovered a link between Russell Thomson’s mother and Len Poole, Kyle Kennedy’s future stepfather. It’s a bit delicate because Poole has connections to this Division.’
‘The ex-pathologist.’ Charlton nodded.
‘Yes, sir. They’re both from North Wales and we think they once had a relationship. Russell might even be Len’s son.’
Charlton smiled sarcastically. ‘And you want to trot off to Wales to follow it up. If you can’t stand the heat-’ He stopped in mid-sentence. He’d gone too far and he knew it at once. Never in front of the troops. Never. Turning valid criticism into humiliation was a recipe for disaster. ‘I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.’
All eyes turned to Brook. After a second he smiled. ‘Forget it, sir. We’re all under a lot of pressure. Let’s take a break before our next spoonfeeding.’ There was a ripple of nervous laughter around the room and even Charlton managed a toothless smile as he hurried from the Incident Room.
Noble pulled out his cigarettes and sidled up to Brook. ‘Coming outside for a quick one while Charlton changes his underpants?’