by Sam Millar
“On a night like this, they’re from god’s own cabinet.”
Resting a cup of steaming coffee on the table, she warned: “Careful. It’s very hot.”
Karl poured a healthy amount of thick Drambuie into the coffee. “Dram buidheach!”
Suddenly, Jenny paled.
“Not having any?” asked Karl.
“No … it’s … it’s too late for alcohol, and caffeine keeps me awake. I enjoy my sleep too much.”
“They say it’s bad luck to refuse an offer of a Drambuie. I only wish that caffeine was all that kept me awake,” said Karl, sipping, loving the hot liquid spreading throughout his battered body. “Hmm. This is good. Have to get you to give me the recipe, before I go.”
Sitting down opposite him at the table, Jenny finally asked, “Perhaps now you can tell me what this is all about, Mister Kane?”
“I thought the first thing you would have asked me was how I found your address, seeing that it’s not the one listed in your job application?”
“You’ve been going through my files? Why?” Jenny’s face suddenly tightened; lips pressed into a thin line. “Did Wilson ask you to do that?”
Shaking his head, Karl replied, “I checked both official and unofficial files on you, Jenny. My apologies for being such a sneak, but I felt I had to do a bit more digging when I came across a little snippet in the obituary pages.” From his pocket, Karl removed a piece of paper, unfolding it carefully. “This is a clipping from a newspaper, a week ago, informing its readers of the passing of one Franco Lodovico, a retired medical professor from Queen’s University. The unfortunate man died of a heart attack. You may already be aware that Hicks has a medical student working with him at the moment?”
“What has this to do with you coming here?”
“The young man was fortunate to have worked alongside Professor Lodovico. I had an interesting conversation with the young man, not too long ago. He told me that there had been a fire in the laboratory a while back, apparently caused by one of Professor Lodovico’s careless students. Fortunately, Professor Lodovico was able to evacuate the room before any harm was done to any of the young people. The room itself was a write-off, though, with practically everything destroyed. Everything it seems bar a small quantity of phosgene, which seemed to have miraculously escaped only to show up in a bedroom murder, over two months ago.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Mister Kane? And what is photo … photogenn?”
“Phosgene. Easy word to muddle. I won’t get into the history of it, except to say it is quite deadly, and definitely not recommended for toothaches or, god forbid you ever have them, haemorrhoids.”
“Have you finished your story?” asked Jenny, her annoyance obvious.
“Please bear with me, Jenny. It’s quite an interesting story. It seems Professor Lodovico was a well-respected and much-loved professor, not only by academia in general, but more so by his loving wife and daughter.”
“Where are you going with this, Mister Kane?”
“Your mother’s name? It’s Lucia, isn’t it?”
“I … what of it?”
“The obituary gave Professor Lodovico’s wife’s name as Lucia and his daughter’s name as Giacomina.”
“And?”
“Giacomina when anglicised translates into Jenny. Lodovico becomes Lewis.”
“Just a weird coincidence,” responded Jenny, the left side of her face flushing slightly. “I thought you much more intelligent than that, Mister Kane. You travelled all the way here, and in this terrible weather, just because of a couple of names? Very foolish.”
“Perhaps I’m just an intelligent fool, but in my tiny world, coincidences are neither simple nor coincidental, Jenny. Take that day in the station, for example, the very first day that I met you.”
“What about it?”
“You volunteered to interview Paul the barman at the murder scene, almost falling over yourself in the process.”
“Is there a law about being enthusiastic, or wanting to impress?”
“Not at all. But you were playing reverse psychology, forcing yourself on misogynistic Wilson, knowing there was little – if any – chance of him sending you to the murder scene. In fact, you were betting on it. Very good. Very cool. You would do great at one of my poker games.” Karl smiled sorely. “Tell me, what would you have done had Wilson called your bluff, and the barman recognised you?”
Jenny gave a slight shake of her head, before answering. “You’re confusing me. How could the barman have recognised me? I had never been in that particular bar before.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like Scarlett Johansson?”
“Scarlett Johansson? The actress? Ha! I wish.”
“That’s how one witness described the woman in the bar. I watched Scarlett Johansson, a few nights back, on some movie. Know something?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“If you were blonde, or even had a blonde wig on, you’d be the spitting image of her.”
“I think you’re flirting with me, Mister Kane.”
For a few seconds, Karl stared into the coffee as if it might reveal some secret. Then, bringing his eyes into track with Jenny’s, he stated, “That night down at the computer room, when you surprised me, a couple of months ago?”
“What about it?”
“I didn’t give it too much thought, at the time, but afterwards I realised you were just as startled as me – more so, perhaps.”
“What did you expect? You were lurking in the dark. Scared the life out of me. Remember?”
Karl nodded. “I remember. Only, the reason why you were so jumpy was because you weren’t there to make photocopies, as you claimed. You were trying to figure a way into Hicks’s lab.”
“What?” A sound like a burst pipe escaped her mouth. “Your concussion must be confusing you, Mister Kane. Why on earth would I want into the lab?”
“Hoping to recover your one mistake.”
“Mistake? What mistake?”
“These,” said Karl, fingers removing a tiny transparent bag from his coat pocket. He held the bag in the air, close to her face. “Two hairs, one of them is pubic.”
A puzzle line began creeping onto Jenny’s forehead. “A bag containing a pubic hair?”
“Not just any old pubic hair,” replied Karl, placing the bag on the table. “That particular pubic hair belongs to you.”
The puzzle line deepened. Two more appeared. “My pubic hair, Mister Kane? I don’t think so. And as for the other hair? That’s blonde. Wrong colour. In case you can’t see too clearly, I’m brunette.”
“Granted. That hair in the bag is from a blonde wig. But who knows where that will lead? Could be a wig that was bought last year in Debenhams?” Karl put on his classic poker face.
“Could well be. From what I hear, they sell hundreds if not thousands of wigs each year.” Jenny returned Karl’s question with a poker face of her own.
“The ones in the bag are evidence from the murder scene of Joseph Kerr. I removed it from the forensic lab when Hicks wasn’t watching.”
“I bet that’s illegal, Mister Kane.”
“I bet you’re right, Miss Lewis. Actually, I’m adept at sleight-of-hand manoeuvring. Take this, for instance,” said Karl, producing another hair between his thumb and finger. “I removed it less than fifteen minutes ago, from your sweater, while you tended my wound. I’m sure it matches one of the hairs in the bag.”
Karl strengthened his poker face, knowing that Hicks had told him the pubic hair was practically useless, void of follicle or root.
She smiled forcefully. “Very sneaky of you, Mister Kane. You would make a good pickpocket. But even if these fantasies of yours were true, you have contaminated the evidence. It would be thrown out in a court of law.”
“Contamination is one of the unforeseen hazards of the job, but it isn’t the most unpleasant. This particular investigation has led me into a very dark journey, of unpleasant people doin
g the most unpleasant of acts.”
Ominously, Karl watched as Jenny stood, then moved towards the kitchen counter. Her fingers brushed along the metal snout of the shotgun, sending ripples of electricity throughout his tense body. The fingers hovered over the brutal weapon for what seemed an eternity before making a diversion to the cupboard directly above her head. A large vanilla envelope was suddenly produced. Jenny placed it beside Karl’s cup.
“You can open that, if you wish,” stated Jenny.
Obligingly, Karl eased out the contents: a group of photographs. Black and white. Young men grouped together in some of the snaps; dispersed in others. He studied each photo, not knowing what he was supposed to be looking for. Who are they? What are they doing? The photos look aged, but surprisingly unscathed. The subjects though were distant, making it difficult to discern any clear identity. Tellingly – even to Karl’s untrained eyes – all the photos seemed to have been taken with a zoom lens.
“Do you recognise anyone?” asked Jenny, sitting down again, opposite Karl.
“They are very old photos,” said Karl, fanning them out on the table, like a winning hand at poker. “No, I honestly can’t say I do.”
“This man here?” Jenny tapped the photo resting beneath Karl’s left hand. “Don’t you recognise him?”
The man looked slightly arrogant, with edgy eyes. He was staring directly at Karl. The picture was disconcerting. Who is …?
“Shit …” said Karl, a whisper. “A bit thinner, more hair, more youth, but little doubt that’s Bill Munday – or William McCully, as he turned out to be.”
“Ten out of ten, Mister Kane.”
“What’s so important about these photos? And why is McCully in them?”
“Recognise any of the others?” continued Jenny, ignoring Karl’s questions.
Scrutinising the photos more carefully, Karl quickly searched for clues. “No. Can’t say I do.”
“This one?”
Karl shrugged his shoulders. “No. Can’t say I do.”
“That’s Wesley Milligan.” Jenny pointed at another face. “What about this one, the one with the smirk?”
“The only one I recognise is McCully, but if push comes to shove, I can hazard a guess. Joseph Kerr, perhaps?”
Jenny nodded. “That’s him. The other creature over beside the rock from where he crawled out of is Donaldson.”
“I only saw Mister Donaldson’s hand, I’m afraid. Not too handy to recognise a person by.”
“I like you, Mister Kane, your self-deprecating humour, but not when it becomes condescending. It cheapens you.” Something in the tone of Jenny’s voice prickled the hairs on Karl’s neck. A warning.
“You still haven’t told me the connection with all the men in the photos, Jenny.”
For a few seconds, Jenny regrouped the photos into her hands before returning them to the envelope. Once they were out of view, she spoke. “My father and his best friend were out hunting with their pack of Mastiffs, not too far from our land. The media was abuzz with stories about a group of wild pigs that had escaped from Bellevue Zoo. The dogs had killed a couple of people and my father decided he would hunt them down, despite the danger.”
“I’m slightly familiar with the story,” said Karl, taking a long sip of the coffee mix. “Weirdly, there was something in last week’s paper about a group of wild pigs escaping from the same place.” A sliver of ice rested on Karl’s spine. He hated weird coincidences.
“The Mastiffs weren’t too long in tracking down the wild dogs, coming upon them just in time as the pack closed in on prey they had cornered. In the ensuing battle, the Mastiffs won, but at a cost. Two of them had been so badly maimed they had to be shot, on the spot. My father was heartbroken, but what else he saw that day never left him. He had witnessed plenty of gruesome sights in his time, but nothing could prepare him for what he stumbled on. The woman was hardly recognizable as human, discarded like a piece of filth, left for dead by the dogs – the human kind. She had been brutally raped and tortured. God alone knows what else …”
Karl’s stomach tightened.
“Why didn’t your father just contact the police, let them try and find the perpetrators of such a heinous crime?”
“He couldn’t. My father had his own secrets. Before he became a well-respected doctor here, he had performed illegal abortions in his home country of Italy and was wanted by the authorities there. He was young and fearful of the past catching up with him if he contacted the police. Besides, he was more than competent of nursing my mother back to health. Even more so when she told him her attackers would return, just to make sure she was dead, and that some of them had connections to the police and prison service. He had no other choice than to get her out of there, as quickly as possible. She was correct. The attackers eventually returned, like dogs to their own vomit.”
Outside, the night seemed to have darkened. Karl was having second thoughts about coming here. Another shiver ran up his spine and it made him think of Tom Hicks standing over his naked dead body, cutting slices from it.
“Where did the photos come from, Jenny?” asked Karl, quickly trying to erase the morbid thought from his head.
“My father’s friend, an amateur photographer, was hoping to get some great picture of the wild dogs for the local newspaper. I will not reveal his name, because he is still alive, and prominent in social circles. Not only did he have the patience and courage to take the photos of the gang when they returned, he came up with the idea of leaving a trail of animal blood and scattered meat at the scene to give the appearance of an animal frenzy. The wild dogs’ bodies, cut-up beyond recognition, provided plenty of confusion.”
“But where does your mother come into all this, with McCully and co?”
For the first time, Karl noticed a slight hesitancy in the surefooted Jenny Lewis.
“My mother was being held in prison for possession of drugs. She was very young and foolish. The gang played on her addiction, renting her and other women out like a pieces of meat to the highest bidder, promising them early freedom and all the drugs they would ever need. They were truthful only about the latter …”
Karl was shocked by the calmness of the voice telling such a chilling story.
“I’m sorry, Jenny …”
“One night she had told another of the girls in prison that she had had enough of the horror of forced sex and drugs, and that she was going to escape the next time she was ‘rented out’ to a client. The prisoner my mother confided in, of course, sold this information to the perpetrators for extra drugs. You can imagine their reaction at hearing someone contemplating escape, possibly exposing what was going on in the prison …”
“They wouldn’t have been too happy, I’m sure.”
“If there is a redeeming factor in all this, it’s that my father and mother would never have met, and fallen in love. And of course, I would probably not have been born.”
“It was you sending me all the texts, because you feared I was getting too close, even if it was coincidental. Wasn’t it? You hoped the texts would divert me.”
“There were times we were practically stumbling over each other, you were that close. I couldn’t risk you finding out.”
“It was your father who helped you kill McCully. Wasn’t it?”
“That is neither here nor there, Mister Kane.”
“I checked the CCTV footage covering the building on the night of the murder. Something remarkable started to emerge.”
“Really?” Jenny’s face remained expressionless.
“Nothing could be seen. Almost perfect, as if the person or persons involved in McCully’s murder knew specific details on the weakness and blind spots of the surveillance cameras in that particular area. I was able to detect two shadows, though. Male and female they looked – if gender can be attached to shadows, that is.”
“Probably lampposts, Mister Kane. Or large plants.”
“Perhaps. One thing puzzles me though.”
; “What would that be?”
“Where does Andy Fleming fit into all this? He was never a prison guard – the opposite, in fact. According to the prison authorities down South, he had more records than Elvis. That was one of the reasons why it took so long to identify his fingerprints. Wilson couldn’t be bothered to ask the South for help.”
She shook her head, eyes looking away from Karl’s. “Mister Fleming was not involved in any of this. He was burglarising our home, and accidentally came across Donaldson down in our basement. Fortunately for me on that day – unfortunately for Mister Fleming – I had just come off duty as a uniformed officer, and was on my way home when I heard about a possible break-in here at my home, over the police radio. I quickly called in, telling headquarters that it was a false alarm, and drove as fast as I could. Mister Fleming was coming out of the house with a shotgun in his hands, just as I arrived …”
“How come Andy’s and Donaldson’s body parts ended up inside the wild boar?” asked Karl, staring directly into Jenny’s eyes. “I have a rather gruesome idea, but humour me, if you can.”
Jenny could not hold the stare. Glancing away, she said, “I came across two of them rummaging at the back of our garden. The zoo is less than a quarter of a mile away. Eventually, over the next day or two, I was able to entice one of them into our shed, using leftover food as an enticement. After that –”
“I get the picture,” said Karl, feeling his stomach heave slightly.
“I intended to kill the boar, after it had outlived its usefulness, but it escaped, back into the nearby forest, again, once it had fattened itself –”
“I get the picture,” repeated Karl.
“I only wish Mister Fleming had picked another house to burglarise. He wasn’t meant to be brought into all this.”
“It should have been the signal for you to end all the killings. Was one innocent life worth it all?”
“What’s done is done, and what has to be done, will be done.”
Her reply made Karl’s skin tingle in a bad way.
“You intend to carry out more killings? Why, Jenny? All the men in the photos have been eliminated and punished for what they did to your mother.”