All That's Dead

by Stuart MacBride

  A little defeated noise escaped from his mouth, then he sighed. ‘I’ll see what I can do. But it’ll take a while to get the sample run against the database. Gimme … an hour?’

  Dr McEvoy looked at Logan. ‘There you go, can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  King abandoned the fake greenery. ‘No, I understand. We’ll be right there.’ He hung up and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘We’re needed at the mortuary.’

  Logan stared at Jeffers. ‘We’ve got a press conference at two o’clock. Please: try and find something before then.’

  All he got in reply was a shrug.

  Which meant they were probably doomed.

  27

  Logan pushed through the door into the cutting room … Paused – King bumping into him as he stood there, sniffing.

  Something rancid and rotten. A burst bin-bag stuffed with off meat. The extractor fans were going full pelt, but the stench was still eye-watering.

  Isobel and Creepy Sheila stood in the middle of the room, arms folded, scowls on their faces as they glared across a cutting table at Steel. They were in scrubs and wellies, ready to go, but Steel was in her civvies, hands in her pockets, whistling something jaunty.

  A Jiffy bag sat on the table between them, its underside discoloured and soggy looking.

  Isobel raised her chin at Logan. ‘About time too!’ She jabbed an imperious finger in Steel’s direction. ‘Will you talk to your subordinate officer, Inspector McRae? She won’t sign the chain of evidence!’

  ‘Aye, I will.’ Steel held out her hands to Sheila. ‘Come on then; haven’t got all day.’

  Sheila whacked a clipboard down on the cutting table and Steel signed it with a flourish and a biro. ‘See, no’ so hard, was it?’

  King marched past Logan, into the room, looming over her. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

  ‘They wanted to open the package without the two of you, Kingy. I said no. See? Team player, me.’

  Isobel snapped on a pair of purple nitrile gloves. ‘Sheila, tell Mr Black we’re ready for him. The rest of you can suit up if you wish to remain.’

  Steel held a hand up. ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Sheila. Your Aunty Roberta will get the nice Mr Black for you.’ Then she turned and marched for the cutting room door, booted it open and stuck her head out. Deep breath. ‘GAV! GET YER ARSE OOT THAT CHUNTY, IT’S CLICKY-SNAPPY TIME!’

  A deep crimson blush bloomed across Sheila’s cheeks as she handed Logan and King a set of Tyvek coveralls, dumped another one on the worktop, then bustled off in the other direction.

  Steel swaggered over and struggled her way into the spare suit. ‘They never make these things long enough in the crotch.’ Hauling at it. ‘Like I’m sitting on a cheese wire.’

  A wee round man appeared in the doorway, in full SOC getup, a huge digital camera strung around his neck. ‘I would just like to say that I wasn’t in the toilet, I was finalising a crime scene report!’

  Logan pulled on his hood and zipped himself up. Tried not to smile.

  Steel helped herself a pair of purple gloves. ‘Oh, aye? You left the bog like a crime scene? Filthy wee bugger.’

  ‘That’s not what I—’

  ‘Bet you didn’t flush either.’ She wiggled her way into blue plastic booties, grinning at Isobel. ‘Men, eh?’

  Sheila returned with a couple of trays and some tools, laying them on the cutting table beside the Jiffy bag like last time. ‘Ready, Professor.’

  ‘Everyone: masks and safety goggles.’ And as soon as they’d complied, Isobel pointed at the photographer, snapped her fingers, then pointed at the Jiffy bag.

  Gav harrumphed, then fired off a couple of shots. ‘I wasn’t in the toilet.’ He checked the camera’s screen. Nodded.

  The camera clacked and bleeped as Isobel slit the bag open along the bottom and tipped the Jiffy bag up. A carrier bag slithered out onto the tray – the plastic filthy and dripping, sitting there, oozing brown watery liquid. The rancid meaty bin-bag smell increased about twentyfold. A stench so thick it was chewy.

  Logan backed off a couple of paces, wafting a hand in front of his face. It didn’t help. ‘God …’

  Steel curled her head away from the bag, voice choked: ‘Bet you’re glad I made them wait, now.’

  King shuddered. The sliver of skin between his mask and the goggles was getting paler, little beads of sweat shining on his cheeks, the camera’s flash bouncing off his plastic goggles.

  ‘The bag has been knotted by its handles.’ Isobel pointed with a purple finger. ‘There may be some viable DNA inside the knot where it’s been kept away from the decomposition products, so I’ll make my incision here …’ She slit the bag open along its base, then tipped the contents out onto the tray.

  King’s cheeks bulged and he gagged. ‘Oh … Jesus!’

  Steel hissed, retreating to the other side of the room, one hand clasped over her facemask.

  Logan’s stomach tried to claw its way up his throat and out of his body. He swallowed the bitterness down, but it tried to escape again.

  Five … things sat on the tray, surrounded by their little stinking lake of yuck.

  Isobel leaned in closer, her fingers smeared with brown and black as she teased the things apart. ‘The two flattened hemispheres are, or used to be, ears – the cartilage is still intact. This larger lump was a tongue.’ Then she prodded what looked like a pair of deflated testicles that had been marinated in HP Sauce. ‘And these were eyes, though clearly they’re in an advanced state of putrefaction.’ She looked up. ‘Mr Black, you’re supposed to be documenting this.’

  ‘Sorry.’ The flash clacked again, searing the slimy blobs of horror onto everyone’s retinas.

  King’s cheeks bulged again. He tore off his facemask, turned, and ran from the room.

  Isobel watched him go. ‘Well, that wasn’t very professional.’ Then prodded the remains again.

  ‘Urgh …’ Steel sidled up to Logan, keeping well away from the slithery mess on the tray. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m going vegetarian for dinner tonight.’

  Gav lowered his camera and peered at the Jiffy bag. ‘Professor? There’s something else in there.’

  ‘Is there indeed?’ Isobel reached in to pull whatever it was out. Shook her head. ‘It’s stuck to the lining.’ So she picked up her scalpel again and sliced the bag along the other two sides. When she folded them out of the way, it revealed a sheet of A4 paper – like the one that had come with Professor Wilson’s hands, only soaked through and filthy.

  Whatever was printed on it wasn’t readable from where Logan was, and there was no way in hell he’d be wading over there to look.

  Isobel frowned at the sheet, wrinkles deepening around her eyes. ‘I think it says … “three monkeys”.’

  A nod from Steel. ‘See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil.’

  Oh great.

  Logan cleared his throat. ‘The bits: are they … human?’

  ‘A reasonable question.’ Isobel prodded the squelchy lumps again. ‘Given the morphology, I’d be surprised if they weren’t, but we’ll need to run some tests to confirm it.’

  Today just got better and better.

  He nodded at the tray’s contents. ‘If someone did that to you, what’s the chance you’d still be alive afterwards?’

  ‘Unknowable.’

  Creepy Sheila shrugged. ‘The ears and eyes would cause a degree of blood loss, but the tongue would bleed a lot when you cut it out. There are women in India whose dickhead husbands have mutilated them like that for trying to escape abusive marriages, and they’ve managed to survive. Aren’t men just great.’

  Steel rocked on her heels, hands in her pockets again. ‘Which is why you should ask me about my radical lesbian feminist agenda.’ A nod. ‘I should get that on a T-shirt. “Ask me about my radical lesbian feminist agenda”. Save a lot of time at parties.’

  Logan looked down at the stinking remains. ‘So
Councillor Lansdale could still be alive?’

  ‘It’s—’

  ‘Unknowable.’ Isobel raised a hand. ‘Now, can we get back to examining the evidence, please? Some of us have children to pick up from school today.’

  ‘Gah …’ Steel shuddered on her way through the rear mortuary doors and into the sunshine. ‘Well that was fun!’

  ‘Whose fault’s that?’ He followed her up the stairs. ‘Yours, is whose.’

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but you and Kingy are completely and utterly comprehensively buggered. And I mean massive-great-big-strap-on buggered.’ She held both hands out, about two foot apart to show how massive-great-big it was. ‘With lumps on.’

  ‘You didn’t sign the paperwork because you wanted us to smell that, didn’t you?’

  Steel got to the top and turned a grin on him, blocking the way. ‘Team player, remember?’ She dragged out her e-cigarette and vaped up a big cloud of strawberry-and-lime. ‘Mind you, it’s a shame you convinced Hardie to stick his neck out, last press conference, and tell everyone Councillor Lansdale’s disappearance had sod all to do with—’

  ‘Yes, thank you; the thought had occurred.’

  ‘Rookie mistake, Laz. Never admit to anything, never confirm anything, and never volunteer for anything.’

  ‘You’re not helping.’

  She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Look on the bright side: as a lowly DS I’m out of the spatter zone. All the jobbies will be flying in you and Kingy’s direction.’ A wink, and she sauntered out onto the Rear Podium car park.

  The tarmac gripped at Logan’s feet, sun-softened and sticky as they made their way over to where DI King was bent double behind one of the patrol cars, hands on his knees.

  He’d managed to wriggle free from the top half of his SOC suit, the empty arms dangling around his ankles.

  Steel produced another bank of strawberry-and-lime fog. ‘Hope you’re no’ spewing your ring there, Kingy. Bunnets get enough puke to clean up as it is.’

  He straightened up. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Looked over Steel’s head at Logan. ‘This press briefing is going to be a disaster.’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  Logan glanced up at the bulk of Divisional Headquarters, glowering down on them in the blistering sunshine. ‘Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and the building will burn down first?’

  King paced from the filing cabinets in Hardie’s office to the whiteboard, to the filing cabinets, to the whiteboard. Hardie slumped behind his desk, hands covering his face.

  Jane McGrath stared at Logan as if he’d just slapped her, then curled up in the other visitors’ chair, knees against her chest, arms over her head. ‘Noooo …’

  Hardie peered out between his fingers. ‘So, let me get this straight: yesterday we told the world’s media that there was no connection whatsoever, and today Councillor Lansdale’s eyes, ears, and tongue turn up in a Jiffy bag?’ He covered his face again and muffled a scream. ‘For Christ’s sake!’

  Jane sagged in her seat. ‘They’re going to eat us alive, they really are.’

  ‘I think we’re well within our rights to not tell them about it.’ Logan shrugged. ‘It’s an ongoing case. We haven’t even confirmed the body parts are his yet.’

  Hardie peeked out again. ‘How could they not be his? They delivered them to his sodding office!’

  King paused on the way past. ‘Are we sure we want to go out with the statement about my past now?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I’m pulling the plug on that one. No statement.’

  ‘I think that’s—’

  ‘Hold on!’ Hardie lowered his hands. ‘We agreed this was the right time.’

  ‘It was the right time when we were ahead of the investigation! When we had a suspect and information and didn’t look like a bunch of utter morons.’

  Bit harsh.

  Logan turned to her. ‘We don’t look like—’

  ‘We told them there was no connection!’ She banged her fist off Hardie’s desk.

  ‘Because you swore there wasn’t!’

  ‘As far as I knew, there wasn’t! We didn’t know about the parcel. How were we supposed to know about the parcel?’

  ‘Don’t try to obfuscate this. You’re—’

  ‘Oh, what, we’re supposed to be psychic now? They sent Lansdale’s ears, eyes, and tongue to an empty office.’ Getting louder and louder. ‘It’s not my fault Mhari and Haiden are morons!’

  They glared at each other for a couple of breaths.

  Then Jane threw her hands in the air and treated the ceiling tiles to a rattling snarl. Then sagged in her seat again. Shook her head. ‘It’s too late to put a statement out. We should’ve done it right at the very start when I said we should. Now we’d need a breakthrough of massive proportions before we go anywhere near King’s past!’

  Hardie grimaced. ‘Or a sodding miracle.’

  As if they could ever be that lucky.

  Reporters and cameras packed the press briefing, every chair taken, with more standing along the far wall and down both sides, all staring up at the podium as Hardie finished the official update.

  Behind him, the screen displayed a pair of photographs – one of Haiden Lochhead, and one of whoever ‘Mhari Powell’ really was. ‘If you know these individuals, or have any information about their whereabouts, please: get in touch. You can make a real difference.’ Hardie nodded at Jane and sat down as she stood.

  Her smile didn’t exactly look genuine. To be honest, she looked as if she was about to stab someone. ‘Now, any questions?’

  An explosion of hands shot up, their owners shouting over each other, questions reduced to little more than a barrage of noise by the time they reached the podium.

  Jane looked even more stabby than before. ‘One at a time! One at a time!’ She pointed. ‘Yes: Alan.’

  The wee teuchtery man raised his iPhone. ‘Aye, fit aboot that video showing Professor Wilson in the chest freezer. Hiv you foond oot fa posted it?’

  King stuck his chin out. ‘We are investigating that at the moment.’

  ‘OK, who’s next? Phil?’

  ‘Philip Patterson, Sky News. Sources tell me a suspicious package was delivered to Councillor Matt Lansdale’s office last week and that you’ve seized it as evidence. My source says it stank of decomposing meat. Does the package contain Councillor Lansdale’s severed hands?’

  His fellow journalists turned to stare at him, hungry. Then back towards the podium in anticipation of a feed.

  Hardie folded his arms. ‘I think we’ll let Inspector McRae answer that one.’

  Rotten sod.

  Logan frowned, as if considering the question. Also known as stalling for time. There had to be a way to wiggle out of this … Aha! ‘A package was recovered from Councillor Lansdale’s office this afternoon. Its contents are being examined at the moment, but I can confirm the package does not contain Councillor Lansdale’s hands.’ Which had the benefit of being one hundred percent true and completely misleading. ‘I won’t expand on that any further for operational reasons.’

  The room exploded again – questions making a wall of jagged sound.

  ‘Anne Darlington, BBC. You claimed yesterday that Councillor Lansdale’s disappearance wasn’t linked to Professor Wilson’s. Are you now admitting you were wrong?’

  ‘We aren’t issuing any further comment on this aspect of our investigation for the time being.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why are you so afraid of the truth, Inspector?’

  ‘We’re not “afraid of the truth” we’re doing our job. Next question.’

  In the middle of the press pack, Edward Barwell stood, a big smile on his smug face. ‘I’ve got one for DI King.’

  Oh God, here we go …

  ‘What do you think Professor Wilson’s family will say when they find out what you did?’

  An audible ‘Oooo …’ went through the assembled journalists. Microphones, cameras, and p
hones swung around till they all pointed at Barwell.

  King just stared.

  ‘What’s the matter, Detective Inspector: terrorist got your tongue?’

  Fidgeting in the ranks.

  You could taste the anticipation in the air – sharp and metallic. Everyone waiting for Barwell to stick the knife all the way in and twist it.

  A deep breath, then King got to his feet. Cleared his throat. Looked out at the assembled ranks of cameras and microphones. ‘I have a statement I wanted to make before we started the briefing today, but it was felt that it might detract focus from the investigation.’ His right hand trembled. He clasped it in his left. ‘When I was sixteen, I did something very stupid in order to impress a girl …’

  Barwell sat back down and grinned.

  28

  King drooped in his seat, arms hanging limp at his sides, looking as if someone had shot his puppy and made him eat it.

  The waiting room outside the Chief Superintendent’s office wasn’t ostentatious – clearly Big Tony Campbell didn’t feel the need to flaunt his authority – nothing fancier than a desk and a couple of chairs, a pair of suspiciously healthy-looking house plants, and a spud-ugly assistant hammering away at a keyboard.

  King gave another long, hissing sigh as the sound of raised voices came from behind the closed office door again.

  Couldn’t make out any words, but the tone was clear: not – sodding – happy.

  Logan thumbed a text message into his phone:

  Jeffers – where are my DNA results? I told you we needed them ASAP!

  SEND.

  King turned in his seat, fixing Logan with those shot-puppy eyes. ‘I think that’s the most humiliating thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.’

  ‘Hmm?’ He pulled a face, hamming it up. ‘Try changing a screaming toddler’s nappy, when you’re dressed as a “Silly Pirate” and she’s got explosive diarrhoea.’ A shudder. ‘I still get flashbacks.’

  ‘They’re going to fire me, aren’t they?’

  ‘Bright orange, and it went everywhere. Like one of those dye-packs going off in a duffel bag full of stolen money.’

  That almost earned him a smile. ‘I know what you’re doing.’