The Chemistry of Death

by Simon Beckett

  She didn’t have any insulin.

  She couldn’t even guess how long it was since her last shot. She had no idea how long she’d been here. She’d given herself her usual injection in the morning, but how long ago was that? If her next wasn’t already overdue, it soon would be. Without insulin there was nothing to regulate her blood sugar, and she knew only too well what would happen when it started to rise.

  Don’t think about that, she told herself, sharply. Think about getting out of here. Wherever here is.

  Stretching out her hands, she’d begun mapping the physical limits of her prison as far as the rope would allow. Behind her was a rough wall, but on the other three sides her hands met only air. Then, as she groped in the darkness, her foot kicked something. She gave a cry and stumbled away. When nothing else happened she crouched down and cautiously felt for the object again. It was a shoe, she thought, testing it with her fingers. A trainer, too small to be a man’s…

  She dropped it as realization swept over her. Not a trainer, but a running shoe. A woman’s.

  Lyn Metcalf’s.

  For a while fear threatened to overwhelm her. Ever since she’d felt the rope around her leg Jenny had been trying to hold back the knowledge that the killer must have selected her for his third victim. Now it had been brutally confirmed. But she couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not if she wanted to get out of this.

  Moving nearer the wall until the rope was slack, she explored the knots with her fingers. They might as well have been cast from the same iron as the ring itself for all the play in them. The noose wasn’t tight enough to cause her pain, but it was too small for her to free her foot. Trying only rubbed the skin of her ankle raw.

  After that she braced her untethered foot against the wall and heaved as hard as she could. Neither the rope nor the iron ring had budged, but she’d still pulled until her head pounded and flashbulbs popped and burst behind her eyes.

  It was as they faded and she lay gasping for breath that she’d noticed the chinks of light. Light meant a way out, or at least something else beyond this black prison. But wherever it was coming from remained out of reach. Lowering herself to the floor, she moved to the furthest extent of the rope and stretched out. Tentatively, she put out her hand. It met something hard and unyielding less than a foot away. Jenny slowly ran her fingers over it, feeling the splintery texture of unplaned wooden planks.

  The slivers of brightness were coming through cracks and gaps between them. One of them was right in front of her, slightly bigger than the rest. She edged closer. She flinched as her eyelashes brushed against the wood’s rough surface, then carefully put her eye to the crack.

  Through it she could see part of a long, deeply shadowed room. A basement or cellar, by the look of it, which would explain the subterranean dampness of the air. The walls were unpainted stone with the look of age about them. There were shelves filled with jars and tins, all of them dusty and old. Opposite her was a wooden workbench, with a vice and a variety of tools spread out on it. But that wasn’t what made her breath catch in her throat.

  Hanging from the ceiling, like obscene pendulums, were the mutilated bodies of animals.

  There were dozens of them. Foxes, birds, rabbits, stoats, moles; even what looked like a badger. They undulated queasily, stirred by some faint draught like the surface of an inverted sea. Some were suspended by their necks, others by their hind legs, displaying blind stumps where their heads should have been. Many of the small corpses had rotted to skin and bone; empty eye-sockets stared blankly back at her.

  Choking off a cry, Jenny pushed herself away from the planks. Now she knew what the foul smell was. And then the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise as something else occurred to her. She stood up and slowly felt above her head. Her fingertips brushed something soft. Fur. She snatched her hand back, then forced herself to reach up again. This time she felt the soft stir of feathers, swaying slightly from her touch.

  There were animals hanging above her as well.

  She let out an involuntary cry and ducked down to the floor, scrabbling along it till her back was against the wall. She broke down then, hugging herself as she sobbed. Gradually, though, the tears stopped. She wiped her eyes and nose. Wuss. Crying wasn’t going to do any good. And the creatures above her were dead. There was no harm in them.

  Gathering her resolve, she moved to the plank wall and put her eye to the crack once more. The room beyond was unchanged. No-one was there. And now she noticed something the shock of seeing the dead animals had made her overlook. Behind the workbench was a recess. What little light there was in the cellar was spilling from this; a dim, artificial glow. Just visible in it, rising out of sight, was a flight of steps.

  The way out.

  Jenny looked at them hungrily, then moved back from the crack and gave the planks an explorative push. Resting on her knees, she slammed both hands against them. The impact jarred her arms and drove splinters into her palms. The wooden wall didn’t budge.

  But the effort made her feel better. She drove her hands against it again and again, each blow exorcising a little more of the fear that threatened to paralyse her. Breathless, she moved back until the rope was slack enough to allow her to sit down. Her tethered leg had cramped, and the exertion had made her headache and thirst worse, but she felt a grim satisfaction. She held on to it, refusing to consider how little she had actually achieved. The planks weren’t impassable. Given time she felt she could get through them. Except you don’t know how much time you’ve got, do you?

  Pushing that thought from her mind, she felt for the rope and began working at the knot.

  CHAPTER 22

  NEXT MORNING WHEN I turned on the news I heard that a suspect had been arrested.

  I’d spent a largely sleepless night sitting in a chair for the most part, both hoping and dreading that Mackenzie would ring. But my phone had stayed silent. At five o’clock I’d got up and showered. I sat outside, watching numbly as the world came to life around me. After nearly an hour I went back indoors. I avoided putting on the radio, knowing what the main news story would be. Soon, however, the quietness of the house had become oppressive, and not listening was even worse. When the time came for the eight o’clock news bulletin I gave in and switched it on.

  Even so, I wasn’t expecting to hear anything I didn’t know already. I’d been about to make myself a coffee, and as I filled the percolator the noise from the tap drowned out the first few seconds of the broadcast. But I heard the words ‘arrest’ and ‘suspect’, and frantically turned off the water.

  ‘…identity hasn’t been revealed, but police confirm that a local man was arrested late last night in connection with the abduction of schoolteacher Jenny Hammond…’

  The newsreader then went on to the next item. What about Jenny? I wanted to yell. If they’d arrested somebody, why hadn’t they found her? I realized I was still gripping the percolator. I banged it down and grabbed the phone. Come on, answer, I prayed, as I dialled Mackenzie’s number. It rang several times, but just when I expected his voicemail to cut in he picked up.

  ‘Have you found her?’ I demanded before he could say anything.

  ‘Dr Hunter?’

  ‘Have you found her?’

  ‘No. Look, I can’t talk now. I’ll call you back—’

  ‘Don’t hang up! Who’ve you arrested?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’

  ‘He’s not been charged, and we’re not releasing his name yet. You know how it works.’ He sounded apologetic.

  ‘Has he told you anything?’

  ‘We’re still questioning him.’

  In other words, no. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You said you’d call if anything happened!’

  ‘It was late. I was going to let you know this morning.’

  ‘What, you thought you’d be disturbing me?’

  ‘Look, I know you’re worried, but this is a police investigation—’
/>   ‘I know. I’ve been involved in it, remember?’

  ‘When I can tell you anything I will. But right now we’re questioning a suspect, and that’s all I can say.’

  I fought back the urge to shout at him. He wasn’t the type to respond to threats. ‘The radio said it was a local man,’ I said, fighting for calm. ‘That means before long everyone in the village will know who it is, whether you like it or not. I’m going to find out eventually. It just means I’ll spend the next couple of hours trying to guess what’s true and what isn’t.’ All at once I felt I hadn’t the energy to argue. ‘Please. I need to know.’

  He hesitated. I said nothing, giving him chance to convince himself. I heard him sigh. ‘Hang on.’

  The phone was muffled. I guessed he was moving out of earshot of whoever else was with him. When he came back on his voice was hushed.

  ‘This is strictly confidential, all right?’ I didn’t bother answering. ‘It’s Ben Anders.’

  I’d been prepared for it to be a name I recognized. But not that one.

  ‘Dr Hunter? You there?’ Mackenzie asked.

  ‘Ben Anders?’ I repeated, stunned.

  ‘His car was seen near Jenny Hammond’s in the early hours of the morning before she went missing.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘No, that’s not all,’ he snapped. ‘We found equipment for making traps in the back of it. Wire, wire cutters. Wood for stakes.’

  ‘He’s a nature reserve warden, he probably uses them at work.’

  ‘So why was his car outside Jenny Hammond’s house?’

  I was still struggling to take this in. But my mind was starting to work now. ‘Who saw it there?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘You had a tip-off, didn’t you? An anonymous tip-off.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ His voice had become suspicious.

  ‘Because I know who made it,’ I said, with sudden conviction. ‘Carl Brenner. You remember I told you Ben thought he was poaching? They had a fight a few nights ago. Brenner lost.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean anything,’ Mackenzie said, stubbornly.

  ‘It means you should ask Brenner what he knows about this. I can’t believe Ben’s got anything to do with it.’

  ‘Why not? Because he’s a friend of yours?’ Mackenzie was angry now.

  ‘No, because I think he’s been set up.’

  ‘Oh, and you don’t think that might have occurred to us? And before you ask, Brenner happens to have a solid alibi, which is more than your friend Anders has. Did you know he’s an ex-boyfriend of Sally Palmer?’

  The news wiped away anything I might have said.

  ‘They had a relationship a few years ago,’ Mackenzie continued. ‘Just before you moved to the village, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ I said, dazed.

  ‘Perhaps he forgot to mention it. And I bet he also forgot to mention he was arrested for sexually assaulting a woman fifteen years ago, didn’t he?’

  For the second time I was lost for words.

  ‘We were already looking at him even before we got the tip-off. Amazingly enough, we’re not complete idiots,’ Mackenzie went on, remorselessly. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a busy morning.’

  There was a click as he broke the connection. I hung up myself. I didn’t know what to think. Ordinarily I would have sworn Ben was innocent. I was still convinced the anonymous tip-off had come from Brenner. The man was small-minded enough to want to settle the score with Ben any way he could, regardless of the consequences.

  Still, what Mackenzie had said had shaken me. I’d no idea that Ben used to have a relationship with Sally, far less that he’d a history of assault. True, there was no reason why he should have told me, and probably every reason for him not to under the circumstances. Now, though, I couldn’t help but question how well I knew him. The world is full of people who’ve insisted the person they know can’t be a killer. For the first time I wondered if I was one of them.

  But far more worrying was the possibility that the police were wasting precious time on the wrong man. All at once my mind was made up. I grabbed my car keys and ran out of the house. If Brenner had lied to incriminate Ben, he had to be made aware of the cost to Jenny of what he was doing. I needed to know one way or the other, and if necessary convince him to tell the truth. If not…

  If not I didn’t want to think about what would happen.

  The sun was already hot as I drove through the village. There seemed more police and press than ever before. The journalists, photographers and sound engineers huddled around in disgruntled groups, frustrated in their attempts to interview the closed-mouthed locals. I couldn’t bear to think they were here because of Jenny. As I passed the church I saw Scarsdale in the graveyard. On impulse I pulled over and got out. He was talking to Tom Mason, wagging a bony finger as he delivered his instructions to the gardener. When he saw me approaching he broke off, his face folding into planes of displeasure.

  ‘Dr Hunter,’ he said, coldly, by way of greeting.

  ‘I need a favour,’ I told him, bluntly.

  He couldn’t quite conceal a glimmer of satisfaction. ‘A favour? Quite a novelty, your needing to ask me for anything.’

  I let him have his moment. There was more at stake here than pride, his or mine. He made a show of looking at his watch.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait. I’m expecting a phone call. I’m due on air for a radio interview shortly.’

  Any other time I might have been irritated by his tone of self-importance, but now I barely noticed. ‘This is important.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind waiting, will you?’ He cocked his head as the sound of a phone ringing came from an open door at the side of the church. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’

  I wanted to grab him by his dusty lapels and shake him. I was even tempted to walk away myself. But Scarsdale’s presence might help if I was going to appeal to whatever passed for Brenner’s better nature. After the previous night when I’d almost knocked him down, I doubted he’d listen to me if I went alone. So I said nothing and waited as Scarsdale hurried inside.

  The sound of garden clippers gradually penetrated my preoccupation. I looked over to where Tom Mason was carefully trimming the grass around a flowerbed and doing his best to pretend he hadn’t heard the exchange. Belatedly, it occurred to me that I hadn’t even acknowledged him.

  ‘Morning, Tom,’ I said, trying to sound normal. I looked around for his grandfather. ‘Where’s George?’

  ‘Still in bed.’

  I hadn’t even known he was ill. It was yet another sign of how I’d let the practice slip. ‘His back again?’

  He nodded. ‘Few more days and he’ll be fine, though.’

  I felt a stab of guilt. Old George and his grandson were Henry’s patients, but home visits were my responsibility. And the old gardener was such a fixture in Manham I should have noticed he wasn’t around. How many other people had I let down lately? And was still letting down, because Henry would be taking this morning’s surgery without me yet again.

  But fear for Jenny overrode anything else. The need to do something—anything—started to bubble over as the pompous drone of Scarsdale’s voice drifted through the open doorway. I felt light-headed with impatience. The sunlight in the churchyard seemed too bright, the air sweetly nauseous with scents. Something was tugging at my subconscious, but whatever it was vanished as I heard Scarsdale hang up. A moment later he emerged from the church office, looking self-righteously pleased with himself.

  ‘Now, Dr Hunter. You were asking for a favour.’

  ‘I’m going to see Carl Brenner. I want you to come with me.’

  ‘Indeed? And why should I do that?’

  ‘Because there’s more chance that he’ll listen to you.’

  ‘About what?’

  I glanced at the gardener, but he’d moved away, engrossed in his work.

  ‘The police have arrest
ed someone. I think they could be making a mistake because of something Carl Brenner told them.’

  ‘This “mistake” wouldn’t involve Ben Anders, by any chance?’ My expression must have been answer enough. Scarsdale looked pleased with himself. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s hardly news. He was seen being taken away. You can hardly keep something like that quiet.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who it is, I still think Brenner gave the police false information.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘He’s got a grudge against Ben. It’s a chance to get his own back.’

  ‘But you don’t know for certain, do you?’ Scarsdale’s mouth pursed censoriously. ‘And Anders is a friend of yours, I believe.’

  ‘If he’s guilty he deserves everything he gets. But if not the police are wasting time on a dead end.’

  ‘That’s for them to decide, not the village doctor.’

  I tried to stay calm. ‘Please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dr Hunter, but I don’t think you appreciate what you’re asking. You’re talking about interfering in a police investigation.’

  ‘I’m talking about saving someone’s life!’ I almost shouted. ‘Please,’ I repeated, more quietly. ‘I’m not asking for me. A few days ago Jenny Hammond sat in your church while you spoke about the need to do something. She might still be alive, but she won’t be for much longer. There isn’t…I can’t…’

  My voice broke. Scarsdale was watching me. Unable to speak any more, I shook my head, started to walk away.

  ‘What makes you think Carl Brenner will listen to me?’

  I took a moment to recover before I turned back to him. ‘You started the patrols. He’s more likely to take notice of you than he is me.’