‘It depends on the chemicals and the quality of the skin being tanned. Anything from a few hours to several days.’
‘And the process is the same for human skin as it is for leather?’
Rory grimaced. The whole subject matter was making him feel sick.
‘Of course. There’s no difference between human skin and animal skin as far as processing is concerned. I expect you’d need to treat it in a similar way to pigskin.’
‘How many of the tattoos do we have here?’ asked Rory. Anything to change the subject.
‘Definitely Jem Walsh’s scalp but no sign of Giselle’s arm or Evan’s tattoo,’ said Francis. ‘However, the search is by no means over.’
A SOCO came over and beckoned Rose.
‘Excuse me,’ she said and ducked away with him.
‘What’s your next move?’ said Francis to Rory.
‘We’ve got to locate Kirby and get him into custody. We’ve got plenty of evidence for an arrest warrant and I’ve already been onto the station to put out an APW for him. Angie Burton’s trying to find a picture of him to circulate.’
Now Sullivan would learn how an experienced cop handled things.
‘Do you think he’ll attempt another kill?’ said Rose, coming back to them.
Francis looked across at the wall of images. ‘He definitely seems to be targeting work by the Saatchi artists. However, once he realises we’re here, he’ll more than likely go to ground. In the meantime, you’ll need to identify every individual in these pictures and offer them protection.’ He was looking at Rory. ‘Maybe get Hollins to make contact with each of the tattoo artists in question and see if they can tell us who the pictures are of.’
Trying to take over again.
‘Already spoke to Hitchins about that.’ Rory made a mental note to do it ASAP. ‘Have you been inside the house yet?’ he added.
Francis shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
The inside of the farmhouse was crawling with SOCOs taking pictures and dusting for fingerprints. A white-suited sergeant came over to Francis and Rory as they stepped into the hall.
‘Nothing in here so far that obviously connects with the crimes,’ he said. ‘But there’s very definitely someone currently living here. Remains of breakfast in the kitchen which could only be this morning’s. Paperwork we’ve found so far all relates to one Sam Kirby. Seems he pays the bills, has his bank statements sent here.’
‘Thank you, Officer. Found a diary or a calendar yet?’
The SOCO shook his head and went back to his duties.
‘I wonder where he is,’ said Francis. ‘Looks like we were unlucky to have missed him.’
‘I think you mean lucky,’ said Rory. ‘Remember, you and Marni arrived on your own with no backup. Incredibly irresponsible. He could have answered the door with a knife in his hand.’
‘Well, he’s not going to come home now, with all this going on.’
‘Sir, sir!’ A uniformed policeman burst through the front door.
‘What?’ said Rory.
‘A man’s been spotted up at the far end of one of the fields. Looks as if he’s watching the property.’
‘Come on,’ said Francis, heading straight for the door. ‘It could be him.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Rory. But he wasn’t going to miss the chase.
The PC led them out of the house and diagonally across the yard. He pointed over the fields that sloped upwards in the direction of the Beacon and immediately a tall man in dark clothing broke cover and started running awkwardly up the hill, away from them.
‘Idiot,’ muttered Francis. ‘Now he knows we saw him.’
He set off at a run up the side of a ploughed field in the direction of the man. Rory followed but he had a decade-and-a-half, plus forty pounds, on Francis, so there was no hope of keeping up. And he detested running up hills. He could feel his chest tightening after the first fifteen metres.
Francis was widening the gap between them, but not making any ground on their quarry. He reached the top corner of the field and Rory saw him looking about for a way over the hedgerow. There was no gate or stile – that was at the opposite corner – and as Francis made a couple of abortive attempts to clamber over the barrier, the man who’d been watching them disappeared over the brow of the hill.
‘Damn it!’ Francis pulled out his phone. ‘No fucking signal up here,’ he stormed, as Rory finally reached him.
Rory bent double with his hands on his knees, panting loudly.
‘Looks like you need a fitness assessment,’ said Francis shortly, heading off back down the hill.
Rory remained where he was for a moment, swearing silently as he waited for his breath to return. There was something glinting at the bottom of the hedgerow.
‘Wait.’
Francis turned back. Rory traversed the shallow ditch at the bottom of the hedge and reached his hand through. His fingers grasped on cold metal, something sharp.
‘Ow!’
He pulled his hand back and looked at what he held. It was a knife, the blade so sharp it had cut his index finger across the middle joint on contact. Blood was dripping down onto the handle.
‘Nice work,’ said Francis.
‘Thanks,’ said Rory.
Francis pulled an evidence bag from the pocket of his SOCO suit and held it out. Rory deposited the knife gently inside the bag.
‘That wasn’t a fucking compliment. You’ve just contaminated what might be the most important piece of evidence we have.’
39
Francis
Petrol station flowers wouldn’t be the thing, but Francis didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. He’d taken Marni into a distressing crime scene and now he was going to disrupt her evening by asking her to look at pictures of it. He settled on vodka. She’d mentioned a favourite brand once and he’d be able to pick it up at the Asda superstore on his way back into the city from Ditchling.
The SOCOs had just about wrapped up for the day, though they’d be back in the morning. He’d arranged an overnight watch on the property in case Sam Kirby decided to return and spoke to Rose from the car. She was now back in the cool, calm ice palace of the morgue, examining Jem Walsh’s part-cured tattoo and a number of other pieces of tattooed skin they’d retrieved from the various barrels of chemicals. She’d already sent tissue samples off for DNA analysis, but there was no doubt in either of their minds that what they had found was Jem Welsh’s scalp. They’d also discovered what was presumably his flayed head – red and raw with open, staring eyes – in the freezer.
‘Keep me posted with whatever you find,’ he said to Rose and hung up, pulling into an empty space a few metres down the road from Marni’s house.
Rory had been on and off the phone to Bradshaw for most of the afternoon and, from what Francis could gather, the chief had actually sounded pleased with the case’s progress.
‘He thinks it’s a shame you didn’t wait for the bastard to get home before you went in,’ Rory reported, with a wry grin.
‘There was no way for us to know when we approached the house whether he was in or not,’ Francis had replied.
Typical bloody Bradshaw.
There was no answer when he tried Marni’s door, even though he could see lights on upstairs. He dialled her number.
‘Hello?’
‘I’m at your door.’
‘I’ve got the house to myself and I’m in the bath, Inspector. Go away.’
‘Marni, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. I’ll wait.’
Ten minutes later she opened the door and ushered him inside. She was bundled in a thick tapestry robe and her hair was gathered up in a damp ponytail. She smelled of sweet-scented bath oil.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, as he followed her through to the kitchen. ‘I shouldn’t have taken you inside that barn to
day.’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘It’s fine. It was more the mask over my face that was the problem than what you were showing me. I get claustrophobic and I couldn’t breathe.’
‘I brought you this.’ He held out his peace offering and her eyes lit up.
‘Now you’re absolutely forgiven. I was going to offer you wine, but after today’s experience maybe a couple of shots would be in order.’
Francis generally tried to avoid spirits but it had been a long day – and humouring Marni was certainly in order, seeing as he was about to ask for her help again.
‘Sure, why not?’
Marni cocked an eyebrow and took two shot glasses out of a cupboard. ‘Come on.’
They went through to the sitting room and Francis looked around. It was even more of a magpie’s lair than her studio – a snug hippy parlour that appeared to have been imported piece by piece from Rajasthan, Kathmandu and the Inca trail. He sank into a pile of kilim cushions on the deep sofa.
Marni lit an incense stick, then filled the two shot glasses to the brim. Francis noticed a slight tremor as she poured. Maybe the scene at the farm had had more of an effect on her than she was prepared to admit. She handed him one.
‘Neat?’ said Francis, with a barely suppressed shudder.
‘Yes, neat. But you don’t have to down it in one.’
He had no intention of doing so. He took a tentative sip, expecting a harsh burn at the back of his throat, but the sensation was surprisingly smooth. Marni sipped hers, looking relieved as the alcohol hit the spot.
‘I’ll corrupt you yet, Frank Sullivan.’
‘I think it’ll take more than a vodka shot to do that.’
She became suddenly serious.
‘Tell me what you discovered at Stone Acre Farm,’ she said.
He filled her in on what they’d found in the barn and the evidence that was emerging from the farmhouse. She’d grown pale as he described the various vats and their grisly contents. He noticed her hand shaking as she poured herself another drink.
‘It seems that Sam Kirby was watching us work. One of the PCs spotted a man in a field above the farm.’
‘Couldn’t have been a farmer, by any chance?’
‘Peering over the hedge with binoculars?’
‘Okay, not a farmer.’
‘We went after him but he got away. He did drop a knife, though.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to link it to the murders?’
Francis shook his head. ‘It’s not likely to be admissible as evidence, because that idiot sergeant picked it up, cut himself on it and bled all over it.’
‘Rory? Is he okay?’
‘Put it this way, the cut is nothing compared to his embarrassment.’
Francis finished his shot in a large gulp. This time he did feel the burn, but he rather enjoyed it.
‘I need your help again.’
Marni refilled his glass. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘The pictures – the tattoos that he hasn’t taken yet.’
Francis pulled his laptop out of his document case and opened it on the coffee table in front of them. He’d photographed each of the images pinned to the wall in the Tattoo Thief’s barn, and now he wanted Marni to tell him which ones she recognised.
‘It’s a long shot,’ she said. ‘Even the artists who did them might not have kept records of their clients’ contact details.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Francis. ‘But we’ve got to find out any way we can, so we can offer these people protection. Until we’ve got Sam Kirby in custody, we have to assume they’re in danger.’
‘What are you doing to catch him?’
‘Rory’s just rolled out a massive manhunt. He’s heading up a task force and seeing if his vehicle can be traced. It’s hard to know where he’d hide, so it’s just as important to find these potential victims. Unfortunately, one of them might lead us right to him.’
Marni spent the next hour poring over the pictures but she didn’t know who any of them were. ‘Email them to me and I’ll share them round,’ she said. ‘Someone will know who they are.’
Francis shut his laptop and finished his shot.
‘I’d best be going.’
‘Have you eaten since we had breakfast?’
‘No.’ He hadn’t really noticed it up until now but at the thought of food his stomach cramped with hunger.
‘Pasta?’
Apparently pasta couldn’t be consumed without red wine in the Mullins household and, though Francis did his best to decline, Marni would hear none of it.
‘Where’s your son?’ asked Francis, sucking spaghetti through pursed lips.
‘Staying at a friend’s.’
‘So he’s not going to follow the family trade?’
‘He won’t even have a tattoo,’ said Marni, laughing.
‘No doubt he’ll see sense when he’s older,’ said Francis wryly.
‘Tell me about your family.’
Where to begin?
‘I’ve a mother, and a sister.’
‘Do they live in Brighton?’
‘They both have multiple sclerosis. My mother’s in a care home in Saltdean, and my sister lives in a sheltered housing scheme in Hove. It means she can keep her independence but know there’s help around if necessary.’
Marni nodded. ‘At least they’re close enough for you to see them.’
‘I don’t go as often as I should.’
‘And your father?’
‘He’s long gone.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Marni, pouring him some more wine.
Francis shook his head ruefully. ‘He’s not dead. He left us after my sister got her diagnosis, when we were both still teenagers. Seemed like he couldn’t cope with having two invalids to care for.’ Despite all the years that had passed, it was a struggle for Francis to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
‘Leaving you with a heavy burden?’
‘They’re not a burden,’ Francis snapped. ‘I’ll always be there for them, and they’re the reason why I take my job so seriously. I want to make sure they get the very best care that’s available, and that costs money.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. And you’ve been successful so far, haven’t you? You’re young for a DI.’
It was a hard question to answer.
‘Well, a lot of people at John Street thought I was promoted above my ability. Now I’ve been taken off my first case, so that could be it as far as my career goes. Successful isn’t quite the word I’d use.’
‘But today you made a big break. Surely Bradshaw will see that.’
‘Knowing who the killer is and having him in custody are two different things. He’s on the run – he might simply vanish. Or he might kill himself. We need to get him into a courtroom. Anything less than that’s a cock-up. And Bradshaw and Rory will be doing all they can to take the credit if it’s a success.’
He didn’t talk to people about his family or his job, ever. So why was he doing it now, with Marni Mullins? Exhaustion washed over him.
‘Sorry to bore you with all that.’
‘Other people’s lives are never boring,’ said Marni. ‘I couldn’t be a tattoo artist if I thought that.’
‘People tell you things while you tattoo them?’
‘Always. It’s almost a form of therapy for some people.’
‘Did you tattoo people in prison?’
She looked shocked by the question.
‘Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said. Then she shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t tattoo anyone in prison. I was in no fit state. I couldn’t cope and the other women in there treated me like a pariah. I was the English bitch who’d stabbed a Frenchman – no one ever bothered to ask why, or what had happened. They
made their own minds up.’
‘How long you were there for?’
‘It wasn’t long – just a few weeks. I was in the late stages of pregnancy with twins.’
Francis was appalled. ‘They sent you to prison when you were about to have twins?’
‘The judge wasn’t a particularly sympathetic man.’
‘You knew you were having a multiple birth?’ She’d mentioned the fact that she’d lost a child, but Francis was shocked to learn that it had been one of twins.
She nodded. ‘I was attacked in the shower block, and I miscarried one of the babies. They moved me to a hospital to monitor the remainder of my pregnancy. By the time Alex was born, I’d served most of my sentence and a judge released me.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘It was a bad time.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Francis again.
The conversation lapsed. Francis tried to think of a way of changing the subject without it seeming contrived. Marni fidgeted with a paper napkin.
‘Have you . . .?’
‘Did you know . . .?’
They both started talking at once, then stopped again.
‘You go,’ said Francis.
Marni shook her head. ‘No, you.’
But Francis had forgotten what he was about to say.
‘Look, I’d better be going. Thank you for the food and the wine.’
He stood up and made a move to pick up the empty supper plates. His leg caught on the corner of the coffee table and he staggered slightly.
‘Whoa!’ Marni steadied him with an arm and they stood facing each other.
Francis grinned. ‘I think I’m a little bit drunk.’
‘I think you’re a lot drunk, Frank.’
‘Don’t call me Frank.’ He studied the face in front of him, realising for the first time how much he liked it. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t usually drink, so I haven’t a head for it.’
‘That’s fine,’ she said. ‘But you can’t drive. I think you’d better stay here.’
It seemed like a good idea to Francis. Such a good idea that he thought he’d better kiss her.
So he did. She kissed him back. To Francis, it seemed like the start of something.
Something good.
The Tattoo Thief Page 21