Under the Skin

by E. E. Richardson

  And now it seemed there was a second skinbinder in the mix. The maker’s mark she’d glimpsed on the mastiff pelt wasn’t used by any of the country’s licensed skin shops, and she didn’t recognise it as an antique. Of course, that was Sally’s field of expertise, not hers. Pierce grimaced. She couldn’t drag a woman who was still recovering in hospital into this morass.

  In fact, it was better if she kept the whole of her team out of it. Maitland might have been content to just warn her off so far, but he could easily cause trouble if she kept investigating. Pierce was willing to take that risk, but she wasn’t about to drag the rest of the RCU down with her.

  When she got back to the car, she grabbed her notebook, and sketched the maker’s rune as best she could recall it. Part of the design had been obscured, but if she assumed basic symmetry...

  As police sirens wailed in the distance, she capped her pen and frowned over the inked scribble she’d produced. A little like an ankh with wings surrounded by a halo; not high art, but at least it was a lead.

  Now she just needed someone to decipher it—and luckily, she had someone in mind.

  GARY HOLLAND WAS strictly a small time crook, and even that was pushing it. In truth he was mostly just an enthusiastic collector, with a bad habit of getting carried away when it came to purchases that didn’t quite square with the law.

  He looked distinctly wary as he opened up the door of his small terraced house to let her step inside. “Chief Inspector,” he said, with a strained smile. He was an awkward little man, somewhere in his early thirties, with a bald spot and a taste for knitted jumpers that prophesied the old man he’d become. “Now, I don’t know what you’re looking for this time, but I can assure you, my collection is completely clean. No more Libyan scorpion sting charms for me!”

  It was hard not to feel a bit sorry for him. His twitchy mannerisms always made him appear guilty even when he was telling the truth—which he genuinely might be, this time round.

  Or maybe not. As she stepped into the house, Pierce was immediately reintroduced to the collection that cluttered every inch of space. If anything, it seemed Gary’s hoarding tendencies had grown since last she was here.

  Even the narrow hallway was lined with rows of shelves; she had to squeeze her way along. The contents made for a disturbing display: a mangy looking badger paw holding a candle stub; the skeleton of an eel with its eyes replaced by black stones; a taxidermied owl that had seen much better days. If there was a ritual artefact that had once been a live animal, Gary had it, or a framed, authenticated photo of it, or at the very least a set of books and articles about it.

  Shapeshifting pelts he didn’t have a licence to keep, but that didn’t stop him tracking down all there was to know about them.

  “You’re in luck, Gaz,” Pierce told him. “I’m not here to inventory your collection this time.” Though no doubt if she did, she would find more than a few things that shouldn’t strictly be there. “I’m here for your expertise.”

  She almost regretted the words when she saw how he puffed up. She suddenly imagined decades of fielding calls from him offering the RCU his expert guidance.

  Of course, the way things were going, Pierce might not be part of the Unit long enough for that to be her problem. And besides, right now she needed information, and she couldn’t go to anyone that Maitland might be watching.

  Gary ushered her through to the living room, as musty and cramped as the rest of the house. There was only one actual armchair, the rest of the space taken up by glass display cases and shelves. He scurried off to fetch a chair from the dining table. “Can I get you something to drink, Chief Inspector?” he asked from the doorway. “Erm, I’ve only got Diet Coke or soya milk, but...”

  Pierce demurred, not least because she didn’t want to contemplate what he might serve it up in. As she sat in the armchair, she found herself facing a goat’s head with both of its eyes stitched closed. It managed an accusing stare despite the lack of eyeballs. She was pretty sure that if she started asking about import certificates and licences for some of the more dodgy-looking items on display here, their owner would be in a world of trouble.

  Best to steer clear of that can of worms right now.

  Gary returned to the room with a straight-backed chair, setting it down close enough to hers to make eye contact uncomfortable. “So what can I do for you expertise-wise, Chief Inspector?” he asked with a nervous giggle.

  She decided to treat him like the professional he wanted to be. “I need to know more about shapeshifting pelts. I understand you’re an expert on maker’s marks.”

  He lit up at the words. “Oh, yes. I’ve read all the books—Foston’s Guide, European Skinbinders of the Middle Ages, Lost Artefact Pelts of the Ancient Masters...”

  “It’s a modern mark I’m looking for,” she interrupted. “Could be someone new on the scene. Would you know about that?”

  She wasn’t sure Gary would have known ‘the scene’ if it bit him—something it was quite likely to do—but he nodded enthusiastically all the same. “I’m on all the forums”—he remembered who he was talking to—“well, all the legal forums, obviously, heh, nothing dodgy.” His forehead crinkled and his eyes took on a hunted look.

  “Of course,” she said, suppressing a sigh. No point hoping that Gary was ever going to learn. She drew the sheet of notepaper from her pocket and unfolded it. “This is the rune. Do you recognise it?”

  He took the paper with a confident smile, but after turning it towards him he visibly paled. “Erm, this is a difficult one...” he hedged, and swallowed. “I’m not sure I can help you with this, Chief Inspector.” He looked pained.

  It could have been just the fact that his claim to expertise had foundered—but that didn’t fit the Gary that she knew. He would have prevaricated, ummed and erred a lot more and come up with creative reasoning to excuse his ignorance. Pierce narrowed her eyes.

  “Come on, Gary,” she said. “It’s not like you to be without a theory. Are you sure you haven’t seen it somewhere? Heard somebody mention a new skinbinder on the forums? If anyone would know, it’s you.” She held his gaze.

  Gary tugged uneasily at the collar of his jumper. “Er, well, as I say, it’s a bit of an unusual one... No, sorry, never seen it before,” he babbled, voice rising to a squeak by the end. He really was a quite appalling liar, but that never seemed to stop him trying it on.

  Time to play bad cop. Pierce leaned forward, putting some steel in her glare. “Come on, Gary! I know this is your area. People are hurt!” She opted not to mention that some of them were dead. She didn’t know what he might be scared of, but something had him spooked. “Sally Keane’s in hospital because of this case!”

  “What, Constable Sally?” His eyebrows furrowed in dismay. “Is she all right?” It was Sally they usually sent over to give him a talking to; she had more patience for him than the rest of the department.

  “She’ll live,” Pierce said brusquely. “But it was a close thing, and she’s not going to be the only victim if these people aren’t stopped.” She already wasn’t. “If I find out you have information on this and you’re keeping it concealed, there could be very nasty consequences.”

  Gary squirmed for a moment, then collapsed like a heap of blancmange. “You can’t tell anyone that I told you,” he said in a rush. “They’ll come after me. I’ll be assassinated. I’ll be banned from the forums for life!” It was hard to tell which he considered the more dire fate.

  “I’ll credit you as an anonymous source,” she promised.

  He brightened at that, and leaned forward to speak in a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re men in black,” he said. “Government stooges. That rune is the symbol of a top secret government department. They do all these assassinations, made to look like it’s just dog attacks. If you ever see those newspaper articles where people supposedly get killed by their own family pets? It’s them.”

  She should have guessed it would be that kind of conspiracy theorist bol
locks. But still, perhaps there was a small grain of truth beneath. Somebody somewhere had once had a reason to connect this rune to a government group.

  Like the Counter Terror Action Team, for instance?

  Pierce’s thoughts were grim as she left Gary’s house. It might be just the ravings of a few online conspiracy nutters, but it tied with what her instincts were telling her: Maitland was up to no good. Could he have sent the mastiff shifter to deal with some loose ends who knew too much?

  Either way, it seemed clear that he and his team were willing to let innocents die if it helped them achieve their goals. They’d had the opportunity to arrest Sebastian before last night, but instead they’d left him free to keep plying his dark trade until the RCU raid had forced their hand. Had they hoped to study him and learn his secrets before they took the risk of moving in?

  Or were they the ones who’d placed him at the farm in the first place?

  Her blood was boiling as she drove away. She was sure Maitland was dirty in some way, but what was she supposed to do about it? Take it to the Superintendent? He’d already admitted Maitland’s influence extended over his head. Pierce had no personal allies up there where the air was thin, and certainly not anyone who would take her word without proof.

  Where and how the hell she could get that, Pierce couldn’t begin to imagine.

  She was driving without any real destination in mind when she heard her phone ring from the passenger seat. She parked down the nearest side street and picked it up to check the display. Tim. Her stomach flipped. Why would Tim be calling her instead of Deepan?

  There could be any number of innocent explanations, but dire thoughts still circled through her mind. Something had happened to Sally. Something had happened to Deepan. Something had happened to Tim. “Tim?” she said as she picked up. “What’s going on?”

  A stomach-clenching pause before he spoke, voice low and hoarse. “DCI Pierce?”

  She thought she’d trained him out of being so formal.

  “What’s wrong? Is Sally all right?”

  Another pause. “Er, yeah, she’s fine. We’re all okay.” But he was still speaking barely above a whisper. “But... I need to speak to you. There was a body found in Leeds, a female skinbinder. Chief Inspector... they think you had something to do with it.”

  Pierce tensed, but she kept her voice level. “Who’s ‘they’?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

  “Um, the Counter Terror Action Team. They took all our files. They said we were compromised. They’re listening in on Sergeant Mistry’s phone now to see if you make contact, but I managed to sneak off.”

  “Smart thinking,” she said, but inside she couldn’t help but wonder. The stilted, careful way that he was speaking, the overly formal terms of address—was it just nervousness at the situation?

  Or was someone else listening in on the call?

  He might be calling under duress, or simply have been persuaded it was the right thing to do. Tim hadn’t been with the Unit long enough for her to expect the kind of loyalty she might from Deepan or Sally. She couldn’t blame him for taking orders from people who outranked his superiors.

  But if this was a trap, she might be able to spring it to her own advantage. She needed proof beyond doubt Maitland was playing dirty; this might well be her best chance to get it.

  All she had to do was make sure that she said all the right lines. “Listen, I had nothing to do with that girl’s death,” she said. “Someone’s trying to fit me up, and I’m pretty sure I know who and why. Are they watching my house as well as the station?”

  “They’re watching all our homes—but I know where we can meet.”

  Bingo. Pierce smiled grimly to herself. “Tell me.”

  There might be an ambush waiting there when she arrived... but it wasn’t going to take her unawares.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE ADDRESS THAT Tim gave her was for an industrial estate, sure to be safely devoid of witnesses after the close of business. It was still just faintly possible the meeting was for real and not a trap, but Pierce wasn’t prepared to bet her life on it. After Tim hung up, she considered her options.

  Contacting Deepan was out, and the same went for pretty much everybody at the station. There was no way to know who Maitland might be watching. Sally was out of the office, but in no condition to help—if anything, she might well be in danger herself. She’d seen the human skins in the barn, and if that mastiff shifter had been sent to deal with witnesses who knew too much...

  She cursed. Sally was a sitting duck at the hospital, and Mike wouldn’t be much help. There were a thousand and one ways to arrange for her to suffer a tragic accident, or even a death that looked like natural causes. Pierce wondered now if Henderson had truly died of his wounds, or if someone had taken advantage of his condition to get rid of somebody who’d seen the skinbinder’s face. She still hadn’t had a chance to speak to Leo.

  Maybe she should do that now.

  This time she was in luck, and he was there to pick up the phone after only a couple of rings. “Grey.”

  “Leo, it’s Claire Pierce,” she said. “Are you free to talk?”

  She heard a rustle of papers over the phone. “Yeah, I’m in the office. Go.”

  First things first. “Sorry to hear your man didn’t make it. He was a good officer. Saved all our backsides in there.”

  A brief pause that she knew was all she would get in the way of a show of emotion. “Appreciate the words,” he said, voice as gruff as ever. “Especially since I hear that you’ve got plenty on your plate. Something going down at your headquarters?”

  “Something that stinks to high heaven. Our friend Maitland who took over at the farm might not be what he seems. Turns out that skinbinder we’re after has learned some nasty tricks, and Counter Terrorism are willing to do whatever it takes to make sure news doesn’t get out. The skinbinder might even be one of theirs.”

  “Huh,” he said, after a brief pause. “Well, that’s only the second wildest tale I’ve heard today, but to be fair, the other one did involve you being wanted for murder.”

  “I’ve had a busy day. And it’s not over yet. Listen, I need a favour. Can you send someone you trust to keep a watch on Sally? I can’t risk showing my face at the hospital again, but it’s possible that she could be in danger.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Paranoia held her tongue. She knew Leo would never work with someone willing to sacrifice his people’s lives, but that didn’t mean that she could trust that his phone wasn’t bugged.

  “Private meeting. If you need me, ask my team where to start looking.” It was as much of a clue as she dared give.

  A pretty thin excuse for a safety net, but it beat being wholly alone. She checked the time on her phone after hanging up. Early yet for heading to her meeting with Tim, but if she could scope out the lie of the land before trouble caught up, all the better.

  Post-rush hour traffic clogged the roads on her drive back from Leeds, but as she turned off towards the industrial estate she shed most of the company. Isolated cars swished past as she drove down back streets lined with metal fences and near-empty car parks. The buildings were ugly square blocks with small, dim, grubby windows, no sign of anybody still inside. She passed an overgrown, abandoned stretch, strewn with plastic bags and piled with dumped tyres.

  It would be an equally good place to dump a body.

  Maybe it hadn’t been the smartest move in the world to come out here alone, but she was nothing if not stubborn. She took a left onto the industrial estate, passing under a raised barrier and into a cul-de-sac lined with shuttered units. Tim had given her the number of a unit where they could meet; how he’d managed to get access to the place, he hadn’t said.

  More points towards this being an ambush. But then, she’d still turned up to meet him anyway, so maybe they weren’t as stupid as all that.

  The potential need to make a quick escape outweighed her desire for stealth, a
nd she parked directly in front of the unit. No sign of Tim’s car, but there was a white van parked nearby with a nondescript logo for a company called Solomon Solutions. Could be legit, could be Maitland’s people. There was no way to know.

  Pierce checked her watch. Six-thirteen—earlier than they’d agreed.

  But was she the first one to arrive?

  She left the car unlocked when she got out, and kept the keys clutched in her hand. Both the ticket to her quick getaway and a makeshift weapon; she closed her fist around the key fob, leaving the keys sticking out between her fingers. That old classic of self-defence, not much use against someone well-trained and maybe armed, but enough to buy her time to get away.

  The door beside the closed shutter had a padlock, but a closer look showed it had been left unlocked. Rather than let herself in, she lifted the letterbox to steal a peek through. It gave a rusty creak, betraying her arrival, and all that she could see was blackness beyond.

  “DCI Pierce?” a faint voice said from within. Recognisably Tim, even with the raspy whisper.

  Didn’t mean it couldn’t be an ambush, but hopefully a sign it wouldn’t be a fatal one. Two RCU members killed on the same night would draw more attention than she thought Maitland wanted.

  Keys still readied, but tucked inside her pocket, Pierce turned the door handle with her left hand. She opened it only halfway, keeping the door between her body and potential attack. “Tim?” she said warily.

  “It’s just me,” he said, though he still spoke in a low voice. He stepped out from the shadows into the dim light spilling in through the door.

  He looked terrible, years older than the baby-faced twenty-something she’d left behind at the station just that morning. His face was grey and waxy, and behind the glasses his pale eyes were glazed. Even his hair looked limp, lacking its usual sculpted spikes. Christ, he looked worse than Sally, and she’d just had her throat slit.