‘OK, so I have news,’ Gary said, beaming.
‘What’s your news, Gary?’ DCI Kapoor said.
‘Well, these aren’t the only two professors who have died recently.’
‘What? No one mentioned another professor dying when we were up at the uni,’ Imogen said.
‘That’s because it didn’t happen there.’
‘Where did it happen?’ DCI Kapoor asked.
‘Bristol.’
‘How did the victim die?’ Imogen asked.
‘Violently. It wasn’t in the news because of all the batshit North Korean stuff dominating the agenda at the time. I like to read all the local stuff and so I tried to remember where I had seen something about a uni professor dying.’
‘Professor of what?’
‘Genetics.’
‘Right. That’s not a humanities subject, is it?’ Imogen said.
‘No, you are correct. It’s not. But the genetics professor at Exeter, Helen Lassiter, takes some of the humanities classes as she is mega-qualified in, like, everything.’
‘Was she one of the professors you spoke to about Norris’s murder?’ DCI Kapoor asked Adrian.
‘She’s away currently,’ Adrian said. ‘They said she would be back by the end of the week.’
DCI Kapoor turned to Gary. ‘So, tell us about this other professor, the one that was murdered in Bristol.’
‘His name was Professor Robert Coley.’
‘Coley? Like the fish?’ Adrian said.
‘That’s right and get this … he was filleted,’ Gary said.
‘What do you mean?’ Imogen said.
‘His spine was taken out.’
‘Say what now?’ Adrian said.
‘His spine was removed.’ Gary nodded with his eyebrows as far up into his hairline as they would go.
‘Removed?’ Imogen asked, unsure what that meant, even though Gary wasn’t exactly mincing his words.
‘A precision affair, too. No messing around. I spoke to the coroner briefly and she’s sending over the full report. She spoke to our own coroner and they compared notes. The long and short of it is, we think there’s a connection.’
‘Do we think the same person killed Hugh Norris?’ Imogen said.
‘Maybe, maybe not. There could be various reasons why his crime scene was so different.’
‘What do we know about Hugh Norris?’ DCI Kapoor said.
‘We know one of his students committed suicide a few months back. Owen Sager,’ Imogen said. The more she tried to connect the dots, the further apart they seemed to get.
‘Was that a genuine suicide, do you think?’ Gary asked excitedly.
‘I guess there’s only one way to find out.’ DCI Kapoor stood up gathered her papers. ‘I’ll order an exhumation and you see if you can find a way to connect all of these dots together. Someone knows something. Re-interview people and I will get on to Bristol and see what their DCI has to say about their murder. Great work, guys.’
DCI Kapoor left the room.
‘Are those photos of the spineless professor?’ Adrian held his hand out towards Gary.
Gary handed them over. Imogen peered over Adrian’s shoulder as he looked through the pictures.
‘What the hell is wrong with people?’ Imogen said; it seemed to be becoming her mantra.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Adrian said.
‘We keep trying to connect these things together. It just can’t be a coincidence. Maybe if we interview that genetics professor when she gets back we can get ahead of this thing. Are we looking for two killers, one methodical and one inexperienced? Are they a team? Or just someone who is all over the place?’ Imogen said.
‘I think we are looking at maybe a team or a copycat, God knows. Maybe it’s one person with an MO we haven’t figured out yet. I’m so fucking confused,’ Adrian said.
‘You can say that again. All we do know is that this all centres around the university.’
‘What do you need me to do?’ Gary asked.
‘Gary, you are always ten steps ahead of everyone, just do what you do.’ Imogen smiled; aside from Adrian, Gary was the only person she could absolutely rely on.
She was grateful that things between her and Adrian had resumed their normal level of discomfort. Adrian had managed to file the kiss between them as irrelevant; he barely even flinched when he saw her, and she had been expecting some extreme awkwardness. The last thing she needed was for this to become a problem. She was still adjusting to being alone, still adjusting to losing her mother. She really didn’t need any other complications.
Chapter Seventeen
The pathologist stood by the body of Owen Sager; it had completely broken down already and Adrian couldn’t see how they would be able to get any useful information from this. Bits of him were in bowls and the smell was incredible. Three months might have been the worst time to exhume a body, it certainly smelled like it. Adrian resisted the urge to throw up, but he decided when he was done here he would phone up and cancel dinner with his family.
‘The body of Owen Sager,’ the pathologist said. ‘On further examination, it seems unlikely this was a suicide.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Adrian asked.
‘In suicidal hanging there is scarcely ever any internal evidence of neck injury at all. Suicidal hanging is usually pretty gentle as the person is compliant with their own death. Apparently, it’s painless and can practically be done lying down,’ the pathologist explained.
‘But that’s not the case with Owen Sager?’ Imogen said, her voice cracking a little as she tried not to inhale any more than necessary. At least Adrian wasn’t the only one struggling in here.
‘His hyoid and his mandible were fractured. This suggests someone else was involved. The hyoid is well protected in the neck. It takes an amount of force to break it.’
‘Was there an autopsy of this kid before?’ Adrian said.
‘No. The investigators at the time were confident it was suicide.’
‘His mother didn’t seem to think he was suicidal,’ Imogen said.
‘There is some clear evidence of historical abuse and self-harm on his body. It’s also quite well documented in his medical files. He had spoken to his GP about depression only a week before. It’s entirely possible they looked at that and decided the kid just wanted a way out, didn’t want to put the mother through any more trauma.’
‘OK, thanks. Let us know if you find anything else unusual,’ Adrian said, eager to get out of there. He still hated being around dead bodies.
Adrian and Imogen left the pathologist’s office and went to grab a coffee. Adrian hadn’t been round to Imogen’s house since she had turned up at his and they had kissed. He felt quite lucky that he was able to compartmentalise and push his feelings to one side for the time being.
‘So, we’ve gone from two murders to four murders, probably connected but not the same killer,’ Imogen said.
‘Who do you think killed Owen Sager?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe someone else entirely. The other three murders are nowhere near as ambiguous.’
‘So, we have four murders and two or three murderers. Seems unlikely,’ Adrian said.
‘I think we need to speak to that genetics lecturer at the university. She was due back in today, wasn’t she? Maybe she can shed some light on all of this.’
‘Let’s swing by there now then,’ Adrian said.
Imogen put the car into gear and they pulled away. Adrian liked to watch Imogen drive – she got a look of intense concentration mixed with complete control, it was a little mesmerising.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You haven’t really spoken to me about your mother,’ Adrian said, noting her back straighten slightly at the mention of Irene Grey.
‘You’ve never really spoken to me about yours,’ she threw back, jarring him a little, too.
‘Mine didn’t just die.’
‘There’s nothi
ng to talk about really. I don’t have anything to say. If I do, I promise I will talk to you about it.’
‘Well, I might understand is all.’
‘Thank you. In all honesty, Adrian, I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. Part of me feels like she is still on holiday with Elias and that she will be back soon.’
‘Grief can be a bit like that, ’til it smacks you in the face every now and again to remind you what you’ve lost.’
‘Do you still think about your mother?’
‘Of course I do. I kind of hope she found some peace.’
‘We’ve spoken about your dad loads, but you’ve never told me much about her.’
‘Well, maybe one day I will, but not today. Nice diversion though, making this about me,’ Adrian said, his tone a little sharper than he had anticipated. She had hit a nerve he forgot he had.
They pulled into the uni car park near the humanities block and Imogen cranked the handbrake loudly. Adrian got out and walked ahead. When he got inside there was no one at the reception. He dinged on the bell repeatedly until an exasperated old man appeared from a back office.
‘Can I help you?’
He pulled out his warrant card and showed it to the woman. ‘I am DS Miles and this is DS Grey. We want to speak to Helen Lassiter. She was due back today.’
‘She was, yes, but she didn’t turn up for work this morning. I have been trying to get hold of her. I was about to send someone over there to see if she was all right.’
‘No need, we’ll find out for you. What’s her address?’ Adrian said.
The old man scribbled an address down on a piece of paper and slid it under the glass.
‘And what’s your name?’ Imogen asked, flipping open her notepad ready to write it down.
‘I’m Doctor Marcus Pike, one of the ethics professors here at the university.’
‘OK. We’ll be in touch.’
Outside, Helen Lassiter’s house was quiet. Her car was parked in the driveway, but there were no signs of anyone being inside. Adrian and Imogen walked to the side of the house and looked through the window. There was a dirty coffee mug on the side near the sink – but no Helen Lassiter. Adrian noticed some of the drawers were open in the kitchen, which was odd. People didn’t generally leave several drawers open at a time in their own house. He glanced at the back door; the glass was smashed.
‘Call it in. I think someone’s broken in.’
He found the back door and opened it. Adrian hated walking into properties like this. You never knew what you were going to find and on occasion he had seen things that he wished he could forget, but the memory of them was almost tangible, so horrific that his mind had remembered every detail right down to the taste in his mouth at the time.
He made it up the stairs; the house was silent, too silent. Adrian knew that he was going to find the professor dead before he even entered the bedroom. It was no surprise to him when he saw her lying on the bed, eyes closed. What was surprising though, was her skin. It was a bright cherry red.
Chapter Eighteen
Adrian had just come back in after a smoke when Denise came bounding over. Apparently, Helen Lassiter had died of carbon monoxide poisoning, which is why her body was that colour, diagnosed at the scene, unmistakeable apparently. It wasn’t something Adrian had ever seen before, but it wasn’t something he would forget in a hurry.
‘There’s someone here waiting to speak to you.’
‘Who?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me who she was but refused to speak to anyone else. Asked for you by name.’
‘What was it about? Did she say?’
‘Her husband has gone missing.’
Adrian was far too preoccupied to deal with this at the moment, but the fact that the woman had asked for him by name made him feel like he had to. Even if he just had a quick conversation with her now, he could deal with her case later on, maybe much later on.
‘And she didn’t say how she knows me?’
‘No, but she was adamant that you were the only one she would talk to. I put her in liaison room two.’
‘Cheers.’
He rubbed his head. He hated missing persons cases and in the case of marriages it was more often about making a clean break than anything else. He grabbed his notebook and walked over to liaison room two, wondering where Imogen was. He looked around, but she was conspicuously absent.
As he approached the liaison room, he caught a glimpse of the woman through the glass. She was heavily pregnant. He stepped inside. She had long black hair tied in a side ponytail and red lipstick that looked out of place on her pale olive skin. There was something a bit fragile about her, the curve of her shoulders maybe. She stood up when she saw him, recognition on her face. His was not a name she had picked out of a hat. He didn’t recognise her at all.
‘I’m DS Miles, I believe you wanted to speak to me?’
‘Yes, thank you for seeing me.’ He noticed she didn’t say her name.
‘What’s your name and how can I help you?’
‘My husband is missing.’
‘How long has he been gone?’
‘A few weeks now.’
‘What makes you think he is missing? Is it possible he’s just … taken some time out?’
‘No, that’s not possible. He’s not like that,’ she said emphatically, brows furrowed in concern.
He had seen things like this before though, especially when a pregnancy was involved. Husband decides family life isn’t for him and takes off.
‘So, what do you think has happened?’ he asked.
‘Something terrible.’
‘Do you think he is in danger?’
‘Not him, no. Not exactly.’
She reached down for her bag, which was on the floor by her feet. She pulled out an envelope and started to thumb at the edges nervously. Adrian saw something then, a flash of something familiar on her face, her dark brown eyes, so lost and vulnerable. He had met this woman before, but where did he know her from? Ask her for a name.
‘What is that?’
‘I found it on my doorstep this morning. This is his writing. He obviously wanted me to deliver it to you.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Can I trust you?’
‘Why did you come to me if you can’t trust me?’
‘He said I would be able to, he seemed to think you would know what to do if he went missing.’
That was a strange thing to say. Her husband had told her what to do if he disappeared? That changed everything. Why was her husband expecting to go missing? Ask for a name.
Adrian watched her for a moment, trying to remember her. His long-term memory for faces was exceptionally bad. She was different though. Her hair hadn’t been black before, and it hadn’t been long like this; he saw shoulder-length hair in his mind, a mousy brown. A mousy girl. His skin recognised her before his mind had caught up, his hairs standing up on end and a creeping chill up his spine. A name.
‘Can you tell me your husband’s name?’ He held out his hand, ready to accept the envelope from her. His name was written on the front. Some of the questions he had had about this case had suddenly been answered. Her face changed too, knowing now that he had recognised her. The air got thicker as she lifted the envelope and placed it in his hand.
‘It’s Parker.’
Part Two
Chapter Nineteen
Adrian’s hands stuck to the paper as he read through the short note inside the envelope. He was sweating. He had always suspected he might hear from Parker again, but had hoped he wouldn’t. Although in truth Adrian couldn’t help but admire the man a little, despite the fact that Parker was an undocumented serial killer. Some of the most horrific crime scenes Adrian had ever been to were the result of Parker’s handiwork.
Adrian realised now where he knew the girl in front of him from: she was Abbey Lucas, and they had met a couple of years ago when she handed him a photo album that documented the systematic and relentless abuse Park
er had endured as a child. It had reports and images of torture inflicted on Parker that included electrocution, suspension, cutting, branding and much more. After looking through it, neither Imogen nor Adrian could pass judgement on the man he had become. When faced with the opportunity to arrest Parker, Adrian just couldn’t do it. He let him go. Parker was crafted into a killer; he wasn’t born one.
They deserved it. Three down, one to go.
P.
Adrian wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with this information. If he handed it in, there would be a lot of questions. Questions whose answers would get both Adrian and Imogen fired. The murders that Parker had committed the first time they encountered him were attributed to a couple of different people and so no one was particularly looking for Parker, but that wasn’t to say that the scrutiny of DCI Kapoor might not blow the case wide open again.
‘And you can’t get in contact with him?’ Adrian said to Parker’s wife.
‘No. He knows how to disappear.’
‘Fair enough. Did you know about this?’
‘I figured it out, when I heard about the first murder I knew that it was him. I didn’t want to believe it.’
‘Where have you been since I saw you in the museum two years ago?’
‘We moved to Bristol.’
The pieces started to fall into place. The spineless man. ‘Of course you did. Professor Coley?’
‘I went back to university. I used to go to Exeter, but I left several years ago, for one reason or another, I never finished my course. I started working in the museum, where I met Parker …’
‘Did you know what Parker was when you met him?’
‘I knew he was special.’
‘That’s one word for it.’
‘You saw what they did to him. The fact that he even survived is a miracle. Those men he killed tortured him physically and mentally. Can you honestly tell me that you would have turned out any different?’
‘You haven’t seen the bodies he left behind. I did, and they still haunt me,’ Adrian said. He should have put Parker away but he just couldn’t. Parker had saved Imogen, saved his son, Tom. Adrian owed him.
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