by Ryan Casey
“There’s something wrong with you, Brian. I just hope you realise that before it’s too late.”
She stood up and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Brian alone.
He sat there for a few seconds just mulling over her words. Was she right? Was there something seriously wrong with him?
He jolted from his thoughts when he caught a missed call symbol on his phone.
Samantha Page, the pathologist. Weird.
He called the pathologist back. They answered after three rings.
“Samantha. What’ve you got?”
“McDone, I know you’re interested in the Elaine Schumer case.”
Brian heard Hannah and Sam laughing together. “Sorry. I can’t—”
“There’s been a change in our findings.”
Brian wanted to end the call and go back to his family. He wanted to, so bad. “A change in what findings?”
“Enough of a change to warrant the cause of death switching from ‘accidental’ to ‘undetermined.’”
Brian’s heart fluttered. “What? What have you found?”
“Why don’t you head down here yourself and have a look?”
Brian cancelled the call and rushed to the door.
He didn’t need asking twice.
Seventeen
Bobby Wisdom had never been in much trouble in his life.
Sure, he’d been caught up in a bit of shoplifting when he was a lad. Might’ve scrapped a bit too, and spent the night in a cell once or twice. But nothing major. Nothing too bad. He was a good man. He was forty-two now, and he worked hard on a low wage, paid his taxes. He wasn’t a bad person. Not at all.
But he’d done a bad thing.
His curtains were closed. The room was warm and stuffy, like it always was. He didn’t like opening his curtains though cause he was in a downstairs flat right next to a main road, and right by some traffic lights. He didn’t like it when people looked in. Especially not today.
He looked at the DVD in his shaking hands. His heart pounded. He’d had a few heart issues when he was younger. Had some genetic condition which meant it was best if he kept his heart rate low. Stress was bad for him. But he didn’t have a choice about his stress right now. No damned way of bargaining with it, getting rid of it.
He felt sick, and he could taste it too. He lived alone, and he’d always been a good man. He was never late on his rent. He never played his music loud. He just went to work at Baker’s Inn as a caretaker, did his shift, then came back. He didn’t have a partner. He didn’t have any friends or family. There was just him, and he did the best he could to be the greatest person he could be. One day, he’d push himself out there and find someone to settle down with. One day.
He’d been saying “one day” since he was eighteen.
Maybe that’s why he was like he was now. Maybe that’s why he liked women around their twenties. He’d had some fun right after school, but then he’d gone all lonely and told himself he’d get to the whole relationship thing when he was older, when he was ready.
He was older and ready now. But the women were older, too. They didn’t look like they looked when they were in their twenties. He knew it sounded creepy, but it wasn’t, not really. Not like it was illegal or anything. He’d missed out in the past and he felt bad that he was too old and ugly to catch up on all he’d missed.
And then he’d met Elaine.
His chest heated up when he thought of the first time he’d met her. She was having some problems locking her door at Baker’s Inn, so he’d gone up there to fix it. Turned out she’d dropped something that was wedging between the door and the frame. She’d laughed, and he’d laughed too. Bobby remembered hearing that sweet angelic laugh, seeing that gorgeous golden hair, and he knew right then he was in love. She smiled at him, made him feel like he was someone.
Then she checked out and he didn’t see her at the hotel for months.
He wobbled the DVD either side. His teeth chattered, his mind in denial about the truth of what he’d done. If only he’d shown some damned restraint, maybe he could’ve prevented this. If only he hadn’t hid in the fire escape and left it unlocked, right up to the roof, maybe he could’ve prevented all this.
But he’d done what he’d done. He was sorry, but he’d done what he’d done.
And he wasn’t going to prison for it.
Anyway, when Elaine disappeared from his life, he’d put a lot of effort into finding out about her. He found out she was a student at the local uni, which was just perfect. He could go for coffees and watch her from the opposite side of the cafe. Sometimes she’d see him and they’d smile at each other. He was building up the courage to ask her how she was doing one night when she turned up at the hotel again.
He thought about asking her but he’d froze. Right there, he’d froze. She looked startled by him, like he creeped her out.
Then he looked at her blog when she was in the shower…
Well, Bobby couldn’t help feeling upset about that blog. She’d called him some things. Some bad things. And although she’d not named him, it was obvious she was on about him.
He just wanted to love her. To show her how much love he could give her. He just wanted a chance with her.
Then he realised he was old and ugly as fuck and all his chances with women as beautiful as her were gone. Long gone.
So he’d opened up her underwear drawer and he’d just taken a little sample…
He shook his head, pushing the rest of the memories from his mind. He didn’t like to think about the next part. He didn’t want to remember what happened when she came out of the shower. How things… escalated.
He just wobbled the DVD of the CCTV footage from side to side, tighter and tighter between his fingers.
He was a good guy. A good guy who’d been caught up in something bad. He hadn’t meant for things to get to this point. He hadn’t meant to make all the mistakes he’d made, especially not to the woman he loved.
But he’d done them. So he had to live with them.
He wasn’t going to prison for them, that was for sure.
He’d overheard the man speaking with Patricia at the hotel and he knew he was police. And if police were lurking around the hotel, it meant they were still interested.
Well they couldn’t be interested. They couldn’t get any closer to the truth. No, sir.
He looked down at the DVD and he knew what a risk he was taking as he bent it almost to breaking point.
If he did this, he was breaking the law.
If he did this, he was destroying evidence.
If he did this—
The DVD snapped in two.
Bobby felt a simultaneous wave of relief and guilt. The DVD was gone. The act was done. The evidence was destroyed.
He tossed it across the room.
He’d made a mistake, but he wasn’t a bad man.
He just loved Elaine Schumer so damned much.
And sometimes love got you in the shit.
That’s what he’d kept telling himself, as he’d buried his nose in her dirty underwear, as the shower stopped and the bathroom door opened, as she’d walked out, completely naked, dripping water.
And as he’d…
Eighteen
“Samantha. What a pleasure to be back here already.”
Samantha Page didn’t look too tuned into Brian’s banter. She just glared at him, disapproving of his sarcasm. “You’re leading the investigation into Elaine’s death, right?”
“There is an investigation? Could’ve fooled me.”
Again, Samantha didn’t seem to register Brian’s criticism of the handling of the case so far. She walked around the side of the slab where Elaine’s body once again rested. That smell of strong perfume still lingered in the air. Whatever perfume it was, whenever Brian smelled it, it always reminded him of the smell of the pathologist’s office. “We’ve got some updated information that I think you’ll be very intrigued to hear about.”
“So you said,
” Brian said. Samantha called him half an hour ago to tell him that Elaine’s death had been changed from “accidental” to “undetermined” due to a recent discovery. Which, to Brian, turned the scales a little more in favour of his theory that something sinister led to Elaine’s death. “Accidental to undetermined. Why’d you make a change like that?”
Samantha leaned back against the slab where Elaine’s body lay, like it was nothing more than a railing. “Don’t tell anyone about this, but I like to take a second look at the victims after the first investigation.”
Brian frowned. “Sounds iffy.”
“Don’t make jokes here, McDone. I have a very good reason for making these second examinations.”
“You’ve got a screw loose?”
“No, I—”
“You like spending time alone with the dead?”
“Do you want me to tell you what I’ve found or not?”
“Sorry. Go on.”
Samantha looked down at Elaine’s body. “When Imran left, I decided to take another look at Elaine here. There were a few things I wasn’t satisfied with.”
“Like?”
“The rape and fingernail kit we used. The margin of error on those particular kits is high. I prefer the traditional methods.”
Brian didn’t want to ask what the traditional methods were. Truth be told, Samantha intimidated him. “So you’re saying you found something related to rape?”
“I found evidence that we missed the first time round. Evidence of subcutaneous pooling of blood in Elaine’s anal region.”
“Which means?”
“Do the maths, McDone. It suggests she was engaged in rather rigorous sexual intercourse before her death.”
“Or she was sexually assaulted.”
Samantha raised her shoulders. “Bingo.”
Brian felt that ominous feeling of something being significantly off welling up once more. “So it’s looking like Elaine was raped before her death. Which supports the angle that maybe she was murdered.”
“I think you’re making quite a leap there, Detective. But I would be inclined to agree that it’s rather clear that there’s plenty of secrets in Elaine’s life worth investigating. Which is your job.”
“How come you never made note of this in the first place?”
“The bleeding? It’s entirely possible the pooling of blood was simply a symptom of the body’s bloating in the course of decomposition.”
“And you really believe that?”
“Imran noted that rectal prolapsing was present, which was enough to back up the theory that this was nothing more than a biological occurrence. So unless our victim was involved in a serious case of rosebudding prior to her death, it still looks possible that the bleeding wasn’t due to sexual assault after all.”
“Rosebudding?”
“Google it. Actually, don’t. Please.”
Brian knew well enough to take advice from a woman who spent her life around dead bodies. If “rosebudding” was enough to disgust a woman who did two checks of every dead corpse in her possession, then it wasn’t something he was all that keen on investigating. Maybe he’d ask Hannah.
Maybe he wouldn’t.
“So you bring me down here to tell me that there’s a chance Elaine was sexually assaulted before her death, but you’re still not sure because it could just be a part of decomposition?”
“That’s part of what I asked you down here for,” Samantha said. “But it’s not everything.” She walked over to the wall at the other side of the room, where there was a list of formulas on the whiteboards. “I had a closer look at the substances in Elaine’s system prior to death.”
“Before you said you couldn’t find any antidepressants or anything like that in her system.”
“Right. And we’ve already established that Elaine never did get any meds from doctors.”
“But she got the herbal stuff. The St. John’s Wort.”
“The herbal tub that was filled with LSD, sure. It wasn’t St. John’s Wort. It was Poroxophillin.”
“Wait, what now?”
Samantha leaned down to her laptop and typed it in. “The label says St John’s Wort, but the container barcode doesn’t match. I’ve done a search for this drug. I can’t find any trace of it on any of the health websites. Only in the archives. And in the archives, it’s called Poroxophillin. It isn’t even issued anymore.”
Brian frowned. “Maybe Elaine got it from a wacko selling it in person.”
“Unlikely,” Samantha said. She double clicked, and an article on the BBC opened up. “Not when the sale of Poroxophillin was banned. Apparently, it makes the delusions of bipolar sufferers even worse. It doesn’t cure psychotic episodes, it causes psychotic episodes.”
Brian squinted at the article. He didn’t understand this. “Why would Elaine be taking these meds, then?”
“I’m not sure she was, in all truth. Poroxophillin was banned a long time ago.”
“How long we talking?”
“The early eighties.”
“Shit.”
“Right.”
Brian looked at the screen of Samantha’s laptop. Then he looked over at Elaine’s body lying on that table.
“So why does a bipolar girl avoid going to the doctors, and end up in possession of a drug that makes her bipolar symptoms even worse? And why does she then have LSD stuffed in that pill bottle?”
“You’re assuming she’s definitely a bipolar sufferer,” Samantha said.
“What?”
“Like I say. You’re assuming that Elaine is definitely, absolutely a girl who suffered mental health issues. But what proof do we have of that? Really?”
Brian opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t. He remembered Elaine’s friend, Sammi, telling him she had issues but she wanted to keep them quiet. He remembered Patricia telling him she’d seen a lucidity to Elaine’s eyes, like she was more afraid of something than she was losing her grip.
But the way Brian watched Elaine breaking down outside that lift. There was no doubt that something untoward had occurred inside her mind.
“If she wasn’t bipolar,” Samantha said, “which is of course still an ‘if’, then why was she taking meds to make her mental state worse? Why was she taking the meds that may, in fact, have led to her death?”
“But wait. I thought you said there were no traces of peroxi-wotsit in her system when she died?”
“There wasn’t,” Samantha said. “Not a trace at all. But that doesn’t mean she hadn’t already lost her grip by that point, does it?”
Brian looked at Elaine’s body, peaceful and still. She didn’t look real, more like a waxwork model. He wanted to go up to her and ask her what her secrets were, what she was hiding.
But he knew there was only one place he could go next.
“I think it’s about time I paid Elaine’s parents a visit,” he said. “In person.”
Nineteen
Visiting the parents of a girl who’d just been found dead was never an easy feat.
The Schumer family lived in a nice little semi-detached house just outside of town. It overlooked Moor Park, which, sure, wasn’t exactly Central Park, but on a nice day like today, seeing the sun simmer across the grass was pretty pleasant.
There was a deadness to the living room of the Schumer household, though. The air was cold, and everything was just too quiet. There was an unopened stack of sympathy cards on a table over in the small kitchen area just off the lounge. Brian knew for a fact that they wouldn’t be opened anytime soon.
Donald Schumer walked out of the kitchen and handed Brian a glass of water. He was a well-built man in his late fifties, with greying hair and a handlebar moustache. He was dressed pretty smartly, in a blue shirt and black trousers. But Brian could tell Donald hadn’t changed his clothes since the news of his daughter broke.
“Thanks,” Brian said, nodding at Donald as he took a sip of the hard, not quite icy water.
At the other side of the lou
nge, Mary Schumer sat. She had long, dark hair and fair skin. She was dressed in a flowery summer dress. It looked like it’d been the first thing she’d thrown on when she heard Brian was paying them a visit. He couldn’t exactly blame her. She’d just lost her girl.
“So why exactly do you need to speak to us, Detective?” Donald asked. “Excuse me getting to the point. It’s just we’ve already spoken with you and you told us it was accidental.”
Brian nodded. “Right. And I appreciate you getting to the point.”
“Have you found something?” Mary asked.
“Mary,” Donald said.
“What? If they’ve found something then they should tell us. We deserve to know.”
Brian gave Donald and Mary a few seconds to calm down before proceeding. “Look, I have to be straight with you. I’ve got just as many questions about Elaine’s death as you do.”
“I doubt that.”
“Mary, please.”
Brian cleared his throat. “There’s things I have to ask you about in order to get a clearer picture of what might have led your daughter to…”
Mary’s brown eyes narrowed. “Go on. Say it. Say she killed herself. ’Cause I don’t believe that. Not for a minute. Not our Elaine. She had so much to live for.”
Donald put a hand on his wife’s back and half-smiled at Brian, in that defeated form a half-smile always had.
Brian debated how much to say. He wasn’t sure whether to mention the change of the autopsy findings from accidental death to undetermined, not just yet. He had to find out as much as he could before he planted any untoward ideas in the Schumers’ heads. “Your daughter, Elaine. Her friend Sammi says she was prone to… disappearing.”
“We already told you this.”
“Yes,” Donald interrupting his wife. “Elaine… She disappeared sometimes.”
“How long were these disappearances happening?”
“Oh, a few years. Ever since she hit that difficult phase of a girl’s life. At first, it used to worry us. But after a while, we just kind of left her to her own devices.”