We Are Death

by Douglas Lindsay

  ‘Or a midget,’ said Jericho.

  ‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘Too often we forget the possibility of evil midgets.’

  The three of them stood and looked down at the corpse and the blood on the ground, the warm morning already clinging to them.

  ‘Can you use the word midget?’ asked Haynes.

  ‘You think you can’t?’ said Trueblood.

  ‘I don’t know. It just sounds like one of those words that’s going to offend someone.’

  ‘Like a midget?’

  ‘Yes. A midget. Or, you know, more likely one of those people who’s just professionally offended on someone’s behalf all the time.’

  ‘Best to stick with dwarf, probably.’

  ‘Maybe you just have to refer to their size in a non-pejorative manner. You know, a person of height around three foot eight fired the gun.’

  ‘Did you mean pejorative there?’

  ‘Not sure...’

  ‘We’re also ignoring the possibility,’ said Jericho pointedly, trying to get the conversation back on track, ‘that he was killed by someone he knew, someone who was riding with him. That could certainly have taken him by surprise. We need to get a visual on the victim this morning, even if it’s not the actual moment of murder. Find out if he was alone.’

  He turned away and looked around at the farmhouses in the distance.

  ‘Anyone been over there yet?’

  ‘Nothing actioned yet, sir. Only got here a few minutes before you.’

  ‘Right. The tourists will be turning up soon enough. We need this area fenced off. We need to double the men at either end of the road, and look into any other ways the public can get near here.’ Another glance at his watch. ‘We need to start making calls at the surrounding houses, and we need to find out where this guy lives and go round there. I’ll speak to Glastonbury and see if we can get some more feet on the ground. Bloody press will be here soon enough as well, I expect.’

  He shook his head, kicked his feet. Haynes and Trueblood were both well aware of how Jericho would feel speaking to the press.

  ‘I’ll take care of them. And I’ll speak to Dylan.’

  Jericho shook his head again at the fact that he’d only just thought about it.

  ‘Has he got a name?’

  ‘Evan Carter,’ said Haynes. ‘Driving licence in his back pocket. Got an address in Wells. One of those flats overlooking the rec.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jericho, ‘let’s get started.’

  8

  As they’d arrived at the apartments, there had been an old lady leaving. They could see her looking them up and down for a moment, then she made the call to let them in the front door without question.

  She was wearing a heavy coat and carrying an umbrella.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Haynes, and they moved past her and up the stairs. Stood outside Carter’s front door, hesitated, then Haynes rang the bell.

  ‘Thought you said he lived alone,’ said Jericho.

  ‘You never know. He’s young, single, good-looking.’

  ‘How could you tell he was good-looking? He had a hole in his face.’

  Haynes laughed.

  ‘He looked decent on his driving licence. No one looks decent on their–’

  The door opened. A young woman stared at them for a moment, the smile dying on her face.

  ‘Oh,’ she said.

  *

  Haynes was sitting, Jericho standing at the window, looking down on the park. It was the usual summer mess, the detritus of the night before yet to have been cleared away. Paper, bottles, packaging strewn across the grass, end to end. It was cleaned up every day, so this was one day’s worth of rubbish that people couldn’t be bothered carrying fifty yards to a bin, or taking home with them.

  It depressed him as much as it always did, the fact that humanity more than often couldn’t even do the simple things well. He turned away and looked back down at the woman.

  She was drinking tea and staring at the carpet.

  ‘Ready to talk yet?’ asked Haynes.

  She nodded slowly, lifted her eyes to the sergeant.

  ‘Bit of a shock, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I’ve never known anyone who got murdered before.’

  ‘No,’ said Haynes, ‘not many people do. So, you were Evan’s girlfriend?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘A while ago, but not anymore. He was always just going off all over the place. Pissed me off. We didn’t break up at first, but then he was coming back and finding out that I’d slept with, well, you know, whoever, while he was away, and there’d be shouting and then, God, I’d find out that, of course, he’d been banging half the fucking planet on his travels. So, we split up.’

  ‘Why were you here?’ asked Jericho from the window.

  She let out a long sigh, then said, ‘Sex.’

  Jericho rubbed his chin. Hadn’t had time to shave. Would just have to leave it until the following morning.

  ‘You slept with him last night?’ asked Haynes.

  She shook her head.

  ‘He called me from, I don’t know, somewhere. New York maybe? Any road, we had this routine. Whenever he came back, he’d check up, see if I was married or pregnant or engaged or whatever, and if I was free... well, you know, why not? We may not have been able to live together, but he was gorgeous. And fit. Six-pack. You should see it. You seen his abs?’

  Haynes shook his head.

  She stared at the carpet, remembering his six-pack.

  ‘When did he call you?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. Said he’d be home last night. I arranged to come round at midday or so, but then I woke up early.’ She laughed. ‘Gagging for it, to be honest. So I thought I’d surprise him. Let myself in...’

  ‘You’ve got a key?’

  ‘Totally. Let myself in, was going to jump him, and he wasn’t there. Ha!’

  ‘You knew where he’d gone?’

  ‘Saw the bike was missing. Put two and two together.’

  ‘Was there anyone he might have gone riding with?’

  She shrugged, looking almost offended by the question.

  ‘Doubt it. He didn’t really know that many people round these parts. Didn’t grow up here.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’

  ‘Yesterday!’

  ‘Before that?’ interjected Jericho, annoyed.

  ‘Oh... Late last year. We’d exchanged a few e-mails since. He did that climb in the Himalayas and was coming home the long way round. Don’t know what he was doing.’

  She shook her head again, looked sadly into the corner of the small room.

  ‘Dead now,’ she added, then looked up and shrugged.

  ‘He was a climber?’ asked Jericho.

  Another shrug.

  ‘Yeah, if you can call that a job.’

  ‘Can you show us the e-mails?’ asked Haynes.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Someone killed him and we need to try to work out who that might have been.’

  ‘He never said nothing about anyone wanting to kill him.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t have,’ said Haynes. ‘But there could be something there that gives us a starting point, that’s all. Something that triggers a line of enquiry.’

  ‘Oh, OK. I mean, I sent him pictures of my tits, you want to see them?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘I don’t mind...’

  ‘Can you think of any reason why someone might have wanted to kill him?’

  She sighed heavily.

  ‘To be honest, I didn’t really know him. Not any more. He did his climbing, and I went to Kudos on a Friday night. That’s about the size of it.’

  *

  Three pm. Morlock sat on a specific bench in the middle of St James’s Park, having arrived ten minutes early. He was wearing a shirt and tie and a light-blue jacket. Two layers might have seemed like two too many on such a day, but the fabric was light and cool and expensive. Morlock was not too hot.r />
  He paid no attention to the passers-by. Men with their tops off, kids with ice cream, young women with cut-off tops and bikini tops and low-cut summer dresses. He stared straight ahead, his eyes hidden behind $700 sunglasses.

  He wasn’t watching for Develin, but he felt him coming. Morlock had a sense for that kind of thing. Which was why he was so good. That was why people paid him as much as they did.

  Quick reactions, perfect balance, high intelligence, always made the right decision, exceptional sixth sense, could see inside the minds of people, always knew how a situation would play out before it had even begun, excellent powers of deduction. Something of a loss to humanity that he had turned his powers and training into being an assassin, when he could have done virtually anything extraordinarily well.

  Develin sat down next to him, two cups of coffee in a cardboard holder in his right hand. He offered the holder to Morlock, who studied it for a moment, then lifted one of the cups.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You made the lunchtime news. Well, the fact that a cyclist was killed in a hit and run made the lunchtime news. I presume you didn’t hit and run.’

  ‘D-140 to the head from three feet.’

  ‘That’ll do it,’ said Develin.

  ‘Every time.’

  Develin took a drink, allowing his gaze to be distracted by two young women walking past, drinking water, holding hands.

  ‘I love summer,’ he said. ‘Days like this. Women dressed like that.’

  Morlock didn’t speak. Develin continued to watch the women, then finally turned to him when he had lost them in the crowd.

  ‘Is it possible you’re a eunuch?’ he said. ‘I sometimes wonder.’

  Morlock, as Develin expected, did not answer. Morlock, as Develin did not know, had had sex with seventy-three women so far that year, all of whom he had paid for the trouble. That was the only type of sex Morlock wanted.

  ‘We’re going to need you to go to Morocco,’ said Develin in response to Morlock’s continued silence. ‘Shortly.’

  ‘I need more money,’ said Morlock.

  Develin stared straight ahead. Morlock always needed more money. He was brilliant but, as everyone thought, incredibly greedy. Fortunately, there was an infinite supply of money. Morlock probably knew this, which was why he kept on asking for more.

  ‘Double,’ said Morlock.

  Develin nodded. It was usually double.

  How much could one person need? He thought about asking the question but knew that was something else to which he wouldn’t get an answer. He took another sip of coffee and wondered whether it might have been better to get an iced coffee, rather than his usual Americano with hot milk.

  9

  ‘Was there a reason you showed me that card yesterday?’ asked Haynes.

  The coincidence had already struck Jericho, and he’d been expecting Haynes to ask. Perfectly reasonable question.

  ‘There was,’ he said, ‘but it’s nothing to do with this morning’s shooting.’

  Haynes stared across his desk, obviously not convinced.

  ‘You don’t believe me, Sergeant?’

  Haynes shook his head. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just... odd. It’s odd, that’s all. You wait seven months to show me, and then the next day, boom! I mean, was there something else that happened yesterday? Was there something that prompted you to choose yesterday to show me the card? It might not seem connected, but in fact...’

  He stopped because Jericho was nodding.

  ‘There was?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Haynes raised his eyebrows, as Jericho hesitated before accepting that he was already committed to letting him know.

  ‘I’m leaving.’

  ‘What?’

  Jericho sighed, waving his usual desultory hand.

  ‘Look, Stuart, this isn’t to get around the station.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No, really, don’t tell anyone. If you do, I’m just going to have to–’

  ‘I won’t say anything.’

  ‘All right. They’re cost-cutting. Dylan and I are going. She’s being replaced by an Inspector. You’re going to head up the investigative branch.’

  ‘No fucking way!’ said Haynes.

  ‘Well, that’s certainly one way to express surprise.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Haynes, with a slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Not sure. Doesn’t matter at the moment. Anyway, I thought I should tell you about the card just in case... I don’t know, in case something comes up after I’m gone.’

  ‘You’re not dying, are you?’

  Jericho shrugged. ‘Not as far as I know. Anyway, you’re right. It’s odd. I keep that to myself for seven months, finally let the cat out of the bag, and suddenly we’ve got a dead guy on our patch.’

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin, stared briefly out the window.

  ‘Can’t explain it,’ he continued. ‘I know we always say there are no coincidences, but this might just be one of them. Have been thinking about it all day. Soon as I got the phone call this morning. These people, whoever they are, how did they know? Are they watching us? Is there a camera up there?’ He indicated the corner of the room. Haynes half-turned. ‘I really can’t think. We’ll let it go for now, but, you know, obviously keep it in mind.’

  Haynes nodded, stared at his boss for a few moments, not entirely convinced.

  ‘Tell me what you’ve got on Carter?’ asked Jericho, and Haynes looked down at his notebook.

  ‘Right. Full-time climber. I mean, that’s his job. Gets sponsorship from various people, gets paid to go on expeditions.’

  ‘Who are his sponsors?’

  ‘It’s a miasma. Nothing major, just a lot of small deals. Apparently it’s what these people do. Spoke to a couple of other climbers who knew him. They spend half their time trying to fix up money, get these little deals from Go-Pro and Red Bull and North Face and whoever. Nivea probably. Anyone. That’s how they live. Carter was good enough that people took him along, paid him, just to have him there. Which is what happened this spring. Big expedition to Kangchenjunga in the Himalayas.’

  Jericho kept his eyes on Haynes, but the sergeant noted the slightly faltering look. The shadow that crossed him. As though the name of the mountain meant something.

  ‘What?’ asked Haynes.

  Jericho shook his head, shook away the thought of it.

  ‘Nothing. I don’t know it.’

  ‘Highest in the world after Everest and K2. For a while, like in the middle of the nineteenth century, the Victorians thought it was the highest.’

  ‘You’ve been looking at Wikipedia,’ said Jericho, humourlessly.

  Haynes laughed.

  ‘Rumbled,’ he said. ‘There’s some rich guy, Thomas Geyerson, one of these billionaire Americans with nothing else to do with his money, spends his time travelling the world, climbing mountains. Organised an expedition, intended to climb all five peaks of Kangchenjunga.’

  ‘Five peaks?’ said Jericho, his voice slightly distracted.

  ‘Five. Yes. So they did it, a team of five guys, and a group of Sherpa. I spoke to a guy in a hotel in Sikkim where they were based before heading off, and after they returned.’

  ‘Did you manage to contact the other four?’

  Haynes shook his head.

  ‘Haven’t got that far yet. Anyway, he does that, then it looks like he went on a bit of a party spree. Down through Asia, Oz and NZ, then flew to the US, hired a car and drove from LA to New York, stopping in Vegas and Chicago along the way, amongst other places. Flew from New York yesterday morning, arrived in Wells some time in the evening.’

  ‘And now he’s dead.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any hint in all of that why he might have been killed?’

  Haynes shook his head.

  ‘Right, thanks, Sergeant. Keep at it, try to find these other four members. If that was the last thing he did professionally, you
never know. Or it might be he pissed someone off while traipsing round the world. That’s going to be a bag of snakes trying to sort that lot out.’

  A slight shake of the head, then he straightened up, stretched his neck.

  ‘I’m going to see his dad. Lives in north Dorset. Sturminster Newton.’

  ‘Nice. I ran the marathon there a couple of years ago.’

  ‘I remember. You nearly died.’

  Haynes laughed as he got up, then he stopped and looked slightly concerned.

  ‘You’re not breaking it to him, are you? He already–’

  ‘The local guys went round to tell him, it’s fine.’

  ‘OK, good.’

  *

  Jericho was sitting at a large kitchen table, while a man with a very straight back was making a pot of tea. The kitchen was large and opened out to a dining room with doors out onto a great expanse of lawn. The doors were open, but there was a coolness about the old house which Jericho realised he hadn’t felt for several days.

  He was troubled now, couldn’t help it, but he had to continue with the investigation as though there was nothing unusual. Perhaps there really was nothing unusual. Perhaps the coincidences in the case of the murder of Evan Carter would come in threes.

  ‘I’m going up tomorrow to see the body. They said that would be fine. It’s still fine, I take it?’ asked Gerald Carter, glancing over his shoulder.

  ‘Of course,’ said Jericho.

  There was a formal identification process to take place, but it wasn’t a confirmation they were actually waiting for before they could do anything else. They had the driver’s licence. They had dental records. They had all they needed.

  ‘Trained to be a doctor,’ said Carter, as he brought over a tray with a couple of cups, the teapot and a small jug of milk. ‘Well, he’d put that to waste long ago. He didn’t need someone to knock him down in order to ruin all those university years.’

  ‘He wasn’t knocked down,’ said Jericho.

  His voice was steady, but he was cursing the officers who had informed Carter about his son’s death. Somewhere along the way someone had made an incorrect assumption.

  ‘They said it was a hit and run.’

  Jericho shook his head.

  ‘He was murdered. Shot. From close range.’