“It was an unreliable tip,” she said. “Might easily have been nothing.” She hadn’t risen through the ranks to DCI without mastering the art of obfuscating without lies.
“Nonetheless,” he repeated, still smiling.
The whole exchange was utter bollocks and both of them knew it, dancing round the subject to avoid complications.
Christ, she hated politics.
She left Hornbeam Way no more enlightened, and considerably more pissed off. Whatever evidence might be found in the dead shifter’s home, Maitland and his team wouldn’t be sharing.
So what was it about this case that had drawn the attention of Counter Terrorism? She’d yet to see any evidence there was more to it than illegal skinbinding and maybe murder. It rankled to think that she might have to let the case go without even knowing what it had been about.
Pierce stopped at a café to beat her mood into submission with chips. While she was waiting for her food to arrive, she called Deepan on her mobile.
“Nothing new, Guv,” he reported. “Just paperwork and cold cases. I let Tim go off to the hospital to visit Sally—he wasn’t getting a thing done.”
“Sally’s doing all right, then?” she asked. At least that was one glimmer of good news.
“Husband said she’s doing well.” Deepan hesitated. “Sergeant Henderson didn’t make it through the night, though. Sorry, Guv.”
“Damn.” Pierce closed her eyes. She hadn’t even had the chance to learn the man’s first name.
She felt another sharp stab of resentment towards Maitland. It was her request for Firearms Support that had put the team in harm’s way, and now she couldn’t even tell them for sure that the sacrifice had been for a good reason.
She took a slow, deep breath. “Okay, thanks, Deepan,” she said. “I’ll probably drop in to see Sally on my way back, if you’re all right holding the fort. No trouble from Palmer about the incident in the cells, I hope?”
“Haven’t heard a peep, Guv,” he said. “Don’t even know if there’s going to be an investigation our end—looks like Counter Terrorism are going to handle it internally.”
“Brush it under the carpet, more likely,” Pierce said with a grimace. “All right,” she said, after a moment. “Call me if anything comes up.”
The meal could have been five star dining, and it still would have sat poorly in her stomach. She arrived at the hospital to catch Sally’s husband picking at a sandwich in the lobby café with the same lack of enthusiasm. He looked exhausted, face papery grey, though he summoned up a wan smile as she crossed the room to greet him. She’d met him before at various work dos, but she still had to dredge for the name.
“Hi, Mike. How’s she doing?”
Mike let out a breath as he rose and collected up the debris of his meal, seeming glad to have an excuse to abandon it. “She’s doing well, they said. Came out of surgery all right. She was awake for a little bit earlier. Still a bit out of it, though.”
“Not surprising.”
“She can’t talk at the moment, but they’ve given her a whiteboard,” he said, leading the way over to the lifts at the far side. “She wasn’t really up to writing anything this morning, but I think she appreciated my artwork.”
She smiled and nodded. Oppressive silence fell as they waited for the lift to arrive. As they stepped inside, the doors swished closed behind them, Mike spoke again, abruptly. “Did you catch the bloke?”
It took a moment for her to switch mental gears. “The attacker? Yes. Yes, we did.” She wasn’t about to mention that he’d died in police custody, or that a second suspect had escaped.
Mike seemed to draw some comfort from it anyway. “That’s good to hear.” The lift doors opened with a ding and he straightened. “This is it.”
He led the way along the antiseptic-smelling corridor, shoes squeaking on the tiles. As they passed through the double doors into the ward, Pierce spotted Sally in the second bed.
She’d looked better. The tracheostomy tube sticking out of her neck was a stark reminder of the severity of her injuries. Wound dressings disappeared below the scoop neck of her hospital gown, and her head lolled back against the pillow. At first Pierce wasn’t sure if she was actually awake, but then she turned her head to face them as they approached, managing a fraction of a smile.
“Hello, love,” Mike said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Feeling a bit better this afternoon?” He turned to Pierce. “I’ll just go and get us some chairs.”
She couldn’t really afford to stay for very long, but it was easier to let him go than try to protest. As he headed back out into the corridor, she turned her attention to Sally.
“You look like hell,” she told her. “If you wanted to get out of the post-raid paperwork, there are easier ways.” Sally gave another pseudo-smile, clearly a painful effort with her neck in its current state.
As her husband returned with a pair of stacked plastic chairs, she held out a hand towards him and made a flapping motion. “You want the whiteboard?” he guessed. “Hang on. Let me just move the table closer so you can grab it.”
He wheeled the small table over to her bedside, and Pierce saw a miniature dry erase board resting on it, with a pen on a string. Sally started to try to sit up to reach for it, with obvious difficulty.
“Whoa, don’t strain yourself, love,” Mike said. “Give me a second and I’ll raise the bed for you.”
It took lot of faffing to get the bed raised up and Sally comfortable, but she seemed to have something she was determined to communicate. When Mike uncapped the pen and handed it to her, she scrawled CASE? across the board in shaky letters.
“We caught the shifter,” Pierce told her, avoiding more complex explanations. She hoped Sally didn’t remember to ask after Henderson. “The other one got away.” She didn’t want to reveal too much detail in front of Mike, but she couldn’t help but press for more information. That glimpse beneath the tarp Sally had taken was the only look at the evidence they’d got. “Did you have something to say about the scene in the barn?” she asked.
Sally started to nod, then winced in pain. Her shoulders were tense and the motions somewhat jerky as she scrawled another word on the whiteboard. This one was considerably less controlled than her previous letters, but the message was still legible.
HUMAN.
Mike smiled fondly and patted her arm. “Believe it or not, love, we already realised that you were only human.”
But it was Pierce that Sally locked eyes with, willing her to understand.
A cold ripple slid down her spine as the words clicked together in her head. The last thing Sally had said before the panther had attacked them.
Guv, we’ve got skins here. But I think they’re—
Human?
CHAPTER FIVE
PIERCE DIDN’T LINGER at the hospital for long; Sally was obviously too exhausted to take much more, and her own mind was spinning with the implications of that scribbled word. She couldn’t ask for direct confirmation with Mike there, but she was sure she’d understood what Sally meant.
Under the tarpaulin in the barn had been human skins.
They couldn’t be shapeshifting skins—at least, not working ones. People had been trying for centuries to bind the enchantments onto human skin, and never had more to show for it than an ugly, bloody mess. The skinbinder they were after must be one more in the long line who’d attempted it and failed.
And yet, if that was true, then why was Maitland after him? There was no reason for the Counter Terror Action Team to take an interest in an RCU case. Not unless it had implications for national security.
Implications like the existence of a ritual that would allow a person to be murdered, skinned, and seamlessly replaced by an impostor. Could it be possible?
She drove on autopilot as she left the hospital, pulling into an empty lay-by when she was a few miles on. This was one conversation she’d rather not have overheard and spread all round the social networks. She pulled out her phone a
nd called a former colleague who’d moved down to RCU Oxford.
“Phil. Got a moment to talk?” she asked when he picked up.
“Well, I’m knee-deep in dismembered bodies right now, but for you I suppose I’d be willing to tear myself away.” Phil’s broad Yorkshire accent came through just as strong as she remembered, undiluted by his years spent living down south. “Hold on.” She heard a few rustles of background noise and then the sound of a door closing before his voice returned, a little clearer now. “What’s up?”
“That book you were collecting notes for on human-to-animal transformation. You get anywhere with that?”
“What, in the copious free time I have for writing? No, it’s on my list of a million and one things to do when I retire. Why, are you after a reference text? I could probably recommend a few, but nothing you wouldn’t have heard of.”
“Just wondering if you’d been keeping up with the latest research in the field. Anything new popped up in academic circles about human-form shifting?” New occult texts, whether real or fake, were always guaranteed to spark off a fad for attempts to recreate the rituals.
“That old chestnut?” Phil laughed. “No, nothing new that I’ve heard—just the same old balls being recycled. Always some idiot convinced they can outdo a thousand years of failures with a ritual knife they bought for twenty quid on eBay.”
“Mm. All right, thanks, Phil. Probably just another wannabe with more ego than support for his ideas. Nothing for you to worry about.”
But as she hung up the phone, she couldn’t help but wonder. In the months they’d been chasing the skinbinder, he’d turned out pelt after pelt that matched the quality of any antique piece that she’d seen. It might just be pure arrogance that led him to believe he could succeed where countless others had failed through the centuries—but what if he was right?
The only way to know for sure was to get a proper look at the skins from last night’s raid. Sally hadn’t had time for more than a brief glimpse, but closer examination ought to show if they were viable skins or just the remnants of attempts that hadn’t worked.
She pressed her lips together. Maitland might have his own forensics team and magical experts, but it would still have taken them a while to process the scene. They wouldn’t want to risk damaging the skins by moving them in haste—in fact, why move them at all? The farm was safely isolated and the owners off in Spain, and the skinbinder might well return if they left him the bait. Odds were that Maitland’s people hadn’t left.
She sent Deepan a deliberately vague text about checking out a lead, and drove back to the farmhouse.
Pierce could tell that she’d hit paydirt when she turned down the farm road. There were unmarked vans still parked there, and when she pulled up beside them, a serious man in a suit hurried over to stop her.
“I’m sorry, this is a crime scene,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m going to have to ask you to get back in your car—”
“RCU consultant,” she interrupted, showing her badge and stepping around him without slowing her stride. “I’m here to look at the evidence from the barn—are you cleared to know about this, son?” She gave him a scrutinising look. Nothing cemented credentials quite like challenging other people’s.
It put the young guard on the wrong foot, and he faltered, scrambling to keep up with her pace. “Er—Um, I wasn’t told—”
“No, I don’t suppose you were,” Pierce said brusquely, heading straight towards the barn. “Clear it with Jason Maitland—he’s the one that called me in. Now, excuse me, son. I have a job to do.” She left him hovering uncertainly behind her. Even if he called her bluff and did as she suggested, it would still take time to make contact and find out she was lying. All she needed was a chance to get inside the barn and have a look underneath that tarpaulin.
There were a few people inside, all wearing suits rather than coveralls. Convenient for her chances of blending, but suspicious. They clearly weren’t concerned about contaminating evidence; either they already knew the skinbinder’s identity, or they were confident that nothing in this barn could help them find out.
The whole setup stank to high heaven. Maitland had to have known that the skinbinder was here before last night, yet he’d kept his people back and let her team shoulder the dirty work. She scowled.
It gave her just the unapproachable aspect she needed to avoid questions as she entered the barn. The space inside was gloomy even with the daylight that poured in through the window at the rear. The dirt floor was still scuffed with the footprints from last night, but the bloodstains only drew her eye because she knew where to look.
She didn’t look too long, aware that every moment she gave Maitland’s team to think increased her chances of getting kicked out. “So where are these skins?” she barked at the nearest person. “Here?” Without waiting for an answer, she moved to grab the corner of the tarp that she’d seen Sally lift last night.
What lay piled beneath it could have been taken for pigskin at first—until, like an optical illusion, details emerged. A clump of matted dark hair, the curve of a human ear... Pierce gagged and covered her mouth, visceral horror overcoming even her police training. Violent death was nothing new after her decades on the job, but the thought of the callous indifference that it took to peel skin back from flesh and bone and stitch it into a costume for someone else to wear...
She turned her head away, swallowing bile. Her eyes fell on the bloody meat hook where the wolf had hung last night. The half-skinned carcass had been pulled down and covered up with a sheet, but in her mind’s eye she saw a human corpse in its place.
She hoped like hell the victims were dead before the skinning began.
She took a slow, deep breath, regaining her composure, and used it as a chance to scan the barn. Her eyes fell on the silver skinning knife below the window, dropped there so the skinbinder could transform and make his flight. He wouldn’t have abandoned it by choice; it must have been custom made and difficult to replace. She rose to get a better look at the blade.
Before she’d fully straightened, Maitland’s voice spoke from behind her. “Chief Inspector.” For the first time he was starting to sound sharp in the place of his previous calm. “At this point, I’m not sure if I admire your persistence or if I should just have you arrested right now.”
Pierce swivelled on her heel, refusing to betray her jolt of surprise at his presence. “How about you just give me the answers that I’m looking for?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. But we should talk.” He extended his hand in an invitation that was clearly an order. “This way, please.”
As soon as he’d led her out of earshot of the others, Pierce turned to face him. “Human skins. You knew about this?”
Maitland gave a slightly pained looking grimace, the first real expression she’d seen on his carefully composed face. “Perhaps now you appreciate why this is a matter of national security,” he said in a low voice.
“They’re functional?” she said, still sceptical despite his tone. A collection of convincing-looking skins didn’t prove human-form shifters could exist.
“Our information says yes.”
Pierce narrowed her eyes. “And where do you get your information? If this is for real, the RCU needs to know about it. This contradicts a lot of things we thought we knew for sure. We can’t do our jobs if we’re kept out of the loop.”
“On the contrary,” he said, still keeping his voice down. “It’s vital that this information be contained. Right now, we don’t believe that our target has spread the news, and if he has, it’s easily dismissed as empty bragging. But if your department is seen to be reacting to a genuine threat, intelligence agencies and terrorist groups all over the world will take notice. We must have the skinbinder under our control before this leaks out.”
“‘Under control.’ As opposed to ‘under arrest’?” She shook her head in disgust. “This man is linked to God knows how many assaults and murders—if not by h
is own hand, then as part of a conspiracy. I doubt these skins come from volunteers who donated their bodies. Did you know that the panther shapeshifter’s ex-girlfriend has gone missing?”
“You can conduct an investigation after we’ve secured the suspect. But evidence of human shapeshifting can’t go to trial, and if any of your team saw the skins, they should be informed that they were unviable, failed attempts.”
Pierce gave a thin, humourless smile. “You mean you’ll trample all over the evidence, and then let us sweep up the loose ends while the real criminal goes free.”
Maitland showed off his pearly white teeth in a cold smile of his own. “Not free. I assure you, the skinbinder won’t escape us.”
“Won’t escape incarceration, maybe,” she said, holding his gaze. “But what about justice?”
Oh, she didn’t doubt that Maitland’s team would lock the man away. He’d spend the rest of his life stuck in some top secret facility, earning good behaviour points by putting his skills to work. But what about the victims of his crimes, the people who’d lost friends and family to his blade? They would never learn the truth of what had happened to their loved ones, left to wait in vain for people who were never coming home.
Maitland let out a faint sigh. “Justice is best served by ensuring this man’s skills don’t fall into the hands of our nation’s enemies. As I’m sure you’ll realise when you’ve calmed down from your reaction to last night’s events. But I’m afraid that in the meantime I really can’t afford to have you interfering in this. Consider yourself placed on leave until further notice.”
Pierce held his gaze. “Yes, sir,” she said with perfect crispness.
She was pretty sure he understood exactly what those words meant, but he just smiled and offered her his arm. “Now, allow me to escort you to your car, just to make sure you don’t get lost on the way.”
PIERCE DROVE AWAY from the farm—but she didn’t head straight home. Even Maitland couldn’t object to her using her time off to get a bit of shopping in.
Under the Skin (Ritual Crime Unit) Page 4