‘So Poole’s set her up in that house,’ said Noble. ‘He moves. She follows after Poole’s sorted out a place to live. No wonder she’s hardly worked a day in her life.’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions, John. When I saw them together there was a degree of hostility that didn’t feel right.’
Noble tapped a finger against his chin. ‘There would be hostility if she was blackmailing him. If Russell is Poole’s son, conceived when Yvette was a fourteenor fifteen-year-old orphan and while he was in a position of trust . . .’
‘. . .
he pays up for maintenance or she goes to the authorities.’ Brook narrowed his eyes. ‘It makes sense except for one thing. He’s engaged to be married and Alice Kennedy lives round the corner from Yvette. If Yvette was his mistress, would Len really move her that close? Would he even be getting married? If Poole and Yvette are lovers, why not just move in with her? Apart from the age difference, no one would raise an eyebrow.’
‘So what do you think?’
‘I think Yvette’s dogging Len’s every move to make sure he keeps paying for his mistake.’
‘So she’s got her hooks into him and she’s not letting go,’ said Noble.
‘It would explain the envelope that Poole was carrying that night I saw him call round – and why he didn’t have it when he left.’
‘It was full of money,’ concluded Noble. ‘Which explains the new TV.’
‘But if Russell’s eighteen years old, presumably Len’s been giving her money on a regular basis for most of that time,’ said Brook.
‘Seems reasonable.’
‘Then why all the drama?’
‘What drama?’
‘You weren’t there, John. It didn’t feel like a routine visit. The way he banged on the door, Poole had an agenda. He was shouting at her for some reason.’ Brook thought for a moment before a look of enlightenment filled his face. ‘
All these years
. . .’ he said softly. He turned to Noble. ‘That wasn’t money in that envelope.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because
I had a word with Donald Crump this morning.’
Noble’s curiosity was piqued. ‘Really? You’re getting very brave all of a sudden, running around talking to colleagues on your own.’
Brook shrugged to accept the mocking. ‘Before I realised it must be Grey who tipped off Poole, I thought it might be Crump – he is one of the old guard.’
Noble raised an eyebrow. ‘Don can’t stand him.’
‘I know that now,’ conceded Brook. ‘But here’s the thing – Poole went to see him to ask him a favour.’
‘What favour?’
‘Crump told me Len wanted someone to run a DNA comparison for him. He wouldn’t give details until he’d agreed to do it.’
‘Don agreed to do it?’
‘No. He told Len to— go elsewhere.’
Noble laughed. ‘I’ll bet. But surely Len would’ve expected that reaction, so why not get the test done elsewhere to start with?’
‘I suspect he didn’t want the results stored anywhere so he took a chance.’
‘Why would he worry?’ said Noble. ‘Those private firms are hysterical about client confidentiality. He must know that.’
‘Perhaps, but suspecting he’s the father of an illegitimate child born of an underage girl in his care might induce a little paranoia.’
‘I suppose. Do we know which firm he used?’
‘No idea.
All these years
. . . that’s what I heard Len shouting at Yvette.’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning
he got the results which told him Russell wasn’t his son.’
‘
All these years
. . .
shelling out for a son who isn’t mine
,’ finished Noble. ‘Makes some kind of sense. One thing doesn’t though.’
‘What?’
‘Scene of Crime went through Russell’s room with a finetooth comb and they didn’t find any DNA. Where did Poole get it?’
‘Well, Poole and Yvette have been living in close proximity for nineteen years. Maybe Len already had something of Russell’s with his DNA or . . .’ Brook smiled suddenly. ‘Toothbrush.’
‘Toothbrush?’ repeated Noble.
‘When I searched Yvette’s bathroom, there was one brand new toothbrush which belonged to her. Russell’s was missing.’
‘So Len stole it to get a sample.’
‘Why not? He was in the business. A toothbrush is the first thing a professional would go for.’
‘There’s another possibility,’ said Noble. ‘Maybe Poole’s got Russell locked up somewhere.’
Brook pulled a face. ‘Abduct him just to avoid a paternity?’
‘He’d go to prison if it came out,’ answered Noble.
‘And Adele and the others walk in so he takes them too? I don’t think so.’
‘Okay, it’s a stretch, but we should at least bring him in and ask him.’
Brook considered for a moment. ‘You’re right but we may have lost the element of surprise.’
‘Why?’
Brook looked at his watch. ‘We left Yvette’s house an hour
ago. What’s the betting she rang him the moment we were out the door?’
‘Honestly, Inspector Brook, I can’t be sure.’ Alice Kennedy watched the CCTV images come to an end then peered back at the still photograph of the boy on the bridge. She looked haggard and had large bags under her eyes. ‘That’s definitely Kyle’s hooded top, but I can’t tell if it’s Kyle. This boy looks too tall and he doesn’t walk like Kyle.’
‘Okay,’ said Brook, looking at his watch. ‘There may be further footage in this afternoon’s broadcast. We may need you to look at it, at some point.’
‘Okay – I’ve nothing better to do. You say this person was watching Wilson’s body being recovered.’
‘On Exeter Bridge this morning.’
‘Poor Wilson. I didn’t know him. Kyle never mentioned him. Terrible. I didn’t even know he was missing.’
‘No one did,’ said Noble. ‘He wasn’t reported because he moved between his mum’s, his dad’s and his grandmother’s houses.’
‘So he fell between the cracks.’ Alice sighed. ‘It’s terrible, I know, but I just thank God it wasn’t Kyle.’
‘When did you find out we’d recovered a body?’ asked Brook.
‘PC Patel came round first thing, she was very comforting. Where are my manners? Would you like some tea, Inspector?’
‘We have to get back,’ said Brook. ‘Is Len not here? I didn’t see his car.’
‘No.’ She hesitated, unable to look at Brook. ‘I’ve moved back in now your people have left. I need to be on my own for a while. It’s not fair to Len,’ she added unconvincingly.
‘I see
.’
‘You know he’s renting a house on Station Road. Have you tried there?’
‘We will. Sergeant Noble is going to give you his mobile number. If Len shows up here, could you ask him to phone?’
‘What about?’
‘We wanted to ask him something about DNA.’ Noble smiled.
Brook looked across at the laptop on the kitchen counter. The screensaver was on. He nudged the mouse on his way past. The countdown on
deity.com
was down to an hour and a half. ‘You’re watching the broadcasts?’
‘Isn’t everybody?’ said Alice Kennedy. She began to cry. ‘It’s my only link with Kyle . . .’
A
T TWO O’CLOCK, THE
I
NCIDENT
Room was packed with two teams of detectives. Brook’s team, investigating the death of Wilson Woodrow and the disappearance of the four students, relaxed in chairs, minus Noble who had gone to pick up Len Poole. DS Gadd and her small team, DCs Read and Smee, were preparing to brief Charlton on developments in the search for The Embalmer. Brook sat at the back with Charlton.
‘Noble said DS Gadd and her team have developed an interesting theory about The Embalmer,’ Charlton muttered to Brook.
‘I wouldn’t know anything about it, sir,’ replied Brook. ‘It’s all Jane’s work.’
‘You rate her highly.’
‘Very. She and John should’ve been promoted two years ago when DI Greatorix retired.’
Charlton turned to Brook, wondering if there was any point mentioning the budget again. Instead a better idea came to him. ‘As soon as there’s a vacancy,’ he said, keeping his head steadfastly to the front.
Gadd stood and the room fell silent. ‘I won’t bore everyone with a recap of The Embalmer’s activities but our research has
thrown up some interesting facts about his method.’ She threw a brief glance at Brook, a little embarrassed to be taking the credit for Brook’s efforts.
‘Have the missing vagrants washed up yet?’ asked Charlton.
‘No, sir. And if we’re right they may not surface for some time. No pun intended,’ she added with a hesitant smile. She indicated the portable photo array brought in from The Embalmer Incident Room. There was a fifteen-year-old photograph of Phil Ward dug up from the DVLA. Already the ravages of drug and alcohol abuse were visible around the eyes and on his skin. Jock didn’t even merit a picture, just a hastily put-together artist’s impression. He might as well never have existed.
‘We’re not sure why, but we think The Embalmer, Ozzy Reece, may be getting to the end of his process.’ Gadd waved a hand at the images of the two bodies dumped in the water. ‘We’re certain Reece is working to a blueprint of Ancient Egyptian burial rites and we now think Barry Kirk and Tommy McTiernan were rehearsals. Whether he abducted them or simply offered them room and board for a few nights, once under Ozzy’s control these men conveniently died of alcohol poisoning and shortly after, Ozzy started practising on their corpses.’
She moved over to a picture of Barry Kirk’s bloated, barely recognisable head. ‘As you know, both men had their blood drained and their internal organs removed. Both men had significant scarring below the nostrils and both had experienced physical damage to the brain, despite the skull being intact.
‘Pathology concluded that each victim had had a sharp tool with a small hook attached, forced up into the nostril, piercing
the brain. The tool was then used to hack at the brain matter and the hook was used to pull the pieces out through the nostrils.’
‘And now we know why?’ ventured Morton.
‘It’s a procedure used by the Ancient Egyptians to slow decomposition and to prepare the dead for the afterlife. The Egyptians would take bodies to the place of purification, sometimes called the Ibu. There, the brain was removed through the nose, and the other organs and viscera were removed through an incision in the left side. Just like Kirk and McTiernan. All the organs would then be packed in large jars, called canopic jars, and treated with natron, a kind of salt, to dry and preserve them. Here’s the interesting bit – the heart was left in the body cavity because the Egyptians thought it was needed for the afterlife.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Charlton.
‘Yes, sir. But there’s something else. As we know, Ozzy Reece picked up his vagrants at a squat on Leopold Street. To keep them there he provided regular supplies of barley wine and whisky bought from a cash and carry in Nottingham. We also know he worked briefly across the road at a funeral parlour – Duxbury and Duxbury – presumably where he first became aware of the squat and got the idea that it could provide a steady stream of available subjects.
‘One day the proprietor of the funeral parlour caught Ozzy interfering with one of the corpses. He’d removed the packing placed inside the body cavity to maintain normal body shape and was trying to replace it with a loaf of bread.’
‘A loaf of bread?’ said Charlton, trying not to laugh. Others who hadn’t heard the story were less successful. ‘Why?’
‘Barley, sir. The Ancient Egyptians cultivated it. It was
central to their existence. They ate it, baked bread with it, used it for medicine, brewing beer and at one time they even used it to stuff the bodies of the dead, it was so revered.’
‘That’s why he gave them barley wine,’ observed Cooper.
‘Whisky too,’ said Gadd. ‘It’s also made from grain. He was feeding it to them because he didn’t want his subjects to be tainting their bodies with anything else.’
Charlton looked at his watch. ‘But you said he was just practising.’
‘Look at the scarring under the nostrils, sir. Kirk was the first victim. He was the first body dumped. His upper lip is nearly sliced through. McTiernan was the second victim. The cuts under his nostrils are less obvious. The Embalmer’s getting better at what he does. He’s trying to prepare these bodies for the next stage and to leave them as perfect as he can. Removing the brain was his weak spot. My guess is that once he’s perfected this technique, the victims will start showing up fully embalmed, maybe even mummified.’
‘But not for a while,’ said Brook.
‘No, sir, the embalming takes much longer. That’s why we think Jock and Phil Ward’s bodies haven’t been dumped yet.’
‘As far as we know,’ said Morton.
‘That’s true.’
‘And that’s why you think he’s coming to the end of his process.’ Charlton nodded. ‘Anything from the appeal?’
‘We’ve got people manning the phones and taking names. We’re checking them against what we know – description, history.’
‘History?’
‘Well, given the level of skill, we think The Embalmer may have worked with the dead. And given that the bodies we’ve
found were in the initial stages of preservation, he has a working knowledge of how to embalm as well.’
‘He could just be getting it all from the internet,’ said Cooper.
Gadd shrugged. ‘Possible. But the key question now is where he’s doing all this. He needs space for the bodies and equipment and, of course, absolute privacy. The two dump sites we know about suggest somewhere in the countryside east of Derby.’
‘What about the ambulance? You think he worked in a hospital?’ asked Morton.
‘It’s possible,’ replied Gadd. ‘But you’d be amazed how many secondhand ambulances can be picked up for a few thousand pounds.’ She looked across at DC Read.
‘We’ve been looking at CCTV footage for the night you were attacked,’ said Read to Brook. ‘We’ve found an ambulance that doesn’t belong to either city hospital or any private medical facility that we’ve contacted. It’s a 2002 Mercedes Sprinter – licence-plate BA52 SWT. We know you were attacked around four that morning, sir.’
Brook blanched, remembering his unscheduled nap. ‘Around then.’
‘It has to be, because a half-hour later, the rogue ambulance was caught on film turning off the southern ring road on to the Shardlow Road towards the A6 and the M1.’