Desecration (17 page)

Jamie took a deep breath. It seemed like it had all happened so suddenly even though the moment had been approaching for years. “So what happens next?” she asked, feeling a need to understand the process, to reach a point of completion. She had prepared hypothetically for this but suddenly her mind was blank on the next steps.
 

“The doctor will sign the death certificate and we’ll get the funeral director to prepare her body.”
 

Jamie nodded, remembering the difficult discussions with Polly over the choices. Her little girl had been independent minded, even about her own death.
 

“She wanted to be cremated, taken by fire and smoke into the freedom of the sky.” Jamie’s voice broke, as the tears came again. “She watched a history documentary about the Viking boat pyres … and afterwards she wanted her ashes to become part of the flowers. She loved the first daffodils of spring.”

“Of course. And what about your family? Do you want me to call anyone?”
 

Jamie thought of Polly’s father, Mark, her own parents and the fights they had engaged in over the years. She couldn’t bear to talk to them and right now, she didn’t even want the funeral to be for anyone else. Polly had been her life, and no one else had the right to be there as she said her final goodbyes.
 

But then she faltered. Of course Mark had to be there, if only for him to acknowledge their remarkable daughter. He seemed to live in denial of the miracle that they had created together, seeing primarily her disability. But Jamie knew he would mourn in his own way and she had loved him too, once. Polly’s school friends would want to come as well, and a funeral was a chance to honor her memory with those who loved her.
 

“I can’t face talking to anyone right now,” Jamie said. “I need to leave all that for tomorrow. Let’s just do the essentials. ”

***

Much later, Jamie returned to the flat in darkness. She left the lights off, sitting on the sofa alone, for the brightness would only illuminate what she was missing. This moment had been on its way for nearly ten years but she still wasn’t prepared for how lonely she felt. Polly had been her reason for everything and without her, there was nothing. Jamie’s head pounded, the headache that had been growing all day exploding into her consciousness. She embraced the pain, wanting it to consume her.
 

The Funeral Director had come quickly to the Hospice and Jamie had wept again to hand Polly’s body into their care. It was so wrong: a daughter should weep for her mother, not the other way around. Jamie rose and went to the bathroom, opening the cupboard where she kept her sleeping pills. For a long moment she looked at them, oblivion in a bottle. She twisted the cap off and tipped out two pills, then four more, then the whole bottle into her hand. Release called to her, a tangible desire to swallow these down and follow Polly’s spirit onwards.
 

That thought made her stop, for if there was another side and Polly was there now, she would be disappointed at these self-destructive thoughts. Jamie poured the tablets back into the bottle, keeping only the prescribed two. Even in death, she didn’t want to disappoint Polly, for one of the things that she had been most proud of was Jamie’s job, the fact that she brought killers to justice. Jamie tried to put the two deaths into perspective. Polly had died surrounded by love, and was now mourned and missed. Jenna Neville had died violently, her parents rejecting her passionate cause, and her killer was still out there. Jamie knew that right now, across London, across the world, other crimes were being committed, other people injured and killed. If she were to stay alive, her role would be as one of those who stood against the dark tide, part of a dam that held back at least some of the monsters.
 

She clenched her fists, remembering the sensation of holding Polly’s hand and the fierce determination in her daughter’s eyes when she wanted to learn something new. She could have been the next Stephen Hawking, Jamie thought, smiling a little because every parent would say that their kid could achieve something unique and amazing. But hers could have, for sure, because Polly’s mind had been special and sometimes Jamie wondered how she had brought such a being into the world.

 
Jamie thought of her own mother, years of not speaking creating a wall neither of them could cross. She rummaged in the back of a drawer and pulled out a card, the one that had finally broken their relationship years ago. It had a quote from the gospel of John 9:2-3.
 

His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who has sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
 

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.”
 

Jesus had healed the blind man and Jamie’s mother had said to pray in faith that God might work a miracle in Polly’s life. But Jamie could never reconcile the thought that God would have condemned a little girl to a life of torture in order to save her later. Her mother’s constant acceptance of suffering as God’s will was something that Jamie couldn’t bear, as if the violent anguish she saw every day was condoned by the Almighty. She hadn’t spoken to her parents for six years now, and cutting them completely out of her life had made the separation easier. It had just been her and Polly against the world, fighting for one more day. And now it was just her. Jamie pulled Polly’s cuddly dog, Lisa, to her chest and the tears came again as she wept for an empty future.

Chapter 15

The night was long and lonely. Even when Jamie managed to drop off to sleep, exhausted from weeping, she woke with a start from nightmares of Polly dying over and over again, forced to watch as she had to let her daughter go. In the end, although she knew that she should rest, Jamie could not bear lying there any longer.
 

Standing in the shower, she tried to think of what was supposed to happen next. Time seemed to have slowed down and her brain just wasn’t functioning properly. The pills in the cabinet called to her again and she rested her palm against the wall, anchoring herself to the physical world as the wave of longing washed over her. It was all she could do to resist the pull of oblivion. Fight it for just another heartbeat, she told herself, for this too shall pass.
 

Eventually, she managed to drag herself out of the bathroom and started getting ready to go to the funeral directors. Jamie was dreading the practicalities and the finality, holding onto the last moments she had cuddled her daughter on the bed. That was what she wanted to remember. That, and living as passionately as Polly had wanted her to. Jamie’s hand flew to her mouth and she held back a sob as the wrenching in her chest made her stop dead in the middle of the room. This was how people died of a broken heart, and even with all her years of police work, she hadn’t been prepared for the violence of her own grief. She breathed into the silence until the tightness eased and she could move again.
 

It was still early but Jamie rang Detective Superintendent Dale Cameron anyway. He didn’t answer so she left a brief message, grateful that she didn’t have to talk to him because she couldn’t bear his false sympathy right now. She followed up with an email to him and the HR department taking her allotted bereavement leave. She had told the Met about Polly’s illness previously and given them notice of her potential need to be off work, so there would be no problem with it. Jamie felt a lingering guilt and responsibility over Jenna Neville’s case, especially as Cameron had seemed to be directing the investigation away from the Nevilles. She still had her notes on Esther Neville to file, but her suspicions paled into insignificance now. They would have to find someone else to continue the investigation, because nothing else mattered anymore.
 

***

The entrance hall of the funeral directors was tastefully furnished with fresh flowers and cream decor, a light and airy atmosphere that seemed a respectable overlay for what must happen behind the scenes. Jamie didn’t want to think about Polly’s body being prepared for cremation: she wanted to remember her alive and vital, not as a shell of a corpse. In other cultures, in other times, she would have been the one washing the body and preparing her daughter for the grave. Perhaps that would have been a way to help the desolation, but Jamie couldn’t bear the thought of grieving so openly in front of others. This pain was hers to bear privately.
 

She rang the bell, pacing the little room with barely controlled nervous energy. As Jamie waited, her phone buzzed with a text from Missinghall.
 

So sorry about your daughter. FYI. Day-Conti arrested for Jenna’s murder.
 

Jamie frowned. Firstly at how her private life had been so clearly exposed but also, she couldn’t understand how Day-Conti could be arrested, given the little evidence against him and the open lines of investigation still to be followed up. Jamie wondered whether her visit to Esther Neville had stirred the hornet’s nest. Had Cameron used her absence to change the direction of the case? But then again, what did it even matter? She had more important things to think about right now. She pushed the investigation from her mind.
 

A door at the back of the entrance hall opened and the funeral director stepped out, rubbing his hands together in an awkward way.
 

“Ah, Ms Brooke,” he said without meeting her eyes and Jamie felt her heart thudding in her chest.
 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sensing the man’s discomfort.
 

He pursed his lips and twisted his hands, adjusting his tie. “I’m so sorry, we’re investigating right now. This has never happened before.”
 

“What’s happened?” Jamie cut him off, impatient for him to get to the point. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, no one called you?” The man looked embarrassed and shocked. “I’m so sorry. It’s your daughter’s body. It’s missing.”
 

Jamie’s head spun, confusion buzzing in her ears. “What do you mean it’s missing? How can that even happen?” Her voice escalated to a shout. “How can you lose my daughter?”
 

The man wrung his hands together, clearly distressed and worried about his business.
 

“I’m so sorry, but there was a break-in last night and by the time security got here, her body had been taken.” The man was flustered, his face reddening with every second. “It’s never happened before and to be honest, we don’t know why anyone would even want to steal a body.”

Jamie felt a chill at his words and rising anxiety rippled through her body. It was too much of a coincidence. Jenna had been investigating the theft of bodies and was then killed, and now she was analyzing the same evidence. Was this some kind of retribution for her investigation?
 

Hysteria rising within her, Jamie felt a desperation to shake the man. It seemed too much to take in and she was only just clinging to the edge of sanity. The funeral director was still speaking but Jamie was no longer listening. She was thinking back to Esther Neville’s clinical detachment about bodies, the horrors of Day-Conti’s studio, the evidence against Mascuria and Christopher Neville. The last forty-eight hours had been steeped in dissection, mutilation and desecration. This theft had to be related.
 

Inside, Jamie was screaming. Someone had taken her daughter. Someone had known about Polly’s condition, her death, and because of her, they had taken her body. She had to do something.
 

“Have you called the police?” Jamie asked, her voice outwardly calm.

“Of course, they’re sending someone down to interview the staff soon.”
 

Jamie knew this would be a priority for the Met. The theft of a body was unusual at the best of times, but when it was the daughter of a serving officer, she knew they would fast-track the case. The police had their problems, like any organization, but they certainly looked after their own.
 

She called Dale Cameron’s office and was put straight through. She explained what had happened and her suspicions surrounding the Neville case.
 

“Jamie, this is terrible … unbelievable. Of course, I’ll contact the officers assigned and explain the situation. We’ll find Polly’s body, I promise you.” He paused and Jamie heard caution in his silence, before he continued. “I can’t believe it’s related to the Neville case, though. And, of course, you know that you can’t be involved in either now. You’re too close.”

“But, Sir …”
 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Jamie, but you’re now officially on extended bereavement leave. I’ll keep you up to date.”
 

Jamie’s heart was thumping and her fist clenched the phone tight as Cameron hung up, dismissing her with barely concealed relief. But there was no way she could stay out of this case, especially as she was sure that the theft was related to Jenna’s murder.
 

Looking at her watch, Jamie suddenly felt a sense of lost time. It was Friday morning and the Lyceum had been marked on Jenna’s calendar for tomorrow night. It was one of many unanswered questions in this case, but she remembered the news clippings from Jenna’s office, the stolen bodies marked with L. Images of the specimens from the John Hunter museum flashed before Jamie’s eyes, twisted spines and diseased body parts floating in formaldehyde, torn from the bodies of their owners. She had to find Polly before she was displayed in a labeled bell-jar, her flesh carved up and trapped in liquid limbo. She would let the Met start their own investigation, but there was no time to follow the correct protocol. She needed to bring her daughter home.

Chapter 16

This part of London was always busiest in the dark. Artists worked nights and slept the days away, and the oldest profession in the world was always active. Debilitated from grief and lack of sleep, Jamie had taken a couple of ephedrine tablets, stimulants that would keep her awake for the investigation ahead. She wouldn’t rest until she held Polly’s body in her arms again. With the spike in energy helping her recover, at least physically, she parked the bike and slipped along the street towards the studio of Rowan Day-Conti.