The Reviver (21 page)

‘Abscom’ had been how some of the most extreme groups within the Afterlifers referred to themselves. Absolute commitment. The word had also been used as a verb, a euphemism for doing what needed to be done, without question. It was a threat to those showing weakness or passing information to the authorities. Anyone who wavered was open to beatings, or worse.

TY
must be a person, she reasoned. Someone her father had met and arranged to meet again, who then hadn’t appeared; someone with enough old Afterlifer connections to be under threat for speaking to a journalist.

Someone the police could identify.

‘What the hell were you getting into, Dad?’ Annabel said.

She picked up the phone and called Detective Harrington. She explained what she’d found, barely pausing for breath, not noticing the total silence at the other end until she had finished.

‘Miss Harker,’ said the detective in a slow, purposeful way that Annabel suddenly found terrifying. ‘Annabel. The case isn’t with us any more. There have been developments, but…’

‘Tell me,’ said Annabel. She could sense the unease on the other end of the phone.

‘Annabel, give me a few seconds.’ The line went silent, and she could almost see him scrabbling for information from those around him. Thirty seconds went by. She gripped the handset tighter. Then the line clicked and Harrington was back, cautious and awkward. ‘Annabel. I understand there’s someone coming to you now. They’ll arrive within…’

‘Tell me.
Please.
’

A long pause as Harrington made his choice.

‘They found a body four hours ago,’ the detective told her. ‘They think it’s your father.’

16

Detective Ray Johnson was cold. He was standing in the pathology room in the Richmond FRS building, watching someone hunt for maggots.

Daniel Harker’s body had been found in a rented house in Warrenton, Virginia. The rent had been paid two months in advance. The owner had been phoning for days to arrange access to take down an old tree at the back of the property. Unable to raise the tenants, he had gone there in person to find an abandoned house and a smell coming from the cellar.

The wallet in Harker’s back pocket had provided an initial ID. With a big story looming, the choice of who would lead the investigation rose higher than normal procedure required: the city, the district, the
state.
A badly managed investigation would be a conspicuous failure, and nobody wanted to be accused of overseeing a shambles in their territory.

The Woods case had been a media favourite for a few days, and Crenner’s name was pushed hard by those who wanted to cash in on the good will.

That morning, Johnson had followed Crenner and the pathologist at the scene, Peter Rierson, into the stench and gloom of the cellar, wearing a white respiration mask at Rierson’s advice. It was empty, save for the police photographer and the corpse. A single bare light hung from the roof.

In the middle of the concrete floor was a chair, fallen on its side. And in that chair, a figure. Hands tied at the rear. The skin purple and blackened, the appalling smell brought into extreme focus. Johnson noticed movement. There was a maggot on the corpse’s cheek.

‘Christ,’ he said, trying not to retch.

Rierson nodded. ‘I’ve already spent ten minutes gathering the little bastards. I’ve probably only got half of them. I like my corpses to stay still.’ He crouched down and pulled a plastic container and tweezers from his pockets, gathering larvae one by one.

‘Shit,’ said Crenner. ‘I can’t even tell if it’s him.’

Staring at the swollen and distorted face of the hunched shape in the chair, Johnson knew what he meant.

‘How long’s he been dead?’ asked Crenner.

‘We’ll need a better idea how warm it gets down here by afternoon,’ Rierson said. ‘We’d expect a place like this to stay quite cool, but with so many warm nights and hot days recently it plays havoc with the guesswork. These maggots have been feeding for a few days now, probably hatched within two to four days of laying, species and temperature depending. Relatively few larvae, perhaps a single insect in the cellar with him when he died or one got lucky getting inside later. Must be well sealed or we’d be overrun by now. That’d give us maybe five days as a minimum, but by the look of the body I’d say longer. It might not be a species that lays on fresh cadavers. Some wait until they get a little more mushy, and then lay on pre-existing wounds. They’re mostly in this area of the neck, so maybe they were laid around an injury. Deep scratches would have been enough of an invite. We’ll have a better idea later when an entomologist’s had a look.’

‘Five days minimum, what’s your maximum?’

‘Hell, look at the state of him. Could be ten days, even two weeks. He’s pretty ripe. I assume you’ve no intention of trying a revival?’ Rierson’s expression showed he didn’t expect there to be a chance of it.

‘Pathology liaison from FRS North East should be here soon,’ said Crenner. ‘We’ll see what they say.’

What they said wasn’t encouraging. Onsite was impractical. With the right facilities they gave a 5 per cent chance, even for the best revivers in the country. While it was North East’s jurisdiction, all of their highest-ranking staff were on tails. Crenner would have to beg elsewhere if he wanted it done that day, and he knew exactly what his first call would be.

The decision made, Harker’s body was removed, covered in polythene sheeting while still tied to the chair. It was transported to the Richmond FRS preparation room, where the corpse was finally untied, the clothing removed and dispatched for examination.

The blackening of the skin was worst around the head and throat, the rest of the corpse lighter, green veins tracking the paths of decay. There was a simple Celtic tattoo design at the top of the left arm. That sealed the identification – dental results and DNA would take days, but the tattoo was visible in a photograph Harker’s daughter had supplied. Crenner called it in, and set off to bring the news to Annabel Harker in person, unaware that the news had already reached her.

That left Ray Johnson, watching Peter Rierson continue his examination for an hour, before spotting a few maggots he had missed earlier.

‘How long do we think until we’re good to go?’ Johnson asked.

Rierson looked up. ‘Once I’m sure I’ve got the last of these guys it’ll take me another twenty minutes, say, to get the rest of the preliminary samples, help us get a better handle on cause of death.’

‘What’s the working hypothesis?’

‘Not pleasant. Severely dehydrated, probably hadn’t had food or water in days, but we need to get inside him for that. It looks like he was tied up and left.’

Johnson shook his head. ‘Fuck. How long would it have taken?’

‘Depending how cool that cellar stays, maybe three or four days before he lost consciousness, another day or two before death. He was securely tied. There were clear signs of him struggling to free himself.’

‘Jesus.’ His cell phone rang and he answered. It was Bob Crenner. Johnson listened for a moment, then told Crenner they’d be ready in another half hour. He hung up and wandered back to the corpse, watching it for a moment in silence before he spoke. ‘Harker’s daughter is on her way here. She wants to be present for the revival.’

Rierson raised his eyebrows. ‘We haven’t exactly done a mortician’s job,’ he said, his fingers in the flesh of Harker’s neck. ‘Free of larvae, best we can do.’

They both fell silent as Rierson finished up. Johnson stood back, then noticed something on the corpse’s skin. The blackening increased down the lower part of the leg, becoming severe around the foot, but there was a definite mark just above the ankle. He stepped over and looked.

‘What do you think that is?’ he asked, indicating the mark, less than a centimetre across.

‘Tattoo,’ Rierson said without looking up. ‘Noticed it earlier. Hadn’t been mentioned by the daughter, but she may not have been aware of it.’

‘What is it?’ said Johnson. ‘I can’t make it out.’ The black lines of the tattoo were difficult to see against the blackened and sloughing skin.

‘I couldn’t either, but we already had the shoulder tattoo so it was just a quick look.’

Johnson peered at the mark. At last, he could see what it was. A tiny tattoo of a robin.

*   *   *

By the time Bob Crenner arrived back at the FRS with Annabel Harker, a local victim liaison officer had been arranged and was waiting. Crenner left Annabel in the officer’s care, sitting in the observation room with the curtains drawn. He went into the pathology room to brief those involved.

‘Boss,’ said Ray Johnson, with a nod.

Peter Rierson was at the side, labelling the samples he had taken. Also present were the FRS contingent: Hugo Adler, Never Geary and Pru Dryden. Dryden would be the reviver, something that had disappointed Crenner when he’d first called, but he trusted these people.

‘Here’s what we know,’ Crenner said. ‘Daniel Harker was reported missing sixteen days ago. The last verified contact was ten days earlier. Initially it was thought that money was the most likely motive, but there was always a chance that he had been taken by an Afterlifer or similar group. The detectives involved played this down with the daughter and kept the story quiet. Daniel was found this morning, possibly abandoned. He may have died of thirst.

‘His car was caught on security camera in Greensboro, North Carolina, an unknown male using his card to withdraw money. Same card was used a few days later in Atlanta. His car has not been found yet, but it now seems likely that the withdrawals were intended to mislead us. They wanted us to think they’d gone halfway across the country. Instead, Daniel Harker was only a two-hour drive from his home. It’s possible the kidnapping was over money, but if it was we’re looking at incompetents. If it was idealism, then his death must be a statement. But neither feels right.’ Crenner started to walk around the corpse, taking slow steps as he spoke. ‘If they wanted him revived, maybe to deliver a memorized message, then the length of time before Harker was found makes no sense. Maybe they fucked up. This morning, his daughter found evidence that Daniel had been working on a story involving Afterlifers. He disappeared days after his contact failed to show at an agreed meeting. If this is relevant – if they took him because of something he had been told – then why did they let him die this way? If he’d known something, why did they risk him being revived, and not kill him and decapitate the body? So far, we have nothing from the house where he was found. Remains of several fires in the backyard. Plenty of fingerprints, but nothing matched so far. Description of one man the owner met, with not a single unusual feature. No information on any vehicles. We have ten detectives working on this and getting nowhere, and time running out before the story leaks. We need the revival. If it works, our priority is to get the circumstances of his kidnapping, descriptions of his kidnappers and to fill in the blanks on what Harker had found, if anything. Hugo?’

Hugo Adler raised an eyebrow. ‘Detective. Pru will get him back, if it can be done.’ He looked Pru’s way and got a scared smile in return, then he addressed her. ‘Pru, Detectives Crenner and Johnson will be sitting with me and Never in the tech room. Annabel Harker is anxious to speak with her father. The chances are slim, but you should talk to her now while we bring Harker into the revival room and finish prep.’

Pru Dryden nodded. Bob Crenner watched her leave, then found himself looking at the corpse. Dryden was preparing for the challenge of reviving this body. Crenner was scared for her.

*   *   *

Pru collapsed eighty-six minutes after starting the revival. From the technician’s room, Never had been watching closely. Daniel Harker’s naked body on the padded table in the revival room, black and green and distorted; Pru’s face, eyes closed most of the time, brow creased, brief flickerings of emotion.

He had been worried since the beginning. Pru had looked far too wary for his liking, the combination of pressure of the high-profile case and the innate difficulty of the revival facing her. He had used one camera to get a tight shot of Pru and could see the effort build, her discomfort growing. He was the first in the room when it went wrong, moving for the door a moment before anyone else had even seen it happening, Daniel Harker’s hand slipping out of Pru’s. She slouched over in her chair, falling to the floor just before Never reached her, blood from a cut lip leaving a smear on the white tiling when he turned her over.

Hugo was close on his heels. They helped her through to one of the overnight beds in the bunk room down the hall.

Crenner came with them. ‘She OK?’ he asked.

‘She’ll be fine,’ said Hugo. ‘Call upstairs, Never. See who can sit with her.’

Pru sat up as Never picked up the phone. ‘Shit. Sorry. The pull was tough, couldn’t handle it.’

‘You did well to get that close,’ said Hugo.

‘Stacy’s coming down,’ said Never.

Crenner looked worried. ‘What about Harker? Can she try again?’

Hugo looked at Pru. She shook her head, and he nodded. ‘You stay here until Stacy says you’re fine, Pru. Then get yourself home and rest.’

When Stacy arrived, Never, Hugo and Crenner headed down the corridor, back into the technician’s room.

‘We knew it would be difficult,’ said Hugo.

Crenner swore. ‘We need the revival. You told me that you—’

‘I know what I
said.
’ Hugo turned away from Crenner’s gaze. He looked down at the floor. ‘Give us a moment, Detective.’

Crenner nodded, then stepped out into the corridor.

Hugo turned to Never. ‘I didn’t think it would come down to this,’ he said. ‘I thought Pru would do it, or get nowhere. But she got
close.
That means it can be done, and we’re running out of time.’

‘What did you tell Crenner?’ asked Never, his eyes narrowing.

Hugo sighed. ‘When he called, he asked about Jonah first. I told him Jonah was our backup, that with Stacy and Jason both on tails until tomorrow, it left us with Pru and Jonah as the only ones capable of Harker’s revival. I told him I didn’t want Jonah doing it, unless…’