The lovers Samael and Lilith passed their knowledge of the Angels to man and created a dynasty via intermarriage with humans, resulting in Lilith being punished by being turned into an essence without form. Lilith was said to appear in the natural world as a seductive spirit, confronting men who slept alone. Among recent variations and additions to this myth is one particularly prevalent among students of mythology who regard Samael and Lilith to be warring parts of the same human being, having been born as one creature incorporating both male and female genders. In this popular version of the legend, Lilith and Samael simultaneously love and hate each other. The battle for supremacy within this ‘male goddess’ can only be resolved when Lilith triumphs over Samael and transforms him into a complete woman. In this we can see the age-old struggle between male and female—
Longbright closed the book and carefully replaced it on the shelf as revelations tumbled through her mind.
No wonder everyone had been so guarded about admitting the truth. Lilith’s parents had not lied; they had, in a typically English manner, hoped their omissions would speak for themselves. They had borne and raised a redheaded son, Samuel, who had escaped from his stifling upbringing and come to London in order to change his life. It explained why his mother had been loath to find old photographs of the boy. Samuel had discovered the legend of the scarlet woman, the goddess of transformation, the woman in a man’s body. He had proudly changed the spelling of his name, even going so far as to have it tattooed onto his arm.
But the hormonal war being waged within him had only just begun, and it had been fought as it had between the ancient gods, with Samael finally being subsumed into the persona of Lilith.
Longbright thought, What did he do next? On completion of his own spiritual transformation, he had symbolically killed off his former self, removing the tattoo, undertaking lessons in everything from deportment to makeup with the aid of the helpful, unscrupulous Spender. There was nothing, after all, like a model with an outrageous press-friendly history, and The Temple’s new cosmetic lines needed publicity….
Sam Bronwin had come to London hoping to define his identity, and had been preyed upon. He had been fed hormones, had taken drugs—
She needed air. Standing at the opened crescent window, she thought about Owen Mills. Lilith had met him on the Crowndale Estate and had fallen deeply in love. What’s more, her love had been reciprocated, despite the fact that Lilith had been born a male, despite the fact that she took drugs to deaden her painful memories, despite the fact that she had possibly even turned tricks to pay for—
Longbright ran back to the desk and picked up the phone. ‘Giles, you’re still at Bayham Street?’
‘I was just about to leave—’
‘Stay there until I arrive. And don’t touch anything.’
Longbright ran through the alleyway slush, darting between trucks and motorbikes on Camden High Street; the home-going rush hour had already started. At the morgue, she found Kershaw seated at Finch’s desk, resigned to the coming conversation, calmly awaiting her arrival.
‘Giles, did you have any reason to examine Lilith Starr’s body?’ she asked, catching her breath and looking around.
‘I saw her when I first came to the morgue,’ he replied guardedly. ‘Why?’
‘I mean, did you make a full examination of her corpse?’
‘No, there was no need. Finch had already conducted the preliminary examination.’ Kershaw looked unnerved.
Omissions, she thought suddenly. He’s not telling me something.
‘But you’re the one who found Oswald’s body. What did you do before you called me? I’m not saying you did anything illegal, but you did do something, didn’t you?’
‘Look, Finch collapsed and died before he could put Lilith Starr’s corpse away, so I did it for him. You know the new regulations specify that they must be kept locked in the drawers when the room is occupied by nonmembers of staff.’
‘I’m not doubting that you meant well, Giles, but as a consequence nobody else checked her after Oswald’s death. You have to open the body bag all the way and tell me what you see,’ she said.
Kershaw slowly rose to his feet. ‘Okay, but—’
‘Just do it.’ She waited, pacing the floor.
He unlocked the drawer and pulled it out, unzipping the body bag to the bottom. ‘Well, yes.’ He sighed. ‘What do you want me to say, Janice? Lilith had had an operation, such a neat one that it’s pretty hard to spot.’
‘She was born a man, Giles, born with the name Samuel Bronwin. I know gender reassignment has come a long way in the last few years, but you’d think that would be the first thing Oswald noticed during his examination, wouldn’t you? The first observation he’d write down in his report book? Owen Mills came to see Finch, to explain that he had made a pact with Lilith. He wanted to make sure that no-one found out the truth about her in the event of her death, so of course he followed her to the mortuary that morning. It wasn’t just for her sake, either, but for his. Mills has brothers and sisters who look up to him as a role model. Check her breasts for me.’
‘I don’t have to; I already know they’ve been enhanced,’ Kershaw confirmed. ‘I noticed it straight off when I first saw her lying there, but so many girls have augmentation these days that I doubted anyone else would spot it.’
‘I think she had a spill. Mills said Lilith was vague and acting strangely the night of her death, complaining of a chest pain. One of the implants split and the slow leak, in combination with what was already in her system, sent her into anaphylactic shock. I think we’ll find that her transformation was all part of Circe’s service. Gender change is a process conducted after exhaustive psychological profiling. It’s planned in distinct stages, but she was rushed through the entire procedure by Spender, who was working to the timetable of his product launch.’
‘Why would Mills go to such efforts to hide the truth about her?’ asked Kershaw.
‘Are you kidding? Think, Giles. The boy was raised in an old-school Baptist West Indian family, not exactly a culture known for its compassionate views on transgendered males. Mills had already been bullied at school; if anyone found out he’d been dating a transsexual he would have been ostracised by his siblings, his peers, his community. Even if we imagine they could have accepted it, he acted for a much simpler reason. He loved her, and wanted to do right by her. He pleaded with Finch not to reveal the truth, and Finch probably refused to help him. Arthur knows the truth about Oswald’s death, but he wants us to work it out.’
‘So what’s the sequence of events?’ asked Kershaw.
‘You’re the one who wants Finch’s job,’ snapped Longbright. ‘You figure it out.’
Kershaw sat defeatedly at the morgue bench. ‘I should have been more careful,’ he said. ‘I thought I could help him.’
‘We’re running out of time. Let’s go back and fill in the gaps.’ Longbright seated herself opposite the young pathologist. ‘First on the scene after Finch arrives for the day’s work are Renfield and his constable—not a paramedic at all—with the body of Lilith Starr, presumed by his boy to be just another dead junkie. Renfield has covered for his PC and skipped procedure because he’s in a rush; Finch is tired and taking painkillers. The ventilator cover is still where he left it, unrepaired, and now the fan itself has fallen down. We knew that the mortuary ceiling was too high for anyone to get up there and tamper with it. So, Finch picks up the fan blade that has dropped down in the night, and sets it on the counter. As soon as Renfield has gone, Oswald starts work and immediately writes out his primary observation: the true gender of the person on his table.
‘He begins his examination, making a note that his victim has undergone a rushed sex-change. Owen Mills buzzes the door, blagging his way in as the partner of the deceased, and argues with Finch, begging him not to report what he knows. Being a stickler for the truth, Finch turns him down, and Mills is incensed—we know he slaps his hand down hard on Finch’s notes, leaving the im
print on his palm—but he leaves.
‘Rattled but ever the professional, Finch returns to work, and now he makes a secondary observation, based on instincts honed across decades of dealing with human organisms: that there’s a slim chance the girl on his table may not, in fact, be dead after all. The distraction with Mills has lost him valuable time, even though it only lasted a few minutes. Having to guess at what might work, he quickly prepares the naltrexone and injects it as part of a cocktail of stimulants, but there’s no response. To prevent spasms he adds another drug, a muscle relaxant, vecuronium, which was also found in her system. What he doesn’t know is that the drugs are indeed taking effect.
‘Angered by Renfield’s failure to involve the hospital when she might have been saved, he calls the sergeant to berate him. Now things should be quiet, but you turn up to talk about being passed over for the position of unit pathologist.
‘And surprisingly, Finch is receptive to your case. He likes you—he’s always liked you—so he asks for your help. He’s been thinking about Lilith Starr, and has realised that all it would take is one little omission from his notes to prevent a young man’s life from being ruined. He no longer wants to report her case as a male undergoing gender reassignment, something that, according to Mills, has already caused her own family to disown her. That’s why he gets you to tear up his notes—at least he won’t have to lie himself—it’s just a few lines on a single page, which you destroy for him. You didn’t argue with him at all—that little shouting match was staged for Meera’s sake when she arrived at the morgue.
‘And that should have been that. But the drugs Finch injected have now had time to cause an interaction. They can take longer than two hours to work, even longer in a cold room, and this one was warm. But the resuscitation goes horribly wrong.
‘Lilith Starr wakes up in a state of shock, in terrible pain. The last thing she remembers is falling asleep in a shop doorway. Now she suddenly sits up on a steel table to find herself stripped to the waist, breasts exposed, with a horrible old man standing over her. Instinctively she fights him off—Finch is probably just as startled as she is—her hand seizes on the nearest object, the fan blade, and she strikes him hard in the chest with it, then lashes out a second time as he backs away. Oswald collapses, but the appalling shock to Lilith’s system is just as great, and she falls back. This time, she really is dead. The discrepancy in her time of death is hard to spot because her body has already had time to cool. That’s why there were no fingerprints on the blade; she wasn’t producing any sweat. And nobody else left or entered the locked morgue. So, after years of investigating similar crimes with the PCU, Finch becomes a victim of his own perfect murder.
‘Except that we would have found Lilith’s body on the table, not in the drawer, wouldn’t we, Giles? I know you came back to Bayham Street because you called me from there at eleven thirty-five A.M., and I arrived ten minutes later. Another omission.’
Kershaw rubbed his face with his long fingers. ‘I was taken aback when Oswald asked me to help him. He was a scientist who believed that ethical issues had little relevance to his work. But Bryant was always going on to him about discovering a moral dimension to crime. And now he had come face-to-face with a genuine moral dilemma: to respect the wishes of the dead and thus help the living, or to stubbornly stick to the letter of the law and hurt everyone. I had never seen him so confused. I went out for a coffee and came back at eleven-twenty A.M. to reassure Oswald that he was doing the right thing, and instead I found him dead. It didn’t take me long to see what had happened, and I knew that anyone else arriving would quickly figure out the truth. So I put Lilith Starr’s body back in the drawer and locked it. We would assume, rightly, that Finch had suffered heart failure. Attention would be drawn away from the girl he had decided to protect, and I would have honoured his final wish. But as soon as I saw the bruises coming up on his neck and chest, I was faced with a dilemma of my own: to conceal them and start compounding the lie, or to report the facts and let everyone else decide what had happened. I thought about Finch’s professional opinion of me, and knew what he would have expected me to do. I didn’t obstruct, Janice, I just omitted. Now I’ve failed to carry out his wishes, as well as destroying my own career.’
Longbright reached out a tentative hand in sympathy. ‘No, Giles, you behaved honourably, and I know Arthur will consider that to be your saving grace. He worked the whole thing out while he was four hundred miles away, sitting in a snowdrift, but he wanted us to decide what action to take. I think I can answer that now. We’ll continue to honour Oswald’s wish, and close the case. You see, it was me who refused to countersign your application for Oswald’s position. But now, I’m ready to recommend you.’
‘Thank you, Janice.’ Giles raised his head and smiled ruefully at her. ‘I won’t let any of you down, I promise. What amazes me is how Arthur figured out the truth.’
‘Oh, he’ll have read the answer in some dusty old book,’ said Longbright, smiling to herself.
47
THE CONSPIRACY OF MEN
Arthur Bryant stood at the dark tunnel entrance and listened. The reflected light from the snow only lit the first five feet of the track, and he had left the Valiant, May’s trusty cinema torch, on the dashboard of the van. He looked back at Ryan, anchored to the bushes, and slowly advanced into darkness.
He heard dripping water, a click of flint. There was a scuffling sound somewhere ahead of him, a brush of material against rough brick. He was now moving in total darkness. By sliding one foot before the other around the edges of the sleepers, he was able to avoid the rails, staying close against the right-hand wall of the tunnel.
‘I know you’re there,’ Bryant called gently. ‘And I think I know the truth about you.’
There was a fresh sound of displaced gravel, much closer now. He stopped and listened to someone else’s ragged breathing. He was wondering whether to go further, and suddenly realised that he was afraid. Not for himself—death had long since ceased to hold any terrors—but because something was very wrong, and had been for a while now. This, he thought, is my hour of reckoning, the descent of my black angel.
He took a step forward, then another, still feeling for the edges of the sleepers. The bitter blanket of blackness pressed in on him, for it was even colder in the tunnel than it had been outside. It seemed that he could smell the cuprous tang of metal and coal-soot, although no steam trains had passed through here in decades.
His right boot pressed against something soft. Lowering himself to a crouch, he reached forward and felt around. The body lying beside the track was still warm to the touch, but there was no longer a pulse in its wrist.
‘What are you doing?’ asked May as Maggie snatched the mobile from him.
‘Come on, we both feel it,’ she told him, ‘a deviant force at work, trying to fool us into making a mistake. We can’t fight it alone, two elderly men and a crazy lady of a certain age coping with her psychic senses and a hip replacement; we need help, so that’s what I’m going to get us.’ She punched out the number of the PCU. ‘Hello, dear, to whom am I speaking? Well, if it’s a wrong number why did you answer the phone? Anyway, it’s not; get me April on the phone, would you? John May’s granddaughter—yes, I suppose that does make her name April May. Well, she probably never told you because she was embarrassed.’ She pursed her lips at the phone. ‘This is no laughing matter, young man, put me through at once!’
‘Got her,’ said April, running down the list of names on her computer with the phone propped under her chin. ‘Kate Summerton went to jail on seven counts of fraud the first time in 1998, second time for receiving stolen goods and intent to deceive in 2002. Address, twenty-four Cranmere Road, Greenwich SE-10, and there’s a phone number. We’ll get someone to call her right now and put the frighteners on her. No, not literally, Maggie, it’s an expression I heard on the telly.’
‘That’s good,’ said Maggie. ‘I thought you were referring to shape-shifters.’
>
April jotted down the number, tore off the strip of paper, and passed it to Bimsley. ‘I hear Uncle Arthur managed to resolve our investigation at Bayham Street. Perhaps we can return the compliment and do the same with his. Colin, we need everything you can get on a Madeline Gilby, she’s a client of this woman.’
Meera came into April’s office with a folded page in her hand. ‘Your grandfather wants a check run for these names on your ICDb,’ she explained. ‘He’s on the line, waiting for an answer. They’re all supposed to be victims of the bloke they’re looking for on Dartmoor. Can you do it right now?’
April looked at the piece of paper. ‘This is an Indian takeaway menu,’ she said.
‘Other side.’
April turned the sheet over and entered the names into the International Criminal Database: Pascal Favier, Patrice Bezard, Johann Bellocq, Edward Winthrop, Paulo Escobar, Pierre Castel.
She took Meera’s phone and transferred it to a speaker while she typed. ‘Easy, Granddad, they’re coming up on my screen, all well-known cases by the look of it. Johann Bellocq was born in Marseilles, then moved to the family home near the village of Roquebrune, Alpes-Maritimes, charged with manslaughter for beating his mother to death in March 1986, but the judge commuted his sentence to a stay in a mental hospital due to the extenuating circumstances of the case, which he called “devastatingly sad.” Bellocq was released five years later. Bezard was executed in Normandy for the murder of his wife in 1945, likewise Escobar for the same crime in Paris in 1958. Winthrop was a lawyer murdered by his client, Pascal Favier, in 2004 in Marseilles; they never caught Favier. Castel was jailed for the murder of his mother in La Rochelle in 1976. They’re all in a book, Famous French Trials of the 20thCentury by Edith Corbeau, published in France two years ago by J’ai Lu, currently available here in paperback from Transworld.’
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