Whispers of the Dead

by Simon Beckett

  'I'm fine. I just needed some water.' Up close I could see he was still pale, but he seemed a lot better than he had. The look he gave me made it clear I shouldn't mention his attack in front of the others. I turned to Gardner. 'Is there a problem?' 'You're damn right there's a problem!' Hicks interrupted. For all his indignation, I could see he was enjoying himself. 'Maybe we should discuss this some other time,' Gardner suggested wearily. But the pathologist wasn't going to be diverted. 'No, this needs to be settled now. This is one of the biggest serial killer investigations the state's seen in years. We can't risk amateurs fouling things up.' Amateurs? I clamped my mouth shut as my temper threatened to slip. Whatever I said would only make things worse. 'David's every bit as competent as I am,' Tom said, but he lacked the energy to argue. Hicks stabbed a finger at him. 'That's irrelevant! He shouldn't have been wandering around a crime scene by himself. What about it, Gardner? You going to start handing out tickets so anyone can just walk in?' Gardner's jaw muscles knotted, but that had hit home. 'He's got a point, Tom.' 'Goddammit, Dan, David's been doing us zjavourV But I'd heard enough. It was obvious where this was going. 'It's all right. I don't want to make things difficult.' Tom looked stricken, but Hicks was barely able to suppress his glee. 'No offence, Dr . . . Hunter, is it? I'm sure you're well enough respected back home, but this is Tennessee. This isn't your affair.' I didn't trust myself to say anything. Jacobsen was staring at Hicks with an unreadable expression. Gardner looked as though he wished the whole thing was over with. 'I'm sorry, David,'Tom said helplessly. 'It's OK.' I handed him the camera. I just wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere. 'Will you be able to manage?' I didn't want to say more, not in front of the others, but Tom knew what I meant. He gave a quick, embarrassed nod. I started to turn away before I remembered what I needed to tell him. 'You should take a look at the teeth that've been found in there. They don't belong with the rest of the remains.' 'How do you know?' Hicks demanded. 'Because they're from a pig.' That silenced him. I saw the flash of interest in Tom's eyes. 'Premolars?' I nodded, knowing he'd understand. But he was the only one. Hicks was glaring at me as though he suspected some sort of trick. 'You're telling me they've found pig's teeth? What the hell are they doing there?' 'Don't ask me. I'm only an amateur,' I said. It was a cheap parting shot, but I couldn't help myself. As I walked away I saw the smile on Tom's face, and thought there might even have been a ghost of one on Jacobsen's. But it didn't make me feel any better. I retraced my steps round to the front of the chapel, yanking the overalls' zip so hard they tore. I wrenched myself free and stuffed them in a plastic bin already half full of discarded protective gear. When I stripped off the rubber gloves sweat dripped out of them, forming dark splashes like a modernist painting in the dirt. My hands were pale and wrinkled from being trapped in the airless latex, and for an instant I felt a tug of something like deja vu. What? What does that remind me of? But I was too angry to dwell on it. And a more mundane thought had occurred to me. I'd come to Steeple Hill in Tom's car. After my grand exit, now I was stranded out here.

  Oh, terrific. I flung the gloves into the bin and took out my phone before realizing I didn't know the numbers of any local taxis. And even if I did, they wouldn't be allowed into the cemetery. I swore under my breath. I could always wait for Tom to finish, but my pride wouldn't allow that. Fine. I'll walk. Knowing I was being stubborn but in too foul a temper to care, I headed for the gates. cDr Hunter!' I turned to see Jacobsen coming along the path towards me. The bright sun was in her face, making her squint slightly against the glare. It caused tiny crow's feet to appear at the corners of the grey eyes, giving her a quizzical, almost humorous look that softened her features. 'Dr Lieberman said you didn't have your car. How are you getting back to town?' 'I'll manage.' 'I'll drive you.'

  'No thanks.' I was in no mood to accept favours. Her expression was impossible to read as she brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. 'I wouldn't recommend walking. Not with all the press outside.' I'd not thought about that. The anger began to leak away, leaving me feeling more than a little stupid. Til get my car,'Jacobsen said. 12

  The silence in the car wasn't exactly companionable, but neither was it awkward. I didn't feel talkative and Jacobsen didn't seem concerned either way. My temper had cooled a little, but there was still a slow burn of resentment that refused to die down. I pulled at my shirt, still hot and uncomfortable from the time spent in the pine woods. The inside of the car had been turned into an oven by the sun, but the air conditioning was finally starting to win the battle. I stared moodily out of the window, watching the unending succession of stores and fast food restaurants troop past: glass, brick and concrete set against the dark green backdrop of the mountains. More than ever I was aware of how unfamiliar much of it was. I didn't belong here. And you're certainly not wanted. Perhaps I should check for earlier flights after all. 'You might not like it, but Dr Hicks had a point,' Jacobsen said, rousing me from my thoughts. 'Dr Lieberman's an authorized TBI consultant.You aren't.' 'I know how to work crime scenes,' I said, stung. 'I'm sure you do, but this isn't about how capable you are. If this goes to trial we can't afford to have a defence attorney argue that we didn't follow procedure.' She turned to look at me, her grey eyes candid. 'You should know that.' I felt my self-righteous anger wilt. She was right. And there was more at stake here than my pride. 'Dr Lieberman's ill, isn't he?' The question took me by surprise. 'What makes you say that?' Jacobsen kept her attention on the road. 'My dad had a bad heart. He looked the same way' 'What happened?' I asked. 'He died.' 'I'm sorry' 'It was years ago,' she said, closing the subject. Her face was studiedly expressionless, but I sensed she was regretting giving away even that much about herself. It struck me again how attractive she was. I'd been aware of it before, of course, but only in an academic way, as you might admire the shape and form of a marble statue. Now, though, in the close confines of the car, I was all too conscious of it. She'd taken off her jacket, and her short-sleeved white shirt showed off the toned muscles of her arms. Her gun was still clipped to her belt, a jarring note against the smart business suit. But I could hear the whisper of her skirt on her legs as she worked the pedals, smell the fresh clean scent from her skin; a scented soap, I guessed, too light to be perfume. My sudden awareness of her was unnerving. I looked away from the full lips and stared resolutely ahead, keeping my eyes fixed on the road. Jacobsen would probably break my wrist if she realized what I was thinking. Or shoot you. 'Any news about Irving?' I asked, to take my mind off it. 'We're still searching.' No, in other words. 'Dr Lieberman says the remains in the woods were probably Willis Dexter's,' she said, I "Uke again. li.it way.' I described the fractures to the skull's forehead,

  ISK Hand how they fitted Dexter's injuries. 'Makes sense, I suppose. Someone switched bodies, and then dumped Dexter's in the woods at the back, where it wouldn't be found unless the grounds were searched.' 'But whoever did that would know that would happen as soon as we found the wrong body in the grave. So they obviously wanted us

  Bto find this as well.' First Loomis, then the unidentified remains in the casket, now Dexter. It _ was like a paper trail of corpses, each one leading to the next. 'It had to be someone with access to Steeple Hill,' I said. 'Have you got any further in tracking down this Dwight Chambers who York claims was working there?' 'We're still looking into it.'Jacobsen slowed the car to a stop as we drew up to a red traffic light. 'You sure the teeth you saw were from a pig?' 'Certain.' 'And you think they were left deliberately?' 'There's no other reason for them to be there. They were above the ribcage, exactly where the head would have been before scavengers got to the body. But none of the teeth showed any signs of scoring or damage, and if there'd been any gum tissue on them rodents would have gnawed it off. Which suggests the teeth were already clean when they were left there.' There Was a small furrow between Jacobsen's eyes. 'But what's the point?' 'Don't ask me. Perhaps whoever left them there just wanted to show off again.' 'I don't follow. How is leaving pig's
teeth showing off?' 'Pig premolars look a lot like human molars. Unless you know what you're looking for, it's easy to mistake one for the other.' Jacobsen's frown lifted. 'So the killer was letting us see he knows about details like that. Like the fingerprints left at the crime scenes. He's not just testing us, he's bragging how clever he is.' She gave a start as a horn blared behind us, alerting us that the lights were green. Flustered, she pulled away. I looked out of the window so she wouldn't see my smile. 'It sounds like pretty specialist knowledge. Who'd have access to that sort of information?' she went on, her composure once more in place. 'It's no secret. Anyone with--' I stopped short. 'With a forensic background?'Jacobsen finished for me. 'Yes,' I admitted. 'Such as forensic anthropology?' 'Or forensic archaeology, or pathology. Or any one of a dozen different forensic disciplines. Anyone who can be bothered to look through textbooks can find that sort of information. It doesn't mean you have to start pointing fingers at people who work in the field.' 'I wasn't pointing fingers at anyone.' The silence that fell now was anything but comfortable. I searched for a way to break it, but the aura around Jacobsen made small talk unthinkable. I stared out of the window, feeling flat and tired. Traffic streamed past, glinting in the early afternoon sunshine. 'You don't think much of psychology, do you?' she said suddenly.

  I wished I hadn't said anything, but there was no avoiding it now. 'I think there's too much reliance on it sometimes. It's a useful tool but it isn't infallible. Irving's profile showed that.' Her chin came up. 'Professor Irving let himself be sidetracked by the fact that both victims were male and naked.' 'You don't think that's significant?' 'Not that they're male, no. And I think you and Dr Lieberman hit on the reason why they were naked.' That threw me, but only for a second. 'A naked body decomposes faster than one with clothes on,' I said, annoyed with myself for not having seen it sooner. She gave a nod. She seemed as keen to skirt past the brief awkwardness as I was. 'And both Terry Loomis's body and the exhumed remains were more decomposed than they'd any right to be. It isn't unreasonable to assume they were both unclothed for similar reasons.' Another chance for the killer to sow confusion and demonstrate his cleverness. 'The exhumed body would have to have been stripped for the needles to be planted anyway,' I said. 'And once they were in place it'd be too risky to handle it any more than necessary. Certainly not just to put its clothes back on. But that doesn't alter the fact that all the victims were male.' 'The ones we know about, you mean.' 'You think there are more we haven't found yet?' I thought at first I'd gone too far. Jacobsen didn't answer, and I reminded myself that she didn't have to; I was no longer a part of the investigation. Get used to it.You're just a tourist now. But just as I was about to withdraw the question she seemed to reach a decision. 'This is pure speculation. But I'd agree with Professor Irving that we've only found the victims the killer wanted us to find. The level of brutality and sheer confidence he's displayed makes it almost certain that there are others. No one develops that sort of... sophistication, for want of a better word, first time round.' That hadn't occurred to me before. It was a disturbing thought. Jacobsen pulled down the visor as a curve in the road threw the sun in her face. 'Whatever the killer's agenda is, I don't think his victims' physical characteristics play a part in it,' she went on. 'We've got a thirty-six-year-old white insurance clerk, a black male in his fifties, and -- in all probability -- a forty-four-year-old psychologist, with no apparent connection between any of them. That suggests we're dealing with an opportunist who preys on random victims. Male or female, I doubt it makes any difference to him.' 'What about Irving? He wasn't random, he was deliberately targeted.' 'Professor Irving was an exception. I don't think he figured in the

  L killer's plans until he went on TV, but when he did the killer acted straight away. Which tells us something important.' 'You mean apart from that he's a dangerous lunatic?' A quick smile softened her features. 'Apart from that. Everything we have so far says that this is someone who deliberates and plans his actions carefully. The needles were planted in the body six months before he left Dexter's fingerprints at the cabin. That shows a methodical, ordered mind. But what happened with Professor Irving shows there's also another side. One that's impulsive and unstable. Prick his ego and he can't help himself.' I noticed she wasn't even trying to pretend any more that Irving might not be another victim. 'Is that good or bad?' 'Both. It means he's unpredictable, which makes him even more dangerous. But if he acts on impulse then sooner or later he'll make a mistake.' Jacobsen squinted again as the sun reflected off the cars in front. 'My sunglasses are in my jacket. Could you pass them, please?' The jacket was neatly folded on the back seat. I twisted round and reached for it. A waft of delicate scent came from the soft fabric, and I felt an odd intimacy as I searched its pockets. I found a pair of aviator shades and handed them to her. Our fingers brushed as she took them; her skin was cool and dry, but with an underlying heat. 'Thanks,' she said, putting on the sunglasses. 'You mentioned his agenda a moment ago,' I said quickly. 'I thought you'd already said that he craves recognition, that he's a ... what was it? A "malignant narcissist"? Doesn't that explain it?' Jacobsen inclined her head slightly. With her eyes concealed, she looked more unreadable than ever. 'It explains the extreme lengths he's prepared to go to, but not why he kills in the first place. He's got to get something out of it, have some pathological itch he's trying to scratch. If it isn't sexual, then what?' 'Perhaps he just enjoys inflicting pain,' I suggested. She shook her head. The small v was visible again above the sunglasses.'No. He might enjoy the sense of power it gives him, but it's more than that. Something's driving him to do all this. We just don't know yet what it is.' The sunlight was abruptly blotted out as a black pick-up truck drew up alongside. It towered over the car, a petrol-guzzling monstrosity with tinted windows, then quickly pulled ahead. It had only just cleared us when suddenly it cut into our lane. My foot stamped reflexively on to the floor as I braced for a collision. But with barely a touch on the brake, Jacobsen swerved into the other lane, as smoothly as though the move were choreographed. It was a cool display of driving, all the more impressive because she appeared unaware of it. She flicked an irritated glance at the pick-up as it accelerated away, but otherwise dismissed it. The incident broke the mood, though. She grew distant again after that, either preoccupied with what we'd said or regretting saying as much as she had. In any event there wasn't any more time for conversation. We were already approaching the centre of Knoxville. My spirits sank further the closer we got. Jacobsen dropped me back at my hotel, her reserve now as unassailable as any wall. Her sunglasses hid her eyes as she drove off with the briefest of nods, leaving me on the pavement, stiff-muscled from hunching over in the pine woods. I felt at a complete loss as to what to do next. I didn't know if my exclusion extended to the morgue, and didn't want to phone Tom to ask. Nor did I feel like going out to the facility, not until I'd a better idea of how things stood. Standing there in the bright spring sunshine, with people bustling around me, the full extent of what had happened finally sank in. While I'd been with Jacobsen I'd been able to keep it at arm's length, but now I had to face up to it. For the first time in my career I'd been thrown off an investigation.