The Perfect Corpse

by Giles Milton

  He walked across to Rayno and gave a sympathetic smile.

  ‘How’re you bearing up?’

  Rayno looked at him, arms folded tightly. He drew them into his chest like he was trying to keep warm. The armpits of his shirt had dark stain of sweat.

  ‘Beats me. What sort of freak would be doing this? And here in Hanford too.’

  He let out a long sigh, like it was all too much. ‘I’m out of my depth, I’m tellin’ you. Out of my depth.’

  ‘Mind if I go in? Take a look?’

  ‘Be my guest. Only it’s not pretty.’

  ‘I’ll wait by the car,’ said Tammy in a quiet voice. ‘Don’t think I can take any more of this.’

  Jack looked carefully at the blue front door. It had two glazed panels and was freshly painted in gloss. No sign of it having been forced. He turned his gaze to the ground floor windows. They had their original locks, sturdy, made of heavy brass, not unlike the ones he had at home. Screwed tightly into the wood and no visible sign of damage.

  ‘See,’ said Rayno, ambling back towards Jack, hands shoved into his pockets. ‘Just like the last one. No sign of nothin’. It’s like he just flits in, does his dirty business, then flits back out again. A ghost with a knife.’

  ‘I’ll take a look.’

  Jack pushed open the front door. Officer Don was standing aimlessly in the hallway, the watchman of the bodies. He grinned when he saw Jack, half-nervous, half-stupid.

  ‘We told the boss in the end,’ he said. ‘About your visit last time round. Told him we’d let you in.’

  Jack nodded. ‘We’re in this together now.’

  Officer Don removed his cap and ran his hands through his sweaty hair.

  ‘Yeah. True enough. Better catch this son-of-a-bitch before he strikes again.’

  He jammed his cap back onto his head and leaned heavily against the wall, one boot bent backwards against the panelling.

  ‘Boss thinks it’s some Nazi weirdo. It’s the skull thing. Says its some Nazi stuff. Boss, Rayno, reckons he’s from Utah. They’re overrun with Nazi shit.’

  Jack gave a half nod and looked further down the hallway.

  ‘Mind if I pass - ?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  He made his way down the long hall, rubbing his hand over his chin. He hadn’t shaved for two days. The layout of the house was not unlike Ashton Brookner’s, except it was bigger and a great deal more homey. Five coats hung on the wall pegs, along with a woollen picnic rug, all red and yellow squares. Trinkets from various holidays stood on the shelves. A gilded metal Eiffel tower, a small doll in native American costume. There was also a postcard of the Reichstag in Berlin. He picked it up and turned it over. Blank. Nothing written on the other side.

  ‘Upstairs,’ said Officer Don, coming over towards him. ‘First door on the left. Must have been in bed when it happened. Boss reckons they were asleep.’

  Jack climbed the wooden staircase and reached the top. He stood on the landing for a second, looking round, before pushing the bedroom door. It squeaked on its hinges. If he’d come through the door, the squeak would surely have woken them. He looked at the French doors, still wide open. Maybe Perez was right. That’s how he’d got inside.

  The room smelt of death, thick, like out-of-date meat that’s just been opened from its packaging. The murdered couple lay on the bed in a bloody tangle, as if they were figures from a grotesque painting. Lucian Freud with blood and entrails. The man was in blue and green pyjamas, the woman in a pink nightdress torn open at the front. Blood, blood, blood. So much blood they could have been ripped apart by dogs. Blood coated the ceiling and walls; it had dribbled down to the floor in long thin streams. And it had leached into the sheets and eiderdown.

  It was hot in the room. The blood had dried quickly.

  Jack looked more carefully at the corpses. The man lay on his side, his left leg splayed awkwardly outwards, like he was trying to kick the sheet away. Both arms were twisted behind his back, unnaturally, and his neck was slumped into a dip in the mattress.

  He examined the chest. As expected it was gouged with a human skull, only less crude than it had been with Kingston and Ashton Brookner. Hans Dietrich seemed to have taken his time over this one, getting the shape of the skull just right.

  The woman lay on her back, legs straight, her arms twisted like those bodies from Pompeii, one hand pointing at the ceiling. Her head was on its side, turned onto its left ear, concealing the scalpel wound. The grey hair was caked with blood and blood was smeared on her forehead as well. Her midriff was still covered with her pink nightdress, but her breasts were exposed, hanging down on either side of her ribcage, pendulous but stiff like plastic.

  Jack took a step backwards, kicking one foot against the other. He felt an inner panic. Why was his brain working so slowly? How much longer could Hans Dietrich stay one step ahead? Murders three and four. It would only be a matter of time before the story of ZAKRON, Kingston, everything, would break in the press. And then what? The day of reckoning for everyone. And that included him.

  He glanced out of the window. In the few minutes since he’d entered the house a media circus had assembled out front. Three vans. A bank of TV cameras. Six, seven reporters, all deep in discussion with their crews. And a forest of microphones poking in the direction of the house, like giant grey hornets.

  For a brief moment he toyed with the idea of leaving. He could buy a ticket. Jump on a plane. Head back to London. Yes, unlike the rest of them he could wash his hands of everything. But then he thought of Tammy. In truth, his hands were tied. He couldn’t jump on a plane.

  Weldon and Rose Pereira. That was their names. A nice, comfortably off, hardworking middle-class couple. No enemies. No criminal records. No past actions that offered any clues as to why he might have wanted them dead.

  Jack looked around their bedroom. It was exactly the sort of place you might have expected Weldon and Rose Pereira of Hanford Gap to have made their home. Pink wall-paper. Satin curtains, all tassels and flowers. She’d chosen the decor and he’d pulled out his credit card and paid for it all.

  The stucco rose in the centre of the ceiling was just about the only original feature left. Jack looked back to the French doors. They were also original. And at some point, the corner of the room had been boxed off to create a bathroom.

  He took a final look at the bodies then made his way back downstairs, bumping into Sergeant Rayno in the hallway. He looked agitated, excited.

  ‘We might at last be onto somethin’,’ he said, taking Jack by the arm. ‘Come, let’s go into the kitchen.’

  Perez was already seated at the table and tapping furiously into his laptop. He looked up when the two of them entered the room.

  ‘What you got then?’ said Rayno, all anticipation. ‘Tell us everything.’

  ‘Weldon and Rose Pereira. Owners of Sunshine Bar on North Park Driveway.’

  Rayno pushed his thumbs down on the table.

  ‘Yeah. But we knew that already. Everyone in Hanford knows the Sunshine Bar.’

  Perez nodded slowly. ‘Okay, okay. But who was a regular drinker at the Sunshine Bar?’

  Jack’s eyes flickered towards Perez. ‘Ashton Brookner - ?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  He snapped shut his laptop and looked at them both sharply.

  ‘Listen. I just zipped down there. It’s only at the far end of the road. Scummy little place. Not what I was expecting at all. Got chatting to one of the bar girls. And spoke to a couple of regulars.’

  ‘You didn’t tell them what’s happened?’

  ‘Christ no. But I asked if they knew Ashton Brookner. If he ever drank there. And what does the bar girl say to me? “Why yeah”, she says. “He came in here pretty much most nights. Best buddies with Rose and Weldon, he is.”’

  Rayno sat down at the table, trying to think what it could mean. He’d been to the Sunshine Bar, though not for many years. It was a kids’ sort of place. They went for milkshakes and Cokes. He co
uldn’t get his head round why Ashton Brookner would go there.

  ‘That’s what she tells me,’ said Perez. ‘And get this. Brookner used to see the Pereiras all the time. Used to tell them everything, like they were some sort of confidantes. From what I can gather, Brookner seems to have been something of a loner. He’d come to rely on the Pereiras. Used to spend two hours with them every single night, even more on Fridays and the weekend.’

  Rayno jabbed his hand into the air. He suddenly understood.

  ‘Got it. Sorry, brain’s running low on gas. You’re saying he went there, blabbed with them, told them about the drones. He’s been whispering military secrets. And that’s why they got themselves murdered. Cos they knew too much, just like him.’

  Perez thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, guess that’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  Rayno stood up, paced around the room then stepped into the corridor.

  ‘Back in two secs,’ he said. ‘Need to get my head round all this.’

  When he’d left the room Jack sat down next to Perez. He noticed Perez smiling.

  ‘Shouldn’t have,’ he said. ‘But I needed to throw the scent elsewhere. Toss them a few clues to get them working. Gives us more time to find Hans Dietrich.’

  ‘Can’t you throw some scent to them?’ said Jack, pointing to the cameras outside. ‘You seen?’

  Perez nodded.

  ‘Uhuh. Every minute another one arrives. CNN, two vans. Fox. PBS. It’s going viral. And we need a result. Before he strikes again.’

  Jack made his way to the front porch of the house and watched the commotion outside. Rayno was trying to put up a second cordon, pushing the crews further back into the road. One of the CNN team was setting up lights. Other technicians were hanging around and drinking mugs of coffee. Dozens of black cables were strewn across the pavement. They could have been thick streams of licorice.

  ‘Sheriff Rayno, Sheriff Rayno, can you do the six o’clock - ?’

  ‘Sheriff Rayno, Lem - ?’

  Jack watched Rayno wave his hand through the air, a sign that he was through with appearing on television.

  ‘Sheriff Rayno, CNN here – ’

  Perez joined Jack at the door.

  ‘We need to get back to ZAKRON. Touch base with Tom, Hunter. But – ’

  He looked towards the street. ‘Not going to be easy getting through that crowd. They know me, cos I’ve been talking to them. But they’re going to be mighty confused to see you.’

  The two of them walked down the front steps then strode purposefully across the lawn. Marty Beck took a step forwards and shoved her mike in front of Perez’s face.

  ‘Sergeant Perez, what more can you give us?’

  She stopped, smiled, added: ‘Don’t worry, we’re not live.’

  Perez said nothing. He was unsure whether or not to speak. He stared at the ground for a moment, thinking hard, then turned to face the camera.

  ‘As you know, Marty, there’s been two more victims. I’m not yet able to formally inform you of the identities of the victims but – ’

  ‘We’re standing outside the house of Mister Pereira and his wife?’

  ‘Yeah. This is indeed the house of Mister Pereira and his wife. The crime took place in their home.’

  ‘Then we can assume – ’

  Perez shot a warning glance at Marty and she backed off. She knew he’d break off the interview if she didn’t change tack.

  ‘I’m not able right now to reveal the victims’ identities. All I can say is they were close friends of Ashton Brookner. Indeed Mister Brookner used to see the deceased every day.’

  Marty nodded, paused, then threw an anxious glance towards the cameraman. He nodded in return, a sign that everything was recording just fine.

  ‘So that’s the line you’re following? That Brookner and the -’ She stopped herself naming the Pereiras once again. ‘That Mister Brookner and the deceased knew each other and that Mister Brookner – ’

  She paused in mid-sentence. Perez filled the gap.

  ‘Look, it’s no secret Ashton Brookner was working on the development of a new drone. He knew every detail of its spec. He was the technical genius behind it. And, yes, it seems he may have shared some information with the newly deceased. That’s one of the lines we’re working on. But I can’t say too much right now.’

  Marty nodded.

  ‘But does it bring us any closer to the killer? We’ve got half of Hanford quaking in their beds, wondering who’s going to be next. When’s he going to strike again? That’s what half the world wants to know.’

  Perez stared hard into the camera.

  ‘All I can do is assure your viewers and the inhabitants of this town that we’re doing everything possible to catch this monster and bring him full speed to justice.’

  Marty looked back towards the sound guy. Then to the cameraman. ‘Anything else?’ she mouthed.

  They shook their heads.

  ‘Thank you Sergeant Perez.’ Then, turning back to the camera, she said: ‘That was Sergeant Perez of the FBI, who’s heading the team here in Hanford Gap.’

  Jack had remained in the background while Perez had been speaking. Now, he walked across to him and pointed towards his car. As he did so, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘One minute if I may?’

  It was Marty Beck. ‘You are - ?’

  Jack gave her a broad smile, held out his hand.

  ‘Jack Raven.’

  Marty pulled a surprised face.

  ‘And a Brit. How come?’

  Jack played it cool.

  ‘Working with Sergeant Perez here.’

  ‘Oh? How so?’

  ‘On secondment. We do exchanges. Every year a few of us guys come here and a few of his team go to London.’

  Marty nodded. ‘Uhuh. I see. So what can you add? From a British viewpoint? We’d love to have you on the six o’clock. A Brit investigating here in Hanford Gap! That’ll surprise our viewers.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘Sergeant Perez told you everything there is to tell.’

  He sauntered back towards the car, surprised to see it had been moved much further down the street. Tammy gave a wave.

  ‘Sorry. I moved it. Didn’t want them to see you here with me.’

  Jack nodded and opened the driver’s door. But before he got inside he paused for a moment, turned round, looked back towards the murder house. He’d been struck by a thought.

  *

  They drove back to ZAKRON and met in the conference room. Stress was written across everyone’s faces. Tom looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, Hunter had quit playing the smug bastard. Even Perez had taken on an air of weariness. Doctor Gonzalez was the only one who sat upright and alert, mightily supercilious. He seemed to be enjoying the ride.

  Riley, Owen and Jennifer, they all sat in glum silence, waiting for someone else to be the first to speak.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Tom at length.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Hunter. ‘Seems like there’s nothing to do but wait for him to strike again. Who’s next? Does he have some sort of shopping list? Any ideas what we do?’

  Jennifer half raised her hand.

  ‘This drones stuff. Is it serious?’

  Perez sat back in his chair and slowly shook his head. He looked unnaturally cool, like he was used to being trapped in a hard place.

  ‘Let’s call it buying time. We’ve set Rayno and his team off on the drones. They’re looking into it right now. Guess it’ll take them a day or two.’

  ‘And that’s all you can tell us?’

  Jack leaned forwards in his chair and as he did so all eyes looked towards him. He told them about Karin in Germany, how she’d found Ferris Clark’s address in Hans Dietrich’s papers, along with a plan of Ferris Clark’s house.

  ‘There’s only one place in Nevada that Hans Dietrich might conceivably know about and that’s number two-five-eight-six Avery Street, Green Diamond.’

  He paused. The room was absolutely silent. Eve
n the Interstate had fallen quiet. A faint click came from the clock.

  ‘Here’s my theory. He’s woken up with a degree of brain damage. He can function physically, that’s clear. We saw it on the CCTV. And he can work with a certain amount of logic. Like I said before, he’s not acting as a mad person and nor is he a psychopath. He’s behaving as an elite soldier of an elite division of the SS. He clearly remembers some things. He seems to remember who he is. And he perhaps remembers that seventy odd years ago he had an address in his head. Number Two-Five-Eight-Six Avery Street, Green Diamond.’

  Tom gave a slight smile. Already he was reaching into his pocket for his car keys. He held them up for everyone to see, then jingled them together.

  ‘So let’s go. Now. What’s stopping us? Christ, let’s go right now.’

  It was Jack’s turn to raise his hand.

  ‘Not so fast. Tammy and I have already been.’

  ‘And - ?’

  ‘The owners are away.’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ said Perez. ‘I can get inside, no sweat.’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘Of course. But we need to be discreet. Need to do it without attracting any attention.’

  He paused.

  ‘Someone was there last night. The neighbours’ dogs woke in the night. And he said they never normally wake.’

  Perez looked at Tom.

  ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’

  Tom nodded back.

  ‘Sodium thiopental and dog food. It’ll knock them out in seconds.’

  ‘You’ll kill them?’ Tammy gasped.

  ‘No need to kill them,’ said Jack. ‘Just put them to sleep.’

  Tom nodded again.

  ‘And when the dogs are done for we’ll give ourselves a little tour of Ferris Clark’s old house.’

  *

  They set off shortly after eleven, driving out of town under a sky that was sprinkled with stars. The moon hung low over the distant hills, a silver halo, casting a milky sheen into the darkness.

  They went in two cars. Jack and Tammy in the Dodge Viper, Tom and Perez in the Buick. It took less than ten minutes to reach Green Diamond. Jack turned into Avery Street and stopped the car at the far end. Tom drew up the Buick right behind, got out, walked up to Jack’s open window.