Perfect Prey

by Helen Fields

  A voice that was authoritative and impatient in equal measure echoed down the row of cubicles.

  ‘I appreciate the fact that I am not family but I do have an amount of authority here. DCI Begbie became ill at a crime scene for which I am responsible, in the capacity of his immediate superior representing his employer. And where’s Detective Inspector Callanach?’

  Callanach rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth as the doctor pressed more firmly against the base of his spine to complete the diagnosis.

  ‘Sorry, who?’ a nurse beyond the curtain asked.

  ‘Ugh,’ Superintendent Overbeck groaned. ‘Police officer, French accent, tallish, popular with the ladies.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ the nurse replied. ‘He’s with the doctor, too. Just in this cubicle. You can visit him once the doctor has finished.’

  ‘Finished like hell,’ Overbeck said, ripping the curtain aside and walking in.

  ‘I’m with a patient,’ the doctor said. Callanach frantically but ineffectually tried to cover his backside with the edge of the sheet he was lying on.

  ‘Discharging him will solve that problem,’ Overbeck snapped. ‘Begbie’s having a heart attack and you’re in here getting a free back massage, Callanach. Get some clothes on, man. Unless you’re actually dying I want a debrief immediately.’

  ‘This patient has a fractured coccyx. It’s badly damaged and he’s in a lot of pain. I need to ask you to leave,’ the doctor said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Callanach muttered. ‘I’ll be straight out, ma’am.’

  The nurse handed him a gown.

  ‘You need medication, rest and further investigations. There’s no way you’re fit for work,’ the doctor said. ‘I’m signing you off from duties.’

  ‘Am I right in thinking there’s another body on its way to the mortuary, Detective Inspector?’ the superintendent asked. Callanach nodded. ‘Then are you fit for duty, or shall I have someone wheel you out in a nice comfy blanket?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Callanach said.

  The doctor stared at him. ‘I’ll give you a shot to kill the pain. You’ll need a prescription to get you through the next couple of weeks. Avoid sitting for too long. No cycling, rowing, weightlifting or other sports that put a strain on your tailbone.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Ava asked, appearing around the corner of the curtain. Callanach sighed.

  ‘Apparently the detective inspector needed a nap,’ the superintendent said. The doctor threw her a look that would have shamed most people. Overbeck seemed to take it as a compliment. ‘I’m going to express my sincere concern to Begbie’s wife. What’s her name again?’

  ‘Glynis,’ Ava said.

  ‘That’s right. You two, with me in five minutes.’ She stalked off, leaving the doctor to fill a hypodermic syringe. Ava turned her back as it was administered.

  ‘How’s the chief doing?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘Stable. It was more of a warning than full-blown cardiac arrest. He won’t be going home tonight and his wife’s very upset, but he’ll live.’

  ‘I’m sure the Super will make the Begbies feel much better,’ Callanach muttered. Ava smirked. The doctor cleared the room and pulled the curtain across to give them privacy. Ava kept her back turned as Callanach put the forensics suit back on.

  ‘You decent now?’ Ava asked after a minute.

  ‘More than I was when Overbeck walked in without any warning. She didn’t even break stride. Just stood there with me half-naked.’

  ‘Some day you’re having,’ Ava said. ‘Listen, Ailsa phoned me back. She told me what you walked into. It’s no wonder the chief reacted the way he did. Are you okay? Only I can make your excuses with Overbeck, get a car to take you home …’

  ‘I don’t think I’d have a job to come back to in the morning,’ Callanach joked. ‘A drink after work would be good though, if you’re not busy. It’ll be more fun than just taking painkillers.’

  Ava paused before meeting his eyes. ‘That sounds like a good idea. I’ll meet you back at the station. We can go on from there.’

  It was two in the afternoon before Callanach left the hospital, and his next stop was the mortuary. Ailsa was waiting for him with coffee as he walked into her office.

  ‘You’re walking strangely,’ she said.

  ‘I fractured my arse,’ Callanach replied.

  Ailsa burst into a fit of laughing he hadn’t expected.

  ‘I’m sorry, dear, I shouldn’t be laughing. Alternate hot and cold compresses. Make sure you have a soft enough mattress. It’s painful. Was that when you slipped under poor Mr Swan’s body?’ He nodded. ‘I needed the laugh. It’s been quite a day and I’m afraid it’s not over yet. Drink the coffee. Take some painkillers if you need them. We have to go and spend some time with the body.’

  Callanach had known he wouldn’t get away with simply being given an oral report. He’d viewed hundreds of dead bodies in his time, witnessed scores of autopsies, but this one was going to leave an indelible memory. He did as suggested and swallowed tablets before getting a gown and going in.

  ‘Has Mrs Swan been in for a formal identification yet?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘She has indeed, although I wish we could have spared her that,’ Ailsa said. ‘I replaced the skin over his face and did my best to make her husband look as he had in life, but there was very little softening the blow. I think Tuscany would be nice to retire to, don’t you? Warm climate, olives trees, good food. Have you been there?’

  ‘I have,’ Callanach said. ‘But I didn’t know you were retiring, Ailsa.’

  ‘Neither did I, Detective Inspector. But today, for perhaps the first time, it occurred to me that there is more to life, to what’s left of mine anyway, than this. Now, here we are. Look closely at the incision marks around the face. We pulled the edges of skin back together and took some photographs to make it easier to see. These are the marks close up.’ She moved back from the corpse to a computer and pressed a button. Immediately an image filled the screen that would have been impossible to understand had Callanach not been told what he was looking at.

  The skin was grey either side of the wound, the central gash a line of black. The skin on the right-hand side of the incision was smooth, but on the left there were minute tags regularly along the path of the cut. Ailsa pointed along the uneven side.

  ‘Caused by the blade,’ Ailsa said. ‘The weapon was extremely fine and extremely sharp. What you’re seeing wouldn’t have been visible to the naked eye. We had to enlarge the image multiple times to pick this up.’

  ‘Why only along one edge of the wound?’ Callanach asked, walking away from the screen and back to the body to see if he could detect the difference on the skin itself.

  ‘Think of it like a bullet, with micro detail that links it to having been fired from a specific gun,’ Ailsa said. ‘All blades leave different impressions if you look closely enough. Find me that blade and I’ll be able to tell you if it’s a good match for this incision.’

  ‘That helps with evidence at trial but it doesn’t identify the attacker,’ Callanach said. ‘So who am I looking for?’

  ‘Someone who knows their way around the human body, who is not the least bit squeamish. A person who enjoys the spectacle. But that’s not why I got you here. Look at this.’ She tapped a key and another image popped up. The same smooth line ran down one side, a microscopically jagged edge along the other.

  ‘I see the same markings.’ Callanach walked back to look down at Michael Swan’s face. ‘Which section of the wound is that picture from?’

  ‘None of it,’ Ailsa replied. ‘You’ll be needing to look at Sim Thorburn’s injuries for that.’

  Callanach stood still and let it sink in.

  ‘But that was a double blade. It can’t have been the same weapon as was used on Thorburn,’ he said.

  ‘Not the same weapon, but possibly scalpel blades manufactured in a single batch, all with the same minuscule flaw. The first two blades were
used to home-craft the weapon that killed Thorburn. The next one became part of a more traditional knife. Without seeing the blades themselves I couldn’t swear to this in court, but between us, I’d say whoever killed one, killed the other. And there’s more than that. Come here,’ she said, beckoning Callanach over to Michael Swan’s body. ‘The scalpel’s point of entry is at the left lower jawbone and the victim needs to be lying down for this to work. The only way to get such a clean cut would have been for the killer to have been sat at the crown of the head, like so.’ Ailsa positioned herself behind the top of Swan’s head and held her pen as if it were the knife. ‘Starting at the left jaw and pulling backwards means the killer was using their left hand. It didn’t occur to me with Thorburn until I was doing this autopsy today, but the draw of the blade on Sim was from his right to his left. The video footage you have shows the perpetrator passing in that direction. I think the killer chose the direction of walking specifically to allow them to use their left hand.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Callanach asked. His mind was full of possibilities. The links between Thorburn and Swan. The description of the killer from the festival who was short and light, hardly a good candidate for hauling a grown man up to a ceiling beam. A growing sense that this was a beginning and that there was worse to come. ‘What could be worse than this?’ he asked aloud.

  ‘If you want the worst,’ Ailsa answered, assuming the question was for her, ‘then you’d best have it all at once. It was the loss of blood that caused heart and brain function to cease for Michael Swan, just as for Sim Thorburn. Swan was alive when he was skinned. And he took a while to die. It was torture of a degree that I find difficult to describe adequately. I see no evidence that he was drugged to make him compliant whilst the procedure was undertaken, although the toxicology screen will take a couple more days. Who’ll be taking DCI Begbie’s place while he’s on sick leave?’

  ‘We’re answering directly to Superintendent Overbeck on the current open murder cases,’ Callanach said. ‘She’ll need to be copied in on the autopsy report.’

  ‘She’ll have it tomorrow. You’ll be needing to rest your back now. No point aggravating it any further.’

  ‘It’s potentially a serial killer getting started then, Ailsa, that’s what you think?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘It’s a possibility we cannot afford to ignore. You and I have seen enough to recognise the signs. When people enjoy killing to this degree, there’s very little that stops them until they’re captured or dead.’

  ‘Ailsa, about the leaking of the autopsy report on Ava’s investigation into Helen Lott’s death …’ Callanach began.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say and I agree it would be disastrous for that to happen here. But it was no one in my department, Luc. If you find that I’m wrong, I’ll take full responsibility, but my staff respect what we do here, no matter how long the hours they work and how difficult the circumstances. No one does this job for the pay or the glory, and those who don’t like it leave pretty damned fast. Everyone my end has been interviewed about the leak and our procedures have been security-checked for weaknesses. We’re clean.’

  ‘I can’t believe it’s anyone at the station,’ Callanach said. ‘No one could have accessed it who didn’t have proper security clearance. I don’t see what there was to gain.’

  ‘Don’t get too distracted with it now,’ Ailsa cautioned. ‘I’d say you have more than enough on your plate. I believe you have two dead by the same hand.’

  ‘Even so,’ he said. ‘Would you keep this offline? Do it the old-fashioned way. No emailing of reports, typed-up paper versions only. I can’t take the risk of this getting into the public domain.’

  ‘If you feel that strongly about it, then of course,’ Ailsa said. ‘Now off you go and protect the good people of this city. They’re having a very bad month indeed.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Tripp!’ Callanach yelled as he limped down the corridor towards the briefing room. He stopped. Tripp wasn’t there, of course. Borrowed to become one of DCI Edgar’s hacker hounds, Tripp was no use to him now. He found DC Salter and waved at her to come to his office once she’d finished her phone call. He bundled up his coat to act as a cushion and sat down very slowly indeed. His fractured coccyx was producing a stabbing pain that made concentration difficult.

  ‘What’s the news?’ Salter asked as she came through the door.

  ‘All bad. There must be some CCTV footage between the McDonald Road Library and Regent Gardens where Michael Swan’s belongings were found. Find something. I know it was probably dark, but I need you to compare it with the footage from The Meadows killing.’

  ‘But that was a totally different thing, sir. Surely you don’t …’ Salter stopped. Callanach met her stare with a direct look. ‘Oh shit. All right, then. I’ll get on it.’ She looked pained. Callanach felt the same way.

  ‘Not a word to anyone else yet, Salter. Get started. I’m calling a briefing for this afternoon but this cannot get out.’

  As Salter left his office, DCI Edgar entered.

  ‘Sir,’ Salter greeted him, with a polite nod of her head.

  ‘Fetch me a cup of tea if you’re not busy, Constable. Strong. No sugar,’ the Detective Chief Inspector added.

  Callanach gritted his teeth and stood up, feeling the fractured halves of his coccyx grate as he moved. He fought the desire to notify Edgar that DC Salter was, in fact, very busy indeed and that the addition of the word please would have made such a request more palatable.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ Callanach muttered, reaching in his pocket for another dose of painkillers.

  ‘Came to see you about DC Tripp. He’s not got the training my squad have, but all the same he’s a worker. Thank you for the temporary transfer.’

  Callanach wondered what he was supposed to say, and more importantly, when he’d be able to sit back down.

  ‘How did your raid go, sir? I gather you had a firm lead on your hacker,’ Callanach said when it was clear Edgar was in no mood to disappear.

  ‘It was a useful exercise. Cutting off his exits, reducing his options. He knows now that we’ve discovered one of his bases. He’ll find it increasingly hard to get into his system without us realising he’s online and picking up a trace.’ Edgar picked a non-existent piece of fluff off his sleeve. ‘You know, I think you’re putting DI Turner in a somewhat difficult position, phoning her when she’s not at work. She needs to be able to switch off. I encourage my team to find friendships beyond work colleagues.’

  Callanach sat down. He obviously wasn’t going to be invited to sit. Nor was he prepared to be given a lecture on how to choose his friendships whilst standing to attention.

  ‘I’m surprised DI Turner finds herself incapable of making that plain to me in person,’ Callanach said.

  ‘I’m surprised you want her to suffer the humiliation of having to do so,’ Edgar said, straightening up. ‘She and I go back a long way. We’re extremely close. Intimate friends, you might say. You’ll appreciate she’s been able to confide in me about her need to distance herself from certain … aspects … of her work life.’

  Callanach wasn’t in the mood for DCI Edgar’s little chat and he certainly didn’t have time for any more prevarication.

  ‘Meaning me?’ Callanach asked.

  ‘Ava thought you might get aggressive about it. Perhaps that’s why she hasn’t mentioned this herself. I don’t know if it’s a French thing, Detective Inspector, or an Interpol thing, but women here like to have their personal distance respected.’

  The gloves were off then. Callanach stood back up, determined not to let the pain caused by the move show in his face.

  ‘And I don’t know if that was a racist thing or a jealousy thing, Chief Inspector, but I have nothing other than respect for DI Turner and she knows it. So it seems to me that perhaps you’re following your own agenda here, more than acting on her behalf.’

  ‘Careful now,’ Edgar said, leaning across the de
sk and into Callanach’s face. ‘You wouldn’t want me feeling the need to speak with your superior officer about insubordinate behaviour.’

  ‘Go ahead. DCI Begbie knows me well enough, even if I haven’t been here that long. I’m sure he has no more desire to have Scotland Yard’s away team here than I do,’ Callanach replied.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, but Begbie’s not here. He’ll be lucky to get declared fit this side of Christmas. I think you’ll find that Superintendent Overbeck and I see eye to eye on most things. Certainly, she wouldn’t want one of her DIs claiming sexual harassment against another of her DIs. Can you imagine what a public relations nightmare that would be?’ Callanach laughed out loud. DCI Edgar waited until Callanach had finished, then walked to the door. ‘Laugh all you want, but a man with your past should be more prudent about his future.’ Edgar waited for his point to hit home, his gaze drifting down to Callanach’s hands which had involuntarily rolled themselves into fists at his sides. Edgar rewarded himself with a grin before exiting.

  Callanach stared at the wall ahead, breathing hard. Ava would never make such an allegation. She’d know how much that would hurt him, from her more than anyone else given how much he’d confided in her about the false rape allegation. But then he wouldn’t have expected her to have shared the details with her new boyfriend, either. He wondered how that conversation had come about. Not in the office, he was sure. That was a late-night intimate discussion, conducted in low tones with no one else around to interrupt. He picked up a stapler and lobbed it at the far wall.

  A uniformed officer walked in with a large, overly bright greetings card in one hand and a pen in the other.

  ‘Did you want to sign the chief’s get well soon card, sir?’

  ‘Out!’ Callanach shouted, slamming himself back down into his chair. ‘Fuck,’ he yelled, standing straight back up, the pain a firework shooting through his backside. He grabbed the painkillers he’d been preparing to take, threw them into his mouth and chewed them dry. The bitterness was good.