TT13 Time of Death

by Mark Billingham

  Donna tidied the shelves, then began to wipe the counter down, on the side nearest the table where the copper and his mate were sitting. Where the one with all the tattoos was making short work of his sandwich.

  She reached into the front pocket of her apron and turned the volume down. She tucked away an errant strand of hair and plucked out an earbud. After catching a word or two, she turned the music off completely and kept on wiping, long after the counter was spotless.

  She’d definitely have a good story to tell Paula next time she came in.

  ‘So, I’m him, right?’

  ‘It would be a hell of a twist, but let’s go with it for now,’ Hendricks said.

  ‘I burn the body just enough to open the skin, expose the muscles, organs, whatever.’

  ‘That’s the part they love best.’ Hendricks bit into his baguette and chewed. ‘Innards are like a slap-up dinner at the Ivy to your average beetle. Or a KFC bucket, if you happen to prefer something a bit more downmarket.’

  ‘Do I need to keep the body warm?’

  ‘Well, it’s half-burned already, remember, but yeah, it would be a good idea to try and keep it warm for a while afterwards, while the invasion takes hold. They’ll feed and lay eggs quicker.’

  ‘The bin-bag would keep the heat in, right?’

  ‘Yeah, that would be perfect. You burn the body, transfer your colony across, then wrap it all up in a bag. Job done.’

  ‘Not forgetting to drop in the fag-end with Steve Bates’ DNA all over it.’

  ‘Wherever you’ve managed to get that from.’

  ‘I followed him, I watched him drop one in the gutter, whatever. I’m not too worried about explaining that.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Thorne sipped his tea. ‘So, I just … pop them in, do I? All these insects.’

  ‘More or less,’ Hendricks said. ‘Pretty messy job though I would have thought, because you’ll need to dig well into what’s left, get the bugs in good and deep.’

  ‘I don’t get the impression he’s particularly squeamish,’ Thorne said.

  ‘You’d be surprised. It might be one thing doing … whatever it is he did to Jessica when she was alive, but some people can get very funny about dealing with bodies. Other way round for some of us, of course.’

  ‘So, where does he get them?’ Thorne asked. ‘All these flies and maggots. The different kinds of beetles.’

  ‘Ordinary clothes moths as well, sometimes. Particularly fond of decomposing hair. That’s usually only on bodies found in the home though.’

  ‘Where did they come from, Phil?’

  ‘Sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.’

  ‘I can run to lunch.’

  Hendricks put away his last mouthful, picked at the scraps of salad left on his plate. ‘He’s got to have bought them from somewhere.’

  ‘What, he just nipped down the nearest pet shop?’

  ‘You can laugh, mate, but some places keep a good stock of bugs. For people that have exotic pets … chameleons or iguanas.’

  ‘Carrion beetles? Be serious.’

  ‘Somewhere on the internet, then.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Come on, you really think there’s anything you can’t get if you know where to look or who to ask?’

  ‘Still …’

  ‘He could easily be getting them through a third party, on the dark web, if he’s clever. Bitcoins, all that, and no questions asked. As good as untraceable.’

  Thorne grunted. Since it had first been discovered a few years before, the Met had begun making inroads into the nefarious activities of the hidden, or dark web. The problem was that the better they got at uncovering the buying and selling of hard drugs, arms, hit men, people, the better those providing these services got at finding somewhere else to hide. If Hendricks was right and this was how the killer had sourced the insects he had needed to create a false time of death, Thorne might have rather more trouble proving it than he would have with an abandoned cigarette end.

  ‘You finished with that?’ Hendricks asked.

  Thorne pushed his plate across. He had barely touched his sandwich, but still he was a lot less hungry than he had been when he sat down.

  Driving back towards Polesford, Linda was even more geed up than she had been after escaping from the safe house, though the wine probably had more than a little to do with it. Helen slowed at a makeshift road sign and was waved through a foot of water by a uniformed officer in a high-vis jacket.

  ‘Seriously, you were great back there.’ It was the third time Linda had congratulated her. ‘You really gave that hard-faced cow what for.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have lost my rag.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it was fantastic.’

  ‘It’s what I said to you in court. You’re only giving them what they want.’

  ‘Who cares?’ Linda drummed her palms against her legs, stared out of the window. ‘I swear to God, I really thought you were going to deck her.’

  Helen had thought so too.

  She nodded her thanks to the officer and accelerated away.

  She was not proud of losing control, but could not feel too much regret at telling the journalist exactly what she’d thought of her. The sick feeling in her stomach, which had begun as she and Linda had marched out of the pub, that continued to spread, was because of where the anger had sprung from so suddenly.

  What she and Linda had been talking about. The past they had been about to dredge up.

  I know who you are and I know what you’re going through …

  The fact that, just for a second or two, Helen had mistakenly thought the journalist was talking to her.

  Linda continued to jabber, giggly and over-excited. She began raving about the countryside, pointing at skeletal trees or fields still brimming with brown water as though they were the most amazing things she’d ever seen. Steve, she told Helen, for all his faults, used to love getting out into countryside. It was one of the main reasons he’d moved to the area in the first place. Wayne on the other hand, the sow’s arse, was a very different kettle of fish who, despite being a local lad, had hated every bush and blade of grass. Had thought it was ‘boring’. Used to get ratty, she said, if she as much as suggested a walk or maybe a drive out somewhere for a picnic when the weather was decent.

  ‘Me and the kids left the miserable sod to it,’ Linda said. ‘Came on our own.’

  Helen was about to mention similar conversations she’d had with Thorne, when her phone rang. She glanced across and touched the screen.

  ‘Are you on speaker?’ Sophie Carson asked.

  ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Turn it off.’

  Helen snatched the phone up from between the seats and disabled the speaker function. She slowed, though there was a line of traffic behind her, and began looking for somewhere to pull in.

  ‘OK …’

  ‘What?’ Linda suddenly sounded rather more sober.

  Helen listened. She said, ‘Right’ and ‘Where?’

  A horn sounded behind them. Linda said, ‘Helen?’

  Helen indicated and pulled in suddenly, hard against a wide, wooden gate. She ignored the mimed abuse from the van driver who accelerated past. She said, ‘We’ll get there as soon as we can,’ and switched off the engine.

  Linda said Helen’s name again, fear in it.

  ‘We need to get across to Bromsgrove,’ Helen said. ‘To the hospital.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus, is it one of the kids?’ Linda shook her head quickly. ‘No, Bromsgrove would be stupid—’

  ‘It’s Steve,’ Helen said. ‘It’s the nearest hospital to Hewell prison.’ She was thinking quickly, trying to work out the fastest route. ‘He tried to kill himself.’

  FORTY-NINE

  Thorne received Helen’s text as he was leaving Cupz, and, after a forty-mile journey, during which Hendricks bragged about several recent sexual conquests and repeatedly joked that the woman on Thorne’s sat-nav had a promising career as a domin
atrix, they got to Bromsgrove hospital half an hour after Helen and Linda.

  They arrived to find Helen and Linda alone in a grim, overheated waiting room. Thorne introduced Hendricks, then, after exchanging a practised look, he and Helen stepped outside into the hospital corridor.

  ‘He got hold of a ballpoint pen,’ Helen said. She mimed repeated jabs to her wrist. ‘Made quite a mess, by all accounts.’

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Nobody seems keen to tell us very much, but I don’t think he’s in any danger.’

  ‘Was he ever?’

  ‘Not sure how quickly they found him.’

  ‘Depends if he wanted to be found,’ Thorne said. ‘How serious he was.’ He looked back through the waiting room’s small window. Hendricks and Linda were sitting opposite one another in silence. ‘How’s she doing?’

  ‘Well, she was frantic all the way here, but now she’s just furious.’

  ‘With Steve?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘With everyone but Steve.’

  ‘And how are you doing?’ Thorne asked.

  ‘Me?’ Helen saw Linda glance up at the door and raise a hand. She waved back. ‘Come on, we should go back in.’ She reached out to touch Thorne’s arm. ‘Go and rescue Phil …’

  They walked back into the room and sat down to wait. Half a dozen mismatched armchairs were lined up against yellowing walls decorated with children’s drawings. A coffee machine stood in one corner and several more chairs were dotted around a low plastic table covered with used plastic cups and magazines. Thorne carried extra chairs across, sat down and examined the reading material. It wasn’t hard to work out why they had been donated.

  Practical Boat Owner. Home Building & Renovating. Investors Chronicle.

  ‘Anyone want a drink?’ Thorne asked.

  ‘How do they let him get hold of a pen?’ Linda said. ‘A fucking pen.’ She gripped the arms of her chair and looked around for an answer nobody seemed eager to provide. ‘I mean, don’t they watch prisoners like Steve? Prisoners who are vulnerable?’

  ‘They should,’ Helen said. ‘I don’t know if he was actually on any kind of suicide watch though. If he’d given them any cause—’

  ‘There must be a system in place, surely.’

  Helen nodded because there was little else she could do. She looked at Thorne.

  ‘Maybe it’s exactly what they wanted,’ Linda said. Thorne and the others could hear booze working in her voice, but her mood was very different to the one Helen had witnessed before taking the call from Sophie Carson. ‘It saves a lot of aggro, doesn’t it? A shedload of paperwork and the cost of a trial. Lots more money to pay coppers overtime with.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Helen said.

  ‘No? Happens a lot, when you think about it though. Shipman topped himself inside, didn’t he? Fred West, he was another one. You start to wonder if prison officers, coppers, whoever, are turning a blind eye.’ Linda was leaning forward, spitting out the words. ‘Here you go, mate, here’s a handy length of bedsheet, there’s a razor blade … you get on with it and we’ll sit over here and look the other way.’ She sat back, nodding. ‘Yeah, would have done everybody a favour, Steve doing that. Fuckers …’

  A minute or two passed. The reversing signal of a van or lorry sounded close to the window. There were voices outside the door, some laughter, then it was quiet again.

  Linda closed her eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’ve got every right to be angry,’ Helen said.

  ‘Why won’t anybody tell us anything?’ She looked at Helen, at Thorne. ‘How long’s it been?’

  ‘Time always drags in places like this,’ Thorne said.

  ‘Right,’ Hendricks said. ‘A minute seems like ten.’

  Linda nodded, summoned a smile. ‘Listen, thanks for the support. Be bloody horrible if I was here on my own.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Shit, the kids. I should call them.’

  ‘They’ll be fine,’ Helen said. ‘I can call them if you want, but there’s really no need.’

  Linda looked at Thorne. ‘She’s been great, you know, your missus. You should have seen her earlier on.’

  Thorne looked at Helen. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Helen said.

  ‘Stood up for me, she has.’ Linda got up and walked across, wrapped an arm around Helen’s shoulder. ‘Been slagged off in the papers for it, an’ all. Gobbed at.’

  ‘What?’ Now, Thorne was out of his chair.

  ‘Gobbed at by who?’ Hendricks asked.

  Helen inched away from Linda. ‘Just a few twats in the pub last night. When I went to the toilet.’ She clocked the look on Thorne’s face. ‘Again, I’ll tell you later.’

  Thorne remembered how Helen had been, driving them back to Paula’s the night before. The silence, and something he didn’t recognise coming off her like a stink. He hoped, for their sake, that he never got hold of those responsible, but for once, at least, he had an explanation for Helen’s behaviour.

  ‘You look after her.’ Linda pointed a finger. ‘You’ve got a good one here.’

  Thorne bought a round of weak teas from the machine and they all sat down again. Helen chatted quietly to Hendricks about work for a few minutes while Thorne tried talking to Linda about anything but the reason they were there.

  The floods, the food in the local café, how her kids were doing at school.

  It didn’t last long.

  ‘Why did he do it, d’you think?’

  Once again, there was no answer anyone could give, but Thorne knew very well what most people would have said. He wondered if it was an answer that Linda was even considering.

  ‘It just keeps going round in my head.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Helen said.

  ‘I mean, there’s always hope, isn’t there? He must know me and the kids are there for him, whatever else happens.’ She looked to Helen, got a nod which seemed to perk her up a little. ‘I know prison’s horrible, but Steve’s a strong bloke, really he is.’

  ‘I’m sure he knows,’ Helen said. ‘It won’t have been that—’

  Instinctively, they all stood up when the door opened, but it wasn’t the nurse or doctor they were expecting.

  ‘Everyone all right?’ Tim Cornish asked the question as though they were guests waiting to go through for dinner. He took a good look at Thorne, and at Hendricks.

  Linda stepped towards him. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear that your husband’s fine. All patched up.’

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Well, not right now, but if he sends a visiting order, of course you can.’

  Linda looked confused, but Thorne and Helen understood immediately.

  ‘Are you winding us up?’ Helen asked.

  Cornish shrugged. ‘Nothing I could do.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Linda asked. ‘Why can’t I see Steve?’

  ‘They’ve already taken him back to prison,’ Cornish said. ‘The van left twenty minutes ago.’

  ‘What?’ Linda sounded on the verge of hysterics.

  Cornish leaned back against the door. ‘The cuts weren’t much worse than superficial in the end,’ he said. ‘They stitched him up, gave him some painkillers and that was it.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘This is not on.’

  ‘You know as well as I do that as soon as it’s been established a prisoner’s in no immediate danger, it’s the responsibility of the prison service to have him returned to custody as soon as possible.’

  ‘They told me to come.’ Now Linda was shouting, looking to Helen for support. ‘We’ve just been sat waiting here like idiots, for nothing.’

  ‘It was the governor’s decision.’ Cornish held up his hands. ‘Not mine.’

  ‘You just got me here to take the piss. To make me suffer.’

  ‘You’re upset, Linda—’

  ‘Bloody right, I’m upset.’

  ‘Go back to your kids,’ Cornish sai
d. ‘Just be grateful Steve’s alive, eh?’

  Helen could see that Linda was about as ready to take a swing as she herself had been a few hours earlier in the pub. She moved quickly to usher her from the room.

  Thorne waited until the door had closed. ‘There was no need for that.’

  ‘For what?’ Cornish was the picture of wounded innocence. ‘I know you’re on holiday, but you can’t have forgotten the way things work that quickly.’

  Thorne held himself in check, looked away. Just the partner of a woman who was here supporting a friend. No more than that.

  Cornish looked at Hendricks. Hendricks moved to introduce himself, but Cornish held up a hand. ‘I know who you are.’

  Hendricks tried to look pleased. ‘My fame is obviously spreading.’

  ‘You can get famous very fast round here,’ Thorne said.

  Cornish smiled and loosened the top button of his shirt. He let out a long sigh, like he’d had a tough day. ‘Ballpoint pen, eh?’ He walked across to the coffee machine, digging into his trouser pockets for change. ‘When I heard what happened, I thought he might have done us all a favour.’

  Thorne stared at him. ‘You what?’

  Cornish jammed the first coin into the machine then turned. He looked at Hendricks, then at Thorne, as though unsure what he was being accused of. ‘I hoped he’d written us a nice juicy confession.’

  FIFTY

  Driving back, Hendricks seemed less amused than he had been by the strict tone of the woman giving them directions. ‘She’s got a point though,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bates’ wife. Asking why he tried to top himself.’

  ‘All sorts of reasons he might do it.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe someone threatened him in the showers or his favourite football team lost again, but being guilty is pretty high on the list, I reckon.’

  ‘What about being innocent when everyone thinks you’re guilty?’ Thorne glanced at his friend. ‘What about knowing you’re probably never going to see your family again?’