The Chemistry of Death

by Simon Beckett

  His face said otherwise, but he was too polite to argue. ‘Well, we’ll see. And on that note, I think I’ll say goodnight.’

  He drained his glass and started for the door. As if as an afterthought, he turned to Jenny. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but did you come in a car?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘Just that it might be a good idea not to walk home alone, that’s all.’

  With a last look at me to make sure I’d got the message, he went out. Jenny gave an uncertain smile. ‘Do you think it’s that bad?’

  ‘I hope not. But I suppose he’s right.’

  She shook her head, incredulously. ‘I don’t believe this. Two days ago this was the quietest place on the planet!’

  Two days ago Sally Palmer had still been dead, and the animal responsible was probably already turning his gaze towards Lyn Metcalf. But I didn’t say that.

  ‘Is there anyone here you can go with?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really. But I’ll be fine. I can look after myself.’

  I didn’t doubt it. But beneath the defiance I could see she’d been unnerved.

  ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ I said.

  When I got home I sat outside at the table in the back garden. The night was warm, without a breath of wind. I put my head back and stared up at the stars. The moon was approaching full, an asymmetrical, haloed white disc. I tried to appreciate its dappled contours, but my eyes were drawn lower until I was looking at the shadowed wood across the field. Normally it was a view I enjoyed, even at night. But now I felt uneasy as I looked at the impenetrable mass of trees.

  I went into the house, poured myself a small whisky, and took it back outside. It was after midnight and I knew I’d be up early. But I grasped any excuse to put off sleep. Besides, for once I had too much to think about to be tired. I’d walked with Jenny to the small cottage she rented with another young woman. We hadn’t bothered with my car after all. It was a warm, clear night, and she only lived a few hundred yards away. As we walked she’d told me a little about her job, and the children she taught. Only once had she spoken about her past life, mentioning working at a school in Norwich. But she’d quickly brushed past it, burying the lapse in a flurry of words. I’d pretended not to notice. Whatever it was she was avoiding, it was none of my business.

  As we walked up the narrow lane towards her house a fox suddenly cried out nearby. Jenny grabbed my arm.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, quickly letting go as if burned. She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘You’d think I’d be used to living out here by now.’

  There’d been an awkwardness between us after that. When we reached her house she stopped by the gate.

  ‘Well. Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’

  With a last smile she’d hurried inside. I’d waited until I heard the snick of the lock before turning away. All the way back through the dark village I could feel the pressure of her hand on my bare arm.

  I could still feel it now. I sipped my drink, wincing at the memory of how flustered I’d become just because a young woman had accidentally touched me. No wonder she’d gone quiet.

  I finished the whisky and went inside. There was something else pricking my subconscious, a nagging sense of something I had to do. I thought for a moment before I remembered. Scott Brenner. I wasn’t confident his brother would let him tell the police about the wire snare. It might be nothing, but Mackenzie needed to know about it. I found his card and dialled his mobile. It was almost one o’clock, but I could leave a voicemail message for him to get first thing.

  He answered straight away. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘It’s David Hunter,’ I said, caught off-guard. ‘Sorry, I know it’s late. I just wanted to make sure Scott Brenner had got in touch.’

  I could hear his irritation and fatigue in the pause. ‘Scott who?’

  I told him what had happened. When he spoke, the tiredness had gone. ‘Where was this?’

  ‘Near an old windmill a mile or so south of the village. You think it might be connected?’

  There was a sound it took me a moment to identify—the rasp of his whiskers as he rubbed his face.

  ‘Ah, what the hell. We’re going to have to go public with this tomorrow anyway,’ he said. ‘Two of my officers were injured tonight. One got caught by a wire snare, the other stepped in a hole someone had stuck a sharpened stick in.’

  There was no mistaking the anger in his voice.

  ‘So I think we’ve got to assume that whoever took Lyn Metcalf expected us to come looking for him.’

  There was no shock of transition from the dream that night. I simply found myself awake, eyes open and staring at the spill of moonlight falling through the window. For once I was still in bed, my nocturnal wandering this time confined to the dream. But the memory of it remained with me, as vivid as if I’d just walked from one room into another.

  It was always in the same setting. A house I’d never seen in my waking life, a place I knew didn’t exist but that nevertheless felt like home. Kara and Alice were there, vibrant and real. We would talk about my day, about nothing in particular, just as we had when they were alive.

  And then I would wake, and confront again the stark fact that they were dead.

  I thought again about what Linda Yates had said. You have dreams for a reason. I wondered what she would make of mine. I could imagine what a psychiatrist would say, or even an amateur psychologist like Henry. But the dreams defied any neat rationalization. There was a logic and reality to them that was far from dreamlike. And, although I could barely acknowledge it even to myself, a part of me didn’t want to believe that’s all they were.

  If I let myself believe that, though, it would be the first step on a road I was scared to take. Because there was only one way I could ever be with my family again, and I knew taking it would be an act of despair, not love.

  What scared me even more was that sometimes I didn’t care.

  CHAPTER 9

  NEXT MORNING TWO MORE people were injured in traps. They were separate incidents, neither of them anywhere near those of the previous night. I knew because our surgery lacked a permanent nurse, so I treated them both. One, a policewoman, had impaled her calf on a stick embedded point up in a concealed hole. As with Scott Brenner, I did what I could and sent her to hospital for stitches. The other injury, to Dan Marsden, a local farmhand, was more superficial, the wire noose having only partially cut through his tough leather boot.

  ‘Christ, I’d like to get my hands on the bastard who put it there,’ he said through gritted teeth as I dressed the wound.

  ‘Was it well hidden?’

  ‘Bloody invisible. And the size of it! God knows what they were hoping to catch with something that big.’

  I didn’t say anything. But I thought it was likely the traps had caught exactly what had been intended.

  So did Mackenzie. He called a temporary halt to the search for Lyn Metcalf and had a first-aid station set up outside the mobile incident room. He also issued a statement warning everyone else to stay out of the woods and fields around the village. The result was predictable. If the mood before had been largely one of numb shock, news that the countryside around Manham was no longer safe brought the first touch of real fear.

  Of course, there were those who refused to believe it, or stubbornly insisted they weren’t going to be scared away from land they’d known all their lives. That lasted until one of the loudest objecters, fuelled by an afternoon’s drinking in the Lamb, put his foot into a hole that had been covered with dried grass and snapped his ankle. His yells drove home the point far more effectively than any police warning.

  As more police were drafted in and the national press finally woke up to what was going on, descending on the village with their microphones and cameras, Manham began to feel like a place under siege.

  ‘There’s just the two different kinds of trap so far,’ Mackenzie told me. ‘The wire one is pretty much a basic snare, same sort of thing any poacher might k
now how to make. Except these are big enough to take an adult’s foot. The stakes are even worse. Could be ex-military or one of these survivalist buffs. Or just someone with a nasty imagination.’

  ‘You said “so far”?’

  ‘Whoever laid them knows what he’s doing. There’s real thought been put into this. We can’t assume he hasn’t planted some more surprises.’

  ‘Couldn’t that be what he wanted? To disrupt the search?’

  ‘I daresay. But we can’t afford to take the chance. The ones we’ve found have only caused injuries. We carry on blundering through the woods and next time someone might get killed.’

  He broke off as we came to a junction, drumming the steering wheel impatiently as he waited for the car in front to pull out. I looked out of the window, my anxiety returning in the silence.

  I’d called Mackenzie first thing that morning to tell him I would examine Sally Palmer’s remains if he still wanted me to. The knowledge had been with me from the moment I’d woken, as if the decision had been made while I was asleep. Which, in a way, I suppose it had.

  Realistically, I didn’t know how much use I would be. At best I might be able to give a more precise idea of the time-since-death interval, assuming my rusty knowledge hadn’t deserted me. But I was under no illusions that it would do much to help Lyn Metcalf. It was just that doing nothing was no longer an option.

  That didn’t mean I was happy about it.

  Mackenzie had sounded neither surprised nor greatly impressed when I’d told him. Just said he’d check with his superintendent and get back to me. I hung up feeling left in limbo, wondering if I’d made a misjudgement.

  But he’d rung back within half an hour to ask if I could make a start that afternoon. Mouth dry, I’d said I could.

  ‘The body’s still with the pathologist. I’ll pick you up at one and take you over,’ he’d told me.

  ‘I can make my own way.’

  ‘I’ve got to go back to the station anyway. And there’s one or two things I’d like to talk about.’

  I’d wondered what they might be as I went to ask Henry if he would cover for me during that evening’s surgery.

  ‘Of course. Something come up?’

  He’d looked at me expectantly. I still hadn’t got round to telling him why Mackenzie had been to see me in the first place. I felt bad about that, but it would have meant more explanations than I’d been ready to go into. I knew I couldn’t put it off much longer, though. I owed him that much, at least.

  ‘Give me till the weekend,’ I’d said. By then I should have finished what I had to do, and there wouldn’t be a surgery to worry about. ‘I’ll tell you everything then.’

  He’d studied me. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Fine. It’s just…complicated.’

  ‘Things generally are. This time last week no one expected we’d have bloody journalists crawling all over the place and police asking everybody questions. Makes you wonder where it’s all going to end.’

  He’d made an effort to brighten. ‘OK. Come for Sunday lunch. I fancy cooking, and I’ve got a nice Bordeaux I’ve been looking for an excuse to open. Talking’s always easier on a full stomach.’

  Grateful to be able to put that much off for a little longer, at least, I’d agreed.

  The traffic streamed past as Mackenzie came to a roundabout. The interior of the car smelled of menthol air freshener and his aftershave. It was as neat as if it had been newly valeted. Outside the roads and streets were all confusion and noise. It seemed familiar and strange at the same time. I tried to remember when I’d last been in a city, and realized with a shock that this was the first time I had been outside Manham since the rainy afternoon when I’d arrived. I felt warring emotions, torn between wishing I’d stayed there and amazement that I had buried myself away for so long.

  Life outside had gone on, regardless.

  I watched a crowd of schoolchildren jostling each other as a teacher tried for order outside school gates. People hurried by, intent on their own affairs. All of them with their own lives, untouched by mine. Or each other’s.

  ‘The wire from the snares is the same type as was used to bring down Lyn Metcalf,’ Mackenzie said, bringing me back to the here and now. ‘And that was used to tie the bird to the stone. Don’t know if it’s from the same batch, but I think it’s a safe assumption.’

  ‘What do you make of that? The bird, I mean.’

  ‘Not sure yet. Could have been to panic her. Could be some sort of statement or signature.’

  ‘Like the wings found on Sally Palmer’s body?’

  ‘It’s possible. We heard back from the ornithologist about those, by the way. Mute swan. Common enough round here, ’specially this time of year.’

  ‘You think there’s a connection between the swan’s wings and the mallard?’

  ‘I can’t believe it’s a coincidence, if that’s what you mean. Perhaps he’s just got a thing against birds.’ He overtook a slow-moving van. ‘We’ve got psychologists on it now, to give us some idea what sort of mindset we’re dealing with. And every other type of specialist you’d care to think of, in case it’s part of some pagan ritual, or Satanism. Some bollocks like that.’

  ‘But you don’t think so?’

  He didn’t answer at first, clearly debating how much to say. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said at last. ‘The wings on Palmer’s body got everybody all excited. There was talk about the killer using religious or classical symbolism, everything from angels to God knows what. Now, though, I’m not so sure. If the mallard had been sacrificed or mutilated, then perhaps. But just tied up with wire? No, I think our boy just likes hurting things. Showing off, if you like.’

  ‘Like with the traps.’

  ‘Like with the traps. Fair enough, it slows us up. We can’t just concentrate on the search when we’ve got to worry about what else he might have left behind. But why bother? Anybody sussed enough to go to all this trouble will know how to cover their tracks. Instead, we’ve got the bird left for us to find, the stakes used to trip his victim left in place, and now all this. He’s either not worried about us finding anything, or he’s just, I don’t know…’

  ‘Marking his territory?’ I offered.

  ‘Something like that. Showing us he’s in charge. Doesn’t even take that much effort. He just leaves a few traps dotted around at strategic points, then stands back to watch the fun.’

  I was quiet for a while, thinking about what Mackenzie had said. ‘Couldn’t it be more than that?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘He’s made the woods and marshes a no-go area. People are going to be scared to go for a walk in case they step in one of his traps.’

  He was frowning. ‘So?’

  ‘So perhaps he doesn’t just like hurting things. Perhaps he likes frightening them as well.’

  Mackenzie stared thoughtfully through the windscreen. It was dappled with the squashed remains of dead insects. ‘Could be,’ he said at last. ‘Mind telling me where you were between six and seven o’clock yesterday morning?’

  The sudden change of tack threw me. ‘At six o’clock I was probably in the shower. Then I had breakfast and went to the surgery.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Perhaps quarter to seven.’

  ‘Early start.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep well.’

  ‘Anyone vouch for those times?’

  ‘Henry. I had a cup of coffee with him when I arrived. Black, no sugar, in case you need to know that as well.’

  ‘It’s just routine, Dr Hunter. You’ve been involved in enough police enquiries in the past to know how it works.’

  ‘Pull over.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just pull over.’

  He seemed about to argue, then flicked on the indicator and pulled into the side of the road.

  ‘Am I here as a suspect or because you want my help?’

  ‘Look, we’re asking every—’

  ‘Which is it?’<
br />
  ‘All right, I’m sorry, perhaps I shouldn’t have come out with it like that. But they’re questions we’ve got to ask.’

  ‘If you think I had anything to do with it then I shouldn’t be here. You think I’m looking forward to this? I’d be more than happy if I never had to see another dead body in my life. So if you’re not going to trust me I might as well get out now.’

  Mackenzie sighed. ‘Look, I don’t think you had anything to do with it. If I did, then you can take my word for it we wouldn’t be using you. But we’re asking everyone in the village the same thing. I just thought I’d get it over and done with, OK?’

  I still didn’t like the way he’d sprung the question on me. He’d wanted to surprise me, to see how I would react. I wondered if the rest of our conversation had been a similar test. But, whether I liked it or not, that was his job. And I was starting to realize that he was good at it. Grudgingly, I nodded.

  ‘Can I carry on now?’ he asked.

  I had to smile. ‘I suppose so.’

  He pulled out again. ‘So how long is this likely to take? The examination,’ he asked after a while, breaking the silence.

  ‘Difficult to say. A lot depends on the condition of the body. Has the pathologist come up with anything?’

  ‘Not much. Although we can’t tell if there was a sexual assault, given that she was found naked it’s pretty likely. There’s what seem to be numerous small cuts on the torso and limbs, but they’re only superficial. He’s not even able to say for sure whether it was the throat wound or the head injuries that killed her. Any chance you’ll be able to shed any light on that?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’ Having seen the crime scene photographs, I already had some ideas, but I didn’t want to commit myself until I was sure.

  Mackenzie gave me a sideways glance. ‘I know I’m probably going to regret asking, but what exactly is it you’re going to do?’

  I’d been deliberately trying not to think about it. But the answers came automatically. ‘I’ll need to X-ray the body, if it hasn’t been already. Then I’ll take samples of the soft tissue to find the TSD, and—’