The Chemistry of Death

by Simon Beckett

  ‘This third victim,’ he said, carefully. ‘You know her?’

  I just nodded. He considered me for a while. There was something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. It took me a moment to recognize it as compassion. Then it was gone, replaced by his habitual hauteur.

  ‘Very well,’ he said.

  I hadn’t been to the Brenner house before, but it was the sort of local landmark that was hard to miss. It was a mile or so outside the village, set down a dirt track that was potholed all summer and reduced to dirty puddles and mud the rest of the year. The fields around it had once been drained farmland but were now steadily returning to the wild again. At their epicentre, surrounded by junk and debris, sat the house. It was a tall, dilapidated building that didn’t seem to have a straight line or a right angle about it. Extensions had been added over the years, ramshackle constructions that clung to the walls like leeches. The roof had been repaired with a corrugated metal sheet. Next to it, incongruously modern, was a huge satellite dish.

  Scarsdale hadn’t said a word during the brief journey. In the confined space of the car his musty, faintly sour odour was more noticeable. The Land Rover bumped over the rutted track towards the house. A dog came running up to us, barking furiously, but it kept its distance when we got out of the car. I banged on the front door, dislodging flakes of old paint. It was opened almost immediately by a worn-looking woman I recognized as Carl Brenner’s mother.

  She was painfully thin, with lank grey hair and pale skin, as if the life had been sucked out of her. She was a widow, and given the nature of the family she’d had to bring up alone, it probably had. Despite the heat she was wearing a hand-knitted cardigan over a faded dress. She plucked at it as she blinked at us, saying nothing.

  ‘I’m Dr Hunter,’ I told her. Scarsdale needed no introduction. ‘Is Carl in?’

  The question seemed to provoke no response. Just when I was about to repeat it she folded her arms across her chest.

  ‘He’s in bed.’ She spoke quickly, her manner aggressive and nervous at the same time.

  ‘We need to talk to him. It’s important.’

  ‘He doesn’t like being woken up.’

  Scarsdale stepped forward. ‘It shouldn’t take long, Mrs Brenner. But it is important we speak to him.’

  I felt a touch of irritation at the way he’d asserted control, but it was short-lived. All that mattered was getting into the house.

  Reluctantly, she moved back so we could enter. ‘Wait in the kitchen. I’ll get him.’

  Scarsdale went into the house first. I followed him into the untidy hallway. It smelled of old furniture and fried food. The smell of grease intensified as we went into the kitchen. A small TV was playing in one corner. A teenage boy and girl bickered at the table in front of empty breakfast plates. Scott Brenner sat nearby, one foot bandaged and propped up on a low stool, watching the TV while he nursed a half-drunk cup of tea.

  They fell silent and stared at us as we walked in. ‘Morning, Scott,’ I said awkwardly. I couldn’t remember the names of his teenage brother and sister. For the first time I began to have second thoughts about what I was doing, conscious that I was coming into someone’s home to accuse him of lying. But I closed my mind to any doubts. Right or wrong, this was something I had to do.

  Silence descended. Scarsdale stood in the centre of the room, as unperturbed as a statue. The teenage boy and girl continued to stare at us. Scott looked down at his lap.

  ‘How’s the foot?’ I asked, to break the moment.

  ‘All right.’ He looked down at it, shrugged. ‘Bit sore.’

  I could see that the bandage was filthy. ‘When was the last time the dressing was changed?’

  He was growing red. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘It has been changed, hasn’t it?’ He didn’t answer. ‘It was a bad wound, you shouldn’t just leave it.’

  ‘I can’t get anywhere like this, can I?’ he said, upset.

  ‘We could have arranged for a nurse to visit. Or Carl could bring you to the surgery.’

  A shutter came down in his face. ‘He’s too busy.’

  Yes, I thought, I bet he is. But I’d nothing to be self-righteous about myself. This was another reminder of how out of touch I’d become with the practice. There was the sound of someone coming downstairs, then his mother came into the kitchen.

  ‘Melissa, Sean, you two get on out,’ she told the teenagers.

  ‘Why?’ the girl demanded.

  ‘Because I said so! Go on!’

  They slouched out, sulking. Their mother went to the sink and began running water into it.

  ‘Is he coming down?’ I asked.

  ‘He will when he’s ready.’

  That seemed to be as far as she was prepared to go. The only sound was the slosh of water and clatter of cutlery and plates as she bad-temperedly began to wash a pile of dishes. I listened for any movement from upstairs, but there was nothing.

  ‘So what do I do, then?’ Scott asked, staring worriedly at his foot.

  It was an effort to drag my mind back. I was conscious of Scarsdale watching me. Impatience warred for a moment with obligation, then I gave in.

  ‘Let me have a look at it.’

  The wound wasn’t as bad as it could have been, for all the filth of the bandage. It was healing, and there was a good chance he’d regain full use of his foot. The stitches looked as though they’d been put in by a clumsy student nurse, but the edges of the wound were starting to knit cleanly together. I fetched my kit from the car and set about cleaning and redressing it. I was almost done when the heavy thump of footsteps announced Brenner’s arrival.

  I finished off and stood up as he slouched into the room. He was wearing a pair of dirty jeans and a tight T-shirt. His upper body was pallid but powerful, corded with wiry muscle. He fixed me with a venomous look, then nodded at Scarsdale with something approaching grudging respect. He reminded me of a sullen schoolboy confronted by a stern headmaster.

  ‘Good morning, Carl,’ Scarsdale said, taking over. ‘We’re sorry to disturb you.’

  His voice held an element of disapproval. Hearing it, Brenner seemed to become conscious of his appearance.

  ‘I’ve just got up,’ he said, unnecessarily. His voice was still thick with sleep. ‘Didn’t get in till late last night.’

  Scarsdale’s expression said he would overlook it. Just this once. ‘Dr Hunter wants to ask you something.’

  Brenner didn’t try to hide his hostility as he stared at me. ‘Why should I give a f—’ He caught himself. ‘Why should I care what he wants?’

  Scarsdale held up his hands, the patient peacemaker. ‘I realize this is an intrusion, but he feels it might be important. I’d like you to hear him out.’ He turned to me, signifying he’d done as much as he cared to. I was conscious of Scott and his mother watching as I spoke.

  ‘You know Ben Anders has been arrested,’ I said. Brenner took his time answering. He leaned against the table, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘So?’

  ‘Do you know anything about it?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘The police had a tip-off. Was it you?’

  Belligerence was coming off him like heat. ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘Because if it was I want to know if you really did see him or not.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘You accusing me?’

  ‘Look, I just don’t want the police wasting their time.’

  ‘What makes you think they are? It’s about time people woke up to that bastard Anders.’

  Scott stirred uneasily in his chair. ‘I dunno, Carl, perhaps he’s not—’

  Brenner turned on him. ‘Who fucking asked you? Shut it.’

  ‘This isn’t just about Ben Anders!’ I said, as his younger brother flinched and ducked his head. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you see that?’

  Brenner pushed himself off the table, fists balled. ‘The fuck do you think you are? You thought you were too good to talk to us
when we stopped you last night, and now you come here telling me what I’ve got to do?’

  ‘I just want you to tell the truth.’

  ‘So now you’re calling me a fucking liar?’

  ‘This is someone’s life you’re playing with!’

  He gave a savage grin. ‘Good. They can hang the bastard for all I care.’

  ‘I don’t mean him!’ I shouted. ‘What about the girl? What happens to her?’

  That took the grin off his face. He looked as though it had never occurred to him. He shrugged, but he was defensive now.

  ‘She’s probably dead already.’

  Scarsdale put a restraining hand on my arm as I started towards Brenner. With an effort I made a last appeal.

  ‘He keeps them alive for three days before he kills them,’ I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. ‘He keeps them alive so he can do God knows what. This is the second day, and the police are still trying to get Ben Anders to confess to it. Because someone said they saw him outside the house.’

  I had to stop. ‘Please,’ I went on after a moment. ‘Please, if it was you, tell them.’

  The others were staring at me, stunned. No-one outside the investigation knew the victims had been kept alive. Mackenzie would be furious if he knew I’d told them. I didn’t care. All my attention was focused on Brenner.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he mumbled, but I could see the uncertainty in his face. He wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

  ‘Carl?’ his mother said, hesitantly.

  ‘I said I don’t know, all right?’ he snapped, suddenly angry again. He turned on me. ‘You’ve asked your question, so now fuck off!’

  I don’t know what would have happened then if Scarsdale hadn’t been there. He stepped quickly between us. ‘That’s enough!’ He faced Brenner. ‘Carl, I appreciate you’re upset, but I’d thank you not to use language like that in my presence. Or in front of your mother.’

  Brenner looked far from happy at the rebuke, but Scarsdale’s conviction in his authority was absolute. The reverend turned to me.

  ‘Dr Hunter, you have your answer. I don’t think there’s any reason for you to stay here any longer.’

  I didn’t move. I stared across at Brenner, more certain than ever that he’d incriminated Ben out of spite. Looking at his sullen features I wanted to batter the truth out of him.

  ‘If anything happens to her,’ I told him, my voice sounding like a stranger’s, ‘if she dies because you were lying, I swear I’ll kill you myself.’

  The threat seemed to soak up all the air in the room. I felt Scarsdale take hold of my arm and steer me towards the door. ‘Come on, Dr Hunter.’

  As I passed Scott Brenner I paused. His face was white and wide-eyed as he looked up at me. Then Scarsdale urged me into the hallway.

  We went back to the Land Rover in silence. It wasn’t until we were back on the road to the village that I felt able to speak again.

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘If I’d known you would lose control of yourself I would never have agreed to come,’ Scarsdale replied, heatedly. ‘Your behaviour was disgraceful.’

  I looked at him in astonishment. ‘Disgraceful? He set up an innocent man without caring what might happen because of it!’

  ‘You’ve no proof of that.’

  ‘Oh, come on! You were there, you heard him!’

  ‘I heard two men losing their tempers, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re not serious? Are you telling me you don’t think Brenner tipped off the police?’

  ‘It’s not for me to judge.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to judge. Just come with me and tell them you think they should talk to him!’

  He didn’t reply straight away. When he did, it wasn’t a direct answer. ‘You said back there that the victims weren’t killed straight away. How do you know that?’

  Habit made me hesitate, but I didn’t care who knew now. It didn’t matter any more. ‘Because I examined the bodies.’

  His head snapped towards me in surprise. ‘You?’

  ‘I used to be an expert in that sort of thing. Before I came here.’

  Scarsdale took a moment to digest the news. ‘You mean you’ve been involved with the police investigation?’

  ‘They asked me to help, yes.’

  ‘I see.’ It was clear from his tone that he didn’t like it. ‘And you chose to keep it a secret.’

  ‘It’s sensitive work. It’s not the sort of thing you want talked about.’

  ‘Of course. We’re only locals, after all. I expect our ignorance must have amused you.’

  Two points of colour had risen on his cheeks. He wasn’t just displeased, I realized, he was furious. For a moment his reaction bewildered me, but then I understood. He’d enjoyed seeing himself in the ascendant role in the village, envisioned himself as Manham’s leader. Now he’d found out someone else had been given a pivotal role all along, privy to information he was denied. It was a blow to his pride. And, even worse, his ego.

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ I told him.

  ‘No? Strange that you should only tell me now, when you want something from me. Well, I can see now how naive I’ve been. I can assure you I won’t be taken for the fool again.’

  ‘No-one’s been taking you for the fool. If I’ve offended you I’m sorry, but there’s more at stake here than either of us.’

  ‘Indeed there is. And from now on you can be sure I’ll leave it in the hands of the “experts”.’ He said it with bitter mockery. ‘I’m just a lowly minister after all.’

  ‘Look, I need your help. I can’t—’

  ‘I don’t believe we have any more to say to each other,’ he said.

  The rest of the journey passed in silence.

  CHAPTER 23

  IT WAS THE NOISE that woke Jenny. At first the darkness disorientated her. She had no memory of where she was, why she still couldn’t see. She always slept with the curtains open, so that some light fell into the bedroom on even the darkest night. Then she became aware of the hard floor, and the smell, and with that awareness came crashing in on her.

  She tugged on the rope again. Her fingernails were already torn from working on it, and when she sucked them she tasted blood. But there was no more give in the knot for all her efforts. She slumped back. Now other discomforts were beginning to make themselves felt. Hunger, but more than that was thirst. Before she’d slept, at the extreme edge of her reach she’d found a tiny puddle of water that had seeped through the floor and walls of her cell. It was too shallow to drink from, but she’d taken off her vest top and used it to soak up what moisture there was. When she’d sucked it out it had been stale and brackish, but still tasted wonderful.

  Since then she’d found two other patches where water had soaked through, and done the same with both of them. But it had done little to slake her thirst. She’d dreamed of water, waking to a throat that was more parched than ever, and a feeling of lethargy she couldn’t shake off. She knew that both were early signs of insulin deficiency, but that was something else she didn’t want to think about. To give herself something to do she set about exploring the floor of her cell once more, hoping the wet patches might have replenished themselves.

  That was when she heard the noise again. It came from the cellar beyond the wooden planks.

  Someone else was down here.

  She waited, barely daring to breathe. Whoever it was, they weren’t here to rescue her. The sound of their moving about continued, but nothing else happened. Now she noticed that more light was spilling through the cracks in the wooden planks. The pulse of blood in her head almost drowned out everything else as she edged slowly towards them. Feeling her way with her hands, as quietly as she could she put her eye to the same gap as before.

  After the pitch black of her cell, the brightness stabbed into her retina. She blinked away the tears until her sight adjusted. A bare light bulb was burning over the workbench, hanging on a long length of flex so that it
was just above it. It was so low that it cast its light in a pool, illuminating only a small area and throwing everything else into unformed shadows. The dead animals suspended from the ceiling were lost in them.

  The noise came again, and then Jenny saw a man emerge from the darkness. From her angle, close to the floor, her view was limited. There was a glimpse of jeans and what looked like an army jacket before he moved in front of the light. His silhouette gave an impression of size and bulk as he busied himself at the workbench. Then he was coming towards her.

  She scurried away from the planks as his footsteps approached. They stopped. She stared into the blackness, paralysed. There was a loud scraping, then a vertical streak of light appeared. A moment later it flooded her cell as the planks were pulled back on a hinge. Jenny covered her eyes, blinded, as a dark shape towered over her.

  ‘Get up.’

  The voice was a low murmur. She was too scared to tell if it was familiar or not. She felt incapable of moving.

  There was a sudden motion, then a quick, sharp pain. She cried out, clutching her arm. It was wet. She looked in disbelief at the blood on her hand.

  ‘Get up!’

  Clutching the cut on her arm, she scrambled to her feet. She stood shakily, pressing herself back against the wall. Her eyes were starting to adjust to the light, but she kept her head averted. Don’t look at him. If he knows you can recognize him he can’t let you go. But her gaze was drawn of its own accord. Not to his face, but to the hunting knife he held, the tip of its curved blade angled towards her. Oh, God, no, please…

  ‘Get undressed.’

  It was like the taxi driver all over again. Except this time was far worse, because she couldn’t hope for rescue again.

  ‘Why?’ She heard the edge of hysteria in her voice, hated it.

  She didn’t have time to react as the knife slashed out again. There was a burn of cold on her cheek. Stunned, she put her hand to it, felt the wetness start to run out between her fingers. She looked at her hand, glossy with her blood, and then it started to hurt, a clean burning that took her breath away.