The Chemistry of Death

by Simon Beckett

  ‘That’s bullshit!’

  ‘Is it? So why didn’t he take you straight away? Why did he come looking for me to patch you up when he could see how badly you were hurt?’

  ‘You were closest.’

  ‘And he knew a hospital would report it to the police. He didn’t want to take you even when I said you needed stitches.’

  Something in his face made me stop. I looked down at the clumsy stitches in his foot, and suddenly understood.

  ‘He never did take you, did he? That’s why you never had the dressing changed. You never went to hospital in the first place.’

  Scott’s anger had evaporated. He couldn’t look at me. ‘He said it would be all right.’

  ‘So who put the stitches in? Him?’

  ‘My cousin Dale.’ He sounded embarrassed now that he’d been found out. ‘He used to be in the army. He knows about stuff like that.’

  That was the same cousin I’d seen with Brenner at the road block the day before. ‘And did he bother to look at it again after he’d put them in?’

  Scott shook his head, miserably. I felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to stop.

  ‘Does he help Carl with other things as well? Like the poaching?’

  He gave a reluctant nod. I knew I was on the verge of something. Two men. Two hunters, one with an army background.

  Two different knives.

  ‘And what else?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he insisted, but his attempt at ignorance was feeble.

  ‘They put you at risk. You know that, don’t you?’ I told him. ‘What was so important they’d let you lose your foot over it?’

  He was squirming now. I saw with dismay he was close to tears. But I couldn’t afford to care about that.

  ‘I don’t want to get them into trouble,’ he said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

  ‘They’re in trouble already. And they weren’t so worried about what happened to you.’ I was about to push further, but instinct made me hold off. I waited, letting Scott wrestle with his decision.

  ‘They’ve been trapping birds,’ he said at last. ‘Rare ones. Animals as well, like otters and things when they can get them. Carl thought there might be a market for live stuff as well as eggs. To sell to collectors. You know.’

  ‘They’re in it together?’

  ‘Pretty much. But Carl does most of the trapping. He keeps them out on the marsh, in the old windmill.’

  My mind was working so fast it seemed to be skidding. The windmill was completely derelict, isolated and long abandoned. Or apparently not.

  I started rebandaging his foot again. ‘That was where you stepped in the trap,’ I said, remembering their story when they’d stumbled into the Lamb that night. And how Brenner had cut him off from saying too much.

  He nodded. ‘When the police started searching for those women Carl was frightened they’d look there. He doesn’t let me go out with him normally. He says I should get my own business and keep out of his. But Dale was away that week, so I had to help him move everything.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘All over. Different places. We brought most of them here, in the outhouses. My mum wasn’t happy but it was only for a couple of days, until the police had searched the windmill. But then I stepped in the trap, and he had to take them back by himself.’ He looked downcast. ‘He went mad. But it wasn’t like I did it on purpose.’

  ‘So was the trap his?’

  He shook his head. ‘He said afterwards it must have been that nutter’s who’s been killing those women.’

  I kept my face averted, feigning preoccupation with his foot. ‘Has he got anything out there now?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s got nowhere else to put them. Dale won’t risk moving them with all the cops knocking about.’

  ‘And does Carl still go out there?’

  ‘Every day. He’s got to keep them alive until they can sell them.’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t know how much longer he’ll bother, though. They haven’t been able to get rid of many yet.’

  It was an effort to act normally. I kept my voice as casual as I could.

  ‘So did you cover for Carl with the police?’

  He looked confused. ‘What?’

  My hands were trembling as I finished bandaging his foot. ‘When they were asking about the missing women. He couldn’t tell them his alibi was being out poaching, could he?’

  Scott actually smiled. ‘Naw. We just said he’d been here all the time.’ His smile faltered. ‘You won’t tell him I’ve said, will you?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t tell him.’

  I’d told him too much already. I remembered what I’d said to Brenner earlier. He keeps them alive for three days before he kills them. Now he knew the police were aware of his timetable. Thanks to me Jenny might not have even that small chance of survival.

  God, what had I done?

  I stood up, fumbling to pack away my things as Scott’s mother returned carrying a mug of tea.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go.’

  Her mouth thinned with displeasure. ‘I thought you wanted a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  I was already hurrying from the room. Scott was looking at me uncertainly, as if he was starting to regret what he’d said. All at once I was desperate to get away, half-expecting Brenner to suddenly materialize and try and stop me. I threw my first-aid kit into the Land Rover and quickly switched on the ignition, aware of Mrs Brenner staring at me from the doorway as I bumped down the track.

  I was reaching for my phone as soon as I was out of sight. But when I tried to call Mackenzie the signal wavered in and out before dying altogether.

  ‘Come on, come on!’

  I shot out onto the road and turned towards the old windmill, willing the signal to reappear. As soon as it did I redialled Mackenzie’s number.

  His voicemail service answered. Shit, shit! ‘Carl Brenner’s family lied about his alibi,’ I said without preamble. ‘He’s been—’

  Mackenzie abruptly picked up. ‘Tell me you’ve not been out to see him.’

  ‘Not Brenner, his brother, but—’

  ‘I told you to keep away!’

  ‘Just listen!’ I shouted. ‘Brenner’s been trapping birds and animals to sell with his cousin. Name of Dale Brenner, he’s ex-army. They’ve been keeping them out at a ruined windmill, about a mile south of the village. Where Scott Brenner stepped in the trap.’

  ‘Wait.’ Now I’d got his attention he was all business. I heard muffled voices in the background. ‘OK, I know where you mean. But that was checked, there’s nothing in it.’

  ‘They moved them all when you were searching around there for Lyn Metcalf, then put them back again. That’s when Brenner’s brother was injured. Brenner was so keen not to involve the police he wouldn’t even take him to hospital.’

  ‘He’s a poacher, we already know that,’ Mackenzie said, stubbornly.

  ‘You didn’t know his family lied to protect him. Or that you’ve got a hunter and an ex–army man trapping animals and keeping them in an abandoned building, and at least one of them doesn’t have an alibi. Do I have to spell it out for you?’

  The obscenity I heard him mutter told him I didn’t.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’ve just left Brenner’s.’ I didn’t tell him I was on my way to the windmill.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘OK, look, I’m at the mobile incident room. Get out here as soon as you can.’

  That was in the opposite direction.

  ‘What for? I’ve told you all you need to know.’

  ‘And I’d like to hear about it in more detail. I don’t want anyone going off half-cocked, do you understand?’

  I didn’t answer. I drove with the phone pressed to my ear, the road whispering by under the car wheels, each second taking me closer to where I was certain Jenny was being kept.

  ‘Did you hear me, Dr Hunter?’

  Now t
here was steel in Mackenzie’s voice. I eased my foot off the accelerator. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do.

  ‘I heard you,’ I grated.

  And I turned round and went back.

  The sky had developed an unhealthy sheen. A thin scab of clouds had formed over the sun, giving the light a jaundiced quality. For the first time in weeks, the breeze carried a hint of something other than overheated air. Somewhere, not too far off, was the threat of rain, but for the moment the increased humidity only made the heat seem worse.

  Even with the windows down, I was sweating by the time I reached the police trailer that served as the incident room. There was more activity than usual around it. Mackenzie was standing at a table with a group of plain-clothed and uniformed police officers when I went in, poring over a map. The ones in uniform were wearing body armour. He broke off when he saw me.

  His expression was far from fond as he came over. ‘I’m not going to pretend I’m happy about what you did,’ he said, jaw thrust out aggressively. ‘I appreciate the help you gave us earlier, but this is a police investigation. There’s no room for civilians blundering about in it.’

  ‘I tried to tell you about Brenner but you wouldn’t listen. What was I supposed to do?’

  I could see he wanted to argue, but he checked himself. ‘The superintendent wants to talk to you.’

  He led me over to the group of officers at the table and introduced me. A tall, gaunt man with a no-nonsense air of command stuck out his hand.

  ‘I’m Detective Superintendent Ryan. I gather you’ve got some new information, Dr Hunter?’

  I ran through what Scott Brenner had told me, trying to stick to the bare facts. When I’d finished Ryan turned to Mackenzie.

  ‘You know this Carl Brenner, I take it?’

  ‘He’s already been interviewed, yes. Fits the profile, but he could account for himself both times when Lyn Metcalf and Jenny Hammond went missing. His family backed him up.’

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ I interrupted. My heart bumped painfully, but they had to know. ‘I told Brenner yesterday that you know the victims have been kept alive.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Mackenzie breathed.

  ‘I wanted to make him see it was about more than him and Ben Anders.’

  The attempt at justification sounded inadequate even to me. The policemen were staring at me with a mixture of disgust and hostility. Ryan gave a terse nod.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Dr Hunter,’ he said coolly. ‘You’ll have to excuse us now. We’ve a lot to do.’

  He was already turning away. Mackenzie steered me away. He held himself in check until we were outside.

  ‘What the hell possessed you to tell Brenner that?’

  ‘Because I knew you were questioning the wrong man! And believe me, there’s nothing you can say that can make me regret it more than I do already.’

  Some of the anger left him as he saw the truth of that. ‘It might not make any difference,’ he said. ‘As long as his brother doesn’t say anything, he still doesn’t know he’s a suspect.’

  That didn’t make me feel any better. ‘Are you going to search the windmill now?’

  ‘As soon as we can. We can’t just go charging into a potential hostage situation.’

  ‘It’s only Brenner and his cousin!’

  ‘Both possibly armed, and one with military training. You can’t launch a raid without planning it first.’ He sighed. ‘Look, I know this is hard for you. But we know what we’re doing, all right? Trust me.’

  ‘I want to come with you.’

  Mackenzie’s face hardened. ‘No chance.’

  ‘I’ll stay back with the cars. I won’t get in the way.’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘She’s diabetic, for God’s sake!’ Heads turned towards us at my raised voice. I made myself lower it. ‘I’m a doctor. She’ll need insulin straight away. She might be injured or in a coma.’

  ‘We’ll have an ambulance and paramedics standing by.’

  I tried once more. ‘I need to be there. Please!’

  But he was already heading back towards the trailer. Almost as an afterthought he turned back to me.

  ‘Don’t get any ideas about going out there yourself, Dr Hunter. For your girlfriend’s sake, we can do without any distractions.’

  He didn’t have to say what we both thought. You’ve done enough damage already.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Do I have your word on that?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’

  His expression softened, if only relatively. ‘Just try and stay calm. I’ll call you as soon as we have any news.’

  Leaving me standing there, he went back inside.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE SUMMER WHEN JENNY was ten her parents had taken her to Cornwall. They’d camped at a site near Penzance, and on the last day her father had driven them along the coast to a small cove. If it had a name she never knew it, only that the sand was fine and white, and the cliffs behind them had been full of nesting birds. It had been a hot day, and the sea had been deliciously cool. She played in the shallows and on the beach, then lay in the sun and read the book she’d been bought. It was The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis, and she’d felt very adult to be reading it on holiday.

  They had stayed there all day. There had been a few other families in the cove, but one by one they had all gone until only Jenny and her parents were left. The sun had settled slowly into the sea, casting longer and longer shadows. Not wanting the day to end, Jenny had waited for one of her parents to finally stretch and announce that it was time to leave. But neither did. The afternoon stretched into evening, and still her parents seemed as reluctant to end the holiday as Jenny herself.

  They’d put sweaters on when the temperature dropped, laughing at the goosebumps on Jenny’s mother when she’d insisted on one final swim. The cove faced into the west, presenting them with a panoramic view of the sunset. It had been glorious, a vast smear of gold and purple, and the three of them had fallen silent to watch as it deepened into night. Only when the last rays of the sun had fallen behind the horizon did her father stir.

  ‘Time to go,’ he’d said.

  And they had walked back along the beach through the thickening twilight, leaving just the lingering memory of the most perfect day of her childhood.

  She thought about it now, conjuring the feel of the sun on her skin and the sand running through her fingers. She could smell the coconut of her mother’s sun oil, taste the saline tang of sea on her lips. The cove was still out there, and somewhere in the universe Jenny could almost believe that younger version of herself still existed too, forever caught on the cusp of that never-ending day.

  As she lay on the floor of her cell, the ache from her amputated toe had joined with her other wounds to form a rolling wave of pain that seemed to carry her along. But now even that seemed remote, as though she were observing it rather than experiencing it herself. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, finding it harder to distinguish delirium from brutal reality. On one level she knew that was a bad sign, that she was beginning the descent into coma. But perhaps that was better than experiencing whatever her captor had planned. Hey, look on the bright side. One way or another, Jenny knew she was going to die here.

  It would be much better if it happened before he came back.

  She wondered about her parents now, and what they would do when they heard. She felt sad for them, but only distantly. The thought of David brought a deeper sadness. But there was nothing she could do about that either. Even her fear had become diluted and blurred, like something viewed through water. The emotion that still burned brightest, with a feverish intensity, was anger. Anger at the man prepared to fritter her life away as easily as scattering dust.

  During one moment of lucidity she tried working at the knot on her ankle, but it was a feeble attempt. There was no strength left in her fingers, and all too soon her body’s shaking made even that impos
sible. She sank back, exhausted, slipping quickly into delirium again. Once she dreamed that she had the knife her captor had used on her. It was huge and bright, like a sword, and she sliced easily through the rope and felt herself soar weightlessly away, floating into freedom and sunlight.

  Then the dream abandoned her, and she was back on the floor of the cellar, filthy and bloodied.

  The grating noise seemed like another dream at first. Even the light that spilled on her melded seamlessly into images of blue skies, trees and grass. Only when something struck her face, splitting open the cut on her cheek with a sharpness like ice, did she become aware once more of where she was. She felt someone lift her shoulders off the ground, roughly shake her.

  ‘David…?’ she said, trying to make out the blurred figure bending over her. Or perhaps she just tried to say it, because the only sound that escaped her lips was a weak, dry groan. Her head snapped to the side as a rough hand slapped her again.

  ‘Wake up! Wake up!’

  The face looming in front of her swam into focus. Oh. Not David. The man’s features were contorted with anger and disappointment. She felt like crying. So she wasn’t going to die in time, after all. That seemed so unfair. But already she was beginning to drift away again. She barely noticed when he let her drop, even the pain of her head striking the hard earth only a minor irritation.

  Suddenly she was jolted back into herself by a shock of freezing cold. For an instant her heart seemed to stop. She struggled to breathe, her diaphragm spasmed to stone. She clawed in one breath, then another, blinking away water to see him standing over her. He held an empty bucket, still dripping.

  ‘Not yet! You don’t die yet!’

  He let the bucket fall, roughly seized hold of her foot. In a few swift motions the knot that had been holding her was untied. Still wheezing for breath, Jenny was hauled to her feet. He half-dragged, half-carried her to the far end of the cellar. There was a brick partition here. He dumped her behind it, onto a hard and unyielding floor. Through blurred vision, Jenny looked above her and saw a rusting tap jutting from the wall. And then she noticed something else, something that penetrated even the insulin-starved fog. Next to where she was lying was a circular iron drain, and with sudden intuition Jenny realized what was going to drain down it.