by John Macken
‘Forget it,’ Phil said. ‘Like you say, the past. Only thing that matters now is where we go from here. Now that we have finally caught the killer.’ He passed his gun to Reuben. ‘Here,’ he instructed, ‘guard him with this.’
Reuben watched Phil extract a pair of surgical gloves from a cardboard box and manoeuvre his fingers into them. ‘Let’s seal this scene,’ he said. ‘And that’ – Phil gestured at the measuring cylinder full of phenol – ‘was the intended murder weapon?’
‘You saw that?’ Reuben asked. ‘How long were you—’
‘Just long enough to make sure I heard what I needed to hear.’
‘Typical fucking copper,’ Lars spat.
‘Reuben, pass me the phenol, carefully.’
Reuben took a step closer to Lars Besser, and then inched the measuring cylinder along the bench towards Phil. It felt good, as if he was disarming Lars. For a second, the relief which had been surging through him mixed with a sense of rage, and he considered pulling the trigger. But no, it was vital that Lars was arrested, charged and isolated from society. That was how justice should work. Revenge never truly repaid any debt. With his gloved hands, Phil Kemp took the phenol and examined it.
‘Nasty,’ he tutted.
‘Very nasty,’ Reuben answered.
Phil appeared mesmerized by the noxious liquid. Pacing towards Lars Besser, he said, ‘Looks like the final nail in your coffin, Mr Besser.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Anything you want to share before I officially charge you?’
Lars sneered at him. ‘Big fucking hero,’ he answered.
And then Phil launched the phenol into his face.
Lars screamed, staggering backwards, clutching his eyes. He bent over, silent for a second, before shrieking again. The sound made Reuben shudder, cutting through him, rebounding off the walls. Lars sucked air in and out of his lungs with a ferocity that seemed to pull the oxygen from the room. He fell on to his side, and Reuben watched his face being eaten away beneath his fingers. His flesh blistered white and started to peel in sickening strips. Lars screeched and screeched, and Reuben realized that his death would take minutes rather than the hours he had estimated. Besser turned on to his back, spasming, legs and arms flailing, emitting a noise Reuben hoped to never hear again. His limbs smashed into the floor, the heavy legs of the lab bench and the base of a lab stool. Reuben swivelled round to look at Phil. Still holding the empty cylinder, Phil was entranced by the scene. ‘Fucking hell,’ he whispered under his breath.
Lars’s breathing became fluidic, a mixing of gases and liquids in a condenser. He was clawing at his face, tearing through blisters, opening up deep bloody wounds, as if he was trying to dig the affected flesh out. Reuben turned away; the howls grew louder. At last, Lars seemed to be trying to say something. It took Reuben a few seconds to pin it down. ‘Shoot me. Shoot me,’ he was squealing. Again Reuben looked at Phil, whose features didn’t change. The dearth of expression and sympathy seemed to be saying, ‘Got what he deserved.’ Lars’s cries were becoming pitiful sobs. Reuben realized he was observing a sadist understand his own reward. His undoubted power was ebbing and melting. Phil took a pace nearer and crouched down. Lars’s body was just twitching, no longer thrashing, and his face looked like it had been skinned. His laboured breathing seemed now to be composed only of inhalations, sudden, abrupt and rasping, convulsing his whole torso every few seconds.
‘Give me his gun,’ Phil said without turning round.
‘You going to shoot him?’
‘Something like that.’
Reuben passed the weapon, and Phil studied it, occasionally running his eyes over Lars. He appeared to be considering what to do.
‘Should I call for support?’ Reuben asked.
Still crouching, and with his back to Reuben, Phil answered, ‘We’ve got the situation covered. This cunt isn’t going anywhere. I’m just making sure.’
‘But CID …’
‘I said I’m just making sure. This fucker has caused me enough trouble. It was time he suffered the way he made others suffer. You know how this game works, Reuben. He would have pleaded innocent, clogged the courts up, maybe got twenty-five years in a cushy cell. Where’s the justice? The proper human justice? Surely you can see that. Come on, think of Sandra. Think of Run. Think of Lloyd.’
‘And Jez.’
‘Jez? Fucking animal!’ Phil lifted the butt of Lars’s gun and held it above his head for a few seconds. He ground his teeth.
‘Phil,’ Reuben said.
‘It’s OK.’ Phil lowered the pistol. ‘Modern policing and all that. Sometimes you forget.’ He rubbed his face and sighed.
‘Is he finally dead?’ Reuben asked quietly.
‘I think so. Jesus, that stuff is evil. I mean, I would never have …’
‘You did. And it’s over now.’ Reuben straightened, slowly clenching and unclenching his damaged hand, which was beginning to cooperate a little. ‘What a God-awful way to go.’ He felt suddenly sick. Despite all the aftermaths, all the cold, mutilated bodies he had witnessed in his career, nothing could have prepared him for what he had just seen.
‘What did he want from you anyway?’
‘Details of an old case.’
Phil swivelled, squatting close to Lars’s head. ‘Which one?’
‘The Lamb and Flag murder in the mid-nineties. You remember?’
‘And that’s all that drove him to these lengths?’
‘He said he was framed. Said our evidence was false.’
‘In what way false?’
‘That he couldn’t have been the killer.’
‘That’s right.’ Phil arched his eyebrows at Reuben and allowed himself a small laugh. ‘Fine upstanding chap like him.’
‘Hell no.’
‘Anyway …’ Phil pushed the gun into Lars’s palm, seeing how it fitted. ‘The investigation is closed. Has been for years. And now’ – he grinned up – ‘I have caught the Forensics Killer.’
Reuben smiled back as the tension finally left his body. ‘I guess so.’
Phil pressed Lars’s still-warm index finger on to the trigger of the gun. He moved Lars’s arm around, looking along its line.
‘What are you doing?’
‘As I said, I have caught the Forensics Killer.’ He aimed the gun at Reuben.
‘What?’
‘You see the state of play, don’t you? This is the conclusion, the answer to the case. The truth is in front of you, behind you, around you. In fact, you are the truth. The thing you’ve been hunting all these years is you.’
‘Phil, stop fucking around.’
‘And the truth is this. Forensics Killer Reuben Maitland murders Lars Besser, key suspect in the investigation, by pouring phenol over him. But as Besser dies, he manages to shoot Dr Maitland. The forensics and fingerprints are watertight. Case closed.’ Phil squeezed Lars Besser’s slippery finger on the trigger. ‘Unless I’ve missed anything?’
Reuben held his mouth, betrayed, in shock, staring at Phil with a mix of fear and incredulity.
‘But, Phil …’
‘Bye bye, Reuben,’ Phil said.
‘I don’t understand …’
‘Been a pleasure knowing you, Dr Maitland. Goodbye. Mate.’
Staring past the gun, Reuben noticed a movement, a twitch of the feet. Phil hadn’t seen it. And another. ‘Phil …’ he said. But it was too late. Lars Besser reared up and lunged. He grabbed for flesh. He was roaring, a wounded grizzly, hands pawing the air. Phil tried to scramble away, but slipped, the gun falling to ground. Lars launched himself, eyes huge and monstrous, their lids melted. Reuben leapt forwards instinctively and clutched hold of Phil, who was on his back. Lars wrapped his arms around Phil’s legs and squeezed. Phil was screaming, ‘Get him off me, get him off me.’ Reuben pulled Phil by the shoulders. Lars inched his grip up Phil’s legs. His frozen stare was fixed on Phil’s neck. ‘Shoot him, for fuck’s sake.’ Reuben couldn’t see Phil’s gun. ‘Shoo
t him.’ Lars’s pistol was trapped under Phil’s body. Lars was on top of Phil, his immense strength pulling him up so that he was wrapped around his chest. One arm reached for Phil’s neck.
Reuben let go of Phil and stood up. He shook his head. What the fuck was he doing? ‘Help me,’ Phil shrieked, almost overcome. Reuben scanned the lab, conflict raging through his body. He dived for the lab bench and picked up a bottle. It was simply marked ‘Nitric’. Lars was roaring and snarling and bellowing. Reuben uncapped the bottle. He stopped. A terrible thought came to him. Of course he could save Phil. But he could also save Lars instead. Both had tried to kill him. Which one did he want to live? Phil’s shrieks for help jolted through Reuben’s vacillation. His hands shook as he held the bottle above their heads.
Reuben stood over them, hesitating as Phil’s cries became more desperate, more frantic. ‘Kill him. Kill the fucker.’ If he did nothing Phil would be dead inside a minute, a victim of Lars’s immense power. But if he eliminated Lars, Phil was still a threat. Maybe he could overpower him, find one of the guns, call for back-up? But letting Phil live would create more problems than it solved. Reuben saw Phil’s face start to change colour, his limbs thrashing uselessly. Still he waited. He couldn’t think straight. It was kill or be killed. All he had to do was tip the nitric acid one way or the other, but he couldn’t.
Reuben closed his eyes and grimaced. He would have to end the life of a human being. Phil was whimpering; Lars was gaining in strength. Reuben swayed on his feet. Phil or Lars. Lars or Phil. Both of them wanted him dead, and now it was his turn. Phil was turning purple, his eyes pushing out of their sockets. Lars was forcing his fingers further into Phil’s neck, forearms bulging, muscles clamping tighter. Lars or Phil. Either would solve a lot of problems. An abhorrent decision crystallized. He adjusted the angle of his wrist. And then he poured the clear fluid out of its bottle.
6
There was a scream of pure undiluted horror. A burning smell, flesh and hair, filled the room. Reuben watched, sickened and fascinated. A whiff of vapour hung around the bottle mouth like smoke from a gun. Another howl pierced the lab and almost seemed to make the glassware shake, cutting through Reuben and scratching at his nerves.
Phil Kemp stared up at him, bug-eyed and dying. Lars Besser swivelled his distorted face upwards as well. Four eyes, four terrible eyes, digging into him. Reuben knew he would never forget those looks. He doused Lars Besser a second time; only a few drops remained. Lars finally stopped, his damaged eyes staying open. A burrowing blackness appeared in his flesh, steam escaping from the wound. The phenol had melted the outer layer of skin. The nitric acid was devouring flesh and bones. Lars twitched, grabbing the back of his hair. Phil writhed away from him, managing to shake him off. Lars rolled on to his front. The back of his head was red and white, skin giving way to bone, and then to membrane.
Phil climbed slowly to his feet, gasping for air. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he said. He walked over and kicked Lars hard in the kidneys. Lars’s breathing was becoming shallow. The fight was seeping away as the acid entered his brain.
Reuben picked Lars’s gun up from the floor, wiping it clean with a tissue. Phil paced about in small circles, muttering to himself, unsteady on his feet. He skirted around Lars’s body, seemingly oblivious to everything else. He kicked Lars again. This time there was no grunt of objection.
Reuben belatedly realized that he was in the very act of murdering someone. Even though he had hesitated before administering the acid, he knew that a small part of him, a region of his brain he battled to suppress, saw the justice in it. But he guessed that when the adrenalin subsided, the guilt would start to kick in. Not just because of the pain he had inflicted, but because it was now clear that Lars Besser, despite his sadism, had been motivated by injustice. There was a similarity in their plights which unnerved him as he watched Phil examine the body, lifting one of Lars’s arms up and letting it fall limply back to the floor. Reuben was more wary, and stayed well away from the prone figure. Phil lifted Lars’s other arm and glanced over at Reuben. For the first time he noticed the gun.
‘I guess things are a bit fucked up,’ Phil muttered.
Reuben shrugged blankly, not knowing what to say.
Phil cradled his head with wide-spaced fingers, rocking it slowly back and forth. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is the sickest thing … I thought he was going to kill me.’
Reuben released the pistol’s safety catch and extracted his mobile from his jeans. He dialled a number with his thumb. ‘Come here alone and unarmed,’ he said when the call was answered. ‘I’ve got what we might call a situation.’ He gave the address and brief directions. ‘I’m holding DCI Phil Kemp at gunpoint, and can’t be responsible for my actions. If you want to see him alive, you’d better get here now.’ Reuben flipped his phone shut. He took a stiff, white lab coat and draped it over Lars Besser’s body.
‘So, DCI Kemp.’ He frowned. ‘This is where things get interesting.’
1
Reuben listened to his stomach complain. It had seen too much adrenalin and not enough food. He hadn’t eaten for as long as he could recall. He leant his empty body against the fridge. He was trembling slightly, the vibration of the compressor at one with his own oscillations. Behind Phil Kemp he saw that he had failed to give Lloyd Granger any posthumous dignity. Things had become so fucked up that they spilt on to the canvas. Lloyd would have to wait.
Phil remained silent, his face gradually greying. There was a noise at the door, and Reuben walked swiftly behind Phil, pointing the gun at his head and covering the entrance.
‘So,’ he said, as DCI Sarah Hirst stepped into the lab.
‘So,’ she answered. He watched her absorb the scene of chaos in the lab, coolly detached, drawing her own story from the pictures. The figure lying on the floor, the spilt liquids, the burning skin, Phil standing with a gun at his head. Sarah straightened her hair, adjusted her collar and smoothed her skirt, as if distancing herself from the mess around her. She walked slowly forwards. ‘This is the situation you mentioned.’
‘Show me you’re not armed,’ Reuben instructed.
Sarah Hirst unbuttoned her jacket. Reuben took in the sculptured look of her white blouse as she turned around.
‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’ Sarah asked, facing him.
‘Sarah, for Christ’s sake,’ Phil implored.
‘One more word, DCI Kemp, and it will be your last.’ Reuben pushed the bevelled mouth of the gun hard into Phil’s hair.
‘Well?’
‘Lars Besser was the Forensics Killer.’
‘What I’m really asking you, Dr Maitland, is why you’re holding a senior CID officer at gunpoint.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘You’ll have to do better than that. And you don’t have a lot of time. I told Mina Ali where I was going. If I’m not out by two, she’s going to raise the alarm. And you know what that means.’
Reuben sighed. True to form, Sarah had broken her word. If time was limited, he needed help. ‘I’m going to make a call,’ he said. ‘And then we can start getting down to business.’ He picked up his phone and dialled a number. ‘Judith,’ he began, ‘I’m in the lab. I think you should come here. Things have changed. A lot of things. But it’s safe. And I need your technical help. How long till you get here? Right. See you then.’
Reuben put his mobile down and glanced at Sarah, who was now standing in front of Lloyd Granger’s unfinished portrait. ‘Of course,’ she said, running her eyes over the canvas, ‘you know why you paint?’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘Because deep inside you can’t bear the truth.’
Reuben grunted. ‘I’d say it was an outlet. Something maybe you could benefit from. So where do you get your kicks, DCI Hirst?’
‘From being in control.’
‘Inspect your surroundings. Do you think you’re in control now?’
Sarah Hirst swung round instantly as the door opened. Reuben stepped
back and trained his pistol on the entrance, careful to keep the gun behind Phil’s head. Out of the shadows emerged the large figure of Moray Carnock.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, his face clouding as he glanced around the room.
‘Long story. What happened to Helsinki?’
‘Outstayed my welcome and had to leave in a hurry.’
‘Well, make yourself useful. Take the gun and keep it trained on DCI Kemp.’
Reuben paced over to Sarah, pulling her by the elbow, guiding her away from the picture. ‘We’re going to run some tests,’ he said, sucking in her perfume. ‘Find out what’s been going on. Now, I’ve taken a risk asking you here. But I need all this to be legal and open. I need to know that I can trust you.’
‘Why start now, Dr Maitland?’
‘Because I haven’t any other option.’
‘Your man’s the one holding the gun.’
‘Do I have your cooperation or not?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘We shall see.’
‘Never mind. Moray, keep a watch on DCI Hirst as well.’
Sarah flushed with anger, shaking herself free from Reuben’s grip. ‘That’s enough, Dr Maitland. You’re going to tell me what you know. You’re going to convince me that when this is all over I shouldn’t have you taken to pieces.’
Reuben glanced quickly in Phil’s direction. He was monitoring Sarah with quiet desperation. Reuben saw that there was still hope in his eyes. Behind, Moray was leaning against a bench, holding the revolver and rummaging in his pockets for something to eat. Noticing the hunger in Reuben’s stare, he passed him a banana and a can of drink. Reuben faced Sarah and muttered, ‘OK, here goes nothing. Did you ever hear about the Lamb and Flag murder? A student called Gabriel Trask?’
Sarah frowned. ‘Yeah. I remember.’
‘Lars Besser, lying there on the floor, was the man we sent down. Old-school DNA fingerprinting was struggling. It wasn’t until maybe three months after the murder that we made the breakthrough, discovering Besser’s DNA on the student’s clothing.’ Reuben swigged a mouthful of apple juice, savouring the sweet-acid coolness.
