Unfinished Business

by Heather Atkinson

  Brodie glanced at the site manager and the curious police gathered round and said quietly, “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Fine.” Clarke looked impatiently at the site manager. “We need to come in.”

  “Have you got a warrant?”

  “I don’t need one. We’re trying to save someone’s life. Let us through.”

  The site manager, sensing Clarke was on the edge, capitulated. “Alright, I’ll open the gate but I’m calling head office back.”

  “Good. Ask them which unit belongs to Seth Creegan.”

  “I don’t need to ask them, I can check myself,” he sniffed.

  As the site manager scurried away in a state of alarm to make his call Clarke took Brodie and Cass aside, away from the rest of his officers. “How did you find this place?”

  “I planted a tracking device on Seth,” replied Brodie. “It showed he came here and spent over an hour doing God only knows what.”

  “Tracking device,” Clarke sighed, planting his hands on his hips.

  “It’s amazing what you can achieve when you don’t have to get a warrant,” smiled Brodie.

  “That’s illegal.”

  “I told Seth about it. If he denies it he must have forgotten.”

  “What a load of bollocks. That won’t stand up to scrutiny.”

  “Are you going to let a serial killer off the hook because of a tiny wee gadget?” challenged Brodie.

  “No I’m not.” He looked round to make sure no one was listening before adding, “if anyone asks you ran a search on whatever name he’s booked the unit under and came up with this place. End of story.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “No one planted a tracking device on anybody. Understand?”

  Brodie held up his hands. “I said I’ve got it.”

  Clarke looked to Cass, his expression was gentler, and he was gratified when she nodded too.

  They all waited in silence for the site manager to return, gazing thoughtfully at the unending rows of blue metal containers.

  The site manager rushed back again, now rather red in the face and sweating beneath his hard hat, the clipboard gone. “Head office told me to give you what you need. There’s no unit booked under the name Seth Creegan.”

  “You spelt it right?” said Clarke before spelling Creegan out to the man.

  “I know how to spell,” spat back the site manager.

  “He’ll be using a pseudonym if he’s using it for murder,” said Brodie.

  “It’s against the rules for our units to be used for illegal purposes,” spluttered the site manager.

  The look Clarke gave him was withering. “This guy isn’t known for playing by the rules.”

  “Try the name Bryan Flynn,” said Brodie. “If he’s emulating Daddy then he might be using that name.”

  “Right,” said the site manager, walking away.

  “We’ll come with you,” said Clarke. “We don’t have time to wait for you to run back and forth.”

  “I’m not objecting. It’ll make my life easier,” he muttered, ambling ahead of them.

  Not all the group could fit into the small portakabin that made up the site manager’s office so Brodie, Cass, Clarke and his DC piled in while the rest waited outside.

  They watched as the site manager, who introduced himself as Bob, tapped at the computer. “No, nothing for Bryan Flynn.”

  “Bryan with a y,” said Brodie.

  “No Bryan’s with y’s or I’s.”

  “Mark Creegan?” said Cass.

  “There’s no one with the name of Creegan at all.”

  “Can the units be booked anonymously?” said Clarke.

  “It can be done online or over the phone. You don’t see anyone in person,” replied the Bob. “Payment’s taken by card every four weeks.”

  “So no one sees any faces?”

  “No, this way it means we can charge less for the units.”

  “Try Kyle Johnson,” said Brodie.

  “Johnson?” frowned Clarke.

  “It could be an insurance policy, someone else to blame.”

  “Worth a try I suppose.”

  “We’ve got a Kyle Johnson,” said Bob with a relieved smile.

  “Bring up his details,” said Clarke. He leaned over Bob’s shoulder to study the screen. “That’s his home address. As if Johnson would be stupid enough to use his real details if he was really responsible.”

  “What’s this bloke supposed to have done anyway?” said Bob.

  They all ignored him.

  “Take us to his unit,” ordered Clarke.

  The group seethed with impatience as the site manager looked up the location of the unit then had to prevent themselves from belting him one when he dithered trying to locate it.

  “It’s not my fault, they all look alike,” he said in his defence and Brodie had to restrain himself from poking him in the eye. “Here we go,” he eventually said, pointing to a unit painted dark blue.

  “The walls are thick. No one can hear you scream,” said Brodie as he stared up at the unit, sending a shudder down Cass’s spine. He banged on the door. “Hello? Emily?”

  There was no reply.

  “Open it up,” said Clarke, gesturing to the coded padlock.

  “I can’t, only the renter has the code,” replied Bob.

  “I don’t care about the code. Break it open.”

  “I can’t do that,” he shrieked.

  “I could have that lock picked in under a minute,” said Brodie, staring at it.

  “No, we do this properly,” replied Clarke. He turned back to Bob. “Listen up you. There could be a woman in there mortally injured and you’re throwing fucking red tape at me.” He turned to his team. “Bolt cutters. Now.”

  “I’ll have to call head office about this,” spluttered Bob.

  “I don’t care, just as long as you get out of the way while you do it.”

  Cass gave Clarke an admiring smile as he pushed Bob aside and glowered at the scenes of crimes officers as they rummaged around in the back of their van for the desired bolt cutters. Sensing his glare laser-beaming its way into their backs their search turned positively frantic until one of them triumphantly produced it.

  While the door was forced open Brodie said, “no sign of Seth then?”

  “No,” replied Clarke. “We’ve tried his work, mum’s, brother’s house, his local pub, basically everywhere we can think of and if anyone has seen him then they’re not telling us.”

  All three turned to look when the padlock broke with a clang and the door slowly swung open. Brodie wanted to scream at the numpty opening it to hurry up, it seemed he was going slowly on purpose for dramatic effect.

  “Fuck, it’s empty,” said Clarke, crestfallen.

  “But it has been used recently,” said Brodie, pointing to the wooden pallet inside, leather tethers hanging from the top and bottom. A smell drifted out - it wasn’t exactly charnel house because the place had been cleaned up but it was unpleasant and reminded Brodie of pain and despair.

  “Look at the walls,” said Cass.

  They’d all been so busy studying the only piece of furniture in the room that they’d failed to look at the walls. Every spare surface was adorned with sketches of the dead women - all six of them.

  “Shit, Emily Spencer’s face is up there,” said Clarke. “I promised her parents I’d bring her home safely.”

  Brodie knew it was a bad idea to make promises like that but it was hard not to. “It doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

  “It’s still not a good sign.” Clarke looked to the scenes of crimes officers and told them to get on with it before retreating a distance to stare into the container. Brodie went to follow him but Cass put a hand on his arm. “Let me. I think you wind him up.”

  “I hear that a lot,” he said, watching as she walked over to the brooding police officer. He turned his attention from them to the faces on the walls, hoping Cass worked her magic on Clarke and made him amenable to t
hem.

  He had to own that the drawings were very good, the light grey shading giving the faces an ethereal, ghost-like quality. Seth might be a sleazy, murdering wanker but he could really draw. Any beauty in the pictures was eradicated by the women’s eyes, which chilled him to the bone. He sighed and looked away. This wasn’t something he wanted ingrained on his memory but he knew it always would be. He glanced back at Cass and Clarke, who were talking. It looked like she was softening him up.

  “It doesn’t mean Emily’s dead,” said Cass.

  “Yes it does. If she was still alive she’d be here,” replied Clarke, staring at the open unit with big, sorrowful eyes.

  “Not necessarily. We don’t know his routine, he might have a second place he takes them to prepare them for exhibition.”

  “It’s something to cling onto I suppose but I think he killed them here. SOCO will find their blood and if he did the carving here then he cut their throats here. He couldn’t have transported them when they were bleeding out everywhere.” He gave her a gentle smile. “But thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

  “You look like you haven’t smiled in a while.”

  “I haven’t, not since this case started.” He nodded his head at Brodie. “Are you and him a couple?”

  “No, we just work together.”

  “It must be hard for him working with you and keeping it platonic.”

  “I didn’t have you down as a flatterer DS Clarke.”

  “Call me Daniel and I’m not. I just tell the truth.”

  Despite the grim situation they were stuck in, she smiled. “I know he can seem gruff and sometimes just plain rude but Brodie’s a good man. He’s unorthodox but he gets the job done and he really cares, sometimes too much.”

  “He seems very driven.”

  “He is.”

  “I know about his past, his parents and brother.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t mention it. It’s a very touchy subject.”

  “I wasn’t going to but it explains why he acts the way he does. It must have made joining the force difficult for him with a family history like that.”

  “He was just a kid at the time and they recognised that.”

  “The brother’s been damaged for life. That can’t be easy on Brodie.”

  “It’s not but he handles it, like he does everything else.”

  “Did he ask you to come over here and cheer him on?”

  “No. He wanted to come and talk to you himself but I thought he’d just get on your nerves, he affects some people like that, so I thought I’d be better talking to you instead.”

  “If everyone was as candid as you Miss Carlisle my life would be so much easier,” he smiled.

  The conversation was broken up when Clarke was waved over by one of the scenes of crimes officers, who was dressed head to toe in a white paper suit. Cass followed him to the mouth of the unit.

  “We’ve got long blond hairs,” said one of the technicians, holding up a strand with a pair of tweezers. “The place has been cleaned but there’s still specks of blood he missed.”

  “Make sure you check every inch. We need to know if he brought all the women here,” said Clarke.

  The technician gave him a look that indicated he shouldn’t tell him how to do his job.

  “Sir, you need to see this,” said another technician, holding up what appeared to be a sheet of parchment with small squares stitched to it.

  “What’s that?” said Clarke.

  “Skin squares Sir,” he replied. “Each one’s got one of the victim’s names carved into it.”

  Clarke grimaced. “Is Emily’s name there?”

  The technician nodded. “Yes Sir.”

  “Fuck,” he said quietly.

  “There’s more,” continued the technician. “I’ll need the pathologist to confirm it but I think the squares have been stitched to one large piece of skin. It’s been preserved so it’s hard to tell just by looking at it if it’s human.”

  Clarke was as astonished as Cass and Brodie. “Please tell me you’re kidding?”

  “Wish I was Sir.”

  “The Camden Carver took squares of skin from his victims,” said Brodie. “Seth’s replicating Daddy in every way.”

  “But we’ll never know if he stitched them to one big piece of skin,” replied Clarke. “Small squares were missing from each body in London but they were never found.”

  “They were probably hidden in Bryan Flynn’s shed and Maggie threw them out.”

  “Possibly. I’ll make fucking sure to ask her.”

  “You won’t get anything out of her. She’s been telling lies for so long she’s forgotten how to tell the truth.”

  “I need to tell Hillyard that it’s looking even more likely that Seth Creegan’s definitely The Carver,” said Clarke, taking out his phone and moving away from the unit to make his call.

  “Seth’s in the wind, isn’t he?” Cass said to Brodie. “Someone warned him the police are looking for him.”

  “Yes and my money’s on Maggie,” he replied.

  “If he’s any sense he’ll be far away by now.”

  “I don’t think he’s the type to run away and what’s he done with Emily?”

  “He might have killed her and she’s just not been found yet.”

  “Doubtful. He always dumps them where he knows they’ll be found, although I hesitate to use the word dumps. He places them carefully, he’s exhibiting them,” he said, gazing at the pencil sketch of Emily.

  Clarke concluded his call with his superior and turned his cool gaze on Brodie. “Well, thank you for your help but we can take it from here.”

  “You’re throwing us off the scene?” said Brodie, outraged.

  “I don’t want any contamination.”

  “And you won’t get any. I used to be a police officer, I know what I’m doing.”

  Clarke dropped his voice. “Your involvement might have already compromised this case. I’m not risking this bastard getting off because of your fetish for breaking the rules.”

  “If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have a clue this place existed.”

  “I’m not too proud to accept that’s true but if you want Seth to pay for what he’s done then you will leave now and with no argument.”

  “But…”

  “Brodie, come on,” said Cass, tugging at his arm.

  Brodie held Clarke’s gaze and Cass kept her hand firmly on his arm, hoping he didn’t do something stupid. She released a breath when he turned and walked away.

  “Sensible move,” she said as they headed back towards his car.

  “Clarke’s or mine?”

  “Both. Don’t look at me like that Brodie,” she added when he looked furious. “We don’t want to jeopardise the investigation and you were smart to walk away.”

  “They couldn’t find anything on their own, they need us to hold their fucking hands,” he spat.

  “True but this is about finding Emily and getting justice for all those women so take it easy.”

  Her words broke through the fog of anger slowly starting to descend on him and he gave a terse nod. “Let’s go,” he said, jumping into the car and slamming the door shut, which closed first time, as though it didn’t dare not to.

  Clarke watched the car go, tyres screeching.

  “Keep an eye on that pair,” Clarke told his detective constable.

  “You think they’re something to do with it?”

  “No I just don’t like it when members of the public know more than we do.”

  Brodie muttered angrily to himself as he drove, wrenching at the gear stick, making the car whine and protest.

  “Take it easy, you’ll break it,” said Cass.

  Brodie breathed in deeply, attempting to calm himself. Sometimes he scared himself when he got angry because he’d witnessed his brother Ricky’s rage, saw how completely it possessed him, could recall the face of every person he’d hurt when lost in one of those rages and Brodie feared that one da
y he’d go the same way and snap and hurt someone he didn’t mean to hurt. Not that Cass needed to worry, no matter how mad he was he could never hurt her. She was the one who kept him level, who brought him back to reality.

  “I’m calm,” he eventually managed to mutter.

  “Forget about Clarke. What do we do now?”

  “Nothing. Mr Slick thinks he’s so great let him wrap up the case.”

  “Nothing? Come on Brodie, since when do you give up?”

  “I’m not giving up but I don’t see what else I can do.”

  “You can find Emily Spencer. She wasn’t in the unit, which means she’s somewhere else. She could still be alive.”

  “She’s dead Cass,” he said more gently. “Her picture was on the wall.”

  “He might do those pre-mortem.”

  “Didn’t you see the look in all their eyes? It was vacant. He drew those after he’d cut their throats and he’s going to use Emily for control by not telling anyone where she is.”

  “Maybe he’s planning to use her as a hostage? You might be wrong, she could still be alive.” Cass’s voice was filled with hope. She’d really wanted a happy ending.

  “She’s not,” he said gently. His eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror and narrowed. “We’re being followed.”

  “Who?” she said without turning in her seat.

  “Looks like one of Clarke’s lapdogs. It seems he’s still suspicious of us.” The frown disappeared and he smiled mischievously.

  “It take it you’re planning on losing them Bossman?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Just remember they know this city better than you do.”

  “But I bet the wee bawbag’s not a better driver than me,” he said, sitting up straighter in his seat and gripping the steering wheel tighter, suddenly looking gleeful.

  Brodie decided to make his move just as they returned to the city, when the traffic started to build up, but not to the extent that he couldn’t get anywhere in a hurry. He kept in the right lane, making out he was returning to the city centre, until he saw a sign detouring left. At the last second he sped into the left lane, having to slam his foot down on the accelerator to pass a car already in that lane, and the car shot down the side road, leaving the main road behind. The unmarked police car, not expecting the move, was forced to continue on its way.