Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s not my fault. Please, you’re hurting me.’

  With effort he mastered himself and let go, rubbing the back of his hand against his lips. Lila darted into the trees, melting away.

  Jack glanced back. The others were huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. He hoped they hadn’t seen the peculiar interaction. Wiping his forehead, he rolled his shoulders and walked back.

  ‘Come on. Let’s head back to the station. We’ve got a lot of work to do and the Hayles need to be told about Bianca before they hear it from somebody else.’

  Sombre nods. As they made their way back through the forest to the cars, Rhea pushed her glasses up her nose and broke the silence.

  ‘What did our resident psychic have to say?’

  Jack forced a laugh. It sounded loud and unnatural to his ears. ‘Just nonsense.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Goodnight, Inspector.’

  Jack looked up from the screen. ‘Night, Alika.’

  He had watched the interview with Bianca Hayle’s boyfriend six times now. Daniel Devechi had officially become the last person to see Bianca alive and been brought in for questioning.

  ‘Do I need a lawyer? I swear I didn’t hurt her.’ His attractive face crumpled with worry when he opened the door in his boxers. His eyes were red and Jack was sure he had been crying.

  ‘If you want one, but you aren’t being arrested. We just want to go over what happened that night again.’

  And pacing the interview room he had not wavered from his story. Daniel and Bianca had gone for dinner and then a movie. Both the restaurant and the cinema were within walking distance to Daniel’s house. They’d gone back there afterwards to talk and drink coffee. The last he’d seen of her was when she kissed him goodnight at 10.30 p.m. because she had to wake up early for work. He had watched her climb into her parent’s car and drive away.

  Graham and Rhea had spoken to the staff at the restaurant and the cinema. The couple seemed happy and there was no indication of any argument. Jack’s gut instinct was that Daniel was innocent, nevertheless he had asked Alika and Warren to search Daniel’s house for any sign of an altercation.

  Instead of leaving the detective sergeant came further into Jack’s office. Like the others she had been cautious, but for Alika the new Inspector was a breath of fresh air after David Ash. Ash had been unreliable, difficult to get along with and spent most of his time having expensive, boozy lunches with Patrick Blore the mayor. Jack was different—hard working and not afraid to get his hands dirty. She admired the way he was handling Bianca Hayle’s murder investigation. It had stunned them yet Jack had kept them moving forward and focused.

  ‘Don’t spend all night here, Inspector you need to rest. It’s been a long day.’ She hesitated. ‘Me and the others are going to Rhea’s house for dinner and a few beers. Would you like to come?’

  Jack smiled, touched. ‘Sounds great, but not tonight. Have a great evening, Alika. Thanks for all your hard work today. It’s going to be tough but we’ll get whoever did this.’

  Alika nodded, closing the door behind her. Jack switched the screen off and leaned back. He had taken enough painkillers to subdue a horse but his head still pounded. He rubbed the back of his neck grimacing at the way his muscles knotted and bunched. What he needed was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep. But Jack knew he would just spend the long hours staring up at the ceiling watching distorted shadows creep across the room, haunted by thoughts of the past. And the present.

  It had been an awful day. Going to the Hayle house with Alika, watching the hope die in Belinda Hayle’s eyes, seeing Mr Hayle’s bewilderment. Bianca’s little brother, a carbon copy of his father, ran upstairs slamming his bedroom door hard enough to knock a painting of its hook.

  And then Jack was summoned to the council building by the mayor and Angus Brent. The police chief had been stern.

  ‘You’re going to find the scumbag who did this aren’t you, Jack?’

  ‘Yes sir, my team and I are trying our best.’

  Patrick tweaked his tie, gnawing at an unlit cigar.

  ‘This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen in Deerleap. Bad for community spirit. You might be used to crazy murders in the city, but it’s not supposed to happen here. It’s been almost twenty years since something like this has happened, and at least that was solved right away. Man went loopy and killed his family. But this...a young woman killed and turned into some sort of garden planter? What the hell is that about? What’s the world coming to? And Bianca Hayle, such a nice, pretty girl. Born here too. It’s shocking.’ His face became red and belligerent.

  Jack judged it best to stay respectfully quiet. Angus, standing by the window, ran a hand through his black hair. So black in fact Jack was certain he dyed it.

  ‘Any suspects?’

  ‘Not really. We’ve questioned the boyfriend, but I don’t think he did it.’

  Patrick stroked his beard and snorted. ‘Of course he did it! He was the last one to see her, wasn’t he? And he wasn’t born here. This seems like something an outsider would do. You should arrest him. If it’s not him, arrest a tourist or one of those troublesome hikers. There are some strange folk who hang around the Hollow and in the forest causing trouble.’

  Jack made his voice neutral. ‘I can’t arrest someone without any evidence. And without a motive.’

  The mayor muttered unhappily.

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ murmured Angus. ‘But make sure Mr Devechi doesn’t leave town.’ He sighed. ‘I think you’re right. This sort of murder...it doesn’t seem like a crime of passion. Do you think it’s a one-off?’

  ‘It bloody better be,’ interjected Patrick.

  Jack hesitated, remembering what Lila Cassandra had said: She was one of the girls I’ve been seeing.

  ‘Jack?’ Angus frowned.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope so. But time will tell.’

  Patrick swore and tossed his cigar aside. Angus’ eyes were dark as he dismissed him.

  ‘Keep me up to date, Inspector.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Jack spun slowly in the office chair. And thrumming behind every minute that passed today, like the aftermath of an electric shock, were the words of that strange girl. Not a girl really, a woman, but fragile in appearance and demeanour.

  Lila Cassandra who saw things, had visions, who had somehow discovered Bianca’s body in the most unlikely of places. Deerleap Hollow’s resident psychic. He scoffed. And yet...and yet.

  Rubbing his wrist he recalled the way she had grabbed him, her eyes dazed.

  Wasn’t your fault. Tell Jack. Don’t blame yourself. Not your fault. Forgives you. Forgive yourself.

  How could she have known about Angela? It was impossible. But what if it was true? What if somehow Angela had made contact with him? Angela’s words were like a balm for his soul. Does she forgive me? Was it possible?

  Jack gritted his teeth. Come on. Stop being an idiot. It’s a coincidence. She’s a trickster, a fraud. You’re going to believe her? The same topless woman who ran into you in the middle of the night? Get a grip man.

  Disgusted by his own stupidity Jack left the police station, jogging towards his car, enjoying the woody tang of the cold night air. He would go home, eat a big dinner and put all thoughts of psychics and messages from the dead out of his mind.

  Chapter Nine

  Jack cast a concerned eye over Alika. ‘Are you all right?’

  They were in the spacious basement of Deerleap General Hospital which served as the morgue and autopsy room. Everything was stainless steel and the low temperature raised gooseflesh on their arms. Alika’s eyes darted from the metal storage fridges to the four bodies covered with white sheets on gurneys before coming to rest on the torturous looking implements nearby.

  She shuddered. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. I just...don’t like corpses. And that bleachy smell sticks in my throat.’

  ‘I understand. I don’t like it either. But if you�
��re not comfortable you’re welcome to wait upstairs.’

  Alika gave him a sheepish smile. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve been down here before. I hate it, but I’ll be okay. I won’t throw up, I promise.’

  The brisk pathologist strode over to the body on the far left and folded back the sheet. Jack ignored Alika’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘The autopsy is complete. I must tell you Inspector I have never seen anything like this. When they first brought her down here, I thought I was dreaming.’ Henning chuckled, his German accent deep and rumbling.

  Jack didn’t reply, his attention fixed on the blue-tinged body criss-crossed with ugly black stitches in front of him. All the soil had been removed from Bianca Hayle, her sunken eyelids were closed and she had been sewn up. But it didn’t make her any easier to look at. Jack felt a jab in the gut. She should be dancing with her boyfriend, laughing with her friends, teasing her brother. Not in a place like this, displayed on a metal trolley for strangers to poke and prod her.

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  Henning sighed and slid one hand into the pocket of his lab coat. ‘She has been dead for three days. Death was caused by strangulation.’

  ‘She was strangled? I thought so, by those marks on her neck. Looks like rope burn.’

  ‘Yes, she was strangled. She was suspended by the neck. And you are correct, those are rope burns. Normal heavy-duty rope.’

  Jack exhaled. ‘You’re saying she was hanged?’

  Henning nodded. ‘Yes. That is indicated by the fractures in her spine. But she wasn’t dropped from a height. No, I would say she was on the ground and then lifted up until she suffocated.’ His mouth turned downwards. ‘Not humane. In a suspension hanging like this I believe it would have taken three to four minutes for the victim to lose consciousness.’

  ‘Poor Bianca,’ murmured Alika.

  ‘And there are no scratch marks on her neck,’ Henning continued. ‘Her hands were tied.’

  Jack groaned. ‘How can I tell her parents she suffered? I’m going to tell them she died instantly.’

  Henning looked down. ‘That is up to you.’

  ‘So if she was winched up, then a woman could have done it. At this point I’m assuming it’s a man, but technically it could be a woman. Physics and all that?’

  ‘Perhaps. Actually, yes. If the rope was tossed over a beam or over a tree branch it would be easier to lift her. Even easier if a mechanical winch was used.’

  ‘The killer would need space and privacy to do something like that. Okay, so she was kidnapped and kept alive for two days, then hanged. What else?’

  Using a latex-gloved pinkie finger Henning pointed to the stitching down her torso. ‘As you already know her eyes were removed. But so were the internal organs in the abdomen. The stomach, the liver etcetera. All this was done after death.’

  ‘He hollowed her out so he could fill her with soil. Then cleaned up the blood afterwards.’

  Henning tilted his head. ‘Yes.’

  Jack swallowed. ‘And would you say he was skilled? I mean, surgically?’

  The pathologist pursed his lips. ‘I would say no. The incision was not neat and once she was opened up it would not require any skill to clean her out. But they were not bothered by all the...mess. It would take a strong stomach.’ He glanced at Alika who was looking a little green around the edges.

  Jack shook his head. ‘This keeps getting worse.’

  Henning nodded in sympathy. Like Jack, he was a big city exile who had moved to Deerleap for an easier, quieter life. He lifted Bianca’s stiff hand.

  ‘I checked underneath the fingernails. Nothing to find. Either he cleaned up, or she didn’t get a chance to put up a fight. I found ligature marks on her ankles and wrists. She was bound by something thin and smooth. Perhaps a wire cord. As you requested I sent the soil and flowers on to Raven’s Crossing. Perhaps they will find something.’

  Raven’s Crossing, on the other side of the mountain, was a new town with a forensic and crime scene teaching hospital and up-to-date technology. Jack hoped they could lift fingerprints from the petals, or discover a mineral in the soil that would lead them to the killer. But his gut told him it wouldn’t be that easy.

  ‘Of course I checked the body for fibres and fingerprints and semen, but nothing.’

  ‘Was she sexually assaulted?’

  Henning’s eyebrows rose and fell. ‘Not that I can see. She was a virgin.’

  Jack was a little surprised.

  ‘And now we come to perhaps the strangest part.’ Henning’s intelligent eyes gleamed like a cat.

  ‘Can it get any stranger?’

  A thin smile. ‘There were three petals tucked into her labia. Red rose petals by the looks of it. I sent them to Raven’s Crossing along with the soil and flowers.’

  Jack and Alika exchanged bewildered glances.

  ‘Petals? In her...?’

  Henning nodded.

  Jack ran a hand through his messy hair. ‘I’ve not seen anything like this. Ever. Have you?’

  ‘No. Not in all my long years as a pathologist. Though I once came across a journalist whose mouth was stuffed with a newspaper article.’ He chuckled. ‘The killer took umbrage to the journalist’s criticism of his business. He was made to eat his words, I expect.’

  Jack glanced sideways at Alika. ‘It might not make sense to us, but to the killer the flowers, the planting, all of it means something. If we can figure that out it'll be a huge step closer to bringing this guy in.’

  The detective sergeant nodded uneasily.

  ‘And blood work?’ asked Jack. ‘I’m assuming she was drugged somehow. That would explain how he managed to take her from the car. Maybe she got out of the car to help somebody. Lured out.’

  Henning nodded. ‘Very possible. I found traces of chloroform.’

  ‘Chloroform? It’s used for many industrial purposes and is readily available. Is it sold in Deerleap do you know? Though I doubt our killer would be stupid enough to purchase it from the town. More likely to have ordered it in.’

  Henning nodded again.

  Jack crossed his arms and muttered under his breath. ‘So Bianca gets out of the car, for whatever reason. He slaps a chloroformed cloth over her mouth and nose and takes her. Keeps her a couple of days. Why? Then hangs her. Removes her eyes and opens her up. Stuffs her with soil. Plants flowers. Why? What are you trying to say?’

  Henning coughed politely and checked his watch.

  ‘Thanks Doctor. If anything else comes to mind, get in touch.’

  Jack strode out with Alika close behind. With a twitch of his wrists Henning covered Bianca Hayle with the sheet.

  ***

  Maggie put the phone down, a guilty smile plastered across her face as the Inspector approached. Jack noted with amusement how she opened a document on the screen and began typing manically. He didn’t mind Maggie making personal calls at work as long as she didn’t discuss police matters. An efficient worker with an empathetic and soothing manner Maggie also had an extensive knowledge of Deerleap’s history and a fierce love for the town.

  After returning from the hospital with his brain swimming in baffling, macabre details Jack set up an incident room in the police station. Warren had printed the crime scene photos and Jack had spent hours poring over them. He had spoken to Bianca’s parents again, searched her bedroom, spoken to Daniel Devechi and Bianca’s friends again, but so far nothing of consequence had turned up. He couldn’t help cursing his luck that a case like this would land in his lap so soon.

  Increasingly frustrated as the day wore on, Jack found himself thinking about Lila Cassandra. Although probably harmless, she had discovered the body and her explanation was a little too convenient. Maybe she knew more than she was saying. It was a long shot but Jack was still unsettled by the episode in the meadow and he was curious about her background.

  ‘Can I pick your brains Maggie?’

  Maggie, born in Deerleap, had lived here all of her fifty-five ye
ars and would certainly be able to help him.

  ‘Of course, Inspector.’ She clasped her hands and leaned forward. ‘I can’t believe what’s happened. With Bianca. You have to catch this man. You have to. The town is distraught.’

  Jack rested his elbows on the counter. ‘I’m trying my best. What can you tell me about Lila Cassandra?’

  ‘Lila?’

  ‘Yep. She found Bianca Hayle’s body.’

  Maggie was not surprised at all. ‘Ah. Well, she has the Gift. Poor girl. I doubt it gives her any peace.’

  ‘Come on, Maggie. There’s no such thing as psychics. They’re phoneys, frauds, con-artists.’

  She shook her head, a benign smile on her face. ‘Some of them maybe, but not all. And Lila Cassandra is definitely not a fraud. I visit her sometimes.’ Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘When I need to feel closer to Arthur, or when I’m unsure about something and need a little guidance’

  Arthur, Maggie’s youngest son, had died in a bus crash in Peru along with three of his friends. Jack, not wanting to hurt her feelings, softened his tone.

  ‘But don’t you think she’s just telling you what you want to hear? It’s just a transaction. You pay her and she’s wily enough to figure out what you want and gives it to you.’

  Maggie’s smile returned and she leaned back, arms crossed over her vast bosom.

  ‘Uh-uh. Lila doesn’t charge. I do tip her, money or homemade food, but she never asks her clients for money. Never.’

  Jack opened his mouth then shut it again. He had made a series of assumptions about that strange young woman and it was disconcerting to learn they were wrong.

  ‘All right, so she doesn’t charge money. That still doesn’t mean she’s psychic, just an attention seeker or a fantasist. There are people like that.’

  Maggie closed her eyes. ‘Lila isn’t like that all. Maybe you should ask her to do a reading and see for yourself.’

  ‘Maybe I will. But apart from the psychic stuff what can you tell me about her?’

  Maggie’s forehead puckered. ‘It’s a horrible story. One of the worst things to happen in Deerleap. Many of us are still scarred by it.’ Her hand fluttered around her hair. ‘Maybe you heard about the murder-suicide that happened here eighteen years ago? Well, that was the Cassandras. Noah Cassandra, Lila’s father, was known for having a temper—bar fights, things like that—and was drowning in debt. He just lost it one evening. Attacked Amelia, his wife, with a hammer in Lila’s bedroom. And Maura, his eldest daughter. She was only seven.’