by Steven Dunne
‘Why?’
‘Because he thinks he’s invulnerable and that’s a weakness.’
‘And what about Kyle, Adele and Becky?’ asked Noble. ‘If those monologues are to be believed, they were dead before we even interviewed the parents.’
Twenty-Six
‘LEN. I KNOW YOU’RE IN there.’
The back of Poole’s neck tingled. The disembodied voice floated out of the darkness. Poole had had a bellyful of groping around in the murk but he knew he’d have to summon the courage if it meant the chance of a way out. He looked longingly back to the shaft of sunlight above the empty pool. With a deep breath, he turned and stepped into the shadows, inching his way towards the disembodied voice. ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted. His voice echoed around the vaulted ceiling of the pool room.
‘Len?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m here – at the end of the passage.’
‘I don’t see you.’
‘Follow my voice.’
Poole reached the first room leading off the corridor. He could barely see through the shadows but he was sure there was another sarcophagus by the room’s far wall.
‘Hurry up, Len. I haven’t got all day and you certainly haven’t.’
Poole continued to inch blindly down the corridor, passing another open room. Again he fancied it contained a sarcophagus of some sort but it was too dark to see. As he approached the third room, he could make out a dim light from beyond the bend of the corridor. Again he hesitated. Again he glanced into yet another darkened room to his right and again he could discern the shape of a coffin. This time he leaned into the room and ran a hand along the wall. He found the light switch but it didn’t work.
‘Hurry up, Len. Or you can stay there and rot.’
Poole took another deep breath. The heat in this part of the building was oppressive and Poole unzipped and discarded his tracksuit top. His bottoms stank worse but he couldn’t remove them and retain the dignity he so cherished.
He crept onwards. The light became brighter with each watchful step. He passed a fourth room, which was lighter than the others. No coffin. No sarcophagus. But there was a chair. A chair that sat beneath a rope which dangled from an iron cross-girder above.
‘Last chance, Len.’
With improved visibility, Poole quickened his step towards the light, turned another corner and stopped in dismay. Instead of a way out, the dim light that drew him on belonged to a laptop open on a small folding table. A grinning face greeted him from the monitor.
‘Hi, Len.’ The young man beamed happily from the screen.
Poole tried to place the face. ‘Who are you?’
The talking head spoke, fake emotion distorting his voice. ‘Dad, don’t you know me?’
Puzzled, Poole squinted at the screen. ‘Rusty?’
‘Give the man a cigar.’
‘Jesus. You look different. What have you done to your face?’
‘I’ve had a makeover, Dad.’
‘Just who the hell are you?’
Rusty grinned again. ‘Who was I last week or who am I next week?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘That’s the idea, Dad.’
‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your father.’
‘One reason I don’t have your cowardly genes.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not a victim, Len. Not like your progeny – not like little baby Russell. You didn’t work it out yet?’
‘What have you done with him?’
Rusty shook his head mournfully. ‘He didn’t make it, Pop.’
‘What do you mean? He’s dead?’
‘As a dodo.’
Poole nodded. ‘I did wonder. Did you kill my son?’
‘Your son,’ sneered Rusty. ‘Like you gave a shit.’
Poole pulled in a huge tired breath. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m happy he’s dead. Did you kill him?’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Len. I didn’t touch him. Russell killed himself. Despite sucking on the teat of your generous patronage, your son just didn’t have the stones for modern life.’
‘And Kyle and the others? Did you kill them too?’
Rusty just smiled. Poole watched as he leaned forward and reappeared with a pint of beer in his hand, taking a couple of gulps before putting it back down. The sun was shining in the background. Poole guessed he was in a beer garden.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ said Rusty, wiping a sleeve over his top lip. ‘You’re not having a lot of luck with your offspring, are you, Len?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, your real son killed himself and your future stepson was a whining, self-absorbed faggot …’
‘Was?’
‘I’m all the family you have left.’
‘What have you done to Kyle?’
‘I’d worry about you, Len. Your death will be much slower if you don’t pull your finger out. You seen the size of those rats? Scared the living shit out of me, they did.’
‘So you’re going to kill me too.’
‘Again with the melodrama. I don’t kill, Len. I just help people realise how worthless they are, and then let them make their own decisions.’ He raised the pint to his lips again and looked behind him. ‘It’s a beautiful day. Makes you feel glad to be alive. I’ll miss Derbyshire, it’s really… elemental.’ He raised a hand in mock apology. ‘Sorry. I’m here catching a beer and some rays and you’re stuck in there with a dead lunatic. I assume he’s safely on his way.’
‘You mean the green-faced nut job? He’s dead, all right.’
‘Man, he actually went with that make-up?’ Rusty shook his head and laughed. ‘Gotta hand it to Lee – the guy didn’t do things by halves.’
‘He was ill, wasn’t he?’
‘Lung cancer, he told me.’
‘So he topped himself to avoid a slow and painful death,’ said Poole. ‘He can’t have been that crazy.’
Rusty gazed back at Poole from the monitor. ‘Indeed.’
‘So what now?’
‘It’s time to get to work, Len.’
‘Work?’
‘Well, Lee rather hoped, in his befuddled way, that he’d become immortal.’ Rusty grinned. ‘You could say he’d set his heart on it – and several others too,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘That’s why you’re there, Len. To make him live forever.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve got all the knowledge, Len. The tools are there. Work it out.’
‘You want me to embalm him?’
‘There you go. Anubis – God of Embalming,’ he said with great solemnity, before breaking into laughter. ‘There should be cloth and bandages as well. He wants full mummification.’
‘I don’t have those skills.’
‘Really? Well, you better develop them because if he’s not processed in twenty-four hours you’ll die there. In case you hadn’t noticed, the whole building has been specially rigged. As soon as Lee put his Egyptian costume on, he would have sealed you both in – just like they used to do in the pyramids. There is an escape route, but that also seals twenty-four hours after his death. Something to do with sand trickling out of a tank. It’s very dramatic, Len. Well, you can’t be too careful with all the tomb raiders roaming the badlands of Erewash Borough.’
‘Twenty-four hours?’
Rusty looked at his watch. ‘Actually less now, as you kept me waiting. Lee said the whole embalming should take about three days but I’m on a bit of a schedule, so chop chop.’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘See what I did there.’
‘You’re crazier than he is.’
‘Name-calling won’t help you, Len. So get to work.’
‘How will you know if I’ve done it or not?’
‘The Eye of Horus sees all,’ he bellowed grandly, before lapsing into mirth again.
‘Horus?’
‘Son of Osiris.’ Rusty shrugged. ‘Lee liked it when I played along.’
‘And what if I don’t fini
sh in time?’
‘You will. Then tomorrow I’ll be here to tell you the way out. Now don’t hang about, out with the blood, the guts and the brain.’
‘The brain? I didn’t see a cranial saw.’
‘Well, that’s not how the ancients did it, Len. Don’t you know anything? There should be a long brass hook which you push up the nose to chop up the brain. He made it himself – quite brilliant. Then you pull the bits out with the hook. I shouldn’t be telling you all this – just soft-hearted, I guess. Which reminds me – leave the heart in. He needs it for the journey.’ Rusty chortled again. ‘I ask you.’
‘What a fucking headcase.’
‘Headcase,’ sniggered Rusty. ‘See? You’re getting the idea.’ He held up a hand in apology.
‘Why are you going to all this trouble for him?’
‘It’s not like me, as you know. Or rather don’t. Lee’s been a big help and I promised him. I couldn’t have got Project Deity off the ground without him.’ Rusty’s face hardened. ‘Besides, I couldn’t let you get away without paying for the way you treated Yvette, not to mention the attack on me.’
‘Serves you right,’ sneered Poole, managing to resurrect a little righteous indignation. ‘I hope it hurt.’
‘More shock than pain,’ said Rusty, rubbing his neck and finding his grin again. ‘But you know what? It worked out perfectly. Bit of a fluke really. The camera caught the whole thing and with a bit of judicial editing, it actually looks like I’d been killed. Inspector Brook will be scratching his head for weeks.’
‘Brook scratching his head? You don’t know him, son.’ Poole smiled. ‘He’s a lot smarter than you think.’
‘Yeah, right, Dad. Well, better get on.’ He leaned forward to break the connection.
‘Wait!’ shouted Poole. ‘What’s the rope for?’
Rusty smiled coldly at Poole. ‘The sands of time are running out, Len. Finish the job and tomorrow you get your escape route.’
Brook sat down next to Charlton. Noble was the other side. The Press Briefing Room was jammed. Cameras flashed for several minutes despite the absence of quivering parents who were certain to be watching from home with the Family Liaison Officers despatched to comfort them. Finally Charlton took up his script.
‘Thank you for attending tonight. By now the whole country will be aware of what appears to be the final broadcast from the Deity website. Monologues by Kyle Kennedy, Rebecca Blake and Adele Watson, filmed the day after their abduction, confirm what we concluded at the start of the investigation. The four students who disappeared on Friday May twentieth, during or after a birthday party for Kyle Kennedy, did so of their own volition. That much is clear from their statements on Deity.com this afternoon.
‘What has become clear to us is the fact that three of the students who vanished had reason to be unhappy with their lives and a clear motive for leaving behind the homes that had nurtured them.
‘However, their intention – beyond disappearing – is still not certain. The Deity website has offered tantalising hints about their fate but as yet no clear conclusion.
‘We believe the young people had become obsessed with fame and, as you saw this afternoon, were willing participants in the kind of output from Deity.com that has served to spread their celebrity.
‘We also believe that any impression they left concerning a suicide pact is, as yet, unproven – and we believe it is still possible these youngsters may be found alive.’
There was a murmur from the assembled journalists and Charlton looked up from his statement to let it subside. Brook stared unblinking to the back of the room.
‘Having said that, we are now looking for three other individuals as a matter of urgency, and what pictures we have are in your packs. We would urge you to give maximum publicity to these photographs because the individuals concerned are of extreme interest in our investigation.
‘One of the four students who disappeared – Russell “Rusty” Thomson – is an imposter. He is not an eighteen-year-old student and his identity is unknown. We believe this man is the person who filmed the suicide of Wilson Woodrow on Thursday May nineteenth as well as the assault on Kyle Kennedy and the film of Rebecca Blake in her bedroom earlier that same night. Suffice to say that we consider this individual to be highly organised and dangerous, and he should not be approached if recognised.
‘Today’s Deity broadcast shows Thomson being attacked and apparently killed by an unknown assailant. We believe this film to be a misdirection which was included on the site to throw us off Thomson’s scent.
‘On a related note, we are pleased to report that we have an identity for the so-called Embalmer, who we linked to the discovery of two dead bodies in the rivers and ponds around Derby. His name is Lee Smethwick and we believe he is also involved in the disappearance of Kyle Kennedy, Rebecca Blake and Adele Watson.’
The press erupted and Charlton was forced to give way to questions which he directed to Brook.
‘What’s the connection between Thomson and The Embalmer?’ asked a TV reporter.
‘We believe Smethwick and Thomson are working together to keep Kyle, Becky and Adele incarcerated …’ began Brook but he was swamped by noise again.
‘Is Smethwick going to cut them up like he did the tramps?’ shouted Brian Burton from the back.
‘Brian, that language is totally inappropriate. The parents of these young people will be watching this briefing,’ Charlton said angrily.
‘We hope not,’ said Brook, jumping in. He paused to compose himself. For once Burton’s salacious eye for detail might just get the public interested enough to respond. He decided to risk Charlton’s ire. ‘But I’m afraid we can’t discount the possibility. The bodies of the missing men found in the river had been gutted and the brains had been removed through the nose in preparation for embalming and possibly even mummification.’ There was stunned silence. Charlton hung his head.
‘Smethwick is a highly disturbed individual who likes to play with corpses,’ continued Brook. ‘He has disappeared and it is vital that the public help us find him. Smethwick has lived locally for many years and has a boat at Shardlow Marina. He was a chef at Derby College until recently, where we believe he made contact with Thomson and the other students.
‘We know Thomson to be a cold and calculating individual, extremely organised, manipulative and charming.’ Brook raised a finger for emphasis. ‘However, we are convinced he is not local, so it’s highly likely that Kyle, Becky and Adele are being held in a place that connects to Lee Smethwick’s past. Any information we receive, maybe going back years, could be vital in locating them.’
Brook looked back at Charlton who held his gaze for a second longer than polite. After the Chief Superintendent had introduced the pictures of Smethwick, Thomson and Len Poole, the three officers wound up the briefing and left through a side door. Charlton rounded on Brook as soon as it was closed.
‘My God, Brook. Do you realise what you just did?’
Brook nodded sombrely. ‘Yes, sir. I woke people up.’
‘Woke them up?’ Charlton shouted and began to wave a finger in Brook’s face. ‘You handed out sensitive information!’
‘I don’t care about the trial,’ Brook retorted calmly. ‘At this rate there’s not going to be one.’
‘But if the DPP—’
‘I don’t care about that either,’ repeated Brook slowly. ‘All that matters is finding Adele and the others. It was time to remind everybody out there, all those faceless voyeurs, tucking into their TV dinners, that Deity is not entertainment. It’s not a show, there is no acting. Three young lives are at stake. They need our help and we need the public’s.’ Brook motioned Noble to leave.
‘And what do I say to hysterical parents when they ring up?’
‘I don’t give a damn what you say to them as long as you keep them away from my team so we can do our jobs.’
‘And I suppose that goes for me too.’ Charlton laughed bitterly.
Brook
paused, ready to speak, but a touch on his arm from Noble prevented him. He turned away. ‘I’ll be in the Incident Room.’
‘You know, I’ve tried with you, Brook, I really have,’ scowled Charlton. ‘So let me lay it on the line for you. If you don’t find those kids by this time tomorrow, I’m taking you off the case.’
Brook turned from the doorway. ‘I understand,’ he said coldly.
‘That went well,’ said Noble. Brook gave him a lopsided smile. ‘Think Charlton’s cracking up?’
‘He’s not used to the pressure at our end,’ said Brook, logging on to his computer. ‘He should stick to budgets. Anything from the techs on our latest broadcast?’
‘Nothing. Want me to chase it up?’
Brook shook his head. ‘But load it up for me, please. I want to take another look.’
Noble smiled. ‘You know, we run courses for IT dunces,’ he said, putting his hand over the mouse and clicking the appropriate icons.
‘That’s Inspector Dunce to you.’
Noble laughed. He switched on the large screen and Becky Blake grinned excitedly at them from cyberspace.
Noble pulled out his cigarettes and padded to the door, turning to look at Brook gazing saucer-eyed at the film. He sighed and closed the door, pulling up a chair next to Brook. They watched together in silence.
When Becky finished her monologue, Noble paused the film on her barely concealed smirk. ‘Did her speech bother you at all?’
Brook turned to him. ‘Becky?’ He thought for a minute. ‘She went through the motions of claiming she was unhappy, but actually she seemed excited.’
‘Agreed,’ said Noble. ‘And if she’s preparing to take her own life, where’s the fear? Fear of pain. Fear of the unknown. She wasn’t afraid.’
Brook looked at Noble. ‘Like maybe she’s unaware that she’s supposed to be committing suicide.’
‘Exactly. She’s smiling almost as if she knows she’s famous enough now to walk into the modelling contract of her choice. Charlton was right – now she’s famous, she can come home and milk the attention.’ He started the broadcast again. ‘Contrast with Kyle.’
They watched Kyle’s statement. He was edgy, his delivery halting and fretful.
‘Now that is someone who thinks he’s about to die.’
