The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  Barton laughed, he could imagine him saying it.

  ‘Cox told me about the missing guy. What do you think?’ asked Strange.

  ‘One of the officers door-knocking the flats overlooking the river got a lead. A bloke’s wife won’t let him smoke in the flat, so he has to go out on the balcony. He said he heard a splash some time around 22 30.’

  ‘Ah. Case solved, then.’

  ‘Yeah, appears so. The divers will search tomorrow when it’s light, but it doesn’t bode well. A couple of constables have a long, cold night ahead of them patrolling the scene. That family are having some terrible luck. The guy who hanged himself on Christmas Day was the missing man’s father-in-law.’

  Strange took a while to get her head around the new information. ‘Wow, that’s got to be hard for her.’

  Barton was distracted by Malik and Whitlam sprinting hard, side by side, on two running machines. They ran in unison. Being light and slim, they resembled robots.

  ‘Do you reckon I could look like that?’

  Strange looked him up and down. ‘Easy. You could do that now.’

  Barton rubbed his chin. ‘Really?’

  ‘Obviously I’d have to cut you in half.’

  31

  DI Barton

  Barton decided to go into the office next morning, as opposed to the scene by the river. If they were hoping to pull a dead body out, he didn’t need to be there until later. He sent DC Malik down to keep him informed. Malik rang him at 11 00.

  ‘Barton speaking. Any news?’

  ‘No, turns out there are a lot of bikes in here, and trolleys. We had a nasty shock when we found a slimy dolly in the mud, for obvious reasons. It’s slow going with the weather, too. The water’s so cold that even in dry suits they can’t dive for too long. Hang on, they’ve got something.’

  Barton listened as he heard Malik walk towards some raised voices in the background. ‘Yeah, it looks like the bike.’

  ‘Okay. Ring me when they find him.’

  Malik returned to the office in the late afternoon looking frozen. Barton cringed as he’d meant to swap him with one of the others and forgot. Malik gave Barton a dirty look and shook his head. Barton steepled his fingers. They were difficult conditions out there, but he suspected they would find a body soon.

  Barton finished on time and rushed home, hoping to find a full dinner plate with his name on it, but it was eerily quiet in the house. Trying to be silent, he crept upstairs, thinking that Luke must be in bed. He brushed his teeth to get a day’s instant coffee off them and checked behind the closed doors. Lawrence was studying in his room. Layla was gazing at her tablet in hers. Luke’s room was empty.

  Feeling uneasy, he descended the stairs, opened the lounge door and found Luke immersed in a comic on the floor. The fire glowed and a candle flickered on the windowsill. Holly read the paper on her lap. Only the flame near the window moved.

  When Holly looked up, Barton whispered, ‘Apologies, I seem to have come to the wrong house.’

  ‘Nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Unusual is what it is. What happened to Lawrence? Is he being bullied?’

  Holly chuckled and made room for Barton to sit next to her. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. She was free of make-up and her was hair was pulled back, but he preferred her looking natural and chilled. She was usually relaxed when the kids were all accounted for.

  ‘Some ex-students returned to talk to them a few days back and he’s been stewing on it ever since. One guy came in and admitted that he never tried at school. Said he’s struggled ever since and currently works as an industrial cleaner, whatever that is. The others had stories about trying hard and it still not being easy. We had a little chat. He’s worried it’s too late to change but he’s doing his best.’

  ‘After all the talking-to we gave him, it’s a cleaner that gets the message home. Whatever it takes, I suppose.’

  ‘How was your day? The news said that the missing man hadn’t been found.’

  ‘No, I’m going to ring Mortis.’

  ‘The pathologist?’

  ‘Yes. While they dredge the river, I’ll drain his brain.’

  ‘Okay, I’ve relished a peaceful early-evening with a glass of wine. There’s some crusty bread if you want a sandwich. Or do you fancy a pizza after Luke’s in bed?’

  ‘Meat feast?’

  ‘Spinach and ricotta.’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘A sarnie will be fine. I might go to the gym for a bit later too.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yeah, I feel pretty good. I’ve lost a few pounds already.’

  ‘You do realise that you won’t end up looking like David Gandy.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘A male supermodel.’

  ‘I know that. I just don’t want to be one of those dads who can’t keep up with his sons.’

  Holly squeezed his leg. ‘Men and their testosterone, eh. You need to face up to the fact you’re an older father. You’ll be fifty soon enough. Beating their old man in a running race or dribbling by him at football is a rite of passage for all boys. You’re supposed to lose and be proud to do so.’

  ‘Don’t you yearn to be married to someone with a six-pack?’

  ‘If I wanted that, I’d have dumped you years ago.’

  Barton grabbed a chair in the kitchen and rang Mortis.

  ‘John. I assume you’ve found the misper?’

  ‘Nope. I was hoping to pick your brain. Missing persons are a nightmare for resources as there are so many possibilities. As you know adults can do what they like, so you can’t just send the police after someone because they disappeared. He could have staged his death for all we know and then run off to see his Australian pen pal.’ He paused, realising Mortis knew all this already. ‘Anyway, I was wondering, if the dive team don’t locate him, what are the odds of the body turning up?’

  ‘You mean will it float to the top?’

  ‘Yes, and how long would that take?’

  ‘An intact dead human is guaranteed to rise to the surface unless it’s trapped, which is unlikely. Gases form as decay advances. The torso distends and thar she blows.’

  Barton imagined a bloated corpse with a harpoon in it, breaking the surface like Moby Dick.

  ‘You paint a nice picture, Mortis.’

  ‘I do my best. Now, the deceased, fat or thin?’

  ‘Beefy.’

  ‘Bigger bodies can bloat faster because there’s more to feed on. That said, the temperature will greatly affect the rate of decomposition. In warm water, they’d rise in a couple of days. In present conditions, someone like that would probably resurface much later. I’d guess around day ten. It’s an extremely interesting but far from exact science.’

  ‘And they float up near where they sank?’

  ‘Yes, you need to spot them quickly once up though, as, fully distended, you’d struggle to sink them with weights, and they may then drift.’

  Barton thanked him and hung up. The river ran through the town centre, so there was little chance of anyone missing a dead body floating along it. He climbed the stairs and got his exercise clothes together, and his thoughts turned to the poor woman who’d lost her father and her husband in the space of a few weeks. Life could be so cruel.

  32

  The Soul Killer

  In the light of recent events, Claudia remains at her sister’s. The funeral of their father is going ahead, as I don’t suppose you could just keep him on ice until a more convenient time. We’ve agreed I’ll be at Annabelle’s when the hearse arrives.

  It’s been four days since Malcolm vanished. There has been no sight or sign of him, except his bike. Uniform have kept the case seeing as there are no grounds for suspicion at this point.

  This is the first occasion I will be seeing Claudia or Annabelle in person after everything that has happened. I steady myself at their door. I need to focus and not say anything that doesn’t make me look like Mr Supportive. I’m looking forward to winnin
g her over. She’ll be looking forward to seeing me, despite the occasion.

  It’s been a while since we had sex, but that might be pushing it. She wasn’t super-enthusiastic when I suggested we spice things up, but she seemed to relax as we got going. I grin at the memory, but remove it as I see one of them advance towards me through the glass after I ring the bell.

  I can’t quite make out which of them it is but I recognise Annabelle’s grim eyes close up: they turn vacant as she lets me in. After a perfunctory hug and the briefest of kisses on the cheek, where I can feel bones that I couldn’t feel before, she thanks me for coming and guides me into the kitchen.

  Annabelle’s suit hangs heavy. There appears no substance to her body. It’s as if she’s melting away. Her once full cheeks are now jowly despite thick foundation, as though the goodness has leached from them. Make-up has run down her face, and she looks a little too Gotham for a church service. Claudia notices.

  ‘It’s just us three leaving from here. I’ll sort her make-up out. Can you carry our handbags to the door so we don’t forget them, please?’

  I nod and smile. Black suits her. The stairs creak as they disappear up them, so I wander around downstairs and admire the decor. What a lovely house: very spacious. They love their photo canvases. There must be more than twenty all over the walls in the lounge, dining room, and stretching along the hall and landing. Malcolm peers down on me from wherever I look. If he could see me now… It’s probably easier to spin in your grave if it’s a watery one.

  A solemn knock on the door reminds me again that I shouldn’t smile today. A tall, grey haired gentleman offers his hand. ‘When you’re ready, sir.’

  ‘Ladies,’ I shout next to the bannister.

  Claudia shrugs as she descends. It’s unclear what she did to Annabelle because to me she looks exactly the same, but I suspect it was an impossible task. I pick up the handbags. The twins link arms, and I do the same on Annabelle’s other side to support her. Her eyes are so watery, she must be struggling to see anything. I lock the door behind us and put the key in Annabelle’s handbag.

  We slowly step towards the vehicle. The sisters huddle next to each other in the back of the limousine, and I sit opposite. The funeral director walks along the street. The hearse and our car follow.

  ‘I didn’t lock up!’ shouts Annabelle.

  ‘It’s okay, I did. The key’s in there.’ I pass them their respective handbags.

  ‘Thank you.’ Claudia reaches forward and squeezes my hand.

  Annabelle stares at me. ‘Any news?’

  ‘They wouldn’t tell me if there was, I’m afraid, as I’m not assigned to the case. You’ll be the first person to hear if they find anything.’

  She slumps in her seat. ‘He must be dead. His phone and bank accounts haven’t been used. We should get a discount with the funeral parlour for being regular customers.’

  She laughs: a strange high-pitched cackle. Claudia hugs her in tight. Her eyes soften at me, and she touches a finger to her lips. I give her my most reassuring glance. It’s okay, I’m here now.

  33

  DI Barton

  Barton was cycling in the gym next to Sirena, unaware his phone was ringing in his locker. She had arrived shortly after him and, with a raised eyebrow, offered to spot him. He’d asked whether he should be spotting her, but they’d ended up going around the machines taking turns. They’d even had a sauna together. It felt strangely normal. It was a far cry from his youth, where the out-of-hours socialising occurred in pubs and bars. Ginger would have hated the weights but he’d have enjoyed the steam room, he ruefully thought.

  Barton agreed to a coffee afterwards in the hotel lounge and had just ordered when he noticed the missed calls. He listened to the messages and turned to Sirena.

  ‘They’ve found a body.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Some rowers hit it on the rowing lake.’

  ‘That’ll help with the forensics.’

  ‘I should go.’

  ‘Finish your drink, he’s not going anywhere.’

  They chatted for a bit, but Barton couldn’t concentrate. She stood up and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Leave. I’m off today, so you’ll have to fill me in the next time you see me. We won’t get much from the crime scene, anyway, I wouldn’t have thought.’

  Barton wandered back to his car, thinking it was also his day off. After texting Zander to confirm receipt of the message, he drove there, even though he could have walked in twenty minutes. He parked in the rowing club car park and grabbed his thick coat from the boot. A harsh wind blew along the kilometre lake and heavy, funeral-grey clouds raced overhead. The police vehicles lit up the area on the far side of the lake about two hundred metres from the near end. Barton spotted the tent that no doubt covered the body. He spotted Mortis staring into the water, then returning to the tent.

  Zander stood out on the edge of the scene, and Barton headed for him. CI Brabbins and DC Clavell huddled next to him. Neither was saying anything.

  ‘Morning, sir. I assume our missing guy has turned up?’ Barton asked Brabbins.

  ‘Yes. It’s him all right. Sergeant, would you show him? My breakfast is still lurking next to my tonsils.’

  Zander stretched his back but smiled mischievously. ‘John’s seen everything. This won’t worry him.’

  Barton followed him to the tent and shook Mortis’s hand. Mortis pulled back the sheet.

  ‘Gee,’ uttered Barton. He hadn’t been expecting that.

  Swollen hands were the first thing he noticed, then the caved in head. The man’s shirt had ridden up, exposing a vast distended stomach. That, and the face, were a foul greenish-black colour, not dissimilar to how you’d expect a large well-fed zombie to look.

  ‘He’s a beauty, isn’t he?’ said Mortis. ‘I said it’d be ten days before he surfaced, what do I win?’

  Barton remained lost for words. He had been on the scene when they’d found the victim in the water at St Neots and the boy had looked as if he could have just been swimming. This body was rotten and bloated. He’d never seen the fascination with zombie films, finding them ridiculous, but if this guy climbed to his feet, there’d be large laundry bills all round. Barton licked his dry lips.

  ‘Has he been bludgeoned to death?’

  ‘No. Post-mortem injury. There’s still some skin on the front of that boat. Careless not to have a bow ball on the end as you can see the damage that’s been done. Imagine if he’d been alive.’

  Zander asked the obvious. ‘A bow ball?’

  ‘It’s a ball that goes on the point of the boat, which stops it smashing the skull of unlucky swimmers.’

  ‘Have you had a chance to check the body?’ asked Barton.

  ‘Yes. It looks like he drowned, but I won’t know for sure until I remove his lungs and examine the blood.’

  ‘Why his blood?’ asked Clavell.

  Before Barton could say anything, Mortis was in full flow.

  ‘The main cause of death from drowning in fresh water is the explosive dilution of the blood with water from the lungs. Your blood becomes half blood, half water. Therefore, it can’t carry oxygen. Oddly, in saltwater, it’s the reverse and osmosis removes the water from the blood, which still renders it useless.

  ‘It’s a nasty death but a quick one. Once under, the person holds their breath but eventually gulps in water, which causes the larynx to spasm to protect the lungs. In stopping the liquid entering, the air supply is cut off. The spasm stops to allow in air, but more water is consumed. The spasm occurs again but for a shorter time, and the process repeats until the lungs are full of water. I usually find they are twice the normal size when I open the body.’

  Barton gave Clavell a you-did-ask glance, but Clavell’s eyes were on Mortis.

  ‘Any signs of violence?’ asked Clavell.

  ‘Concrete findings after this long in water are rare. Decomposition is fastest in the torso, as the forming gas causes it to rise up, the h
ands and head loll down, possibly dragging along the bottom. That would dirty and damage the fingers and face. He could have bumped into the bank or branches, or other boats might have hit him without realising. From what CI Brabbins has said, I would guess he was drunk, and him and his bike entered the river farther up. He pulled himself out as it’s shallower there and then wandered to the rowing lake. There are no lights – he may have got disorientated and fallen in.

  ‘Apparently, he couldn’t swim. People drown a lot quicker and quieter than you expect. You can’t scream with a throat full of water, and the natural response is to extend your hands laterally and press down on the water. They struggle on the surface before silently sinking, maybe in as little as twenty seconds from first going in. I doubt there’s any mystery here.’

  Zander smiled. ‘I’ll give Brabbins the good news.’

  Mortis nodded in agreement. ‘I doubt we’ll find where he went in after all this time. We can order DNA tests on the body, but most evidence would have degraded by now. It seems clear cut, so I’d just leave any samples in storage.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother, but that’s Brabbins’ call. Apparently, the victim and his wife had been struggling to have a baby. He’d been coping by drinking more,’ said Barton.

  Mortis tutted. ‘That wouldn’t have helped with his sperm count.’

  No one was in the mood to debate how illogical humans could be. Barton watched Brabbins acknowledge he’d keep the investigation while Clavell pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket and bit the end off.

  ‘What’s your first name?’ asked Barton.

  ‘It’s James, but like your man, Zander, everyone calls me Clavell.’

  ‘That’s some big boots you’re hoping to fill.’

  ‘In time, he’ll fill mine.’

  Barton wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Nevertheless, Clavell had impressed him.

  ‘You handled that well.’ Barton nodded.