Deity (32 page)

‘Okay,’
said Charlton. ‘I think we’ve got all we need for the press briefing.’ He eyed Brook’s bandaged head. ‘How are you feeling, Inspector?’

‘Actually, not so good.’ Brook groped for a chair and lowered himself gingerly into it.

Charlton narrowed his eyes. ‘You took a heavy blow. Maybe it’s concussion.’

‘I’ll be okay.’

‘You’d better sit this one out. That bandage would be a distraction. Get some rest. DS Noble, fancy a bit of the lime-light?’ Noble’s ashen face told its own story but he managed to smile weakly. ‘Good.’ Charlton made to leave.

‘Sir?’ said Brook. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘In private.’

Charlton looked at his watch. ‘My office in half an hour,’ he said as he left.

‘Are you well enough to hear about Yvette Thomson, sir?’ said Noble sarcastically, brandishing a wad of papers.

Brook smiled. ‘I’ll try to stay conscious.’

‘Bad news, sir. She’s Welsh.’ Brook raised a disapproving eyebrow at Noble. ‘Born 1978 so she’s thirty-three years old, originally from St Asaph in North Wales. It’s near Rhyl, if that helps at all. She was an orphan from the age of nine, when her mother died of an overdose of painkillers in 1987.’

Brook nodded. ‘An orphan. Of course.’ Noble looked bemused. ‘She seems . . . needy,’ Brook explained. ‘How long did she spend there?’

‘The next seven years – St Asaph’s School for Boys and Girls – an orphanage in all but name. In 1993 Yvette had a baby – Russell. Her only child. No record of the father.
Mother and child stayed at the orphanage until she left in 1994 to move to Chester.’

‘She was only fifteen when she gave birth?’

‘Older than many,’ said Noble.

‘And they didn’t take the baby from her?’

‘And do what?’ asked Noble. ‘Put it in an orphanage?’

Brook conceded with a shrug. ‘It’s still odd. Social Services would normally intervene; maybe put the child up for adoption. Ever married?’

‘No. And she seems to have survived on benefits for most of her life. There’s no record of any employment until she’s twenty when she moves and becomes a teaching assistant at a primary school in Whitchurch, in 1998, just over the border in Shropshire. The following year, she moves to Uttoxeter. She’s jobless and again surviving on benefits. In 2003, when Russell was ten, she returned to North Wales where she moved around at regular intervals – hardly a settled life. Six months ago, she and Russell turn up in Derby where Russell was enrolled at Derby College.’

‘What about the rumours of bullying?’

‘I’m still waiting to hear from some of the schools, but two that responded say Russell wasn’t with them long but he was very impressionable and he was bullied. They stopped short of saying that’s why Russell was taken out of their schools. But reading between the lines . . .’

Brook nodded. ‘No wonder it was hard to hold down a job. Any other employment?’

‘Nothing. But she might have done casual work,’ said Noble.

‘She mentioned bar work.’

‘I spoke to Rifkind. He didn’t know the details about the
last move but he’d heard there’d been some kind of cyberbullying.’

‘Cyber-bullying?’

‘It’s using social network—’

‘I know what it is, John. But didn’t Cooper say Russell and the others unsubscribed from Facebook on the day of the party?’

‘So?’

‘So why would Russell even have a Facebook account if he’d been bullied online?’

Noble shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Brook sighed. ‘Okay. I’m meeting Terri in the car park in forty minutes. Text me Jake McKenzie’s address, John. I’ll meet you there at eight tomorrow morning. He and this Wilson Woodrow are overdue a visit.’

Noble picked up a clear plastic bag from the floor. ‘You said you wanted these books of Adele’s. They’ve been processed.’

‘Anything?’

‘A few handwritten notes in the texts. Nothing jumped out.’

‘Okay. What’s that?’ asked Brook, nodding at a second bag.

‘Russell Thomson’s computer. We’re so stretched we haven’t assigned a FLO to return it to Miss Thomson yet.’

Brook picked up the bag. ‘It’s on my way. I’ll take it. Speaking of liaison, you’d better get someone round to Fred Blake’s house in case they don’t know about Becky’s striptease yet. They ought to hear about it from us before they see it on the news.’

Brook’s mobile vibrated. It was Dr Petty. Noble pointed towards the door and left the office.

‘Inspector,
I hope you don’t mind me ringing, but you didn’t reply to my email.’

‘Your email?’ Brook set down the various bags on a desk and quickly logged on to his internal email account. ‘I’ve not had a lot of time to reply,’ he said, trying to stall. When the screen filled with unopened emails, Brook scanned down the list. He found a day-old reply from Dr Petty to his enquiry about Egypt and opened it.

Her mobile phone number was prominent. ‘Ye-es,’ he said. ‘I’ve read it. Very helpful.’

‘It gets better. I’ve looked through three or four websites. Egyptian burial rites changed many times over the centuries but they all agree that to aid preservation of the bodies, all the organs were removed and placed in a large earthenware jar with a lid, called a canopic jar, and placed at the foot of the embalmed body. The interesting thing is the organs were removed via an incision in the left side, just like McTiernan and Kirk. But here’s the best part. The priests in charge of the procedure would then put the heart back because they believed it contained the soul, which the deceased would need for the afterlife.’

‘That
is
interesting,’ said Brook. ‘Anything else?’

‘That’s it for now.’

Brook put down his pencil, not sure how to end the conversation. ‘I owe you one.’

‘Really? I hear Darley’s does good food.’

‘I’d like to be put back in charge of The Embalmer case, sir. DS Noble can handle the missing students.’

‘Think DS Gadd’s out of her depth?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Then why?’

‘I should’ve thought that was obvious, sir. We’ve got two mutilated bodies and two more missing, probably facing the same fate.’

‘Two vagrants who died of alcohol poisoning, Inspector. Occupational hazard.’

‘Sir, Phil Ward was taken last night. I saw it happen. He’s the first definite abduction and it’s likely the other three were the same. It’s unlikely these men are just dying around The Embalmer and it’s not a huge stretch to assume he’s hastening their deaths before he cuts them open.’

‘There’s still no evidence of that,’ retorted Charlton.

‘I’m also worried about escalation. Leopold Street is compromised. If he thinks his supply is being cut off . . .’

‘You mean he might turn his attention to real people,’ nodded Charlton. ‘It did occur to me.’ His expression softened. ‘You’re right. Assault and abduction is a step up from stealing cadavers.’

‘So I’m back on the case?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Sir, these missing students . . .’

‘. . . are
no longer just an internet sensation.’ Charlton picked up a pile of newspapers and dropped them on Brook’s lap. ‘
The Times
, the
Telegraph
, the
Guardian
and, needless to say, all the tabloids have picked up the story. I’ve had BBC and ITN reporters ringing the Press Office about this afternoon’s Deity broadcast and likely they’ll be running with it tonight. So you see, it doesn’t matter if these kids are sunbathing in Wembley Stadium, Inspector. Until we find them and put this to bed, this is your priority.’

‘So Ozzy Reece . . .’

‘. . . is being sought by a very able detective.’ Charlton rubbed his chin. ‘Look, you’ve got my permission to offer advice at every stage. Gadd’s got extra people. If there’s anything else you think we need to do, tell me.’

‘We need to go public. We need people to be on the lookout for the ambulance, get the facial composite of Ozzy Reece into the local press and TV and put his name out there.’

‘Isn’t it an alias?’ said Charlton.

‘Doesn’t mean he hasn’t used it in front of others.’

‘Okay. And for good measure get Noble to prepare a statement for the end of our media briefing this afternoon,’ said Charlton. ‘Would that suit?’

‘It would,’ replied Brook. ‘And after that, maybe we could go door-to-door in Shardlow.’

‘Shardlow?’

‘There’s a chance that’s where he lives.’

Charlton’s expression became pained but he knew not to mention budgets again to Brook. ‘Let’s see what the media can throw up for us first.’

Brook
stood next to Terri’s VW in the station car park, bringing Noble up to speed on the phone.

‘Should I mention any of this in the briefing?’
asked Noble.

‘Yes, but keep it broad. The suspect is English but may have a keen interest in Egypt, may have visited or even lived there. Something like that. I printed off Petty’s email for Jane so she can chase up the Interpol inquiry. She’s also putting in calls to the Foreign Office and the British Council, see if that shakes anything out. If Reece ever lived in Egypt he may have done something similar and hopefully there’s a record.’

‘You know we’re going to get nothing, the state the country’s in.’

Brook rang off and waved to Terri, who was walking towards him beside a tall young man with short, bleach-blond hair, deep blue eyes and a neat beard. He wore a back-to-front baseball cap on his head and casual but smart clothing. Brook was faintly pleased to see his trousers weren’t held up by his knees. He carried several boxes and bags, only one of which appeared to be his. Terri was smiling and flirting all the way and only looked towards her father when she was in earshot.

‘Hi, Dad.’ She grinned.

Brook nodded. ‘If you’re busy, I can drive myself home, Terri.’

She blushed and looked at her companion. ‘Dad, this is Ray. He’s studying Law at Derby University. He helped carry my shopping.’

‘Hello, Ray,’ said Brook. ‘Another lawyer – great.’

‘Hello, sir.’ Ray beamed. ‘Where shall I put these, Terri?’

She opened the boot and the obliging Ray packed the bags and boxes in the small space, while Brook ran his eye over the young man, looking for tattoos. What he could see of his hands and arms were blemish-free so Brook stopped playing
protector and ambled a few yards away to give them some space.

‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Terri gushed.

‘I thought we already covered that,’ he teased.

‘I know,’ she said, a little embarrassed. ‘But I’m doing a dissertation and I’m staying with my dad.’

‘Don’t put me in the middle of this,’ Brook shouted over, pleased to be able to embarrass her.

‘There you are, Terri. Your dad knows work isn’t everything.’

Terri looked at her father. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ She laughed her submission. ‘I’ve got your number, okay.’

‘Fair enough,’ replied Ray. ‘Nice meeting you, sir,’ he said to Brook, waving a farewell to Terri and wiggling his hand in the internationally accepted sign for ‘Call me’.

‘You didn’t waste much time,’ said Brook, restraining a smile.

Terri glanced at him. ‘I’m twenty already, Dad. There isn’t much time to waste.’

B
ROOK AND
T
ERRI ROLLED ALONG
in silence, punctuated by his directions through the Brisbane Estate. They pulled on to Yvette Thomson’s road and Brook spotted Len Poole cycling arthritically along the pavement in front of them. He held a large envelope tightly against one handlebar.

‘A pensioner in a tracksuit,’ said Terri. ‘Could anything be more wrong?’

To Brook’s surprise, Poole turned on to Yvette Thomson’s driveway, dismounted and rapped aggressively on the glass door.

‘Pull over, Terri.’

Terri looked at him and followed his eyes back to the squat figure of Poole. Without asking for explanation she pulled to the kerb and turned off the engine.

Brook kept his eyes trained on the house as Poole looked around at neighbouring houses while he waited, flicking the envelope against his thigh. When the door didn’t open he rapped on the glass more vigorously, then walked to the large bay window and peered inside.

‘What’s wrong, Dad? Why have we stopped?’

Brook reached into the back seat without breaking his surveillance. ‘I’ve got to drop off this laptop.’

‘This
piece of junk,’ said Terri, examining it through the plastic. ‘I wouldn’t bother. Just stick it in the dustbin.’ She reached for the other plastic bag on the back seat. ‘Are these Adele’s?’

Brook nodded without taking his eyes from Poole, still banging impatiently at the door. Terri isolated a book through the plastic and held it up for Brook. ‘Sylvia Path, Dad. See?’

‘I know. You were right.’ Brook watched as Yvette Thomson finally opened the door. Unfortunately she moved back almost at once so he couldn’t see her reaction as Poole stepped purposefully over the threshold. But the way she had ushered Poole into her home told its own story. The two of them knew each other.

Brook wondered whether to sit tight or gamble. A second later, he took the computer from Terri. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

‘Can’t I come with you?’ asked Terri.

‘What?’

‘This is where one of the students lived, isn’t it?’

‘Russell Thomson.’

‘Then get me in there, Dad. You want to find these kids, don’t you? I can have a look at his room. Let you know what I think.’

Brook considered the ethics of involving civilians, let alone family, in police business. Talking things through with her was one thing, it helped him think. Giving her free rein in a missing person’s room was quite another. He gestured her out with a flick of the head, still not sure he was doing the right thing. ‘Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak.’