Flesh House (35 page)

55

The clock radio cast a green glow across the bedroom: 05:58 - seventeen minutes before the alarm was due to go off. Logan yawned, rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. A DI in Birmingham. Detective Inspector Logan McRae ... It had a nice ring to it, like something off the television. It wasn't as if he had anything keeping him here, not even--

An arm wrapped itself around his chest and Logan nearly screamed.

There was someone on the other side of the bed, asleep, her dark curly hair rumpled across the pillow like an explosion in a mattress factory. And then it all came back: the trip to the pub; drinks; Jackie turning up with that Janis McKay woman from Glasgow; him refusing to chicken out and leave, still stinging from Jackie's 'running away' rant; more drinks; bumping into each other on the way to the toilets; the long, tipsy heart-to-heart ...

There was a muffled snork, a huge yawn, and Jackie was staring blearily at him. And then she hid her face in her hands. 'Please tell me we didn't-- Oh, God, we did, didn't we.'

He slipped out of bed and grabbed a towel off the back of the chair, wrapping it round himself before clicking on the light. 'Jackie, I--'

'Don't, OK? You don't get to say it this time, I do.' She sat up, hauling the duvet with her, making sure everything was covered. 'Last night was a one-off. Drunken break-up sex, nothing more. It doesn't mean anything.'

Logan nodded.

'Now,' Jackie glanced around the bedroom, probably looking for her industrial underwear,'if you don't mind leaving the room, I'd like to get dressed.'

'Bloody hell ...' Logan stood in Elizabeth Nichol's lounge and surveyed the damage. It was as if someone had gone wild with a cricket bat - the walls discoloured with snow-globe water and little flakes of glitter, the floor covered in curved shards of glass and broken plastic. The TV was battered to smithereens, the sofa shredded, the standard lamp a very non-standard shape. A bloodstain marked the wall by the kitchen door, the plasterboard buckled and cracked around it.

'As far as I can tell,' said the IB's pet Goth, her face as pale as her white SOC suit,'this was where someone's head was rammed into the wall.' She knelt on the carpet and demonstrated in slow-motion. The dent was just the right size and shape. 'No idea if the blood's the householder's or PC Munro's though. We've called for the mobile DNA unit.'

It wasn't the only bloodstain in the place. There were smears on the balustrade, as if someone had staggered downstairs, trying to keep themselves upright. A spatter of red infected the kitchen floor like chickenpox. Drops of scarlet on the landing.

Every single room had been trashed.

Faulds stood in the kitchen doorway, SOC suited and booted: hood up, latex gloves, blue plastic shoe-covers, worried look on his face. He waved Logan over, leading him though the train-wreck kitchen to the patio doors - where no one would hear them. 'I didn't know this was going to happen! It was a long shot, a safety precaution. Elizabeth Nichol wasn't even his type ...'

'They might still be alive. The floor's not soaked in blood; he's got to keep them somewhere: a basement, disused industrial unit, somewhere ...'

Faulds turned his back on the ruined room. 'The bloody media are going to love this.'

'We should think about setting up roadblocks.'

'How the hell did he get past the officers watching the place? They were supposed to monitor everyone going in or out! What sort of useless, halfwit, haggis-munching bastards--'

'This isn't helping.' Logan glanced out the window: still dark, just a hint of pre-dawn light staining the horizon. 'Sun'll be up in half an hour: we need to get a fingertip search organized. Find out how the Flesher got in here.'

Faulds looked at him. 'You're right. We have to focus, lay out a game-plan, strategize ...' He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingertips into his temples. 'We'll need a press release: appeal for witnesses, photos of Nichol and PC Munro. We'll tell them that ... that Munro volunteered to look after a vulnerable witness who'd refused protection.'

'Volunteered?'

'I didn't know this was going to happen, OK? Asking Munro to stay was the right decision at the time - given the circumstances. Yes, in hindsight we should have taken Elizabeth Nichol into protective custody whether she liked it or not, but it's too late for that now. We have to stay focused on how we get them both back.
Alive
. We can play the blame game later.'

The media briefing was a disaster. As soon as the Chief Constable finished reading out the prepared statement the questions started flying: How could Grampian Police let one of their own be abducted by the Flesher? Why wasn't Elizabeth Nichol given proper protection? Who was responsible? Was there going to be a public enquiry?

'Jesus,' said Steel, standing next to Logan - as far away from the cameras as possible,'straight to the finger-pointing. Tell you Laz, we don't get Munro back in one piece we're screwed.' She pointed at Faulds, sitting up there on the podium next to his Aberdeen counterpart. 'You think they'll throw that Brummie cock-weasel to the wolves? Will they hell, it'll be one of us.'

'It wasn't anyone's fault; Nichol wouldn't take protection--'

'She shouldn't have been given the bloody choice! And we'd no've lost a police officer.'

Logan frowned at her. 'Not helping.'

'Aye, well ... tough.' The inspector dug out her cigarettes. 'I've had enough of this crap, give us a shout when the dust settles.'

Half an hour later they were all upstairs in the boardroom, getting snarled at by Chief Constable Baldy Brian. 'How
exactly
did the Flesher get both of them out past two unmarked police cars?'

DS Beattie might have been blushing, it was difficult to tell under all that beard. 'We clocked every vehicle going in and out of the street,
and
the two streets either side. PNC checked the lot: all residents.'

'I want them hauled in here and questioned.' The Chief Constable must have caught the expression on DI Steel's face because he rounded on her. 'You have something to say, Inspector?'

She shrugged. 'Just think it's a bit of a coincidence, don't you? Suddenly the Flesher lives four doors down from the Nichol place?'

'
Actually
,' Doctor Goulding, Faulds' pet psychologist, straightened his horrible tie and waited for their undivided attention,'it's not that unusual. Some serial killers start close to home, then spread their wings. Others select victims from the people they see around them every day - they stay close. And others are building up to something. There was a chap in the States who decapitated older women - only stopped when he finally got round to cutting off his mother's head. He'd been working up the courage.'

Goulding smiled, as if that somehow made his anecdote more palatable. 'Given the level of destruction in the Nichol house, I think it's fair to say that our killer's finally lost control. Twenty years he's been operating with impunity, but since Halloween he's been under a lot of pressure. Thursday night he almost got caught; one victim escaped; he had to kill a second and hide her body in a bush; abandon the partially-butchered remains of a third. He's not in control anymore, and that's never happened to him before. So he goes out for revenge, even though he
knows
it's high risk.' The psychologist nodded, agreeing with himself. 'It's taken twenty years, but the man you call "the Flesher" is finally escalating.'

'Aye,' said Steel,'it's a comforting thought all right. Sure it'll make Munro's husband and kids feel all warm and fuzzy inside.'

'I'm just saying that this is the end game as far as the Flesher's concerned. He's unlikely to come back from this, most likely it's the start of a spree--'

'Jesus, that's even
more
comforting! The bastard was bad enough when he was in control, can you imagine what he'll be like now?'

'HELP ME! PLEASE HELP ME!' Sobbing in the darkness. 'PLEASE!'

'Heather? You awake?'

'With all that racket going on?' She rubbed at her eyes, feeling gritty all over. 'You got any more of those pills? We could both--'

'They made you feel ill.'

'I just want to sleep ...'

The shouting stopped, replaced by incoherent screaming and the sound of Mrs I'm-a-Police-Officer throwing herself against the metal walls of her prison.

Heather groaned and stared up into the impenetrable dark. 'Kelley? Tell me a story.'

'I don't--'

'Please?'

'HELP ME!'

'I ...' Kelley went silent. 'I can't think of anything.'

Heather reached through the bars, feeling for her cellmate's hand. 'Tell me about your mum and dad - the nice ones.'

There was a long pause. And then she realized Kelley was crying.

'Oh God, I'm sorry. It's OK, you don't have to.'

A sniff. 'No. I ...' Kelly squeezed Heather's hand tight. 'Once upon a time there was a princess and it was her birthday. She was twelve and she was going to see
The Aristocats
in the cinema, and have fish and chips for tea.'

'Kelley, you don't have to--'

'They were singing as they drove from their castle in Banchory into the city. The sun was shining--'

'I'M A POLICE OFFICER!'

'The sun was shining and they had the windows rolled down. The princess ... the princess had been given a big bag of jelly babies for her birthday and she leant forward from the back seat to offer the king and queen some. The king liked the red ones best, and while he was looking for one ...' She stopped. 'The truck ... An evil wizard ...'

Heather could feel her trembling on the other side of the bars.

'It was like being struck by thunder. The noise ... oh God, it was the loudest thing I ever heard and there was glass everywhere and mum screamed and then everything went round and round. End over end ...' She squeezed Heather's hand so hard it hurt. 'We were upside down at the side of the road and I can't move and no one else is moving and they're hanging there ... like bats, upside down with their seatbelts on. And there's blood
everywhere
.'

'Oh Kelley, I'm so sorry.'

'And I'm trapped on the roof of the car and I'm covered with it. Mum and Dad are dead and I'm soaked with blood ...'

56

Rennie stuck the big stack of newspaper on Logan's desk and crashed into one of the visitor chairs. 'Where's Chief Constable Creepy Crippen then?'

'In with Professional Standards, and don't be an arsehole.' Logan flicked through the pile - P&J,
Evening Express, Aberdeen Examiner, Scotsman, Observer,
a bunch of other broadsheets and a pile of tabloids too. 'Anything?'

'Bugger all. No one printed Elizabeth Nichol's name, never mind her address. Nothing on the radio either, or the telly. Media Department say they didn't release the details.'

'So how did the Flesher know where to find her?'

Rennie sagged so far down the plastic seat he was almost on the carpet. 'Did you ...' He blushed, looked at the stack of papers, coughed. 'Did you tell anyone about Laura?'

'What, that you're a dirty old man and she's--'

'She's fifteen.' The blush went nuclear.

'Oh you have got to be kidding me!'

'I did a PNC check ... I swear I thought she was older. She told me she was going to university!'

'Yeah, when she's finished her O-levels.'

'I didn't know!' Rennie twitched. 'You can't tell anyone, OK? Please! You saw her: she was all over me from the start! I didn't know!'

'Bloody hell ... fifteen ...'

'She doesn't look fifteen! You
saw
her - you bought her drinks in the pub!'

'Yeah, but there's a bit of a difference between buying a minor a rum and coke, and painting her with golden syrup then licking it off.'

'Oh God ... I'll have to go to court ... I'll lose my job! My mum'll find out! What'll the papers say?'

'Probably something classy like, "PC P
AEDOPHILE
S
HOWED
M
E
H
IS
T
RUNCHEON
".'

'It's not funny! What am I going to do? If anyone finds out ...' He looked on the verge of tears. 'I didn't
know
!'

Logan took pity on him. 'I looked it up. Section five point five of the Criminal Law - Consolidation Scotland - Act 1995, says you've got a defence if you genuinely believed she was over sixteen--'

'I did! You know I did!'

'And you're under twenty-four years of age when the offence was committed.'

Rennie looked as if something special had just happened in his trousers. 'I'm twenty-three!' He closed his eyes and slid off the chair. 'Oh thank you dear, sweet, fucking Jesus ...'

'You're welcome. Now get your arse back up here, we've got more important things to worry about.' He dumped the newspapers on the floor. 'Like how the Flesher found Elizabeth Nichol.'

Rennie scrambled into the seat. 'I never would've touched her if I'd known--'

'Will you bloody concentrate? We've got two women out there who're going to wind up as happy meals if we don't do something. So come on: who knew where Nichol lived?'

Rennie scrubbed his face with his hands, relief oozing out of him like a very happy smell. 'I don't ... Hospital: doctors, nurses, admin staff. They'd all have access to her patient records when she got admitted after the attack.'

'Good, I want you to get someone up there, see if anyone fits Goulding's latest profile. Who else knew?'

'Police.' The constable poked the desk. 'We knew. Better yet, Faulds knew. Where was he Thursday night, eh?'

'Oh for God's--'

'Think about it: we all went to the pub, but he didn't come, did he? He'd be a dab hand at covering his tracks; knows forensic procedure inside and out; he's got all them mystery bruises; and every time there's a--'

'Enough! OK? Faulds is
not
the bloody Flesher.' Logan tossed PC Munro's FLO report across the desk.

'No need to get all--'

'Read it, you idiot. Control says Munro called through an update at two o'clock: Elizabeth Nichol is local, forty-nine, single, lives alone; one sister, one brother. Both parents are dead ... She likes swimming, romantic fiction, and collecting snow globes.'

'No accounting for taste.' Rennie flicked through the report till he got to the photograph of Elizabeth Nichol's bruised face. 'How come she's not fat-tastic? Thought the Flesher liked them self-basting?'

'Wrong place at the wrong time. If she hadn't been borrowing a cookery book from the Youngs, he wouldn't have touched her ...' Logan went back to the death board. 'Mind you, Goulding thinks Nichol might be the end of some sort of chain - that she was a'close to home' victim the Flesher's been working up to.'

A thoughtful expression slowly crawled its way across Rennie's face. 'Maybe the Flesher followed her to the Youngs' and
they
were the ones in the wrong place at the wrong time?'

'Which brings us right back to how does the Flesher know her?' Logan picked up the latest crime-scene photo from the board - Elizabeth Nichol's lounge, covered in shattered snow globes and ruptured furniture. 'There was no sign of forced entry, so she let him into her house. That makes him a friend, or a colleague, neighbour, or family member.'

'Or Chief Constable--'

'I'm not going to tell you again. Steel's doing the neighbours; see if you can dig up Nichol's brother and sister ...' Logan checked his notes. 'Jimmy and Kelley. I'll take the workmates.'

Which was easier said than done. PC Munro hadn't passed on any details about Elizabeth Nichol's employers - Logan had no idea who she worked for.

He dug out his phone and started dialling.

Kelley had cried for a while. It was difficult holding her with the bars in the way, but in the end the shuddering had stopped.

Heather gave her a squeeze. 'How you feeling?'

'Better ... I feel better.' She sniffed. 'I've never told anyone about it before.' Sigh. 'I miss them. I really do miss them. They were so
kind
. If I messed up they'd sit down and talk to me. No more cigarette burns or cracked ribs, black eyes ... Dad never raised his hand to me, not even when I broke his coronation mug.'

'They sound nice.'

'HELP ME!' The bloody policewoman had started up again.

Kelley shifted in the darkness. 'Heather? I'm glad you're here.'

'I'M A POLICE OFFICER!'

Heather smiled. 'I'm glad you're here too. Strange isn't it, being glad someone else is trapped in this little metal prison ...'

'YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!'

'You think she's ever going to shut up?'

'THEY'LL BE LOOKING FOR ME!'

Kelley patted Heather's hand. 'Yes.' And then she moved away from the bars. 'Do you want any more medicine?'

'LET ME GO YOU BASTARD!'

'It makes me feel bad.'

'Sure you don't want any?'

'Positive.'

'PLEASE!'

'Did you hear something?' Kelly's voice was low and urgent:'He's coming back ...'

'What do--'

'I'M A POLICE OFFICER!'

'Close your eyes! Pretend you're asleep.'

Heather peered out into the darkness. 'But--'

'Roll over! Away from the bars! Keep your eyes closed, or he'll know you've not taken your medicine!'

And he would hurt Kelley. Heather rolled over onto her side and screwed her eyes shut, lying perfectly still beneath the duvet. A metal clunk ... and then the groan of un-oiled hinges - the door opening - and light flooded their prison, she could feel it burning through her eyelids.

Some rustling, and then Kelley said,'She's sleeping.'

The light went out and everything was darkness again, then the boom of the door closing echoed through the metal cell, momentarily drowning out WPC Shouty.

'I'M A POLICE OFFICER! THEY'LL FIND YOU! YOU HEAR ME? THEY'LL ... Oh God ... No, please, I didn't ...'

Then there was screaming.

Heather waited for the bolt gun's'
Crack
' and drifted off to sleep.