Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) (12 page)

Rebecca rounded the large writing desk, popping her mug of tea on its top, and then lifted the painting, whispering expletives as she saw the blank, flat wall behind it.

‘That’s fine.’  Saul assured. ‘Now, start tapping the walls.  Listen for variations in the tone.  Either hollow or hard. Ten minutes.’ 

‘Stop the fucking countdown will you, it’s not helping.’ Rebecca hissed as she wrapped her knuckles off the wall below the picture, then started moving around to the right, where a tall chest of drawers sat against it.  Her attention was caught by the carpet, and the slight flattening of the pile in front of the drawers.  ‘I think I have something.’ she relayed as she bent over and pulled the surprisingly light drawers forward, exposing the wall behind, with a small Perspex hole about head height.  Rebecca looked into it and saw a red laser light bouncing off a prism inside.

‘Found it.’ she whispered, reaching into the pocket of her tweed jacket and pulling out the silver tube that Gabriel had given them. ‘I’m not looking forward to this.’ she said, as she unscrewed the top.

‘Don’t think about what it is, just think about what is can get us.’  Saul offered encouragingly.

‘That is the most asinine thing I think you’ve ever said to me, and there’s been some howlers.  It’s a fucking detached, dead eyeball.  It’s going to freak me out regardless of what you say.’ she replied curtly and reached into the open tube, squeamishly gripping the end of the optic nerve and lifting Ennis’s glistening eyeball from the formaldehyde preserving it.  She grimaced, then gripped the circumference of the globuled ball between shaking thumb and forefinger, then pressed it against the Perspex hole.  There was a loud beep, and the wall started to slide back to the right, revealing a small cubby hole behind.  

‘Bingo!’ she shouted in a whisper.  She dropped the eyeball back into the tube, screwed the top back on and placed it back in her pocket.

‘What is it?’  Saul enquired.

‘A small recess with a filing cabinet.  There is a trumpet case on top of the filing cabinet.  It’s got the word ‘Unas’ embossed on it in gold.  Isn’t that what was on the instrument case in McFetrich’s trophy room?’  Rebecca relayed, opening the top drawer of the filing cabinet.

‘Yes, it was.  Why would two unrelated people have cases with the same word on?  We’ll need to do some digging into this ‘Unas’.  What’s in the cabinet?’

‘Just what we hoped.  Lots of files.  Jessica Seymour, Henry Seymour, Cecil Seymour, Clarissa Seymour and a ton of other Seymour’s to boot along with a good dozen other files.’  She thrust the top drawer closed and yanked the bottom one open, sifting through another concertina of files, noting one labelled ‘Angus’ right at the front, before grabbing the whole bunch and plopping them on top of the others.

‘How long have I got?’  Rebecca asked as she placed the large pile of files on the desk, turned back and hit a little button just on the inside of the recess, which caused the wall to close up again, then pushed the chest of drawers back against the wall.

‘I thought you wanted me to stop the fucking countdown?  Five minutes.’  Saul replied calmly.

‘Smart arse.  Right, let’s get out of here.’  Rebecca responded sarcastically.  She picked up the pile of files and tucked them tight into her chest, took a deep breath and let her Dr Evans demeanour wash over her once more.  She reached down to grab the handle, just as it started to turn, just as the door was pushed open and just as a large, suited man filled the frame, looking at her curiously.

‘Dr Evans?  Afternoon, I’m DI Mick Munro.  Henry tells me you are working on the Ennis case.  I can’t recall meeting you before?’

Chapter 15

‘I think we should start with the substitution.’ a skinny, ginger haired and pallid faced woman, wearing a white lab coat, piped up.  Her larger than life head was being displayed on a plasma TV that sat at the end of a cluttered lab bench in the Centre for Biomedicine at Edinburgh University.

‘I think we should start with names, then we could toss a coin to see which of you enthusiastic boffins goes first.’  Strange interjected, jovially irritated by the posturing.  He was sitting on a tall wooden stool next to Cruickshank and opposite two other agitatedly excited scientists eager to expound their theories to the two detectives.

‘Sorry, sorry, quite right, a little formality will help.’ the ginger lady on the screen broke in before her colleagues had an opportunity to comment.  ‘I am Professor Janice Auld from the Biomedicine facility at Newcastle University.  I have to say, what you have given us to study is absolutely remarkable.’

‘And I am Professor Aubrey Quinn, from the Biomedicine Centre here at Edinburgh.  This is remarkable.’ a sturdy, tall gentleman, with a shock of wiry, unruly black hair on his head, sitting opposite Strange, introduced.

‘Professor Hilary Martin, from the Roslin Institute, also here at the University.  I specialise in animals, not humans, but am equally astounded by your samples.’ a bespectacled older lady with a tight crew cut hair style, naturally greying and distinguished, finished.

‘Excellent.  Now we have enthused over how remarkable these DNA samples are, let’s not forget that they are from potential murderers.  So it is critical that you focus on giving us facts relevant to our investigation, and please, in plain English: we aren’t scientists.’  Cruikshank ordered, her stoic face as stern as her words.

Professor Quinn started speaking before Cruickshank had a chance to finish, taking the breath out of his colleague’s lungs a second before they spoke. ‘The first thing to state is that while we are excited about what we have seen, everything we are about to share with you is morally wrong, ethically wrong and illegal.  Secondly, whomever has done this has a serious god complex going on.  Thirdly, from a layman’s perspective, do not confuse inbreeding with incest.  The first is pure biology, the second pure morality.  Let’s leave morality at the door for now.  So, the very high degree of DNA alignment of the four samples you provided indicate not just a prolonged period of interbreeding between a contained group of people, but the lack of physical abnormalities indicates that the breeding was selective.  In animal husbandry, that is not uncommon.  It’s not as uncommon as you might think in us humans either.  There are examples, particularly in isolated tribes or communities, where that pattern of breeding has been documented and to a smaller extend in the bloodlines of royalty.  However, never to the extent where four, and who knows how many more, people have such a DNA alignment.  The scientific understanding required to ensure there are no chromosomal abnormalities is staggering.  This must have been going on for generations.’

‘So, I take it from that, they are all related, but may not be brother and sister related intimately, in an emotional sense, but rather a biological sense.’  Strange summarized, trying to emphasise the salient points.

‘Well, I can’t comment on the intimacy of any relationship, but the discipline required in selective breeding to produce this type of healthy, strong DNA is definitely not an emotional activity.  This is pure science.  Jan, tell him about the gene replacement.’  Quinn finished, looking over to the plasma screen.

‘You might have heard in the news recently a lot of press about three parent ‘god’ children, or mitochondrial donation.  It’s where mitochondrial DNA from a healthy ‘parent’ is transferred into the egg of a parent where there may be known diseases such as diabetes, heart or liver conditions in the potential foetus and subsequent baby.  The DNA replacement eradicates the chance of those diseases.  The techniques to carry this out have been around for years and we have been at the forefront of that research, but ethically, we are still trying to get approval to carry out the procedure.  All four of the DNA samples that you sent to us show signs of this type of procedure being carried out.  It goes some way to explaining how the inbreeding has resulted in no obvious genetic abnormalities.  Hils, I have to concede, I think yours is the most fantastic finding, tell them about it.’ Professor Auld finished excitedly, her features vibrant with enthusiasm, looking toward Professor Martin.

‘So, just to keep it real and simple, we have four people who have been genetically modified, a bit like GM food, to make them a little bit healthier.’  Cruickshank summarised, her face an alignment of curiosity and patient questions.

Professor Martin answered, leaning over the lab bench, her hands clasped as she rubbed them together in excited anticipation.  ‘Essentially, yes, they have been GM’d: and the rest.  Have you heard of Dolly the Sheep?’ she asked, eyes wide with glee.

‘Wasn’t she the first animal cloned, and as I recall, called Dolly after Dolly Parton, although I can’t remember why.  That was done here, wasn’t it?’  Cruickshank offered.

‘Correct, that was research done at the Roslin Institute.  She was named after Dolly Parton, because the original cell from which she was cloned was taken from a mammary gland.  While she was the first mammal that we thought had ever been cloned from an adult cell, she wasn’t the first thing to be cloned.  That was a sea urchin in 1885.’

Strange interrupted. ‘The first mammal you thought had ever been cloned?’ he queried.

‘Up until today.  Up until you sent in the two samples of Jessica Seymour and Madame Evangeline.  It is absolutely amazing.  Do you know, it took two hundred and seventy seven attempts to create Dolly?  And here, probably twenty years earlier, are two perfectly cloned human beings.  The other thing that people don’t realise about Dolly is that she was genetically modified too, and had human DNA implanted into the cell that was used to create her.  It is the other way around for your two clones.  They have been modified with some kind of animal DNA which we have yet to identify.’  Professor Martin concluded, all three colleagues looking between each other excitedly.

There was a buzzing from Cruickshank’s pocket, and she pulled out a ringing mobile phone.  ‘Excuse me please.’ she asked politely, before rising from the lab bench and heading over to the other side of the room, out of earshot.

‘That is pretty amazing stuff.’ Strange answered, shaking his head as he looked between the scientists. ‘I don’t suppose you have any idea as to who would be capable of this?  Any renegade wanna-be gods?’ he queried, still contemplating the enormity of the facts presented to them.

‘What, where?’  Cruickshank stated loudly from the other side of the room.

‘Whoever it is, they have certainly had biomedical training, so you might want to check back through the university records.  Edinburgh and Newcastle are world leaders in this type of research, so it’s a good place to start.’ Professor Quinn offered.

Strange reached into his moleskin jacket pocket and pulled out a stack of photographs and laid them on the bench in front of the two Professor’s.  ‘Do any of these people look familiar, possibly former colleagues?’ he queried.

Quinn and Martin looked down at the photographs and examined them studiously, shaking their heads negatively as eyes moved from one to the next.

‘Sorry Chief Inspector, none of them look familiar.’  Quinn responded, Martin nodding in acknowledgement.  ‘Jan, is there anyone you recognise.’ he added, holding up a photograph at a time for Jan to peruse.

‘Are SOCO on the way?  What about a Medical Examiner?’  Start checking out his movements last night.  See if he was at any sex clubs.’  Cruickshank could be overheard, speaking loudly from the other side of the room.

‘No, don’t recognise any of them.  Hold on, put that last one up again.  I might have seen him before.  I can’t recall where at the moment.  Could you send a copy over and I’ll check with the team here.’  Jan asked as Strange took the photo off Quinn and took a look at it.

It was a photograph of John Saul. 

‘Jan, thanks for that.  If you or your colleagues can recall a name, or anything, it would be a great help.  We really need to find out who this man is.  Is there anything else we need to be thinking about with regard to our close knit family here?’  Strange asked, looking expectantly at the collected Professors.

‘Given how tight the selective breeding is with them, there is one thing that will definitely be an issue.  While there are techniques which have been used to help alleviate the potential physical abnormalities of interbreeding, it’s a lot harder to do that with the mental aspects of interbreeding.  I wouldn’t be surprised if these people have a string of mental issues, from simple OCD and autism, right the way through to being bipolar, suicidal and even psychotic.  Their mental stability will possibly take a lot of management.’  Professor Quinn offered. 

‘Thank you Professor, that is very interesting.  Thank you all for your time this morning and if you think of anything else you feel may be relevant to our investigation, please give us a call, you have our cards.’  Strange thanked, reaching over and shaking the hands of Quinn and Martin, and waving at Auld.  He stood up from the lab stool and approached Cruickshank, her face a storm of frustrated emotions.  She slammed her finger onto the ‘End call’ button and thrust her phone into her jacket pocket.

‘Thank you ladies and gentleman.’ Cruickshank shouted as she absentmindedly waved, striding for the entrance to the lab.  Strange fell in at her side, both walking out of the double doors together.

‘Another murder I would guess?’  Strange enquired.

‘Yes, another bloody murder.  Same Modus Operandi as McFetrich.  We need to get over there straight away and see if there are more than just superficial similarities and also see if we have our bloody ‘family’ DNA at the scene.’  Cruickshank rumbled as she strode out of the University into the bright light of the high, golden midday sun.

‘Anyone we know?’  Strange asked, still keeping pace with her short, fast, frustrated strides.

‘Mr McFetrich’s love interest from ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ the other night and one of the most prominent businessmen in Edinburgh:  Douglas Ettrick.’