The Chemistry of Death (33 page)

He led me over to the group of officers at the table and introduced me. A tall, gaunt man with a no-nonsense air of command stuck out his hand.

'I'm Detective Superintendent Ryan. I gather you've got some new information, Dr Hunter?'

I ran through what Scott Brenner had told me, trying to stick to the bare facts. When I'd finished Ryan turned to Mackenzie.

'You know this Carl Brenner, I take it?'

'He's already been interviewed, yes. Fits the profile, but he could account for himself both times when Lyn Metcalf and Jenny Hammond went missing. His family backed him up.'

'There's one more thing,' I interrupted. My heart bumped painfully, but they had to know. 'I told Brenner yesterday that you know the victims have been kept alive.'

'Jesus,' Mackenzie breathed.

'I wanted to make him see it was about more than him and Ben Anders.'

The attempt at justification sounded inadequate even to me. The policemen were staring at me with a mixture of disgust and hostility. Ryan gave a terse nod.

'Thank you for coming in, Dr Hunter,' he said coolly. 'You'll have to excuse us now. We've a lot to do.'

He was already turning away. Mackenzie steered me away. He held himself in check until we were outside.

'What the
hell
possessed you to tell Brenner that?'

'Because I knew you were questioning the wrong man! And believe me, there's nothing you can say that can make me regret it more than I do already.'

Some of the anger left him as he saw the truth of that. 'It might not make any difference,' he said. 'As long as his brother doesn't say anything, he still doesn't know he's a suspect.'

That didn't make me feel any better. 'Are you going to search the windmill now?'

'As soon as we can. We can't just go charging into a potential hostage situation.'

'It's only Brenner and his cousin!'

'Both possibly armed, and one with military training. You can't launch a raid without planning it first.' He sighed. 'Look, I know this is hard for you. But we know what we're doing, all right? Trust me.'

'I want to come with you.'

Mackenzie's face hardened. 'No chance.'

'I'll stay back with the cars. I won't get in the way.'

'Forget it.'

'She's diabetic, for God's sake!' Heads turned towards us at my raised voice. I made myself lower it. 'I'm a doctor. She'll need insulin straight away. She might be injured or in a coma.'

'We'll have an ambulance and paramedics standing by.'

I tried once more. 'I need to be there. Please!'

But he was already heading back towards the trailer. Almost as an afterthought he turned back to me.

'Don't get any ideas about going out there yourself, Dr Hunter. For your girlfriend's sake, we can do without any distractions.'

He didn't have to say what we both thought.
You've done enough damage already.

'All right.'

'Do I have your word on that?'

I took a deep breath. 'Yes.'

His expression softened, if only relatively. 'Just try and stay calm. I'll call you as soon as we have any news.'

Leaving me standing there, he went back inside.

The summer when Jenny was ten her parents had taken her to Cornwall. They'd camped at a site near Penzance, and on the last day her father had driven them along the coast to a small cove. If it had a name she never knew it, only that the sand was fine and white, and the cliffs behind them had been full of nesting birds. It had been a hot day, and the sea had been deliriously cool. She played in the shallows and on the beach, then lay in the sun and read the book she'd been bought. It was
The Chronicles of Narnia,
by C.S. Lewis, and she'd felt very adult to be reading it on holiday.

They had stayed there all day. There had been a few other families in the cove, but one by one they had all gone until only Jenny and her parents were left. The sun had settled slowly into the sea, casting longer and longer shadows. Not wanting the day to end, Jenny had waited for one of her parents to finally stretch and announce that it was time to leave. But neither did. The afternoon stretched into evening, and still her parents seemed as reluctant to end the holiday as Jenny herself.

They'd put sweaters on when the temperature dropped, laughing at the goosebumps on Jenny's mother when she'd insisted on one final swim. The cove faced into the west, presenting them with a panoramic view of the sunset. It had been glorious, a vast smear of gold and purple, and the three of them had fallen silent to watch as it deepened into night. Only when the last rays of the sun had fallen behind the horizon did her father stir.

'Time to go,' he'd said.

And they had walked back along the beach through the thickening twilight, leaving just the lingering memory of the most perfect day of her childhood.

She thought about it now, conjuring the feel of the sun on her skin and the sand running through her fingers. She could smell the coconut of her mother's sun oil, taste the saline tang of sea on her lips. The cove was still out there, and somewhere in the universe Jenny could almost believe that younger version of herself still existed too, forever caught on the cusp of that never-ending day.

As she lay on the floor of her cell, the ache from her amputated toe had joined with her other wounds to form a rolling wave of pain that seemed to carry her along. But now even that seemed remote, as though she were observing it rather than experiencing it herself. She was drifting in and out of consciousness, finding it harder to distinguish delirium from brutal reality. On one level she knew that was a bad sign, that she was beginning the descent into coma. But perhaps that was better than experiencing whatever her captor had planned.
Hey, look on the bright side.
One way or another, Jenny knew she was going to die here.

It would be much better if it happened before he came back.

She wondered about her parents now, and what they would do when they heard. She felt sad for them, but only distantly. The thought of David brought a deeper sadness. But there was nothing she could do about that either. Even her fear had become diluted and blurred, like something viewed through water. The emotion that still burned brightest, with a feverish intensity, was anger. Anger at the man prepared to fritter her life away as easily as scattering dust.

During one moment of lucidity she tried working at the knot on her ankle, but it was a feeble attempt. There was no strength left in her fingers, and all too soon her body's shaking made even that impossible. She sank back, exhausted, slipping quickly into delirium again. Once she dreamed that she had the knife her captor had used on her. It was huge and bright, like a sword, and she sliced easily through the rope and felt herself soar weightlessly away, floating into freedom and sunlight.

Then the dream abandoned her, and she was back on the floor of the cellar, filthy and bloodied.

The grating noise seemed like another dream at first. Even the light that spilled on her melded seamlessly into images of blue skies, trees and grass. Only when something struck her face, splitting open the cut on her cheek with a sharpness like ice, did she become aware once more of where she was. She felt someone lift her shoulders off the ground, roughly shake her.

'David...?' she said, trying to make out the blurred figure bending over her. Or perhaps she just tried to say it, because the only sound that escaped her lips was a weak, dry groan. Her head snapped to the side as a rough hand slapped her again.

'Wake up! Wake
up
!'

The face looming in front of her swam into focus.
Oh. Not David.
The man's features were contorted with anger and disappointment. She felt like crying. So she wasn't going to die in time, after all. That seemed so unfair. But already she was beginning to drift away again. She barely noticed when he let her drop, even the pain of her head striking the hard earth only a minor irritation.

Suddenly she was jolted back into herself by a shock of freezing cold. For an instant her heart seemed to stop. She struggled to breathe, her diaphragm spasmed to stone. She clawed in one breath, then another, blinking away water to see him standing over her. He held an empty bucket, still dripping.

'Not yet! You don't die yet!'

He let the bucket fall, roughly seized hold of her foot. In a few swift motions the knot that had been holding her was untied. Still wheezing for breath, Jenny was hauled to her feet. He half-dragged, half-carried her to the far end of the cellar. There was a brick partition here. He dumped her behind it, onto a hard and unyielding floor. Through blurred vision, Jenny looked above her and saw a rusting tap jutting from the wall. And then she noticed something else, something that penetrated even the insulin-starved fog. Next to where she was lying was a circular iron drain, and with sudden intuition Jenny realized what was going to drain down it.

He'd brought her to the killing ground.

He reappeared now, carrying a sack. Untying its neck, he upended it, spilling out a bundle of feathers close to her head. Jenny found herself staring into the terrified yellow eyes of an owl.

He was smiling down at her now. 'Wise bird. For a teacher.'

Knife in hand, he reached down and grabbed hold of the owl by its feet. They were tethered, Jenny saw, but as he lifted the bird there was a sudden burst of movement. For a moment the owl seemed fastened to his hand. The knife clattered on the concrete floor as its wings beat wildly, then he dashed it hard against the wall. It fell to the ground in a soft explosion of feathers. He stared mutely at the wound on his palm, blood dripping from where its beak had ripped into his flesh.
Good,
a voice thrilled in her, as the room began to ripple out of focus. Then, as he sucked at the gouge, their eyes met.
Not yet. Just a little longer. Then I won't care what you do,
she thought, seeing the intent blossom in them.

But he was already coming towards her. 'You're on the owl's side, aren't you? Poor owl. Poor little owl.'

He stood over her, his expression thoughtful. Suddenly he tilted his head, listening. Through the grey fog clouding her vision, she saw surprise blank his face. A moment later, filtering through the cotton wool enclosing her, Jenny heard it as well. A heavy bang, coming from above them.

Someone was upstairs.

A hundred and fifty years ago, the old windmill had been the pride of Manham. It was a wind-powered pump rather than a corn mill, one of hundreds used to drain the marshes across the Broads. Now it was a decaying husk that bore no sign of its former glory. All that was left of its stately vanes was a gap in the crumbling masonry where they'd once been set, and nature had once more reclaimed the land around it. Over the years the waterlogged ground had been steadily taken over by scrub woodland, until now the crumbling tower was all but hidden.

But not unused.

I was able to piece together what happened from what Mackenzie told me later. The plan had been to launch raids on the windmill, the Brenner house and the cottage where Dale Brenner lived all at the same time. The intention was to seize both men without giving either them or their family chance to issue a warning. Even though it would take longer to set up, it was thought that would give the best hope of recovering Jenny alive. If everything went according to plan, of course.

I could have told them that nothing ever does.

Mackenzie went with the tactical teams that would target the windmill itself. The day was settling into dusk as the cars and vans carrying police officers in body armour neared the target. An armed response unit was among them, as well as paramedics and an ambulance, ready to rush Jenny and anyone else to hospital. Because the only route to the windmill was down a narrow and overgrown track, it was decided to park up on the edge of the woods and make the final approach on foot.

At the windmill they stayed in the treeline while teams were sent to cover doors and windows around the back. As he waited for them to get in place, Mackenzie studied the ruined building. An air of abandonment hung over it, and in the fading light its brickwork seemed to soak up the gathering dark. Then his radio hissed and a voice told him everyone was in position. Mackenzie looked at the officer heading the tactical teams. He gave a short nod.

'Go.'

At the time I was unaware of any of this. I was aware only of the agony of having to do nothing but wait. I knew Mackenzie was right. I'd seen enough botched police operations to know they had to be planned properly. That didn't make it any easier, though.

It was obvious I wasn't welcome at the police trailer, even if I had wanted to stay. But I couldn't bear the frustration of waiting there, trying to guess what was happening from the sombre faces. I went back to the Land Rover and called Ben. He'd be waiting to hear what had happened. My hands shook as I dialled his number.

'Look, why don't you come and wait over here?' he said. 'Help me finish the whisky. You don't want to be alone right now.'

I appreciated his concern, but declined. Alcohol was the last thing I wanted right now. Or company, come to that. I ended the call and stared out of the windscreen. The sky above Manham had dulled to the colour of burnt copper, and still darker clouds were rolling in. The air was pregnant with the promise of rain. With percipient timing, the heatwave was finally ending.
Like a lot of other things.

Abruptly, I jumped out of the car, intent on appealing to Mackenzie again, to try and persuade him to let me go with them. But I stopped before I reached the trailer. I knew what his answer would be, and I wouldn't be helping Jenny by getting in the way now.

And then the solution suddenly came to me. I might not be able actually to go with them to the windmill, but they couldn't stop me from waiting nearby. I didn't need to ask Mackenzie's permission for that. I could take some insulin with me, be ready when they found Jenny. It wasn't much of a plan, but at least it was better than doing nothing. I'd already lost Kara and Alice. I couldn't just stand by idly while Jenny's fate was decided.