Those Who Feel Nothing (12 page)

‘I don't know if they're looking for us,' Rogers said.

‘Makes no difference,' you said. ‘We don't want them to find us.'

You were on Street 178, near the junction with Street 13. To your left there was a dilapidated, once imposing building built in mock-traditional Khmer style.

‘The National Museum,' Westbrook said. ‘Long abandoned and probably looted.'

Rogers led the way towards a long, broken window. You stepped inside. The moon shone through huge holes in the roof. You could see the movement and hear the flittering of bats all around you. Hundreds of bats.

‘Great – we've found the bat cave,' Rogers said. He nudged you. ‘You can be Robin.'

‘If they're vampire bats, we're fucked,' you said.

‘Vampire bats are only to be found in the New World,' Westbrook said. ‘But you might want to avoid the guano.'

Rogers frowned at him.

‘Watch out for the bat shit,' you explained.

Rogers grunted. ‘Let's find somewhere to hunker down.'

The floor was littered with broken fragments of statuary and piles of rubbish. There was a reception desk near the main entrance with an office behind. You laid the woman down on the floor in the office and settled down.

‘I'll take first watch,' Rogers said.

‘I'll let you,' you said.

Detective Sergeant Donald Donaldson was sitting in Bellamy Heap's chair when Gilchrist and her DS got back to their office. Sitting didn't accurately describe it. He was overwhelming the chair. Gilchrist wouldn't have been surprised if it simply crumbled beneath his weight. Donaldson was a solid, ungiving block of concrete.

He was playing with a bulky-looking torch, pointing it at the wall and switching it off and on. It seemed to give an unusually intense light.

Gilchrist and Heap exchanged glances.

‘Extreme male brain,' Heap muttered. Gilchrist kept a straight face.

‘Did you get everything out of the storeroom, Don-Don?' Gilchrist said.

He put the torch down and nodded. ‘Fifteen sacks. I'll let the pathologist figure out how many bodies that represents.'

‘What about those packing cases at the back?'

Donaldson shrugged his beefy shoulders. ‘We had a quick shufti. Museum stuff. Indian and Chinese, they reckon. Guy with an elephant's head seems popular. Buddha too. I left it all with the museum boffins to examine – they're the experts. There was an iron door back there too but we couldn't get it open. We'll keep trying.'

‘Two different religions,' Heap murmured. He looked thoughtful. ‘But then the Pavilion can't decide whether it's Indian or Chinese. Not sure how Buddha fits in, though.'

Donaldson raised an eyebrow. ‘I'm more of a Nietzsche man myself.'

Heap looked at him but said nothing.

‘And I'm more of a George Clooney girl,' Gilchrist said.

Both men looked baffled.

‘What are we going to charge him with anyway?' Donaldson said. ‘Aside from being a scumbag.'

‘Under the Anatomy Laws stealing a corpse is not in itself illegal as the corpse has no legal standing and is not owned by anybody,' Heap said. ‘Dissection of the corpse and theft of items other than the corpse is illegal.'

‘But these weren't corpses,' Gilchrist said. ‘They were bags of bones.'

‘Exactly,' Donaldson said. ‘So what do we charge him with?'

‘Desecration?' Gilchrist said.

‘Burning or otherwise desecrating the US flag will get you in deep shit in the States but that's nothing like this,' Heap said. ‘And we can't do him for trespassing because churchyards are open to everyone.'

‘What then – making a public nuisance?' Gilchrist said.

Donaldson snorted. ‘Yeah – let's give him an ASBO.'

‘Even if we can't get him for anything substantive,' Heap said, ‘public opprobrium will dog him for the rest of his life.'

‘
Substantive?
' Donaldson snarled. ‘
Opprobium?
Jesus, Heap, don't you know any normal words?'

Donaldson picked up the folded newspaper on Heap's desk and pointed at the crossword in the bottom corner of the page. Nothing had been filled in.

‘Is that why you can't do the quick crossword? Words too short for you?'

Heap blushed. ‘I've done it.'

Donaldson looked back at the empty crossword and threw the paper on the desk. ‘Police issuing invisible ink these days, are they? Do you think I'm an idiot?'

‘Do I have to answer that?' Heap murmured.

‘What?' Donaldson was out of the chair, heaving chest straining at his shirt. ‘What did you fucking say?'

‘Sergeant Donaldson!' Gilchrist gestured for him to resume his seat. After a long moment, he did.

‘It's a blind crossword,' Heap said.

‘Is it?' Donaldson said. ‘And what's a blind crossword when it's at home?'

‘They used to use them as a test when interviewing potential code-breakers at Bletchley during the war.'

‘Did they? Well why don't you fuck off to GCHQ and do us all a favour?'

‘Sergeant!' Gilchrist said again.

‘Well, Lord Snooty here thinks he's a cut above the rest of us. A blind crossword, for God's sake. He must think I'm born yesterday.'

‘You haven't actually explained what one is,' Gilchrist said to Heap.

‘You do it in your head,' Heap said.

‘Just the quick one though?' Gilchrist said.

‘I usually do the main
Times
crossword,' Heap said.

‘What – and you keep it all in your head?' Donaldson sneered. ‘Bullshit.'

Gilchrist believed Heap. He was the brightest man she'd ever met.

‘Boys, boys,' Gilchrist said. ‘Detective sergeants should show respect for each other.'

‘Oh, yeah,' Donaldson sneered. ‘I forgot. Wonder Boy here is a detective sergeant after five minutes in the service.' He jabbed his finger at Heap. ‘Took me fifteen years, sonny boy.'

Gilchrist could guess what Heap was about to say, which would only inflame the situation more. She caught his eye.

Heap pursed his lips. ‘Anyway,' he said. ‘DS Donaldson's mention of an ASBO is correct. It's probably all we can give Rafferty, repugnant though his crime is.'

Donaldson fixed Heap with a gleaming eye that put Gilchrist on the alert.

She interrupted. ‘We need to question him again about where else he might have stashed these poor women's remains.'

‘But if he's not going to be charged he has no incentive to help us,' Heap said.

Donaldson turned to Gilchrist. ‘Maybe, while I question Rafferty, Boy Wonder could do the grunt work, being new to the job? I thought my years of service might entitle me to be put on something a bit more demanding.'

Gilchrist was pretty sure Don-Don took steroids to bulk himself up but maybe that look in his eye meant he took something else too.

She held his fierce look. ‘I decide who does what, Detective Sergeant Donaldson. The task I've given you is far more important, believe me, than Detective Sergeant Heap acting as my chauffeur.'

‘And you're the big expert on investigations suddenly, are you, Sarah? I think we have about the same amount of time in.'

‘But I have the rank,' Gilchrist said coldly. ‘Is there anything else?'

Donaldson glowered up at her. ‘Nothing at all,
Detective Inspector.
Except my motto becomes more and more relevant.'

‘And that is?' Gilchrist said cautiously.

Don-Don showed his teeth. ‘Life is a blank canvas: you can either paint on it or shit on it.'

‘It's a good one,' Heap said.

Donaldson swung the chair towards him, scowling. ‘Why thank you, Constable Heap. What's yours?'

‘Detective Sergeant Heap,' Heap said. ‘It's
festina lente
, actually.'

Donaldson barked a laugh. ‘Well,
actually
, it would be some fucking Greek thing you got at your public school
.
'

Gilchrist leaned in from the other side of the desk. ‘Don-Don – are you OK?'

‘It's Latin, not Greek,' Heap said.

‘It's fucking Greek to me,' Donaldson said. He shot a look at Gilchrist. ‘And I'm fine.'

There was definitely something odd about his eyes.

‘I wasn't at public school,' Heap said.

‘Wherever,' Donaldson said.

‘What does it mean, Bellamy?' Gilchrist said.

Heap shrugged. ‘It means: make haste slowly.'

Donaldson frowned as he thought for a moment, then bared his teeth. ‘Bloody typical. You never do make sense.'

Make haste slowly. Gilchrist kind of liked it. They were all quiet for a moment.

Gilchrist gestured to Donaldson. ‘A word, Detective Sergeant.'

Donaldson's chair rocked as he stood. ‘Ma'am.'

She led him out into the corridor. She looked into his unfocused eyes. ‘What's going on, Don-Don?'

He curled his lip. ‘Nothing, ma'am. I'm merely impressed by Constable Heap's rapid rise. Constable to detective constable to detective sergeant in about a week …'

‘Longer than that,' Gilchrist said.

‘Took me fifteen years,' Donaldson said.

‘As you've said. Maybe you need to ask yourself why.'

‘Do you have the answer, ma'am?'

She nodded. ‘If I had to hazard a guess I'd say it's because you're old style. Drag your heels, take the piss when you have a chance but get results when you're so inclined. A lazy sod.'

‘And Boy Wonder is different? No offence,
ma'am,
but he's so far up your arse – well, maybe you like that, maybe that's your thing.'

Gilchrist's open hand caught Donaldson so hard on his cheek he actually rocked on his feet. His eyes narrowed but he didn't move to retaliate.

‘Striking a subordinate,
ma'am
? Not good. Not good at all.' Then he forced a smile. ‘But it's not the first time a pretty woman has slapped my face and I'm sure it won't be the last. And it's never stopped me getting what I want.' He gave her a hard look. ‘Ever.'

Gilchrist wanted to slap herself. She ground her teeth. ‘Report me if you want,' she said. ‘I won't deny it. But if I find you're not pulling your weight in this investigation—'

‘You'll never find anything like that,' he said, his voice low.

‘Everything OK here?'

Bellamy Heap was standing in the doorway of their office.

‘Fine, Bellamy, thanks,' Gilchrist said.

Donaldson scowled. ‘Hunky dory, Bell-ender.'

‘You need to watch your language, Detective Sergeant Donaldson,' Heap said quietly.

‘You going to make me?'

‘Jesus, you two,' Gilchrist said. ‘Stop this right now. You're serving police officers.'

Donaldson rubbed the red mark on his face left by Gilchrist's slap. ‘Don't think you're in a position to talk, Sarah. And sometimes men need to settle their differences like men, even if one of them is a boy trying to be a man.'

‘That's a bit wordy,' Heap said. ‘Why don't you just grunt?'

Gilchrist stepped between them. ‘We've got an investigation to get on with,' she said, holding up a finger in warning.

Donaldson drew in his breath, almost popping his shirt buttons again. Gilchrist had an image of the Incredible Hulk. There was definitely something off about Don-Don's wild eyes.

Heap squared off. Donaldson saw it and sniggered. Though he was only about six inches taller than Heap, Donaldson was about three times the bulk. He dwarfed him.

‘What – you're going to hit me with some of that kung fu shit you do?' Donaldson said. ‘You know the truth about the martial arts, Heap? The bigger your opponent, the bigger the beating he's going to give you.'

Somebody had told Gilchrist once that if you're small getting in fast is the only way to go. Heap was very fast. He stepped round her and moved in on Donaldson with a flurry of blows to head and neck and belly. He kicked at Donaldson's shins and knees, twisting round him and getting his elbows into Donaldson's kidneys.

Donaldson didn't budge. He just stood there and absorbed it. But Heap was relentless. His barrage of blows continued. Then he kicked the bigger man's legs away from under him.

Donaldson fell like a tree. Gilchrist was sure she felt the floor shake. Heap was shaking his left hand and grimacing. One of his blows had hit bone. Gilchrist smiled to herself. She'd always thought Donaldson a knucklehead.

Heap caught his breath. He glanced at Gilchrist. She stepped between him and Donaldson, lying on the floor.

‘OK. This is over now. What happens here stays here.'

She looked down at Donaldson.

‘OK?'

No response.

‘OK?'

Donaldson nodded slowly.

Gilchrist looked at Heap. ‘Tenacious little sod, aren't you?'

He was still shaking his left hand. ‘Ma'am,' he said.

Donaldson gathered himself together and got to his feet. Gilchrist saw the expression on his face. She was pretty sure he wasn't going to let this go.

When you woke it was light. Westbrook was sitting propped up beside Michelle but he was watching you. You looked round for Rogers.

‘Doing a recce,' Westbrook said. His voice was stronger now but he kept it low. ‘How did you know about Michelle, by the way?'

You didn't respond. He gave a little smile and gestured round, wincing.

‘Pol Pot killed most of the museum workers and closed this down three years ago. Let the building go to shit. I would think three years of bat guano hasn't helped the health of the collection. In fact it's not too healthy for us.'

You said nothing.

‘How long are you planning to stay here?' he said.

You shrugged.

‘I'm guessing you don't have much food with you?' Westbrook said.