Unti Lucy Black Novel #3 (6 page)

 

Chapter Thirteen

“A
ND NOW,”
K
ERRIGAN
continued. “For the dead man who didn't drown himself. That one's yours, DS Black, is that right?”

“He is,” Lucy said. “Apparently.”

“Well, the good news is that he was much easier to identify. After I unglued the mouth again, we were able to compare with dental records for Mr. Stuart Carlisle. They are one and the same person.”

They heard a knocking at the door and a young uniform entered. “DS Black? I was told to drop this up with you.”

He held a small parcel in his hand. He smiled sheepishly at them, then glanced at the table where Kamil Krawiec lay, his eyeball now touching the metal surface.

“Jesus,” the uniform said, his face contorting. Despite himself he kept staring, then suddenly retched, as if to vomit.

“In the sink,” Kerrigan shouted. “Or you'll have to clean up yourself.”

Lucy went across to the man and took the parcel from him. “Thanks,” she said.

The man wiped his mouth with his hand, as if in attempt to stop himself being sick.

“Some things you just can't unsee, Constable,” Kerrigan called as the man turned and left.

“Will I get him some water?” Caroline offered.

“Leave him,” Kerrigan said. “He'll be fine. What's the special delivery?”

Lucy unwrapped it and pulled out a small curved square of metal, about the size of a credit card. “From All Hallows Crematorium. Taken from Stuart Carlisle's coffin.”

“Now that's interesting,” Kerrigan said. “Can I see it?” He took the piece and brought it across to the light above Kamil Krawiec. “What's this?” he asked Caroline.

“A surgical plate,” the woman said. “Skull, maybe?”

“Why?”

“The curvature?”

“Perfect,” Kerrigan said. “And this came from Carlisle's coffin?” he asked, turning to Lucy.

Lucy nodded. “As did these.” She held out her hand. A second plate, longer and much narrower than the first, with four holes in it, rested next to four long metal pins and four shorter ones.

“Someone else was cremated in his place,” Kerrigan said, hooting with laughter. “That's quite brilliant, in its own way. The perfect crime.”

“Not quite,” Fleming said. “The only perfect crime is the one that no one knew even happened.”

“Perhaps,” Kerrigan said. “But someone obviously had a body to get rid of. Cremate it in someone else's coffin, and no one will ever find it.”

“But you have to dump the body originally in the coffin first. So someone will find
that
. We did.”

“That was bad luck,” Kerrigan said. “Or good luck, from your point of view. Once Carlisle's body went in the river, it should never have resurfaced. Embalming would have slowed the decomposition inside him right down. The organs are punctured, there's no gas build up; the body should have sunk like a stone. They can't throw in the unembalmed body they needed to get rid of, because that will come back up at some stage, once it fills with gas.”

“Then why
did
Carlisle come back up?”

“The embalming job might not have been a great one. And the heat, of course. The heat in the water would have been like a greenhouse for whatever bacteria were working inside him. It just took a little bit of gas and up he popped.”

“He was snagged on a tree branch,” Lucy said.

Kerrigan nodded. “Had he not come back up, you'd never have been the wiser. Or if they'd thrown him into the river in the winter.”

“That doesn't bring us any closer to who actually
was
in the coffin,” Fleming said.

“Of course it does,” Kerrigan countered. “We know that whoever it was had had surgery for a skull injury and, judging from the collection in DS Black's hand, a broken leg, too, I think.”

“So we just phone every hospital and ask for anyone who's had skull and leg surgery, then start whittling them down?” Fleming said. “That should only be a few thousand for Ireland.”

Kerrigan had been examining the skull plate. He smiled, then handed it to Caroline. “Let me see the leg plate.”

Lucy handed it to him and he glanced at it, turning it over, then lay it to one side. “Oh ye of little faith. Luckily, the cranial plate was manufactured in the US.”

“That
is
lucky,” Lucy said dryly. “Their population is so much smaller than ours. It will be, quite literally, like finding one of these in a haystack,” she added, holding aloft one of the pins.

“Very good. I like that,” Kerrigan said. “Now, you see, here, plates have no markings on them. In the more litigious USA, every surgical implant has to have a logo and batch number, so that if it's faulty, you can trace back to the supplier. So, while that leg plate has no identifying markings on it, and is of no use to you, the cranial plate, on the other hand, has a logo and, if I'm not mistaken, a serial number that will tell you the batch from which it came. Get the batch number, contact the implant company, and they'll be able to tell you which hospital the batch went to and when. It won't identify the individual patient, but it will give you a place and approximate year of treatment. Your haystack has just become so much smaller.”

All this time, Caroline had remained quiet, studying the cranial plate, examining it through the magnifying glass positioned above the table. At first, Lucy thought she was looking for the markings Kerrigan had mentioned.

“I think this one was murdered, too,” she offered suddenly.

Kerrigan rolled his eyes. “As I've told you, Caroline, that's not our call to make.”

Caroline straightened and offered him the plate. “There's a small nick in the side. It looks to be wider at the top than the bottom. Like something cut into it. The metal's shiny at the cut, so it looks like it's a recent thing.”

Kerrigan took the plate and moved across to study it under the glass as she had done. Lucy wondered how he would react to having missed it himself. She was pleasantly surprised when he glanced up at Caroline, smiling. “Indeed! Well done, you. It looks like the edge of something cut into the side of the plate.”

“Something?”

“As Caroline said,” Kerrigan replied. “The cut's wider at the upper edge than the lower. My bet would be a hatchet or axe. To the head,” he concluded.

 

Chapter Fourteen

U
SING THE MAGNIFYING
glass, Kerrigan managed to retrieve the logo and batch number of the plate. The logo was the letter U with two snakes, one wrapped around each of the main letter's uprights.

“That's the symbol for doctors, isn't it?” Lucy asked. “The serpents wrapped around something.”

“Nearly,” Kerrigan said. “You're thinking of the caduceus, the staff of Hermes, the messenger of the gods, in Greek myth. The two snakes were entwined to represent peace. It's often used as a symbol of medicine. God knows why, because there's absolutely no connection between the two. Maybe it's their way of saying, ‘Don't blame us, we're only the messengers,' when you're imparting bad news.” He chuckled softly at his own comment. “What they should actually use, which this company seem to have realized, is the staff of Asclepius, which has a single snake entwined around a staff. Asclepius was a Greek doctor about whom Homer wrote. The Greeks eventually worshipped him as the god of healing.”

Lucy glanced at Caroline, who raised both eyebrows.
Welcome to my world,
she mouthed.

Lucy smiled sympathetically. She was beginning to appreciate being partnered with Tom Fleming. There were days he barely spoke, but better that than being lectured to all day.

“USS stands for United Surgical Ser­vices,” Kerrigan said, angling the plate against the light as he examined it through the magnifier. “The batch number is—­” He glanced around to see that both Lucy and Fleming were standing watching him.

“Are you planning on remembering it, or are you going to write it down?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

“Sorry,” Lucy said, pulling out her notebook.

“Serial 8756943–132,” Kerrigan said. “They should be able to trace that to a batch and tell you where it went and when. After that, it will be up to you to identify the recipient.”

L
UCY DROPPED
F
LEMING
home, then cut across to Tesco to get some groceries. The house was empty of food, a fact she'd realized when, the previous night, Dermot had made tea for her, Jenny, and Fiona and been able to provide a variety of biscuits with it. Lucy doubted if she'd have been able to provide sugar if someone had called to visit her unexpectedly. Or indeed, even tea. Then again, generally ­people didn't visit her, unexpectedly or otherwise.

She was making her way to the car, still debating with herself whether she'd been wise to buy two family-­size tubs of ice cream, when her phone rang. Initially, she thought it was work but, when she pulled it out, she did not recognize the number on the screen.

“Lucy?” A female voice.

“Yes?”

“This is Jenny. From across the street.”

“Hey, Jenny.”

“Look, I'm really sorry about this. I told Fiona last night that we were planning on going swimming this evening if she wanted to come along. I wanted to make it sound casual, like we were already planning on doing it anyway, so as not to put her under too much pressure. The thing is, she's said yes. I know you've probably other things on, so don't worry of it doesn't suit. I can tell her you had to cancel at the last minute, but I thought I'd check if you wanted to come? I understand if it doesn't suit, honestly. I really appreciated you calling over. I know it was a bit, you know . . .” she gabbled nervously.

Lucy hefted the bag of frozen food to her free hand. The idea of going swimming with two strangers didn't appeal to her, but she didn't want to not help Jenny either. Plus, if she didn't go, she'd end up sitting in the house, alone, eating ice cream. She could, she reasoned, always do that afterwards, anyway. “Why not?” Lucy said. “That would be nice.” After a swim she'd have earned the ice cream, she decided.

“Great. We're going to Lisnagelvin. Is half past seven okay?”

Lucy glanced at the time on her phone. It was 5:45 now. That would give her just time to go home, grab a quick bite, and shave her legs before heading back out. Not enough time to leave the hour before swimming, though.

“Can we make it eight instead?” Lucy asked.

“No problem. We'll see you there, then. Thanks.”

“Look, are you sure you want me to come?” Lucy added. If Jenny was attempting to repair her relationship with her sister, Fiona might not appreciate a third party being present.

“No, please. I don't want Fiona to think I set her up. It'll look more casual if she thinks we were planning on going anyway. You'd be doing me a big favor.”

“See you at eight, then,” Lucy said, then hung up.

As she pulled out of the car park, her phone rang again and Lucy assumed it was Jenny with a changed arrangement. This time, though, it was the Strand Road station.

“DS Black? A Mrs. Doreen Jeffries from Bready has been in contact. She's been burgled.”

“That's a uniform callout,” Lucy said, glancing across at the bags of groceries sliding around the footwell of the passenger seat. “I'm finished for the day.”

“She's asked specifically for you, said she knew you. She's in a very bad state, apparently.”

 

Chapter Fifteen

D
OREEN
J
EFFRIES WAS
in her late sixties and lived in a small cottage on the roadside in Bready, a village along the A5, about six miles past Prehen. It was technically in Tyrone rather than Derry, but, as Jeffries had claimed, she did know Lucy, which is why, presumably, she had called the PSNI in Derry rather than Strabane.

Lucy had first met the woman the year previous. She volunteered in a charity shop in Derry, four days a week, sorting through donations to find anything that the shop could actually sell. She'd proudly told Lucy, the first time they met, that she was the one who'd spotted a first edition
Harry Potter,
which the charity had sold at auction for several thousand pounds.

The shop in question was one of a number that had agreed to take some of the children from the Social Ser­vices Residential Unit in the Waterside as volunteers. The program had been organized by Robbie, Lucy's boyfriend. One of the kids, a youngster called Helen Dexter, had been working with Doreen, sorting out clothes and such, in the storeroom of the shop. Doreen had begun to suspect that Helen was stealing from the shop and passed word up to the manager, who had insisted that she report it to the police, in keeping with their zero-­tolerance policy on theft. With a significant degree of reluctance, Doreen had contacted Robbie, to inform him that she would have to report Helen to the PSNI. Robbie had suggested Doreen speak with Lucy, which is how the two had eventually met.

When Lucy met Doreen, the woman revealed that she had already spoken with Helen herself and the girl had admitted taking clothes from the storeroom. They were, she revealed, for her younger sister; her mother refused to buy clothes for the child, preferring to drink it. The stock she had taken amounted to £45. In the end, the shop manager had agreed not to press charges so long as Helen paid for all that she had taken and was removed from the volunteer program.

The money was repaid within the day. Helen denied ever having paid it back, nor would she admit where she had gotten the additional hundred pounds with which she had bought her sister a new school uniform, but despite the considerable age difference, she and Doreen had been firm friends ever since.

D
OREEN BEGAN WEEPING
the moment she saw Lucy standing at her front door. Without warning, she hugged her, her body shuddering. Lucy embraced her lightly, could feel the thin bones of her shoulder blades through the brown cardigan she wore in spite of the heat.

“Thanks for coming,” the woman said, when they separated. “I'm sorry for bothering you. I'm sure you were on your way home.”

“It's fine,” Lucy said. “You were burgled, is that right?”

The woman nodded, holding the balled tissue in her fist up to her eyes to stem a renewed flow of tears. Lucy glanced around the living room, which appeared to be undisturbed. Normally, with a burglary, the place would be overturned.

“What was taken?”

“Bennie's watch,” Doreen said, then began to cry again. Bennie, Doreen's husband, had been an accountant in Derry for years. He'd died of a heart attack five years earlier, long before Lucy had even come back to Derry, so she'd never known the man, save for what Doreen had said about him, which, depending on her mood, ranged from his being a saint to her expressing gratitude for peace now that he was gone.

“He bought me a watch for our silver wedding anniversary. It had diamonds in the face, one for each hour. It was far too nice to wear, but I kept it in my room. It's gone. And a lot of the jewelry he bought for me over the years.”

Lucy glanced around. Doreen's television set still jabbered away in the corner, she noticed, though having said that, it was an analogue set and probably too heavy for someone looking for a quick snatch-­and-­run.

“Anything else?”

Doreen glanced around the room, as if taking a mental inventory for the first time. “Nothing obvious,” she said.

“How did they get into the house? Any signs of a break in?”

Doreen shook her head. “I didn't notice anything.”

“How about I take a quick look around, eh?” Lucy said.

Lucy moved through the house, checking each window and examining the jambs of both the front and rear doors. In the main bedroom, the drawer of the wardrobe unit was lying on the floor, empty. A musical box lay upturned on the bed, again empty. By the time she came back downstairs, Doreen was sitting on the sofa, cradling herself.

“You wouldn't have left a window open, would you? On account of the heat?”

The woman shook her head. “I always close the windows,” Doreen said. “Force of habit since Bennie was here, God rest him.”

“Were you in the house all day?” Lucy asked. A creeper burglary was a possibility if there were no signs of forced entry, though Lucy was reluctant to mention it lest the woman had not considered the possibility that someone had been in her house while she was there, without her realizing it.

“No. I've been away on holidays for the past week. To Blackpool with the WI. I only got back half an hour ago. I phoned as soon as I saw.”

“Does anyone else have a key to the house? Someone maybe who was going to check on it while you were gone?”

Doreen hesitated, staring from the TV screen to Lucy.

“Who has the key, Doreen?”

“Helen has a copy,” the woman said quietly. “I don't believe it was her who stole from me, though.”

“Helen Dexter?”

Doreen nodded.

“Why has she a key?”

“She does some light work around the house for me,” Doreen replied. “I pay her for it.”

“Since when?”

“Since the whole thing last year. She offered to do it.”

“To pay you back for the money you gave her?”

Doreen nodded again. “Did she tell you about it? I asked her not to.”

“No, I guessed. She'd not a penny to her name to pay off what she'd taken. I knew someone had given it to her, and it certainly wasn't her mother.”

“She offered to do some work to pay me back. I let her do it for a week, then told her I'd pay her for it. A few pounds to help her through. A girl at that age needs something to keep her going.”

Lucy smiled gently. “I hope your kindness wasn't misplaced.”

“I don't believe she'd have stolen from me,” Doreen repeated. “I don't believe it for a moment.”

Despite that, Lucy reflected, Doreen had still called her, and had still revealed that Helen had access to her house.

“I'll have a word with her,” Lucy said. “See what she has to say.”

“Don't,” Doreen said. “She'll think I don't trust her.”

Lucy considered a moment. If Helen had managed to build a proper, healthy stable relationship with an adult, the last thing Lucy wanted to do was damage it unnecessarily. Then again, if Helen had progressed from stealing second-­hand clothes to stealing jewelry, then that would need to be dealt with.

“What was the value of your jewelry? Ballpark figure?”

Doreen shrugged. “The watch cost Bennie over eight thousand when he bought it and that was fifteen years ago.”

“Look, don't touch anything upstairs. I'll have someone come out and see if they can find any fingerprints on the jewelry box and that. How about I hold off on speaking to Helen until I get word back on that first. Okay?”

Doreen smiled, gratefully.

“Have you anyone who could stay with you tonight? Keep you company?”

Doreen shook her head, smiled apologetically. “Helen would have been the obvious one to call.”

“Best not, eh?” Lucy said. “Lock the doors. If you've any problems, call me directly rather than the station. Here's my mobile number,” she said, handing Doreen her card.

“Do you think whoever did it will come back?”

Lucy shook her head. “Is there anything else in the house worth taking as much as your jewelry?”

“No.”

“Then I'd say whoever it was won't be back. Can you make out a list of as many of the stolen items as you can remember? Mention any distinctive features. Someone will be out with you to collect it and to take prints.”

The woman looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time, her lower lip shivering.

“I have to go out to the shops. The fridge is empty with my being away,” she explained. “I've no dinner in. Will the house be okay if I go out?”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” Lucy said. “Look, any problems, let me know. Otherwise, I'll be in touch.”

S
HE PUSHED THE
key into the car's ignition, then, looking back toward the house, made up her mind.

Doreen looked surprised to see Lucy again so soon, not least because she bore the bags of shopping she'd got in the supermarket.

“We can't have you not getting your dinner, now, can we? How does spaghetti Bolognese sound?” Lucy asked, stepping back inside.