Whispers of the Dead - Страница 20

‘Is the casket still here?’

We left the autopsy suite and went to the storeroom where the casket and aluminium container were awaiting collection by forensic agents. When we opened it the smell of putrefaction was as bad as ever. The shroud was crumpled inside, clotted and rank.

Using a pair of forceps, Paul drew it open.

Until now it had been the body itself that had commanded everyone’s attention, not what it had been wrapped in. Now we knew what to look for, though, they weren’t hard to find. More pupal cases lay in the cotton sheet, camouflaged by the viscous black slurry from the corpse. Some were broken and empty, already hatched like the one I’d found, but others were still whole. There were no larvae, but after six months their softer bodies would have long since disintegrated.

‘Well, that settles it,’ Paul said. ‘You might explain away one, but not this many. The body must have been pretty badly decomposed before it was sealed in here.’

He reached for the casket lid, but I stopped him. ‘What’s that?’

Something else was half hidden in the folds of cotton. Taking the forceps from Paul, I gently teased it free.

‘What is it, some kind of cricket?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

It was an insect of some kind, that much was obvious. Well over an inch in length, it was slender with a long, segmented carapace. It had been partially crushed, and its legs had curled in death, emphasizing the elongated teardrop shape of its body.

I set it down on the sheet. Against the white background, the insect looked even more out of place and alien.

Paul leaned forward for a closer look. ‘Never seen anything like that before. How about you?’

I shook my head. I’d no idea what it was either. Only that it had no right to be there.

I worked for another two hours after Paul left. Finding the unknown insect had blown away any vestiges of my earlier tiredness, so I’d carried on until I’d got all the exhumed remains soaking in vats of detergent. I was still buzzing with adrenaline as I left the morgue. Paul and I had decided not to bother Tom with our discovery that night, but I felt convinced that it was a breakthrough. I didn’t know how or why, not yet. But my instincts told me the insect was important.

It was a good feeling.

Still preoccupied, I made my way across the car park. It was late and this part of the hospital was deserted. My car was almost the only one there. Streetlights ran round the edges of the car park, but its interior was in almost total darkness. I was halfway across, starting to reach in my pocket for my car keys, when suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

I knew I wasn’t alone.

I turned quickly, but there was nothing to see. The car park was a field of darkness, the few other cars there solid blocks of shadow. Nothing moved, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something—someone—nearby.

You’re just tired. You’re imagining things. I set off for my car again. My footsteps sounded unnaturally loud on the gravelled surface.

And then I heard a stone skitter behind me.

I spun round and was blinded by a bright stab of light. Shielding my eyes, I squinted past it as a dark figure with a torch emerged from behind the tank-like shape of a pick-up truck.

It stopped a few feet away, the torch still directed on to my face. ‘Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing here?’

The voice was gruff and threateningly civil, the accent a heavy twang. I made out epaulettes beyond the torch beam, and relaxed as I realized it was only a security guard.

‘I’m going home,’ I said. He didn’t move the light from my face. Its brightness prevented me from making out anything apart from the uniform.

‘Got some ID?’

I fished out the pass I’d been given for the morgue and showed it to him. He didn’t take it, just dipped the torch beam on to the plastic card before raising it to my face again.

‘Could you shine that somewhere else?’ I said, blinking.

He lowered the torch a little. ‘Workin’ late, huh?’

‘That’s right.’ Blotches of light danced in my vision as my eyes tried to adjust.

There was a throaty chuckle. ‘Graveyard shift’s a bitch, ain’t it?’

The torch beam was switched off. I couldn’t see anything, but heard his footsteps crunch away across the gravel. His voice floated back to me from the darkness.

‘Y’all drive carefully, now.’

You watch the lights from the car recede, waiting until they’ve disappeared before you step out from behind the pickup. Your throat is sore from deepening your voice, and your pulse is racing, either from excitement or frustration, you can’t be sure.

The idiot never realized how close he came.

You know you took a chance confronting him like that, but you couldn’t help it. When you saw him coming across the car park it seemed a God-given opportunity. There was no one else around, and chances were no one would have missed him till the next day. Without even thinking about it, you dogged his steps from the shadows, closing the distance between you.

But quiet as you were, he must have heard something. He stopped and turned round, and although you could still have taken him if you’d wanted, it made you think again. Even if your foot hadn’t stubbed that damn stone, you’d already decided to let him go. Lord knows, you’re not afraid to take chances, but some Brit no one’s ever heard of wasn’t worth the risk. Not now, not when the stakes are so high. Still, you’d been sorely tempted.

If it hadn’t been for what you’ve got planned for tomorrow you might have gone ahead anyway.

You smile as you think of it, anticipation bubbling up inside you. It’s going to be dangerous, but no one wins any prizes by playing safe. Shock and awe, that’s what you want. You’ve hidden your light under a bushel for long enough, watched your lessers take all the glory. High time you got the recognition you deserve. And after tomorrow no one’s going to be in any doubt what you’re capable of. They think they know what they’re dealing with, but they’ve no idea.

You’re just getting started.

You take a deep breath of the warm spring night, savouring the sweetness of blossom and the faintly treacly smell of asphalt. Feeling strong and confident, you climb into the pick-up. Time to go home.

You’ve got a busy day ahead.

CHAPTER 9

THE LAST REMNANTS of an early morning mist still hung between the trees bordering the woodland path. Shafts of low sunlight broke through the canopy of new leaves and branches, dappling the ground with a cathedral light.

A lone figure sat reading a newspaper at a picnic bench made from rough-cut pine. The only sound came from the rustle of the pages, and the hollow rattle of a woodpecker in the trees nearby.

The newspaper reader glanced up, idly, as a piercing whistle came from the trail off to the left, where it curved out of sight. A moment later a man appeared. He wore an irritated expression, and was looking into the undergrowth at either side as he walked. He had a dog lead in one hand, the empty chain swinging in rhythm with his brisk steps.

‘Jackson! Here, boy! Jackson!’

His calls were interspersed with more whistles. After a single incurious glance, the reader went back to the news headlines. The dog walker paused as he drew level, then came across.

‘Haven’t seen a dog, have you? A black Labrador?’

The reader glanced up, surprised to have been addressed. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

The dog walker gave a snort of annoyance. ‘Damn dog. Probably off chasing squirrels.’

The reader gave a polite smile before going back to the newspaper. The man with the dog chain chewed his lip as he stared up the trail.

‘I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye open for him,’ he said. ‘You see him, don’t let him get away. He’s friendly, he won’t bite.’

‘Sure.’ It was said without enthusiasm. But as the dog walker looked forlornly around the reader reluctantly lowered the newspaper again.

‘There was something making a noise in the bushes a while ago. I didn’t see what was making it, but it could have been a dog.’

The dog walker was craning his head to see. ‘Where?’

‘Over there.’ The reader gestured vaguely towards the undergrowth. The dog owner peered in that direction, chain swinging loosely in his hand.

‘By the trail? I can’t see anything.’

With a sigh of resignation, the reader closed the newspaper. ‘I suppose it’s easier to show you.’

‘I appreciate this,’ the dog walker said with a smile, as they entered the trees. ‘I haven’t had him long. Thought I’d gotten him trained, but every now and again he’ll just take off.’

He paused to whistle and call the dog’s name again. The reader gave the heavy dog chain an uneasy glance, then looked back towards the trail. No one was in sight.

Suddenly the dog walker gave a cry and ran forward. He dropped to his knees by a clump of bushes. The body of a black Labrador lay behind them. Blood matted the dark fur on its crushed skull. The dog walker’s hands hovered over it, as though scared to touch it.

‘Jackson? Oh, my God, look at his head, what happened?’

‘I broke his skull,’ the newspaper reader said, stepping up behind him.

The dog walker started to rise, but something clamped round his neck. The pressure was unrelenting, choking off his cry before he could make it. He tried to struggle to his feet, but he was off balance and his arms and legs had no strength. Belatedly, he remembered the dog chain. His brain tried to send the necessary commands to his muscles, but the world had already started to turn black. His hand spasmed once or twice, then the chain dropped from his limp fingers.