Whispers of the Dead - Страница 23

You’re a great believer in leaving things to stew in their own juices.

You pick up the plastic bag of dirty clothes you need to drop off at the laundry, reminding yourself that you need to stock up on supplies again, too. More cans of tomato, and you’re getting low on batteries and flypaper. You examine the sticky strips hanging from the ceiling. At least, they used to be sticky; now they’re matted black with dead flies, as well as the husks of larger, more colourful insects.

For a moment a blankness comes over your face, as though the reason for the strips has momentarily escaped you. Then you blink and come back to life. On your way out you pause by the table. The man lying trussed on it looks up at you with terrified eyes, snuffling round the gag in his mouth. You give him a smile.

‘Don’t you worry, now. I’ll be back soon.’

Hoisting the heavy bag of laundry, you go out.

CHAPTER 10

GRADUALLY, A PICTURE emerged of what had happened. Irving lived out near Cades Cove, a beauty spot in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. Each morning before breakfast he would take his dog, a black Labrador, out walking on the trail in the woods behind his home. It was an established part of Irving’s routine, and one that he’d mentioned more than once in the profile interviews he was so fond of giving.

At around nine o’clock his PA had let herself into his house, as she did most mornings, and started the coffee percolator, so that Irving’s favourite French roast would be ready for him by the time he returned.

Except that this morning he hadn’t. The PA—his third in two years—had tried calling his mobile but received no answer. When there was still no sign of him as lunchtime approached, she’d gone out along the trail herself. Less than a half-mile from his house she’d seen a policeman talking to an elderly couple, whose Jack Russell was yapping excitedly on its lead. As she’d passed she’d overheard them telling him about the dead dog that their terrier had found. A black Labrador.

That was when she realized her employer might not be back for breakfast after all.

A search of the area revealed a bloodstained steel bar lying near the Labrador’s body, and the muddy ground by the dog’s body bore evidence of a struggle. But while there were several sets of footprints, none of them were distinct enough for casts.

Of Irving himself, there was no sign.

‘We don’t know for certain what’s happened to him,’ Gardner admitted. ‘We think all the blood on the bar is from the dog, but until it’s been to the lab we can’t be sure.’

We were in one of the morgue’s offices, down the corridor from the autopsy suites. Windowless and small, it could have belonged to any anonymous business. Gardner had come at Tom’s request. This time Jacobsen was with him, cool and unapproachable as ever in a knee-length charcoal grey skirt and jacket. Except for the colour, it looked identical to the blue one I’d seen her in before. I wondered if she had a wardrobe full of identical suits, running the dark spectrum of neutral shades.

Although no one had broached the actual reason for the meeting, we were all aware what it was. Even unspoken it created a palpable tension in the small office. Gardner had restricted his un-happiness at my presence to a disapproving glance. He looked even more careworn than usual, the creases in his brown suit matching those in his face, as though he were subject to a heavier gravity than the rest of us.

‘You must have some theories,’ Tom said. He sat behind the desk, listening with a brooding expression I knew meant he was biding his time. He was the only one seated. Although there was another chair in front of the desk no one had taken it. The rest of us stayed on our feet, the chair remaining vacant as though awaiting the arrival of a late visitor.

‘It’s possible Irving was the victim of a random attack, but it’s still too soon to say. We’re not ruling out anything at this stage,’ Gardner said.

Tom’s exasperation was beginning to show. ‘In that case where’s his body?’

‘We’re still searching the area. For all we know he could have been injured and wandered off. The dog was found in woodland half a mile from the nearest road. That’s a long way to carry a grown man, but there’s no other way anyone could’ve got Irving out of there. All we’ve found so far are footprints and cycle tracks.’

‘Then maybe he was forced to walk out himself at gun or knifepoint.’

Gardner’s chin jutted stubbornly. ‘In broad daylight? Unlikely. But like I said, we’re considering every possibility.’

Tom considered him. ‘How long have we known each other, Dan?’

The TBI agent looked uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. Ten years?’

‘It’s twelve. And this is the first time you’ve ever tried to bullshit me.’

‘That isn’t fair!’ Gardner shot back, his face darkening. ‘We came here today out of courtesy—’

‘Come on, Dan, you know what happened as well as I do! You can’t seriously believe it’s coincidence that Irving’s gone missing the morning after he bad-mouthed a serial killer on TV?’

‘Until there’s proof I’m not going to jump to conclusions.’

‘And what if someone else on the investigation goes missing? Will that be jumping to conclusions too?’ In all the years I’d known Tom I’d never seen him so angry. ‘Dammit, Dan, one person was injured here yesterday, perhaps seriously, and now this! I have a responsibility to the people working with me. If any of them are at risk then I want to know about it!’

Gardner said nothing. He looked pointedly across at me.

‘I’ll be in the autopsy suite,’ I said, heading for the door.

‘No, David, you’ve got as much right to hear this as I have,’ Tom said.

‘Tom…’ Gardner began.

‘I asked him to help, Dan. If he’s going to share the risk he has every right to know what he’s got himself into.’ Tom folded his arms. ‘I’ll only tell him what you say anyway, so he might as well hear it from you.’

The two of them stared at each other. Gardner didn’t strike me as the type to be easily browbeaten, but I knew Tom wasn’t going to budge. I glanced at Jacobsen and saw she looked as uncomfortable as I felt. Then she realized I was watching her, and quickly blanked any hint of emotion from her features.

Gardner gave a resigned sigh. ‘Jesus, Tom. All right, it’s possible there’s a connection. But it isn’t that simple. Some of Alex Irving’s students had complained about his behaviour. Female students. The university’d been turning a blind eye because he was a celebrity professor who could walk into a job anywhere in the state. Then a student accused him of sexual harassment and that opened the floodgates. The police were brought in, and it looked as though the university was going to cut him loose rather than risk being hit with lawsuits themselves.’

I thought about the blatant way Irving had flirted with Summer and even Jacobsen, despite publicly slapping her down. It didn’t surprise me that they weren’t the only ones. Evidently not everyone fell for his charm.

‘So you think he pulled a vanishing act?’ Tom asked doubtfully.

‘Like I said, we’re considering every possibility. But Irving didn’t just have the harassment case hanging over him. The IRS have been investigating him for unpaid tax on all those book deals and TV appearances. He was looking at a bill of over a million dollars, maybe even a jail sentence. He was facing professional and financial ruin no matter what. This might have seemed like an ideal opportunity to get out from under.’

Tom pulled at his lower lip, frowning. ‘Even so, killing his own dog?’

‘People have done worse for less. And you might as well know, we found a clear set of fingerprints on the bar used to kill Irving’s dog. When we ran them we got a match with a petty thief called Noah Harper. He’s a career criminal, with a string of car theft and burglary convictions.’

‘If you’ve got a suspect then why aren’t you looking happier?’ Tom asked.

‘Because for one thing all of Harper’s offences in the past have been minor league. And for another he’s been missing for nearly seven months. He didn’t turn up for his last parole appointment and no one’s seen him since. All his belongings were left in his apartment, and the rent was paid up till the end of the month.’

‘Is he African American?’ I asked. ‘Fifty to sixty, with a bad limp?’

It was hard not to enjoy Gardner’s surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I think he’s in the autopsy suite down the corridor.’

I watched realization put even more folds into his already crumpled face. ‘I’m getting slow,’ he said, disgusted with himself.

Jacobsen was looking uncertainly from one to the other of us. ‘You mean the body that was in Willis Dexter’s grave? That’s Noah Harper?’

‘The timing fits,’ Gardner said. ‘Except if Harper’s dead, how did his fingerprints get to be on the weapon that killed Irving’s dog?’

‘Maybe the same way that Willis Dexter’s came to be at the cabin,’ Tom suggested.

There was a silence as we considered that. It had always been possible that Willis Dexter might not have faked his own death after all, that the killer had simply appropriated both his body and his fingerprints. But that couldn’t have happened in this case.

‘Were either of the hands missing from the corpse in Willis Dexter’s casket?’ Jacobsen asked.