Whispers of the Dead - Страница 24

‘No,’ I said. ‘And all the fingers were there, too.’

‘It’s possible someone could’ve saved the film canister and steel bar with Dexter’s and Harper’s fingerprints already on them,’ Tom suggested.

‘The film canister, maybe. Dexter’s print was smeared with a mineral oil that’s used for most baby oils. There’s no way of knowing how long it had been there,’ Gardner said. ‘But Harper’s prints were left in the blood on the bar. It was only a few hours old.’

‘Then the body from the casket can’t be Noah Harper’s. It’s just not possible,’ Jacobsen insisted.

Nobody said anything. Logic said she was right, not if the fingerprints had been left that morning. But judging from the expressions in the office no one felt very confident.

Tom took off his glasses and began to clean them. He looked more tired and somehow vulnerable without them. ‘You might as well tell them what else you’ve found, David.’

Gardner and Jacobsen listened in silence as I described finding the pupal cases and dragonfly naiad in the casket, and the intact hyoid and pink teeth of the exhumed body.

‘So it looks as though Terry Loomis and whoever was in the casket were killed the same way,’ Gardner said when I’d finished. He turned to Tom. ‘And you think these pink teeth could have been caused by strangulation?’

‘Seems more likely than drowning,’ Tom agreed mildly, and I tried not to smile. He hadn’t mentioned Gardner’s jibe at me in the cabin, but he obviously hadn’t forgotten it. ‘There wouldn’t be much doubt at all if not for the obvious blood loss and wounds on Loomis’s body.’

Gardner rubbed the back of his neck. ‘The spatter patterns in the cabin looked authentic. But there’s no way of knowing for sure if the blood came from Loomis until we get the DNA results.’

‘That’ll take weeks,’ Tom commented.

‘Tell me about it. It’s times like this I wish we still did blood grouping. That’d at least tell us if the blood was the same type as his. But that’s progress for you.’ His expression made it clear what he thought of that. ‘I’ll get on to the lab. They’re supposed to be fast-tracking this already, but I’ll see if they can’t speed things up a little.’

He didn’t sound hopeful. While DNA provided a much more accurate method of matching and identification than the old technique of blood grouping, the testing process was also frustratingly slow. It was the same on both sides of the Atlantic; I’d heard more than one UK police officer complain that lab work took far longer than was portrayed on film or TV. The fact was that in the real world, fast-tracked or not, such things could take months.

Tom examined the lenses of his glasses, then resumed polishing them. ‘You still haven’t answered my question, Dan. Should we be worried?’

Gardner threw up his hands. ‘What do you want me to say, Tom? I can’t read this guy’s mind; I don’t know what he’s going to do next. I wish I could. But even if he is responsible for Irving’s disappearance it doesn’t mean anyone else working on the case is in danger. I’m sorry as hell about Irving, but let’s face it, the man courted publicity. Going on TV like that could have stirred up any number of psychos, not just this one.’

‘Then we should just carry on like nothing’s happened?’

‘Within reason, yes. If I thought there was any real risk, believe me, I’d slap a twenty-four-hour guard on all of you. As it is, provided you take reasonable precautions, I’m sure there’s no reason to worry.’

‘“Reasonable precautions”?’ Tom repeated impatiently. ‘What’s that mean? Don’t take candy from strangers?’

‘It means don’t go walking dogs in woods by yourself,’ Gardner retorted. ‘Don’t go down dark streets alone at night. C’mon, Tom, I don’t have to spell it out.’

No, you don’t. I thought about the scare the security guard had given me the night before. Perhaps I’d park somewhere less isolated in future.

‘All right. Reasonable precautions it is,’ Tom agreed, though he didn’t sound happy. He put his glasses back on. ‘So what do you think the chances are of finding Irving?’

‘We’re putting our full resources into it,’ Gardner said, his guardedness returning.

Tom didn’t press. We all knew exactly what Irving’s chances were. ‘Will you be bringing in another profiler?’

‘That’s under consideration,’ Gardner said carefully. ‘We haven’t discounted Irving’s profile of the killer altogether, but we’re also looking at alternative viewpoints. And Diane’s come up with an interesting theory.’

Colour bloomed on Jacobsen’s otherwise impassive features. The blush reflex is a hard one to control. For someone who seemed to cultivate such outward composure, I imagined it must be infuriating.

‘With all due respect to Professor Irving, I don’t think the killings are sexual in nature, or that the killer is necessarily homosexual,’ she said. ‘I think Professor Irving might have become distracted by the fact that both victims were male and naked.’

She’d voiced the same views when the profiler had gone to see Terry Loomis’s body in the cabin, and been put in her place for daring to disagree. For Irving’s sake, I found myself hoping she was right.

‘So how would you explain it?’ Tom asked.

‘I wouldn’t, not yet. But the killer’s actions suggest that he’s not following a sexual agenda.’ She was talking to Tom as an equal now, any reticence forgotten. ‘We’ve got two crime scenes, and two sets of fingerprints from individuals who are very probably victims themselves. And then there’re the hypodermic needles embedded in the body in Willis Dexter’s grave, waiting for us to exhume it. The killer’s showing off, running us round in circles to show who’s in charge. It isn’t enough for him to kill, he wants recognition. I’d agree with Professor Irving that the killings show evidence of pathological narcissism, but I’d say it goes further than that. This is more psychiatric territory than mine, but I think the killer bears all the hallmarks of a malignant narcissist.’

Tom looked blank. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, but I haven’t a clue what that means.’

Jacobsen was too involved by now to be embarrassed. ‘All narcissists are self-obsessed, but malignant narcissists are at the top of the scale. They have a pathological self-belief—a sense of grandiosity, even—which demands attention and admiration. They’re convinced they’re special in some way and want other people to acknowledge it as well. Crucially, they’re also sadists who lack any conscience. They don’t necessarily get fulfilment from inflicting pain, but they enjoy the sense of power it gives them. And they’re indifferent to any suffering they might cause.’

‘That sounds like a psychopath,’ I said.

Jacobsen’s grey eyes turned to me. ‘Not quite, although there are shared characteristics. While a malignant narcissist is capable of extreme cruelty, he or she can still feel admiration and even respect for other people, provided the object of their respect displays what they consider “suitable” characteristics—generally a degree of success or power. According to Kernberg—’

‘I don’t think we need the footnotes, Diane,’ Gardner told her.

Jacobsen looked chastened, but went on. ‘The bottom line is I think we’re dealing with someone who needs to demonstrate his superiority, maybe to himself as much as to us. He’s got a chip on his shoulder and feels his talents and true worth aren’t appreciated. That’d explain the lengths he’s gone to, and also why he reacted as he did to what Professor Irving said on TV. He wouldn’t only be infuriated at being publicly belittled, he’d hate to see someone else stealing his limelight.’

‘Assuming this guy is also responsible for what happened to Irving,’ Gardner put in, giving her a warning look.

‘You sound like a damn lawyer, Dan,’ Tom told him, but without heat. He gazed into space, absently tapping his chin with a finger. ‘What about the employees from the funeral home? Do they all have alibis for when Irving went missing?’

‘We’re checking now, but to be frank I can’t see any of them being behind this. The only two we’ve found so far who worked there around the time of Willis Dexter’s funeral are both in their seventies.’

‘What about York himself?’

‘He claims to have been at work since five o’clock this morning. And before you ask, no there isn’t anyone who can corroborate that,’ Gardner said, with the air of someone backed into a corner.

‘There’s a surprise,’ Tom muttered. ‘Any sign of this mystery employee he claims he hired?’

‘Dwight Chambers? We’re still looking into it.’

‘Meaning no.’

Gardner sighed. ‘York’s still a suspect. But whoever’s behind this is too smart to bring all this attention down on himself. We’re carrying out a full-scale search of Steeple Hill, and this time tomorrow the press are going to be all over the place. York’s business is as good as dead no matter what happens.’ He grimaced as he realized what he’d said. ‘And the pun was unintentional.’

‘From what I saw, it couldn’t have carried on much longer anyway.’ Light glinted on Tom’s glasses as he stood up from behind the desk. ‘Maybe York would rather go out with a bang.’

Or perhaps he’s just another victim. But I kept that thought to myself.

It was growing dark as I pulled on to the quiet, tree-lined road where Tom and Mary lived. I would have worked late again if not for the dinner invitation, and after the day’s interruptions I’d felt frustrated at having to break off. But not for long; as soon as I stepped out of the morgue into the sunny evening, I felt the iron fingers of tension release their hold on the back of my neck. I’d not really been aware of them until then, but Irving’s disappearance, coming after what had happened to Kyle the day before, had shaken me more than I’d thought. Now the prospect of a few drinks and food with friends seemed like the perfect tonic.