Philip Brennan 03-Cage of Bones (28 page)

86

P
hil opened his eyes.

And in those first few, blissful seconds he was nothing. Could have been anyone, anywhere. His identity as yet unwritten, his mind still clinging to sleep, not yet caught up to his waking body. It didn’t stay that way for long. Within seconds he knew where he was, what had happened.

And who he was.

He groaned, turned over. Closed his eyes again.

He replayed the events of the previous night once more, stopping to examine them in close-up detail. Again and again, over and over. Trying to work out what he thought, what he felt. Whether everything being out in the open now was a relief to him, had put his mind at rest over his parentage, or whether it had just brought along another layer of problems, of uncertainties.

Eventually he sighed, opened his eyes. Can’t lie here all day, he thought, sitting upright. Then remembered he was suspended.

With another sigh, he flopped back down on the pillow. Found another level of unhappiness just for that. He checked the time. Realised Marina must have left him to sleep. He listened. No Josephina. He remembered. She had stayed at Don and Eileen’s last night.

Not wanting to spend the day lying in bed, he threw the duvet off, got up. His problems wouldn’t be solved by staying there all day. But he still needed somewhere to go, something to do.

He went into the bathroom, turned on the shower.

Smiled.

He knew where he could go first.

87

M
ickey stood up. Looked round the briefing room. Too many empty chairs, he thought. Too many missing faces. Then looked at Glass. Too many faces here I’d rather not see.

He glanced down at his notes, back to the room.

‘Any news on the murder of Adam Weaver?’ Glass looked at him, waiting for an answer.

Mickey paused. Remembered the text message from Stuart. It didn’t seem right, he thought. He didn’t know whether that was because it wasn’t what he had expected to hear or because it wasn’t what he had wanted to hear. Perhaps both. It didn’t feel right. But it was what he had heard, so he had to share it with the team.

‘I’ve been asking around,’ he said to the room. ‘Put a few feelers out. And I’ve had something back from an informant.’

Glass leaned forward, interested.

‘Nothing much, just saying that he hasn’t heard anything locally about it. Reckons the word going round is that it was a hit. A professional hit.’

‘From here?’ asked Glass.

‘From Lithuania,’ said Mickey, trying to mask the disbelief in his voice. ‘That’s all he’s heard.’

Glass nodded. ‘That runs current with my thinking, too,’ he said. ‘If that’s the case – and it’s looking increasingly like it is – then I think we can safely say the killer is back in Lithuania by now.’

‘Yeah,’ said Mickey by way of agreement, ‘but it still doesn’t add up. The way he was killed, the murder weapon, none of it points to a professional hit.’

‘Why not?’ said Glass.

‘Because it was a knife, for a start,’ Mickey said. ‘You’d have to get close up to do that. And if you want to get close up, the other word that goes along with that is personal. A hitman would have used a bullet, done it from a distance. Quick and clean. Then gone.’

‘Maybe they do things differently in the east,’ said Glass, hint of a smile.

‘And there’s also the amount of blows. Nick Lines still hasn’t come up with a definite number. At last count it was about twenty. All this screams out that Weaver knew his killer. That it was personal.’

‘Yet all you’ve heard points to the contrary,’ said Glass. He seemed to be thinking, deeply. Came to a decision. ‘Right, DS Philips. If you’ve got intuition on something, I always think it’s best to let it play out. So keep looking into it.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘But don’t expect too much. And don’t stop looking into the other angles too.’

‘Right, sir.’

‘Thank you, DS Philips.’

Mickey, clearly unhappy, sat down. Jane Gosling leaned across to him. ‘Looks like someone’s going to get a free holiday in Vilnius,’ she said. ‘Toss you for it.’

Mickey smiled, sat back.

Glass was looking round once more. ‘Marina?’

Marina checked her notes, stood up. Mickey looked at her. She was well-dressed as usual, made-up. But she looked drawn, haggard. Like she had been up all night. Mickey remembered how she and Phil had looked when they came into work the previous day. Together, but apart. He didn’t like to speculate on what was going on between the two of them. But he didn’t think it was anything good.

‘OK,’ she said, ‘I’ve now made a full analysis of the markings on both the cellar wall and the house opposite. I’ve cross-referenced them with every existing bit of data I could get my hands on and I think I can state, quite confidently, that they are calendars.’

She handed out photos of the wall markings.

‘At first I thought they might be influenced by the zodiac, but that’s not the case. They’re seasonal.’ She held the photo up, pointed to the relevant section. ‘See here? This is the summer solstice. And here? The autumnal equinox. And so on. The way it’s been positioned on the wall has the equinox at the top. If you look closely, you’ll see that it’s been painted over. Made to rotate. Whichever event is happening is always the uppermost one.’

‘When’s the autumnal equinox, then?’ asked Mickey.

‘Good question,’ said Marina. ‘Now. Today’s the last day of it. And based on what we’ve discovered so far about the boy and what he’s told us about his life – which isn’t much, to be honest – I think it’s safe to say that we’ve got a serial killer operating here.’

88

G
lass looked sceptical. ‘Without wanting to bring any of your calculations and conclusions into doubt, Ms Esposito, because I’m sure they’re all perfectly valid, I have to ask, are you sure about this?’

‘Yes. I am. I wouldn’t make a statement such as that lightly.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t, but a serial killer … ’

‘I’ve dealt with them before … ’

Mickey saw her hesitate. He could tell why. She didn’t want to use Glass’s first name, too familiar. Nor did she want to use his rank. Too formal. She settled for not saying his name at all.

‘So I do believe I know what I’m talking about.’

‘What’s the evidence?’

‘Well, circumstantial, I’ll admit. But we found that child in a cage on the equinox. The cellar was prepared and dressed for the enactment of a ritual.’

‘We’ve had preliminary DNA back,’ said Adrian. ‘That was definitely blood on the workbench and the tools.’

‘Thank you,’ said Marina. ‘It was set for a ritual murder. And based on calculations made using the calendar on the wall, whoever does this does it at regular intervals. Four times a year. Multiply that by however many years he’s been doing it … ’ She shrugged. ‘Serial killer.’

‘And why would he do it?’ asked Glass. ‘What would he get out of it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marina. ‘This one seems a little hazy. Obviously the main reason is because he enjoys it. Whatever self-justification they use, however they dress it up, the bottom line is because it gives them a sexual thrill. But there’s something more to this one than that. The calendar, the tools … I think he believes he’s doing this for a reason. An important reason. Find that out and we’re well on the way to finding him.’

Glass nodded. ‘Good. Thank you.’

‘There’s something else,’ Marina said. ‘The window of opportunity. As I said, today is the last day of the autumn equinox. Finn, the boy, was abducted from the hospital last night. The killer wants this ritual to go ahead. We have to find where he is by midnight tonight to have any hope of seeing that boy alive again.’

Silence round the room.

‘He’ll have somewhere else,’ she continued. ‘Not the East Hill place, but somewhere like it. Find that and you find him. And hopefully the boy.’

‘Do we know where?’ asked Glass.

‘No,’ said Marina. ‘But I’m setting up a geographical profile. See what I can get from that.’

‘If he’s been killing all this time,’ asked Jane, ‘where are the bodies?’

‘Good question,’ said Marina.

‘We’ve had the radar out in the wasteland between the two houses,’ said Adrian. ‘Nothing yet, but they’re still trying. The bodies have to be somewhere.’

‘Thank you,’ said Glass.

Marina sat down. Mickey watched her. There was something she was holding back, he thought. Something she had kept to herself. He didn’t judge her for it, just wondered why. After all, he was doing the same thing himself.

‘Well, there we have it,’ said Glass. ‘That’s where we are at the moment. I want the boy to be our number-one priority. Find the car. Find him. Stop whoever this is from doing whatever it is he wants to do.’

Well put, thought Mickey, leaning back, arms folded.

‘I’ve put in a request for extra staff,’ Glass continued. ‘Hopefully they should be with us later today.’ He swept the room with his eyes once more, making sure he had made contact with everyone. ‘As most of you are probably aware, Detective Inspector Brennan is suspended from duty and will take no further part in this investigation. I realise that will come as something of a shock to you. But please believe me when I tell you I had no choice. He was insubordinate and his judgement just plain wrong. He could have put this investigation into severe jeopardy, and even worse, put your lives in danger. I’m afraid he left me with no choice.’

Glass sighed as he spoke, like he had just made the most difficult decision of his life. Mickey didn’t believe a word of it.

‘In the meantime, Detective Sergeant Philips will be running both investigations – and MIS – and reporting directly to me.’

Mickey looked up, unable to hide the surprise on his face.

‘Any questions?’

There weren’t.

‘Good.’ Glass stood up. ‘Everyone has a job to do. Let’s do it. And see if we can save that little boy’s life.’

The team stood up, started filing out. Glass stayed where he was.

‘Marina? Could I have a word, please?’

Marina nodded, turned to follow Glass.

Mickey didn’t know what that was about. But he doubted it was anything good.

89

‘H
ey.’

Anni slowly opened her eyes, looked up. It took a long time for them to focus, but when they did, she managed a small smile.

Hi,’ she said, her eyes closing again.

Phil sat down on a bedside chair. Anni was in a private room in the General. Three quarters of one wall was given over to windows. It was tranquil, restful. Bright and airy. The opposite of Finn’s darkened room.

Phil had had trouble dressing to come out. His working clothes were far more casual than most people’s, so he could just have put them on. But if he did that, he would feel like a fraud for not going to work. So he had compromised. Jeans, Converses, jacket and T-shirt instead of collar and tie.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, his voice low, so as not to disturb her.

She opened her eyes once more. ‘Like I’ve been shot,’ she said, smiling again.

Phil returned the smile. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not much.’ Her speech was slurred. ‘Would be a lot worse if they hadn’t pumped me so full of morphine. Mmm … ’ Another dreamy smile, eyes closing once more.

Phil had spoken to the nurse on his way in. Anni had been rushed straight into surgery and operated on. The bullet had gone through her body, leaving a nearly clean trail. It had slightly nicked her shoulder blade. The bone fragments had been found, the wound patched up.

‘They say the bullet didn’t hit anything too important,’ she said, her voice dreamy. ‘But it’s going to hurt like hell once the drugs wear off.’

‘You’d better stay on them, then.’

‘Is that any kind of advice for my boss to be giving me?’ She managed a small laugh. ‘Should be … ashamed of yourself … ’

Talking seemed to become an effort. Phil sat silently beside her, waiting until she drew strength, felt like speaking once more.

Anni’s eyes opened again. Not without effort; a frown creased her forehead. ‘Where’s Mickey? Why hasn’t he come to see me?’

Phil found her concern touching. Knew that neither of them would ever admit how they felt about the other, no matter how obvious it was to everyone else on the team. ‘Don’t know,’ he said. ‘I haven’t heard from him. Maybe he doesn’t know yet.’

Another frown. ‘You haven’t heard from him? Why?’

‘I’ve been suspended, Anni, remember? I’m no longer in charge of the investigation. Or MIS.’

Her eyes closed once more. ‘Oh. Right.’

‘That’s it? Oh right? I thought you’d be a bit more concerned than that.’

‘I am,’ she said. ‘Very. And I’m sure I’d show it if I wasn’t so heavily medicated.’

They both smiled.

‘Glass. Never liked that man.’

‘Have to agree with you.’

Another frown creased her forehead. ‘Jenny Swan … she was in the room too. He got her first. How is she?’

Phil rubbed his chin. ‘Not good. I spoke to the nurse. It’s still touch-and-go. Lister might have been a bad shot with you, but he was closer to Jenny Swan. She wasn’t so lucky.’

Anni managed a small nod. Said nothing.

They sat in silence for a while. Eventually Anni broke it.

‘She was reaching him. Finn. I’m sure she was.’

‘How?’

‘She’d managed to communicate with him, got him talking. Got him opening up.’

Phil said nothing. Waited. Anni marshalled her strength, kept talking.

‘Apparently he lived in the Garden … ’ she said.

‘Right,’ said Phil, a shiver running through him at her words. ‘But the Garden was a commune. It … it vanished years ago.’

‘Don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘He said that’s where he lived. The Garden.’

Phil tried to keep the eagerness, the desperation from his voice. ‘Did he say where it was? What it was like?’

‘Said it was … metal. All metal.’

‘Metal? What, you mean indoors?’

‘Always inside, he said. Never out. That’s one of the reasons he was so freaked out by coming here. Said he’d never seen outdoors before. I mean he didn’t say it like that, but that’s what he meant.’

‘My God … ’

‘Yeah. Said the light told them when to get up and when to go to bed.’

‘The light?’

‘Artificial light, we reckoned.’

‘Was he … I don’t know, underground? Did he give any clues as to where this place was?’

Anni shook her head. Her face creased. The movement had hurt her. ‘No. Just … said … there was a lot of coughing. People always coughing. Lot of … It sounded like they didn’t live that long.’

Phil sat back, trying to process what she had said, the words spinning round his mind.

He looked down at her once more. The effort of talking had severely weakened her. She was almost asleep. He didn’t want to stay any longer, hamper her recovery.

‘I’d better go,’ he said.

She gave a dreamy nod.

‘I’ll come back and see you, though.’

Another slow nod. ‘Bring Mickey … ’

‘I will.’

He stood up. Not knowing whether to give her hand a squeeze or even kiss her on the forehead. Just something, some human interaction to show that he cared. He squeezed her hand. She smiled. And slipped away into sleep.

He left her.

Walking back to his car, he realised he hadn’t checked his voicemail for a whole day. He took his phone out, called. Listened.

His eyes widened, face changed expression.

Then he ran to his car as fast as he could.