Flesh House, page 25
Kelly gripped her hand so tight it hurt. ‘I wanted them to love me so much …’
Heather sat in the darkness, head back against the bars, holding onto Kelley’s hand. Knowing that everything was going to be all right, because the Flesher would be back soon with his tin bath. And make Kelley’s pain go away.
38
‘Come on, come on, come on …’ Logan willed the lift doors to open, wishing he’d taken the stairs instead. Ping: out, right, and through the double doors, barrelling down the corridor towards Detective Chief Superintendent Bain’s office. Glad to be the bearer of good news for a change.
The door was shut, but the sound of raised voices filtered through.
DI Steel:‘What the hell were you thinking?’
DCS Bain:‘Oh come on, what was I supposed to do? His wife’s left him and taken the kids, he needs something to focus on.’
Logan changed his mind about knocking and loitered with intent to eavesdrop instead.
‘He’s grieving. He’s no’ thinking straight. He’s bloody dangerous!’
‘He begged, OK? He begged me to let him come back to work and—’
‘He shouldn’t be here! And I’m no’ just saying that to be a bitch – he needs time. You push him and he’ll bloody break.’
‘It’s light duties only. Admin, organizing the backlog. I’ve told him to stay away from the Flesher investigation and Wiseman. It’s—’
‘How could you be so stupid? You really think—’
‘INSPECTOR! That’s enough. You’re—’
Logan knocked on the door before the DCS could say something Steel would regret. There was a terse silence, and then:‘Enter.’
When Logan opened the door, the two of them were standing nose-to-nose, scowling at each other.
The DCS barely glanced at him. ‘This better be important, Sergeant.’
‘We’ve got a result off the CCTV footage.’
‘What, you mean the abattoir?’
Steel looked at her superior officer as if he were an idiot. ‘No, Storybook Glen. Of course he means the abattoir!’ She turned and marched from the room, pausing only to grab Logan by the sleeve. ‘About time too.’
Five minutes later they were all in the main incident room, clustered round a scabby old television someone had wheeled in on a trolley. DCS Bain told Rennie to hit pause then tapped the screen: it was night, and a man in a thick padded jacket and dark woollen hat was caught halfway between the protein processing area and the shed where they kept the salted hides. He had a heavy-looking holdall slung over his shoulder.
DI Steel peered at the timestamp flickering away in the corner. ‘When was this?’
Rennie checked something on a clipboard. ‘Friday night. Twenty-eight minutes past eleven: when the security guards usually have their fly cup – official tea break’s not till midnight, but they slip one in when no one’s looking. It’s about thirty-six hours after the pathologist reckons Tom Stephen was killed.’ He pressed play again, and the figure hurried past the skin sheds; one frame every two seconds, like cheap Canadian animation, then disappeared through the fence and into the leylandii hedge.
‘Bloody hell …’ Steel slapped Rennie on the shoulder. ‘How come no one noticed this sooner?’
‘Ow!’
Bain told him to stop whining and get onto Photographic:‘I want that man’s face blown up and enhanced. Tell them nothing else takes precedence, understand?’
The constable snapped off a salute and stabbed the video’s eject button.
‘Next, I want everyone to go back through the list of abattoir workers: find me a face that fits.’ He smiled. ‘We’ve finally got him.’
Logan stood outside on the rear podium, trying to get through to Chief Constable Faulds on his mobile. It rang through to an anonymous electronic answering service. He declined to leave a message and tried the number Faulds had given him for Lloyd House – Birmingham’s version of Force Headquarters instead.
‘West Midlands Police, how can I help you?’
He asked to be put through, ending up in Hold Music Hell with a panpipe rendition of In the Air Tonight. Before finally getting through to a human being who told him Faulds was taking a couple of personal days, but he’d be back on Wednesday. Would Logan like to leave a message?
‘Yeah, tell him we’ve got a suspect: Marek Kowalczyk, works at the abattoir where we found the body parts.’
Alec appeared through the back door, grinning from ear to ear, a bulky stab-proof vest on under his parka. ‘This’ll make a kick-ass finale to the programme!’
Logan thanked the sergeant on the other end of the phone and hung up. ‘You do know this is probably going to be hours of sitting in a car waiting for nothing to happen, don’t you?’
‘Ah, where’s your sense of adventure? This is going to be great!’
Which just went to show how much he knew.
39
Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 19:54
The bed and breakfast was a crumbling building not too far from the centre of Turriff. God knew why they’d called it ‘Garioch View’, the only thing visible from the pokey rooms was a bus stop on other side of the road and a swathe of grimy red sandstone houses. According to the landlady, Marek Kowalczyk was out, but he’d be back later – probably half-cut – so they parked the CID pool car two doors away under a streetlight, where they’d have a good view of the entrance. Logan wound the car window down, letting in the cool night air.
DI Steel shivered in the passenger seat. ‘You trying to give us all hypothermia? Shut the bloody window.’
‘Put your shoes back on then.’
‘No.’
‘Smells like mouldy gorgonzola in here.’
‘Cheeky bastard. Anyway, Alec’s no’ complaining, are you Alec?’
The cameraman leant over from the back seat. ‘No, but that sod Paul gave me his cold, didn’t he?’ Blowing his nose for dramatic effect.
‘See: Alec’s got pneumonia and you won’t shut the window. You trying to kill him?’
‘Fine. OK. Whatever.’ Logan wound the window back up. ‘Jesus …’
Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 20:13
Still no sign of Kowalczyk. DI Steel yawned, stretched, then said,‘What’s green and smells of pork?’
Logan didn’t look up from the copy of yesterday’s Evening Express he’d found on the back seat. ‘No idea.’
She grinned at him. ‘Kermit’s willy!’ Pause for laughter. Nothing. ‘Miserable sods.’ She rubbed at the small of her back. ‘Why can’t we go wait for him in the B&B?’
‘Because the DCS and Rennie are in there. You really want to spend the whole evening listening to Rennie banging on about how much he loves his girlfriend?’
‘Good point.’
Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 20:31
‘No, but don’t you think it’s a bit weird?’ said Alec, offering round a packet of Lockets,‘I mean Kermit’s a frog right? He doesn’t have a penis, so how’s he supposed to get it on with Miss Piggy? What’s he going to do: wait for her to lay her eggs, then squirt his sperm all over them? Not exactly a fulfilling sex life, is it?’
Steel turned to look at him. ‘Pigs don’t lay eggs. Chickens do.’
Logan pointed off down the street at someone stomping their way home in the dark. ‘There! Is that him?’
The inspector dragged her binoculars out of the glove compartment …‘No.’
‘Damn.’ Logan went back to his crossword.
Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 21:04
‘So how come,’ said Logan keeping one eye on the deserted street,‘in A Muppet Christmas Carol, Kermit and Miss Piggy—’
Steel:‘You mean Mrs The Frog, they were married in that one.’
‘How come they had two piglet daughters and one little frog boy?’
Alec:‘Maybe they adopted.’
Steel:‘She was screwing around behind Kermit’s back. Can’t say I blame her: he’s no’ got a penis, remember?’
Alec:‘Artificial insemination. My cousin Peter and his wife had that.’
‘Ah,’ Logan boinked a finger off the steering wheel,‘then why didn’t they have some sort of freakish half-pig-half-frog hybrid child?’
There was a thoughtful pause. ‘Maybe that’s why Tiny Tim was dying: he wasn’t genetically viable.’
Garioch View Guesthouse, Turriff – Sunday 21:17
‘Christ I’m bored!’ Steel slumped back in her seat and put her hands over her face, muffling a scream. ‘Aaaaaaaaaaargh!’
Logan checked the dashboard clock: they’d been here nearly three hours. ‘He’s got to come home some time – all his stuff’s still in his room.’
‘Aye, well I’ve had enough. I’m no’ spending all night with you and Captain Sniffles here, talking about the reproductive habits of fucking Muppets!’
Alec stuck his head between the two front seats. ‘But this is going to be the final showdown! Grampian Police catch the Flesher! You want to be here for that, don’t you?’
‘What I want is a huge glass of Chardonnay, a jar of marmalade, and Keira Knightley in a thong. How about you, Laz?’
‘Shhh!’ Logan dug about in his jacket pocket, looking for the photo they’d got from the abattoir’s personnel files.
‘Don’t you bloody shoosh me. I’m no’ the one banging on about Kermit the Frog’s sex life.’
‘I think it’s him!’
The figure weaving along the road towards them paused for a moment to swig from a litre bottle of supermarket vodka. Thick moustache, little round glasses, cleft chin. ‘It’s Kowalczyk.’
‘Right.’ Steel hauled her shoes back on. ‘Here’s what we do: when he gets level with the car, we jump him.’
‘We’re supposed to let him go into the B&B, and take him there, remember? Rennie and Bain—’
‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ She smacked Logan on the shoulder. ‘Carpe fucking diem!’
‘What if he does a runner?’
Steel chewed on the inside of her cheek. Kowalczyk was getting closer. ‘If we lose him, we’re up shite creek without a snorkel …’ She scowled. ‘OK, OK, we’ll stick to the plan. You happy?’
Kowalczyk took one more swig, threw his arms wide, and started singing.‘Sto lat, sto lat, niech zyje, zyje nam!’ He lurched into a little dance.‘Sto lat, sto lat, niech zyje, zyje nam!’
Steel pulled out her mobile and started dialling. ‘Come on, come on … Yeah, Bill, it’s Koalasick— I don’t care if that’s not how you bloody pronounce it: he’s outside. Heading up the drive … now.’
He was really getting in to the swing of things, bellowing out,‘Jeszcze raz, jeszcze raz, niech zyje, zyje nam!’ He nearly collapsed into a knot of scabby rosebushes, then gave it laldy for the finale:‘NIECH ZYJE NAM!’
Fumble for key … two … three … four … key in the lock. Stagger inside. Steel was back on the phone again,‘He’s in. We’re on our way.’ She clambered out into the cold night and marched across the road, Alec trailing along behind her, filming everything.
Logan was just locking the car when a loud crash sounded inside the B&B … then a television smashed through the lounge window in a shower of glittering glass.
Someone shouted,‘Come back here!’
‘Odpierdol sie!’ Marek Kowalczyk followed the television set, leaping out through the shattered window, landing in the rosebushes.‘Kurwa!’ Then he was scrabbling out the other side and away, sprinting back down the street, arms and legs pumping like mad.
Logan leapt back in the car, cranked the key, and roared out onto the street. ‘Shit!’ He slammed on the brakes and the Vauxhall screeched to a halt again, two feet short of flattening DI Steel as she ran out into the middle of the road, waving her arms. She wrenched open the passenger door and threw herself inside.
‘Don’t just sit there! Get after the bastard!’
Logan put his foot down.
They were just in time to see Kowalczyk take a left onto Main Street. The pool car skittered into the turn, leaving a screech of tyres behind. Logan slapped the siren button, and the distinctive Weeeeeeeeeeeooooooow blared out, blue lights flashing behind the front grille.
Kowalczyk glanced back over his shoulder and put on a fresh burst of speed.
Which was why he didn’t see the Volkswagen Golf coming the other way.
Marek Kowalczyk had time for one last‘Kurwa!’ before it hit him.
A screech of brakes. The THUMP of flesh meeting metal clearly audible over the pounding music. Pinwheeling limbs. The wet crunch of a body slamming down onto the tarmac.
And then someone screamed.
40
A muffled scream. The sound of a body hammering against metal. Heather sat up, groggy, blinking in the darkness.
Boom, boom, boom. ‘Help me! I don’t want to die!’ A woman’s voice, muffled, coming from somewhere outside the prison.
‘Kelley?’
‘How can it be Kelley? She’s asleep.’ Duncan was right – Kelley’s breathing came soft and rhythmic from the other side of the bars.
‘Kelley! Wake up! Can you hear that?’
Boom, boom, boom. ‘HELP ME!’
‘Mmmph?’
‘There’s someone out there!’ Heather stood and felt her way into the darkness. ‘Hello?’
‘HELP ME!’ Boom, boom, boom.
She put her ear against the prison’s metal wall.
Boom, boom, boom.
‘Hello?’
‘Heather?’ Kelley yawned, shifting in the dark. ‘Heather? What’s going on?’
‘There’s someone out there … Hello?’ She banged her palm against the wall.
‘Help me! He killed my little sister! He killed Sandra! HELP ME!’
‘We can’t, we’re locked in!’
‘I DON’T WANT TO DIE!’ More screaming, then crying. And eventually silence.
Heather backed away from the wall – her foot caught on the edge of the mattress and she stumbled backwards, arms flailing out for balance as she fell. BANG: the back of her head bounced off the bars.
Muffled noises.
‘Heather?’
‘Honey, are you all right?’
‘Heather?’
And the Dark took her.
Rennie stifled a yawn. Stretched. Shivered. Then had a bit of a scratch at his trousers. ‘God I’m knackered … You see the papers this morning?’
Logan looked up from the chest of drawers that lurked in the corner of the little room. ‘Did you check under the mattress?’ The Turrabrae Guesthouse was the most depressing B&B he’d ever been in: the walls were covered with cheap woodchip wallpaper; water stains on the ceiling; threadbare brown and orange carpet that was probably fashionable back in the seventies and hadn’t been changed since; a single bed that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a medieval torture chamber.
So far this morning they’d visited two of the three abattoir workers who’d provided Marek Kowalczyk with an alibi for the night Tom and Hazel Stephen were snatched. And Turrabrae Guesthouse was easily the worse. Piotr Nowak – alibi number three – wasn’t exactly living in the lap of luxury.
Rennie sniffed. ‘You ever thought about getting married?’
Logan pulled out the bottom drawer and carefully picked through the pile of paired-off socks. ‘You’re not my type.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You know, with Laura?’
‘Mattress!’
‘Eh? Oh, aye …’ The sound of rummaging. ‘Course it wouldn’t be for a while yet. Have to save up for a house.’
The sock drawer contained nothing but socks. Logan gave the whole thing one last tug – pulling it out of the unit and onto the swirly brown carpet – then peered into the hole. Two magazines, both explicit, but nothing illegal.
He stuck the magazines back where they’d come from and replaced the drawer, then stood at the little window, looking out at the dismal day in all its grey glory. Twenty to eleven on a cold November morning and it was probably warmer outside than in here. He could see DI Steel standing halfway down the garden path, smoking cigarettes and fiddling with her underwear. Logan let the curtain fall back. ‘You come all the way from Poland looking for a better life and what do you get? A manky box-room in a crappy little B&B and a job shovelling sheep heads into a skip.’
‘Give us a hand …’ Rennie was fighting with the saggy mattress, its stripy fabric stained and fraying round the edges. Logan helped him raise it all the way up, where gravity promptly folded it in half. Swearing, Rennie struggled it to the floor beside the single bed.
It was a divan and the base unit looked just as bad as the fusty mattress.
Logan’s phone made strangled metal chicken noises – Control calling to say they couldn’t get through to DI Steel, but Logan was to tell her the Polish police had just faxed over details on Kowalczyk and the three abattoir workers who’d alibied him. Only Piotr Nowack had prior, and it wasn’t for cannibalism – he was part of a gang who broke into industrial estates and stole anything not nailed down.
Logan hung up as Rennie wrestled the saggy mattress back where came from, grumbling about bedbugs and pee stains.
‘Not so fast.’
A pained look slid onto the constable’s face. ‘What?’
‘You didn’t check the base unit.’
‘Oh bloody hell …’ Rennie heaved the mattress back onto the floor again.
It took both of them to heave the wooden-framed base up onto its side, and when they did they discovered an Aladdin’s cave. Assuming Aladdin had fallen on hard times, and instead of gold, jewels and coins he’d taken to hoarding pens, Post-its, staplers, telephones and four-hole punches. The divan was stuffed with office supplies, some still bearing little ‘PROPERTY OF ALABA MEATS LTD.’ stickers. There were even a couple of fax machines and a laptop.
And right at the back: a holdall that looked eerily familiar.
Rennie picked up a packet of Blu Tack. ‘Not exactly the great train robbery, is it?’
Logan slipped on a second pair of latex gloves and pulled the holdall from the pile of pilfered stationary. It was identical to the one Marek Kowalczyk was carrying on the abattoir’s CCTV tape, only it wasn’t full of blood and meat, it was full of whiteboard markers and DL envelopes.
