Authors: Robert V. Adams

Antman (16 page)

Rathbone gave her a grim look: 'A very disturbed one.'

'I wasn't expecting to put you on the spot. I realise it's more the kind of question for a forensic psychiatrist.'

'It is. Mary Threadgold was in earlier.'

'Dr Mary Threadgold?'

Rathbone nodded. 'You know her?'

'I worked with her on a case in East Yorkshire – a man who'd cut up his wife and run off with his mistress.'

'She's been reading the notes left at the scene of crime and sent through the post.’

'Both of them?'

Rathbone nodded.

'My impression is she's pretty worried about the risk.'

'It would help if she communicated with us direct.'

'You can say that to her yourself. She'll be back in a few minutes.'

* * *

Less than two minutes later, Mary Threadgold arrived. In response to Chris's query, she shrugged:

'I'm not into offender profiling as such, but I've had a look at what you have so far. It's a pity you didn't call me straight away. I like to visit the scene of the crime – in a case like this where the body was found at any rate.'

'I'll put you on the list for next time,' said Chris.

'Next time,' Mary exclaimed. 'What makes you think that?'

'I was going to ask
you
that question,' said Chris.

'Anybody in my line of work tends to be a hostage to fortune. No predictions can be made about a case like this. But subject to further analysis as we say, this person has a very out-of-the ordinary mind, in several senses. You've read the notes he or she – probably he – has been writing?'

'I've seen two.'

'Here are my thoughts to date. First, our killer may be working to a programme. We don't know what it is, but the notes indicate that the pig was killed as some kind of experiment and I wouldn't mind betting that the first body found after that was also part of an experiment. Unfortunately for us, and for the victim of course, this might mean she was selected opportunistically, which reduces our scope for inferring anything from that set of circumstances.

'Second, the killings contain a ritual or fetishist element. We don't have much to go on. I've asked around and my colleagues and I have no knowledge of any murderer past or present allowing insects to eat a body after death. The written material gives some clues but doesn't tell us why this person has done this. Nor does it give any real insight into what's going on in the mind of the killer.

'Third, we know from the notes the killer leaves that this person wants to communicate with us, or with somebody. This is even more unusual than moving the body from the scene of the crime, which only happens in a minority of murders. Perhaps the body was dumped on an ants' nest. The killings could be suicidal, not physically but in the sense that the killer wants to be caught. People do strange things.

'Fourth, the notes are signed with different initials, J and G, but at this stage I can't tell if this is significant.

'Finally – and this is what you're asking about – I believe the killer is likely to strike again, in pursuit of some personal agenda. We don't know what this is. It could be a vendetta of some sort against a person or family, selected for a reason the killer understands clearly but no one else is likely to.'

'You can say that again,' said Chris. 'All very interesting, but does it give you any ideas about where we should be looking?'

'Unfortunately not,' said Mary. 'Except the fairly obvious comment that there may be a strong link between the killer and the victims. This could apply to the experimental victim – the first one, or it might not. I can't say at this stage.'

'Anything else?'

'Only the thought that this is an intelligent killer. The way the notes are written – style, vocabulary and so on. I'd plump for a professional person. The emphasis on experiments could be a clue, or a deliberate red herring, to put us off the real scent. One way or another, I'd go for a person with a university background, even possibly someone who's employed as a researcher. This is pure speculation, but the obvious extreme case would be a person whose job involves experimenting on ants. If there are such people within travelling distance of Hull, I think it would be worth eliminating them from your inquiries. Unless our perpetrator really is wanting to be apprehended straight away, it's most unlikely this will produce anything.'

'One way or another, he sounds like an eccentric monster,' Chris observed.

'I tend to collect them,' said Mary.

'Eccentrics?'

'Monsters,' she replied with a bland smile.

* * *

Chris was back at the Station studying copies of the two documents found so far. She'd left Bradshaw a copy of the second note. He was out at a Rotary Club lunch. Forensics were still doing their stuff with the originals. There were similarities between them: the notepaper, the blue ink, the smudges. It was odd, though; now that she put them close together, the handwriting was distinctly different in each sample. The first, longer piece was written hastily, almost scribbled and sloping noticeably forward, the script marked by long straight lines for b, p, t, l and h. The second note was penned with large neatly formed, rounded letters. Had they even been written by the same person? Mary Threadgold clearly thought so. Chris doubted it, though she thought there was a chance she could be fooled by a careful counterfeiter. It was definitely a case for some expert advice.

'You busy, guv?'

'No, come in.'

DCs Mander and Lounds stepped into Chris's office to report on their preliminary inquiries at the coroner's office, Beverley.

'A Professor Fortius phoned the coroner’s office a couple of times. The last occasion was just before Faith Wistow left the office on her last day alive,' said DC Lounds. 'I could find out where he's from and pay him a visit.'

'Good. In the meantime I want you here,' said Chris. 'Find me a handwriting expert. Get back to Forensics and see which of their own people is available. If not, ask their advice about who else to bring in. Don't give away the samples. Put them in touch with me.

'DC Mander, contact the University. Find out whether this professor is based there. If not, try Leeds, Hull, Bradford, Teesside, Sheffield.'

'What if he's not there either?'

'Check with me before you take off anywhere pretty, like Edinburgh or Dublin. Otherwise, work your way round the country till you locate him. Don't talk to anyone who is likely to link your call with us. Come back to me. Then perhaps you and I can go to university. It'll do one of us some good, I reckon,' she added cryptically, keeping her face so straight he couldn't tell in which direction the irony was directed.

Morrison hung back. Chris noticed this.

'Are you waiting for someone? Sorry, I've forgotten your name.'

'Morrison, guv, waiting for yourself.'

'Here I am.'

'I think there's a suspect. We have a reported absconder from a mental health resource centre.'

'When was that?'

'Some uncertainty, guv. A day, possibly two, before the, er, pig was found.'

'Right. And where is this unit?'

'Cortham House.'

'Sorry, that means nothing.'

'It's about twenty miles west of Hull, nearest village Holme on Spalding Moor.'

'Where's this absconder from?'

'Home address Withernsea, ma'am. The most direct route home would be through Hull.'

'Sounds promising. It's your lead, Constable. I suggest you follow it up and let me know how you get on. If it doesn't go cold on you, come back quickly and we'll jack up resources for a search in that direction.'

Half an hour later, Forensics phoned. Dental records confirmed the woman's body was that of Faith Wistow.

Chapter 12

Tom Fortius grasped and released his spectacle case rhythmically and tried to take deep breaths as he walked into the general office in his department at the University. He had gleaned this technique from scanning a Readers Digest article in the doctor's surgery last month, which proposed twenty-four virtually undetectable ways to deal with stress.

'Any messages?' He wondered if his voice sounded normal. Jean was pretty psychic. Could she pick up how bad things were between him and Laura? Given the healthy state of the grapevine in this institution, it was odds on she already knew.

'No,' said Jean slowly, with an intonation he knew well.

'You don't sound too sure.'

'I had the police on half an hour ago. An inspector Chris Winchester.'

'That's all I need. What did he want? Tax disc out of date on the departmental bus?'

'She didn't say. She's ringing again any time now.'

'She!'

'Not you as well as Dr Mackintosh. They do have women in the higher ranks in the Police Force. There are even some women professors, priests, judges, doctors, and queens of our country.'

'Peace,' said Tom, holding up his hand. 'I heard Chris and assumed it was a man's name. Yes I know, stereotypes, equal opps. To be frank, it's hardly top of my list of priorities. Please don't put any calls through for half an hour or so. If that inspector calls, fend her off for me.'

'I spend my life fending people off for you. The elusive pimpernel, they seek him here, they seek him there. That's the job of a university professor's secretary.'

'And when you've a minute, try to get hold of Robin.'

'Have you a fax number?'

'No, he must be away from his PC because he hasn't responded to my last few e-mails. All I can tell you is that he's probably in the jungle somewhere within two hundred miles of the nearest town.'

'To think I didn't believe them when they told me you were difficult to work for,' said Jean with a wry smile.

Perhaps she doesn't know about Laura, Tom thought.

* * *

It was sod's law that when Chris Winchester rang, Jean was out of the office. The call came straight through to Tom. He picked up the phone without thinking:

'Hullo. Professor Fortius?'

'What can I do for you?'

'Chief Inspector Chris Winchester here.' Tom looked at his watch, pulled a face and cursed silently. 'We're investigating a couple of deaths, human and animal, in suspicious circumstances. We believe damage by insects may have occurred to the bodies, before or after death. In the case of the human – the death of the coroner's clerk at Beverley – we believe you've had some contact with the deceased.'

'Good grief.' Tom was shocked. 'I did have, yes. What happened? When was she found?'

'You knew her?'

The implications were sinking in. 'No, but I arranged to meet her. Dead? That's terrible.'

'And she didn't turn up?'

'No.'

'When did you arrange to meet her?'

'Yesterday. Was she –?'

'She was probably already dead. Probably died within the last twenty-four hours.'

'Ah, that explains it.'

'Where did you arrange to meet?'

'At the Beverley Arms.'

'I have to ask you this. Had you met before?'