The Jackal Man (15 page)

‘Probably a kitchen knife or a chef ’s knife; something widely available, I’m afraid.’

Colin nodded to his assistant to clear up and, once he had cleaned himself up, he led the two detectives into his office.
Tea was served. Wesley felt they deserved it.

‘I had a quick look on the Internet last night but I feel we should get an expert in … just to confirm that the mutilations
really are consistent with Egyptian funerary rites,’ said Colin. ‘I could be jumping to conclusions because of that statue.’

‘It’s already in hand, Colin,’ said Wesley. ‘Neil’s working with an Egyptologist from the British Museum and he’s bringing
him down.’

‘Good. That was quick off the mark.’

‘Neil’s doing some work at a castle up near Dartmoor, something to do with a collection of Egyptian artefacts.’

Colin raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s very convenient.’

Wesley nodded. It did seem rather a stroke of luck.

‘So we’re looking for an ancient Egyptian?’ said Gerry lightly. ‘Rameses the Ripper.’

Wesley and Colin chuckled dutifully. A little gallows humour always helped to stave off the horror of what they were dealing
with.

‘We’ve sent the sheet she was wrapped in off for forensic examination,’ said Wesley. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s linen.’ He paused.
‘The Egyptians would have used linen.’

‘Of course,’ Colin replied. ‘But what does this ancient Egyptian stuff mean? Is someone playing games with us or what?’

‘If we knew that, Colin,’ said Gerry, ‘we could all go home and have our tea.’

Wesley’s mind was still on the sheet. ‘There can’t be many
places round here that sell pure linen sheets,’ he said. ‘If he paid by credit card …’

‘That sheet looked pretty old to me,’ Gerry said, pouring cold water on his optimism. ‘It might have belonged to the killer’s
granny.’

They took their leave and as they walked back to the incident room, Gerry seemed particularly subdued. He slouched along the
damp pavements, hands in the sagging pockets of his anorak, deep in thought and Wesley hardly liked to break the spell. But
as they reached the doors of the police station, his mobile phone began to ring.

After a short conversation, he ended the call and turned to Gerry who was watching him with curiosity.

‘That was Neil. He’ll be down here in half an hour with that Egyptologist.’

Gerry grunted. ‘And that profiler would be useful. Sod the Nutter’s budget, I want him called in now.’

As soon as they reached the incident room Paul Johnson came hurrying up. There was news. But not of the definite kind. Someone
had called at Geoff Dudgeon’s studio but he wasn’t at home and a woman claiming to be his wife had said he was away in London.
And there had been a sighting of Alan Jakes in Dukesbridge, not far from his sister’s address. A patrol car had been sent
over to investigate.

And there was another juicy morsel of information about Alan Jakes. Before he started at the garage he had worked for a while
for a butcher in Neston.

And if anybody knew how to wield a knife it was a butcher.

Wesley was sitting at his desk making notes on a blank sheet of paper, trying to get the facts of Analise Sonquist’s murder
straight in his head, when his phone began to ring. It was the Reception desk. There were two men to see him – a Dr Watson
and a Dr Beredace.

Wesley almost ran down the stairs to meet them and when he reached the foyer Neil introduced his companion as Andrew Beredace
from the British Museum. Wesley thought Beredace looked a little nervous. But then police stations often have that effect
on people.

He took them up to the incident room, reasoning that Andrew Beredace needed to see the evidence if he was to give his professional
opinion. Wesley hoped he had a strong stomach. The last thing they needed was an expert witness fainting on them.

But first Wesley introduced Andrew to Gerry who stood up and shook his hand vigorously.

‘Look, Andrew, we need your help,’ said Wesley. ‘There’s been a murder and we suspect that the mutilations on the victim’s
body tally with how the Egyptians used to prepare bodies for burial.’

Andrew looked surprised. ‘Really? Of course I’ll help if I can.’ He smiled. ‘Neil’s told me all about you … and your wife.
Pam is it? You didn’t fancy a life in archaeology, then?’

‘There are times when I wish I’d stuck to digging things up.’ He paused. ‘And this is one of them. It’s a nasty case. You
OK with gory details?’

Wesley looked at Andrew’s face and saw that his agreeable smile had suddenly disappeared. He swallowed hard and nodded.

‘Last Sunday night a girl was attacked and she claims her attacker was wearing a jackal-head mask. She said it was like this
model of Anubis which was found on the dead girl’s body.’

Wesley handed Andrew the Anubis figure, still in its protective plastic. Neil stood beside him, craning his neck to get a
good look.

‘May I?’ He indicated that he wanted to take it out of its bag.

Wesley nodded. It had already been dusted for finger-prints and none had been found.

Andrew took it out and studied it for a while.

‘This is a fake. Cheap tourist tat available in most rip-off markets in Cairo.’

‘So it’s not the real thing?’

‘Definitely not. It’s not even the right sort of wood for Egypt. It looks hand-painted but it could have been made in China
for all I know.’

Wesley thanked him. At least now they knew they weren’t looking for someone who had access to a collection of Egyptian antiquities.
Which widened the field a little.

‘Do you mind looking at some crime scene photographs? I’m afraid they’re pretty gruesome. Are you ready?’

The answer was a nervous nod. Wesley led him over to the notice board at the other end of the room. Gerry followed with Neil
who wore an expression of horrified fascination.

Andrew stared at the photographs pinned up on the board. As his eyes flicked from one to another, he held his hand over his
mouth, his face screwed up in distaste. Neil, after one initial glance, turned his back to the board and stood watching the
officers in the incident room working at their desks.

When Andrew had finished studying the images he followed the others back to Gerry’s office in stunned silence. His face looked
rather pale as he sat down in the visitor’s chair.

‘These mutilations definitely seem to be consistent with Egyptian funerary rites,’ he said quietly. ‘I take it she was already
dead when … I mean, she wasn’t just unconscious when …’

‘No,’ said Gerry. ‘She was dead – which is one blessing, I suppose.’

Andrew took a deep breath. ‘I noticed that her nose was a bit … The Egyptians inserted an instrument up the nose to hook
out the brain. It was a skill Egyptian embalmers probably developed with experience and …’

‘This was our killer’s first time … as far as we know,’ said Wesley. ‘And he didn’t manage to remove any of the brain.’

‘But he tried. In the pictures it looks as if he left the organs in piles beside the body. They should have been placed in
special Canopic jars.’

‘And you can’t buy those in Sainsbury’s,’ said Gerry.

‘But he could have used something similar,’ said Andrew. ‘Any container would have done, surely.’

‘Which suggests he went to the scene unprepared?’ said Wesley. ‘The murder might have been opportunistic? There’s a chance
he still had the cord in his pocket from the attack on Clare Mayers, but it takes some planning to carry a load of containers
around.’

‘It might not be the sort of thing you’d do if you were out on the prowl on the off chance of coming across a likely victim.’
Andrew Beredace seemed to have recovered from the shock of seeing the crime scene photos and Wesley guessed he was starting
to enjoy himself. Easy when you haven’t got the responsibility of bringing the perpetrator to justice, he thought.

‘Is there anything he didn’t get right about the ritual?’

‘Oh, he did the very basics but I don’t suppose he could
have done all of it in the circumstances. Embalming was a long process, of course.’

‘Go on,’ said Gerry with a hint of impatience.

‘Well, the body would normally be washed and the hair removed.’

‘No sign that he did that. What next?’

‘Well, he clearly knew about the hook inserted into the nose. In Egyptian funerary rites when sections of brain were left
behind they were dissolved with some substance but we’re not sure what: Herodotus merely says “drugs” so it could be a number
of—’

‘And the incision in the abdomen?’ Wesley asked, fearing that Andrew was about to go off on a tangent.

‘This was done by specialists known as the
paraschistai
using a flint or obsidian knife. The incision wouldn’t be large – according to Goyon, the chief
paraschistai
would place his left hand inside the body and cut the organs free with a metal knife. It was a crude procedure: the heart
was always left in place and the kidneys were usually inaccessible so they had four Canopic jars ready to receive the organs:
one for the liver, one for the stomach, one for the lungs and one for the intestines. Then the body was cleaned, filled with
natron and padded out with cloth soaked in resin. As I said, this all took some time. Eventually the body was wrapped in linen
bandages, probably sealed with more resin. Protective charms and scarabs were inserted in the layers of—’

‘And where does Anubis come into all this?’ asked Gerry.

‘Much of the embalming process was symbolic, reflecting the preparations made by Anubis when he brought Osiris back to life.
The priest in charge of the funerary rituals represented Anubis … and he wore an Anubis mask.’

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. It all fitted.

Andrew continued, ‘From those photographs, I’d say that the killer’s made a crude attempt to make it look like an Egyptian
ritual but he’s got some details wrong. That incision’s far too large for a start and he’s taken out the heart which would
never have been done because they believed that the soul resided there. And the body’s wrapped in a sheet instead of layered
bandages.’

‘He was out in the open air,’ said Wesley. ‘He wouldn’t have had time for the niceties.’

‘That’s true. But I think whoever did it only had a vague idea about Egyptian funerary rites.’

‘So we can rule you out then,’ said Gerry lightly.

Andrew smiled. ‘If I were you, I’d try and find out where he got hold of the Anubis mask.’

Gerry grunted. ‘These days they probably sell them over the Internet.’

‘I’ll get someone to follow it up,’ said Wesley. ‘Although we don’t know exactly what it looks like. Is it a home-made job,
an accurate reconstruction or a plastic Halloween horror? We need Clare Mayers to give us a better description.’

But Gerry didn’t seem to have heard him. ‘I reckon if we don’t catch our man soon, he’s going to try it again.’ He looked
straight at Andrew. ‘And he might just get it right next time.’

Wesley had given the task of trawling the Internet for purveyors of Anubis artefacts to the new recruit in CID. At first
the lad had seemed eager, almost a little excited, at the prospect of a few hours spent in front of a computer screen but
now his chin was resting on his hands and his face was a study in boredom. Wesley felt a little sorry for him. But
someone had to do it and it wasn’t going to be him: rank had to have some privileges.

Alan Jakes’s sister in Dukesbridge had received a visit from a couple of uniformed officers but she had denied all knowledge
of her brother’s whereabouts, which Wesley hardly found surprising. But the fact that Jakes had once worked for a butcher
nagged at the back of his mind and there was always the possibility that he might have taken to reading books on ancient Egypt
in his leisure hours. They needed to find Jakes and find him quickly.

He was about to get up and fetch himself a cup of tea from the machine in the corridor when his phone began to ring.

‘Wesley, it’s Ian. Ian Petrie. Can you be at the hotel in half an hour?’

Wesley looked at his watch. It was four thirty, still early in the day during a murder investigation. He’d told Pam not to
expect him until nine at the earliest.

‘I’m rather busy with this murder, Ian.’

‘Surely you can take a break for half an hour. I need someone with local knowledge to go round the art galleries in Neston
with me.’

‘I can get you a list of galleries and proprietors.’

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Ian spoke. ‘I would have thought you of all people would have been more
co-operative. I backed you when you were in the Met. I defended you from some of those racist bastards and gave you the breaks
you needed.’

Wesley found himself feeling a little resentful at the implication that any success he’d had in his career had been down to
Ian Petrie, that his own abilities had counted for nothing. Even though Petrie needed a favour, catching the murderer
of Analise Sonquist was more important. He said as much to Petrie, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

‘It sounds like you’ve forgotten all I did for you.’ Petrie wasn’t going to let it drop.

‘I haven’t, Ian. Honestly. You were a good boss and I’ll never forget it.’ A little flattery usually worked wonders in his
experience. ‘But you must appreciate that murder takes priority. And this is a particularly nasty one – a young au pair.’

‘How about tomorrow lunchtime then? Surely they give you time off for lunch around here?’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. But I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Good man. See you at twelve thirty in your Reception.’

Wesley put the phone down. He knew that he was in danger of getting too bogged down in the facts of Analise’s murder and that
it might do him good to get away from the incident room for an hour. He’d just have to square it with Gerry.

And, who knows, while he visited the art galleries of the area, he might just find Geoff Dudgeon at home. And Geoff Dudgeon
had known Analise Sonquist.

The girls had gone back to Vicky Page’s house, a large white stucco mansion perched on the wooded hillside overlooking Morbay.
They often went back there after school. Vicky had her own flat over what used to be the stable block, a luxury Peony and
Sarah could only dream of. Jen hadn’t gone with them. Jen tended to stay away these days. And of course Clare was still indisposed.