Body Harvest (10 page)

In a white funeral robe, Lexi walked right around her coffin and sighed. ‘It’s small, isn’t it?’

‘It’s the biggest they’ve got,’ Troy said, ‘but, no, you’re not going to have a lot of room.’

‘No chance of inviting a few friends round.’

‘Are you sure …?’

‘Yes.’

‘We could do it with an empty coffin. If he comes in and pulls back the lid … Maybe that’s enough.’

‘I’m not sure – and he might escape. If he attacks a dead body – me – on camera, we get proof and I’ll be
so angry, he won’t stand a chance of getting away. That’s a watertight case.’

‘Unlike the coffin,’ Troy said with a smile.

‘What?’

‘The coffin’s not watertight – or airtight. I made sure of that when I asked for it.’

‘Very reassuring.’

At seven thirty, Terabyte announced in their earpieces that the story about Lexi’s tragic leap half an hour earlier had gone live.

‘Okay?’ Troy asked.

‘I suppose,’ she said.

‘There’s no great hurry. Sergio’s got to pick up the story, decide if he wants any of your organs and then get here.’

Outside, a seagull screeched loudly.

‘I think I’d better take up my position. Is my earpiece showing?’

‘No. You’re fine.’

The hall of rest was illuminated dimly by lights sunk into the ceiling. The coffin had been placed on a plinth about fifty centimetres off the ground. Lexi put a small torch inside, roughly where her waist would be. To steady herself as she clambered in, she gripped Troy’s shoulder. Strangely, Troy felt flattered that she trusted him. Before the end of the night, she would
have to rely on him much more. She wouldn’t have agreed to be the lure, Troy thought, if she didn’t have complete confidence in him.

Troy moved to the foot of the coffin and took hold of the lid. Before he pushed it forward and over her body, he said, ‘All right?’

She adjusted her funeral gown and nodded. ‘Do it.’

The lid rumbled over her, cutting her off from the real world.

There was a hidden microphone sewn into the inside of her robe. Her voice was a whisper in Troy’s earpiece but it was clear. ‘Can you see the light from my torch out there?’

‘No. It’s okay if you want it on.’ He walked out of the main hall and went into the small annex. There, he spoke quietly into the microphone attached to his sweatshirt. ‘Can you still hear me?’

‘No.’

‘Great. A dead body with a sense of humour.’

‘You must be hoping we’ve wrapped it up by midnight, mustn’t you?’

‘Well …’

‘Sunday’s your day for skiving off to a temple.’

‘Just this once, I imagine God’ll forgive me if I’m still ridding the world of bad guys.’

The two spy cameras were working fine. One was trained on the entrance to the hall of rest. The other focused on the only coffin in the room. Troy had arranged with Spike Pennyworth that there would not be any corpses and none would be allowed to arrive in the night. The whole place was spookily quiet.

After half an hour, concerned for his partner, Troy checked, ‘Are you okay?’

‘This lying down lark isn’t as easy as I thought. It’s hard to relax. Even with my eyes closed and the torch off, I can tell the lid’s a few centimetres from my nose. I guess this is what claustrophobia feels like. Pipe me some music, Troy. Maybe that’ll help.’

‘What sort?’

‘Anything apart from death metal. That wouldn’t be funny. There’s a music app on my computer. Set it to play on random.’

Troy sat and waited, his heart thumping. Despite the cool stillness, he would not fall asleep. His eyes darted from one screen to the other. First the coffin that held his partner and then the doorway. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred at all. Not a sound.

He couldn’t imagine how awful it was for Lexi. She was pretending to be dead, confined to a horribly small space, waiting for a serial killer. She had her
partner as a lookout but no other backup. If they’d ringed the place with police officers, the bad guy might well have spotted the trap and refused to take the bait.

At eight thirty, Troy faded the stream of music. ‘Still with me?’

‘Yes. The music helps. Are you still awake?’

‘No.’

‘Very funny,’ she whispered.

‘Just getting my own back.’

‘Any action yet?’

‘Not a sausage.’

‘You’re obsessed with them,’ Lexi said. ‘You’re not eating one now, are you?’

‘No. I’m concentrating.’

‘Good to hear that.’

‘Tell me straightaway if you want out,’ said Troy. ‘Remember the empty coffin option.’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Here’s your music again.’

Ten minutes later, Troy turned down the music volume and whispered into the microphone. ‘Something’s just struck me. If he opens your coffin, won’t the warmth of your body give it away?’

‘Dead bodies stay warm for about eight hours. They go stiff after three or thereabouts. It’s
breathing I’m bothered about. That’s something corpses just don’t do. I’m trying to calm down my metabolism. And slow my heartbeat. I can do it. It’s not a myth and I’m in a sort of life-threatening situation. It’s just super-meditation. Super-relaxation – or mini-hibernation.’

‘Don’t overdo it,’ Troy said. ‘You’ll have to act quickly if he turns up. Do you still want me to talk to you every half hour?’

‘Yes. It tells me you’re awake.’

Troy chuckled. ‘So, it’s you checking up on me?’

‘Too right.’

‘Not the other way round?’

‘Huh,’ was her only reply.

Troy took a deep breath. His mood kept changing. Sometimes, the atmosphere seemed so serene that he could never imagine anything bad happening. At other times, the dark and the stillness were so creepy that he could imagine all too easily that something terrible was bound to take place at any moment. He felt unsettled and tense. And he was far from certain that they were doing the right thing.

At nine o’clock, Lexi didn’t say much at all. She could have been half asleep. She was probably deep in meditation. If she had been a major, Troy would have called it a spiritual state. At nine thirty, her
words were slow and slurred. At ten o’clock, she seemed less groggy. She was both agitated and bored.

At ten thirteen, the door into the hall of rest began to open slowly.

Immediately, Troy’s heart thudded alarmingly in his chest. He jumped up and bent over the monitor.

‘Lexi,’ he said in an urgent hush. ‘Can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t say anything else, just listen to me. It’s happening. The door’s … Yes. He’s in. And … I … er … I don’t think it’s Sergio Treize. No. It’s an older man. Never seen him before. He’s got a holdall in his hand. He’s near you. He’s put it down and … He’s got out one of those cooled boxes for storing body organs. He’s our man. He’s put that down as well. He’s got something else in his right hand. A knife. Scalpel. Keep still, Lexi. He’s put the scalpel on top of the box. He’s got a jemmy – you know, a crowbar – out of the bag and he’s examining the coffin lid. He’s going to lever it. Hold your breath. He’s realized it’s not sealed. He’s putting the crowbar down. He’s pushing the lid back now. No weapon in his hand.’

Troy’s chest felt tight, about to burst. He didn’t know what Lexi was going through. He didn’t know how she could be so static and so serene that she
could be mistaken for a corpse. At least in dim lighting.

Hardly daring to communicate at all, he whispered faintly, ‘He’s … Well, you can feel it, can’t you?’ The man was undoing her robe. ‘You’re okay. He hasn’t picked up the … He is now, I think. Get ready. Yes, he’s reaching for the scalpel. That’s enough, Lexi. Finish it.’

But she didn’t. She just lay there.

Troy swallowed and stared at the screen. Had his partner slipped into unconsciousness? Was she aware of what was about to happen? Could she defend herself?

Lexi waited. Waited till the fine metal blade touched her flesh. Then she made her move. Her eyes opened and she thrust her right arm upwards. Her fist slammed against his throat and the scalpel flew across the room.

The man leapt back in panic. His crazed scream filled the hall with shrill sound, like a seagull’s cry. Terrified, his eyes were wide and white. Clutching his injured neck, he squealed, ‘Don’t hurt me!’

Gathering the robe around her body, Lexi dragged herself up, elbows on the sides of the coffin. She snorted. ‘Me hurt
you
? You were about to cut my heart out!’

Troy appeared in the entrance. But the intruder wasn’t going to make a bid for freedom. Shock had immobilized him entirely. Into his life-logger, Troy said, ‘I need an immediate police escort at Hurlstone’s hall of rest. One man to be arrested, questioned and charged.’

The man that Troy and Lexi had arrested sat across the table from them in the interview room. He was about sixty, they guessed, and his hand occasionally drifted to his throat to soothe the pain of Lexi’s punch. On the floor lay his holdall, but anything that could have been used as a weapon had already been removed. The contents of his pockets were scattered across the surface of the table.

‘For the sake of the recording,’ Troy said, ‘tell us your name.’

‘Ely Dean Eight.’

For a few moments, Troy looked puzzled. Then he said, ‘Of course. Dr Ely Eight. You used to be the house surgeon at the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic.’

‘Yes. Retired.’

‘Gianna Humble mentioned you.’ Seeing a reaction in the doctor’s face, Troy said, ‘You don’t like her.’

‘She said I was too old. She accused me of being a bit forgetful and shaky.’

Troy smiled. ‘Ah. I get it.’ He lifted the cooled container out of the surgeon’s holdall and said, ‘You couldn’t retire gracefully, could you? You’re not in the black market for money. You’re trying to prove her wrong. You’re trying to prove you’ve still got it.’

‘I’m perfectly able to help desperately ill people.’

‘Are you? Wasn’t Gianna right? You’ve made mistakes – like Olga Wylie.’

Refusing to reply, Ely stared at the table.

‘Do you remember her? She got an outer’s heart. It belonged to Tiffany Clara One and it was stolen from the same hall of rest.’

‘There were two patients,’ Ely mumbled. ‘There was a mix-up. I was given the wrong ones.’

‘So, there’s another body somewhere. We only found Olga.’ Troy leaned forward on the table. ‘Who gave you the wrong heart?’

‘Um. Nobody.’

Troy sat back again. ‘You’re facing a lot of charges. Unlawful killing, mutilation of bodies, prevention of proper burial or cremation, and it might include murder.’

Ely jerked upright and stared at Troy. ‘I haven’t murdered anyone.’

‘So, who has? Who’s your accomplice?’

Ely shook his head.

‘What’s the deal? You do the skilled work – the surgery on the living and the dead – and someone else does the rough stuff, like murdering the vulnerable and getting rid of embarrassing bodies – or what remains of them.’

Still no reply.

‘How did you hear about Lexi’s death?’

Ely Eight kept his silence again.

Troy took Ely’s mobile in his hand. ‘I’m betting that earlier tonight – maybe just after seven thirty – you had a call from your accomplice suggesting you pay another visit to the hall of rest.’ He fiddled with the phone and then smiled. ‘Here we go. A call came in at seven forty-seven and it was someone listed as Samaritan according to this.’ Troy glanced at Lexi and passed the phone to her.

At once, she called Terabyte. ‘We need the owner
and location of a mobile. And we need it fast. Here’s the number.’ She dictated Samaritan’s phone number and then said, ‘Thanks. I’ll be waiting.’

Troy gazed at Ely in silence for ten uncomfortable seconds. ‘It won’t be long. Our friend’s a genius with phones.’ He tapped the side of his head and said, ‘I’m building up a picture in here. I can see how your relationship with Samaritan works. He’s not like you. Big pockets. They take a lot of filling. That’s why he deals in black-market body parts. Money’s his motivation. Expensive lifestyle to support, I should think. So he covers up your mistakes to protect his business. He might even be threatening to expose you if you tell someone like me who he is – or if you really retire. He’s basically a greedy bully, isn’t he?’

Ely’s eyes were filling up with tears.

‘You can tell us who he is because it won’t make any difference to you any more. You’re safe in here and your phone’s going to lead us to him anyway.’

Barely audible, Ely said, ‘His name’s Gareth Riley Thirteen.’

At once, Lexi checked the case files on her
life-logger
. ‘Gareth Riley Thirteen holds a fishing licence for the Shepford area.’

Troy nodded and looked once more at Ely Eight. ‘How did you meet him?’

‘He did the techie jobs at the Rural Retreat when I was there. He set up the computer system.’

‘The failsafe procedure with barcodes? The one that makes accidents impossible?’

‘Yes.’

‘Pity he didn’t set you up with the same system in your … private clinic.’

‘We don’t have the resources.’

‘Where is it? Where do you do the transplants?’

‘In my basement at home. It’s fully equipped.’

Lexi made a note of Ely’s address, out in the countryside beyond Langhorn and Overdale.

‘Is Gareth still at the Rural Retreat?’

‘He was sacked for misusing computers.’

‘Meaning?’

Between sobs, Ely replied, ‘He was caught a few too many times in chat rooms and the like when he should’ve been working.’

Lexi interrupted. ‘We’ve got a location. He’s at home.’

‘Okay. Let’s go and prick his balloon.’ Troy stood up and told Ely, ‘We’ll talk some more later. For now, it’s a police cell.’

Lexi added, ‘More comfortable than a coffin, believe me.’

‘Lexi Iona Four,’ Troy said. ‘You’re …’

‘What? A star?’

‘A good partner.’

‘Is that all? Only good?’

Troy’s cheeks reddened. ‘Well, I was going to say brave and brilliant but, given what you just did, I think I’ll stick with dead good.’

Lexi smiled. ‘If we’re into compliments, you’re doing all right – for a major. Better than my last partner.’

‘Thanks.’

Outside, the few lamps of Langhorn hardly made an impression on the darkness. As they swept past the reservoir on the main road, Troy picked out the glow from the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic and a distant glimmer that might have marked the lakeside position of Avril Smallcross’s house or the nearby water treatment office. Silhouettes of trees chopped the lights, making them appear to wink on and off as the car headed for the community of Overdale beyond.

‘Do you reckon we’re on our way to a chat with Sergio Treize?’ Lexi asked, tapping the keys of her life-logger at the same time.

‘Probably.’

‘How many different names can one man have?’

‘Just remember,’ Troy said, ‘whatever he’s called,

he’s perfectly capable of clobbering someone over the head with a blunt object and slitting the odd throat or two.’

‘Terabyte says he’s lost the phone signal. We don’t know where he is any more.’

‘Perhaps he was expecting to hear from Ely by now. Maybe he knows something’s gone wrong so he’s smashed his phone to make sure no one can trace it.’

When Overdale first came into view, it was a dome
of diffuse yellow light. As they got closer, they began to distinguish curved lines of lamplight that defined the streets of the community.

Lexi lifted up her life-logger and showed Troy a photograph. It was the fountain outside the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic and two rows of people were posing in front of it. ‘I found this. The caption says it was taken to mark the clinic’s opening ceremony,’ she told him. ‘No information but, look, there’s Ely Eight – in his innocent period, when he could still hold a scalpel steady. And Gianna. Check out the back, though. Imagine this man without hair but with white glasses. That’s a good likeness of Sergio Treize.’

Troy shrugged. ‘Is it?’

‘There’s not enough definition for a conclusive result from facial recognition software, but it doesn’t rule him out.’

‘If you chop his hair off but don’t add glasses, it could be a younger Kofi Seven.’

Lexi studied the image again. ‘Well, now you mention it … But forget it. Kofi’s on our side.’

Gareth Riley Thirteen did not live in one of the regular properties. The car took Troy and Lexi to the west of Overdale’s main residential zone and up to the entrance of a separate stone building. The iron
gate didn’t open automatically so they got out and surveyed the house and its garden. The drive swerved in front of the house and led to a large garage to one side. Attached to the front of Gareth’s home, three spotlights blazed, but the curtains and windows were not brightened by internal lamps.

‘Asleep or not in,’ Lexi guessed.

‘If he knows we’re on his tail …’

‘He’ll have gone – or he’s lying in wait for us.’

‘Not good either way.’ Troy shuddered in the cold night air.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ Lexi prompted, walking away from the gate. ‘The wall’s easy to climb this way.’

She was right. It was a jagged dry-stone wall providing plenty of grips and toeholds. In a few seconds, they had both clambered up and jumped down onto a large neat lawn. Striding towards the front door, Troy felt exposed. ‘If he’s at one of the windows with a gun …’

‘Duck.’

‘Yeah. If he’s only got one bullet, that’ll do the trick.’

‘It’s dark,’ Lexi replied. ‘He’ll miss. Anyway, life-loggers are a good defence. Not many bad guys attack when they know everything’s being monitored.’

They didn’t remain in the shadows. They soon found themselves within the glow of the spotlight over the door. But no one fired at them. There was no sound except the quiet groaning of an oak tree as it swayed in the wind.

There was no response to Troy’s ringing of the doorbell. There was no response to a hefty bang on the door either.

The two detectives looked at each other and Lexi said, ‘We can only break in if we think someone’s in danger or if we’re sure we can prevent a serious crime.’

Aware that their life-loggers would be used to make sure that they had acted correctly, Troy answered formally, ‘I’m sure there’ll be evidence that’ll help us stop more mutilations and maybe murders.’

‘Me too.’

Lexi examined the door and took a step backwards, ready to kick her way in. Her right leg flew forward at amazing speed and crashed against the panel nearest the lock. Wood splintered and the door sprang back. ‘Well, if he’s in, he knows we’re on our way.’ Before entering, she said, ‘You watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

She hesitated in the hallway, next to the light switch. ‘I don’t know about you, but I prefer to see where I’m going – and what clues are on offer.’

‘And who’s lurking in the corner with a great big knife.’

Lexi turned on the lamps to reveal a large but cluttered entrance. At once, she made for a small wooden shoe rack. Bending down and speaking in a hush, she said, ‘Size twelves, but those Adiboks aren’t here.’ She stood up again and glanced around. ‘No one with a knife.’

‘So far.’

‘Let’s see if we can sort out his identity.’ Treading softly, she made for the door at the end of the passage.

‘It’d be a good idea to check the bedrooms first – in case he’s asleep upstairs,’ Troy whispered.

With a sly grin, Lexi nodded. ‘I tend to rummage for clues first, forgetting the obvious way of finding things out – like taking a look at his face.’ She crept up the staircase with Troy.

They didn’t need to speak. They checked out each room in silence, communicating with glances and gestures. Troy pushed each door aside gently and Lexi peered inside. Of the three bedrooms, two had unmade beds. They were clearly unused. The other was Gareth’s but the bed was empty. The bathroom was also vacant.

‘He’s downstairs,’ Lexi muttered, ‘or not here at all.’

The living room was ordinary. A sofa and two easy chairs, a shelf of trinkets above the gas fire, a coffee table, a music centre, a large rubber plant to the side of a bay window. In daylight, Gareth would have good views over the countryside. Troy peered behind the sofa and all other possible hiding places, but found no one ready to pounce on them. Lexi was drawn to the piles of possessions and let out a contented murmur. From among the trinkets, she extracted a ring. Threading it on her pen so she could examine it without touching, she said, ‘Hey presto. One blue stone missing.’ She let the ring slide off the pen and into a small evidence bag.

‘Nice,’ Troy whispered.

‘I’ll get a team in here tomorrow. There might be more.’

‘What’s the betting there’s Icelandic death metal downloaded onto the music system?’

Lexi nodded. ‘I’ll get that checked as well.’

They tiptoed back along the hallway, checking the downstairs toilet and kitchen as they went. ‘The sink’s not wet,’ Troy said, ‘and there’s no food or drink left out.’

When they went into the final room, Lexi turned on the light and gasped.

Troy groaned.

It was a well-equipped computer room but it looked as if it had been thoroughly trashed. Broken circuit boards and damaged hard drives were scattered over the messy bench. There was also a mobile phone, mangled and minus its battery.

‘Looks to me like an attempt to wipe electronic evidence,’ said Troy.

‘Yeah, but why?’

Now that they had been in every room, convinced that Gareth was not inside the house, Troy spoke up. ‘First, a detective keeps calling him about his chat room and then – maybe – Ely doesn’t make an agreed contact after his raid on the hall of rest.’

Lexi gazed at the fragments of electronic components. ‘I wonder if any of these came from Olga’s or Dmitri’s computer. I’ll get Terabyte to examine everything in the morning. If this was a hurried job – not as thorough as it might have been – there’ll still be some usable bits. By the time Terabyte’s finished, we’ll know more about Gareth Riley Thirteen.’ She looked at the monitor and then followed the line of sight of its tiny camera. She pointed to the wall opposite. ‘Could be where he took your video calls. I’ll check out the background – behind his head – in the recordings. There might be a
colour match or a mark that confirms it. Best done in daylight tomorrow. For now …’

‘Yes. More than anything, we need to find him.’

Lexi thought for a moment. ‘You know, a poorly outer could be waiting for my heart. He could be with a patient.’

‘That’d be Ely’s house. But if he knows we’re on to him …’

Lexi shrugged. ‘The basement clinic’s likely to be our main crime scene, so I want to go there anyway.’

‘Okay.’

Before they left, they broke into the side door of the double garage. Once the long strip light had flickered into life, they saw that one half of the space was empty. The rest was occupied by a vintage car under restoration. Troy smiled and said, ‘That’s the reason Sharon Angie bought car parts.’

‘Yeah. Sharon equals Sergio equals Gareth Thirteen.’ Lexi paused before adding, ‘Big expensive house and vintage car. Now we know why he needed money from the transplant trade.’

They arranged for uniformed officers to guard the house and then returned to their own car.