“So they were already dead when Frank promised Renton that there would be no more victims if he respected the predicament of Friend. Well that was a lie then, and the Boss really believed him. It means there could be many more, lined up to rap our knuckles whenever he has a tantrum. There’s no longer any justification for playing to this guy’s rules, or even communicating with him. If he wants to contact us, that will happen, but we should not reply anymore. If there are more corpses stored away, we may as well know about them now, as it is no longer a case of trying to save their lives.”
“Maybe,” said Watson, “Jack was quite hopeful that because these two half-bodies were produced at very short notice, he might have made a mistake which can be picked up by forensics. I suppose it is also worth considering what kind of deep freeze facility he has if he has been keeping more corpses for periods of up to a year. It would require an industrial scale facility, especially if he performs his surgery in the same place. I would have thought it would appear odd to the equipment supplier, unless he is registered as a company. Here I go, playing detective again, don’t tell Jack. How is he?”
“We don’t know yet, and he said he’d call when he knew more about Daniel’s prognosis. You’ve made a good point Greg about Frank hiding behind a company name. I’ll get Sam on to it when we find the time.”
*
When Renton had showered and changed at the hospital, he felt more at ease, but it didn’t last long. Jane looked him up and down, and then shook her head.
“What is it now?” he said, “like you insisted, this is about Daniel; nothing else matters then, does it?”
“Please Jack, spare me the injured pride. I really don’t care what you wear, but I thought you might.” She cast her eye once more over the yellow tracksuit bottoms with a broad green stripe down each side. Her sense of colour compatibility was offended already, and was further irritated by the rather faded puce sweater.
“They were cheap, and they’re clean, ok?”
“I can see that they are cheap; I’ll take your word that they are clean.” A sarcastic smile pushed him over the edge.
“Jane, you’ve lambasted me, because in your opinion I’m never there when I’m really needed. Well, we all have opinions, and in my humble version you’ve always had a pretentious side to your character, which is at odds with the Samaritan image you try to project. If it’s an appropriate time for you to pick faults with things that aren’t really important, then at least admit you’re a hypocrite. It’s back to plan A, I’m going back home to pick up some of my own clothes. I feel helpless enough here without listening to your inconsequential crap. I’ll be back in a few hours, and before you say anything, I’m not going to work. Here’s my phone, keep it switched off. If this trip does nothing other than provide both of us with a breathing space, to concentrate on what’s happening in intensive care, it’ll be worth it. When I get back, I hope you’ll just leave the past where it should be – in the past. I think there are three of us who have to get on with our lives; you aren’t unique in that sense.” He stormed out of the hospital without a backward glance. Jane suddenly felt guilty. He had never fired back at her like that. She regretted her petty remarks and was shaken by the accusation of being pretentious.
*
The extra hands to the pump were re-allocated to both Stephanie and Sam. The hunt for Martha Blake’s son was conducted by Steven Jones, under the guidance of Stephanie, while Sam directed James Bradley on finding out more about Brett Driscoll.
The initial keywords employed for the records trawl were, ‘Blake, Male, Eighteen, and Putney’. The printout had nicely narrowed down the possibilities, and as expected, none had the name Dermot. There were three named Blake, with the corresponding age. Putting in the actual birth date simply eliminated all names, so the three had to be cross referenced to the Putney birth registration database. None of them tied up, so Stephanie concluded that the boy must have been born at a different address, and Martha Blake had many. She asked Steven Jones to check with the hospitals in Putney, while she reset the keywords to more precise addresses. He struck lucky. Two of the three were born in hospital. There was no record of the third. The registered address of one of them matched with one Stephanie was about to check. His name was Robert Alexander Blake. Running this through Google led them to a Facebook link. They had him, but there was a shock in store. His picture clearly showed he was in a wheelchair. They didn’t want to use a social network site to communicate with him, but they determined he was posting from an IP address in Southampton. A few phone calls to the local council revealed that his address on the electoral register was a care home – Broad Meadows. Adams took a decision to send Stephanie. He stressed to her that this had to be handled with great care.
“I think he may respond better to a woman Steph, but above all, we need to get everything we can in one shot. I can foresee problems if we have to revisit him. There has to be a reason why he’s there, and I think someone may be keeping an eye on him. His profile on Facebook indicates he is, or was enrolled in the Territorial Army.”
*
Sam and James Bradley had not been so successful. The address given by the London officer, who recorded Brett Driscoll’s report of Martha Blake being missing, was as expected false. It was a London address. So they reverted to looking in the Greater Manchester area. Nothing significant came up, and then Sam recalled that D.C.I. Forster, from the Midwest force had reliable tentacles into that arm of the Colony. He called Forster and briefed him about the case, adding Renton’s current problems with his son.
“It is quite a serious situation with the young man otherwise the Boss would be making this call. Anything you can find out would be appreciated Sir.”
“Leave it with me Sam; the guy’s name is vaguely familiar.”
*
When Renton turned on to his drive he noticed something strange. The bedroom curtains were drawn, and he never did that when leaving the house in the morning. He was suddenly apprehensive about what he was going to find. As stealthily as he could, he skirted the house and found that the rear French doors had a perfect circle of glass removed, to give access to the locking lever. He opened the door carefully in the foggy darkness of the evening. He couldn’t see clearly but everything seemed normal. He tiptoed toward the kitchen, and then he heard a door binding on its hinges. He thought it came from upstairs. The second bedroom was where he kept stuff from work, in a set of drawers. His first impulse was to call for back-up, but then he remembered he had stupidly thrown his mobile phone at Jane, and he had ditched his landline months ago.
A faint aroma flared his nostrils, and it was familiar. He felt a compulsion to climb the stairs, but his police head checked that move. He waited, but there was no further hint of anyone’s presence. There was a torch in the kitchen drawer. It had always been stiff to open, and he had always intended to fix it. As he wrestled with it he was aware for the first time that his hands were shaking ever so slightly. He took the torch and grabbed the largest kitchen knife from the nearby rack. This reflex action flooded his mind with the edict of ‘reasonable force’ and he now knew how this ridiculous semantic bullshit felt. The compulsion returned briefly but then he began to think as the intruder. If he was still here, he would surely have heard the car arrive. He would be aware of Renton entering the house.
“I know you’re there, and you know I’m here. You can’t get away so let’s make this simple.” There was no response and he bluffed about alerting the station. “I’m a police officer, but I guess you know that. I’ve texted my people and a squad car is on its way. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”
He heard another noise and reasoned that it could be the second bedroom window stay being opened. He had already convinced himself that this wasn’t a random burglary. Surely it was more likely to be connected to the case. He proceeded to climb the stairs very slowly. The intruder could have a firearm. There could be more than one of them. He paused and thought about switching on t
he light instead of using the torch. His erratic decision-making was being influenced by the thought of losing the intruder. He raced back down to the kitchen and shone his torch into the garden directly below the second bedroom window. His heart-rate spiked as he saw the outline of a man. A microsecond later there was a blinding flash. He had no time to process this, as he was struck a ferocious blow on the back of the head. He slumped to the floor but was still conscious, and an image of footwear was imprinted in his mind. His reflexes took over and he tried to haul himself back on to his feet, everything seemed to flow into a vortex of blackness.
When he recovered consciousness, he crawled to a chair and felt a stabbing pain in his right hand as he tried to pull himself upwards. He had unknowingly gripped the knife blade extremely tightly in the short time between the two blows to his head. It had cut a deep wound across his palm. He staggered outside and to his neighbour’s front door. The woman was shocked, and shouted for her husband to assist, while she called the police and ambulance emergency. He insisted on speaking to the police before being whisked away to hospital.
“Get D.I. Ben Adams to come to the hospital as soon as he can. He will want forensics to check the house. You do know who I am, don’t you?”
“Yes Sir. I’ll get on to the station immediately, they will have his number.”
“No, ring him now, I know his number, Christ I’ve rung it every day for more than fifteen years. Keep this crime scene pristine until Adams can get Clive Donoghue here.” He was bundled into the ambulance despite his protests. He wasn’t aware of how bad the gaping head wound really was.
Chapter 18
When Adams had told Jane about Renton’s attack and the delayed concussion, she told him to come up with a more original excuse for him not returning to Edinburgh. When he suggested that she rang the hospital, she broke down in tears.
“What on Earth is wrong between you two Jane? I thought you must have known he took leave, and left instructions for nobody to contact him until he was ready. Why did he come back? He muttered something to me about clean clothes, but I just put that down to the knock on the head.”
“It’s my fault Ben, I lashed out at him about a lot of things, and he did drive back to pick up stuff he’d need for a long stay here. Please tell him I’m sorry.”
“I will when he’s had more rest. At the moment he’s not making any sense. How’s Daniel?”
“The doctor in charge of the I.C.U. says he’s making progress. He’s breathing more comfortably and has longer spells with his eyes open. His reflexes are improving and they are optimistic that there is no serious spinal damage. I’ll keep you informed so you can let Jack know it looks like he’s on the mend.”
*
Stephanie was a little nervous as she was shown into the private room of Robert Alexander Blake, because the Facebook photo had shown him in a wheelchair, and the male nurse attending him had mentioned that he was a double amputee.
“Hello Robert, I’m D.S. Stephanie Baker, from Newcastle. I’m here to ask if you can help us, we’re trying to find your mother.”
“My name is Robert Alexander, but I have always been called Alex. Why are you asking about my mother all over again?”
“Well, the case isn’t closed, and we’re really trying to get our hands on something which has her DNA. If we can compare it with yours, we may have a means of tracing her.”
“How will my DNA help?”
“Didn’t the London police explain that to you when she disappeared?”
“No.”
“Did they ask you for a sample of your DNA?
“No.”
“That is strange. Your DNA will have your mother’s mitochondrial DNA reflected in it. So if we can compare your sample with any missing persons, whose bodies we subsequently find, it would really help us to tell if they were your mother.”
“I see, but you haven’t asked me if I’m interested in finding her now.”
“I’m sorry. I just assumed that you would. Is there any reason why you wouldn’t want to?”
“It’s a long story, but I don’t want to go into all that misery again. Anyway, what kind of things are you looking for from her possessions?”
“There are many items which could help us, for example, a toothbrush, skin cells from clothing, blood, a hairbrush. I can get a full list for you if it will help.”
“I don’t have a hairbrush, but I kept some of her hair. I cut some of it off when she was out of it with the drugs. Her hair was long and when she passed out she sometimes rolled over on to her stomach, and her hair restricted her breathing. I didn’t want her to suffocate or choke on her vomit. When I served abroad for the Territorials, I took a lock with me in a little metal box, together with her photo. We had a big argument and we weren’t speaking to each other. It seemed to make sense at the time. Do you want it?”
Stephanie felt a rush of anticipation that this could be a jackpot moment, but it was followed by guilt at the plight which had befallen this young man.
“That would be much appreciated, and if you can give me a swab for your DNA, we will have a perfect tool to help find her.”
Before she left, she shared a cup of tea with him and promised she would personally come back to see him with the results. She resisted asking more questions until Donoghue had full comparisons of these samples with the DNA from the head of the Priory corpse.
*
Bradstock had been informed of Jack Renton’s situation. Cousins had taken on the burden of telling him, at the request of Adams. Bernard Cousins was more than happy to oblige, as he had some news of his own to report.
“It may not be of significance in the Frankenstein case Ben, but the rest of Sandy Evans’ body has been washed up at the mouth of the river Wear. It was spotted almost directly opposite the intersection between Roker Avenue and Dame Dorothy Street, on the A-183. It’s badly disfigured and rotted, which makes it unrecognisable but the DNA matches the severed arm. One curious thing we noticed under the clothing, which was still intact, was a body belt. When we removed it there were pockets around the entire perimeter, all facing his body. There were credit cards, phone numbers alongside coded references rather than names, and a few plastic membership cards for various sleazy clubs in Sunderland, Middlesbrough and Durham. Amongst these was one for a casino. The logo and name weren’t familiar to us, but it had a list of locations where it was possible for punters to lose their assets. The list majored on London, Glasgow, Leeds, and Birmingham, but amongst the others was Salford.”
“That’s interesting Sir, are you going to follow this up as part of your investigation?”
“Yes we are, and I’ll be telling Bradstock of our intention. It’s part of standard procedure to find Sandy Evans’ killer. I hope you agree.”
“Absolutely, I suppose you’ll alert me if you find any kind of connection to the Colony in the Midwest and London. I have particular interest in Sol Greenwood, Howard Freeman, Carl Kennedy and Brett Driscoll. Thanks for the tip Sir, and for speaking with the Chief on behalf of Jack. The last thing we need right now is another visit.”
“No problem, and give my best to Renton.”
Adams was mulling over this news, while he was driving to the hospital to see how the Boss was doing. His heart sank when the mobile ringtone was accompanied by the screen flashing ‘Bradstock’.
“Adams.”
“I have just heard about Jack. What else can you tell me?”
“Not much at the moment Sir, I have to pull over, hold on. Yes, I’m on my way to see him now, and I hope his memory of the events of this attack will be restored once the concussion is relieved. There’s not much else I can say at present, other than we’ve got forensics at the house. We can’t be sure that it was a random burglary which he interrupted.”
“Ok, I understand. Keep me up to date. I can’t get away right now because we have, well this American chap actually, full confidence that Frank is now locked out of our system. I want to be here to make sure it
is not another false dawn. Give Jack my best wishes for a speedy recovery. You have two extra people now, is that enough?”
“Yes it is. Thank you Sir.” Adams was glad there was something to keep Bradstock away from the Northeast, while he was holding the fort.
*
Sam Gibson took the call from Forster with his usual matter of fact level of expectation. It shifted up a gear pretty quickly.
“This Driscoll character has a chequered reputation within the Colony. He is originally from London and there were apparently some issues which put the skids on his meteoric rise through the authority ranks. He was considered to be lacking in the subtleties of extortion, tending to be more direct. He was given a timeout by moving to the Midwest, but the top guys up here never trusted him, thinking he was a plant. He had been given a temporary project of tidying up the casino business here. It didn’t go too well and he was bumped down a peg or two. The word is that he was stuck up here and hated it, but as we all know, it’s difficult to apply for other careers once you have reached a certain level of knowledge with these people. What may interest you most is his decision to bring Carl Kennedy to Salford. That’s all I have at present Sam, but if I hear more I’ll pass it on.”
“Thank you Sir, there has to be something in this. We’ll get on to it somehow.”
*
Kurt Eisel was never even remotely interested in the internet, but even he hadn’t escaped the continual world news channels obsession with the Frankenstein copycat reports. Most of the time, he was engaged in exploratory trips to regions of the planet which were still relatively undiscovered. However, in order to get there he had to pass through infrastructure zones which bombarded him with news. Gradually he began to realise from the reports that it had all started in the Northeast of England. As usual, journalists fed on morsels of fact which could be embroidered with speculation. One such claim referred to the perpetrator apparently using an unknown method of erasing painful memories of the people he was trying to help. It went on to say that the murders were, in the mind of the killer, a just means of bringing awareness to the plight of these ‘unfortunates’. As these reports were partially constructed from posts which Frank had made himself, the possible connection slowly dawned on Eisel. Several times he dismissed this as a premature conclusion, but the news reports just kept on reminding him of how widespread the interest was. This ebb and flow was intruding into his prime interest in life, and during the spells when he was thrust back into ‘normal’ society, he became even more restless.