Simon Beckett - Whispers of the Dead

‘You’re damn right there’s a problem!’ Hicks interrupted. For all his indignation, I could see he was enjoying himself.

‘Maybe we should discuss this some other time,’ Gardner suggested wearily.

But the pathologist wasn’t going to be diverted. ‘No, this needs to be settled now. This is one of the biggest serial killer investigations the state’s seen in years. We can’t risk amateurs fouling things up.’

Amateurs? I clamped my mouth shut as my temper threatened to slip. Whatever I said would only make things worse.

‘David’s every bit as competent as I am,’ Tom said, but he lacked the energy to argue. Hicks stabbed a finger at him.

‘That’s irrelevant! He shouldn’t have been wandering around a crime scene by himself. What about it, Gardner? You going to start handing out tickets so anyone can just walk in?’

Gardner’s jaw muscles knotted, but that had hit home. ‘He’s got a point, Tom.’

‘Goddammit, Dan, David’s been doing us a favour!’

But I’d heard enough. It was obvious where this was going. ‘It’s all right. I don’t want to make things difficult.’

Tom looked stricken, but Hicks was barely able to suppress his glee.

‘No offence, Dr… Hunter, is it? I’m sure you’re well enough respected back home, but this is Tennessee. This isn’t your affair.’

I didn’t trust myself to say anything. Jacobsen was staring at Hicks with an unreadable expression. Gardner looked as though he wished the whole thing was over with.

‘I’m sorry, David,’ Tom said helplessly.

‘It’s OK.’ I handed him the camera. I just wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere. ‘Will you be able to manage?’

I didn’t want to say more, not in front of the others, but Tom knew what I meant. He gave a quick, embarrassed nod. I started to turn away before I remembered what I needed to tell him.

‘You should take a look at the teeth that’ve been found in there. They don’t belong with the rest of the remains.’

‘How do you know?’ Hicks demanded.

‘Because they’re from a pig.’

That silenced him. I saw the flash of interest in Tom’s eyes. ‘Premolars?’

I nodded, knowing he’d understand. But he was the only one. Hicks was glaring at me as though he suspected some sort of trick.

‘You’re telling me they’ve found pig’s teeth? What the hell are they doing there?’

‘Don’t ask me. I’m only an amateur,’ I said.

It was a cheap parting shot, but I couldn’t help myself. As I walked away I saw the smile on Tom’s face, and thought there might even have been a ghost of one on Jacobsen’s.

But it didn’t make me feel any better. I retraced my steps round to the front of the chapel, yanking the overalls’ zip so hard they tore. I wrenched myself free and stuffed them in a plastic bin already half full of discarded protective gear. When I stripped off the rubber gloves sweat dripped out of them, forming dark splashes like a modernist painting in the dirt. My hands were pale and wrinkled from being trapped in the airless latex, and for an instant I felt a tug of something like dé;já vu.

What? What does that remind me of?

But I was too angry to dwell on it. And a more mundane thought had occurred to me. I’d come to Steeple Hill in Tom’s car. After my grand exit, now I was stranded out here.

Oh, terrific. I flung the gloves into the bin and took out my phone before realizing I didn’t know the numbers of any local taxis. And even if I did, they wouldn’t be allowed into the cemetery.

I swore under my breath. I could always wait for Tom to finish, but my pride wouldn’t allow that. Fine. I’ll walk. Knowing I was being stubborn but in too foul a temper to care, I headed for the gates.

‘Dr Hunter!’

I turned to see Jacobsen coming along the path towards me. The bright sun was in her face, making her squint slightly against the glare. It caused tiny crow’s feet to appear at the corners of the grey eyes, giving her a quizzical, almost humorous look that softened her features.

‘Dr Lieberman said you didn’t have your car. How are you getting back to town?’

‘I’ll manage.’

‘I’ll drive you.’

‘No thanks.’ I was in no mood to accept favours.

Her expression was impossible to read as she brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. ‘I wouldn’t recommend walking. Not with all the press outside.’

I’d not thought about that. The anger began to leak away, leaving me feeling more than a little stupid.

‘I’ll get my car,’ Jacobsen said.

THE SILENCEin the car wasn’t exactly companionable, but neither was it awkward. I didn’t feel talkative and Jacobsen didn’t seem concerned either way. My temper had cooled a little, but there was still a slow burn of resentment that refused to die down.

I pulled at my shirt, still hot and uncomfortable from the time spent in the pine woods. The inside of the car had been turned into an oven by the sun, but the air conditioning was finally starting to win the battle. I stared moodily out of the window, watching the unending succession of stores and fast food restaurants troop past: glass, brick and concrete set against the dark green backdrop of the mountains. More than ever I was aware of how unfamiliar much of it was. I didn’t belong here. And you’re certainly not wanted.

Perhaps I should check for earlier flights after all.

‘You might not like it, but Dr Hicks had a point,’ Jacobsen said, rousing me from my thoughts. ‘Dr Lieberman’s an authorized TBI consultant. You aren’t.’

‘I know how to work crime scenes,’ I said, stung.

‘I’m sure you do, but this isn’t about how capable you are. If this goes to trial we can’t afford to have a defence attorney argue that we didn’t follow procedure.’ She turned to look at me, her grey eyes candid. ‘You should know that.’

I felt my self-righteous anger wilt. She was right. And there was more at stake here than my pride.

‘Dr Lieberman’s ill, isn’t he?’

The question took me by surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’

Jacobsen kept her attention on the road. ‘My dad had a bad heart. He looked the same way.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘He died.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was years ago,’ she said, closing the subject.

Her face was studiedly expressionless, but I sensed she was regretting giving away even that much about herself. It struck me again how attractive she was. I’d been aware of it before, of course, but only in an academic way, as you might admire the shape and form of a marble statue.

Now, though, in the close confines of the car, I was all too conscious of it. She’d taken off her jacket, and her short-sleeved white shirt showed off the toned muscles of her arms. Her gun was still clipped to her belt, a jarring note against the smart business suit. But I could hear the whisper of her skirt on her legs as she worked the pedals, smell the fresh clean scent from her skin; a scented soap, I guessed, too light to be perfume.

My sudden awareness of her was unnerving. I looked away from the full lips and stared resolutely ahead, keeping my eyes fixed on the road. Jacobsen would probably break my wrist if she realized what I was thinking. Or shoot you.

‘Any news about Irving?’ I asked, to take my mind off it.

‘We’re still searching.’ No, in other words. ‘Dr Lieberman says the remains in the woods were probably Willis Dexter’s,’ she said, businesslike again.

‘It seems that way.’ I described the fractures to the skull’s forehead, and how they fitted Dexter’s injuries. ‘Makes sense, I suppose. Someone switched bodies, and then dumped Dexter’s in the woods at the back, where it wouldn’t be found unless the grounds were searched.’