Simon Beckett - Whispers of the Dead

Her face was unreadable. ‘You didn’t think you might be prying?’

‘Of course I did. But under the circumstances I didn’t think Tom would mind.’

‘Yet you didn’t bother to ask anyone first?’

‘Like who? Phone his wife while she’s by his hospital bed?’

‘I was thinking more of Dan Gardner.’

‘Right. Because he values my opinion so much.’

Her smile seemed to take her by surprise as much as me. It lit up her entire face, changing her features from austerely attractive into ones that could grace the cover of a magazine. Then it was gone, leaving me wishing it had lasted longer.

‘This is just conjecture,’ she went on, the professional facade back in place. Though perhaps not so firmly as before. ‘The call could have been made by anyone.’

‘From a payphone right outside the morgue? At that time of night?’

She didn’t answer. ‘Have the doctors said when Dr Lieberman might be able to talk?’

‘No. But probably not any time soon.’

We broke off as the waitress arrived to clear my plate and offer the dessert menu.

‘Look, I’m going to have a coffee. Why don’t you join me?’ I said.

Jacobsen hesitated, glancing at her watch. For the first time a hint of tiredness leaked through.

‘Maybe a quick one.’ She ordered a latte, with skimmed milk and an extra shot of espresso.

‘Are you sure you don’t want anything else?’ I offered.

‘Coffee’s fine, thank you,’ she said, as though regretting even that much self-indulgence. I guessed that Jacobsen’s blood sugar would always come off second best to self-discipline.

By tacit consent we put our discussion on hold while the waitress fetched our order. Jacobsen’s fingers tapped restlessly on top of the banquette where we were sitting. Her nails were cut short, devoid of any polish.

‘Are you from Knoxville originally?’ I asked, to break the silence.

‘A small town near Memphis. You wouldn’t have heard of it.’

It was obvious I wasn’t about to now, either. I tried again as the waitress set down the coffees.

‘So what made you do a psychology degree?’

She hunched a shoulder. The movement seemed stiff and forced.

‘It was an interest of mine. I wanted to pursue it.’

‘But you joined the TBI instead? How come?’

‘It was a good career move.’

She took a sip of coffee, closing the topic. So much for getting to know her better. I didn’t think there was much point asking about a husband or a boyfriend.

‘For the sake of argument, let’s say you might be right about the phone call,’ she said, lowering her cup. ‘What would be the point? You’re not suggesting someone deliberately caused Dr Lieberman’s heart attack?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then why call him?’

Now we came to it. ‘To lure him outside. I think Tom was going to be the next victim.’

The only outward sign of Jacobsen’s surprise was her quick blink. ‘Go on.’

‘Tom seemed confused immediately after the heart attack, convinced that something had happened to Mary. Even at the hospital he had to be constantly reassured that she was all right. It was put down to the attack, but supposing it wasn’t? Supposing someone called him and said his wife had had some kind of accident?’

The furrow was back between Jacobsen’s eyes. ‘So he’d rush out to go to her.’

‘Exactly. When you get a phone call like that you forget about everything else. You don’t worry about being careful or not going to your car alone. You drop everything and go.’ I knew that only too well. The memory of hearing the policeman’s voice telling me of my wife and daughter’s accident still haunted me. ‘At that time of night most of the hospital’s pretty deserted, and the payphone where the call was made had a clear view of the morgue entrance. Anybody using it would have been able to see Tom come out.’

‘Why not wait for him to finish work?’

‘Because anyone planning to attack or abduct Tom wouldn’t want to risk someone leaving with him. This way they’d be able to pick their moment, knowing he’d be alone and vulnerable.’

Jacobsen still wasn’t convinced. ‘They’d have to have got Dr Lieberman’s cell phone number somehow.’

‘Tom isn’t shy about giving it out. Anyone could get it from his secretary at the university.’

‘All right, but Dr Lieberman hasn’t drawn attention to himself like Professor Irving. Why target him?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ I admitted. ‘But you said yourself that whoever’s behind this has a grandiose opinion of himself. Perhaps he felt that mechanics and petty thieves weren’t getting him the attention he deserves.’

Jacobsen stared into space as she considered that. I made myself look away from the full lips.

‘It’s possible,’ she conceded after a while. ‘Maybe he’s becoming more ambitious. Professor Irving could’ve whetted his appetite for more high-profile victims.’

‘Unless Tom was the main target all along.’

I knew I was pushing my luck. Jacobsen frowned. ‘There’s no evidence to support that.’

‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘It’s just that I’ve been thinking about everything else the killer’s done. Deliberately accelerated decomposition, pig’s teeth substituted for human, and victims with apparently conflicting causes of death. All things guaranteed to get a forensic anthropologist scratching his head. Now it looks like Tom himself was nearly the next victim. Doesn’t it strike you the killer could have had that in mind all along?’

She was still sceptical. ‘Dr Lieberman isn’t the only forensic anthropologist the TBI uses. There’d be no way anyone could be sure he’d be brought into this investigation.’

‘Then perhaps the killer just wanted to set his cap against whoever was brought in, I don’t know. But it’s no secret that Tom’s usually the TBI’s first port of call. Or that he was planning to retire later this year.’ Sooner than that. I pushed the thought of Tom and Mary’s shattered plans away and pressed on. ‘What if the killer saw this as his last window of opportunity to prove himself against one of the country’s leading forensic experts? We know he arranged it so Terry Loomis’s body would be found when the cabin rental expired, and Tom had only returned from a month’s travelling the week before. That means the killer must have hired the cabin within a day or so of Tom’s getting back. Supposing that wasn’t just a coincidence?’

But I could see from Jacobsen’s frown that I’d gone too far. ‘Don’t you think that’s stretching things?’

I sighed. I wasn’t sure myself any more. ‘Perhaps. But then we’re dealing with someone who planted hypodermic needles in a corpse six months before arranging to have it exhumed. Compared to that, making sure your next victim’s going to be in town wouldn’t be too difficult.’

Jacobsen was silent. I took a drink of coffee, letting her reach her own conclusions.

‘It’s reading an awful lot into one phone call,’ she said at last.

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘But I suppose it’s worth looking into.’

Tension I’d not even been aware of till then bled out of me. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved that a possible lead was being pursued, or just grateful to be taken seriously.

‘So you’ll check the payphone for fingerprints?’

‘A crime scene team’s there now, although after twenty-four hours I doubt they’ll find anything.’ Jacobsen’s mouth quirked slightly at my surprise. ‘You didn’t think we’d just ignore something like that, did you?’

The brrr of her phone vibrating on the table saved me from having to answer. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, picking it up.

Feeling easier than I had all day, I drank my coffee while she went outside to take the call. I watched her through the glass doors, her features intent on whatever was being said. The conversation wasn’t a long one. After less than a minute she came back inside. I expected her to make her excuses and leave, but instead she sat down at the table again.