Steven Dunne - Deity

‘Barley wine they should remember.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody drinks that filth.’

Brook pulled a piece of paper from his jacket. ‘Which reminds me. There’s a funeral parlour opposite the house. Duxbury and Duxbury. Anyone remember who contacted them?’

‘Me, I think,’ said Morton.

‘How did you leave it?’

‘They were ringing me back.’

‘Right. I’ll follow them up.’ Brook held out his arms. ‘Any questions?’

‘Do we drop the missing students?’ asked Morton.

‘You missed out the adjective.’ Cooper laughed.

Everyone joined in; even Brook managed a thin smile. Normally he would have discouraged such levity about an active investigation but he felt the missing students were an unnecessary distraction.

‘John and I will follow up on the students tonight. Anything else?’

‘Any usable film?’ said Cooper.

‘Local CCTV is trained on the shops further up Normanton Road but Jane will be in the Viewing Room, checking the hour between two and three last night. We may get a shortlist of suspect vehicles, we may not.’

‘What am I looking for?’ asked Gadd.

‘Vans, in particular. And get plates for follow-up if they look dubious.’

‘But we’re still not sure if this is a murder inquiry?’

‘No,’ said Brook. ‘But when people who like to play with dead things are ready to escalate, it’s the next logical step — especially if they run out of fresh corpses.’

‘What I don’t get, right, is — if this guy’s going for cosmetic perfection, why cut open these bums?’ asked Morton. ‘Most of them are in a right state.’

‘That’s the point,’ answered Brook. ‘He’s perfecting his technique on the most expendable members of society.’ An image of Phil Ward sprinting away from him on the track made Brook pause. ‘And let’s not forget these bums may have families. Once they had what you have: lovers, jobs, a future. They’ve lost all of that. Miserable though it may seem to us, all they have left is life, and no one has the right to take it away.’

While Noble knocked on the door, Brook ran his eye over the small, well-maintained suburban garden basking in the golden glow of dusk. A For Sale sign nestled up against the garden wall. The house itself was neat, if nondescript, similar to every semidetached they’d passed on the Brisbane Estate — a comfortable and characterless modern home for a small, hardworking family.

The compact driveway, its garage outgrown by modern vehicles, had two cars squeezed on to it — a sleek black Jaguar tight up against the rear bumper of a battered Nissan Micra. A good metaphor for Poole’s relationship with Alice Kennedy, Brook decided. Poole had money from a generous pension and his former marriage and, even from the briefest encounter with the couple, Brook had gotten the impression that Poole’s relationship with her wouldn’t have existed without it.

‘Come in.’ Poole stood aside to usher Noble into the warmth of the house. ‘Inspector Brook,’ he nodded as Brook entered in turn.

‘Hello, Len.’

‘You remembered me then, Inspector.’

‘I never forget a face.’ Noble turned to raise an eyebrow but Brook ignored it. ‘How’s retirement treating you?’

‘Mustn’t grumble,’ replied Poole. ‘Still driving a Jag,’ he added, as though it were relevant.

Brook followed Poole and Noble into a small, softly lit living room where Alice Kennedy sat on a sofa next to the uniformed Family Liaison Officer already there. The petite Asian officer held a cup and saucer and balanced an untouched plate of biscuits on her lap. Her hat was on the arm of the sofa and her thick black hair had been wound into a tight bun. She looked ill at ease for some reason.

‘Constable.’ Brook nodded at her. Unsurprisingly he had forgotten her name and gave Noble the usual blank stare to prompt his DS to identify their colleague at the earliest opportunity.

‘Can I get you some tea, Detectives?’ asked Alice Kennedy, her voice taut.

‘No, thank you,’ replied Noble. ‘We have. . other calls to make.’

‘You mean the other parents, don’t you?’ She dabbed a handkerchief to an eye. ‘I heard. Those poor people.’

‘Has PC Patel brought you up to speed, Mrs Kennedy?’ asked Noble.

‘Yes. You’ve upgraded Kyle’s disappearance to medium risk because it’s been several days.’

‘That’s right. We’re widening the inquiry. We’ll be going to the college to ask questions, and we’ve circulated Kyle’s details and the picture you gave us to the British Transport Police — all the ports and airports are on the lookout for him. We also think it’s wise to email his details to Interpol as well.’ Noble tried to smile reassuringly.

‘Interpol?’

‘It’s an international Police Force, love,’ said Poole.

‘I know what it is,’ she said crossly. ‘But why?’

‘In case he’s jetted off to Ibiza or somewhere. They’ll let us know if he’s left Britain under the radar and slipped into Europe. Our border controls are not the best.’

‘No, no, no. That’s impossible,’ said Alice.

‘Why?’

‘He doesn’t even have a passport.’

Brook and Noble glanced at each other. ‘So it would surprise you to learn that Kyle applied for a passport three months ago?’ asked Noble.

Alice Kennedy looked genuinely stunned. ‘Yes, it would, Sergeant. Are you sure?’

‘According to the Passport Service.’

‘It’s something they check for missing persons over eighteen,’ said Poole, with a pompous sniff. ‘So they know the search parameters.’

‘So he may have been planning a trip.’ Alice’s face brightened. ‘I suppose that’s a ray of hope.’

‘We think it’s significant,’ said Noble.

‘But why didn’t he say anything to me?’

‘As a parent, I have to say it’s not unusual for teenagers to keep things from us.’ A shard of personal anguish infected Brook’s features for a moment but passed just as quickly. ‘And when several young adults disappear together it can point to some kind of trip — sometimes to a festival, a booze cruise, even a holiday.’

‘But it doesn’t make sense. He’s never been abroad before. We could never afford it after the separation.’

‘I was thinking of treating him after his A-levels though,’ interjected Poole. ‘I was putting something aside for him. For a surprise.’ He smiled across at Alice, hoping his assertion of economic well-being would bring comfort. She looked back at him without expression.

‘Wait — wouldn’t Kyle need his birth certificate for a passport?’ asked Alice.

‘Yours too, if it’s his first,’ answered Noble. ‘Would Kyle know where they are?’

‘Of course. I keep everything in the office in a folder. In case something happens to me.’

‘Could you. .?’ prompted Noble. She hurried upstairs to check.

Brook glanced across at Poole. When he thought nobody was watching, the former pathologist was staring at PC Patel. Noble had noticed it too. And without showing she was aware of it, Brook’s uniformed colleague folded her arms across her chest.

‘We wondered whether he’d asked you to endorse his passport photograph, Len?’ enquired Brook.

Poole broke off his examination of Patel’s body. ‘Me?’

‘Well, a family member or a parent isn’t allowed to do it.’

Poole shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t ask me. He’d know I’d mention it to Alice.’

Alice returned to the sitting room deep in thought. ‘They’re there but I can tell they’ve been taken out of the wallet.’

‘What about money? You told the other officer who called that Kyle had his own bank account,’ said Noble.

‘Yes. At Santander. It was a birthday present last year,’ said Alice. ‘I gave the officer the details.’