Steven Dunne - Deity

‘It’s longer than that,’ said Brook.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The newspaper reports of the suicides we saw in today’s broadcast. They go back years,’ said Brook.

‘You told the press conference there was no connection,’ said Charlton.

‘There is and there isn’t,’ said Brook. ‘But we think there’s a suicide in Denbigh three years ago that may be linked to Wilson’s. We’re waiting for a call back.’

‘To tell us what?’ asked Charlton.

‘Sir, someone’s got a hold on these vulnerable kids, someone who doesn’t belong, who’s twisting what they want to his or her ends, someone who enjoys manipulating people to kill themselves, but not by bullying, by being a friend, by telling them they’re doing the right thing. Telling them they’ll be famous, that they’ll live forever, telling them they’re giants because they’re taking control. That’s what the website’s for — to reach as many vulnerable people as possible and encourage them to do the same. It’s a project, sir. A game, almost.’

‘And the night of Kyle’s party was D-Day,’ said Noble.

‘I think so. That’s when it started. Jake McKenzie saw them that night. Kyle was filming. Adele and Becky were on the floor, their faces white, playing dead, practising their death masks.’

‘I thought they were faking it for the broadcasts.’

‘They were, John. And maybe they also thought it was a game and don’t know what Deity’s got in store for them.’ Brook looked at the dark-eyed Adele Watson glaring at him from the display board. ‘At least, some of them don’t.’

DS Gadd burst into the room and hurried over to Charlton. ‘Sir, we’ve got a lead on The Embalmer.’

‘You’ve found the ambulance?’

‘No, but we’ve got the same name three times in response to our facial composite. One of the sources works in the chandler’s shop on site at Shardlow Marina. Lee Smethwick,’ she read. ‘Forty-four years old. He lives on a canal boat at the Marina. He works in catering for Derby Education, was formerly in the Merchant Marine and spent three years in Egypt in the nineties working as an engineer — model employee apparently. Nothing flagged up from Interpol and there’s no criminal record here. We’re trying to rouse someone at the council to get a photo.’

‘Sounds promising,’ said Charlton. ‘Let’s go and get him. God knows, we need a result.’

‘Derby Education?’ echoed Brook. He spun round to look at the artist’s impression of The Embalmer, picked up a sheet of A4 paper from the printer and held it across the forehead of the portrait. He smiled. ‘A chef. That’s why his face was wrong — his forehead was under a chef’s hat.’

‘You’ve seen him?’ said Charlton.

‘He works at Derby College — in the refectory. I was there with Yvette Thomson.’

‘Small world,’ said Charlton.

‘We were all over that place yesterday morning.’ Cooper sighed. ‘He was right under our noses.’

‘He wasn’t there,’ said Noble. ‘The refectory was closed, remember.’

‘Let’s go get him,’ said Charlton.

‘Good hunting,’ said Brook.

Charlton eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’re not coming?’

Brook glanced at the picture of Adele Watson and back at Charlton. ‘It’s not my case any more.’

‘You’ve changed your tune.’

‘My team have had a very long day, sir, and we’re not finished yet. DS Gadd’s in charge. If Smethwick’s there, she’ll bring him in.’

Charlton paused for a second longer. He’d never understand Brook. He walked out ahead of Gadd, who lingered briefly to nod her appreciation.

Brook slumped on to a chair and put his head in his hands to rub his eyes. Noble sat down and began to look over some papers. He yawned.

‘Go home, John. Get some rest,’ Brook told him. ‘You too, Dave.’

The two detectives left and for something to do, Brook turned on his laptop to play around with more combinations for Russell’s film poster.

The phone rang. It was a DI Gareth Edwards from North Wales Police.

‘ Is DS Noble there? ’

‘I’m DI Brook, his superior.’ Brook quickly typed Denbigh into Google maps.

‘Your Sergeant put in a call to ask about a suicide three years ago.’

‘The unknown boy in Denbigh. You worked the case?’

‘I did. I was only a DS at the time but it certainly made an impression. He was just a kid.’

‘Well, his picture popped up on a website we’ve been monitoring.’

‘Deity. You don’t need to tell us. I think the whole country’s picked up on it. We were going to call you anyway as soon as we saw it. Your Sergeant was right. The local paper didn’t carry a photograph because we couldn’t find any of him alive. We figured releasing a picture of his corpse was a step too far.’

‘Especially at the end of a rope.’

‘That’s just it. The picture from the website couldn’t have been circulated to the public because we didn’t take it.’

‘It wasn’t one of your crime-scene shots?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘Why so sure?’

‘Because the guy who found the body got him down and tried to revive him.’

‘Who was that?’

‘A local builder, walking his dog.’

‘And he was never a suspect?’

‘A suspect in what? The kid hanged himself. He tied a rope round his neck and jumped. Broke his neck instantly.’

‘He couldn’t have been pushed?’

‘There was no bruising anywhere except his neck — I’ll email you the autopsy. And two people couldn’t have stood on the same branch of that tree . . ’

‘So that picture was taken by someone who was actually there when he jumped.’

‘That was our conclusion. The file’s still open and we’re taking another look but we’re not hopeful because we never found out who the kid was.’

‘Did you-?’

‘We tried everything. No schools reported missing pupils. No parents reported missing kids. It’s like he was a ghost. Fingerprints and DNA were a bust. And there didn’t seem to be any dentalwork.’

‘Did you try anyway? There would still be records even if his teeth were in mint condition.’

‘Of course we tried. If he’d actually ever seen a dentist even to have his teeth X-rayed we might have found him. He had teeth missing but no fillings or any visible work. We came to the conclusion that he hadn’t seen a dentist, certainly not in Britain.’

‘So you thought he was foreign.’

‘We didn’t think anything. We had no facts. It was just another angle.’

‘Were drugs involved?’

‘No. The lad had a small amount of vodka in his system but not enough to get him drunk.’

‘No sign of coercion?’

‘None. He just climbed the tree, put the noose around his neck and jumped, as far as we could make out.’

‘What time of day?’

‘Mid-morning. On the bend of the River Elwy. It’s a local beauty spot but it was cold and likely deserted. We never rustled up any witnesses who saw him alive.’

Brook stared at the map of North Wales. ‘There’s an orphanage in St Asaph’s. Did you check there?’

‘No.’

‘But it’s only about five miles from Denbigh.’

‘The lad hanged himself three years ago. The orphanage was closed in 2003 — five years before.’

‘I see,’ Brook said. ‘Can we get access to the boy’s DNA?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

Brook expressed his thanks and rang off. He turned off the laptop and looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He’d been up for nearly nineteen hours with only biscuits to sustain him. He walked to the door of the Incident Room but didn’t leave. After a moment’s thought, he returned to his desk and packed his laptop into its case and left the building.