85
He was under siege. They had had to disconnect the doorbell and pull out the phones in the end, but still the barrage of inquiries didn’t stop. Journalists shouted through the letterbox, banged on the doors and the windows, asking for comments, for a photo opportunity. They were remorseless, merciless.
Robert had taken refuge with his parents, Monica and Adam, in their bedroom upstairs. They’d sat on the bed together, trying to block out the sound of the commotion outside by cranking up the radio. No one had really known what to say at first, too shocked to process the day’s events, but finally Robert found his voice.
“Did you know?”
His first question had been tinged with bitterness and anger. Monica nodded, but was crying too much to speak, so Adam falteringly told Robert what he needed to know. His parents had known who his mother was when they’d adopted him, but they’d never wanted to know the details of her crimes, fearing that their horror would seep into their relationship with their cherished child. As far as they were concerned, the child was innocent. The slate was wiped clean, and by good fortune and the grace of God both he and they had been given an amazing opportunity. They had always referred to him as “their little blessing.”
Robert didn’t feel like a blessing now. After a couple of hours of fraught, painful discussion, he had retired to his bedroom, needing to be alone. He had lain on his bed, his iPod turned up to the max, trying to block out the hysteria of his life. But he couldn’t, and he couldn’t sleep either, so he’d just spent the time staring at the clock as it made its slow progress through the night.
Had Helen done this to him? He’d worked out who Helen really was even before Emilia Garanita told him. He’d shrugged Emilia off when she’d collared him at the convenience store, but not before she’d laid out the basics. Helen was his aunt, and his mother was a serial killer. As far as he could see, Helen had tried to protect him... but still she was the only person who knew his real identity. The only one who had a personal interest in him. Had she brought the walls crashing down on him?
His iPod lay discarded on the floor now and he could hear his parents arguing. They didn’t deserve this either. What did it mean for their family now? They had loved him unconditionally for all of their time together, but they hadn’t signed up for this. They were an ordinary, nice couple who’d never done a thing wrong in their lives.
He stole a glimpse out of the window and his heart sank. There were even more journalists out there than there had been before. They were under siege now. And there would be no escape.
86
Helen left the flat promptly, but the roads were already clogged with traffic and her ride to the police mortuary took twice as long as usual. She cursed herself for not leaving earlier, but she had been thrown by waking up next to Jake. It had been so long since that had happened that she’d been unsure of the etiquette. As it was, she allowed him a shower and breakfast, then asked him to leave. Oddly, that didn’t feel awkward and their parting was friendly, even fond. They had talked into the small hours and then Helen had fallen asleep; she woke several hours later, fully clothed but refreshed. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but she knew that she didn’t regret it.
On her ride to the police mortuary, Helen’s thoughts turned once more to Robert. Should she attempt to contact him? Parking up, she pulled out her phone and swiftly typed a message. Her finger hovered over the button—would he want to hear from her? What could she possibly say? What if her message fell into the wrong hands or was hacked? Emilia would certainly stoop to those levels if she felt she could get away with it.
But she couldn’t just say nothing. Couldn’t leave Robert to face this alone. So she’d written a short text saying how sorry she was, how he should sit tight while she got local uniform to move the press on, and asking him to text her to let her know how he was. It was inadequate, grossly so in the circumstances, but what else could she say? Blasted by the cold wind ripping through the deserted mortuary car park, Helen hesitated once more, then pressed the Send button. She hoped with all her heart that it would make a difference, however small.
•••
Jim Grieves was unusually quiet this morning, the first sign that he was aware of the chaos in Helen’s life. More surprising still, he’d patted her arm as they’d walked to the slab. Helen had never known Jim to display any physical affection to anyone before, and she was touched that he felt the need to let her know he was rooting for her. She smiled her thanks; then they got on with the task at hand. Slipping on their masks, they approached the desiccated remains of Anton Gardiner.
“He’s been dead about six months,” Jim Grieves began. “It’s hard to be precise. The vermin in that place have had a fine time. They’ve picked off his skin and most of his internal organs, but by dating the dried blood in his mouth cavity and nasal passage... six months is a reasonable guess.”
“Was he murdered?”
“Absolutely. Your mansufferedbefore he died. Both ankles were broken, kneecaps and elbows too. And his windpipe was cut deep—the blade edge severing his vertebrae. Whoever did this virtually cut his head off.”
“Was he killed on-site?”
“Doesn’t look like it. The lack of blood at the scene, the absence of any clothes, and the small hole that the body was forced into suggest that he was killed elsewhere, then hidden there. Before rigor mortis set in, your killer or killers scrunched him up and buried him—his bones were already broken, so he would have been more easy to manipulate.”
“What about his heart?”
Jim paused, aware of the importance of the question.
“Still there. Or fragments of it. And what’s left is still attached. It’s been eaten by the rats—you can see the teeth marks if you look close.”
Helen peered down at the interior of the dead man’s chest.
“Like I say, we’ve found blood under the fingernails, in his nasal passage and in his mouth. Two blood types so far, so if you’re lucky your killer’s blood might be in there. Should have DNA for you in a few hours.”
Helen nodded, but her attention remained fixed on what had once been Anton’s beating heart. So much seemed to fit with the killer’s MO, but the heart hadn’t been removed. Was Anton a nursery slope for Lyra? Did she graduate from torture to mutilation with her later victims? Was Anton Gardiner the spark that set the blaze burning in her mind?
It was time to find out more about the life and times of the murdered pimp. Helen thanked Jim and headed for the exit, leaving the unusually taciturn pathologist alone with the man who had been eaten by rats.
•••
“So what do we know about this guy?”
Helen was addressing the team, who were now crowded round her in the incident room.
