‘Liam,’ Kane said, smiling like they were old friends meeting for coffee. ‘I was wondering when you’d come to see me.’
‘Gabriel.’ Brodie took the chair across from him. The orderlies were waiting outside the door, although Brodie didn’t think the doctor was a threat to him. He kept a pen tucked into his sock, just in case. ‘How did you know I’d be coming?’
‘The news, obviously. A young woman was found on a Fifebeach, positioned as if she were sleeping. Very artistic. Very familiar.’ Kane’s eyes were bright with interest. ‘The Embalmer’s back, isn’t he?’
‘That’s what I’m here to ask you.’
Kane leaned back as far as his restraints would allow. ‘You want my professional opinion? As one artist commenting on another’s work?’
‘I want your opinion as someone who understands how serial killers think.’
‘Same thing, really.’ Kane’s smile widened. ‘The Embalmer was always an artist, Liam. Creating tableaux, arranging his subjects with such precision. Those crime scene photos were beautiful, in their way.’
Brodie kept his expression neutral. Kane fed on reactions, on any sign that his words were having an effect. ‘So you think it’s the same killer?’
‘Oh, absolutely. The artist has returned to his gallery.’ Kane’s voice carried conviction. ‘I have no doubt this is the original killer back to work. The positioning, the attention to detail – you can’t fake that level of… commitment.’
‘He started seven years ago and killed for eighteen months before stopping. Why start again now?’
Kane was quiet for a moment, studying Brodie’s face with the intensity of a scientist examining a specimen. ‘Who says he stopped?’
‘The killings stopped. September 2019, no more bodies.’
‘The killings you know about stopped. The signature killings, the beach displays.’ Kane leaned forward as much as his chains would allow. ‘But a true artist doesn’t simply stop creating, Liam. He evolves. Experiments. Tries new media.’
The thought made Brodie’s skin crawl. ‘You think he’s been killing all along?’
‘I think he’s been perfecting his craft. Seven years is a long time to practise, to refine technique, to develop new methods.’ Kane’s eyes gleamed. ‘The Embalmer you’re looking for now is not the same killer who stopped in 2019. He’s better. More sophisticated.’
‘Then why return to the original signature? Why risk exposure?’
‘Because something’s changed. Something that made him want to announce his return in the most dramatic way possible.’ Kane paused, watching Brodie carefully. ‘The question is, what’s different now from seven years ago?’
Brodie considered the question. The investigation team was different back then. The location was the same. The only significant difference was?—
‘You’re back,’ Kane said quietly, reading his thoughts. ‘You were part of the original investigation, then you moved on to other cases, other cities. And now you’re back in Fife, investigating The Embalmer again.’
‘The killing took place before I was called in,’ Brodie said.
Kane’s smile was patient, almost patronising. ‘You were back in Fife two weeks ago, Liam. The missing DCI case. Think about it.’
The words hit Brodie like a physical blow. DCI McRae’s disappearance. He’d been in Fife for two weeks, working a case but also asking questions, interviewing witnesses, working the case. If Kane was right, if The Embalmer had been watching, waiting…
‘You think he killed Emma Richardson because I was back in Fife?’
‘I think he killed Emma Richardson to get your attention. To bring you back to the game.’ Kane leaned back, satisfied with the effect of his words. ‘The Embalmer remembers you, Liam. Youwere one of the few investigators who really understood his work, appreciated the artistry involved.’
‘I was trying to catch him.’
‘Same thing. You saw what others missed. You understood that this wasn’t random violence or sexual murder – this was performance art.’ Kane’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. ‘He respected you for that. And now he wants to play again. The killings for the last seven years have been to satiate a thirst he has, a thirst for killing. Now he wants to play the game again.’
Brodie felt sick. The idea that his presence in Fife might have triggered Emma Richardson’s murder was almost unbearable. ‘You’re saying this is personal?’
‘Everything’s personal with killers like us, Liam. We don’t kill strangers – we kill symbols, representations, pieces in a larger puzzle.’ Kane studied Brodie’s expression with professional interest. ‘The Embalmer is excited about this new challenge. He’s confident he’s going to win again, no matter how long it takes. Six months? A year? Longer? You and your team were the ones who gave up last time. He won.’
‘We didn’t give up. The case went cold.’
‘Not from his perspective. You lost the last time, and he wants to beat you again. The killings in between meant nothing to him. This means everything. You mean everything.’
