‘Sir, we need to talk.’
Breck looked up, grateful for the interruption. ‘About the warrant? Not going to happen.’
‘About something Thomas Mitchell said when we were at the funeral home.’ Brodie settled into the chair across from Breck’s desk. ‘When we were asking about the historical connection to The Embalmer victims, Mitchell got defensive. Started making implications.’
‘What kind of implications?’
‘He said something like, “Why don’t you ask your friend Alan McRae?” The way he said it… he was suggesting McRae had something to do with the murders.’
Breck set down his coffee cup carefully. ‘McRae wasn’t one ofthe investigating officers. Of course he’d have knowledge about the case. Every officer did. But I had worked with him before. He was working another big case at the time, that’s why you were brought in to run the investigation.’
Brodie got the feeling that McRae wasn’t given the lead on The Embalmer investigation as the suits upstairs didn’t have confidence in him and had farmed him out to work on another case in another station. ‘Did you get any feeling about him seven years ago?’ he asked Breck.
‘I didn’t at the time. We were so busy over that eighteen-month time period, and McRae was working at Dunfermline, so we weren’t in daily contact. I have to say though, he wasn’t the sharpest card in the deck,’ Breck said, mixing metaphors.
‘This feels different. Like Mitchell’s suggesting McRae was involved somehow. It could be deflection, trying to muddy the waters. But what if it’s not?’
‘I think we need to consider the possibility.’ Breck leaned forward.
‘McRae disappears, then three weeks later, a new victim appears. Mitchell, who we know is dodgy, implies McRae knew more than he should have,’ Brodie said.
Breck was quiet for a long moment, working through the implications. If McRae was compromised, it would explain how The Embalmer stayed ahead of the investigation. Inside information about police procedures, evidence, suspect lists.
Brodie felt sweat running down his back. ‘If we think outside the box for a moment, we could put Alan McRae as The Embalmer.’
‘Aw, Jesus, Liam, sit down. You’re making the place look untidy.’
Brodie sat down heavily in the chair opposite Breck. ‘I did say, thinking outside the box.’
Breck nodded. ‘It would explain why the case went cold. Hard to catch a killer when someone on the inside is feeding him information. This is serious, Liam. If we’re talking about police corruption connected to serial murder. Christ, I trusted McRae. I’d hate to think he was a mad bastard going around killing people.’
‘I know. But we need to know what we’re dealing with.’
‘No wonder I’ve got fucking heartburn.’ Breck stood up, decision made. ‘McRae’s locker is still sealed pending the missing-person investigation. Let’s take a look.’
They walked down to the basement, where the officer lockers were located. McRae’s locker was in the corner, sealed with police tape and a padlock. Brodie called Art and asked him to bring Cameron down. Two uniformed officers who’d been working nearby were waved over.
‘I want witnesses for this,’ Breck said, pulling on latex gloves. ‘Whatever we find, I want it properly documented.’
He cut the police tape and used bolt cutters on the padlock. The locker door swung open, revealing the usual accumulation of personal items – spare clothes, toiletries, a few books.
Then Brodie saw what was plastered to the inside of the door.
‘Jesus Christ.’
Photographs. Dozens of them, covering every inch of the door’s interior. Crime scene photos of The Embalmer’s seven victims, taken from multiple angles. But these weren’t official evidence photos.
‘Are these from the case files?’ Cameron asked.
Brodie studied them carefully. ‘Some are. But others…’ He pointed to a photo of Sarah Morrison, the first victim. ‘This angle isn’t in any report I’ve seen. Someone took this photo separately.’
Art stepped closer. ‘Look at the way they’re arranged. It’s not random – there’s a pattern here.’
He was right. The photos were organised in a specific sequence, connected by red thread like a conspiracy theorist’s wall chart. Each victim was linked to the others by lines drawn in red marker, with dates and locations noted in neat handwriting.
‘This is obsession,’ Breck said quietly. ‘The kind of obsession that goes way beyond professional interest.’ He looked at Brodie. ‘Maybe you were right, Liam.’
Art pointed to the bottom of the display. ‘There’s writing here. Looks like notes.’
