‘Really?’ Brodie said. ‘This might not be our killer then.’
‘Any identification?’ Lucy asked.
‘There was a driving licence in her pocket. Claire Nisbet. Twenty-seven. Address in Dundee. DI McKenzie and DS Munro are up there now, liaising with the local force, and they were on their way to her house.’ Cameron glanced back at the tent. ‘She hasn’t been here long – body’s still in good condition, probably placed sometime in the early hours of this morning.’
Holmes moved towards the tent with practised efficiency. ‘I’ll need to conduct my examination. If you’ll excuse me?’
As the pathologist disappeared inside the forensic tent, Brodie stood with Lucy and Cameron, looking out over the Forth. The tide was low, exposing rocks covered in seaweed and the debris that accumulated at the high-water mark. A few dog walkers stood at the edge of the cordon, curiosity and concern on their faces.
‘How many does this make?’ Lucy asked quietly.
‘Nine that we know of,’ Brodie replied. ‘Seven from the original spree seven years ago, Emma Richardson, and now this one. But I’m starting to think there are more we haven’t found yet.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Lucy asked.
‘Everyone assumed The Embalmer stopped killing, but whatif he just changed his methodology? What if the beach displays were only ever just a small part of his work?’
‘That would make sense,’ Cameron said.
‘Exactly. And if that’s true, we’re not looking at nine victims. We could be looking at dozens.’ Brodie’s voice was grim. ‘Which means we’re not just dealing with a serial killer. We’re dealing with someone who’s been murdering with impunity for years.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Holmes emerged from the tent after about fifteen minutes. ‘Preliminary findings confirm what we suspected,’ Holmes reported. ‘She was positioned in The Embalmer’s signature style, but she is fully dressed. She looks like she’s been killed like the others, with blood drained from her neck. I’ll know more after the post-mortem, but this is consistent with the previous victims.’
‘Time of death?’ Brodie asked.
‘Difficult to say precisely without laboratory examination, but based on body temperature and lividity, I’d estimate between midnight and 3a.m.’ Holmes set down his medical bag.
‘DI Warren, have you had much experience with serial murder cases?’
‘I’ve been involved in a few.’
‘Then you’ll understand who we’re looking for. Somebody who has to be taken off the streets as soon as.’
‘We’ll do everything possible.’
‘We’ll need that post-mortem as soon as possible,’ Brodie said. ‘Priority scheduling.’
‘Of course. I’ll begin this afternoon once the body’s been transported to the mortuary.’ Holmes picked up his bag. ‘I’ll send my preliminary report by this evening.’
As Holmes walked back towards the access tunnel, Lucyturned to Brodie with a thoughtful expression. ‘He’s very knowledgeable about serial killer psychology.’
‘He’s one of the best pathologists I’ve worked with. He used to work in Dundee before here. The professor there was Dr Fred Hart. I met him when I worked The Embalmer case last time. He was in Fife for a meeting. Nice guy. Probably retired by now. But Fife lucked out when they got Sherlock. He was taught by Fred. They were a good team. But let’s get back to the station.’
They walked back through the access tunnel just as Sherlock was about to get into his car. Brodie leaned on the open door.
‘I’ll have the original pathology reports faxed over to the mortuary, now that we have a second victim,’ he said.
‘Terrific, thanks,’ Sherlock said. ‘It will be handy to compare them to our two new victims.’ He got in behind the wheel. ‘I’ll call you later, Liam.’
Brodie nodded as Sherlock closed his door and drove away.
23
JUNE 2021
Dr Janice Nisbet sat at her kitchen table in her Dundee flat, a glass of Merlot within easy reach and her journal open to a fresh page. The wine was good – better than she usually bought – a gift from a colleague who’d stopped by earlier in the week. She’d been saving it for a quiet evening like this, when the weight of the day needed something to help ease it off her shoulders. She knew she had been drinking more and more these days, but she couldn’t help it. The taste had a grip on her, and she knew she was heading for alcoholism, but she was only knocking on the door just now. Entering into that state was only a short time away, but she would cross that bridge later.
Outside, rain pattered against the windows with that persistent June rhythm that made Dundee feel even more isolated than usual. The flat was warm, at least. Janice had the heating on full, Radio 4 playing softly in the background, creating the comforting illusion of company in the empty space.
