After finishing with Mrs Henderson and securing both flats as potential crime scenes, Brodie gathered Art, Freya and Lucy outside on the pavement. The morning was growing warmer, clouds breaking up to reveal patches of blue sky.
‘Thoughts?’ Brodie asked his team.
Lucy was studying the building, her analytical mind processing the information. ‘If The Embalmer is eliminating family members of people who might have discovered his identity, it adds to our theory that he’s been active for much longer than we thought. Not just the seven beach victims from seven years ago, but years of cover-up murders that we’re only now beginning to identify.’
‘But why now?’ Freya wondered. ‘Why wait years and then suddenly start killing again?’
‘Because I came back to Fife, a few weeks ago, investigatingAlan McRae’s disappearance and the other case I worked on with the unearthed skeleton. McRae had been looking into The Embalmer case, asking questions about suspicious deaths. My presence here triggered the killer to resume his work. It got McRae going for some reason.’
‘But why would he want attention?’ Lucy asked.
‘Because he’s an artist, and artists need their work to be seen,’ Brodie replied. ‘He’s been killing in secret for years, but The Embalmer murders – the beach displays, the careful positioning – that’s his true art. My return gave him an excuse to resurrect that signature, to create his masterwork.’
‘Lucy, you’re with me. We’re going to have another conversation with David Duffy.’ Brodie started walking towards his car. ‘If he was friends with both Mark Finlay and Janice Nisbet, if he knew them well enough to visit regularly, he might know things about their final days that didn’t make it into official reports.’
‘You think Duffy’s been holding back information?’ Lucy asked as they got into the car.
‘I think Duffy’s been trying to tell us the truth for six years, but we weren’t listening because we were too focused on him as a suspect.’ Brodie started the engine. ‘Now I want to hear everything he knows about Janice Nisbet, about her friendship with Finlay, about whether she ever expressed concerns about her work or mentioned noticing anything suspicious.’
As they drove back towards Fife, Brodie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were finally seeing the full scope of The Embalmer’s crimes. Not just the theatrical beach displays, but years of methodical elimination of anyone who threatened to expose him. Mark Finlay, Janice Nisbet,– all of them killed, and their deaths made to look natural or accidental.
And now he was targeting their families, creating a finalcollection of victims that would cement his legacy as The Embalmer while simultaneously eliminating any remaining connections to people who had suspected the truth.
The question was whether they could stop him before he completed his masterwork.
25
David Duffy’s flat was on the second floor of what looked like something the 1960s spat out. Brodie, Lucy and Art climbed the metal steps just after ten in the morning, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the brick walls.
Duffy answered the door wearing work clothes – dark trousers and a shirt with an Asda logo embroidered on the pocket. His expression shifted from surprise to resignation to barely controlled anger in the space of a few seconds.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered. ‘You people again. What is it this time? Another body you want to pin on me?’
‘Can we come in, Mr Duffy?’ Brodie asked, his tone professional but not hostile.
‘Do I have a choice?’ Duffy stepped aside, letting them enter a small flat that was tidy but showed the signs of a man living alone without much interest in making the space comfortable. Functional furniture, minimal decoration, everything organised with military precision.
‘We just have a few more questions,’ Lucy said, taking in thedetails of the flat with her trained eye. ‘We’re not accusing you of anything.’
‘That’s what you said last time. And seven years ago when you lot decided I was The Embalmer despite having absolutely no evidence.’ Duffy remained standing, arms crossed defensively. ‘I’m supposed to be at work in twenty minutes, so whatever questions you have, make them quick.’
Brodie noted the defensive posture, the immediate assumption of accusation. It was the behaviour of someone who’d been treated as guilty for so long that he expected nothing else. ‘Where were you last night, Mr Duffy? Between midnight and 3a.m.?’
‘Here. Alone. Watching television until about eleven, then went to bed.’ Duffy’s voice was flat. ‘No alibi, no witnesses, nothing that would satisfy you. There are a lot of people like me, you know: single, live on their own, go to bed every night without thinking about having an alibi in case the police come knocking next day.’
‘You heard about the body found this morning?’ Art asked.
‘Another woman found on a beach, positioned like all the others. I heard on the radio.’ Duffy’s expression was bitter. ‘And naturally, you’re here to see if I have an alibi, because obviously I’m still your favourite suspect despite the fact that you’ve never found a single piece of evidence connecting me to any of these murders.’
‘We’re investigating all possibilities,’ Brodie said calmly. ‘The victim was Claire Nisbet, twenty-seven, from Dundee. Does that name mean anything to you?’
Something flickered across Duffy’s face – recognition, followed by what looked like genuine grief. ‘Claire? Christ, not Claire.’ He sat down heavily on the sofa, the defensive angerdraining away. ‘She was Janice’s niece. I met her a few times when she was visiting her aunt.’
‘You knew Janice Nisbet,’ Lucy stated, pulling out her notebook.
‘I knew her, yes. We were friends.’ Duffy’s voice had lost its hostile edge. ‘When I heard Claire’s name just now… I should have realised she might be in danger.’
‘Why would Claire Nisbet be in danger?’ Art asked sharply.
