He tried Breck next, and the detective superintendent answered on the second ring.
‘Liam. Please tell me this is good news about David Duffy.’
‘Not about Duffy, but about the case. Sir, I need you to do something for me.’ He told the boss what he wanted. ‘I’m on my way over.’
‘I’ll find out in a few minutes and call you with the details,’ Breck said. ‘But listen, I’m coming with you. I’ll meet you there.’
‘No problem.’ Truth be told, Brodie was happy about having backup. If he was right, if his memory served him correctly and he hadn’t just been trying to fit puzzle pieces into where they didn’t belong, then they were going to meet The Embalmer for the first time.
Except Brodie knew this wasn’t the first time. This was a man who was infinitely more dangerous than Dr Gabriel Kane.
But Kane had been right: this was personal. Brodie knew he was meant to go over to Fife and confront the man, and the killer had taken an insurance policy to make sure he appeared.
As he floored the car, he was acutely aware that when he had kissed Ruth goodbye, it might have been goodbye forever.
35
Brodie pulled his car in behind Breck’s car at the trailhead, the gravel crunching under his tyres. The location was remote – a single-track road that dead-ended at what looked like an old hiking trail, overgrown and barely used. Through the trees ahead, Brodie could just make out the roofline of a building, highlighted against the bright morning sunshine.
Breck climbed out of his car and walked back to Brodie’s driver’s side window, his expression grim. He gestured towards the trail that led up through the trees.
‘The house is over that hill. About half a mile on foot.’
‘Did Thomas Mitchell give you any grief when you asked him where this place was?’ Brodie asked.
‘Yes, he did. I told him I could find out, but it would take a bit longer, and then I would make sure I let it be known in Saughton that he was a nonce. He soon coughed up the address. And here we are.’
‘Old bastard.’
Breck looked at Brodie. ‘We can approach quietly, scope it out before we move in.’
Brodie looked at the muddy trail, then back at Breck. ‘Fuck that for a laugh. I’m driving right up there.’
‘Liam—’
‘He has Lucy. I’m a hundred per cent confident. He’ll be expecting us anyway. It doesn’t matter if we go crawling across a field like commandos or drive right up to the front door. Either way, he knows we’re coming.’ Brodie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. ‘I’m not wasting time creeping through the woods while Lucy could be dying in there.’
Breck studied him for a moment, then nodded. ‘All right. But I’m coming with you. My car stays here – if he’s watching, one car is less obvious than two.’
‘Get in.’
Breck climbed into the passenger seat, and Brodie put the car in gear, bypassing the trailhead and continuing up what was barely more than a dirt track. The Volvo bumped and lurched over ruts and stones, branches scraping against the sides. Through the trees, the building grew larger, more defined.
It was an old cottage, two storeys, stone construction that had probably stood for a hundred years or more. But it had the look of abandonment – windows boarded up, roof tiles missing, paint peeling from the few bits of exposed woodwork. No cars were visible, but there were outbuildings scattered around the property, any one of them large enough to conceal a vehicle.
As they drew closer, Brodie saw something that made his pulse quicken. Above one of the larger outbuildings, barely visible through decades of weathering and neglect, was a sign. The letters were faint, worn almost to nothing, but still readable if you knew what to look for:
THOMAS MITCHELL AND SON
Funeral Directors
‘Christ,’ Breck breathed. ‘I was prepared for Mitchell to have been talking shite, but this was his old funeral parlour right enough. The one he operated before moving to the bigger facility in Dunfermline. I thought it would be more commercial, but this looks like it dropped out of a bloodyHalloweenfilm.’
‘And where David Duffy trained,’ Brodie said, pulling the car to a stop in what had once been a gravel forecourt but was now mostly weeds and mud. ‘Where they both trained. He and his friend.’
They climbed out of the car, the silence of the location pressing in around them. No birdsong, no traffic noise, nothing but the whisper of wind through bare trees and the occasional drip of water from the eaves of the derelict building.
Brodie approached the front door, Breck at his shoulder. The door was newer than the rest of the structure, reinforced steel beneath a veneer made to look like old wood. Someone had replaced it recently, had made this building secure despite its abandoned appearance.
