The Scent of Death

Chapter 22

While the cadaver dog search continued without me, I stayed in the basement to sift through the cold ashes in the boiler. If I was needed they would send for me: in the meantime, I was more use down there, carefully trowelling ashes through a fine-grade sieve with the SOCOs. Most of what we recovered were just fragments of charcoal that hadn’t been fully consumed by the fire, but there were other finds as well. Several more phalanges, from feet as well as hands, along with a small number of larger bones, were concealed beneath the ashes. All were crazed and distorted by the heat. Two pieces of broken ribs were recovered, their ends sharply splintered, and what looked like a rounded piece of clinker turned out to be the head of a right tibia, with the rest of the long shin bone buried under the ash. Uncovered nearby, though still further away than it would have been in life, was the rounded triangle of a patella. A kneecap, though from the left leg rather than the right.

As we worked, we began to form a clearer picture of what had happened, if not why. As Whelan had noted, the ashes on the surface were mostly burnt wood, salted with blackened chunks of charcoal. Underneath them was an older layer of ash and cinders, left over from when the boiler had burned coal to heat the hospital. That suggested that the body had been put inside, had wood piled over and around it, and then been set alight. While it wouldn’t have burned as hotly as a coal fire, the boiler would have trapped and intensified the heat, enough for the soft and connective tissue to burn off until only the charred skeleton remained.

Then, when the fire had died and the bones were cool enough to handle, someone had come and taken them away.

The SOCOs had discovered an ash-covered rake and shovel nearby, probably used by boiler-room staff when the hospital was still functioning. They’d also been put to more recent use. The burnt remains would have come apart when anyone tried to remove them, the surviving ligaments and tendons too brittle to maintain the skeleton’s integrity. Judging by the tracks in the ashes, the tools had been used to clumsily drag the remains closer to the hatch, jumbling up the bones and causing some of them to be buried in the process.

And not just bones. There were other non-organic finds as well. A metal belt buckle, a zip fastener and circular eyelets from either shoes or boots, all charred but enough to show that the body burned in here had been wearing clothes.

Parekh had been to the basement for the start of the recovery but hadn’t stayed. There was little for her to do except agree that the bones were human, and when she’d been called out to another, unconnected death across the city she’d left us to it. Ward had come as well, bulky and uncomfortable in the coveralls and her face pale and strained.

‘Are we looking at one set of remains or multiple?’ she asked, looking at the boxes of evidence.

‘I can’t say for sure yet,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen any duplications, but—’

‘Just tell me if it’s one or two.’

Her sharpness betrayed her tension. The excitement she’d shown earlier, on the way to arrest Gary Lennox, had evaporated. Not only had Oduya’s intervention stymied her hopes of establishing Lennox’s guilt through his fingerprints, now we’d uncovered what appeared to be a fourth victim.

Today hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped.

‘One. So far,’ I added.

If we’d found duplicates of any of the bones — two right tibias, say — it would mean we were looking at commingled remains from two or more people. I’d found nothing to support that yet, though.

‘What else can you tell me?’

‘The bones we’ve found are all large and heavy, even allowing for them shrinking in the fire. I’d say from that we could be looking at a male, but that’s only a first impression.’

‘Height? Age?’

‘You know I can’t—’

‘I’m going to be reporting to Ainsley and standing in front of a pack of reporters later. Just give me something.’

I was about to say that it was too early to be speculating on age and stature when we were still sifting through the ash and cinders, but then I saw the lines of strain around Ward’s eyes.

‘From what I’ve seen, it’s probably an adult male,’ I told her. ‘Heavily built and between one eighty-four and one eighty-eight centimetres tall, based on the length of the tibia. I’ll be able to give you a better estimate when I’ve done all the calculations, but he was probably six foot one or two. Probably.’

I stressed the last word, letting her see I wasn’t happy saying even that.

‘How old an adult?’

‘It’s hard to say.’

‘Give me your best guess.’

‘I just have done.’ I could understand Ward’s impatience, but there was only so much I could tell from a few burnt bones.

‘Fine. If you’re not up to it I’ll ask Mears,’ she snapped.

She turned and walked out. I stared after her, my face burning. None of the SOCOs would meet my eyes. I picked up the sieve, then put it down again.

‘I’m taking a break,’ I said.

I left the boiler room myself, silently fuming. Ward and I didn’t mix socially, but we’d always got on. There had never been any friction when we’d worked together in the past, and she’d shown real concern during the scare over Grace Strachan earlier that year. She was obviously feeling the strain, but that didn’t make me feel any better after she’d publicly torn a strip off me. Stoking a sense of injustice, I walked along the dimly lit passageway. My footsteps rang off the dank walls, the echo bouncing back in a staccato counterpoint. It was only when I turned a corner and found that the floor lights abruptly ended that I realized I’d taken the wrong turn.

In front of me the passageway disappeared into darkness. Now I’d stopped, the only sound was my breathing as I took in where I was. Up ahead was the black mouth of a larger passageway, and when I saw the cross of tape stretched diagonally across it I realized it was the blocked-off tunnel leading to the demolished morgue. Opposite it, unlit and barely visible in the shadows, was the old morgue entrance.

My breath steamed in the cold underground air, and I was suddenly aware of how alone I was. I told myself that was ridiculous. There were SOCOs in the boiler room I’d just left and the entire site was full of police. Yet, standing in the dark passageway, it felt as though I were the only person in the entire hospital.

Idiot. Now you’re just frightening yourself. I must have been this way when I’d first come down with Whelan, and even if the floodlights had been taken away I had a flashlight on my phone. I could probably find my way to the stairs if I carried on.

I didn’t, though. Ignoring the urge to look back over my shoulder, I turned around and headed back the way I’d come. Even though I didn’t like to admit it, the sound of my feet splashing through the puddles was a welcome relief after the heavy silence. I speeded up, telling myself it was because I didn’t want to waste any more time, and turning the corner, I almost walked into Whelan.

‘Christ, don’t do that!’ he said, putting a hand on his chest. ‘What’re you doing down here?’

‘I took the wrong turn.’

My own heart was thumping, but the feeling I’d had by the old morgue was fading already. We set off along the passageway.

‘They said in the boiler room you’d gone upstairs, but I didn’t pass you on my way down, so I figured you’d wandered off,’ Whelan said.

‘I was going to get some fresh air.’

He slowed. ‘Look, I heard what happened back there. The boss… she’s under a lot of pressure. Don’t take it personally.’

This was another surprise. Whelan wasn’t exactly apologizing for Ward, but it came close. ‘Is she serious about bringing in Mears?’

‘She was just letting off steam. This morning we thought we’d had a break with Lennox. Now that’s bogged down over the bloody fingerprints, among other things, and we’ve found another victim.’ The DI’s tone changed. ‘Trust me, she won’t be letting Mears anywhere near this.’

We’d reached the junction in the passageway where I’d gone wrong before. Floodlights ran off towards the boiler room on one side, and towards the stairs on the other. I turned to face Whelan, wondering what he’d meant by that last statement.

But he’d clammed up again. ‘Go and get yourself a cup of tea, then come and finish up down here. It’s been a long day.’

Leaving me with that, he headed off down the passageway.

It took several more hours to sift through the rest of the ashes in the boiler. By the time we’d done only pale smears remained on the metal base, like a dusting of chalk. The bones we’d recovered had been taken to the mortuary. Parekh would be carrying out a post-mortem on them the following morning, or at least as much of one as was possible with so little to go on. With luck, I’d have a chance to examine them as well.

Assuming Whelan was right and Ward didn’t ask Mears to do it instead.

From what I’d seen, I didn’t expect the bones to tell us very much. But we had recovered one item that might. Although there was no skull, we did find a melted dental prosthesis buried among the ashes. It was a partial dental palate, a twisted lump of blackened plastic and metal to which the stubs of broken-off porcelain teeth were still attached. There was no sign of the teeth themselves and, although it was a potentially important find, without the jaw to match it to we couldn’t be certain it belonged to the victim. For all we knew it could have found its way into the boiler after being lost or discarded by another owner.

I didn’t think so, though. Like the bones, it wasn’t damaged enough to have been subjected to the heat of a working coal boiler. The higher temperature would have vaporized the plastic and shattered the porcelain. These appeared to have been snapped off rather than shattered, and while the palate was badly deformed it hadn’t been subjected to that sort of heat. That pointed towards it being the victim’s, which could be a significant factor when it came to identifying the remains.

It was late by the time we’d finished. Whelan was right: it had been a long day. As I pulled through the electric gates at Ballard Court, I was debating whether to make myself a late supper or settle for a drink and an early night. I’d had a pre-packaged sandwich earlier at St Jude’s, a tired affair of limp lettuce and tasteless cheese masquerading as a ploughman’s, so bourbon and sleep were winning when I noticed one of my neighbours by his car.

Only the apartments on the first floor and above had underground car parking. The rest had spaces in the grounds. I didn’t know the neighbour’s name, although I’d nodded to him once or twice. He was bending over by the driver’s side of his car, a much newer and higher-spec version of the 4x4 I drove myself.

‘Everything OK?’ I asked, slowing and winding down my window.

‘Some swine’s keyed it.’ His voice was tight with anger. ‘Both doors, right through to the metal!’

‘Kids?’ I asked, thinking back to what the fire officer had told me when the bins had been set alight.

‘Or someone living here. The whole place has been going downhill ever since we allowed apartments to be sublet. If I could get my hands on whoever…’

I said something vaguely sympathetic and left him to it. By the time I’d parked and taken the lift up to my apartment, the question of what I was going to do had resolved itself. Pouring myself a glass of bourbon, I decided I’d had enough news for one day. Instead I turned on the sound system and sank into the leather armchair.

I’d barely sat down when the intercom sounded.

I put my head back and closed my eyes. If this was my neighbour wanting to complain some more… With a sigh, I went into the hallway and pressed the intercom button. The night-time concierge’s accented voice came out of the speaker grille.

‘I have a DCI Ward to see you.’

This really would get the neighbours grumbling, I thought, looking at my watch. It was almost midnight, and I’d no idea why Ward might be calling so late. Telling the concierge to send her up, I opened the front door and waited, watching the lift at the end of the hall corridor apprehensively. I’d put what she’d said earlier about bringing in Mears down to frustration: now I began to wonder.

The lift chimed and then its doors opened. Ward came out, mackintosh draped open and bag slung carelessly over her shoulder. She looked exhausted as she stopped in front of the door.

‘Do I get to come in, or aren’t we talking?’

I stood back to let her inside. She slipped off her shoes in the hallway.

‘God, I’d forgotten how thick this carpet is. It’s softer than my bed,’ she said, wriggling her toes in the pile.

Ward had visited the apartment when I’d first moved in, to approve the security arrangements when it seemed Grace Strachan might have re-emerged. As we went through into the open-plan kitchen and dining room, I felt embarrassment as I saw her taking in the opulent surroundings.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ I asked.

‘I’d kill for a gin.’ She gave a tired smile. ‘Joke. Well, not really, but I’ll settle for anything decaf. Fruit tea, chamomile. Water’s fine if not.’

‘I think there’s some mint tea.’ There had been a packet in a cupboard when I’d moved in, but I didn’t think the owner would miss one sachet.

‘Perfect.’ She sat down at the dining table, lowering herself into a chair with a sigh. ‘Sorry to be calling so late. I was on my way home, so… Look, I shouldn’t have bitten your head off like I did earlier. It was unprofessional and unfair, so I wanted to clear the air.’

I switched on the kettle. ‘You didn’t have to come here to do that. You could have phoned or waited till tomorrow.’

‘I wanted to say it in person. And I’d rather get it out of the way. It’s one less thing to keep me awake.’ She sounded as tired as she looked.

‘Tough night?’ I asked.

‘Tough day. And to cap it off, I’ve just come from an interview with Luke Gorski. We’ve found out why he threw up the other day at St Jude’s.’

I paused, a teabag in my hand. ‘Please don’t tell me he was involved in his sister’s death.’

‘No, thank God, nothing like that. Not directly, anyway. But he’s admitted he gave Christine money for a final fix before she went into rehab. She promised him it was the last time, that she just needed something to see her through until she checked in. The idiot believed her. Still, at least we know now what she was doing at St Jude’s.’

We’d thought Christine Gorski had probably gone to buy drugs; now it was confirmed. No wonder her brother had looked so strained. ‘How have his parents taken it?’

‘About as you’d expect.’ She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. ‘You don’t have a biscuit or any chocolate, do you? Never mind. Stupid question.’

‘I can make you a sandwich.’ I realized as I offered that I might struggle to manage even that. I should have bought some groceries for myself when I’d gone shopping for Lola.

‘No, I’m fine.’ Ward stopped rubbing her eyes and straightened in the chair, a weary attempt to get back to business. ‘So, are you OK to examine the bones from the boiler tomorrow?’

‘What about the cadaver dog search?’ I asked, pouring boiling water on to the teabag.

‘Finding out whatever we can about this new victim has to take precedence. If you’re needed at St Jude’s we’ll let you know.’

I couldn’t resist a last dig. ‘I thought you were going to use Mears?’

Ward grimaced. ‘OK, I deserve that, but I was just venting. Apart from anything else, Mears has his own problems.’

Does he now? ‘Like what?’

But she shook her head. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

Her irritation was edging back, but at least this time it wasn’t directed at me. I took the mint tea over, then fetched my bourbon from the living room and joined her at the table.

‘That’s really rubbing it in,’ Ward said, looking from my glass to her mug.

‘I wouldn’t have poured it if I’d known you were coming.’ I took a drink and set the glass down. ‘How’s Gary Lennox?’

‘They’re still trying to stabilize him. His heart’s arrhythmic, he’s got liver and kidney damage, fluid on both lungs and he’s suffering from malnutrition and dehydration. The doctors think he’s had at least one massive neurological “event”, as they’re calling it, and probably more, but they’re not sure exactly what. They’re going to be doing more scans tomorrow, but there’s some confusion over his medical history.’

‘What sort of confusion?’ Whelan had said Oduya was trying to stop the police from seeing Lennox’s health records, but his doctors would still have access to them.

‘Apparently there are gaps. We know Lennox was diagnosed with a heart defect when he was nineteen, but his doctors say they can’t find any record of anything like a stroke. No hospital admission, no treatment, nothing. As far as anyone can tell us, he hasn’t even seen a GP in the past three years.’

‘That can’t be right.’

‘Not in the state he’s in, no. They’re still checking, but we’re starting to think he might not have even been hospitalized. Whatever happened to him, it looks like his mother didn’t tell anyone about it. Just decided to nurse him herself.’ Ward shook her head, perhaps unconsciously resting her hand on her stomach. ‘Takes “mother-love” to a new level, doesn’t it?’

God, I thought, shocked. If that was true, then Lennox had been in an even worse purgatory than I’d realized. I’d seen earlier how desperate his mother had been not to have him taken away, but I’d never imagined she’d go that far. And it meant there was no way to verify the alibi she’d given her son: we’d still only her word that he’d been incapacitated when Darren Crossly had gone missing.

‘Has she said anything?’ I asked.

‘Nothing printable. She’s still refusing to cooperate or give us consent to take their fingerprints. His or hers. It’s possible she’s just being awkward, but I’m beginning to think there’s more to it than that. She obviously couldn’t have physically built a wall herself, but maybe she knows more than we thought. If she’s kept her son from getting critical medical treatment, then I wouldn’t like to say what else she’s capable of.’

Neither would I. Yet I found it hard to believe Lola would be selfish enough to risk her son’s life like that. ‘You still sound convinced Lennox is guilty.’

Ward shrugged. ‘The more we find out, the likelier he looks. We’ve been checking into Darren Crossly’s acquaintances, and think we might have a lead on the woman he was walled up with. He had an on-off girlfriend by the name of Maria de Souza who seems to have disappeared as well. She hasn’t been reported missing, but she was out of work and tended to flit from place to place, so it could be another case of no one noticing. We know she sometimes stayed with Crossly, and the last confirmed sighting has them both together. So it’s possible that they disappeared at the same time. She doesn’t have a criminal record, which would explain why we haven’t had any luck matching the fingerprints from the woman’s body.’

‘If she was only Crossly’s on-off girlfriend, would Lennox have known her?’

Ward gave a tired smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mention that, did I? De Souza used to be a cleaner at St Jude’s. She worked there for five years, until it closed. If we can confirm she’s the woman we found with Crossly, then that means Lennox would have known both victims. Add to that his sacking because of missing pharmacy drugs and Darren Crossly’s conviction for possession of cannabis, and there’s a definite picture starting to form.’

St Jude’s again. Somehow everything seemed to come back to that place. ‘You think the three of them were dealing and had a falling-out?’

‘I think “falling-out” puts it mildly, but yes. And maybe Christine Gorski went along looking to buy a fix and got in the middle of it. Except…’

‘Except?’ I prompted.

She shook her head, troubled. ‘I don’t know. Lennox just doesn’t fit the profile. I mean, how many drug dealers in their thirties live at home with their mother?’

‘With nothing worse than comics and birdwatching magazines, you mean?’

‘Jack told you about that, did he?’ Ward smiled, but it soon faded. ‘OK, it’s possible Lennox had another place or a lock-up we don’t know about. I could even accept that he somehow managed to stay off our radar all this time. But it doesn’t quite gel. Apart from his sacking, nothing we’ve found paints him as a drug dealer, let alone a violent sadist. Social services already had a file on him from when he was a kid. The social workers described him as physically big but lacking in confidence and with borderline learning difficulties. He was bullied at school, and he was almost taken into care because they thought his father was physically abusing him.’

‘Lola said pretty much the same thing. Not about the care, about her husband,’ I told her. Lola’s phrasing had been more colourful, though. Rotten bastard. He was a sod to my Gary sober, and when he’d had a drink he was even worse.

‘She wasn’t lying about that, anyway,’ Ward said. ‘Patrick Lennox was a nasty piece of work, by all accounts. He worked on container ships doing the South America routes, so he wasn’t at home all that much. But when he was he was a heavy drinker and handy with his fists. Especially against his son. It didn’t stop until he left when Gary was sixteen.’

That fitted what Lola had told me as well. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Abroad, we think. We haven’t been able to trace him, but I can’t see that he’s got anything to do with any of this. Except possibly in a formative sense.’

‘As in, victims of abuse becoming abusers themselves?’

Ward shrugged. ‘We know it happens. People change, and just because Lennox used to be bullied twenty years ago doesn’t mean he couldn’t dish out the same treatment himself. Maybe it gave him a chip on his shoulder.’

‘Now who’s putting it mildly?’ I said.

‘You know what I mean. Anyway, time I went home.’ She drained her mug and pushed herself heavily to her feet. ‘Thanks for the tea. For future reference, you might want to check what bags are actually in the box.’

‘It wasn’t mint?’

She smiled. ‘Whatever it was, it was very nice.’

‘What’s going to happen to Lola?’ I asked, as we went into the hallway, where Ward retrieved her shoes.

‘Too early to say. She could be facing charges of criminal neglect if it turns out she prevented her son from receiving medical treatment. But a lot depends on what happens with the fingerprints.’

‘Do you have enough to charge Gary Lennox without them?’

‘No, but there might be a way round it,’ she said cryptically. ‘Alternatively, I was hoping to appeal to your friend Oduya to persuade Lola it was in their best interests to grant consent. Prove their innocence, that sort of thing. That’s not going to happen now, though.’

‘He’s not my friend,’ I sighed, then picked up on what else she’d said. ‘Why isn’t it?’

‘Because he isn’t Lola’s friend any more either,’ Ward told me, as I unlocked the apartment’s front door. ‘She fired him this afternoon.’