The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(18)

‘Shit, I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s not as if we can spare the manpower, is it?’

‘No.’ McIntyre looked thoughtful for a moment, a half smile coming to her face as she thought of something. ‘We’ll just have to see about promoting someone to CID on a temporary basis. Same as happened to you, if I remember right. That turned out more or less OK, I suppose.’

‘Inspector McLean?’ A woman, too young surely to be a doctor, stood before them wearing a long white coat, a stethoscope and a weary expression.

‘Any news?’ McLean stood up.

‘They’ve just finished working on him. It’s ... well, it could have been a lot worse.’

‘He’ll be able to walk again?’

‘There’s hope. He’s got some inflammation around the break in his back. That’s putting pressure on the nerve right now, but it’s still intact. We won’t know for sure until he comes round, and we’re keeping him sedated for now.’

‘How long, before you know?’

‘Tomorrow. Maybe.’

‘Please, doctor, keep me informed.’ McIntyre stood up and handed over her card. The doctor looked at it, her eyes widening with surprise as she read. ‘There’s work and private numbers on there. Call any time. Day or night. As soon as you have any news.’ Then she turned on McLean. ‘And you can get over to the mortuary. We need an ID on this dead girl. And fast.’

‘Ah, Tony. I was beginning to think you’d stood me up. Did you not get my message?’

McLean let the door to the examination theatre swing closed behind him and tried not to breathe in the stench of death. Across the small room, Angus Cadwallader was up to his elbows in the dead young woman, aided as ever by his shadow, Tracy. She smiled at McLean as she held up a stainless-steel specimen tray ready to receive some no-longer-required internal organ. The scowling form of Dr Bairnsfather lurked a few feet behind the table, necessary witness to the proceedings.

‘I knew you’d start without me, Angus.’ McLean stepped closer, getting his first look at the woman’s face since it had been covered up at the scene. She was young; couldn’t have been more than twenty. Long black hair, striking, angular cheekbones, perfect lips palest blue against alabaster white skin. How could it be that no one had reported her missing?

‘Any idea who she is?’

‘Ah, now, that’s your department. Or so I’m led to believe.’ Cadwallader ploiped something suspiciously liverish down on the tray and Tracy placed it on the scales, noting something on her worksheet.

‘What about cause of death?’

‘That I can help you with. Poor girl bled to death from that gash across the throat. Blade went right through to the bone. She’d have died quite quickly.’

‘Some small blessing, I suppose.’

‘Yes, well, you might want to reserve judgement on that.’ Cadwallader picked up one of the dead woman’s hands, twisting the arm so that McLean could see the livid bruising and scratching around the wrist. ‘She was shackled for a considerable time before death. Arms and legs.’

‘There were cable ties. Under the bridge upstream from where she was found,’ McLean said.

Cadwallader frowned, then pulled the overhead light closer, bending down to peer at the mottled skin. ‘That would have been after she was dead. These marks are more like handcuffs.’ He put the arm back down, stepped back from the table. ‘Her stomach was completely empty, which would suggest she’d not eaten anything for several days. And she’s been repeatedly raped. I take it you’re seeing a pattern emerging here?’

‘Abducted, kept locked up somewhere for anything up to a week, raped and then finally murdered by a sharp knife to the throat. Body washed and placed under a bridge in flowing water.’ McLean heard the words as if someone else were speaking them. He was far, far away, on a dark night with fireworks exploding overhead.

His phone rang as he was walking back to the station an hour later. Darkness had already fallen over the city, and the offices had begun to vomit their workers back out onto the street. He peered at the caller ID, not recognising the number. Decided he might as well answer it. Not as if the day could get any worse.

‘Yes?’

‘Inspector McLean? Jo Dalgliesh here.’

McLean cursed under his breath. Cheeky bitch had got herself a new number. Most of the city’s more persistent reporters were already in his phonebook precisely so he could avoid talking to them, and Dalgliesh was right there at the top of his list. He thought about hanging up, but before he could do so, the reporter started up again.

‘Body found out at Gladhouse. Young woman. Killing bears some similarities to your old friend Donald Anderson.’

‘Goodbye, Ms Dalgliesh.’ McLean took the phone from his ear, hearing the tinny voice recede as his thumb hovered over the off switch.

‘Her name’s Audrey—’

He lost the rest in his hurry to clamp the phone back where it had been. ‘What did you say?’

‘Ah. I thought that might get your attention. You’ve been treating her as a Jane Doe, haven’t you.’

‘How the hell could you know who she is? You haven’t even seen her.’

‘Actually, I have. Your young Constable MacBride circulated an e-fit around all the papers about half an hour ago. The news editor just sent it to my phone. Lucky I bothered looking at it.’