Dorothy and Archie stood in the industrial estate looking at the sign for FME. The sun was making the tarmac hot, a petrol smell and the rush of traffic coming from the A1.
‘Are you sure this is the only place?’ Dorothy said.
Archie shrugged. ‘It’s the only funeral supplier in Edinburgh. If our mystery embalmer is ordering online, there’s not a lot we can do.’
‘Don’t most people order online?’
Archie watched a large articulated lorry pass, belching fumes. ‘Put it this way, if I was a shit amateur messing with bodies I shouldn’t be, I would try to be as anonymous as possible. But our guy doesn’t strike me as the sharpest knife in the drawer.’
‘You’re sure none of the people you met with Jenny were our feet guy?’
Archie shook his head. ‘Not unless they were deliberately embalming them badly, which is not easy. Their work was exemplary.’
‘You sound impressed.’
‘Winged stoats and cats? It might seem freaky—’
‘It does.’
‘…but it’s difficult to do right. Each of them had serious skill.’
‘Maybe the feet were early work, before they perfected their craft?’
Archie stuck his lip out. ‘Start with humans and move on to mice? Doesn’t seem likely.’
‘None of this seems likely, Archie.’
‘Besides, we were inside their houses. None of them had space for a large enough workshop to deal with human cadavers.’
‘Unless they have a separate workshop somewhere.’ Dorothy looked round. ‘Like an industrial estate.’
Archie frowned. ‘You think Yvonne is behind this?’
Dorothy shrugged. ‘She has plenty of room in there.’
‘I’ve seen Yvonne’s work, it’s not her.’
Dorothy shook her head and wondered why she was even bothering. But like her husband’s death, like the homeless guy a year ago, she couldn’t let these goddamn feet go. Two feet from different people right on her doorstep. She presumed Whiskers got them to Bruntsfield Links, but where from? They weren’t dug up because they weren’t dirty, and every cemetery and graveyard in the city had double-checked, no disturbed graves. Medical labs, universities, morgues and funeral directors had all done inventories, had paperwork and fridges scrutinised by police, so what did that leave? An amateur somewhere, badly mishandling at least two corpses.
‘Let’s just go speak to her,’ Dorothy said eventually.
It was pleasant to get out of the heat and into the cool industrial unit. Archie dinged the bell and Yvonne appeared from the back in denim shorts and a Joni Mitchell T-shirt, tied at the front to show a surprisingly taught midriff. She grinned.
‘Good to see you darlings again,’ she said, wrapping Archie then Dorothy in firm embraces. Dorothy caught a whiff of quality weed from her hair, and patchouli oil. She hadn’t smelled that combo in a long time.
‘Sorry, I’m a hugger,’ Yvonne said, letting Dorothy go.
Archie looked like he wanted to drop through the floor at the personal contact.
‘What can I do you for?’ Yvonne said to him.
Dorothy liked that she spoke to Archie. There weren’t many places Archie was in authority, but embalming was definitely one.
‘We just wanted to pick your brains again,’ Archie said.
‘About the foot?’
‘Feet,’ Dorothy said.
‘What?’
Archie nodded. ‘Dorothy found another one, but it doesn’t match the first.’
‘Holy Shiva.’ Yvonne made a face, trying to figure it out. ‘But the same embalmer?’
‘We think so.’
Yvonne looked them up and down. ‘Did you bring it?’
‘The police have them both now.’ Dorothy had a quick flash of finding the second foot, Einstein’s face.
‘Well, I’m not sure how I can help,’ Yvonne said.
Dorothy shook the image and came back to the room. Yvonne looked at her bandaged arm.
‘Was that the jaguar?’
Of course people would ask, but the sooner Dorothy could forget about that night the better. She wanted to throw off the bandage and let her weeping injuries feel the air and sunshine. She wanted to walk through her local park without feeling she could die any minute, she wanted to get answers so she could sleep at night.
‘It was.’
Yvonne shook her head but her interest was piqued. ‘That must’ve been terrible. Seeing something like that up close, you’re very lucky. To be alive, I mean.’
‘I know it.’ What was it with people and big cats? If she’d been attacked by a mugger no one would be having this vicarious thrill.
‘So can you think of anyone who might be doing these feet?’ Archie said, sensing Dorothy’s unease.
Yvonne bit her lip. ‘You checked out the names I gave you?’
‘They were all embalming animals.’
‘Really? I know that happens but it’s rare.’
‘All good work,’ Archie said. ‘Lovely detail.’
‘Well, you would know.’
Archie took the compliment stoically, stuck out his chin.
Dorothy felt suddenly tired of all this. ‘Anything you can think of.’
Yvonne made a performance of thinking, mugging her way through expressions like a mime artist. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you. Everyone else we supply is in the business.’
‘So maybe it’s one of them,’ Dorothy said.
‘Not with the shoddy work I saw,’ Yvonne said.
A young lad walked in, mid-twenties, hair in a flick, carrying cardboard boxes full of nitrile gloves.
He nodded at Yvonne. ‘Hey.’
‘The wanderer returns.’
The guy disappeared through the back.
Archie watched him go. ‘What happened to old Davey?’
‘Retired. Manual work is hard as you get older.’
Tell me about it, thought Dorothy.
‘Who’s the new boy?’ Archie said.
‘Kevin, he’s very keen. Interested in the business, not everyone is.’
Archie nodded. ‘Do you have Davey’s contact details?’
Yvonne gave him a look. ‘What for?’
‘Just in case he can help us,’ Dorothy said.
Yvonne thought about it for a long time then went to her computer. ‘I shouldn’t really.’
But she did, so much for employee confidentiality.
‘And how did you find Kevin?’ Dorothy said.
‘Recommendation from Davey,’ Yvonne said. ‘You know how it is, a lot of word of mouth in this business.’
Dorothy nodded as Archie took Davey’s address and number from Yvonne.
‘Davey won’t have anything to do with this,’ she said.
‘Just trying to find the truth,’ Dorothy said, making to leave.
Outside was an old white Ford that hadn’t been there before.
‘Reckon that’s Kevin’s?’ Dorothy said.
‘I assume so,’ Archie said.
Dorothy glanced inside, but Yvonne had disappeared. She looked around then walked to the Ford, opened her bag, pulled out a small GPS tracker, bent over and stuck it under the wheel arch. She straightened up as if she was an old lady in pain, which she was, and headed back to Archie.