CHAPTER TEN

 

 

“I DON’T HAVE a lot to report.”

From behind his desk, Devonshire grunted. To her left, Vikram Desai folded his arms and let out an exaggerated sigh as he leaned back in his seat. Devonshire was wearing a different shirt and tie from the day before, but for all intents and purposes Desai might have been wearing the same outfit as yesterday.

It was mid-afternoon, and she’d been back from Ryeland Manse for a couple of hours. It was an unusually warm day and Devonshire had his office windows open. Chatter and car horns drifted in from outside. Every few minutes the squeal of a siren flew by so quickly you couldn’t tell which way it was heading.

She’d been waiting for a response but when none was forthcoming she took a deep breath and began.

“I’ve eliminated several potential suspects, and increasingly I believe Trinity was killed by her boyfriend, Isaac Ziegler.”

“The kid who went missing?” said Devonshire. “I hope that’s not your only evidence?”

Actually it pretty much was, but Helen finessed this by adding in her concerns about Isaac. “He fits the profile down to a T: intelligent, narcissistic, nihilistic. I’ve checked his internet history—what I could get to, anyway; looks like he routinely scrubs his browsing history—but he definitely has an unhealthy interest in zombarchist incidents.”

“I thought it was just the tabloids that used that term,” sneered Desai.

Helen ignored him and carried on. “No family, very few friends. Reports from university, college, schools, the care system, all point to the same conclusions: exceptionally bright but disconnected from society. Throw in the fact that he drops off the grid around the same time as Trinity dies. Sure, it’s circumstantial, but the picture it paints isn’t a pretty one.”

“So why’d he kill Trinity?”

“I don’t know, not for sure, but I have a hypothesis.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Trinity fits a different profile, but we know that zombarchists don’t all fit into the same neat pattern; for some it’s an expression of pessimism, that life is pointless, some are suicidally depressed, others are victims of bullying or abuse who see it as a way of getting back at society, then there are the ones taken in by the Mansour hypothesis...”

“What, that the zombies are the next stage in evolution?” Desai sneered. “We know all this, Inspector. Just tell us which bloody profile Ms Brown fitted.” He looked flushed all of a sudden, angry, frustrated. She guessed he must be under a lot of pressure, but that didn’t stop her wanting to punch him.

“Doctor Desai,” said Devonshire wearily. “Please don’t interrupt my officer again.”

‘Doctor.’ She’d been right. The thought didn’t make her feel any better. “Trinity had suffered with depression for a couple of years at least. Academically she wasn’t brilliant; not saying she didn’t deserve to be at university, but she was never going to excel there. That’d be fine, but her parents, specifically the mother, are pushy. They wanted a superstar, and Trinity was never going to manage that. I suspect that made her more depressed.

“She had trouble forming relationships. One of those individuals who has a huge circle of acquaintances but very few real friends. I don’t think she was like Isaac, because I think she wanted all these things—to make her parents proud, to form meaningful relationships with people—but for whatever reason she wasn’t able to. Then there’s the kicker, her aunt. She has early onset Alzheimer’s.”

Desai surprised her. “Ah, I see.” He was nodding. He looked towards Devonshire, who was looking puzzled, and added, “It can be hereditary.”

“Poor kid.”

“Exactly,” said Helen. “She couldn’t seem to settle—with friends, with her studies—she probably felt she was disappointing her parents, and then, to cap it all off, she had a possible future with dementia.”

“So what’s your thinking?” Devonshire said. “That Isaac radicalised her?”

Helen nodded.

“Then why kill her?”

Helen shrugged. “That I don’t know. Again, I can hazard a guess. Trinity got cold feet and wanted to back out, maybe even threatened to call the police.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” said Devonshire.

It did, but there were dozens of other possibilities and Helen knew it. She wondered if she wanted to believe the best of Trinity because she felt like she knew her. It was an occupational hazard for a copper: you could end up knowing a dead person you’d never met more intimately than your closest friends.

“Whether it makes sense or not, it doesn’t answer the most important question,” said Desai. He stood up and smoothed down his jacket.

Devonshire was nodding. “Why didn’t she come back?”

“Exactly. Perhaps it was naïve to imagine that her death and non-resurrection would be linked.”

For a few seconds Helen sat there feeling awkward, then, realising Desai was obviously planning to leave, she stood up. “I haven’t seen Rita today, no news on that side of things?”

Devonshire shook his head and Desai sighed. He took his phone from his inside pocket and proceeded to swipe at the screen with his thumb. Helen felt like she should say something, or maybe just go, but instead she just stood there, feeling like someone who’s turned up for the wrong wedding and is too embarrassed to leave.

After a while Desai returned his phone to his pocket. “Dr McDonald has not been able to find any obvious reason for Miss Brown’s non-resurrection. In hindsight, maybe I should have had the body transferred to Porton Down or the Royal Free Hospital rather than relying on your pathologist, eminently qualified though she is; but the more people who know...” He shook his head. “Not sure it matters anyway, there are already rumours circulating on the internet.”

“About Trinity?”

“Not specifically. Sometimes the rumour refers to here, but sometimes it’s London, or Manchester, or Belfast. Sometimes it’s a young woman, other times an old man; one rumour specifies twin babies. It’s Chinese whispers, but there is a kernel of truth at the heart of it all.”

“Is the vote on the Pulse Amendment going to be postponed?” asked Devonshire.

Desai raised an eyebrow, bristling at the very idea. “At the moment the vote will go ahead as planned, but obviously the closer we get towards tomorrow morning with no clear resolution, the more likely it is that the vote will be rearranged.”

“It’s possible we will make a breakthrough before then,” said Devonshire with surprising firmness. “Cases like this...” He smiled. “Of course there’s never been a case like this, but murders, missing persons, often the resolution presents itself out of the blue, and it may be that there is a connection between Trinity’s murder and her non-resurrection.” He glanced Helen’s way. “The Ziegler boy, chemistry student, right?” She nodded. “And you said he was bright?” Another nod. “Well then, have you investigated that angle, seen if he was working on anything in the lab? It’s a long shot, but stranger things have happened.”

Helen was annoyed with herself, because the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “I’ll check it out.” She didn’t look at Desai.

“If you’ll excuse me,” said the doctor, “I have to head back to my hotel, I have a Skype conference scheduled for three o’clock. I’m sure you’ll alert me if there is any news?”

Devonshire assured Desai that they would, without sarcasm. Helen wouldn’t have been so professional. With a curt goodbye to both of them, Desai left.

“I’d better go, too,” said Helen, starting towards the door the moment it closed.

“Wait a second, Helen.”

She turned. She saw it in his eyes immediately: disappointment.

But then he spoke and she considered, not for the first time in the last few days, that maybe she was a lousy detective after all. “I know you’re doing all you can, but a case this unique, we both know the chances of solving the murder, let alone the non-resurrection, before tomorrow are slim, especially given the lack of resources.” He shook his head. “I should have pushed Desai to make this public, you should have had help. Given what you went through yesterday you should be taking it easy at home.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly.

He smiled again. “I know, even if you had a team of two dozen working this case you’d still insist on being a part of it. Keep digging. I wasn’t lying, sometimes you have to shake a tree more than once before an apple drops.”

She laughed. “Not like you to be philosophical, boss.”

He shrugged. “Blame old age. I just wanted to give you a friendly warning. If it isn’t resolved, and if the vote does have to be postponed, then people at the highest levels are going to come down on Vikram Desai like a ton of bricks, and he’s going to do his very best to deflect some of those bricks onto this department. You just make sure your arse is protected, document everything, make sure you follow every lead, however slight. I wouldn’t like either of us to take any flack.”

She appraised him silently for a moment, reading between the lines. He was a good and honest man, but he was also a single father, and she knew his career meant more to him than the future of any officer under his command. The unspoken inference was clear: if push came to shove, he’d cover his own backside.

“I understand, boss. And thank you.” If someone was going to potentially stab you in the back it was decent of them to warn you first.

 

 

ONCE OUTSIDE HIS office, she checked her phone. She’d placed it on silent before the meeting—Devonshire did not like interruptions, and the glare he gave you if your phone went off took years off your life; no officer ever made that mistake more than once—and now she found she had a missed call and a new voicemail. The number wasn’t familiar, but Luke Tully’s sullen voice was. The message was short, and he sounded uncomfortable. He had some new information, something another friend of Isaac’s had made him aware of, and he wanted her to meet him back in the refectory. He said he’d be there when it opened again at four. For a moment she thought he’d made a mistake, but then she realised that some canny manager had decided to open early to get the crowds in before the demos.

Maybe it was paranoia, but she felt something was off. When she called him back, she wasn’t surprised to find his phone switched off. And another friend of Isaac’s? Mr Ziegler didn’t have many friends. No, Luke had likely remembered something, and felt too embarrassed to admit it, hence the old ‘I have this friend’ gambit.

Helen frowned. Her sixth sense kept buzzing. She glanced back towards Devonshire’s office. She didn’t need to go and ask to know what his answer would be if she requested uniforms to accompany her; not with the demonstrations scheduled for just a few hours’ time.

She checked the number for security on campus and called them; maybe they’d be able to give her some backup. It was worth a try at least, although she did feel a trifle stupid. Luke Tully hardly seemed dangerous, but then not every villain was as obvious as Ryan Dowd.

“Hi, there, this is Detective Inspector Ogilvy. I need to speak to your supervisor. Yes, I’ll hold.”