‘I see,’ Brook said. ‘Can we get access to the boy’s DNA?’
Brook expressed his thanks and rang off. He turned off the laptop and looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He’d been up for nearly nineteen hours with only biscuits to sustain him. He walked to the door of the Incident Room but didn’t leave. After a moment’s thought, he returned to his desk and packed his laptop into its case and left the building.
Len Poole pulled his car to the kerb and parked under the shadow of a tree. He didn’t know this quiet cul-de- sac on the Brisbane Estate, only that it was out of the way and Alice was unlikely to walk past and see his Jag in the dark. He took a deep breath and stared into the rearview mirror then straightened his comb-over with a pudgy hand.
‘No more, Len. This is the last time. She’s not nicotine.
You can kick the habit. You must kick the habit.’ His yellow grin glinted in reflection. ‘But not before I move back to Wales, you blackmailing bitch.’
He nodded to his reflection. All these years paying out like a fruit machine for a mistake any man could make — a temporary weakness that she’d exploited to the full. No more. Now he was in the clear he was going to fill his boots. He took a swallow from a bottle of mouthwash and stepped from the car, hitching his tracksuit on to his bulging waist to rearrange his genitals.
‘Question is, can she kick the habit with me?’ he chuckled to himself.
The fleet of cars were on silent approach after they turned off the London Road, past the village of Shardlow. DC Read parked his car to block the only road in or out of the marina complex, and got out to follow the other three cars moving quietly past a plot of static holiday cabins on the left. A hundred yards later, the plot gave way to a large basin which opened out into an expansive site with a car park, bar, shop and caravan park round to the left. The darkened marina lay dead ahead.
DS Gadd pulled to a halt when she saw a man signalling her with a torch. The other cars followed her lead and the uniformed officers, including Charlton, poured silently from the cars, easing the doors closed behind them.
‘DS Gadd. Are you Henry Huff?’
‘I am.’
‘Any sign of Lee Smethwick?’
‘Not seen him for a couple of weeks to be honest but then he never makes a song and dance. The lights are out but that don’t mean he’s not in there.’
‘Lead on.’ They turned to walk quietly towards the shadowy outlines of the canal boats. There were well over a hundred, a few showing lights, but most in darkness.
‘Are all these occupied?’ she asked.
‘Oh no. It’s Saturday night. There’s not a whole lot to do round here. Most of these are part-timers — you know, Sunday boaters, holidays maybe.’
‘Are all the boats. .’ Gadd searched for the right words ‘. . seaworthy?’ She heard the expulsion of amused breath from Huff and smiled. ‘None of them are seaworthy, right?’
‘No. But most can get out on the river if they’re in a good state of repair.’
‘And Smethwick?’
‘Never seen him go out once and he’s been here ten year.’ Huff put a finger over his mouth and pointed to the dim hulk of wood and metal looming out of the darkness. Gadd turned and held out an arm to her colleagues. There was a locked gate across the walkway and Huff pulled out a set of keys and unlocked it. It opened without noise.
Gadd pointed at DC Smee who took three uniformed officers to the far side of the boat. She and the rest fanned out around the walkway. Charlton hung back to observe.
Gadd rapped on the door. ‘Mr Smethwick — police. Open the door, please.’ She listened before issuing a second summons. When that failed she backed away and nodded to the two officers carrying the Enforcer Ram.
Brook pulled to the kerb across from Yvette Thomson’s house and killed the engine. Downstairs was in darkness but there was a light on in the bedroom. He reached over for his laptop and was about to open the driver’s door when his mobile buzzed.
‘Anything to show he’s The Embalmer?’
‘You mean Charlton’s thinking that.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Did you find any surgical instruments?’ asked Brook.
‘What about the ambulance?’
‘Your instincts are right, Jane. He’s gone and he’s not coming back!’
‘If he’s taken his instruments, he’s gone to wherever he takes his victims.’
Poole lay on his back, panting. Yvette climbed off him and put her head on his densely thatched chest. He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Still got it.’
‘You’re a superman, Len,’ said Yvette, trying to drum up some sincerity.
‘You think?’
‘I do.’ She twirled his chest hair with a manicured finger. ‘Len. .’
‘What?’
‘Why don’t we get married?’ Poole sat up. ‘What?’
She pouted alluringly at him. ‘It’s not too late. We’d be perfect together,’ she said in her most vulnerable voice.
‘Marry you?’ repeated Poole, this time with a hint of disbelief.
‘It’s the ideal solution, Len. Rusty’s gone and I don’t know if he’s ever coming back, even if he’s dead or alive. I’m lonely. I don’t want to be on my own.’ Poole declined to comment so Yvette lifted her head from his chest again. ‘Can Alice do what I do for you?’ She grinned at him and nuzzled at the wiry hair on his flabby breast. ‘Well, can she?’
Poole pushed her away. ‘No. That’s why I’m here now.’
‘Then why don’t you marry me?’
‘Because you’re a mental bitch.’
Her face soured and she prepared a fist but was halted by a rap on the front door. She turned off her bedside lamp and tiptoed to a crack in the curtain.
‘Who is it?’ whispered Poole.
‘It’s Alice,’ said Yvette with a sneer.
‘You lying cow,’ hissed Len Poole, pulling his underpants and tracksuit trousers on. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s Inspector Brook, if you must know,’ she whispered from the window.
‘At this time? What does he want?’
