was quite sure what — but there was nothing. It looked like the apartment had been cleaned from top to bottom — a slightly worrying sign in itself.
To our left, a short hallway ran down to the rest of the apartment. ‘Let’s take a look down here,’ I said. Berrin looked at me like he wanted to say something but was unable to do so because of the presence of the Lackers. I knew what it would be as well. Something along the lines of ‘What the hell are we doing here and what would a defence lawyer have to say about it?’ A good point, but I’d worry about that one later.
‘I’ve never been in here before,’ said Mrs Lacker, wandering into the kitchen area and looking up at the metallic pots and pans hanging there. ‘It’s very nice.’
‘Don’t touch anything, please,’ I told her. ‘Either of you.’
We started off down the hallway. Mr Lacker meanwhile remained standing in the door, looking around with just a hint of suspicion, as if he too was trying to work out what Jean Tanner did for a living and how she’d managed to accumulate such pricey belongings. It looked like he was jumping to correct conclusions, and was perhaps realizing that he wasn’t as sexually liberal as he’d previously thought.
There was a bathroom on our left with the door slightly ajar. I pushed it open with the key while Berrin stepped past. I noticed that two tooth-brushes were out on the sink and the lid was off the toothpaste — not that any of that was much use. The shower, however, had been used quite recently, certainly that morning. The curtain was damp and there were still drops of water in the bath tub.
I stepped back out of the bathroom and saw Berrin, who’d put on gloves, opening the door to one of the bedrooms. At the same time he removed another of the Lackers’ custard creams from his pocket and began munching it surreptitiously.
I followed him into the bedroom, conscious that Mrs Lacker was coming up behind me, doubtless for more of a nose about. I was just turning round to tell her to stay back when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Berrin stop in front of an imposing dressing-room cupboard at the end of the double bed, and pull a face. He started to say something but his mouth was full of custard cream and it came out like gibberish. And then, the next second, he was opening the door.
There was an immediate crash as the naked corpse came tumbling stiffly out, arms at its sides, like something out of
‘What’s going on?’ yelled Mr Lacker, running over to his wife.
‘Stay back!’ I shouted. ‘Don’t touch anything! This is a murder scene!’
Then I looked across at Berrin, whose hair was now standing on end. His face was as white as a ghost’s and he was staring off into space. ‘Oh my God,’ he kept saying, over and over again.
I looked down at the blank dead eyes gazing up at me, then at the familiar tattoos on the upper and lower arms. A Chinese dragon on the left, a military emblem on the right. ‘Shit,’ I said as I stared down at the corpse of Craig McBride and wondered why on earth he should be lying dead in the apartment of a woman he was not even meant to know.
I called Capper from the Lackers’ apartment, where Mr Lacker was mopping Mrs Lacker’s brow with a damp cloth, while Berrin sat bolt upright in his original chair, sipping the tea Mrs Lacker had poured him five minutes and one cuddle from a corpse ago. He didn’t look too good, which was hardly surprising.
Capper answered on about the tenth ring and I told him what had happened. ‘What the hell was McBride doing in her flat?’ he demanded, as if it was somehow my fault.
‘I don’t know.’
‘And there’s no sign of her anywhere?’
‘Nothing that I can see.’
‘Have you touched anything in there?’
‘No, we’ve secured the scene, but you’re the first person I’ve called.’
‘Any indication how he died?’
‘Well, there was no blood but I didn’t really look too closely. Put it this way, he was all right this time yesterday so, whatever it is, I wouldn’t think it’s natural causes.’
‘All right, wait where you are and make sure no one contaminates the scene. What’s the address?’
I gave it to him, said my goodbyes, and put down the phone. I looked over at the Lackers. Mrs Lacker appeared to be coming back to earth. ‘It was horrible,’ she said as her husband continued to dab her brow. ‘Something like that in a respectable neighbourhood like this.’
‘I know this is a difficult question, but did you happen to recognize the deceased? Is he someone you’ve seen here before?’
Mrs Lacker gasped melodramatically as if I’d just asked for her bust measurements. ‘I don’t know, I didn’t see. All I remember was him falling into the doorway and then … And then, that’s it.’ She finished the sentence with another gasp and her head fell back on the seat.
‘Mr Lacker,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see either. I was too busy looking after Margaret.’
‘That wasn’t what I was going to ask. I know it’s not going to be easy but I’d appreciate it if you could come in with me, view the deceased, and let me know whether you’ve ever seen him here before. It could prove very helpful.’
‘What do you think’s happened to Jean?’ asked Mrs Lacker worriedly.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, thinking that I wouldn’t mind an answer to that question as well. ‘Mr Lacker?’ He nodded and stood up. ‘Dave, you stay here and look after Mrs Lacker. OK?’
Berrin nodded, beginning to look slightly healthier now. ‘Sure.’
I led Mr Lacker back into Jean’s apartment, again reminding him not to touch anything, and walked back through the darkened hallway to where the body lay. Mr Lacker paused a few feet behind me, and put his hand against the wall to steady himself. ‘It’s so stifling in here, isn’t it?’ he said, sounding breathless. ‘I don’t know how you can do this sort of thing every day, I really don’t. I’ve got nothing but admiration for you.’
‘It’s not an everyday occurrence, thank goodness,’ I told him, thinking that it was a rare day anyone said they were full of admiration for me. ‘If it was, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.’ And I wasn’t sure if I would have been. The longer you’re in the job, the more you become hardened to the horrors around you, but the sight of Craig McBride’s stiff, lifeless body, sucked dry of personality, of everything, depressed me in a way I find difficult to describe. Particularly as the previous day I’d been holding a conversation with him. It might not have been a very pleasant one, but that was hardly the point. He’d been alive, now he was gone. Permanently.
I stepped out of the way so Mr Lacker could see Craig’s face. He looked quickly, then looked away, still standing a few feet back. ‘Take your time,’ I told him. ‘There’s no hurry.’
He stayed where he was for a couple of seconds, then steeled himself, took a couple of steps forward, and looked again. ‘Yes, I’ve seen him before,’ he said, turning away. ‘On two or three occasions.’
‘Thank you for that,’ I said, leading him back towards the front door.
At that moment, there was a commotion from outside, the front door opened, and a giant of a man about ten years my senior, dressed in an illfitting black suit, stepped inside. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he barked. ‘This is a crime scene. Who are you?’
‘I’m DS John Gallan,’ I said, stopping in front of him. ‘And this is Peter Lacker, the neighbour.’
‘Well, I’m DI Burley and I’m taking over from here. And you two are contaminating a crime scene. Have you touched anything?’
‘No.’
‘Well, get out then. SOCO are going to be here in a few minutes and we’ve got to seal everything off.’
He motioned bluntly towards the door with his head, and we stepped past him into the hall where several uniformed officers were standing. Burley followed us out. After I’d led Mr Lacker back into his own flat, he put a large, hairy hand on my shoulder and half-pushed me over to the top of the stairs. I was going to tell him that as far as I was aware we were on the same side, so he could ease up if he liked on the tough-guy routine, but I never got the chance. He was talking before my lips even parted.
