“That’s right, just standing there watching. He only ever appears at dusk or shortly after. Many of the witnesses are young, but they’re as superstitious as their grandfathers. They’re in a strange land, struggling with the language and customs, susceptible to their own imaginations. In their culture, a man dressed as a stag is a malevolent spirit.”
“Have you actually lost any staff over this?” asked May.
“The walkouts started right after the first sighting. They’re more serious now. After all, Constantin could have been killed.”
“And you have no idea what this – creature – wants.”
“I didn’t take it seriously at first. The nearby nightclub attracts all types. I assumed the man had mental- health issues, a tendency toward exhibitionism.”
“But now?”
“Now I think he’s clearly trying to attract attention to something, but I’ve no idea what that might be.” She pointed beyond the framework of the mall. Against a green and orange sky, the industrial vista was a Dante’s Inferno of steel and concrete, the guts and skeleton of a great body being constructed across the razed land. “All the sightings have been up there, along that ridge. Somehow he gets inside the perimeter fence.”
“How can he do that?” Bryant asked.
“He only needs a pair of bolt cutters to get in. The grounds are frequently patrolled, but we’ve had trouble with some of the night security. We think he must have friends on the inside.”
Bryant’s forehead wrinkled. It didn’t make sense. Why cultivate friendships within the very workforce you were hoping to disturb? “When building first started here, did any of your employees leave with unresolved grievances?”
“I imagine there were quite a few,” Ms Waters replied, “but I deal with government ministers and planning advisors, not staffing issues.”
“Then why didn’t you send your personnel officer to see us?”
“Because yesterday morning our electricians voted to go on strike. They stay later on the site than anyone else except management, and most of the reliable eyewitness reports have come from their sector. I need to get this matter sorted out quickly. If you want a job done properly – well, you know how that goes.”
“You say he gets inside the perimeter fence. Has he been picked up on your CCTV monitors?”
“It’s a huge site and we only keep recorded images for two weeks. Unfortunately, unless he passes right beneath the spotlights we can’t read the images clearly. We have an IT team looking at the problem.” She had been joined by a small, balding young man with a stressed, purposeful air. “I’m sorry. This is Maddox Cavendish; he’s been here since the project began, one of the original architects.” The two spoke quietly for a moment. Cavendish broke off to study the group of labourers who had clustered around a mechanical digger.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Waters left with her architect. As soon as they saw her coming, the workers quickly found their boss a hardhat and overshoes.
“Well, what do you make of her?” asked May as he watched Waters speaking with the foreman.
“She’s getting the job done. It can’t be easy. But I wonder why she’s taking such a personal interest in such a relatively inconsequential problem.”
“You heard what she said; she may have a strike on her hands.”
“Very small beer on a project like this. They must have thousands of employees.”
“Mr May, I wonder if you could help us?” she called back suddenly.
“See, she’s calling for you. Women always do that. Why not me?” grumbled Bryant. “Why do they always ask you first? I look older. It’s ageism, pure and simple.”
May made his way across the mud with Bryant following warily at his heels. The knot of workmen untied itself and parted, revealing a mound of clay-streaked earth that the digger had pushed aside.
The pale, naked body reminded Bryant of wartime photographs he had seen, the disinterred victims of concentration camps, except that this one was missing its head.
? Bryant & May on the Loose ?
20
Hallowed Ground
It was dark by the time Dan Banbury emerged from the white forensic tent carrying something heavy in a plastic bag. “I’ve got a little present for you, Mr Bryant,” he said cheerfully wiping his forehead and leaving behind a streak of dark clay. “Take a look in here. It got pretty mashed-up by the diggers, but still…”
Banbury was always cheerful when he faced a challenge, which suggested that the contents of the bag were likely to be unpalatable. Bryant allowed his scarf to ride further over his chin, peering in as the Crime Scene Manager carefully opened his find. Inside was the crushed and mud-smeared head of an adult male, one swollen eye open, the other squeezed so tight that the dead man appeared to be lasciviously winking.
Giles Kershaw pointed back at the tent. “It looks like your killer was interrupted before he could complete his task. He made the amputation but dropped the head near the body. Perhaps he was disturbed by one of the workmen.”
“Got anything to connect this to the first victim?”
“You mean beyond the location?” ADAPT’s construction site was only two streets away from where the other body had been found. “As far as I can see, the MO looks similar: neat single striations from more than one knife, professional stuff, a definite scalpel-blade mark, no other signs of violence on the torso. I’d say without doubt that this is the same chap at work.”
“Did he kill his victim here, then behead him on-site?”
“Hard to tell, old thing. If you’re going to leave the body in a different place, why not dismember it first? Even if the killer knew exactly what he was doing, it would take a few minutes of hard work. Then again, he’s done it once before so he’s probably getting better at it.”
“There’s no blood visible in the surrounding earth,” said Banbury, “but it’s clay, and there’s been a lot of rain lately. Giles is going to run some tests for us.”
“If he did cut up the body here, why would he take the risk of being discovered in the time it took?”
“Your job to find that out, squire.” Kershaw nodded at Banbury for support.
Bryant hitched up his scarf, thinking. “He doesn’t want to leave the body where he’s committed the crime because it’s not safe to remain in the location, so he takes it somewhere, removes the head and dumps the remains here. This is a man with a plan. The killer’s male, because both bodies are heavy to lift and women rarely mutilate. He could have backed a van right up to the perimeter fence and cut his way in. We’ll never sort out his tyre tracks from everything else that’s been churning around in the field.”
“The head’s putrifying,” said Banbury, sticking his own head in the bag and sniffing. “The body’s in really bad shape. Probably because the mound it was concealed in has been driven over by plant vehicles quite a few times, and there are plenty of insects in the ground.”
Bryant cocked his head back at the partially exposed corpse. It had taken on the texture of the earth in which it had been lying. The dead always seemed to absorb their surroundings, as if trying to rush the process of returning to the soil.
“One useful thing.” Kershaw took the bag from Banbury and turned the bald head around in its bag, pointing to a small blackened puncture below its ear. “See? A single tiny stab wound to the side of the throat, punched upwards. The angle and depth suggest something like a thin sharpened screwdriver. According to Dan here, they’re very popular in professional circles these days. It would explain why we didn’t find any damage on the first victim’s body, and wouldn’t necessarily spill a lot of blood. The perpetrator is right-handed, shorter than the victim, strong. No throat, chest or arm bruises, no defence cuts on the hands. I’d say this fellow was surprised without much of a struggle. I need to run tests on some decent equipment.”
“How are his fingers?”
“Pretty torn up, but there’ll be prints if they’re on the system. As for the time of death, we’ll have the entomological track. We’ll take some temperature readings and see if any insects have been attracted to his fluid
