Bochenski waved a palm across the air. ‘A sadist’s flourish.’
‘Exactly. We have a very twisted person on the—’ Larry paused for a moment, eyeing Matt. ‘Why are you shaking your head?’
‘I’ve been thinking about this. In fact, I haven’t thought of anything else … what if the fire wasn’t about cruelty,’ Matt said. ‘Whoever did this is the very opposite of discreet. He chooses a public park at night. He lights her up even though the noose had probably already killed her … why would he do that?’
‘Um …’ Bochenski said, half smiling. ‘Because he’s a psychopath?’
‘Or because he … or she …’ Matt corrected himself, ‘wanted people to come. This wasn’t just a hanging; this was a public hanging … with a fire to summon the community to see it.’
‘You mean … he hangs her and snaps her neck to make an example of her?’ Larry said.
‘Something like that, yes.’
Larry was looking increasingly uneasy. ‘But why? What did she do that was so bad?’
‘Hang on,’ Matt turned to Bochenski. ‘Are you sure she died from a broken neck before she burnt?’
He curled a lip. ‘Of course I’m sure. Her trachea, her bronchi, all her airways were pretty much free of soot. If she’d been breathing during the fire she’d have sucked all that in.’
‘Well … I’m sorry, but that can’t be right.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes. Because Jo was screaming while she was burning. We all heard it. I even saw her head moving inside the bag, like she was struggling to—’
‘Ah …’ Bochenski said.
‘Slow down, Matt.’ Larry put his hand up. ‘She was dead alright. The screaming was something else.’ He sniffed and turned to Bochenski. ‘Show him.’
Bochenski nodded and moved toward a bank of metal doors, which Matt had thought were lockers.
He turned to Larry. ‘What’s going on?’
But by then, Bochenski had already unlocked one of the doors and was sliding out a metal shelf. What was inside was covered in the same titanium-white sheet that was over Jo. ‘You probably did see movement.’ He pulled the shelf out all the way and yanked the sheet away. He watched the wave of confusion spread across Matt’s face. ‘But it wasn’t her.’
‘What the hell is that?’ Matt said.
‘That’s what was inside the sack around her head,’ Larry said. ‘It’s Jo Finch’s pet rabbit.’
‘Matt?’ Larry’s voice sounded muffled in the air. ‘You okay, Matt?’
He blinked, and eventually looked up from the mad, frozen eyes of the rabbit. ‘I’m fine, sorry.’
‘Animal lover, I take it?’ Bochenski said.
He actually laughed at that. ‘Not particularly.’
They stood gazing at the fuzzy black lump, which looked like it was made of two halves. As Matt stepped to the side he could see that it still had its head and face intact, scorched in soot. A silver disc on a collar shone brightly around its neck, shining where Bochenski must have cleaned it. It said the rabbit’s name was Six, and the address below was Jo’s place on Bennington Road.
It was a surreal experience, looking at a burnt rabbit corpse alongside its equivalent human.
Something like panic, desperation or basic agony had forced the animal’s eyeballs to bulge horribly proud from the sockets. A little nudge might make them pop out and roll onto the floor. Animals have minimal expressions at the best of times, so he’d never really imagined what terror would look like in a creature’s face. Now he didn’t have to. It was plain, and not up for debate. One of the long (very long) floppy ears had burnt away and was now just a tattered black rag. Yet just like Jo, the real damage was to the bottom half of it. Part of the front paws and most of the hind legs and tail looked like bundles of brittle black sticks or twigs sticking out from its body. A horrid joke rabbit with black pencil legs, twisted and burnt, ready to snap if it ever tried to run.
God, how freaky to see this thing running, Matt thought. ‘So let me get this right, she was dead and this was alive.’
‘Yes, though obviously it can’t have been alive for long.’
‘So that hole in her cheek …’ Matt barely hid the shock on his face. ‘It wasn’t caused by the fire was it …’
‘Nope. Looks like our little friend here panicked and was trying to hide from the flames. Couldn’t burrow out so he burrowed …’
Matt closed his eyes.
‘Well, you get the idea.’
‘So putting the rabbit up at the top of her, in a bag, kept it alive and screeching for longer, like a siren …’ Matt said. ‘It got people coming out. That’s how I noticed it. It was the noise.’
Larry said nothing. He was too busy scratching at the wiry grey hairs of his neck, hard like it might hurt. ‘Are you still going up to visit Rachel Wasson?’
Matt nodded.
‘Then I’m your plus one.’ He looked to Bochenski. ‘And get rid of that awful little thing, will you?’
He nodded and threw the sheet back over it. Bochenski said ‘Sweet dreams,’ to the white lump. Then he pushed the shelf hard and slammed the black rabbit deep into its hole.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Larry pushed the morgue door open and they both stepped into the quiet corridor, where the walls were decked with black and orange streamers. The patients from the children’s ward had put up a Halloween display of ghosts and pumpkins.
‘Before we go up.’ Matt touched Larry’s arm. ‘Grab a seat.’ He gestured to a couple of soft chairs.
‘I’ve got a lot to do on this, Matt. I’d rather get on wi—’
‘What are the vaults?’
Larry frowned. ‘Where did you hear that?’ He sank into one of the chairs and a crepe paper werewolf wafted against the wall above him.
‘This came out at the seance last night.’ He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the paper, handing it over
