Perfect Remains. Helen Fields

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СКАЧАТЬ or children to distract her. He’d seen her pick up a set of legal papers at six in the evening and work all night, only caffeine for company, springing into court the following morning as if she’d slept ten hours. Then she’d go to the gym and work the tension from her body. There was no excess. She was driven, like him. Constantly improving.

      That was why her choice of body double had been so ironic. King couldn’t have found a more dynamic opposite. All he’d needed was a woman of roughly the same age, height and build. The fact that she was a prostitute, stick thin (presumably from years of drug abuse) and barely able to string together a coherent sentence, had made it all the easier to dispose of her. He could have been kinder, but she wouldn’t listen when he’d tried to explain the service she was performing, giving him a life partner who was his perfect match.

      He’d never even learned her name. As it was, she would forever be the missing Elaine Buxton. And Elaine Buxton, erased from the living world, belonged wholly and exclusively to him.

      ‘I could rename you,’ he said. ‘It might be an important part of the adjustment process. Compile a shortlist in your head of say three or four. You can explain why you selected each of them, then I shall choose the one I find the most pleasing. It’ll be a good way for us to move forward together.’

      ‘You’re crathy,’ she whispered as he withdrew the needle from her arm.

      ‘You shouldn’t use such base terms. But you’re upset and I’ll be lenient for a while.’

      ‘Wha’ ’id you do with the girl?’

      ‘You needn’t worry about her. At the end, her sacrifice made up for her wasted life.’

      Elaine was staring at the area where he’d carefully laid out a vast sheet of plastic for the girl’s body. King had used an old car, hired from a sufficiently disreputable dealership that wouldn’t want any contact with the police, and kept it in a garage away from his home. One night he’d driven to Glasgow, picked up the girl who was soliciting in her usual spot (he’d been there several times to select the right one) and driven round a few streets to find a quiet place for her to earn her money. He’d found that concept amusing, even as he’d pressed the chloroform-soaked rag over her face. Earning money. That was all young women thought they had to do for a few pounds these days, believing that men existed to pay for them, that they simply had to don a short skirt and paint their mouths red. It was pitiful. And she’d wanted to charge him thirty pounds to put her filthy tongue inside his trousers. He was ridding the world of a scourge. He may well have stopped the spread of a dreadful disease by bundling her unconscious body under a tarpaulin and driving her away from her next customer.

      It had taken immense physical effort to cart her into the hidden room. Down one set of stairs and up another had seemed like a genius plan when he’d conceived it. The reality was more cumbersome. Several times he’d banged her head hard on the steps, not that it mattered. He’d kept her body wrapped in plastic, but allowed her to breathe. Asphyxiation wasn’t the plan.

      Elaine hadn’t liked it when he’d brought the girl in. Perhaps the tiniest hint of jealousy behind the melodramatic hyperventilation and wide-eyed head shaking, he’d thought. How could she ever have believed he would bring such a filthy, low creature into their lives?

      King had returned the woman to consciousness long enough to obtain details of past fractures. Previous injuries could tell tales. The thickening of bones long after they’d healed could reveal an unhelpful story, even if all the DNA had been destroyed. She’d been remarkably forthcoming. He’d just had to promise he’d let her live if she provided the information he wanted.

      In the event, there wasn’t much to be concerned about. A finger broken in a car door and a dislocated shoulder that wouldn’t show up. By far the more important thing was to ensure that the girl’s left upper arm was fragmented where Elaine’s had been fractured after she came off a bicycle as a teenager. If that bone was left intact and the pathologist was thorough, then all of King’s hard work would have been for nothing.

      Once he had all he needed, King had told Elaine to watch and not look away. When he’d put on the protective glasses the prostitute had only looked curious. When he’d snapped on rubber gloves and a face mask she’d begun to plead. Elaine, for once, had grown silent. When he’d picked up the baseball bat, well, that was a different story. He had no memory of Elaine’s reaction for those few minutes. He’d experienced what he assumed was tunnel vision, for the first time in his life. It had been a breathtaking episode. Everything but the screaming, whimpering, dribbling, blubbering pile of living flesh before him had faded out. There had been no peripheral vision to distract him. He couldn’t hear anything beyond her feral cries. It was the most intensely concentrated sensation he had ever felt.

      He’d awoken, and it was an awakening, standing before her, bat clutched in his hands, to find his pulse racing as if he’d run a marathon. It had been quite the adrenaline rush. For a while there was silence, then gradually Elaine’s intermittent sob-screams had broken through. The girl’s face was a mess, as he’d intended. He’d needed to bash every one of her teeth out of their sockets and damage the jaw beyond x-ray comparison for the identity exchange to work. He hadn’t foreseen that he’d get so carried away, he felt rising shame at the guilty pleasure he’d taken, seeing his handiwork in the bruises on her neck and breasts, guessing there were marks on her stomach and legs too, but unwilling to lift her undoubtedly infested clothing to see. He’d lost control – nothing to be proud of – but didn’t he deserve to vent? Better to let it out with her than Elaine. He had no desire to diminish his prize.

      King shook himself out of the memory and stared at the woman whose identity the prostitute had taken in death.

      ‘How are we doing with those tapes? I’m sure you’ve been glad to have an activity to occupy you. I know you already speak French so I thought Russian might be a more exciting challenge. When you’re talking properly again, I’ll test you and we can make some real progress.’

      He flicked a switch on the sound system and a voice began speaking words that Elaine had no inclination to listen to, or repeat. With a baby-soft kiss on her forehead, King placed a protein drink at her side and left.

       Chapter Six

      The autopsy table looked more comfortable than the bed he’d slept in. That was before it was occupied by the remnants of what was presumed to be Elaine Buxton’s skeleton. It had been a bad night. Callanach would have self-medicated with a decent bottle of red, but the only wine on offer had a label with all the appeal of a bargain-bucket binge drinker’s delight. Braemar was a slightly touristy but pleasant village lacking much choice in accommodation and the better options had been fully booked. In the absence of good wine, he’d settled for a dilapidated TV with crackling reception, soup he’d admired only because he’d previously thought it impossible to cook it so badly, and half decent coffee.

      Jonty Spurr, the pathologist, was quiet as he worked. Callanach appreciated that. He’d witnessed too many autopsies to be disturbed by the body. What he found more disquieting was the forced cheer some pathologists had about them. Too talkative, too determined to lift the atmosphere. Spurr was slow, not annoyingly so, but unhurried and probably unflappable under even the worst pressure.

      ‘The victim was an adult female, aged between thirty and forty, I’d say, approximately five foot six.’

      Callanach glanced at DC Salter. She was young but not new to the job and showed no sign of being troubled by what she saw.

      ‘Has the accelerant been identified yet?’ she СКАЧАТЬ