‘Take two hundred. Get over to Annabella’s. Tell her I need a fortnight’s worth of Androtone, two hundred and fifty mg a day. And Progesterone, five-mg pills, all she’s got. Now go!’
Dawn peeled off four fifty-pound notes and almost ran from the room.
The patient sat back, arms over the covers, palms upwards. After a few seconds the robin flew in. It perched on the end of the bed, peered at him, then flew halfway up and landed by his hand. He watched it impassively until it alighted on his palm. Then his fingers clamped inwards, crushing it to death.
Chapter 30
‘You’ve done what!’ McCloughlin exploded.
Jon kept his voice calm. ‘Sir, he tried to run. We had no choice.’
McCloughlin looked at Rick for confirmation.
‘It’s true, sir. He saw me with this lot and went for the door.’
‘At which point DI Spicer body-checked him so hard, he’s claiming that his shoulder’s dislocated.’ McCloughlin voice was brimming with contempt.
‘It’s not dislocated, sir. Believe me, he’d have been squealing a lot louder if it was,’ Jon answered.
‘Shit,’ said McCloughlin. He looked down at the clear plastic bag and the collection of images inside. ‘So what the bloody hell are these?’
Rick stepped forward. ‘It’s the work of a German anatomist called Gunther von Hagen, sir. He’s pioneered a process called plastination. Basically, he takes the corpses of people who’ve left their bodies for medical research, strips them of their flesh, dissects them to expose the internal organs, preserves the whole thing and puts them on display.’
McCloughlin was shaking his head. ‘Yes, I remember there was a documentary on TV. I switched over after a few minutes.’ He stared at a photo of a corpse, its own skin draped over its outstretched arm. Another of a man holding a basketball in one claw, tensed and ready to leap, all his muscles exposed, mouth open in an eternal gasp for breath. ‘Where are these monstrosities put on show?’
‘He has an exhibition called Body Worlds. It travels all around the world. These images are from when it came to London earlier this year. Loads more are for sale on the web site, too.’
McCloughlin pushed the images away. ‘So Pete Gray was there. OK, go and interview him. I’ll be watching.’
Jon and Rick sat down opposite Gray. He stared back at them in silence as the Neal twin-deck tape recorder whirred away.
‘Strange hobby you have there. Collecting pictures of dead people, poring over anatomy textbooks. Why don’t you talk us through it?’ asked Jon.
Gray shrugged. ‘You think I’m a ghoul.’
Jon stared back at him, thinking, too bloody right you are.
‘If I were a medical student studying to be a doctor, you wouldn’t be looking at me like that. You’d be full of respect at my desire to learn how the human body functions.’
‘But you’re not.’
‘Why should that matter? Why should knowing about the secrets of our insides be confined to the medical establishment? Why should the Royal College of Surgeons deny people like me access to autopsies through their secretive Fellowships? We are all human, we’re all entitled to understand how our bodies work.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s fascinating. At least, I happen to find it fascinating. But, because I’m not a doctor, you think I’m a ghoul. If it helps you to understand, I wanted to be a surgeon when I was younger.’
‘You wanted to be a surgeon? Why? Did some relative of yours write that Gray’s Anatomy textbook?’
‘No.’
‘Was your father a surgeon?’
‘No. He was a printer.’
‘Was an uncle? A relative? A friend? You don’t just take a fancy to being a surgeon.’
‘I did. Leonardo da Vinci did, and he’s regarded as a genius.’ Delusions of grandeur, Jon thought. The trait of a psychopath. He placed the plastic bag of Body Worlds images on the table.
‘These pictures you had in your house. Why are you collecting images of corpses stripped of their skin?’
‘They show the true workings of the human body in all its glory.’
‘Like the corpses of Angela Rowlands, Carol Miller and Tyler Young show the true workings of the human body in all its glory?’
Gray looked disgusted. ‘I’ve got nothing to do with them. Whoever did that is sick.’
‘Paying to see skinned people and collecting photos of them isn’t sick?’ Jon lifted the bag and let it fall with a slap on to the table.
‘Maybe you should be interviewing the other people who attended that exhibition, then. There were over eight hundred thousand of us.’
He was too glib, too well rehearsed. Time to shake him up.
‘So when did you meet Angela Rowlands?’ Gray flinched. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, when did you meet Angela Rowlands? It’s a simple question.’
‘Did I?’
Jon leaned forwards, aware that his next comment was about to leave him wide open with McCloughlin. But he was so close to nailing the bastard sitting opposite him, he didn’t give a shit.
‘How else did your sperm get inside her?’
‘How do you…?’ The sentence faded out.
‘You’ve got a fucking record, man!’ Jon shouted. He remembered McCloughlin was listening, and lowered his voice.
‘Kicking the crap out of your wife and then two other girlfriends, remember?’
‘But I never gave a DNA sample. I don’t understand.’
Jon’s eyes flicked briefly to the mirror window at his side and he imagined McCloughlin’s face. ‘We know everything about you. Now, tell me what happened!’
Gray’s shoulders collapsed. ‘It was at a singles’ night in town.’
‘Which one?’
‘The Coach and Horses, near Piccadilly station.’
‘And?’
‘We talked, I gave her my number. I didn’t think she’d call, but she did. Obviously didn’t take her young friend’s advice.’
‘That was her daughter.’
Again Gray’s face showed complete surprise at Jon’s knowledge. When he proceeded, it was a lot more cautiously. ‘She rang me about a week later. We met, she came back to mine and we had sex.’
‘Just the one night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any talking involved? Chat to her about your interest in human anatomy?’
‘No! Look, I know you think I killed her. And you think I saw Carol Miller, don’t you? I didn’t. We talked on the phone about that bloody rowing machine, but she didn’t ever come round to see it.’
‘On the night she disappeared she was off to see someone about something.’
Gray started biting a thumbnail. ‘Listen. When you came asking about Carol Miller that time, I didn’t lie. I’ve never met her. But I had seen Angela Rowlands. I thought if I told you that, you’d haul me in. And sure enough, here I am.’
Jon found himself scowling. The interview wasn’t going as he’d hoped. ‘How long before we find the link between you and Tyler Young? There are officers searching her home now. Will they find one of those cards you like to hand out at karaoke nights?’
‘You’ve been following me!’
Jon ignored the remark. ‘When did you meet Tyler Young?’
‘How would I ever come into contact with a girl her age? Look at me.’ He glanced down at his paunch. ‘I’m a fat fortythree-year-old who does Elvis impressions.’ He looked up, and Jon was shocked to see a tear running down his cheek. ‘I’m a fucking hospital porter, for God’s sake. I’d have as much chance of pulling a girl like Tyler Young as I did with Angela Rowlands’ daughter.’
‘You tried it on with Lucy Rowlands?’ Jon asked emotionlessly.
By now Gray was openly crying. ‘Yes, when her mum had gone to the toilet. She told me to fuck off.’
Jon kept at him. ‘You’d have plenty of chance with Tyler
Young if you were paying for it.’
Gray hauled himself up in his seat. ‘I’ve never paid for it. Ever.’ Defiance rang in his voice.
The silence stretched out until Rick nudged Jon and made a