Unfinished Business (23 page)

“Well?” Cass eventually said when it became clear he wasn’t about to speak.

“He didn’t tell me anything new, except that Emily disappeared after a night out clubbing. Her friend thought she spotted her talking to a man but she was so drunk she couldn’t remember a thing about them.”

“Great,” sighed Cass. “Now what?”

“Let’s find Seth.”

“That should be fun. You didn’t manage to plant another tracker on him, did you?”

“I didn’t bother to try. He found the last one. We’ll just have to drive around until we find him.”

They tried the bar where he worked and his local boozer but apparently he hadn’t been in either all day and he wasn’t due in work until the following evening.

“We know he’s not at Maggie’s because we’ve just been there,” said Brodie. “Cass, if you were a nasty wee shitebag where would you spend your days?”

“Doing nasty wee shitebag things.”

“Exactly. Haines and Johnson are locked up so he’s not with them.”

“Seth will be busy moving in on their businesses while they’re out of commission.”

“True and where would he go to do that?”

“God only knows. We could stakeout Maggie’s house and wait for him to come home?” she suggested.

“It might be our only option.” He tutted when his phone started to ring, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s Clarke,” he said, puzzled before answering it. “No, I’ve no idea where Seth is, we’re looking for him ourselves.” He glanced at Cass triumphantly. “I fucking knew it.” He covered the mouthpiece to speak to her. “Seth’s The Carver, they’ve got proof.”

“Big shock,” she said dryly. “We’ve been trying to tell them that.”

Clarke wittered on for a bit longer before hanging up.

“Well, how do they know?” said Cass.

“They’ve got him on CCTV with the missing girl, Emily Spencer. He was careful to avoid the camera outside the nightclub but he didn’t know there was one outside a pub a few doors down. It caught them together looking pretty cosy.”

“That’s not proof. We don’t even know that The Carver has her yet.”

“It gave them what they needed to get a search warrant for his house, or should I say Maggie’s house.”

“I bet that pleased her.”

“They’re there right now, the search is still ongoing but they found some items belonging to the previous victims, jewellery mainly, they were listed as what they were wearing when they disappeared.”

“Trophies?”

“Looks like it.”

“Not really a surprise, is it?”

“No but at least they’ve got something concrete on the bastard.”

“I’ve just had a thought Boss,” she said. “If Seth was following in his father’s footsteps then that might mean he looked up to his dad and what he was doing. What if he hates Mark for killing him?”

“Mark didn’t kill him.”

“Everyone says he did. It might be you who’s wrong.”

Brodie pursed his lips. “I’m not. Everything that happened in London is linked to what’s happening here. We know Bryan schooled Seth.”

“And Mark.”

Brodie pulled at his phone so hard he almost ripped his jacket pocket. “Shit, how do they know that’s Seth on the CCTV footage and not Mark?”

“I’m sure they’ve thought of that already.”

“Clarke,” he barked into the phone. “You’re sure that’s Seth on the footage, not Mark? Right, fine.” He hung up and scowled at the phone. “He said he’s not a complete cretin and Mark was with Sarah when Emily was taken. They can round it down to an exact time because of the date stamp on the footage. Seth has no alibi - he wasn’t at work and he wasn’t at home. Plus there’s all the trophies in Seth’s room.”

“I thought Maggie would have alibied him regardless.”

“She would have but she let slip that she thought he was at work at the time before she realised why the police wanted to talk to him.”

“Oops. Bet she’s kicking herself now.”

“I’m thinking Bryan Flynn had a shed that was the base where he planned his murders and practised his artwork. What if Seth’s got the same?”

“There’s no shed at Maggie’s house.”

“No but he could have something somewhere else - he could be renting a garage, a shed, a storage locker. The Carver keeps the women for a couple of days before going to work on them. He couldn’t keep them at his ma’s house.”

“If he’s any sense he’ll have it under a false name.”

“Probably. Ah, Jesus.”

“What?”

“The aunt, Jenny. What if she had another property none of the Creegans have mentioned yet?”

“Possible. We need to check Land Registry but won’t Clarke have thought about that already?”

“Maybe, maybe not. He might not consider an aunt who died years ago.”

“It’s fortunate I asked Ross to do the searches on all properties owned by the Creegans and Aunt Jenny before I left Glasgow.”

Brodie had the urge to kiss her, not for the first time. “You wee beauty.”

“Aren’t I just? I hope you remember that when it comes time for doling out the Christmas bonuses.”

“I don’t give Christmas bonuses.”

“Maybe you should start?”

“Keep working like this and I just might.”

“I’ll give Ross a call.” Cass’s face was inscrutable as she spoke to their colleague in Glasgow. She hung up and sighed. “Jenny only owned the house, no other properties.”

“Shit.”

“By the way, Ross and Christian had to sort out the paedo Derek Collins. They kicked the living hell out of him and put him in intensive care after he tried to break into a house where he knew a fourteen year old boy was alone while his parents were at work.”

“I knew the sleazy bastard would try something like that,” said Brodie. “A sex offender never changes his spots.”

“They’ve also made sure everyone in the neighbourhood knows who and what he is. Looks like he’s going to get a nice new identity and address in another part of the country but our contact will make sure to tell us where he’s going. We won’t let him drop off the radar.”

Brodie nodded. “That was good work by Christian and Ross, they were watching him closely.”

“I’m glad you said that because they set fire to your office.”

“What?” he roared. “My office?”

“Apparently they only went in there for the pen stash.”

“And how did that lead to them nearly burning the place down?” he demanded.

“Something about spilling coffee on the plug socket, flames, smoke, chaos.”

“Please tell me the place isn’t ruined.”

“No, it’s not ruined, just a bit…overcooked.”

“The silly wee shites,” he spat, dragging his phone from his jacket pocket.

“Brodie, take it easy. No real damage was done. It was only a small fire and it was put out quickly enough. An airing and a lick of paint and it’ll be fine. They’ve already started redecorating it.”

“Themselves?”

She nodded.

“Christ, can they be trusted even to do that?”

“I’m sure they can. It was just a wee accident.”

His expression darkened. “I’ll be having serious words with that pair of wallopers when I get back.”

“Go easy on them, they did good with Derek Collins.”

“Which is the only reason why they’re not going to get their arses kicked.” He pushed thoughts of causing Ross and Christian enormous harm aside to concentrate on the task in hand. “The tracking device. I need to look more closely at where Seth went when it was on him.”

“I thought he went to Sarah’s?”

“Yes but where did he go after that? I was so busy concentrating on the fact that he went to Sarah’s that I didn’t look after that. We need to get back to the hotel, I need my laptop.”

Back in Brodie’s room at the hotel he ripped his laptop case in his haste to get the computer out and set it up on the small desk beneath the window. After logging into the system he sat back to study Seth’s movements.

“After I dropped it in his pocket he went back to his ma’s, probably to drop Maggie and Lauren off,” he said excitedly, staring at the screen. “Then he went to work, where he stayed for six hours.”

“Where did you plant the tracker?”

“In his coat pocket.”

“Just because his coat was at work doesn’t mean he was.”

“True but it’s a reasonable assumption. He left the bar at midnight, we can confirm that with his employer. Then he headed straight to Sarah’s house where he stayed for twenty minutes, like we already know. Then he went to an address in Salford.” He frowned. “It looks to be in the middle of nowhere.”

“Perfect for meeting with a pair of drug dealing scumbags or stashing a kidnap victim,” said Cass.

Brodie jotted down the coordinates. “Let’s go. We might just be in time to find Emily Spencer.”

“Shouldn’t we call Clarke?” said Cass as they sped down the stairs, bypassing the lift, and out the door.

“Let’s see what’s there first. I don’t want to drag him away from searching the Creegan house for something that might turn out to be a waste of time.”

“Fair enough.”

Brodie was tense as he drove furiously through the city, terrified they’d get there too late and Emily would end up mutilated with her throat cut. Cass sat in the passenger seat with her laptop on her knee, frantically trying to find out what was at those coordinates and who owned it.

“Careful,” she exclaimed when he went round a bend a bit too fast, her laptop almost sliding off her knee.

“Sorry hen,” he said absently, concentrating hard on the road.

She righted herself in her seat and started stabbing the keyboard. “Right, looks like it’s a storage unit.”

“Storage unit? The ideal place for hiding a woman you’ve abducted,” replied Brodie.

“I’m just bringing up the company’s website,” she said, big eyes scanning the screen. “It’s a self storage unit, everything’s automated. It’s quite a new thing in the UK and it’s not far from Seth’s house in Salford.”

“Here we are,” said Brodie. “Right on the main road. Not very private.”

“Inside a storage container you have complete privacy. No windows.”

They rolled to a halt before a set of large metal gates.

“How do we get in?” he said. “There’s no one around.”

Cass pressed a few more buttons on the laptop. “You book a unit and your phone number is stored in the gate, then you just tap in your number and the gate opens. Nice and anonymous.”

“Shit, we don’t have Seth’s phone number.”

“Clarke could get it.”

“You want to call that slick prick in so he can steal my thunder?”

“It’s an electronic keypad, you can’t pick that lock. We’ve no choice.”

“Fuck it,” he growled.

Cass looked out of the window. “There’s a man in a hard hat staring at us.”

They watched the man in the luminous orange jacket and yellow hard hat open the gate and make his way towards them.

“Something wrong? Forgotten your phone number?” he said in a way that indicated it happened all the time.

“Who are you?” said Brodie.

“I’m the site manager. Can I help?”

“We’re working for the police,” said Brodie, causing the man’s smile to drop. “One of your customers could be stashing a woman in one of your storage units.”

“Is this some sort of joke?”

“No joke. I’m deadly serious.”

Brodie’s expression convinced him he wasn’t exaggerating. “You said you’re police? I want to see ID.”

“We haven’t got time for that. Open the gate.”

“No way. Anyone can come along and say they’re police. Show me your warrant cards.”

“Look, we don’t have warrant cards, we’re working as consultants for Manchester Police.”

“If you think you can break into those units you’re wrong. They’re solid steel and our CCTV streams to our head office, so we’ve already got your car and faces on camera. If you don’t leave I’ll call the police.”

“Good,” retorted Brodie. “Ask for DS Clarke. He’s the one in charge of the investigation.”

“What investigation?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Get out of here, you look well dodgy.”

“Listen you Manc tosser…”

“Brodie, please,” said Cass. She looked to the site manager. “We’re not trying to cause trouble. A potential murderer who is currently being sought by the police could have a woman locked in one of your units right now and the longer we argue about it the closer she gets to death.”

Cass must have been more convincing than Brodie because he said, “alright, wait here. I need to contact head office.”

As the site manager went back through the gate and locked it behind him Brodie took out his phone. “I suppose I have to call Clarke because that nobhead isn’t going to let us in.”

CHAPTER 18

They heard the sirens approach just as the site manager was returning. The man looked almost panicked and it took him a couple of attempts to open the gate, making Brodie laugh. The man hung back when Brodie unfolded himself from the car, suddenly not feeling so superior with his hard hat and clipboard.

Clarke’s car screeched to a halt, a young, enthusiastic detective constable at the wheel. They were followed by a marked police car and a transit van, which Brodie guessed contained scenes of crime personnel.

“Seth has a unit here?” demanded Clarke, striding up to them, looking grim.

“You’ve still not found him?”

“What do you think?” Clarke snapped. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Sorry, it’s been a tense day.”

“We might have some good news for you. Seth came here two days ago and spent over an hour here. He’s got something in there.”

“How do you know?”

Brodie glanced at the site manager and the curious police gathered round and said quietly, “I’ll tell you later.”

“Fine.” Clarke looked impatiently at the site manager. “We need to come in.”

“Have you got a warrant?”

“I don’t need one. We’re trying to save someone’s life. Let us through.”

The site manager, sensing Clarke was on the edge, capitulated. “Alright, I’ll open the gate but I’m calling head office back.”

“Good. Ask them which unit belongs to Seth Creegan.”

“I don’t need to ask them, I can check myself,” he sniffed.

As the site manager scurried away in a state of alarm to make his call Clarke took Brodie and Cass aside, away from the rest of his officers. “How did you find this place?”

“I planted a tracking device on Seth,” replied Brodie. “It showed he came here and spent over an hour doing God only knows what.”

“Tracking device,” Clarke sighed, planting his hands on his hips.

“It’s amazing what you can achieve when you don’t have to get a warrant,” smiled Brodie.

“That’s illegal.”

“I told Seth about it. If he denies it he must have forgotten.”

“What a load of bollocks. That won’t stand up to scrutiny.”

“Are you going to let a serial killer off the hook because of a tiny wee gadget?” challenged Brodie.

“No I’m not.” He looked round to make sure no one was listening before adding, “if anyone asks you ran a search on whatever name he’s booked the unit under and came up with this place. End of story.”

“Fine by me.”

“No one planted a tracking device on anybody. Understand?”

Brodie held up his hands. “I said I’ve got it.”

Clarke looked to Cass, his expression was gentler, and he was gratified when she nodded too.

They all waited in silence for the site manager to return, gazing thoughtfully at the unending rows of blue metal containers.

The site manager rushed back again, now rather red in the face and sweating beneath his hard hat, the clipboard gone. “Head office told me to give you what you need. There’s no unit booked under the name Seth Creegan.”

“You spelt it right?” said Clarke before spelling Creegan out to the man.

“I know how to spell,” spat back the site manager.

“He’ll be using a pseudonym if he’s using it for murder,” said Brodie.

“It’s against the rules for our units to be used for illegal purposes,” spluttered the site manager.

The look Clarke gave him was withering. “This guy isn’t known for playing by the rules.”

“Try the name Bryan Flynn,” said Brodie. “If he’s emulating Daddy then he might be using that name.”

“Right,” said the site manager, walking away.

“We’ll come with you,” said Clarke. “We don’t have time to wait for you to run back and forth.”

“I’m not objecting. It’ll make my life easier,” he muttered, ambling ahead of them.

Not all the group could fit into the small portakabin that made up the site manager’s office so Brodie, Cass, Clarke and his DC piled in while the rest waited outside.

They watched as the site manager, who introduced himself as Bob, tapped at the computer. “No, nothing for Bryan Flynn.”

“Bryan with a y,” said Brodie.

“No Bryan’s with y’s or I’s.”

“Mark Creegan?” said Cass.

“There’s no one with the name of Creegan at all.”

“Can the units be booked anonymously?” said Clarke.

“It can be done online or over the phone. You don’t see anyone in person,” replied the Bob. “Payment’s taken by card every four weeks.”

“So no one sees any faces?”

“No, this way it means we can charge less for the units.”

“Try Kyle Johnson,” said Brodie.

“Johnson?” frowned Clarke.

“It could be an insurance policy, someone else to blame.”

“Worth a try I suppose.”

“We’ve got a Kyle Johnson,” said Bob with a relieved smile.

“Bring up his details,” said Clarke. He leaned over Bob’s shoulder to study the screen. “That’s his home address. As if Johnson would be stupid enough to use his real details if he was really responsible.”

“What’s this bloke supposed to have done anyway?” said Bob.

They all ignored him.

“Take us to his unit,” ordered Clarke.

The group seethed with impatience as the site manager looked up the location of the unit then had to prevent themselves from belting him one when he dithered trying to locate it.

“It’s not my fault, they all look alike,” he said in his defence and Brodie had to restrain himself from poking him in the eye. “Here we go,” he eventually said, pointing to a unit painted dark blue.

“The walls are thick. No one can hear you scream,” said Brodie as he stared up at the unit, sending a shudder down Cass’s spine. He banged on the door. “Hello? Emily?”

There was no reply.

“Open it up,” said Clarke, gesturing to the coded padlock.

“I can’t, only the renter has the code,” replied Bob.

“I don’t care about the code. Break it open.”

“I can’t do that,” he shrieked.

“I could have that lock picked in under a minute,” said Brodie, staring at it.

“No, we do this properly,” replied Clarke. He turned back to Bob. “Listen up you. There could be a woman in there mortally injured and you’re throwing fucking red tape at me.” He turned to his team. “Bolt cutters. Now.”

“I’ll have to call head office about this,” spluttered Bob.

“I don’t care, just as long as you get out of the way while you do it.”

Cass gave Clarke an admiring smile as he pushed Bob aside and glowered at the scenes of crimes officers as they rummaged around in the back of their van for the desired bolt cutters. Sensing his glare laser-beaming its way into their backs their search turned positively frantic until one of them triumphantly produced it.

While the door was forced open Brodie said, “no sign of Seth then?”

“No,” replied Clarke. “We’ve tried his work, mum’s, brother’s house, his local pub, basically everywhere we can think of and if anyone has seen him then they’re not telling us.”

All three turned to look when the padlock broke with a clang and the door slowly swung open. Brodie wanted to scream at the numpty opening it to hurry up, it seemed he was going slowly on purpose for dramatic effect.

“Fuck, it’s empty,” said Clarke, crestfallen.

“But it has been used recently,” said Brodie, pointing to the wooden pallet inside, leather tethers hanging from the top and bottom. A smell drifted out - it wasn’t exactly charnel house because the place had been cleaned up but it was unpleasant and reminded Brodie of pain and despair.

“Look at the walls,” said Cass.

They’d all been so busy studying the only piece of furniture in the room that they’d failed to look at the walls. Every spare surface was adorned with sketches of the dead women - all six of them.

“Shit, Emily Spencer’s face is up there,” said Clarke. “I promised her parents I’d bring her home safely.”

Brodie knew it was a bad idea to make promises like that but it was hard not to. “It doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

“It’s still not a good sign.” Clarke looked to the scenes of crimes officers and told them to get on with it before retreating a distance to stare into the container. Brodie went to follow him but Cass put a hand on his arm. “Let me. I think you wind him up.”

“I hear that a lot,” he said, watching as she walked over to the brooding police officer. He turned his attention from them to the faces on the walls, hoping Cass worked her magic on Clarke and made him amenable to them.

He had to own that the drawings were very good, the light grey shading giving the faces an ethereal, ghost-like quality. Seth might be a sleazy, murdering wanker but he could really draw. Any beauty in the pictures was eradicated by the women’s eyes, which chilled him to the bone. He sighed and looked away. This wasn’t something he wanted ingrained on his memory but he knew it always would be. He glanced back at Cass and Clarke, who were talking. It looked like she was softening him up.

“It doesn’t mean Emily’s dead,” said Cass.

“Yes it does. If she was still alive she’d be here,” replied Clarke, staring at the open unit with big, sorrowful eyes.

“Not necessarily. We don’t know his routine, he might have a second place he takes them to prepare them for exhibition.”

“It’s something to cling onto I suppose but I think he killed them here. SOCO will find their blood and if he did the carving here then he cut their throats here. He couldn’t have transported them when they were bleeding out everywhere.” He gave her a gentle smile. “But thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

“You look like you haven’t smiled in a while.”

“I haven’t, not since this case started.” He nodded his head at Brodie. “Are you and him a couple?”

“No, we just work together.”

“It must be hard for him working with you and keeping it platonic.”

“I didn’t have you down as a flatterer DS Clarke.”

“Call me Daniel and I’m not. I just tell the truth.”

Despite the grim situation they were stuck in, she smiled. “I know he can seem gruff and sometimes just plain rude but Brodie’s a good man. He’s unorthodox but he gets the job done and he really cares, sometimes too much.”

“He seems very driven.”

“He is.”

“I know about his past, his parents and brother.”

“Whatever you do, don’t mention it. It’s a very touchy subject.”

“I wasn’t going to but it explains why he acts the way he does. It must have made joining the force difficult for him with a family history like that.”

“He was just a kid at the time and they recognised that.”

“The brother’s been damaged for life. That can’t be easy on Brodie.”

“It’s not but he handles it, like he does everything else.”

“Did he ask you to come over here and cheer him on?”

“No. He wanted to come and talk to you himself but I thought he’d just get on your nerves, he affects some people like that, so I thought I’d be better talking to you instead.”

“If everyone was as candid as you Miss Carlisle my life would be so much easier,” he smiled.

The conversation was broken up when Clarke was waved over by one of the scenes of crimes officers, who was dressed head to toe in a white paper suit. Cass followed him to the mouth of the unit.

“We’ve got long blond hairs,” said one of the technicians, holding up a strand with a pair of tweezers. “The place has been cleaned but there’s still specks of blood he missed.”

“Make sure you check every inch. We need to know if he brought all the women here,” said Clarke.

The technician gave him a look that indicated he shouldn’t tell him how to do his job.

“Sir, you need to see this,” said another technician, holding up what appeared to be a sheet of parchment with small squares stitched to it.

“What’s that?” said Clarke.

“Skin squares Sir,” he replied. “Each one’s got one of the victim’s names carved into it.”

Clarke grimaced. “Is Emily’s name there?”

The technician nodded. “Yes Sir.”

“Fuck,” he said quietly.

“There’s more,” continued the technician. “I’ll need the pathologist to confirm it but I think the squares have been stitched to one large piece of skin. It’s been preserved so it’s hard to tell just by looking at it if it’s human.”

Clarke was as astonished as Cass and Brodie. “Please tell me you’re kidding?”

“Wish I was Sir.”

“The Camden Carver took squares of skin from his victims,” said Brodie. “Seth’s replicating Daddy in every way.”

“But we’ll never know if he stitched them to one big piece of skin,” replied Clarke. “Small squares were missing from each body in London but they were never found.”

“They were probably hidden in Bryan Flynn’s shed and Maggie threw them out.”