Whispers of the Dead by Simon Beckett Read Free Book Online

of
opinion. Perhaps we could discuss it at more length over a drink
sometime.'
Jacobsen didn't answer, but the way she looked at him made me
think he shouldn't build up his hopes. The profiler was wasting his
time if he was trying to charm her.
The atmosphere in the small cabin became more relaxed once
Irving had left. I went to get the camera from Tom's case. It was a
cardinal rule to take our own photographs of the body, regardless of
whatever crime scene ones there were. But before I could start a
shout went up from one of the agents.
'Think I've got something.'
It was the big man who'd spoken. He was kneeling on the floor
by the sofa, straining to reach underneath. He pulled out a small grey
cylinder, holding it with surprising delicacy in his gloved fingers.
I
    'What is it?' Gardner asked, going over.
'Looks like a film canister,' he said, breathless from the effort. 'For
a thirty-five-millimetre camera. Must've rolled under there.'
I glanced at the camera I had in my hand. Digital, the same as most
forensic investigators used nowadays.
'Does anyone still use film?' asked the female agent who'd fetched
Irving the menthol.
'Only die-hards and purists,' the big man said. 'My cousin swears
by it.'
'He into glamour photography like you, Jerry?' the woman asked,
raising a laugh.
But Gardner's face didn't slip. 'Anything inside?'
The big agent peeled off the lid. 'Nope, only air. Wait a second,
though . . .'
He held the shiny cylinder up to the light, squinting along its
length.
'Well?' Gardner prompted.
I could see the agent called Jerry grin even though he was wearing
a mask. He waggled the film container.
'Can't offer you any photographs. But will a nice fat fingerprint
do instead?'
    The sun was setting as Tom drove us back towards Knoxville. The
road wound through the bottom of steep, tree-covered slopes that
blocked out the last of the light, so that it was dark even though the
sky above us was still blue. When Tom flicked on the headlights, night
suddenly closed in around us.
'You're quiet,' he said after a while.
'Just thinking.'
'I kind of guessed that.'
I'd been relieved to see he looked much better when he'd returned
to the cabin. The rest of the work had gone smoothly enough. We'd
photographed and sketched the position of the body, then taken
tissue samples. By analysing the amino and volatile fatty acids
released as the cells broke down we'd be able to narrow the time
since death to within twelve hours. At the moment everything
pointed to the victim's being dead for at least six days, and very
possibly seven. Yet according to Gardner the cabin had only been
occupied for five. Something wasn't right, and although I might have
lost confidence in my own abilities, I was certain of one thing.
Nature didn't lie.
I realized Tom was waiting for me to respond. 'I didn't exactly
cover myself in glory back there, did I?'
'Don't be too hard on yourself. Everyone makes mistakes.'
'Not like that. It made me look like an amateur. I wasn't thinking.'
'C'mon, David, it wasn't such a big deal. Besides, you might still be
right. There's something skewed about the time since death. Maybe
the victim was already dead when he was taken to the cabin. The
body could have been tied to the table to make it look like he'd been
killed there.'
Much as I'd have liked to believe that, I couldn't see it.'That would
mean the entire crime scene was staged, including the blood on the
floor. And anyone clever enough to make it as convincing as that
would know it wouldn't fool us for long. So what would be the
point?'
Tom had no answer to that.The road marched between silent walls
of trees, their branches picked out starkly in the headlights.
'What did you make of Irving's theory?' he asked after a while.
'You mean this being the start of a serial spree, or that it was
sexually motivated?'
'Both.'
'He could be right about it being a serial killer,' I said. Most
murderers tried