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“We’ve found body parts in the freezer, both the one in the fridge and the freestanding one next to it. There’s more in the closet in the hallway and what we think is a complete skeleton in the bedroom. Most have been dead for quite some time; he’s been killing for at least a few years. Although there’s a recent one in the bath, looks strangled, probably within the last twelve hours. And no, we won’t know exactly how many bodies there are until we start piecing it all together.” He turns away from them. “Literally.”
Deakin leans forward, looking at the DVDs under the television. Return of the Jedi and the Exorcist 2.
“It hardly seems real, does it?” he mutters to Cara. “I mean, what does this guy do? Dismember people in his kitchen, then sit back and watch Star Wars?”
Cara shakes her head and looks around the room. In the corner is a black table, and on the top, a fish tank. In all the squalor, it stands out: it’s spotlessly clean, a variety of tropical fish swimming around inside.
“If only you could talk,” she whispers to them.
She follows Deakin out and they go into the bedroom again. The metal cabinet has been emptied, and a paper bag rests in a box, ready to be taken away as evidence. Deakin picks it up and pulls something out with his gloved hand. It’s dark skin in a long roll.
“We think that’s a penis,” a voice says from behind them.
Deakin swears and drops it back into the bag.
They turn. Libby is there, recognizable from her black eyeliner.
“I kind of liked the idea,” she says, her eyes creasing in a smile behind the mask. “I think I’m warming to this guy.”
“What else can you show us, Libs?” Cara asks.
Libby points to the blue plastic drum. “We haven’t opened that yet,” she starts. “We’ll take it away as is. Along with the freezer. But if this guy is copying Dahmer, we’d expect to find some human torsos in there.”
Deakin trails behind them as they walk into the kitchen.
“He didn’t use much in here for preparing food. Formaldehyde, ether, and chloroform found in the hallway cupboard. Acid and bleach in here.” She holds up evidence bags, showing them each one in turn. “Large hypodermic needle. Drill and one-sixteenth-inch drill bits.”
Cara doesn’t like to think about what they might have been used for.
Libby continues: “We’ve emptied the trash—some scraps, fragments of paper. Not sure if anything’s useful, but we’ll go through it. Blood evidence across all surfaces—we’ll take samples—fingerprints, some blood spatter up the walls. I don’t know what else to tell you, Detectives, except this is one fucked-up puppy.”
“And one that’s good with knives.” Dr. Ross joins them in the kitchen. “To dismember this many bodies in this way, we’re looking at someone with a decent knowledge of human anatomy.”
“The same guy as Monday night?” Cara asks.
“Possibly. We’ll compare the tool marks used on both. I’ll send you my report when I know more,” Ross concludes. Cara and Libby enviously watch him leave, desperately wanting to do the same.
Deakin has wandered off to another part of the apartment. “Are you still on for drinks?” Libby asks her.
Cara looks at her doubtfully. “At this time of night?” She points to the busy scene. “With all of this going on?”
“I know a place. And night shift takes over in half an hour,” Libby says. “What more can you do here? Really?” Cara shrugs. “Don’t you think you could do with a bit of downtime?”
Libby’s got a point. Cara’s phone starts ringing. “Fine. Thirty minutes,” she whispers to Libby as she answers it.
It’s Shenton. “Anything from the mother?” Cara asks.
“No. She says she hasn’t seen Michael Sharp in about a year. But we’ll follow up; she might be holding out on us.”
“That’s great. Good work, Toby,” she adds, trying her best to be encouraging. They need the boost. It’s nearly eleven, she hasn’t eaten since lunch—she could do with someone giving her a good pep talk now.
* * *
Outside, Deakin has changed out of his crime scene suit and is smoking around the corner of the block of apartments, out of sight of the reporters. Cara joins him and reaches out to take his cigarette, but he holds it away from her.
“Roo will kill me if I let you smoke.”
“Just give me the damn cigarette, let me worry about my husband,” Cara says. “I think I’m allowed one after the day we’ve had.”
