Chapter Three

"Merc though," Josh said for the fifth time. He frowned at the light in the ceiling, his blue eyes shining as he whispered out, "Merc?"

Chad shrugged. "He looks like a Merc."

"How can anything look like a Merc?" Josh reached for a doughnut from the box, sprinkling sugar all down his front as he took a huge bite. "Other than a Mercedes."

Ally peered through her thick framed purple glasses at him. "Why name your dog after a car? Why not a bike? Harley."

"That's a nice name," Josh replied, ruffling his sugar covered hand through his blond hair. He was leaning back in his chair with the front two legs off the floor and Chad thought about tipping him over to see him flap his arms and squawk.

"Or Davidson," Ally continued. "He looks like a Davidson."

She was still staring at Chad, and raised one of her thin eyebrows as if it would make him consider the name. She was a small woman, but fierce, and usually Chad would fold under the weight of her dark eyed stare, but this time he didn't.

"He's called Merc."

She tutted. Her black hair shimmered with a hint of purple as she turned her head to share a disappointed look with Josh.

They were both perplexed by the name, but he couldn't tell them the truth behind it, couldn't tell him it was a play on Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio being Romeo's best friend and the whole notion of a dog being man's best friend.

Ally picked a doughnut from the box, but rather than take a huge mouthful like Josh, she tore off pieces fit for a squirrel.

"We're really fitting into the detectives eating doughnuts and drinking coffee all day stereotype, huh?" Chad mumbled.

Ally pushed a pea-sized amount past her lips, and Josh stuffed the rest of his doughnut in his mouth with a groan. He licked his fingers once he'd swallowed it down.

"So … when can I meet him?" Josh asked.

"You want to meet Merc?"

"Of course I do, it was me that set you up in the first place."

Chad snorted. "That sounds like we're dating."

Ally cleared her throat. "Which reminds me, I want a formal introduction to this fella of yours, Frank," She wagged a finger at Chad.

"Me, too." Josh added.

Chad folded his arms. "You've met him."

"He had a mask on, unless he's that hideously ugly you don't want me to see him."

Chad went to retort, but couldn't.

"Oh, shit," Josh said. "He's not a looker then."

"He's…self-conscious about his appearance."

Josh pulled a face. "No need to say anymore, I get it."

"You don't, but back to Merc," Chad said, flapping his hand. "How about Saturday?"

Josh opened his mouth to reply, but snapped it shut when Faye popped her head into the room.

"Dave wants to see you," she said.

Ally lifted her hands to the ceiling. "Rejoice. About time. Has he finally decided how our man died?"

"Stab wound," Josh said, "Thought that was obvious, he had about fifty."

"Twenty-eight," Chad corrected. "Dave wasn't certain whether it was the one through the heart that killed him or the one in the groin."

Ally reached over and shut Josh's mouth before any doughnut could fall out. He swallowed, paling. "I don't want to see that."

"Miss Scarlett in the basement with the dagger," Ally said to herself with a laugh.

"What the hell are you on about?" Josh asked. "The suspect isn't called Miss Scarlett, and she didn't use a dagger, it was a kitchen knife."

"It was a Clue reference."

Josh glanced at Chad for help. "A what?"

"Clue." Ally repeated slowly.

"How does saying it like that help?" Josh rubbed his chin. "Is that some ancient game like backgammon?"

"How can you not know Clue?" Ally hissed.

"I'm not ancient like some."

Ally flexed her fingers in front of Josh's face. "Sometimes I want to just wring your neck."

"Kinky."

Chad pressed his lips together not to laugh.

"It just needs two of you to go down there," Faye said, flexing her eyebrows at Ally who understood and grinned at Josh.

"As you've annoyed me this morning," Ally fluttered her eyelashes. "You and Chad can go down there and talk to Dave while me and Faye sit here, munching on doughnuts and drinking coffee, like the pros we are."

"How did I annoy you?" Josh asked.

"By insinuating I'm old for my Clue reference."

"But you are old."

Chad grabbed Josh by the arm and hauled him from the chair. "Come on, before she really does throttle you."

He pulled Josh out of the incident room before Ally had a chance to throw something in Josh's direction. They hurried down the stairs, dodging a few officers on the way to the floor above.

They made it to the morgue when Chad had to ask, "You know the game Clue, right? The board game?"

"I've got no clue, what Clue is."

Chad squinted. "Josh? You're not serious are you?"

He smiled. "Of course I know what it is, but it's more fun to act oblivious and wind-up Ally, and now you've said it aloud, it's not a bad name for a dog."

"Clue?"

"No, I was referring to my name, Josh."

Chad shoved him. "I can't call him Josh."

"Is there a greater person to name him after?"

"How about Dave?"

"You'd name your dog after the guy that pokes at corpses, and not after me, your best friend?"

Chad sighed. "He's called Merc, and I'm sticking with Merc."

"How about Josh as a middle name? Merc Josh Fuller. I like the sound of that."

Chad pushed open the door and led the way to Dave's lair in the basement of the police station. The lack of windows left the place feeling claustrophobic and the buzzing lights above added to the creep factor.

Chad poked his head inside Dave's office but found it empty.

"Guess he's still in there." Chad said.

Josh shuddered, hugging his arms around himself. "Does it feel haunted down here to you?"

"You and your hauntings," Chad looked back at Josh over his shoulder. "My house, this place—"

"Your house is definitely haunted, and there are literal dead people down here, come to think of it … have you ever seen Dave actually touch something?"

"Unbelievable," Chad muttered, striding away. "He's called Dead-Dave because he works with the dead, not because he's a ghost."

They ventured further down the corridor to the mortuary. Dave stood on the other side of the window to the lab, kitted out in white scrubs, and their latest victim, Mr. Watney, lay on a gurney beside him.

Josh spoke through his teeth. "All he has to do is give us the file."

"All geniuses like their brilliance heard."

"Cutting up dead bodies isn't brilliance."

Dave waved them inside. Chad went first, with Josh glued to his back.

"Come now, Josh," Dave said. "You saw worse at the crime scene."

"It's a different kind of gruesome, this … this is haunting."

"Enough with the haunting." Chad replied.

Dave removed the sheet, and Chad looked down on Mr. Watney and thought, as rare as it was, Josh had a point. They'd seen Mr. Watney at the scene, slumped in his armchair, blood splatters around the walls. It had been gruesome, but there was something cold and absent about seeing him pale-skinned and naked, with no oozing wounds, or sign of red.

Red, as stark and horrifying as it was, always reminded Chad of life, the recently distinguished, but on the table, with the puckered purple skin of his wounds, he looked a different level of horrifying.

"Twenty-eight knife wounds. All to the front of the body, all deep, all done with force."

"But which one killed him?" Josh asked.

Dave glared. "I was getting to that if you'd let me finish."

"Go on," Chad said, stepping back on Josh's toes.

Josh grunted.

"The toxicology report showed he had a high concentration of alcohol in his system. The lack of defensive wounds leads me to believe he was asleep, and the first blow was to the chest, severing his aorta. The stab wound to his groin sliced through the femoral artery. Both fatal wounds."

"So you don't know which killed him?" Josh asked.

"Both injuries killed him quickly, but I believe the one to the heart came first."

"Why?"

Dave sighed and approached Josh. "Let's say I've got a knife and stab you in the groin first. What do you think your reaction will be?"

Josh glanced at Chad. "I'd scream for help."

"You'd curl over in a misguided effort to protect yourself, maybe even fall to your knees on the floor. There are no knife wounds on his back."

"His hands," Dave said stepping over to the table. He picked one up. Chad flashed a glance Josh's way, a not-so-subtle look, Dave touched something and couldn't possibly be a ghost.

"What about them?" Chad asked.

"They were covered in blood as if he'd attempted to stem blood flow. Blood would've taken significantly longer to soak through his jeans to stain his hands, compared to his bare chest. Thus, I believe the wound to the heart was the first infliction, followed by the one to the groin. He would've lost a significant amount of blood quickly and have been in shock."

Dave looked at Chad, encouraging him to speak with a wave of his hand.

"It makes sense she stabbed his heart first. Throughout her interview, she kept referring to her broken heart. He broke hers by cheating, and she broke his by—"

"Knifing it. I get it." Josh said, flinging his hands up in surrender. "It's not how I'd want to go."

Dave gestured to Mr. Watney. "I doubt he wanted to go out like this either."

"Hey, Chad," Josh said. "How about Watney as a name?"

"I'm not naming him after our latest murder victim."

"Naming what?" Dave asked.

"Chad's got a dog."

Chad reddened, and snapped back, "Who already has a name."

"Why so grumpy about it?" Dave asked.

"I'm not a grump."

Josh threw an arm over Chad's shoulders. "Proper grump is our Chad…"

The word grump took Chad back to two mornings ago in the ensuite bathroom with Romeo. He swallowed hard and ran a hand over his hair, refusing to go back there in front of Dave, Josh and a corpse.

Dave chuckled. "My dog when I was growing up was called Bones."

"Of course it was," Josh muttered. "Couldn't have a nice name, had to be something to do with corpses."

"Believe it or not, Josh, but there are bones in living people, too."

Chad cleared his throat. "Have you got the file ready to take upstairs?"

"Yes," Dave said, pointing out the window. "It's on my desk."

"Thanks."

Dave covered Mr. Watney up with a sheet. Chad waved a goodbye before rushing to get the file from Dave's office.

Josh followed close behind, darting looks back the way they'd come.

"Don't call your dog Bones."

Chad snorted. "It's better than Watney."

"Out of context, Watney is a good name for a dog."

Chad grabbed the file and pushed it into Josh's chest.

"Imagine how inappropriate it would be if the press got wind of me naming a dog after a murder victim."

"Not after him, but the same name, besides … we've done worse. Frankenstein."

"Frankenstein's monster," Chad corrected. "We were lucky to keep our jobs after that."

Josh jogged up the stairs then waited for Chad at the top. He pulled the sleeve of his jacket down to reveal his watch. "And what time do you call this, Detective Fuller?"

"You're an idiot." Chad said, before beating Josh to the doors.

"There better be some doughnuts left," Josh mumbled as Chad pushed inside.

Faye looked over from her desk. "And?"

"Shot through the heart, Bon Jovi," Josh replied. "Classic song, hey, Ally?"

Ally didn't reply, unlike Faye who'd turned to them when they'd come inside, Ally perched on her desk, and kept her full attention fixed on the DI's office. The blinds were down, and the door was closed.

"Hey, boss," Chad flapped the file from Dave at her. "Stab wound to the heart before—"

"Just put it here," she patted the desk.

Chad obediently dropped the file.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, watching the DI's office.

"You going to tell me what's wrong?"

Faye answered, "The DI went in there with some elderly man a few minutes ago."

"Would you say about Ally's age?" Josh asked. "Eighty?"

He dived on his chair and ducked behind his laptop, but Ally didn't whirl on him.

"I will remember you said that," she warned. "The guy that went in there is James Poole."

Chad winced before admitting through his teeth. "Never heard of him."

"Detective. Retired detective."

"Friend of the DI's?"

"No." Ally stroked her fingers over her creased brow. "He's no friend."

The blinds opened, and Chad caught his first glimpse of James Poole. White-haired, tall, wrinkled, and enthusiastically shaking the DI's hand. He was old, and age had curved his spine forward. His smile stretched his lips, but the DI didn't match it. The DI's smile didn't have the same reach, or last as long and it became clear while James was ecstatic about something, the DI wasn't.

The DI opened the door, not meeting any of their eyes. "Chad, can you come in—"

"Detective Chad Fuller," James said, strolling forward with his arm extended. Chad found his hand encased in James's as he clung on, still grinning. Up close, Chad noticed the finer details, like the knot of James's tie being slightly askew, the crumbs on his shirt, and the strong coffee breath.

"It's so good to meet you," James said, releasing his hold on Chad's hand.

Chad glanced at the DI, but he continued to refuse him eye contact. "Nice to meet you, too."

James flattened a hand down his tie. "I'm Detective Inspector James Poole, but you can call me James if I can call you Chad."

"Ex detective," Ally smiled sweetly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You retired. Almost a decade ago."

"I've come out of retirement. And you are?"

Ally narrowed her eyes. "Detective Sergeant Ally Coulson."

"Sergeant … you never went for inspector?"

"No. I didn't. Forgive me for my bluntness, but why are you here?"

The DI squeezed his temples. "Ally…"

"It's a valid question," James snorted. His smile returned. "I'm here because I have some fantastic news. We have the chance to put the past to rest. We can close the wound that has festered in Bardhum for decades."

Ally crossed her arms. "We?"

"Not you," James beamed at Chad. "But me and Chad."

"What wound?" Chad asked.

James scoffed, rearing back. "What do you mean what wound?"

The DI stepped into the room and gestured to his office. "Perhaps you'd like some privacy—"

"He's willing to disclose his last secret." James took a deep breath. "He's going to tell us where she is."

Chad stiffened and caught sight of Ally doing the same.

"You better not be talking about Vincent Whitehall?" she growled.

James nodded, undeterred. "Of course that's who I'm talking about. He wants to reveal the location of the girl unfound, Harriet Hastings."

"Brilliant," Ally said, glancing at Chad. "Where is she then?"

"He's willing to, but his memory is not what it was."

"Of course it isn't." Ally got to her feet, then sidestepped in front of Chad. She was too short to block James out, but her glare demanded Chad's attention. "You're not buying this, are you?"

Chad shook his head.

Ally slumped. "Good."

"I visited Vincent a few months ago." Chad said. "There's nothing wrong with his memory. He knows exactly where Harriet is."

"His cancer, the medication. It's affected his memories. He's not like the Vincent I've seen before. He's incoherent and unaware of his surroundings most of the time."

"You've … visited him?" Chad asked.

"On and off over the years," James nodded. "But in the last few weeks he's been speaking to the priest at Wiltknot and says he wants to cleanse his soul and admit to all his sins before he moves on. He wants to work with us. He wants our help in finding Harriet."

"What's this got to do with me?" Chad asked.

James rocked back on his heels. "He had conditions. Me being one of them, and you another. He wants us to help him remember."

"And how do we do that?"

"Visits to Wiltknot, and escorted drives around the local area—"

"You're kidding me!" Faye shouted, startling Chad forward. "You're going to let Vincent Whitehall walk about?"

"Vincent is barely mobile. He will be in the car with myself and Chad while we drive him to locations to help jog his memory. He won't leave the vehicle and he won't be left alone."

"This is crazy," Ally shook her head.

"You're not seeing the bigger picture," James opened his arms. "We can give the Hastings family closure. We can find their daughter, sister, auntie, great auntie and lay her to rest. Vincent doesn't have much time. We don't have much time, Chad. We need to start today—"

"I'm sorry," Chad backed up a step. "But I can't."

James's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

"Vincent is a psychopath," Ally hissed, "that's why."

"There's no way he's genuine," Chad said. "When I saw him—"

"He's not the same man you saw a few months ago. He's different. Death, being so close to it, has given him a new perspective. He doesn't want eternal damnation—"

"Well, he's getting it," Ally snapped. "Whether he wants it or not."

"He wants forgiveness from God—"

Chad shook his head. "I'm not falling for it."

"What does he have to gain from this?" James asked. His voice turned shrill. "There's nothing in it for him, he's dying. He's got maybe a few weeks at most."

"There's always something in it for him."

"He's not willing to do this unless you're involved." James took a step closer. "I need your help. Harriet, rest her soul, needs your help."

"If he was genuine, he'd want to cleanse his soul and find Harriet with or without me involved. I can't help you."

"Wow," James barked a laugh. His hands tightened to fists at his sides. "After all I've read about you, the detective that survived two serial killers and worked your way back from disgrace, I never thought you'd be a coward."

Ally geared up to take a swing, but it was DI's voice that bellowed, freezing them all in place.

"Get the hell out of my incident room!"

James deflated. His hands slapped together, and he begged Chad with watering eyes, "Please. I didn't mean that, it's just, you don't understand how much I—"

"Out!"

The DI's face turned purple as a vein twitched at his temple. James glanced around frantically before grabbing a pen and Post-it pad from Josh's desk.

"When you change your mind, call me." James scribbled his number down. "I know you've been through a lot, Chad, but we've got a chance here to do something good. We can find her." He tore off the Post-it and shoved it in Chad's hand. "Please, please think about it—"

"I believe the DI told you to fuck off." Ally snapped. "So not-so-kindly fuc—"

"I'm going," James trudged away with his shoulders down, and his head hanging. He shoved open the doors, only to pause and look back at Chad before stepping through.

Chad curled his fingers around the note, crinkling James's number into his palm.

For two months he'd been waiting for Vincent to make a move, and finally he had, but he'd refused to play whatever game he had planned.

He refused to let Vincent Whitehall inside his head.