Captives

SEVENTY-NINE

Detective Inspector Frank Gregson paced slowly back and forth from one side of his office to the other, his gaze occasionally shifting to the blackboard behind his desk. To the names written on it.

DS Stuart Finn took a long drag on his cigarette and nodded at the board.

'Six murderers have been sent to Whitely in the past three years,' he said. 'I checked it out, just like you asked. Four of them died in there, all in the last eighteen months.' He looked at the blackboard once again.

'Including our three men,' Gregson said, finally perching on the edge of his desk. He looked at the last name on the list.

GARY LUCAS.

'It's a hell of a coincidence,' the DI muttered. 'All died there, all buried there.'

'All except Lucas,' Finn told him.

Gregson turned to look at his companion.

'By terms of his will, Lucas asked if he could be buried near his home, instead of in prison grounds. This burial in unconsecrated ground crap hasn't been enforced since they stopped the death penalty,' Finn went on. 'It's just that none of the other three had any family to protest.'

'Nor had Lucas, had he?'

'No; but, like I said, the terms of his will specified he could be buried outside prison grounds. They planted him in a cemetery in Norwood about three weeks ago.'

Gregson stroked his chin thoughtfully.

'What did the coroner say was the cause of death?' he wanted to know.

Finn blew out another stream of smoke, it says cardiac arrest on the death certificate, but a proper autopsy was never carried out,' said the DS, 'The certificate was signed by some geezer called…' he consulted his notes, 'Doctor Robert Dexter. He's down as resident physician at Whitely. The body was prepared there too, you know. They even put him in the coffin and shipped him home instead of leaving it to a local undertaker. Thoughtful, eh?' He took another drag on his cigarette.

'Jesus Christ,' muttered Gregson, his eyes fixed on the name of Lucas.

'Lucas must have fitted in well with the other three there,' Finn observed. 'He killed four people, including an eighty-seven-year-old woman, with a claw hammer before he was caught. Apparently he kept the old girl's left hand in his wardrobe. After he killed her he tried taking her wedding ring and when he couldn't get it he hacked her whole fucking hand off.'

Gregson appeared not to hear this last piece of information. He was already reaching for his phone, jabbing an extension number.

It rang. And rang.

'Where the hell is the boss?' he hissed.

'I should think he's gone home, Frank,' Finn said, 'it is nearly midnight, after all. What do you want him for, anyway?'

Gregson slammed the phone down, 'If I want an exhumation order he'll need to go and see a magistrate. I want Lucas dug up.'

'Are you serious?' Finn murmured uncomprehend-ingly. 'You want to dig Gary Lucas up? Why, for Christ's sake? He's dead.'

'So, apparently, were Lawton, Bryce and Magee.'

'You know they're dead. You saw their graves.'

'Yeah, I did. I also saw the three bodies downstairs in pathology. The ones that were positively identified as those same three men.' Gregson pulled his jacket on.

'Frank, where the fuck are you going?' Finn demanded, standing up as his superior headed for the door.

'I'm going to find out once and for all what the hell is going on,' Gregson told him.

Finn gripped his colleague's arm but the DI shook loose.

'Get off me,' he snapped.

'This is fucking crazy,' Finn blurted.

'If you want to help me, that's great,' Gregson said quietly, his voice soft but his tone and expression full of menace. He pointed at Finn. 'If not, stay out of my way.' The vein at his temple throbbed angrily.

Finn stood there helplessly for a moment, his own breath coming in gasps as he looked into the wild eyes of his superior.

'Where the hell are you going?' he demanded.

'Norwood Cemetery.'