Jack in the Box by Paul McGurk

Author:Paul McGurk
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Polygon

34

It took a lot, Lomond reflected, to draw the breath out of you. The man stuffed into the bean bag did it. He’d seen bodies dredged from water, some in terrible states. He’d seen faces, hands, ghastly rudiments of people and personality; joints and sockets articulated by earth, by animals, by insects. Glistening carnivals of maggots. You had to forget about them as best you could, and carry on. Death was just life repackaged. But when Lomond saw the young man’s blue face appearing from the upholstery, the white polystyrene stuffing spilling across the floor and pouring from the open mouth, that did it.

‘Christ’s sake,’ he said.

Over his shoulder, Slater coughed.

Anita Khavari turned to Lomond, concern showing in her eyes. ‘OK?’

‘Sure.’ Lomond forced himself to face it. Somewhere in his mind he could still hear the man’s partner screaming. He’d found it. He’d seen the face first – vanguard of a body folded in on itself as usual, forced into a crouch. Even more sickening, it had been stuffed into the bean bag that had lived in the corner, close to the patio door, and then stuck in the storage box with the tell-tale headphones cable trailing from the closed lid.

Rowan’s face had protruded from the zip, a blue petal preparing to bud between the corduroy fabric.

‘This has to be the same guy,’ Lomond said.

Khavari nodded. ‘I’d put the house on it. And yours.’

‘Your money looks safe. And mine.’

‘Smothered again – probably with the bean bag. Looks like whoever it was came through the patio door. The stereo was still connected but had been switched off. Maybe he sneaked right up to him when he had the music on, then jumped on him with the bean bag, smothered him with it. Fingernails look like they have the same material underneath as the bean bag, and there’s some blood, but we’ll firm that up later.’

‘Three,’ Lomond muttered. ‘Lone woman. Homeless guy. Young gay man.’

‘Not the usual victim profile,’ Khavari ventured.

‘Not at all. And no obvious link.’

Lomond winced as flashbulbs went off in the garden. Beneath the tent, every single bit of it was being photographed. Slater joined him.

‘Looks closed off,’ Slater said.

‘They’re not overlooked. End terrace. House next door’s empty,’ Lomond said. ‘We’ll have to go over that too, make sure he wasn’t hiding there.’

‘He’s targeting them, gaffer. Surely. Watching the houses.’

‘That’s a definite. Woods and the water at the back. Broad daylight.’ Lomond bit back the urge to kick out at the stuffing that was floating over the hardwood floor like dandelion seeds. ‘Surely someone saw him.’

‘There’s a security camera at the patio,’ Slater said.

‘Aye,’ Lomond said. ‘Same make as the Symes’.’

‘I thought I recognised it,’ Khavari said.

‘Same builder too,’ Lomond said. ‘Avalon King.’ He took one last look at the boy. Suffocated. Little chance to put up a fight.

‘Strong bastard, eh?’ Slater said.

‘Yep. Bloody gorilla.’ You tried not to think of it, of course. The pure shock. Presumably pressure on the chest, knocked right off the seat, then the

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