The Scent of Death

Twenty-seven

Plot reminder: After arriving at the location of another anonymous coordinate in the early hours of the morning, Dudley and Jennifer have found the corpse of one of the two girls who have recently gone missing.

*

I hooked Dudley onto his lead, let him guide me in as straight a line as possible back towards the edge of the forest. In an attempt at gaining a reasonable estimate of distance, I counted each step. By the time the thick maze of tree trunks gave way - spat us back out to the open, star-ceilinged world - I'd got to a hundred and forty-seven. Around a hundred metres then, a little more, a little less.

Scanning my gaze back down the track, the headlights of Ben's Escort were visible about a quarter of a mile in the distance. A quick check of my phone confirmed my suspicions: we were too far from civilisation for there to be any signal.

I was left with little option other than point my torch down the track, swipe it up and down, left and right, flick the switch on and off.

"Look this way for Christ's sake Ben!"

Resigned to having to walk back down to where he was, I looked around for a large stick to poke into the ground as a marker. It was as I doing so that I noted the headlights drawing closer: finally, he'd noticed my torch bobbing around further up the track.

I watched as he pulled up in front of me, the headlights a white, blinding glare after the blackness of the forest. A face appeared through the driver's window, became trapped in the beam of my torchlight. One etched with concern.

"How'd it go?"

"Dudley found one of them," I murmured back. "Pretty sure it's Tracey, the older-looking of the two."

Ben nodded grimly. "How... I mean, what was she---?"

"Knife wounds," I interrupted. "Lots of them."

There was a second grim nod. "Was she wearing a nightdress?"

"The bits that weren't soaked red were white. Cotton, it looked like."

"Christ, it must've been..." He shook his head. "Horrific to behold. You okay?"

"Been better," I admitted.

"You're a brave woman, Jennifer. Never let anybody tell you different."

His words felt like a mantra, something I should repeat to myself at least a dozen times a day. Paint up onto the wall opposite my bed so they were the first thing I saw each morning.

"The fact of the cotton nightdresses Meghan and Rebecca were found in," continued Ben,"it was never made public. What we"re dealing with here isn't Sela and the Zodiac Killer or Derek Brown and Jack the Ripper. Not a copycat aping his idol. This is... well, this is more like Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole."

Even in the darkness, Ben must have sensed my puzzlement.

"Accomplices, Jennifer. I'm talking about a serial killer partnership similar to Lucas and Toole. The pair met each other in a Florida soup kitchen back in the mid-seventies, immediately sensed the bloodlust in each other. Went on to kidnap and kill together." He sighed, swiped at his jaw. "Christ, Frankens and his partner must have been in it together right from the start. The partner's now carrying on alone, got some quiet, isolated place of his own to take his victims. Frankens is meanwhile keeping schtum to protect him." Ben's face contorted into a grimace at the gut-wrenching scenario running through his head. "They tortured first Meghan then Rebecca side by side there in the milking shed. The body disposals though, this they took in turns. That would explain why Meghan was neatly buried, perhaps wouldn't have ever been found but for Frankens' cooperation following his arrest. This other guy, he's more reckless though. Can't even be bothered to shovel out a shallow grave. Prepared to take two victims if the opportunity arises."