Chapter 24
Cameron had headed back to Glenrothes to coordinate with the forensics team processing the Burntisland beach scene, leaving Brodie and Lucy to follow up on the victim identification.
‘Another professional woman in her twenties,’ Lucy observed as they navigated through Dundee’s morning traffic. ‘Same demographic as all The Embalmer’s victims.’
‘Same pattern,’ Brodie agreed. ‘But the question is, why Claire Nisbet specifically? Why her and not someone else?’
The address took them to a three-storey Victorian house that had been converted into flats, with a small front garden and the kind of architectural details – corbels, bay windows, decorative stonework – that spoke of nineteenth-century prosperity. Art McKenzie’s car was already parked outside.
They found Art and Freya on the ground floor, talking to a middle-aged woman in a dressing gown who was clearly upset. The flat door stood open, revealing a neat living space with modern furniture and personal touches that suggested Claire Nisbet had been building a comfortable life for herself.
‘Sir,’ Art said, spotting Brodie and Lucy. ‘This is Mrs Henderson, Claire’s upstairs neighbour. She’s been helping us understand Claire’s living situation.’
Mrs Henderson dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. ‘I still can’t believe she’s gone. She was such a lovely girl, always said hello, always helpful when I needed anything heavy carried up the stairs.’
‘Mrs Henderson,’ Brodie said gently, ‘I know this is difficult, but we need to ask you some questions about Claire. Anything you can tell us might help us find who did this.’
‘Of course, anything.’ Mrs Henderson clutched her tissue. ‘Though I don’t know how much help I’ll be. Claire kept to herself mostly, a very private person.’
‘Did she live alone?’
‘Yes, just her. Though she had visitors sometimes – friends from work, I think. Never caused any trouble, never loud or disruptive.’
Freya consulted her notebook. ‘Mrs Henderson mentioned something interesting about the flat itself. This property belonged to Claire’s aunt.’
Brodie felt his attention sharpen. ‘Her aunt?’
‘Dr Janice Nisbet,’ Mrs Henderson confirmed. ‘She lived on the ground floor flat herself until she died about four years ago. Terrible thing, suicide they said. Found her hanging in her bedroom.’
The connection clicked in Brodie’s mind with sickening clarity. Dr Janice Nisbet, medical director at Ninewells, found dead four years ago in an apparent suicide. And now her niece, positioned on a beach like The Embalmer’s other victims.
‘What happened to the property after Dr Nisbet died?’ Lucy asked.
‘It went to Claire, being her only living relative. Claire moved into this flat about two years ago, kept the ground floor one as a rental.’ Mrs Henderson’s voice dropped.
‘She never really got over her aunt’s death, you know.
Used to say Janice was more like a sister to her than an aunt.
Raised her after Claire’s parents died when she was young. ’
Art caught Brodie’s eye, his expression showing he’d made the same connection. ‘Mrs Henderson, can we see the ground floor flat? The one that belonged to Dr Nisbet?’
‘I have a key if you need it – Claire gave me one in case of emergencies.’
While Mrs Henderson went to fetch the key, Brodie stepped into Claire’s flat, taking in the personal details that painted a picture of her life.
Photographs on the mantelpiece showed a smiling woman with dark hair and warm eyes – Claire with friends, Claire at what looked like a work event, Claire with an older woman who must have been her aunt Janice.
‘Look at this,’ Lucy said, pointing to a framed photograph prominently displayed on a side table. It showed a younger Claire with Janice Nisbet, both wearing lab coats and standing in what looked like a hospital setting. ‘They looked close.’
‘Close enough that Claire kept her aunt’s flat as a kind of memorial?’ Brodie wondered. ‘The question is whether The Embalmer knew about this connection, or whether it’s just a terrible coincidence,’ he said to Art.
Mrs Henderson returned with a key ring, leading them downstairs to the ground floor flat. The door stuck slightly as she opened it, the smell of disuse and stale air greeting them as they entered.
The flat was sparsely furnished – a sofa, a dining table with chairs, basic kitchen equipment.
Freya was examining the windows that looked out onto the street. ‘Mrs Henderson mentioned something about someone watching the house recently. Can you tell the DCI what you told us?’
Mrs Henderson moved to the window, pointing across to where a street light cast a pool of illumination on the pavement. ‘About three weeks ago, I started noticing someone standing there at night. Late, after eleven usually. Just standing, watching the house.’
‘Can you describe them?’ Brodie asked.
‘Not really. They wore dark clothing – coat with the hood up, dark trousers. Average height, I suppose, though it’s hard to tell from this angle. I never saw their face clearly because of the hood and the distance.’
‘Male or female?’
‘I couldn’t say for certain. The clothing was bulky; it could have been either.’ Mrs Henderson frowned, remembering. ‘I mentioned it to Claire about two weeks ago, asked if she’d noticed anyone hanging around. She said she hadn’t but that she’d keep an eye out.’
‘How many times did you see this person?’ Lucy was making detailed notes.
‘Four or five times over the past three weeks. Always late at night, always in the same spot under that street light. They’d stand there for maybe twenty minutes, then walk away.
’ Mrs Henderson’s voice wavered. ‘I should have called the police. If I’d reported it, maybe Claire would still be alive. ’
‘This isn’t your fault,’ Brodie assured her. ‘You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. But this information is very helpful.’
Art was already on his phone, calling the station to request CCTV footage from the area covering the past three weeks. If someone had been conducting surveillance on Claire Nisbet’s home, there might be camera footage that could help identify them.
Brodie walked through the empty flat, trying to understand why someone would watch this house, why they’d target Claire Nisbet specifically.
The connection to her aunt seemed too significant to be coincidental.
Janice Nisbet had worked at Ninewells, and might have noticed anomalies in cases.
If she’d discovered something about The Embalmer’s work, if she’d been killed to silence her, then her niece living in her flat might have been seen as a continuation of that threat.
Or perhaps The Embalmer was eliminating family connections, removing anyone who might ask questions about the deaths of their relatives.
Mark Finlay’s niece Emma Richardson had been the first victim of this new spree.
Now Janice Nisbet’s niece Claire. A pattern of targeting the families of people who’d got too close to the truth.
After finishing with Mrs Henderson and securing both flats as potential crime scenes, Brodie gathered Art, Freya and Lucy outside on the pavement. The morning was growing warmer, clouds breaking up to reveal patches of blue sky.
‘Thoughts?’ Brodie asked his team.
Lucy was studying the building, her analytical mind processing the information.
‘If The Embalmer is eliminating family members of people who might have discovered his identity, it adds to our theory that he’s been active for much longer than we thought.
Not just the seven beach victims from seven years ago, but years of cover-up murders that we’re only now beginning to identify. ’
‘But why now?’ Freya wondered. ‘Why wait years and then suddenly start killing again?’
‘Because I came back to Fife, a few weeks ago, investigating Alan McRae’s disappearance and the other case I worked on with the unearthed skeleton.
McRae had been looking into The Embalmer case, asking questions about suspicious deaths.
My presence here triggered the killer to resume his work. It got McRae going for some reason.’
‘But why would he want attention?’ Lucy asked.
‘Because he’s an artist, and artists need their work to be seen,’ Brodie replied.
‘He’s been killing in secret for years, but The Embalmer murders – the beach displays, the careful positioning – that’s his true art.
My return gave him an excuse to resurrect that signature, to create his masterwork. ’
‘Lucy, you’re with me. We’re going to have another conversation with David Duffy.
’ Brodie started walking towards his car.
‘If he was friends with both Mark Finlay and Janice Nisbet, if he knew them well enough to visit regularly, he might know things about their final days that didn’t make it into official reports. ’
‘You think Duffy’s been holding back information?’ Lucy asked as they got into the car.
‘I think Duffy’s been trying to tell us the truth for six years, but we weren’t listening because we were too focused on him as a suspect.
’ Brodie started the engine. ‘Now I want to hear everything he knows about Janice Nisbet, about her friendship with Finlay, about whether she ever expressed concerns about her work or mentioned noticing anything suspicious.’
As they drove back towards Fife, Brodie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were finally seeing the full scope of The Embalmer’s crimes.
Not just the theatrical beach displays, but years of methodical elimination of anyone who threatened to expose him.
Mark Finlay, Janice Nisbet,– all of them killed, and their deaths made to look natural or accidental.
And now he was targeting their families, creating a final collection of victims that would cement his legacy as The Embalmer while simultaneously eliminating any remaining connections to people who had suspected the truth.
The question was whether they could stop him before he completed his masterwork.