"How does your service actually work?" Jamie asked. "Do you cut from the bodies directly?"
Corium laughed. "I don't deal in bodies, only in skin. My clients pay for services, the skin arrives, usually rough cut in medical boxes. I prepare it, mount it as directed and then return it to the specified address. There's actually no personal contact – except with the skin, of course."
He stepped to a bench and indicated a piece of what looked like leather.
"This one is ready for mounting." He stroked the edge of it, his face showing pride in his work. "You can touch it if you like. It's very soft. Young skin, I think."
"So you don't actually know where the skin comes from?" Blake asked.
"Not at all," Corium said. "It's not my job to ask, either. I merely act as the preserver."
Jamie shook her head slowly. The man's words seemed logical in one way, and he was just a leather worker of a kind. But how could he touch these skins and not feel that they were once a thinking human?
"Can I ask what body parts you work on?" she asked.
Corium went to a row of shelves and pulled out one of the large photo albums stacked there. He laid it on the table and flicked it open.
"These are some of my favorite works," he said, a note of pride in his voice. He turned the first page. "These are the most common. Full-back tattoos which result in a rectangular finished piece, or two longer panels, depending on how close to the spine the skin was excised. There are also cross shapes where the shoulder and arm pieces have been saved."
Jamie swallowed her revulsion as she looked down at the pages, but the pictures were artistic, the skin turned into something beautiful. There was incredible skill in the ink and the colors: a waving riot of flowers that seemed to grow across the skin with blooming roses and curlicues in a feminine design.
A gigantic pair of strong angel wings, each feather inked in detail, the size of the skin indicating it came from a large man.
A tiger prowling through a verdant jungle, its eyes staring out at the viewer.
There were quotes, too. In one, calligraphic handwriting flowed across the skin:
I'm the hero of this story. I don't need to be saved
. It seemed terribly sad that the hero was no more.
"Then there are the full-sleeve tattoos which result in a long tapering shape," Corium continued. "Very pleasing to the eye."
He indicated a lion's head in profile, its mane rippling over what had been muscles in life. A school of hammerhead sharks swimming over a submerged ancient city.
A list of coordinates with passport pictures and snapshots of faraway places.
A kaleidoscope of galaxies and stars in hues of cobalt blue, luminous greens and pinks.
The variation was incredible and Jamie could see how preserving these works of art was as much of a skill as inking them.
"I also have a number of head tattoos, which are more or less oval in shape, although it can be hard to get the edges right on those. They're the main ones," Corium raised his eyebrows, "but now and then I get some more intimate parts. Quite unusual, I must say."
Jamie looked at the shelf of photo albums.
"How long have you been doing this?" she asked.
"Since I was a child," Corium said, and the look in his eyes spoke of the deep loneliness of the misfit. "It started with taxidermy of small animals and tanning of found hides, but then one day a dying friend asked me to help preserve a part of himself and I couldn't say no. My reputation spread in the tattoo community and here in London these days there's no shortage of preservation work. There are also people who are willing to pay a lot of money for human leather products, from unmarked and inked skin."
Corium ran a hand across his smooth head. "I want ink myself of course, but I suffer from the tyranny of choice. After all, I have all these examples of fine art and I can't decide what I want on my own canvas. We have such a small amount of space and to get it wrong would be …" He shook his head and sighed. "Well, I can't abide the thought that my own legacy would be inferior to the skins I work on all day."
While Corium spoke, Jamie could see that Blake had wandered down to the far end of the studio to a tall bookcase. He bent more closely to look at the books, and then turned to call back to them.
"Could you tell us about this particular book?"
Corium's head snapped round and his eyes narrowed. He had the look of a man who would protect his domain at any cost.
"It's an early edition of Francis Galton's
Hereditary Genius
. For a very private client." His voice was cold as he stalked down the studio, Jamie following close behind.
The shelves were mostly filled with photography books of tattoos and body art, with others on taxidermy and skin preservation. But one shelf had a thin book bound in soft leather. The pattern inked on the skin looked like dragon scales in hues of purple.
"Is it bound in human skin?" Blake asked.
"Anthropomorphic bibliopegy is a great tradition," Corium said. "Anatomy texts bound in the skin of cadavers, judicial proceedings bound in the skin of murderers –"
"Lampshades made from the skin of murdered Jews …" Blake whispered, looking more closely at the books. "Where do you draw the line?" He turned back to look at them and Jamie saw his blue eyes were steel-hard. "May I touch them?"
It wasn't a question. Corium nodded slowly. Blake removed one of his gloves and reached out to touch the book.
Blake could sense vibrations on the surface of the skin through his fingertips, as if it held within itself the energy from the dead soul it had once bound in flesh. The veil of consciousness clouded his vision and he dipped into memory.
He found himself in a basement with high ceilings, the walls and floor tiled so they could be more easily hosed down. There was a copper smell in the cool air, the bitterness of blood. Empty meat hooks hung in a line on a railing above. There was an animal shriek in the darkness, a sound of terror that echoed through the empty space. Blake shuddered and tried to move, but the body he could see through was chained to the wall and couldn't escape.
He heard footsteps coming towards him and a whimper of fear echoed in the basement. He wanted to pull out of the trance, but he needed to see who was there. A man came out of the darkness, a skinning knife in his hand, his face obscured by the mask of the plague doctor, hooked beak swaying as he approached.
As panic escalated, Blake pulled himself from the trance, ripping his hand away from the book and collapsing to the floor. His breath came fast, his chest heaving as he tried to calm himself.
"It's OK, Blake," Jamie whispered, stroking his forehead. "You're safe now."
She gave him some water and he sipped at it, slowly recovering his breath. Corium Jones stood looking at them, his eyes narrowed in interest but not judgement or doubt. Blake supposed that the man was used to the odd in his line of work. But how much did he know of the provenance of the skin he worked on?
"The skin was taken," Blake said after a moment. "This person was murdered for it but the man who did it hid his face. He wore one of those Venetian plague doctor masks with the long beak for herbs to prevent the smell and decay from reaching them."
"Do you have some kind of psychic ability?" Corium asked, fascination in his voice.
Blake stood up and put his glove back on.
"You could call it that," he said. "I can read the emotional resonance of objects."
Jamie pointed at the book. "Who gave you this skin?" she asked, her voice soft but insistent.
"I can't possibly divulge information about my clients," Corium said, turning to walk away from them towards the door. "I think it's time for you to leave now."
Blake took a quick step forward, his blue eyes blazing with anger.
"Don't you understand? This skin is from a murder victim."
"You have no evidence of that," Corium said, pulling open the door.
Jamie picked up a vial of chemicals from a bench next to the bookcase. She put the book of human skin next to it.
"What does this do?" she asked, waving the bottle. Corium's face fell as she pulled the stopper out and held it over the book.
Corium put his hands up in a gesture of supplication.
"No, please. That will burn the skin. It will ruin the book."
There was fear in his eyes, whether for the object itself or the person he made it for, Jamie didn't know. She tipped the bottle a little, splashing the bench next to the book. It made a sizzling sound and the smell of bitter berries filled the air.
"No!" Corium shouted, rushing across the room. Blake stepped in front of Jamie and pushed the man back, a rough shove in the middle of his thin chest.
"Tell us who the client is," Jamie said, holding the bottle over the book again.
Corium's body drooped, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"I'll give you what I know," he said. "But it's not much." He walked to a filing cabinet in the corner and pulled out a thin cardboard file. "Here, that's everything. Now please, leave the book alone."
Blake checked the file quickly and nodded to Jamie. She put the stopper back in the bottle and put it down next to the book on the bench. Corium rushed to it, cradling the book to his chest like a precious child as he sank to the floor, sitting with his back to the bench as he watched them with hollow eyes.
Jamie pulled out the pages in the file. "There are regular payments here," she said with surprise. "How many of these have you done?"
"Six so far," Corium whispered. "But it's an ongoing contract. I'm expecting more skin in the next day or so and then I produce a book within the following month."
"There's barely any useful information here," she said. "Just a PO Box for the return address."
Blake pointed to the bottom of the page. "But the book is overdue for delivery, so maybe we can stake out the pickup?"
They turned back to Corium.
"Package it up," Jamie said. "We'll deliver it for you."
He clutched it to his chest.
"You don't understand," he said softly. "This is not a man you want to meet in person. He's not someone I want to cross, either. Please, don't do this."
Jamie walked over to him. "A friend of ours is missing," she said. "I don't want to see her skin on your bench." She held out her hands for the book. "If you won't package it, then I will. But we're taking the book."
Corium clutched it tighter. "He'll know if the package is done incorrectly," he whispered, his eyes darting around the room. "If you must take it, I'll do it for you."
He stood and placed the book gently on the bench, preparing the package and wrapping it in bubble wrap, then brown paper. A normal-looking parcel hiding a macabre object inside.
"There." He handed it to Jamie, his voice cold. "Now, get out."
"Gladly," Blake said, as they walked to the door and back out into the sunlight. Corium slammed the door behind them as they headed back along the Cut. Jamie held the package carefully in both hands.
"Did you get any sense of the person when you read?" she asked.
Blake shook his head. "Only the sheer terror of being chained up in what looked like an old abattoir – and the knowledge that the end was coming." He sighed. "I've felt that before. It's anticipation of the inevitable, but of course, those I read have not gone quietly or at peace."
"I'm sorry I involved you in this."
Blake reached out and pulled her to him. They stood for a moment in the sunlight, Blake's arms wrapped around her. Jamie relaxed into him, relishing the moment of connection.
"I'm not sorry," he said. "I want to help you, Jamie. And now I want to help O, too. The research I do at the museum doesn't change anything, but with you, I have the chance to make an impact on the living." He pulled away a little, looking down at her. "Now, let's go catch this crazy skin collector."
Jamie laughed and the moment lifted her spirits. She had begun to despair of finding O, but now they had a real lead. She wanted to call Missinghall and involve the police, but she knew that Blake's vision was inadmissible as evidence. Even if they raided Corium Jones' place, she now had the book of skin. It would take days to test and they would lose the chance to catch the collector when it was delivered.
"Do you know what Corium means?" Blake asked, checking his phone as they headed back towards the bike.
Jamie shook her head. "I just thought it was an unusual name."
"It's the Latin for dermis, one of the skin layers and also a term used for the thickened leathery part of an insect wing."
Jamie sighed, shaking her head. "Only in London," she said.
***
An hour later, Jamie walked into a post office delivery center further east in Plaistow and dropped the package off with a bored clerk on the front desk. He typed the information into his computer and gave Jamie a delivery receipt. As she turned to walk out of the office, he picked up the phone but Jamie couldn't hear his words. She walked back outside to find Blake standing by a lamppost opposite with two takeaway coffees.
"Tell me that you have some kind of useful tracking mechanism," he said. "You've stuck a sticker on the package and we can track it with our phones, right?"
"Of course, my private investigator budget stretches to all kinds of Bond-style gadgets," Jamie said with a grin. "But since we're here, we might as well stake the place out. I think the clerk made a phone call about the package, so we might not be waiting too long." She took a sip of the coffee and looked at her watch. "I'm worried about it being another night before we find O. Corium's workshop looked exactly like the type of place some sick bastard would send her perfect skin to be turned into a book. Did you see anything else in the vision that might help us?"