Preacher Man: 'their blood shall be upon them' (Ted Darling crime series Book 9)

by L M Krier

  ‘I’m going to run him and his mam home and stay with them until Darren is settled, as much as he’s likely to be. Don’t worry about the mileage, boss, I won’t claim it. I know the budget is tight.’

  ‘We’re all going for a drink after work, to wet your babies’ heads, Maurice. And you’ll be missing that because you’re too busy seeing to that family. You can be a lazy sod at times but when it comes to anything like this, you earn your place on the team.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘So, Steve. What have you found out about the places where our victims were left?’

  ‘This is going to sound crazy, sir,’ Steve began apologetically, ‘but these places might mean something to The Preacher, so I’m just flagging it up.

  ‘First of all, the Lincolnshire one. Tim Phillips. I narrowed down from the reports exactly where he was found. We just had it as near to Market Rasen, but in fact it was about six miles out. He was found wandering in a quiet lane near to a very small village called Stainton-le-Vale. What’s interesting is that Stainton has a place called Lud Well which is supposed to be a healing spring.’

  ‘So first he breaks them and then he puts them somewhere to be healed?’ Mike Hallam sounded more sceptical than ever.

  Steve went pink, as he had a tendency to do, but he was getting better at speaking up for himself.

  ‘It’s just a theory, Sarge. The sites might mean something, and the DCI did tell me to look into it. Lud Well also has a rag well, although that may just be a more modern tradition; they’re usually found in Celtic sites.’

  ‘Rag well?’ Ted asked, interested in spite of himself.

  ‘They’re also called clootie wells, usually in Scotland, sir. It’s a place where people hang strips of cloth as part of a healing ritual.’

  ‘Right, so there’s a possible link to healing with the Lincolnshire one. We’ll bear that in mind. Next?’

  ‘Ours, here, boss. Again, from the precise location where he was found, it was not all that far from Ludworth Moor where there’s evidence of a possible Bronze Age Druidic circle. Druids were a high order and featured, among other things, medical professionals, so there’s a possible link there to healing again. There’s also another Celtic connection as the area was believed to have been inhabited by Celtic Brigantes. Plus we now have two references to Lud, who seems to have been a Celtic deity. Lud Well and Ludworth, although I’ve not yet had time to research any connection other than by the name.’

  ‘And the Humberside one?’

  ‘Barrows, sir. Bronze Age cemeteries. Not far from where he was found. That’s as far as I had chance to go with researching. So a possible healing link with two of them, and also a possible connection in that these are pre-Christian sites, so we might be back to a religious significance, perhaps.’

  Most of the team were looking dubious by this point. It didn’t amount to anything concrete.

  ‘Good work, Steve, well done. Put it all in writing and it’s something we can look at in more detail. You’re right in thinking that although we can’t see the link, the sites The Preacher picked were probably not random and had some significance to him. If we could find that out, it might lead us somewhere.’

  ‘Boss, something else occurred to me, looking at what we have so far,’ Jezza put in.

  ‘All theories are welcome at this point. It’s something we’re a bit short of.’

  ‘Preston said that Darren’s phone was found inside a church, on a pew, not outside like the other two were.’

  She looked around at the others who didn’t appear to be on the same wavelength. Jezza was the lateral thinker of the team. She sometimes had to keep the irritation out of her voice when the others were slow to follow her on a tangent. She clearly thought whatever she was thinking of should have been obvious to everyone.’

  ‘Well how did it get in there? How many churches are left unlocked these days? Surely most are locked up tight except during services because of theft, and probably squatters. It was night-time when Darren was taken so how did The Preacher put it in there? Did he do it when he took Darren or did he go back and plant it there afterwards? Does that mean that it’s someone who has keys to a church, and if so, who would that include?’

  Jo was the churchgoer of the team. All eyes instinctively turned towards him.

  ‘I only know about Catholic churches. Was this C of E? I’m not familiar with their protocol but I imagine it’s similar. I’d hazard a guess at the parish priest, the curate, if they have one, sacristan, maybe sidesmen, someone in charge of who does the flowers. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Good idea, Jezza, that’s certainly worth following up. You’re in tomorrow, aren’t you? I think it would do then.’

  ‘I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, boss, but if it was a vicar, for instance, is it just possible that Darren might have known him and been happy to go off with him? After all, we’ve got no CCTV or reports of any sort of a struggle involving him, so it might well be someone he knew, at least by sight. Or perhaps the sight of someone in a dog collar wouldn’t worry him.’

  ‘Check that out with Preston, too. Do vicars still visit schools? Were Darren or his mother ever churchgoers? It’s a line of enquiry, and we’re certainly a bit short of those at the moment. Can you also liaise with Humberside and your friends at Gainsborough to find out more about the churches there. I know the phones weren’t inside them in those two cases but is there anything which links the churches in some way? Same vicar? Curate? What about an organist? Might they need to have a key to come and go to practise?

  ‘Steve, that’s a good start and it’s still a theory of interest. Can you do a bit more research please, in particular let’s have the exact distance from the places you mentioned to where our victims were found. In fact, I’ll take a risk with the budget here, but I’d like you to visit all three sites. Liaise with someone local for more detail. Have a look for yourself. Walk the distance, see how long it would take, bearing in mind the condition the lads were found in. Talk to locals, if you get the chance. There’ll be nothing to see at the earlier sites by now, of course, but go back to Mellor and look for yourself. You’re observant, see what you can spot.

  ‘Jo, how far afield was the house-to-house carried out?’

  ‘Certainly not out as far as Ludworth Moor, boss, I don’t think. I didn’t even know about it until Steve mentioned it. I’ll liaise with Steve on the exact area that’s been covered to date.’

  ‘Right, let’s see if we can make some sort of progress between us over the weekend. I’ve got a meeting with the Big Boss and the Super first thing on Monday and no doubt I’m going to have to justify every resource to date and address our lack of any real lead.

  ‘If only Darren would finally say something to Maurice, that would be the break we need. But now, even though Maurice isn’t with us, we need to go and toast his and Megan’s good news, and say our goodbyes to Océane and Baby. Let’s wind up here and meet in The Grapes in fifteen minutes.’

  Ted went back to his office to get his things together and lock them in the boot of his car before he went for the drink. He was just about to shut his computer down when a ping told him he had mail. Before he had chance to open it, Océane appeared round his door after a brief knock.

  ‘Boss, I just sent you a link to a news article. You asked me recently about Diaz Beach, near Cape Town. It brought back some good memories, so I set up an alert for anything about it. Remember me telling you it’s a dangerous place to swim? The article is about someone who seems to have drowned there. The local police think it might have been a British tourist as there was a pair of British army-issue boots with the clothing they found. What a coincidence, eh?’

  Ted was studying the article on the screen. He didn’t like coincidences. He never trusted them. The last message he’d had from his martial arts and survival skills trainer, Green, had been a single photo of the beach he was now looking at on screen.

  ‘Thanks, Océane. I’ll see you in the pub in a few
minutes.’

  He read the article through in detail, although the information was brief. It was assumed that a tourist, not knowing the risks of the area, had gone for a swim on a deserted beach, got into difficulties and was presumed drowned. The presence of the boots and of a polo shirt with a British label led the local police to assume the person who had disappeared was a British tourist. No other personal possessions were mentioned, and no vehicle had been found parked anywhere nearby which could have belonged to a missing person.

  Ted didn’t like any of what he was reading. He knew Green was an accomplished swimmer, who’d represented his Army regiment at national level on more than one occasion. He’d been contemptuous of Ted’s fear of deep water on one training exercise which had required those taking part to cross a wide lake whilst keeping rifles aloft. Nor was he someone who ever took unnecessary risks. He taught survival and all the training he delivered was based on being able to live to fight another day.

  Above all, Ted didn’t like the presence of the boots and the shirt label. It all smacked to him of scene-setting. Whatever was going on, he’d have bet a month’s salary that wherever Green was now, it was not at the bottom of the ocean. He had good reason to want to disappear from sight. Ted wondered when, and where, he would reappear.

  He shut down his computer. Thoughts were niggling at the back of his brain. But right now he had a round of drinks to buy, then a meal to take Trev out for. After that he would devote most of his weekend to a concerted effort at finding out who the mysterious Preacher was and how they were going to stop him from striking again.

  Steve didn’t currently have his own car. He’d been lodging for some time with Maurice, after a serious assault on him in his previous flat had left him anxious about living alone. It had also left him with hefty bills for dental work which he was still paying off.

  Now that Maurice and Megan were spending so much time together and expecting twins, Steve knew he should be looking for a place of his own to give them space. Megan had a young son, Felix, and when Maurice had his twin girls for the weekend, the house was crowded. Steve had to share with Felix, unless he could escape to Jezza’s luxury flat. They were good friends and he always found a welcome there, as long as she wasn’t entertaining her increasingly steady boyfriend, Nathan. Steve was starting to feel a bit of a gooseberry wherever he went.

  He was wondering if he should pluck up the courage to ask Océane if they might get a place together. He knew it was a bit soon, although he spent a lot of time at the flat she shared with a friend. He didn’t want to put her off by appearing too keen.

  He took a pool car to do the rounds, setting off early on Saturday morning. He had a lot of miles to cover and he wanted to do a good job. He’d been surprised and pleased that the boss had picked him for the work and he had every intention of showing him he was up to it.

  He decided to start with the Humberside case which found him driving round country lanes heading towards a place called Market Weighton. He had the exact grid reference of where Robbie Mitchell, the Humberside victim, had been found. He spent an interesting but largely fruitless hour or more wandering around trying to track a route Robbie may have walked from any of the Bronze Age burial sites to where he was found.

  The walking did give him time to think of other angles. Despite being the techie one of the team, Steve always liked to keep a written back-up of his thoughts in a conventional pocket book. Having had his computer destroyed when he was assaulted had drummed that precaution into him. He took it out now to scribble himself a note.

  ‘Any link between the people who found the three victims? Were they random/innocent?’

  Next he headed south, crossing the Humber Bridge into North Lincolnshire, then following the satnav’s guidance towards the Lincolnshire Wolds. His research had told him it was a designated Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. He was certainly pleasantly surprised.

  Stainton le Vale was a small village, more of a hamlet really. As Steve turned off the B road his research had told him was an old Roman road, he passed a few houses at the bottom of a long hill, where he turned right before coming to a large farmyard near to where, the instructions told him, there was a footpath which would take him to Lud Well. He parked the car on a grass verge, well out of the way of any tractors which might want to pass, and set off on a path which went behind a pair of semi-detached red brick cottages facing the farmyard.

  As he passed the second one, a border collie in the garden started to bark and jumped up at the gate as he drew near. It appeared friendly enough, its tail waving in greeting. A woman in the garden, weeding the border, paused in her work to look at him.

  ‘Hello,’ she greeted him then, seeing his hesitation, ‘are you lost?’

  Steve had his phone in his hand and was consulting the screen.

  ‘Hello. I’m looking for somewhere called Lud Well.’

  ‘You’re nearly there,’ she told him. ‘But it’s on private land. You’re not officially allowed to go there, although people do come to try to find it. There was one young man from Russia once.’

  She was looking him up and down critically as she continued, ‘You’re not really dressed for it, not in those shoes, and a suit. Is that really what you’re looking for? You’re not an egger, are you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t even know what that is.’

  ‘Someone who steals birds’ eggs from nests. Especially rare ones. It’s the wrong time of year for eggs, of course, but you might be looking out for nesting places. I don’t like eggers. I report them to the police if I spot anyone who looks like one.’

  ‘Actually, I am a police officer,’ Steve got his card out to prove his point. ‘You get a lot of people coming looking for Lud Well, then?’

  ‘Not a lot, no, but some do come. Why are the police interested in it?’

  Steve thought it best to evade her question.

  ‘Would you notice if anyone came at night, for instance? If someone was poking about looking for it after dark?’

  ‘Definitely. Mott would bark,’ she indicated the dog, ‘and we have security lights front and back of the cottage. My husband works for the farm estate. They’ve had a few thefts from the yard opposite and it’s part of his job, and the next door neighbour, who also works for them, to keep an eye out. Which station are you from, then?’

  ‘Erm,’ Steve didn’t want to give her too much information but couldn’t see a polite way to refuse to answer. ‘I’m actually from Stockport, but it’s in relation to case which Gainsborough have been investigating. I wonder if you could just point out to me where the well is? I don’t need to go to it, just to see where it is in relation to this footpath.’

  ‘Mott, lie down. Stay.’

  She wiped her hands on her jeans, stepped over the now recumbent collie and let herself out of the gate, closing it firmly behind her. She only walked a few paces on the path before stepping off it to the left, battling the undergrowth for a few more yards then pointing down a hill which appeared to get steeper the further down it went.

  ‘The rag well, the yew tree on the stream bank with all the ribbons and things in it, is more or less straight ahead, down there. Then if you walk up the actual stream bed to the right for a good few yards, you come to like a punchbowl shape in the side of a hill, where the springs rise. There are supposed to be seven springs, and seven is some sort of mystic number.

  ‘I often tell people it’s a bit like Narnia as you can’t always find your way to it easily, even though it’s not far and you may have been before. Depending on the time of year and the state of the undergrowth, it’s not always easy to get to and, like I said, it’s on private land so people aren’t supposed to go down there.’

  Steve thanked her, politely refusing her offer of a cup of tea. He’d pick up a coffee and a sandwich somewhere on his way back over the Pennines to Stockport. He walked the distance from where he was to where Tim had been found but he was struggling to imagine someone in a weakened state, naked, terri
fied, managing to get themselves to or from the Well itself. The dog would surely have heard someone crashing about in the undergrowth and barked a warning to wake its owners.

  So far, his theory wasn’t looking very promising. He hoped he hadn’t been wasting everyone’s time, and the budget, with wild ideas. Perhaps he might get lucky with the third one, back on home ground. It was the most recent of the three, so there was still a possibility there might be some traces of activity. He might even find an eyewitness which would be their biggest break to date.

  He chose the motorway route to get over to where Darren was found. It would still take him more than two hours, but it gave him thinking time. He made a mental note to do some further digging into the name Lud, having just left Lud Well and now heading towards Ludworth Moor. There was probably a connection there somewhere, if he could just dig it up.

  He’d studied maps and satellite views in preparation for his exploratory trip to Ludworth Moor. He headed for what appeared to be a farm track ending in a footpath going up over the moor itself. There was a small, isolated cottage at the end of the track, and what looked like a bigger building, probably a farm, further up. He parked the car and set off on foot in the direction of what was thought to be the remains of a stone circle. At least it wasn’t raining and the ground was dry underfoot, he thought to himself. He wasn’t ideally dressed, he realised, in his work suit and shoes. It was getting on for late afternoon by now but he didn’t really want to check in with the boss until he had something to report.

  As he trudged up the track, he saw a large, hairy, ginger-coloured dog trotting towards him, followed by a woman in walking gear. Steve eyed the dog warily. He was relieved when the woman called out, ‘Timber, stop,’ and the animal obediently immediately sank to its haunches, watching the oncoming stranger.