by Chris Simms
Serberos Tavovitch turned on his heel. ‘There’s no point ringing him. We have nothing to say.’
Alec Turnbull held up Jon Spicer’s business card once again.
‘I . . . I’m not sure about all this—’
There was a crack and the card flew from his fingers, spinning to the floor. Ed Padmore sat back in his seat, now twirling the drumstick round in his hand.
Turnbull looked from one person to the other. ‘When I joined this band, I didn’t know it would involve all this. If we know where Pete is, we should tell the police.’
‘You don’t know where he is,’ Serberos replied.
‘But you do.’
‘Who says?’
‘When I first came round to rehearse, you said you were nipping over to see Pete afterwards. I remember you saying it.’
‘Listen. You want to succeed, yeah? Because this band is going to make it. Have you ever played to the size of audience we get?’
Turnbull shook his head.
‘Have you ever felt adoration like that? Don’t tell me it doesn’t give you a buzz.’
Turnbull began to smile.
‘And the women,’ Serberos added. ‘Ever had so many staring at you? Wanting you?’
They all grinned.
‘Right!’ Serberos punched the air. ‘This is just the start. We’ll get signed, trust me. Forget fucking plod. Forget fucking Robson. He’s lost it. We haven’t got time to be looking back.’
‘What if he’s setting fire to these churches?’ Turnbull demanded.
Serberos and Padmore exchanged a glance.
‘What if he’s the body in the Fairfield one?’
‘What if he is?’ Serberos shrugged, reaching for an engraved silver box and taking out a packet of King Size Rizlas. ‘It’s all publicity for us.’
Padmore crashed out a drum roll on the table top. ‘Let’s get fucking wasted!’
Chapter 11
Jon placed the cup of coffee on his desk, checking the rim to make sure it had been properly washed up. ‘What did you make of Arkell and that Hunt woman then? Charlatans or what?’
Rick turned from his computer. ‘More entrepreneurs.’
‘Is there a difference?’
‘A lot of the time, probably not,’ Rick smiled. ‘Looks like
Arkell’s hit on a lucrative gap in the market though.’
‘You mean the market in spiritual need.’
Rick nodded. ‘People have lost faith in the church. Too much prejudice and prevarication over ordaining women and gay men. Can’t seem to make its mind up about abortion or contraception either.’
‘You’re talking about the Catholic church, surely?’
‘Both. To the man in the street it’s all part of the same thing. Society has moved on from those issues, but people still want guidance when it comes to bigger things. Who am I? Where am I going? Obviously spiritualism and the like promise a few answers.’
A fair description of my younger sister, Jon thought as he reached for his phone. ‘Have a quick check on Arkell on the PNC. I’ll give Summerby a call.’ After consulting his address book, he dialled a number. The line double-buzzed, then went silent. Jon pictured the phone ringing in Summerby’s cottage in Wales. His old boss picked up on the third ring. ‘Edward Summerby here.’
‘Boss, it’s DI Spicer.’
‘Jon, hello there.’
‘How’s things in Pembrokeshire?’
‘Fine thanks.’ Summerby drew out his words at a leisurely pace. ‘I’m sitting here with the paper, watching seagulls wheeling over the bay. There’s a few boats out in the breeze.’
Bored then, Jon thought. Sure enough, Summerby asked the question.
‘How’s the job then?’
‘All right thanks. There’s been a few arson attacks on churches—’
‘The Sacred Heart in Fairfield? It’s linked then?’
Jon could hear the interest bubbling. ‘We think so. One line of enquiry has led to a Tristan Arkell.’
‘Arkell? The name rings a bell. Is he a man of the cloth?’
‘No, he’s head of a place in Manchester called the Psychic
Academy. He claims to have visions . . .’
‘I remember the bloke. A salad dodger?’
Jon smiled. ‘He does appear to favour a substantial diet.’
‘What did the great oaf have to say?’
‘He was keen to point out his role in the Hannah Sherry disappearance.’
Summerby’s voice hardened. ‘The man was clawing for an involvement; that he claims he had one makes me sick. He was a part-time healer in those days, but aiming for bigger things. You say he heads up some kind of spiritual college?’
‘Coining it in. Loads of people signing up for classes on clairvoyancy and fortune telling.’
Summerby snorted. ‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’
‘True. So his tip off about the sand dunes at Formby was never followed up?’
Silence. Jon knew he was straying in to a sensitive subject. Unsolved murder cases always were, particularly those of children.
‘Not officially no. I had the dunes searched by four sniffer dogs at first light one Monday morning. Nothing.’
Jon could hear the bitterness in his ex-boss’ voice. No doubt desperate for a result, he’d been taken in by Arkell too. Just like those grieving relatives who handed over cash to people claiming to be mediums. ‘Thanks boss, I thought as much.’
‘How’s he involved in this case?’
‘A possible suspect attended a few courses at his Academy, that’s all.’
‘So how are things under Buchanon?’ Jon kept his voice neutral. ‘OK.’
‘One other thing Jon. Arkell’s got a record. Sexual assault, back in the Seventies if I remember rightly. I seriously considered him for the Sherry disappearance, but he was working in an office when she was taken.’
‘An estate agent’s was it?’
‘Yes, why do you ask?’
‘Just a hunch. Well, I’d better be going.’
‘Yes, of course. Anything else, give me a call.’
‘Thanks, speak to you soon.’
He hung up and saw Rick holding out a piece of paper. ‘He’s got a record.’
‘Yeah,’ Jon answered, placing a forefinger against each temple.
‘Let me use my mind powers. Sexual assault, in the Seventies I think.’
Rick glanced towards Jon’s phone. ‘Twat. Summerby just told you. Did he know about the more recent ones?’
Jon rubbed his hands together. ‘Go on.’
‘Similar accusations were made in 00 and 00 . Charges were dropped though.’
‘Let me use my powers again. Neither woman was prepared to take it to court?’
‘Correct. Although it was a man who dropped the charge in
2002.’
‘A man?’
‘Yup. It would seem our exponent of positive energy is AC/ DC.’
Jon rolled his eyes, an image of the man’s fat fingers fumbling at the clothes of his targets. ‘Who were they?’
‘People who’d contacted him for healing sessions. Maybe they have to surrender physically as well as mentally to be truly cured.’
As Jon caught the sarcasm in his partner’s voice, he thought of Ellie, innocently picking her next course at the place. ‘What about the one from the Seventies?’
‘Seventy-nine. That did go to court. Not guilty though. Lack of evidence by the look of it.’
‘These more recent ones. What was he actually accused of ?’
‘Sexual assault. Both had gone for a private consultation. The female claims the attack took place in the Academy.’
Jon pictured the enormous chaise-longue in the man’s private office. He could see how her claims could have been twisted in court. The victims were probably advised not to take things further to save them from further humiliation.
‘Thing is,’ Rick said. ‘How is this relevant to the arson attacks?’
Jon picked up a pe
ncil and rolled it in his palm. ‘Not sure.’ Again an image of Ellie hovered in his mind. ‘Unless he’s one of these control freaks.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘What if the Academy is his little empire and the students are just there to be manipulated.’
‘Like a type of cult.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Why persuade them to attack churches?’
‘He could be a devil worshipper too.’
Rick tapped his pen against the edge of the desk.
Jon watched him, knowing something was on his partner’s mind. ‘You’re not convinced are you?’
‘You must admit, it’s taking an assumptive leap or two.’ His eyes slid off to the side, then slowly worked their way back to Jon. ‘Ellie’s name was on that list. You’re bound to be feeling protective about her.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘This Arkell business. It looks like he could well be a sexual predator. He’s also cashing in on people’s needs for spiritual fulfilment. But I can’t see how he has anything to do with the churches burning down.’
Jon sat back and crossed his arms. ‘Come on then, spit the rest out.’
‘OK. You’re letting your concern for Ellie and the fact she’s enrolled at Arkell’s Academy influence you. She’s your little sister, Jon. You’re trying to protect her, but it’s at the expense of our effectiveness in this investigation.’
‘No it isn’t.’
Rick lifted the biro and examined the level of ink inside. ‘Did you know Ellie’s been going along to the place?’
Jon nodded. ‘Yeah, she mentioned it the other day.’
‘The Way of Wicca. She’s into that stuff then?’
‘Until something else catches her attention.’
‘But while she’s dabbling in it, you’ll be keeping an eye out for her. Jon, that’s not what we’re on this investigation for.’
Something hard twisted inside, pushing up into his throat. He heard a snap. ‘Don’t tell me what to do. You fucking understand?’
Rick’s eyes dropped to Jon’s hand and he sat back in his seat.
‘OK.’
‘Good.’ He looked down to see what Rick had been staring at. The pencil lay in two halves on the table. He turned his hand over and saw blood welling up from a small cut in the centre of his palm. He curled his fingers over, hoping Rick would pretend not to have seen. ‘I say we look at Arkell more closely. He’s a fucking slime ball.’
‘Maybe. But that’s surely a long way off brainwashing people into starting fires.’
Jon swept the pencil up and dropped the pieces into his bin.
‘Still worth pursuing though.’
Rick raised his hands in defeat. ‘Put it to Buchanon then, let him decide.’
Jon looked away. I’m not opening up the fact my sister wants to be a witch to the whole bloody office.
‘What about Henry Robson being escorted from the Academy?’ Rick asked. ‘I bet the bloke omitted to mention that to you when he was handing over his dossier.’
‘Funnily enough, you’re right. There’s quite a lot this dossier didn’t include about himself.’
The door to Buchanon’s office opened up. ‘Right ladies and gents, let’s get started.’
Jon looked behind him. The table in the centre of the room was surrounded by people. He glanced at his watch. Shit, the four-thirty progress meeting. He stood up to wheel his chair over. ‘Coming?’
Rick nodded.
They positioned their chairs at a desk close to the main table as Buchanon began to speak. ‘OK, we’ve got the pathologist’s preliminary report back on the body in the church. He thinks that, at this stage, most probable cause of death was a massive trauma to the head, though he still can’t say if it was a blow delivered by someone else or the result of falling debris. Absence of soot in his airways points to the fact he was dead before – I repeat, before – the fire was started. He’s also searched for signs of lacerations to the throat and wrists, but hasn’t found any. So it seems he wasn’t bled for any sacrifice.’
‘Unless blood was collected as it dripped from his head wound,’ an officer suggested.
‘True, but that would be unusual in cases of Satanic rituals,’ Buchanon replied.
Someone else piped up. ‘You’re referring to the victim as a he.’
‘Yes, what we can say is the victim is male. DNA tests aren’t back yet, but the pathologist believes he was Caucasian, in his late teens or early twenties. The patch of skin on his chest was relatively intact, from where it was pressed against the church floor. Trapped in between was a necklace, hanging from which was an upside down cross.
Checking his hand to see if his bleeding had stopped, Jon wondered if they were talking about Peter Robson.
‘The pathologist conjectures that, if a weapon was used to kill him, it had a curved edge. Maybe a candlestick, or a portion from the pews ripped up to make the pyre.’
‘In which case it’s now probably been reduced to ash,’ DC Gardiner pointed out.
Buchanon nodded. ‘Or a weapon the arsonist or arsonists brought with them. In which case it could still be around somewhere. Now, regarding the remains of the church, forensics have concentrated on clearing the area to the right of the central aisle in order to get closer to the point of origin itself. On the floor not far from the point was a puddle of melted plastic. This, they believe, was a container that held the petrol used to start the fire. Tests are currently being carried out to determine if that’s the case. Miss Kington, anything further from the crime scene itself ?’
Jon glanced at Nikki who sat at the top of the table.
‘Yes.’ She raised a document, failing to make eye contact with the listening officers. ‘The side window of the church was definitely smashed with the car jack. Fragments were found in its mechanism. We’re now trying to determine if any fragments from the other churches are also caught in it. Also, the pathologist supplied us with a sample of cloth from the victim’s underside. This, too, had fragments of the church’s smashed window embedded in it. So he either broke it himself, climbed in over the debris or was dragged through while unconscious.’
Buchanon’s eyes swept the room. ‘Anyone with anything to add?’
The members of the Outside Enquiry team conducting doorto-doors all shook their heads.
‘DI Spicer. You were delving into the city’s occult scene?’ Jon looked at his SIO. ‘Yes, DS Saville and I visited a New
Age shop on Oldham Street which is the recommended supplier of books for an organisation called the Psychic Academy. This academy is located in a converted factory warehouse in the Northern Quarter. Head of the place is a man called Tristan Arkell.’
He caught a few smirks at his mention of the man’s name.
‘Student numbers are high at his college – Peter Robson and the singer from Satan’s Inferno, Serberos Tavovitch, were two of them. It is, in fact, the place where they apparently met. Now, Arkell has three priors for sexual assault, though nothing has ever stuck in court. However, I think he merits some closer investigation.’
Our of the corner of his eye, he could see Rick give a shake of his head. Cheeky bastard.
‘What sort of investigation?’ Buchanon asked.
‘I think it would be interest to speak with the three people who accused him of assault – one of whom was male. I wonder how strong an influence this man may have over younger, more vulnerable, people. He could be coercing them into all sorts of acts.’
Buchanon tapped his chin. ‘Like burning churches?’
‘It’s a possibility. Arkell is a large man with quite a presence. He’s also very good at spouting crap about having magical powers.’
‘Sounds a bit shaky to me, Jon.’
‘It’s the fact Satan’s Inferno met there too. There could well be undercurrents to the place that are relevant to the Sacred Heart being attacked.’
Buchanon mulled the information over. ‘OK,’ he said, not s
ounding totally convinced. ‘Get the names of these three individuals and we’ll get it actioned. I’ll release a statement after this to let the press know the body of an as yet unidentified male has been discovered. I don’t believe there’s any point holding back on the satanic graffiti either, so prepare for media interest to move up a gear or two. Let’s meet tomorrow at ten o’clock.
Chapter 12
Jon opened his front door then stepped back to allow Rick into the house first. ‘Hi Alice, it’s us,’ he called out as they took their jackets off.
‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
Jon looked up the stairs. ‘Changing nappies?’ he asked.
‘Correct.’
He led the way into the front room, took Robson’s dossier from the shelf above the TV and placed it on the coffee table. Punch appeared in the doorway, his gaze snagging briefly on Rick before settling on Jon. The animal’s brown eyes lit up and his stump of a tail began to wiggle.
‘Hello you stupid hound,’ Jon smiled, dropping to one knee. Punch reared up on his hind legs and placed a foreleg on each of Jon’s shoulders.
‘What you been doing today?’ Jon asked, his eyes screwed shut as a wet tongue flicked over the end of his nose. He leaned back, unhooked the animal’s paws from his shoulders and stood.
Rick was watching with a disgusted expression on his face.
‘It’s left saliva on your face.’
Jon wiped it off with the cuff of his shirt. ‘Only a bit of dog drool, isn’t it boy?’ He rubbed behind Punch’s ears.
‘Has he been letting that dog lick him again?’ Alice stood in the doorway, a nappy sack dangling from her fingers. Her other hand was supporting Holly who was wearing a fluffy pink sleep suit. The baby’s little legs were clamped round Alice’s hip, her big blue eyes fixed on Rick. ‘Want a cuddle?’ Alice swivelled slightly to offer the baby to him.
Rick lifted Holly up in the air, a big grin on his face. ‘You are looking good enough to eat, young lady, yes you are!’ She began to giggle as he raised her toward the ceiling.
Jon stepped towards Alice, registering how her eyebrows were slightly raised in question. He knew what the look said. Does Rick know about Ellie? He gave a tiny shake of the head.
‘Hi babe. How’s today been?’
