Alison smiled gratefully at Claire and looked across from her to Dan. ‘It’s a fresh start for me. Thank you. I never expected, after all that’s …’
Dan cleared his throat. ‘Dad will help you to move over the next couple of days, and I’ll be over later in the week to make sure you’ve got what you need. I’ll let the neighbours know that they’ll be seeing you, not me, and I’d better inform the landlord so I don’t get evicted, I suppose.’
12
On his way into work on Thursday morning, Dan was accosted as he got out of his car. Lisa Middleton, ginger hair blowing wild around her head in the blustery north wind, and her nose turning a shade of pink that did not suit her, grabbed hold of his arm as he went to take his bag from the back seat.
‘Chief Inspector, could I have a word?’ she said, and smiled at him as though they were friends.
Dan bristled. It was 7.35am. He wanted, no, he needed coffee, made strong and dark; he wanted doughnuts glazed with pink sticky stuff. What he did not want, ever, was this witch of a woman touching him. He looked down at her hand then across at her face, and she dropped his arm like it was hot. ‘You can have a word, Miss Middleton, I have several I could think of that might be appropriate, but accost me in public again and you might get more than you bargained for.’ He locked the car, pocketed the key fob and waited for her to have her word.
Lisa Middleton was made of tough stuff, he would give her that. Undaunted, she turned around and picked up a takeaway coffee and a paper bag that she had hidden next to another car. ‘Thought you might need these,’ she said. ‘Strong, the way you like it. Oh, and an almond croissant. Costa’s best.’ She grinned at him. ‘Go on, it doesn’t count as bribery if it’s before eight o’clock.’
Dan had to smile as he took the coffee and pastry. Canny cow must have been talking to someone on the team. He glanced up to the office window and could see Sally’s face peeking down at him. ‘Well?’
Middleton kept up her smile as she fished for her notebook in her bag. ‘Well, it’s three days since the body was found in the fire, and you don’t seem to be getting anywhere on your own, so, I wondered whether we could, you know, work together to catch the gang?’
‘I always expect the local press to support us in our job of catching criminals,’ he said, and took a slurp of coffee. ‘Sometimes it can take us a whole week to catch them on our own, though. On occasions, months. Rubbish, aren’t we?’
‘No, I mean we could set up an appeal. You know, like a mini Crimewatch or something, using the paper to get people to come forward. It could help.’
‘And you would get what, from me, exactly, in return for all this generosity?’
‘Aha,’ she said. ‘The bottom line. You tell me the news just before it goes to general press release.’ She balked at the look on his face and made a patting gesture with her hands. ‘I’m not asking for special treatment, Mr Hellier. Just a little heads up to, you know, give me time to get my article prepared and out before the big boys get to it. Give me an edge, so to speak.’ She cocked her head to one side.
‘You want me to help your career, Miss Middleton?’ He shook his head. ‘I have to admire your cheek. Tell you what, give me your card, stop interrupting me in press conferences, and I’ll see what I can do, okay?’
He had to back away fast before she could kiss him, and he made it into the back stairwell before she could say another word. She was a piece of work all right, but a local press campaign could work well. He’d get Sally onto it, that would take the smile off her face – laughing at him from the safety of the nick.
He dropped in at his office, ate the croissant, which was delicious and warm and almondy, and took the coffee into the MI room, where he could feel the animosity radiating at him from the direction of his sergeant. ‘What?’
‘Did you just take a bribe from that woman?’ demanded Sally.
Dan brushed his jacket front. ‘Don’t be daft, Sergeant Ellis, I just agreed to take her card. You can’t accuse me of accepting bribes if there is no evidence,’ he said, screwing up the paper cup and launching it at the bin. ‘She wants us to work together, so that her paper can help us catch the perps. I know,’ he said, ‘why don’t you and the lovely Lisa work up a little newspaper campaign this week? Might improve our press relations.’ He threw the business card over to her.
Sally glared at him. ‘You must be joking. I can’t stand the woman.’
‘No, I’m not joking. It’s a good idea.’ He frowned at the look of disbelief on her face. ‘Are you refusing a direct order, Sergeant?’ He watched the look on her face change from disbelief to outrage. But he really did need to do something about Middleton’s snide comments about his team, and most of them were Sally’s fault anyway.
Her eyes dropped to the table top. ‘No, of course not, boss. It’s just …’
‘Look, I know what she’s like, but just meet with her once a week for the duration of the case, okay? Give her a little heads-up just before the press conferences. You never know, she might get picked up by some major London paper and buzz off and leave us alone.’
Sally buried her face in her hands. ‘Beam me up, Scotty,’ she muttered.
‘Right, let’s crack on. Any progress on the website, Sam?’
‘I’m helping the online team to trace ownership. We have established the hosting company, but it’s in America and we have to persuade them to let us in.’
‘Data protection laws are good in principle,’ said Bill Larcombe, ‘but they make it difficult for us to get anywhere in the first crucial days.’
‘Difficult? They’re a pain in the backside. Still, at least we’ve got that line of enquiry open. Anything else on the tapes?’
Sam settled further into gloom. ‘No, boss. Haven’t been able to ID the last two members of the group at all.’
‘I reckon they didn’t come into the town centre,’ said Sally, her colour fading back to normal. ‘What if they drove straight to the beach, parked on the prom, and went straight to the bonfire? What if they got the vic plastered and he couldn’t walk far, so they drove him? Who would see them?’
Sam perked up. ‘There’s one camera opposite the lifeboat station, I’ll have a look at that this afternoon. Thanks, Sarge.’
* * *
Lizzie Singh tapped at Dan’s door in the late afternoon. He stood up as she entered and switched on his main light, flooding the room with a dingy yellow glare that did little to lift his mood. He shuffled the applications for the DI role into an untidy heap and indicated that she should sit. ‘Have you got anything to cheer me up, Lizzie?’
‘Not likely. I’ve been studying these so-called fire cults and it’s horrendous. I mean, they’ve been around for thousands of years, and I get that. Fire must have been amazing when we were still painting our faces blue.’
Dan smiled. ‘We were painting our faces blue; your culture was writing books, building temples, and making beautiful music, as far as I recall,’ he said.
‘You know what I mean. Anyway, I’m English on my mum’s side. I’m like a hybrid.’ She waggled her eyebrows at him, making him smile again.
‘Okay, spill it.’
‘There are modern fire cults.’ She placed a sheaf of printouts in front of him. ‘If what we have here is a cult, then they are following similar customs and rituals to others of the same type.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘The number of people attending the ritual; the use of pseudo-religious codswallop to convince people that they are doing the right thing; the promise that they’re special, that they will be saved, that their leader is a god … et cetera, et cetera.’ She nodded her head at the printouts, ‘It’s all in there.’
He placed a hand on top of the pile. ‘Thanks for all this, but I need you to save me the job of reading it, Lizzie.’ He didn’t add: because that’s what I pay you for and because I know you will have formed some opinions and all I need to do is winkle them out. ‘What do you think? Have we got a ritualistic murder on our hands and, if so, are
we likely to have any more?’
Lizzie perched on the edge of the chair and thought. ‘I think there might be something in it, but equally something’s not right. It’s almost too perfect, if you see what I mean.’
‘They are following the “rules” too closely, you mean?’
‘I think that’s what it is. Most of these cults that end in murder, or mass suicides, have charismatic leaders who want to gather followers, so why is ours hiding their identity?’
‘Because they’re publishing literally incendiary photos on the Internet?’ Dan said, watching her reactions.
Lizzie stared down at her hands and picked at a hangnail. ‘Could be. Could be that they’ll tell us who they are when they have finished the killings.’
‘You think there’ll be another one?’ Dan sat up straighter. ‘Go on.’
‘If … if it’s a fire cult, and they have to burn people to get their power or whatever, then why stop at one when you think you’ve got away with murder? And let’s face it, sir, we’ve got bugger all to go on so far and it’s Bonfire Night in a few days. Perfect opp for another go, I’d say.’
‘Hmm. I hear what you’re saying, but it’s a long shot, isn’t it? There are lots of people about on the fifth, it would be much harder to find a spot to do it in, surely? Jesus, I hope that’s not what they’re planning.’
Lizzie stood up. ‘I know it’s only a theory, sir, but I just …’ she shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘You’ve got a gut feeling?’
‘Yes, that’s it. I think we’re at the start of something bad. Just the start.’
‘Okay, thanks Lizzie, I’ll get the patrols to keep their eyes open.’
When she had gone, Dan stared at his wall. He didn’t have a gut feeling at all, about any of it. He nudged the sheaf of paper she’d placed on the desk. There was no way he wanted to sift through it himself. Maybe he could read the headings.
And, there just might be a murderous cult out there, planning their next gruesome bonfire. Great day.
13
Friday’s morning briefing was an uncomfortable half hour for everybody. No new leads and the press and social media going bonkers over the photos. Dan quickly called a halt and sent the team off. Sam Knowles was being supported by the online surveillance team. Dan hoped that meant they would have a lead back to the web hosting site by noon. He was floundering and he didn't like it.
The call from the marine commander’s office came through as Dan was staring at the incident boards, sipping yet another coffee. He’d get the jitters soon if he didn’t eat something. He listened, made a note, and said, ‘We’ll be right over.’
His three sergeants stared up at him from their desks, expectation on their faces. ‘It’s the marine base at Lympstone,’ he said. ‘Colonel Allport has summoned me.’
‘Wow, if we can identify the body this quickly it’ll be a record,’ said Bill Larcombe. ‘Fingers crossed, boss.’
‘Yes, let’s see what he’s saying before we get too excited, though.’ He beckoned Sally, who still wasn’t talking to him, although he had heard her making an appointment to meet with the dreaded Middleton. ‘Come on, let’s go and see the colonel. He won’t want to speak to the lower ranks.’
The journey to Lympstone would take a little over twenty minutes at this time of day. Dan had intended to spend it cheering up his sergeant, but instead she stared resolutely ahead and answered each question with a monosyllable. He didn’t know what to do to make it better. At least Claire was talking to him. It made him smile ruefully to think that he had two women in his life whose opinions mattered to him so much. And then there was his mother.
He drove down towards Countess Wear, on to Topsham Road, and past the motorway bridge where he had caught Merlin Garrett a few months before. He slowed to look. Already, the little animal sanctuary had a desolate air about it. All the animals were gone, and the house and land were up for sale. Prime spot for new houses, he thought. The trial of the Garretts was scheduled for the following month. He had everything crossed that the evidence against Moss and his mother was secure, and that the courts would see fit to be lenient towards Merlin.
* * *
Colonel Mike Allport was a compact man with grey hair that was cut short, and steel-rimmed glasses that framed blue-grey eyes. The image of a soldier, thought Dan. Allport came around his desk, shook Dan’s hand, and indicated to them where they both should sit. Ranks established, Sally sat to Dan’s left, leaving Dan directly opposite the colonel.
‘Thank you for coming over promptly,’ Allport began, settling back behind the desk and fingering the edges of a folder.
‘Whatever help you can give us in identifying the victim would be much appreciated, sir,’ said Dan.
‘This is a difficult matter,’ said Allport. ‘I will need a guarantee of discretion before you release any of this information to the press.’
Dan felt a sudden flutter in his chest. What on earth was the guy going to tell him? ‘I’m sure you understand I can’t guarantee long-term privacy, sir. Once the information gets into the public domain, in a court room for example, there’s not a lot I can do. Unless to make it public would breach the Official Secrets Act, of course?’
Allport removed his glasses and ran a thumb across his eyes. ‘No, hopefully nothing like that, Chief Inspector. It’s of a more personal nature, I’m afraid.’ He slid the file across the table. ‘I think the person you are looking to identify might be ex-Sergeant Simon Ongar, who left the marines under a dishonourable discharge seven years ago.’
Sally picked up the file and opened it. Pinned to the record was a photograph of a tanned man of about forty years, with dark hair and dark eyes, wearing the blue beret with a sergeant’s insignia on it. She turned the file so Dan could see it. ‘When was this taken, sir?’ she asked.
Allport thought. ‘Probably just before he was court-martialled. He’d have been forty-two then. We’re the same age.’
‘You sound like you knew him,’ said Sally.
‘I did. Very well. Or at least I thought I knew him well. We came up through the ranks together, served in the same units, saw some horrendous things, but our ultimate aim was to get here and help train the recruits. That was always our dream.’
‘Looks like it came true for you, sir.’
Allport curled his lip. ‘If you mean I’m now in charge and Simon’s dead, yes, you could say I’m living the dream, Sergeant.’ He put his glasses back on, steepled his fingers and stared at the desk.
Dan took the opportunity to glare at Sally and point at her notepad. ‘So, what makes you think this is our man?’ he asked.
‘It was something your sergeant said about tattoos that made me realise it was probably Simon. Lots of the men have tattoos, of course, but Simon’s were all over his back, just like she said. I checked our records. He’s also the only one of our men to have been discharged for serious drug abuse in the last seven years.’
‘Really? I thought drug abuse ran through most services. In the police, it’s mostly alcohol abuse, but we see plenty of drugs, too,’ said Dan.
‘Our training regimes tend to weed out the dodgy characters at the start,’ he said, ‘if you’ll excuse the pun. Yes, we have some issues, but they rarely come to dismissal.’ He met Dan’s eye. ‘Usually we can come to a mutual arrangement, if you follow me.’
Dan followed, it was similar in the force. After all, wasn’t that exactly how he had come to be transferred back to Devon, rather than be out on his backside begging for work? ‘So, how come this dismissal was done by the book?’
Allport gave a rueful chuckle. ‘Because, Chief Inspector, Simon Ongar, under the influence of hard drugs and alcohol, put the commanding officer into hospital. Admittedly the man was a total idiot and had been sleeping with Simon’s ex-wife, but Simon behaved abominably – as if all the petty annoyances had reached their peak one summer evening at a barbecue in front of all the officers and their wives.’ He sighed. ‘The colonel sustained
serious injuries. It took three men to pull Ongar off and the colonel wanted his day in court. Simon served three years in prison for assault.’
‘And then ended up on the streets. Did you know where he was?’
Allport shifted in his chair. ‘I did, indeed. He hung around the perimeter a lot. We look out on to the estuary at the back, and the men go out there for physical training sessions. There’s a public footpath running right alongside. He would stand and watch the teams training for hours, poor sod.’ He looked away. ‘We lock the gate to the little train station that serves the barracks just after midnight when the last train goes through. It may be that Simon had his own key and was sleeping in there, though.’
‘Right. Did you give him the key, sir?’
Allport gave a small nod. ‘I was looking out for him, I suppose. I didn’t think it would do any harm.’
That was why they could find no record of Ongar in the homeless shelters. Dan watched Sally make a note while he thought. ‘You mentioned his ex-wife?’
‘It’s all in the file. She now lives with the ex-commanding officer in North Devon.’ He looked up. ‘I suppose you will have to tell her?’
‘I think I should, before it becomes public, don’t you?’
Allport gave a slow nod. ‘I suppose so. Such a shame when drugs take over your life to that extent.’
Sally cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, sir. I understand why Ongar was dismissed, but you haven’t told us why he got himself into the mess in the first place. After all, he could have been commanding his own unit by now, couldn't he?’
Allport appeared to battle with himself, then shrugged. ‘Well, it’s a simple story. He fell off that climbing wall just outside my office.’ He pointed towards the window. ‘He was leading a PT session. Fell flat on his back and never fully recovered. Not that we knew that at the time. He took a month off and was back at it. PT was his life. I think that’s where his addiction to painkillers came from, then it just escalated to hard drugs when he needed more to keep going. We never knew.’ He looked at Dan. ‘We never knew how bad it was.’ He rubbed at his eyes with the pad of his thumb, drying any hint of a tear. ‘It’s not easy, you know, to talk about such things.’
Death on the Coast Page 6
