by Conrad Jones
***
Gwillam drove across the island to the farm. It was dark and most of the expressway was unlit. The sky was clear in places and the stars twinkled like diamonds against black velvet. He took the exit for RAF Valley and then followed the backroads. When they turned onto the farm track, they could see the buildings were in total darkness, in contrast to how it usually looked.
‘The place is in darkness,’ Gwillam said. ‘It’s usually lit up like Blackpool illuminations. It doesn’t look like they’re in.’
‘Are there no lights on in the surgery?’
‘I can’t see any.’
‘Why hasn’t she rung me back then?’ Wendy said. Her thin lips were tightly closed. She wasn’t sure whether to be angry or worried. ‘If she’s finished her operation, why hasn’t she called me?’
‘I don’t know. They might be out or there might be a power cut.’
‘There are lights on over there,’ she said, pointing to the next farm.
They reached the end of the track and turned into the farmyard.
‘Both of their cars are here,’ Gwillam said. ‘They must be here unless they’ve taken a taxi somewhere.’
‘They had no plans to go out. Llinos would have said something. Sam said he was going back to work,’ Wendy moaned. ‘I’m going to tell Llinos what he said. Piss off home, he said. That was very rude.’
‘Let’s be careful, Wendy. We don’t want to fall out with Sam. We can’t ask Llinos to fall out with him on our behalf either. Let’s not make things difficult in the future.’
‘I’m still going to tell her. I don’t care if he never speaks to me again. Horrible man.’
‘You need to take a deep breath and calm yourself down. Don’t go causing a big drama.’
‘It’s not a drama,’ Wendy said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t cause dramas, thank you very much.’
‘You’re causing one right now,’ Gwillam chuckled.
‘Oh, be quiet,’ Wendy said, hiding a smile.
‘I wonder why there are no lights on,’ Gwillam said. He parked up and turned the engine off but left the lights on. ‘They must be here somewhere. Be careful where you walk. I don’t you tripping up.’
‘Let’s go to the house,’ Wendy said. ‘She won’t be working at this time.’ She tried to call her again. ‘She’s still not answering her phone.’
‘She could be in the office at the surgery. We wouldn’t be able to see on the lights from here. Shall we look in and see?’
‘We might as well. We’ve got to walk past it, anyway. I wonder why Sam hasn’t gone to work. Maybe they’ve caught that nutter and given him the night off,’ Wendy said.
‘I’d bring back hanging,’ Gwillam said.
‘We know you would, Gwillam. You’d hang everyone.’
They walked to the surgery block and tried the handle. The door opened and they stepped inside. Gwillam reached inside and flicked on the light. The smell of antiseptic drifted from the treatment rooms. It was warm and they could hear a bird tweeting somewhere. The reception area consisted of a few low sofas and some metal framed chairs. There was no desk, just a shelf with computer screen and a payment machine on it. Llinos didn’t have a receptionist; she managed her own appointments and admin. They walked through to the surgery at the rear. The first room was where the kennels and cages were. They looked into the room through a window in the door but decided not to disturb the animals. She rarely kept them overnight unless they were in a serious condition. They heard a noise ahead; a stainless pan rattled on the tiles. Gwillam stopped and held Wendy by the arm.
‘What was that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Llinos?’ he called. There was no answer. ‘Llinos, are you in there, love?’ A draft touched his cheek. He realised they’d left the front door open. ‘I think it was just a breeze.’ He opened the office door, but the little room was empty and in darkness. ‘I don’t like the look of this, Wendy,’ he said. ‘She never leaves the surgery unlocked.’
‘Let’s go to the house. They must be there,’ she said. Gwillam looked at the theatre door. ‘You don’t think she’s still operating, do you?’
‘I don’t know. Shall we take a look?’
‘Better to knock on the door, just in case she is.’
Gwillam knocked on it and listened. Silence. He knocked again and then opened the door. It was dark. The door opening switched on the light and they looked inside. There was no sign of life and the treatment trolley was gone.
‘She must have finished the operation and cleaned down herself and put everything in the incinerator. There’s no sign of her in here.’
‘Let’s go to the house. This is giving me the creeps,’ Wendy said. Gwillam flicked the light off and closed the door.
****
In the storeroom beyond the theatre, Sam was standing next to the incinerator. Mathew Hudson was unconscious on the treatment trolley. Sam listened as his in-laws left the surgery and walked across the farmyard to the house. He took out Llinos’ phone and sent a text. Mathew stirred on the trolley.
SORRY I DIDN’T GET TIME TO CALL. I WAS EXHAUSTED AND HAD AN EARLY NIGHT. TALK TOMORROW. LOVE YOU. LX
He pressed send and walked through the surgery to the reception area. There was a view of the farmhouse from the window. Wendy got the text and took out her phone. He watched them approaching the front door. She read the text and stopped. The in-laws spoke for a few minutes and then walked back towards their car. Sam relaxed a little as Gwillam started the car and reversed so he could turn it around. The headlights shone on the surgery and Sam ducked beneath the window. He waited until he couldn’t see the lights anymore. Mathew shouted from the storeroom. He must have woken up and been confused as to where he was. Sam locked the surgery door and went through the building to where Mathew was. It was time to have a serious conversation with him. Their future was interlocked in more ways than one.
CHAPTER 52
Joss and the welders laid the bodies in the back of the Transit. They took the cash and jewellery from them but left the credit cards and driving licenses. Any form of ID needed to be smelted with their owners. They placed them along the sides of the van, against the bulkhead. Naz and Whacky cut a piece of corrugated steel to fit over them. It took them a while to grind it to the right size. They checked the fit, placing the false panel into place. With a few hours welding, it would be the perfect coffin. The smelter would dispose of the transit and its deceased cargo within minutes, turning everything into liquid in minutes. It was genius.
‘That’s the perfect fit,’ Naz said from inside the van. Whacky was inside near the back doors. ‘If we tack weld it to the bulkhead, it will look normal from the outside. I’ll seal up the back doors so they can’t be opened and we’re away.’
‘Brilliant. Well done,’ Joss said. He took the Glock from his waistband and pointed it into the van. ‘Cheers for the idea,’ he said. ‘Fuck you very much.’ Joss shot Naz in the chest and hit Whacky in the face before he could understand what had happened. They were both dead after the first shots, but he emptied the entire clip into them because it felt good. ‘You should never trust anyone,’ he said, closing the doors. It would take him a while to put them under the false floor and weld it closed but there was plenty of room for two more rats. The more the merrier. Then he would pack the packages of talc around them and burn the vehicle in the industrial smelter. The shipment was worthless. He had no idea where the cocaine had been swapped but it had. They believed every word he said to them and greed kicked in. Lime indeed. Idiots. Greedy idiots were now dead idiots.
***
Alan took a call on the way home. It had been another fruitless day searching for a ghost. Whoever had taken Hudson, had him tucked away. The senior management at North Wales Police were talking about winding the operation down; costs were cutting deep into emergency funds. The regional budget was already well spent. It was clear Mathew Hudson had avoided capture. They could no longer justify spending tens of thous
ands searching for him. While the search hadn’t shed any light on the whereabouts of their target, it had thrown up some very unusual findings. Findings that made Alan’s head spin. It fundamentally changed his concept of what was going on.
He contacted the Major Investigation Team on Merseyside and asked to speak to the expert they’d consulted on the Stanley Towers investigation. Their experience had been shared in brief on an information sharing site. It stated that Malcolm Baines was an expert on cults and their behaviour. He specialised in the Order of Nine Angels and had written several books about them. Alan had been waiting for a call from him all day.
‘Inspector Williams?’ the caller asked.
‘Speaking,’ Alan said.
‘This is Malcolm Baines. DS Braddick from Liverpool MIT asked me to give you a call about a case you’re working on.’
‘Hello, Malcolm. Thanks for calling me.’
‘No problem, inspector. How can I help?’
‘Please call me Alan.’ Alan turned up the volume. ‘Are you familiar with the case we’re working on?’
‘As much as I can be. DS Braddick filled me in with some of the details. You have several murders with a satanic slant to them. You think it’s connected to O9A?’
‘In a nutshell, yes,’ Alan said.
‘You have a suspect already, apparently?’
‘Yes. Mathew Hudson. He’s a teenager from a small village on Anglesey.’
‘The place with the long name.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘How do you think I can help you?’
‘I’m trying to work out what Hudson will do next,’ Alan said. ‘My first impression was that he was chaotic and killing at random but I’m beginning to think otherwise.’
‘Because of what, exactly?’
‘We found a satanic calendar.’
‘Ah, I see. There are several versions of it. Which one have you found?’
‘Are you familiar with the satanic calendar on a website called Open Scroll?’
‘Yes. I am. It’s one of many online but it’s one of the more credible.’
‘Explain what you mean by credible to me.’
‘These groups pop up and disappear just as quickly. They tend to tack together websites with information copied from here and there. Their incorrect literature is left behind when they cease to exist.’
‘Why start up in the first place?’ Alan asked.
‘Two reasons. Money and sex. Most of their ceremonies revolve around a sexual theme and of course, there would be a joining fee. People dabble on the periphery but aren’t really believers. There are plenty of charlatans in this section of society, but the charlatans don’t do their research properly and their dates are askew. Calendars tend to vary from cult to cult depending on how deep in they are but O9A followers are very deep. They tend to use Open Scroll as a guide. Its dates and details are credible.’
‘At first glance, this stuff is all mumbo-jumbo but in terms of this case, I have to take it seriously. Hudson appears to be following it.’
‘Can you tell me anything about it?’
‘Yes. I can tell you what’s already in the public domain. Hudson murdered a college friend called Rory Atkins and buried him in a burial mound on Anglesey, known as Bryn Celli.’
‘I’m familiar with the site.’
‘I’m trying to understand why he chose that particular site.’
‘Because of its significance and age,’ Malcolm said. ‘The site is prehistoric and Neolithic. Ancient sites hold an attraction to the Niners because they’re in touch with something they call the accusal. Accusal is a mental or spiritual energy. It’s used to describe the power of the universe, both good and evil. Ancient sites can be a portal where they can tap into this energy. Bryn Celli fits the bill perfectly.’
‘There are dozens of sites similar on Anglesey. Why did Hudson pick Bryn Celli over them?’
‘In simple terms because it has serpents carved into the stone inside. They’re ancient markings.’
‘And the significance of serpents is what?’
‘In ancient times, the serpent represented the devil.’
‘As in Adam and Eve and the Garden of Edan?’
‘Exactly. To Hudson and the Niners, those stones are sacred and full of energy. In this case, dark energy. Some of the sites are the opposite, places of goodness and peace.’
‘So, the serpent distinguishes places of dark worship?’ Alan asked.
‘Yes. They believe that.’ Malcolm paused.
‘You’ve researched these people for years, Malcom,’ Alan said. ‘Have you seen any evidence to back up what they believe?’
‘No, but you could ask that of any Christian. Are you a religious man, Alan?’
‘No. I’m an atheist. My favourite book is God isn’t Great.’
‘But you could ask anyone who goes to church if they’ve seen any evidence of God existing. Take a look at what goes on in the world. Do you see any evidence of a super being, caring for mankind?’
‘Never. I think it’s all nonsense to be honest, which isn’t helping me understand what Hudson is doing.’
‘Okay. To you, Bryn Celli is a burial mound with a stone in it built by prehistoric men in animal skin. Standing stones are just rocks in a field. They have no significance to you, religious or otherwise, but to the Niners, they’re like cathedrals.’
‘Cathedrals?’ Alan repeated. ‘That’s a good analogy.’
‘They’re that important to them.’
‘Okay. I can appreciate what they think is important.’
‘How long ago was Atkins killed?’
‘About three weeks or more.’
‘Was the body drained of blood?’
‘Yes.’
‘Blood-letting and the consumption of, is part of the celebration of Satanic Revels. There are several of them throughout the year.’
‘Right. That fits. During the search for Hudson, we’ve found some disturbing activity at other prehistoric stones across the island.’
‘I know you can’t discuss details, but does it involve animals?’
‘Yes, it does. How did you know?’
‘The calendar you mentioned. If you check it, you will see that the next week or so is the build-up to the birth of Baphomet. It’s one of their biggest celebrations. In the build-up, followers are expected to carry out sacrifices. The significance of these rituals is immense. Don’t underestimate them.’
‘Nothing like this has ever been reported before. Why are we only seeing this phenomenon now, while we’re looking for Hudson?’
‘Because you’re looking. The stones and mounds are isolated and on remote pieces of land. Normally, no one would notice a dead sheep or fox or raven near the stones.’
‘The scale of it is concerning,’ Alan said. ‘We’ve found dozens. What date is the Baphomet thing?’
‘The birth of Baphomet. It’s celebrated on the full moon at the end of the month. Hudson will feel the need to do something and you can narrow down where he might deem appropriate to do it. If he stays in your area, that is. He could be miles away by now.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘The Niners are very good at hiding each other. They don’t need money to travel and stay hidden. Their network is vast and it’s organised. Hudson will be a man of stature now. They’ll be queueing up to help him and keep him hidden. It’s all about kudos. The eviler the better.’
‘This is all very difficult to take in.’
‘That’s what inspector Braddick said about Stanley Towers. All you need to understand is that O9A prey on impressionable minds; minds of people who want to belong to something. They genuinely believe what they’re doing will benefit them in this life and the next.’
‘We think a police officer helped him to escape.’
‘I see,’ Malcolm said. Alan stayed quiet. ‘Are you asking me if I’ve come across police officers in O9A?’
‘Yes.’
‘Absolutely the
re are,’ Malcolm said, with a chuckle. ‘Have you heard of Marc Dutroux?’
‘The name rings a bell.’
‘He was put on trial in Belgium in two-thousand and four for the murder of six young girls. To cut a long story short, the police found video tape footage belonging to Dutroux which showed ceremonies involving runaways going back to the eighties. Thousands of hours of tape. The tapes showed politicians, police officers, members of the judiciary going all the way the top of the tree taking part. They were all there on the premise of being O9A, but they were basically paedophiles. When the names of the people were revealed in court, the fallout from the trial caused riots on the streets; it eventually brought the government down.’
‘It’s frightening.’
‘I’m glad you think so because Belgium is just the tip of the iceberg. They’re everywhere through all walks of society. This Hudson guy is merely a pawn in a much bigger game.’ Malcolm paused. ‘What’s his background?’ he asked. ‘Is he bright?’
‘Not particularly. He came over as very immature, but he’d been spending a lot of time talking with O9A members online; especially a woman called Fabienne Wilder.’
‘She’s at the centre of the wheel, Alan,’ Malcolm said. ‘She’s the real deal. If she’s been getting inside a vulnerable adolescent’s mind, he’d have no chance of resisting her. She’s massively influential and was the driving force behind the Stanley Towers cult. She turns people into puppets, more than willing to do what she asks them to do.’
