The Bone Hill

by James D Mortain

  ‘Why should Archie Rowland be linked to the other deaths, necessarily?’

  Seriously?

  Deans watched Jackson for a few seconds before answering.

  ‘How many other murders have you dealt with where the victims were decapitated, or their bodies mutilated?’ This is North Devon, not Mordor.’

  Jackson’s eyes dropped to the table.

  ‘You have heard of Bone Hill,’ Deans said. He saw the tip of Jackson’s ears twitch as the skin on his face tightened. ‘Your body language gave you away.’

  The corner of Jackson’s lip curled upwards. ‘What am I thinking now, then?’

  ‘You’re probably thinking… shit; we’ve got ourselves a problem.’

  Jackson didn’t answer.

  ‘And you’re also probably thinking – what else does Deans know?’ He stared at Jackson and gently bobbed his head in response to the recognition in Jackson’s face.

  ‘Well, I know of at least one other person who is involved in some way to this murderous group, but what I don’t yet know, is how, or who else may be involved.’

  Jackson pushed himself up from the table and chair until he was standing over the top of Deans who remained seated.

  Deans could smell Jackson’s notoriously bad breath.

  Jackson sized him up and down and softly stroked his chin. ‘Looks like you’re not going anywhere, after all.’

  CHAPTER 13

  They waited for Sarah Gold to return from enquiries and Jackson closed the door behind her as she entered the CID office.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he told Gold. Deans was already seated facing Jackson.

  Sarah pulled a chair from beneath the desk and dragged it alongside Deans’ chair. She gave Deans a fleeting look. Jackson stared at them both with intimidating purpose. Deans could see Jackson’s jaw clench as his mind churned over his thoughts.

  ‘We’ve got a problem,’ Jackson at last said.

  Deans smiled on the inside.

  ‘We need to keep this tight,’ Jackson said. ‘Just the three of us.’ He turned to the white board behind him and wiped the writing clean. Jackson didn’t seem to care about the notes he was destroying. He wrote the names of the four victims across the top of the board in the order in which they had died: AMY POOLE. MARIA DEANS. ASH BABBAGE and ARCHIE ROWLAND. He used a red pen and in capitals wrote, RANFORD in a central position below the names. He connected each of the victims to Ranford by a straight red line, creating a fan shape on the board. Beneath Ranford’s name, he scribbled a large question mark. Jackson faced Deans and Gold. ‘There’s another killer,’ he said.

  Deans heaved himself to his feet and approached the board. He tugged the red marker pen from Jackson’s grip and added two question marks either side of the one Jackson had scribed. ‘Wrong,’ Deans said. ‘There are multiple killers.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Jackson spat.

  Deans glowered at him for a beat and faced the board again. He placed an asterisk beneath the names of Babbage and Ranford and wrote, ANNIE ROWLAND.

  ‘We bring Annie Rowland in for questioning and we’ll get more answers.’

  Jackson grabbed the board wipe. ‘This has nothing to do with Annie Rowland?’

  ‘Stop,’ Deans said grabbing Jackson’s outstretched wrist, inches from the board.

  ‘Something in particular links Babbage to Ranford, and Ranford to Annie Rowland.’ He used the marker pen to replicate the image of The Raven Banner he’d seen in Annie’s flat. He tapped loudly on the board with the butt of the pen. ‘This links them together.’

  ‘What is it?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘The Raven Banner. The battle flag of Odin.’

  Jackson and Gold stared silently at Deans.

  ‘Odin?’ Jackson repeated through gritted teeth.

  ‘It was said to bring glory to the Viking invaders and strike fear into their opponents.’

  ‘Vikings?’ Jackson barked. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he laughed loudly.

  Deans was already writing on the board again. Beneath Babbage’s name he wrote, Text Book. Beneath Ranford, he wrote, Totten Pole, and beneath Annie Rowland’s name, he wrote, Flag.

  Deans tapped the board again. ‘All three had this raven motif in their homes. Have you ever seen it before?’ he asked Jackson.

  Jackson shook his head.

  ‘Have you?’ Deans asked Sarah.

  She did enough to shake her head, but didn’t speak.

  ‘It’s a modern-day cult of an ancient religion. It’s the only answer,’ Deans said.

  ‘Seriously?’ Jackson said, stealing the pen from Deans’ hand. ‘There are no cults in North Devon. Do you not think that I would have heard of it… or Gold for that matter?’

  ‘Actually…’ Sarah interrupted.

  ‘Oh, come on! Really? Do you expect me to believe that some ritualistic sect is responsible for these deaths?’

  ‘And others,’ Deans said calmly.

  ‘When I was at school, some of the kids spoke of a Pagan Order,’ Sarah said. ‘Do you know what, those kids were never bullied. Never crossed. Even the teachers seemed reluctant to punish them.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jackson sneered.

  Deans hobbled away from the board and sat alongside Sarah.

  Jackson faced the white board. ‘Well then, tell us what Annie Rowland has to do with it?’ he scowled.

  ‘Maybe nothing – possibly everything,’ Deans said. ‘She has the knowledge and surgical skills, and access to equipment.’

  ‘Granted, she’s got the means to do something like this, but Christ, this was her father,’ Jackson said jabbing his finger at Archie Rowland’s name.

  ‘Human sacrifice was practised at times of war and to pay homage to the Gods,’ Deans said. ‘I’ve looked it up.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve looked it up! ‘What? So you are telling me these people have been sacrificed to respect some perverse ancient belief?’

  ‘Not necessarily. To them, this is war; I was closing in on Babbage. You might say I was in their way. Maybe Amy Poole was a sacrifice, maybe she wasn’t, but as soon as I became involved, Ranford and Babbage took their vengeance out on Maria.’

  ‘What about Archie Rowland?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Same thing – he was getting answers, exposing the truth. Ring any bells?’

  Ice crusted over Jackson’s eyes. He took himself to the edge of Ranford’s desk and sat down. He had a glazed and far away expression.

  ‘How many others are there?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Deans said.

  ‘And how do you propose we find out?’ Jackson asked. ‘Put an ad in the Herald?’

  ‘We flush them out,’ Deans responded blankly.

  ‘Just exactly how do you plan to flush them out?’

  ‘We give them what they want.’

  CHAPTER 14

  Jackson’s head was buried deep into his hands. ‘If you are right,’ he said down to his knees, ‘this could be massive. Bigger than anything any of us have dealt with. It could become global news.’

  Deans nodded.

  ‘It will need serious planning. Resources. Mutual aid.’

  ‘We need just one other person,’ Deans said facing the board with his back to Jackson.

  ‘Who?’ Jackson asked.

  Deans looked back at Jackson and waited a few seconds before answering. ‘Denise Moon.’

  ‘You have got to be kidding? I’m not in the game of jeopardising the safety of any of my team, let alone a civilian.’

  ‘She’ll keep us safe, not the other way around.’

  The lines grew deep and wide on Jackson’s face. ‘Well, how much can you trust her?’

  Deans made a point of looking Jackson up and down and then he did the same with Sarah.

  ‘Probably more than the pair of you put together.’

  Jackson’s shoulders stiffened and his teeth showed between his narrowing lips.

  ‘Denise is fine,’ Deans said, preventing Jackson from having an excuse to vent h
is authority. ‘We simply can’t do this without her. I’d go as far as to say, she’s essential.’

  Jackson arched his back and cupped his head in his hands. The damp of his armpits showed through his lavender coloured shirt. It was all of sixteen degrees in the old office. Deans was ready to put another layer on, not the other way round.

  ‘Okay,’ Jackson said fixing his stare at Deans. ‘Okay. Can you get her to come over now? Time is obviously against us.’

  Deans pulled his mobile phone from his trouser pocket and held it in the air. ‘Only one way to find out.’

  Denise answered on the third ring.

  ‘Hi Denise, it’s Andy.’

  Hi Andy

  ‘You are on hands-free. Is there any chance you can come and meet me at the station, please?’

  Where do you need to go now?

  Deans smiled at the others. ‘It’s actually you that needs to come here.’

  Why what’s happened. Are you okay?

  ‘I’m fine. It’s not me… we need your help.’ Deans looked over at Jackson.

  We? Denise questioned.

  ‘I’ll explain when you come. How quickly can you get here?’

  I have an appointment in an hour.

  ‘Cancel it. Cancel the day. You’re going to be with us today.’

  Us?

  ‘Denise… can you come?’

  Well, I suppose so. But what about my appointments? This is my livelihood.

  ‘Tell her we’ll compensate her time,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Don’t worry about your losses, Denise. We’ll cover it this end.’

  Forty minutes of rearranging appointments and a quick walk along the Quay, and Denise was with them in the CID office.

  ‘So, this is it.’ Jackson said. ‘Just the four of us.’

  ‘Don’t you think we should involve the DCI?’ Sarah said.

  ‘How do you know who else we can trust?’ Jackson said. ‘Look at Ranford. Who is to say others from the station or the wider policing district aren’t involved? We don’t know how much bigger this thing could be, if at all.’

  Jackson stood alongside Deans and studied the white board.

  ‘Where do we begin?’ he asked.

  ‘Has to be with Annie Rowland,’ Deans said quietly. ‘Get her in. Ask her some questions. See what comes out.’

  ‘You think she is going to give it up, just like that?’

  ‘No.’

  Jackson turned his feet towards Deans, who reciprocated. Now they were toe to… leg cast.

  ‘We can’t arrest her,’ Jackson said. ‘There is absolutely no evidence. All we have is supposition.’

  ‘We don’t need to arrest her. We can pull her in voluntarily. She can leave whenever she wants.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t come willingly?’

  ‘Then we use the Ways and Means Act.’

  Jackson grimaced and wiped a hand over his face.

  ‘We may not get anything from her, but at least we can exert some pressure. Become the hunter instead of the hunted,’ Deans said.

  ‘But if that doesn’t work, we’ll need a warrant of entry to bring her in,’ Jackson said. ‘It’s so thin I can’t see us getting it.’

  ‘Can we risk not having a go?’

  Jackson buried his head in his hands. ‘I’ll have to involve the DI. I just have to.’

  ‘I know,’ Deans said. ‘It’s inevitable others will need to be brought in at some stage.’

  Jackson’s eyes skirted around Deans’ face.

  ‘We will probably need uniform to help us gain entry,’ Deans said. ‘…If it comes to that.’

  ‘Jesus! This will be impossible to contain,’ Jackson spat. ‘And what if she is entirely innocent? The poor girl has just lost her father and half a dozen hairy-arsed coppers burst in through the door while she’s sobbing into a pillow.’ He lowered his head and scuffed his heels against the felt floor tiles, like he was wiping dog mess from the bottom of his shoes.

  ‘Right,’ he said addressing the room. ‘I need solid information before we do anything else. Gold, I need you to hit that Intel like your job depended on it… it may well.’ He pinned back his hunched shoulders and stood tall. ‘I want every single aspect covered – no matter how small, how old, how difficult – just get it done. I want to know what time Annie Rowland goes to work, what time she takes a shit, everything. You got me?’

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘Deans, you help her; Gold churns it out, you interrogate the material.’

  Deans agreed. It sounded like a sound proposition for starters.

  Jackson turned to Denise. ‘Sorry, but these systems are confidential and for police eyes only.’ He slapped the side of his legs with a thud. ‘That’s just the way it is.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Denise,’ Deans said. ‘Her help will be required later.’

  Denise spoke for the first time. ‘What about the archives in North Devon Museum?’

  ‘What about them?’ Jackson asked brusquely.

  ‘They may have records dating back. Details of land owners, family names that may still exist. Could be of help?’

  ‘Good call,’ Deans said. ‘What time do they close?’

  Denise shook her head. ‘I can make those enquiries.’

  ‘Good,’ Jackson said. ‘You do that, and if they are open, go across with the other two.’

  Deans gave Denise a wink. Jackson smiled at her with insincere eyes.

  ‘And what about you?’ Deans asked Jackson.

  ‘Me? Well, somebody has to sell this hair-brained idea to the DI.’

  CHAPTER 15

  By the time Deans and Sarah had exhausted the intelligence databases, the afternoon had all but faded away. The museum manager said he had an interest in local Viking history and despite the closing time of five p.m., he would stay on the premises until they arrived. Deans suspected he was a nosey bugger who wanted to know what was happening, but they tended to be useful in the long run, if they had something of value to contribute.

  Sarah began driving them from the station and as they dropped down onto the main road, Deans shot a glance over his shoulder towards the pavement on the opposite side.

  ‘Stop,’ he shouted to Sarah. ‘Stop the car.’

  ‘I can’t just stop in the middle of the road.’

  ‘Pull over,’ Deans demanded. ‘Pull over now.’ Deans was straining to look out of the back window.

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked – the anxiety in her voice only too clear. She cut in front of the oncoming traffic and dived into one of the available parking bays at the side of the road.

  ‘Sorry,’ Deans said still looking backwards. ‘But I can’t run.’

  ‘Run?’

  ‘See that man?’ Deans said, pointing to a man back along the pavement with a video camera. ‘I need you to stop him. You have to run after him and detain him until I get there.’

  ‘I can’t just—’

  Deans flung his door wide open and was already climbing out. Oncoming drivers swerved around him and expressed their displeasure with long blasts of car horns and angry shouted expletives.

  Sarah was now also out and chasing behind the man who was quickly moving away. She was a rapid sprinter and soon caught up with him.

  Sarah held the man against the handrails at the side of the estuary promenade. Deans could see them both looking his way, as he did his best to catch them up.

  The man cowered as Deans came closer. His arms tight in to his body and holding something close to his chest. Sarah was doing what she could to pacify him while still keeping him from escaping.

  Breathing heavily, Deans was now just feet away. The man looked desperate. He walked straight up to the man and shoved him backwards firmly in the chest. Instinctively, Sarah straight-armed Deans away.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she shouted to him.

  ‘Who are you?’ Deans shouted to the man. ‘Who are you?’

  Deans reached over the top of Sarah’s long arm in a vain a
ttempt to have a second strike. The man had nowhere to go; a triple cast iron railing pressed against his lower limbs and was all that separated him from a steep concrete bank and dip in the less than welcoming brown tidal waters.

  ‘Which tabloid do you work for?’ Deans shouted.

  ‘I don’t,’ the man said with fear in his voice. ‘I’m not a tabloid reporter—’

  ‘Then why are you following me?’ Deans screamed. ‘Have some respect.’

  ‘Andy, Andy, please… don’t do this,’ Sarah pleaded with him, trying to push Deans further backwards.

  ‘This piece of shit filmed me at my wife’s funeral,’ Deans raged. ‘What else do you want from me you fucking parasite?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man pleaded, crouching down, his arms now covering his head and face.

  Deans could see the camcorder hanging around the man’s neck on a long canvas strap. ‘Give me that camera,’ Deans ordered, lunging over Sarah Gold once again.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ the man whimpered from behind his protective arms.

  ‘Then why are you following me?’ Deans bellowed.

  The man jabbed a hand into his outer coat pocket and produced a fist full of business cards. He held them outstretched in a shaking hand.

  Sarah Gold took one of the cards and peered at it. She placed her body directly between the two men, just in case Deans took advantage of her temporary distraction.

  She looked at the man, studied the card again and pulled a confused face.

  Deans snatched the card from her hand and looked at it. William E. Palmer – Senior Paranormal Investigator. The British Paranormal Guild.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I’m Billy Palmer. I promise. I’m not a tabloid reporter.’

  ‘But you are following me?’

  Billy Palmer looked to Sarah for reassurance. She leaned over and helped him to stand up from his defensive squat position.

  ‘It’s alright,’ she said. ‘He won’t hurt you.’ She glowered at Deans. ‘Will you.’

  Deans was still looking down at the rainbow coloured business card.