DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “I should have been there with you.”

  “I can't hide forever.”

  “I'm not asking you to hide.” DCI Llewelyn's eyes bored into her. “I'm asking you to exercise due caution.” His gaze softened. “Please...”

  “Your brother-in-law is on my list of suspects. Your co-working of this case, sir, could represent a conflict of interest.”

  Christopher Llewelyn spluttered out a chuckle, taking the DI by surprise. “Hardly...I very rarely see him, and I think I'm more than capable of not discussing this case with him.”

  “Fine.” Well, it was worth a try.

  “What makes you think he's involved?”

  “He telephoned in, offering us his help.”

  “Hmmm...got to be the murderer, then.”

  “And I found him wandering around a murder scene.”

  “Which just happens to be a tourist attraction and a place of historical interest. Definitely our murderer. Case closed. Get the file to the CPS.”

  “Very funny.” Yvonne had to admit that, now the DCI had put it like that, she did feel a bit silly, and she hadn't known Thomas was a relation of the DCI. She wasn't going to cross him off her list just yet, however.

  Feeling frazzled, though it was still only mid-morning, she caught up with Dewi as he poured a cuppa.

  “Dewi, can you make one for me too, please?”

  “Coming right up. You look done in. Heavy night, was it?”

  “No, Dewi, not a heavy night. I think I might just have made a complete fool of myself with the DCI...again.”

  “He has a lot of respect for you.”

  “He did have.” Yvonne sighed, and her shoulders loosened. “I feel like a very naughty schoolgirl.”

  “There you go, that'll soon have you feeling better.”

  Yvonne gratefully accepted the mug of hot tea. “What have you found about out about fencing in the area?”

  “Well, there are four clubs of particular interest: one at Leighton village hall; one in Llandrindod Wells; one at the University of Wales, Aberystwyth - just down the coast from Llwyngwril; and one in Shrewsbury - just over the border.”

  “It'll take us a while to get around all those.”

  “That's what I was thinking.”

  “And what if he isn't a member of a club? What then?” Yvonne sipped from her steaming mug.

  “From what I can make out, you can't legally own fencing weapons if you're not a member of a club. Clubs keep lists of their members, and each member takes out their own personal insurance.”

  “What if someone wasn't a member of a club? Is it possible to buy weapons without proof of membership?”

  “Apparently, weapons do trade second hand without much vetting, and it's possible to get just about anything on the net these days.”

  “How long would it take to get the membership lists from all of those clubs?”

  “We're on it, ma'am, and we hope to have them by the end of the week.”

  “I'll be speaking to the DCI again, later, about the upcoming press release.” Yvonne grimaced. “The local and national papers are wanting a breakthrough. I'm unsure whether to release the information about the foil fragment. On the one hand, it may ring bells with someone out there but, on the other, keeping it quiet now might give us the edge when we make an arrest.”

  “I don't envy you that decision.”

  “Tasha will have a profile for us later today or tomorrow. That'll help us sift through potential perps. I've got a feeling we are going to end up with a fair few possibles if we add the entire membership list of four fencing clubs.”

  “So, you worked with her before?”

  “Yes, Dewi, and she's excellent.” Yvonne tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “Oh, and by the way, I'd like you to go with me tomorrow to interview someone of interest...a Reverend Peter Griffiths.”

  “Right you are, ma'am.”

  22

  The DI cleared her throat, before formally introducing Tasha to the team and giving them a little of her back-story. In truth, most of the team had already gotten acquainted with the psychologist, who had been shifting her weight from foot to foot for the last ten minutes. She took to the floor appearing confident, but Yvonne had seen the tremble in the hand that placed her papers down in front of her.

  Tasha nodded her thanks to Yvonne, as everyone settled.

  “I've prepared a profile which I hope will really help in your search for the priest-killer.”

  The room was silent.

  “I would say you're looking for a male aged around thirty-five to fifty-five. The amount of time taken with the bodies, and the care and planning, suggest a good deal of confidence. Therefore, I would focus on the older part of that age group, say, forty plus. “The guy may be a loner with a great deal of time on his hands – planning, staking out, all of these things take time. This could be someone either unemployed, through a recent redundancy or illness, or someone who is, or has has been, in the employ of the church. Perhaps, close to someone employed in the church.

  “I'd say he lives alone or with an elderly parent – a parent who does not worry too much about prolonged absences. He may be a disaffected member of the clergy or someone who was refused entry into the clergy. Perhaps he dropped out or failed to graduate in theology. “He'll have a history of odd behaviours and, as a consequence, will have few if any friends, and none of them particularly close. He may even have antagonised those close to him. He will, quite likely, have written letters of complaint to councillors or his MP, and there may be a previous arrest history for violent offences, or protests. He'll be a stickler for rules.

  “Since he's been using a sharpened fencing foil to inflict some of the mutilations, I'd say he's very likely a fencer. He'll like this kind of physical and mental chess, but it's an odd choice of weapon to inflict mutilations. It means they're being committed at arm's length, not up close and personal, as they would be with a knife. Since a foil would be more difficult to control than a knife, there may be a reason he doesn't want to get too close to his victims. It could be that his victims are a means to an end and dispatching them is not what motivates him.

  “Although crude, the mutilations are legible. This suggests someone well-used to using the weapon. It feels comfortable in his hand.

  “There are historical connotations in the staging of at least one of the murders. You could explore whether that is, indeed, the pattern with all three murders. Perhaps our killer spends his time in the local library or works with books. He may have a keen interest in Welsh history. Any questions?”

  As the team threw questions to the floor, Tasha answered them with ease and the DI felt proud of her, and proud of the fact that she was her friend.

  Finally, Yvonne got to her feet and glanced around her team. “Please don't say anything to anyone about this profile, yet. We still have to decide how much of it to release. So keep it to yourselves until you hear otherwise, Okay?”

  All murmured their assent.

  After the briefing, Yvonne met with Tasha and DCI Llewelyn to discuss the profile.

  “Dr. Phillips, thank you for joining us at such short notice, and thank you for your work profiling the killer. It'll really help us focus our resources.” Llewelyn pursed his lips as he closed his office door behind them. “This is one of the most harrowing cases I have known in my twenty-year police career.”

  “This is certainly one mean mother,” Tasha nodded soberly, her hands in her trouser pockets. “He's feeding on the shock and fear his crimes are creating in the community. I'm surprised he hasn't been in contact, actually. The sort of unsub who leaves his mark on dead bodies is often the sort who also taunts the police. I think it's only a matter of time before he gets in touch personally.”

  “I've a horrible feeling he's just getting started.” Yvonne sighed heavily. “And we can only guess where he's going to strike next.”

  “It's our job to stop him striking.” DCI Llewelyn waited for Yvonne's eyes to meet his before
continuing. “We should get this profile out there, ASAP. So, what do we divulge? What do we keep back?”

  Yvonne swallowed hard. “I say we don't keep anything back regarding the killer. The more pointers we give to the public the better at this stage. Who knows how soon he'll kill again. We leave out one of the details, and it could have been the one to strike a chord with a neighbour or relative.”

  “I'm inclined to agree with Yvonne.” Tasha leaned back in her chair, rubbing her chin. “The profile's power is in how the whole thing knits together. The more pointers, the more chance of an accurate identification.”

  “What about fencing? Can we keep that detail back in case of false confessions?” DCI Llewelyn was again looking at the DI.

  “I say not, sir, I think it's a key part of the profile and the one likely to really hit home with a neighbour or colleague. There may be fellow fencers out there who can give us a name.”

  “You're both agreed on this?” The DCI looked from one to the other.

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  “OK, give me one detail we hold back.”

  “The 'rite of consecration' text that was found with the body of David Evans,” Yvonne offered.

  “That's it, then. Let's get more details to the press.”

  23

  The drizzle invaded his hair, clouded his eyelashes, and pooled at the end of his nose. He'd spent more than an hour watching the big country house. The lights were on and the curtains open.

  He watched as the other man worked in the kitchen, on the last chores before bed. At times, it appeared as though the victim was looking back at him, but he knew better. He was invisible out here, in the moonless, cloud-covered night.

  He ran his tongue through the sweat on his upper lip, just as his intended victim opened the back door to take out the rubbish.

  Keeping his eye to the scope, he centred his quarry, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. In through his nose and out through his mouth. Still. Lungs empty. Heart rate nice and slow.

  'Thwip'.

  As the bullet connected, his victim looked stunned. A direct shot between the eyes, spatter ballooning out from the back of his head, onto the porch behind.

  He watched the lifeless body fall to the ground, grabbed his holdall, and walked over to where it lay. There would be no cross this time, just the words, 'Memento Mori' and one other word: 'Touche'.

  24

  Yvonne caught up with DCI Llewelyn in the corridor. She was breathing heavily after running up two flights of stairs.

  “Ah, there you are, sir.”

  “Yvonne, problem?”

  “No, well, not exactly. Okay, Yes.”

  He laughed. “You're making perfect sense, DI Giles...”

  “Sorry, I have a psych session later today and I really don't want to go. I've come to ask you if I can knock them on the head.” She screwed her eyes up, as though expecting him to shout.

  “Get yourself to that session,” was his firm reply.

  “But, sir...”

  “Yvonne, you were almost killed by a psychopath, and you are currently helping to hunt down another one. I want you to finish your counselling.”

  “I'm fine...honestly, please.”

  “Okay.”

  “Sir?” Yvonne did a double-take.

  “Call me Chris, and you can cease the sessions, but only if I take you off the priest-killer case.”

  “No way...you can't take me off the case...”

  “Then get yourself to counselling. Now.”

  25

  Yvonne closed the door with a bang and Tasha jumped.

  “That man...” Frustration dripped thickly from the DI.

  “God.” Tasha pressed a hand to her chest. “You startled me. Who's upset you?”

  “The DCI. Who else?”

  “What's he done now?”

  “He's forcing me to continue with that bloody counselling course!”

  “Is that all? He's doing it for the right reasons. I happen to agree with him.”

  “He said he'd take me off the case if I don't go. I'm not so sure it's for my benefit. He's a...he's a control freak. Does he feel threatened by a woman? Is that why he's single?”

  Tasha looked distinctly uncomfortable. Yvonne followed Tasha's eyes toward the door. Christopher Llewelyn's tall figure filled the frame. He turned his face away and ducked back, but not before she'd witnessed what was in his eyes – pain - he clearly hadn't wanted them to see.

  Yvonne's stomach muscles clenched tight. She'd chosen the wrong moment to let off steam. She hadn't meant those words and was filled with remorse. Had she reminded him of something? Of someone?

  She didn't have time to dwell. Dewi was shouting from down the hall. Their killer had struck again.

  A breathless Yvonne pulled on a plastic suit and over-shoes. Dread soaking every part of her. Another victim, and they'd been unable to stop it.

  The victim's house was a large, red brick, country residence, with a gated approach road. She could see dried blood on the step, bloodied drag marks up into the house, and inside the hall: blood and brain spatter smeared on the walls. The stench of death was overwhelming.

  He lay about five feet into the hallway. His body had been left, arms outstretched, feet together – cross-shaped. His clothes had been ripped open, in order for the mutilations to take place. Yvonne placed her hand over her mouth, as she wretched, just managing to get outside before bringing up her stomach contents, in the general direction of an outside drain. A member of the SOCO team gave her a knowing look.

  “He was found by his cleaner. She's in a state.” Dewi checked his notepad.

  “Where is she now?”

  “She's with a WPC. ”

  “Who was he, Dewi?”

  “A local businessman. Name of...Griff Roberts.”

  “Not a vicar, then?”

  “No, ma'am.”

  “Well, we either have ourselves a copycat killer, or the priest-killer's deviating from his usual pattern. If it is a deviation, why the change?”

  The DCI approached down the hallway. “They've found items which I think significant.” The words were directed at Yvonne, the tone brusque.

  The DI coloured. “What items, sir?”

  “Fencing mask, protective kit and fencing weapons.” The DCI scratched his head. “Close your mouth DI Giles.”

  “Did the killer leave his kit here?”

  “Doesn't look like it, Yvonne. In the dead man's wallet we found a membership card for British Fencing and a business card for Leighton Fencing Club. Looks like he was a fencer.”

  “Our offender profile became public two days ago.” Yvonne's soulful eyes met those of the DCI, as the penny dropped. “This man died because of our profile...”

  “You think he was a fencing buddy of the killer?”

  “It's a possibility, isn't it?”

  “Yes...yes, it's possible.”

  “He's silenced him.” Yvonne held her hand to her forehead.

  “Yvonne, we won't always be able to second guess this killer. Even if what you're suspecting is true, we couldn't have anticipated this happening. We included those details in good faith.”

  “Yes, but you went with my decision. You would not have disclosed it if I hadn't pressed.”

  “Don't beat yourself up, Yvonne. You didn't kill this man. A crazed lunatic did. End of.”

  Yvonne gave a heart-felt sigh. “Sir...Chris, about earlier...I'm sorry. What I said, it was inexcusable. I was unfair and mean. I had no right to cast aspersions about your private life. I don't know what got into me.”

  “Yvonne, we'll talk about it another time.” He looked weary. “Right now, we have another murder to investigate. This case needs your attention, not me.”

  “I know.” Yvonne nodded slowly. “But I am sorry.”

  26

  She gave two soft raps on Dr Rainer's door. Someone, with their mouth full, shouted, “Come in!”

  She pushed the door aja
r and caught the psychiatrist with a half eaten sandwich, chewing rapidly and brushing herself free of stray crumbs.

  “Sorry.” Rainer swallowed the last little bit. “You were late, I'd begun to think you weren't coming and so I started my lunch.” She pulled a face.

  Yvonne laughed as she saw the human side of the her. “I'm sorry I'm late. It's been mad in the station today.” Yvonne decided not to tell Rainer that she very nearly hadn't come.

  “How have you been over the last few weeks?”

  “I've been having fewer nightmares, though they're still vivid. One panic attack last week.”

  “What was the trigger for the panic attack? Anything you could put your finger on?”

  “Nothing specific.”

  “Sleeping any better?”

  “Some nights, I sleep right through. Others not. It's unpredictable.”

  “You're suffering from post-traumatic stress. It's still relatively early days. Have you thought any more about the sedatives I offered you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And I think this time I will accept them. I owe it to this case, my colleagues, and the victims of this murderer, to be the best I can be. That means getting proper rest.”

  “Great.” Dr. Rainer wrote out the prescription, “Now, tell me about David...”

  27

  Tasha waited outside Rainer's office for the session to finish.

  “Oh my.” Yvonne grinned. “Two psychologists in one day. I don't know if I can cope.”

  Tasha pushed her shoulder. “Go on with you. I came to see how you were, after being forced to continue with the psych sessions and, most especially, after the latest bad news.”

  “Well, to be honest, Tasha, I'm beginning to believe that perhaps I do need the sessions. I've been irritable, and I've been making iffy decisions, and this might just sort me out” Yvonne sighed. “As for the murder of the businessman, I can't help feeling a little responsible.”