by Clare Revell
“Sounds good tae us. Lead on.”
~*~
Isabel sat at her desk tempted to search dumpsters in Headley Cross on the Internet. The only real clue they had was the commandment. The Slayer had once again set them a hopeless task. In some ways she didn’t mind. It gave her something else to think about. She hadn’t slept. The thought that the Chief Super was her father, the same bloke who’d bawled her out in public for being a woman and a newbie was…mind boggling.
She didn’t know how she felt about it. She didn’t know how she was meant to feel. Should she have this overwhelming love for him? Run into his arms and yell ‘Daddy!’ or do like the movies showed when these things happened? Sometimes it turned out good, other times, it wasn’t so good. None of it appealed to her. She’d far rather just forget the whole thing until this case was over and she had time to think properly. Not to mention check out her grandparents, now she had a different name for them.
DI Holmes came out of his office and strode across the squad room. His expression was downcast, and worry etched his gaze.
“You OK, Guv?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I need to drive over to the safehouse and speak with my wife. Then I’m driving to the hospital to be with Dane. I’ll be back tomorrow at some point.”
“What’s happened? Is Mrs. Philips OK? Is something wrong with the baby?”
“Baby’s fine. Amy is in theatre. I’ll know more when I get there. Could you ring Pastor Jack and get the church prayer circle activated? Just say complications following the birth. Dane says to pass on the name, weight, and so on.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “I’ll call Pastor Jack later and update him fully.”
“Will do. Tell the Sarge I’m praying for them.”
“I will. Zander’s in charge until I get back. Email me those files when you get a chance.” He double timed it from the room as Zander and two officers entered.
Zander looked at Isabel. “He’s in a hurry.”
“DS Philips’ wife is in surgery. He’s going over there.”
Zander frowned. “But I thought everything was fine.”
“Baby is. She’s not.” Isabel grabbed the phone and dialled. “Oh, and the Guv says you’re in charge until he gets back tomorrow.”
“Hello?” The voice on the other end of the phone repeated.
“Pastor Jack, it’s Isabel York. DI Holmes asked me to call you.”
“Can we have the church building back?” he asked.
“Not yet, I’m afraid. Maybe next week. I’m calling in relation to the Sarge’s wife, Amy Philips. She’s seriously ill and in surgery following complications in childbirth. The baby is fine, though. DS Philips said to pass on those details as well. John Michael, 4:55am, weighing nine pounds, fifteen ounces.”
Scratching echoed down the line as Pastor Jack took notes. “How’s Amy?”
“All I know is she’s in surgery. We’ll know more once the DI gets there. He said he’d call you later and asked for you to activate the church prayer circle now.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you for calling.”
Isabel hung up.
“Did you tell the Guv about Mr. Terrance?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t get the chance. He was somewhat distracted.” Her phone rang and she grabbed it. “DC York.”
Zander took the two Scots over to the kettle.
Someone on the phone was speaking and she had no idea what they’d said. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? It’s rather noisy in here.”
“The results came back on that shirt from the assailant in your assault case—Barney Terrance.” The Dutch accent was unmistakably Arend Van Houten. “We can’t get any DNA from it, but we were able to get the blood type. It’s the same as Lexi Eke’s. AB negative. Just thought you should know. I’ll let you get on.”
“Thanks, Arend.” Isabel hung up. “Zander. We got the blood type back on Barney Terrance’s shirt. It matches Lexi Eke. We need to go and pick him up. Now.”
Zander looked at the Scottish officers. “Sorry.”
“Nae problem. We’ll go find that hotel ye booked us in tae and crash a while. We’ll come back and see ye later.”
Zander nodded. “It’s the Premier Inn just over the road. You can’t miss it. The room is already paid for along with a meal tonight and breakfast tomorrow morning. Is, did you use your name for it?”
“I did.” She grabbed her bag. “It’s under the name DC York, TVP.” She followed Zander from the room at a run.
~*~
Zander walloped hard on the door. “Mr. Terrance, this is the police. Open up.”
Finally, an old man, bent double with age, opened the door. “Sorry, not as quick as I used to be.”
Zander held out his ID. “DS Ellery, this is my partner DC York. We’re looking for Barney Terrance.”
“That’s my son. He isn’t here. He hasn’t lived here in years.”
“Do you mind if I check?”
The old man shrugged. “Feel free, but as I said, he isn’t here. I haven’t seen him in a while either.”
It didn’t take long for Zander and Isabel to prove that. Zander pulled out a card. “If he comes back, or you hear from him, you call me or 101 and ask for me.” He headed back out to the car, quietly fuming. He picked up the radio. “This is DS Ellery. I need an APB on Barney Terrance. He’s skipped police bail and gave a fake address when he was released. He’s wanted on suspicion of murder.” He glanced at Isabel. “We’ll pop back to the house, you can email those files to the Guv, and we’ll print a set off. Then we go back to the office and try to find this dumpster.”
~*~
Next morning, Isabel sat opposite George Harmon in the interview room. The tape was running, and she’d overridden Zander’s objections to her being there. They’d let him stew in the cells for a whole day, the theory being he could rest up properly before answering questions. The reality was no one was free to talk to him. Everyone was tied up in searching for dumpsters and getting nowhere fast.
Just like this interview. Aside from no comment, Mr. Harmon didn’t really have anything to say.
There was a knock on the door and Isabel turned. “DI Holmes has entered the room,” she said for the benefit of the tape.
He scowled. “Isabel, can I have a word? Now.”
She nodded and rose.
“DI Holmes and DC York have left the room,” Zander said. “Interview paused.”
Isabel shut the door. “Guv?”
“You can’t be in there. Didn’t Zander tell you that?” He sounded irate, tired, and hacked off in general.
“He did, but—”
He cut her off. “That man is charged with killing your grandmother.”
“Technically, sir, she wasn’t my gran.”
He held up a hand. “Enough. You’ve been insisting for weeks that she was family. Therefore, you are not allowed in there or anywhere near that line of the enquiry. Is that understood?”
“Can’t I at least observe?”
“No, you can’t. If you do, you may jeopardise any chance we have of making the charges stick, never mind the CPS convicting him. Go back upstairs.”
Isabel bit her tongue. She didn’t want to, but the Guv had a point, and being rude to him would only inflame the situation. “I’ve asked Rev. Eke to come in and speak to us. It turns out all the girls went to his church at one point or another.”
The frown which seemed to be a permanent expression deepened. “So did you.”
“Once, this past weekend with Zander.” She shrugged. “But we know I’m on the list anyway. It’s simply another connection to check out.” Her phone rang. “DC York.”
“Hi, this is Sgt. Cole on the front desk. Rev. Eke is here to see you.”
“Thank you. Put him in interview one with a mug of coffee and I’ll be right up.” Isabel ended the call. “I would say speak of the devil, but he’s a man of the cloth so I won’t.”
“You are not doing that interview alone.”
That comment pushed her over the edge. “With all due respect Guv, I don’t need protecting because I’m a woman or because I’m on the list. I’m in a building full of cops and the interview room has a panic button on my side of the desk. I’m probably safer here than out on the streets. Or in a car for that matter.”
“That’s as may be, but you and Zander were both unsettled after his sermon on Sunday. You are not going in there alone or without prayer cover.” He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. “Right, Austin is coming down and he and Zander can deal with Mr. Harmon. You and I get the good reverend. I’ll let Zander know.”
Isabel nodded. “I’ll just run up and grab my notes.” She headed towards the stairs. Not more than two minutes later, and slightly out of breath, she made it back down to the entrance to the lobby.
Just inside the stairwell, DI Holmes caught her up. Staying her arm, he prayed briefly before they went into interview room one.
Rev. Eke sat there, looking as if he owned the place, coffee in hand, leaning back in the chair. “DC York.” He rose, extending a hand. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Isabel shook his hand, trying to ignore the cold shiver that ran down her spine. “This is my boss, DI Holmes. Sir, this is Rev. Eke, vicar of St. Crispin’s. He’s also Lexi’s father.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” DI Holmes said, shaking the reverend’s hand. “Please, sit down.”
Rev. Eke eased back into his chair and cradled his cup. “So, how can I help you fine officers?”
Isabel opened her file, revealing a pad of green paper. “As you know I’m working the Slayer murders. We’re currently focusing on a theory that the killer knows the girls and that they all have certain things in common. For example, they’ve all attended the Keswick Convention in the past three years.”
Rev. Eke nodded. “We go each year as a family, only this year Lexi decided to go to New Wine instead. I actually have something to show you.” He reached into his pocket and produced a photograph. “My wife found this under Lexi’s pillow. I’m guessing this is the boyfriend you mentioned.”
Isabel took it, noticing Barney Terrance had his arms around Lexi, lips pressed against her forehead. “I assume so. May we take a copy of it?” At the man’s nod, she handed the photo to the Guv who snapped it on his phone, before handing it to the uniformed officer to copy.
“Thank you.” Isabel studied her notes for an instant, pretending she wasn’t thrown by the distraction. “We also discovered all the victims have your church in common.”
Surprised flooded the reverend’s face. “Really? We’re only a small congregation. I… Are you sure? May I ask their names?”
Isabel pulled out the photographs and laid them on the table to show him.
His lips moved as if in prayer as he studied the pictures. “Yes, I recognise all of them. Most only came once or twice, usually with a friend. Iona came with her husband or boyfriend, I assume, until she transferred to Moor Street.”
“Have you ever had to remove anyone from membership?” Isabel asked.
“Once or twice. Like every church we have to discipline our members when needed. But it wasn’t any of those women.”
“What we’d like if possible, is a list of all your female members, so we can cross reference them with our other lines of investigation. If need be, we can then assign them a protection officer.”
“Of course. But do you really think more women are at risk?” Rev. Eke paused. “Of course you do. There are Ten Commandments, and he’s only up to six. He’ll keep going until he’s completed his mission to rid the world of sinners.”
“We intend to catch him.” Isabel slid the pen and paper over to him. “The list, please.”
Rev. Eke wrote and finished his coffee. “Is there anything else?”
She shook her head. “Thank you for coming in.”
The man rose. “If I can be of any further assistance please let me know.”
DI Holmes stood and showed him from the room.
Isabel swiftly pulled evidence bags from her pocket. She slid the empty cup into one and sealed it. Then she put her pen into another one and sealed it just as DI Holmes came back into the room. She held up both bags. “We now have his DNA and fingerprints.”
“Clever girl. I’ll take them to the lab myself.” He took them from her and left the room.
Isabel took the stairs back up to the squad room. Her mind tried to go back to the topic of her father, but she refused to let it take over.
Zander glanced up as she entered the room. “Is the DI around?”
“Taking stuff to the lab.” She grinned. “We gave Rev. Eke coffee and got him to write me a list.”
“Not just a pretty face then.”
She sat down and swung the chair to face him. “How’d it go with Mr. Harmon?”
“He’s admitted poisoning Mrs. Kowalski and setting the fire. He insists he was paid to do it and won’t say who by. I’m hoping the CPS will get it out of him in exchange for a lighter sentence, but not expecting it to be anything less than several years custodial anyway.” He put a hand on her arm. “He’s on his way to court now.”
She held his gaze. “He won’t get bail, will he?”
“It’s murder and arson, so no. He won’t get bail.” Zander glanced across the room at Steve. “How’s the dumpster search going?”
“Ask me a sensible question.” Steve snorted and tossed a wad of paper at the computer screen. “Been at this over twenty-four hours and not done half the town yet.”
The phone rang. “DS Ellery…OK, thanks. We’ll be right down.”
Isabel rolled her eyes. “We will, will we?”
“Sara Barnes is here. The artist who painted that portrait of you—Lost Love. Coming?”
She frowned. “Yeah, but I didn’t think they were coming ’til the weekend. It’s only Wednesday.”
“Guess they came early.” Zander grabbed the postcard from his desk, and then headed to the door.
Isabel scrambled after him. At least running up and down all these stairs would keep her fit. She’d far rather be doing internet searches for dumpsters. Find the maker and track down where in town the bins were… Stopping on the stairs, she whipped out her phone and sent Steve a text.
Zander turned. “What are you doing?”
“There was a name on that dumpster in the photograph. The company can tell us where their bins are. We then go check those ones.”
“You’re brilliant, you know that?”
“Is that a hint of sarcasm, Sarge?” Isabel put her phone away and glared at him. “Or had you already done that?”
He shook his head. “Nope, on my to-do list.” He held the door open for her. “Ladies first.”
“Such a gentleman.” She grinned and preceded him into the corridor. From there it was a two-minute walk to the front desk.
Zander headed past the desk. “Mr. and Mrs. Nemec?”
A tall man with blond hair turned. The shorter dark-haired woman with him gasped. “Wow…it’s really her.”
11
Isabel squirmed but said nothing.
Zander crossed the room. “I’m DS Ellery, this is my partner DC York.”
“Forgive me for staring,” the woman began, “but it feels as if I already know you. I’m Sara Nemec. This is my husband, Luke.”
The tall man held out a hand. “DI Nemec.”
Finding her voice, and more than a little intimidated by the tall American officer, Isabel nodded. “Thank you for coming.”
“We’ll talk in interview one. The squad room isn’t really appropriate.” Zander crossed the entrance lobby.
Surprised filled her, but Isabel said nothing. She’d imagined doing this upstairs with the DI around. She glanced at the desk sergeant. “Any chance of a tray of coffee, please?”
He nodded. “Sure. I’ll bring it in.”
“Thank you.” She followed Zander and the others to the interview room. Shutting the door behind them, sh
e turned. “They’ll bring coffee in.”
Zander unwrapped a tape and shoved it in the machine.
“Wait a second.” DI Nemec sounded irate. “You’re recording this?”
“It seems to tie in directly to a serial murder case. I simply don’t want the Guv breathing down my neck for missing something.”
Mrs. Nemec put her hand on her husband’s arm. “Honey, it’s fine. You’d probably ask the same of your officers.”
Zander started the tape. “Interview with Sara Nemec. Present are DS Ellery, DC York, and Mrs. Nemec’s husband, DI Nemec of Police Scotland. The reason we asked you here is one of your paintings.” He slid across a photo. “I’m showing Mrs. Nemec a postcard of the painting Lost Love, which is currently hanging in Abbey Gate Gallery.”
“Lost Love was a commission,” Mrs. Nemec said. She ran her fingers over the postcard and frowned before handing it back. “I don’t get those very often.”
“It’s signed Sara Barnes. You don’t paint under your own name?”
“That’s a long story. Barnes was my previous surname.”
“Maiden name?” Zander asked.
Isabel sat quietly. She really didn’t like the idea of someone commissioning a painting of her and then ordering it sent to the gallery in the town she lived in. Was her stalker, whoever he was, the Slayer? Was all this simply to get at her? That thought shouldn’t see the light of day, so she buried it quickly.
“No. It’s complicated and not really relevant,” Mrs. Nemec said. “Short story is Dave, Luke’s partner, showed my early paintings to a gallery at home. I’d signed those ones SB rather than SN. It was a mistake. One that I’ve since rectified on all my paintings.”
“One ‘mistake’ that seems destined to haunt us,” her husband muttered.
“Anyway, when I received this commission, the request included the SB signature. It creeped me out a little as only a few art dealers know about my former name and usually call me by my current surname.”
DI Nemec cleared his throat. “But none of this is relevant. All they need know is the painting was a commission. Not a potted history of your past.”
Isabel dragged the subject back before Zander could pursue the point. “So, you were sent a photograph?”
