Before I Wake

by Clare Revell

  “At this time of night?”

  “A police officer is never off duty.”

  “I’d advise you to back away, Mr. Vixen,” Zander said. “You’re in breach of the PIN.”

  “Really? And what will you do about it?”

  Zander pulled himself to his full height—half an inch taller than Farrell. He leaned close. “You don’t want to find out, mate. I’m not some female you can push around, intimidate, and hurt.”

  “Will you let him speak to me like that, Isabel?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Actually, Farrell, Zander is right.”

  Zander moved closer, ready to step in at a second’s notice. He’d love to floor the creep, but Isabel needed to do this one herself.

  Isabel held her ground. “Whilst the PIN is in effect, you risk arrest for approaching me, never mind speaking to me. I appreciate the offer of a lift, but I’m staying with a friend tonight, and we have plans. The bus drops me off right at their door anyway.”

  Farrell nodded slightly, eyes narrowing. “Female friend?”

  “That is no concern of yours.”

  “Very well. Oh, I have that CCTV footage for you.”

  Zander nodded. “Great. We’ll be there at nine-thirty to view it. Come on, Rosa. Let’s go.”

  Isabel glanced at him curiously. “I’ll see you at—”

  “Work in the morning,” Zander said quickly. “Unless you’d like a lift at half past seven rather than taking the bus?”

  She grinned. “When don’t I?”

  He jerked his head. “Rosa, let’s go get this over with.”

  ~*~

  Isabel stood in the kitchen making tea when Zander eventually got home. “I brought your meal back. Do you want it reheated?”

  “Please.” He rubbed the back of his neck as she put the plate into the microwave. “Well, that turned into a total nightmare. I didn’t think today could get any worse.”

  “Want to talk? Unless you can’t.”

  He shrugged. “Rosa committed perjury is the short story. I handed the mess straight to the Guv claiming conflict of interest.”

  Isabel chuckled. “Oh, I bet he loves you for that on his evening off.”

  “I can’t handle it, and it’s best a senior officer does. So, she and he are down at the nick still. He’s interviewing her with someone from somewhere else, and then she’ll spend the night in the cells before going to court in the morning.”

  “Tea.” She slid the mug across to him. “When’s your grandfather moving in?”

  “Wednesday of next week.”

  “Does he know I’m living here yet?”

  “No. I need to tell him.”

  She pulled his plate from the microwave as it beeped. “I was thinking, I’ll go stay in a B&B the first night he’s here. Give you both space for him to settle in.”

  “Don’t be silly. You live here as well.”

  “It makes sense if you think about it.”

  “No, actually, it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever.” Zander scowled. “If you must, but I’m booking the B&B. There’s a lady from church who runs one near here. Well, it’s a hotel, does half board, or just B&B.” He pulled out his phone, tapped fast, then dialled. “Hi, could I speak to Jan Wilkinson, please?” He dunked a chip into the pile of ketchup. “Hi, Jan. It’s Zander Ellery from church. How are you?”

  Isabel picked up her cup and took a long swallow. There was something about hot tea, even when the weather was heat-wave style, incredibly hot, that always hit the spot. Ironic that hot tea was refreshing on a hot day.

  “She’s my work partner and needs a bed on Wednesday just for the one night. You have?” He shot Isabel a thumbs-up.

  Isabel grinned as her phone rang. She tugged it free and headed to the lounge to take the call. “Hello?”

  “Is this DC York?” a woman asked.

  “Yes.” She recognised the voice but couldn’t place it. “Who’s calling?”

  “It’s Susan Higgins. I just wanted to thank you for your help. That notice thing is set up, and I’m going out of town to stay with a friend for a few days.”

  “Sounds…” Isabel paused as the line went silent. “Hello?” She looked at the handset, but the call had ended. Strange. Oh, well. She headed back to the kitchen.

  “All sorted,” Zander said with a mouthful. “You can spend Wednesday at the hotel. I’ll pick you up on the way to work on Thursday, and you can come back here afterwards. It’s Elmhurst Lodge. It’s on—”

  She nodded. “I know it.”

  “Still think you’re silly. Gramps won’t mind you being here.”

  “I know. But this way you can show him the set up, get him settled, without me being a third wheel.”

  “You’re not a third wheel. And you did good with the way you handled Farrell earlier.” He took another bite of his burger.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want the paperwork that him kicking off would have involved.” She yawned. “Anyway, I’m having a shower and going to bed. Night.”

  “Night,” Zander replied.

  Isabel headed up the stairs. The TV switched on in the lounge. She glanced at Zander’s door. It stood ajar. She’d left it open. Good thing he hadn’t gone upstairs soon as he’d got home. She closed it quietly.

  DI Holmes had asked her to check the house. She’d done so and found nothing that shouldn’t be there. The only place she hadn’t checked was the shed. Oh, and the coal bunker. But both would be full of spiders. So that wasn’t happening any time soon.

  She lay on the bed and must have dozed off. The front door closed, and the car started up. She moved to the window and looked out from behind the nets, to see Zander drive away.

  “What are you playing at, Zander? I’m trying to clear you, not incriminate you further.”

  ~*~

  Thursday morning, Isabel dumped her bag onto her desk. She glanced at her in-box and could have screamed. It had been empty when she’d left last night. Now it was overflowing. “I swear this thing fills itself to annoy me.”

  Zander chuckled. He’d been in an uncommonly good mood ever since he’d woken and that wasn’t helping Isabel’s bad mood. “It’s the elves,” he said. “They think, quick, she’s gone home. Stuff her in-box with rubbish whilst she’s not looking.”

  “Tell me about it.” She grabbed the pile of mail, leafing through it. “Pizza, stair lifts, banisters, local DIY shop, local supermarket…is this some kind of a joke?”

  Howling laughter filled the room.

  “Oh, very funny,” she groaned. “Who’s the joker?”

  Zander shook his head. “Don’t look at me.”

  Isabel rolled her eyes and carried on sorting. “Oh…a brown A5 envelope. Croydon post mark. Someone go check the CCTV footage.”

  “On it,” Austin called.

  Isabel yanked a pair of gloves from the box on her desk, her heart pounded in her head. She picked up the envelope as DI Holmes crossed the room. She caught his eye and jerked her head to bring him over. Opening the letter, she pulled out a postcard of a child kneeling by a bed.

  Her breath caught. She used to have one just like this. It hung over her bed every night in the children’s home until someone broke the frame. Then she’d kept the card tucked away in a scrapbook with others like it.

  “What have we got?” DI Holmes voice dragged her back to the present.

  “Um. Postcard of a child kneeling by a bed, praying. One of those vintage ones.” She turned it over and frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  Zander stood behind her. “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. If I should live for other days, I pray the Lord to guide my ways.” His breath was warm on her shoulder. “You must have heard of that rhyme.”

  “I didn’t know it had six lines to it.”

  “Not the Slayer, then,” DI Holmes said.

  “No,” Zander said.

  “I’m not so sure.” Isabel tapp
ed her fingers on the card. A horrid feeling lay in the pit of her stomach. “It’s the same handwriting. The same postmark. It’s another girl kneeling in prayer.”

  “But not another murder card.”

  Isabel turned it over and studied the back of the card. There was no commandment, no Bible verse…wait. There were tiny letters on the front under the poem. “It says 16:3:24. What’s that?”

  “The time he wrote the card perhaps?” Zander moved and sat on the edge of her desk.

  “No. Because that would be 16:30:24 not 3:24.” She bit her lip. “All the other cards had Bible verses. So, this…what’s the sixteenth book of the Bible?”

  Zander shrugged. “Guv, you ought to know.”

  Isabel shook her head in dismay. “Stop picking on the church elder. Someone count as I sing.” She began to sing the books of the Bible song she’d learnt as a child in Sunday School, stopping as she reached the sixteenth, according to Zander. “Proverbs?”

  DI Holmes pulled up the Bible app on his phone and counted the index. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” Isabel asked.

  “And spoil your fun? Can you do the whole lot? All sixty-six books?”

  “I certainly can.”

  A chant of “Do it. Do it,” echoed around the room.

  She chuckled and drew in a deep breath. She sang the two songs. “So,” she finished, “what is Proverbs 3:24?”

  DI Holmes looked at his phone.

  When you lie down, you will not be afraid, when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.

  Isabel shivered. “This case has become downright creepy.” She shoved the postcard and envelope into separate evidence bags. “Makes patrolling the streets the day of a football match a picnic by comparison.”

  “Are you offering? I can put you in uniform on Saturday for the next home match.”

  “No, Guv. I’m good. I used to collect postcards like these. I had a scrapbook full of them. And this one used to hang on my wall for years before I transferred it to the scrapbook.”

  “Have you still got it?” Zander asked.

  “If I do it’ll be in the box marked bedroom in the Guv’s garage. Why?”

  “You were broken into as well, remember?”

  How could she forget? “He didn’t take anything. Besides I wrote my name on all my postcards before sticking them into the scrapbook with those photo corner things.” She turned the card over. “Can’t see…Oh!” Her knees buckled and bile rose in her throat.

  Zander shoved her into a chair. “Is? You OK?”

  “I’m fine.” But she wouldn’t object to sitting down for a moment. She pointed to the top left-hand corner. The beginning of her name, rubbed out, but still visible, peeked from behind the sticker with the poem on.

  DI Holmes picked up the envelope. “Posted three days ago.”

  “Is he doing all this to get my attention?” she wondered aloud. “Because he’s certainly got it. Anyone would think I’m a target here.”

  “You are. One of many.” Zander looked at the clock. “We need to get to our nine-thirty appointment. Can we get back to this when we return?”

  “Yes. Go.” DI Holmes picked up the card. “I’ll get these to the lab whilst you’re out.”

  Isabel trudged from the room.

  In the hallway Zander turned. “Don’t you want to come? I can go alone and pick the footage up. I just thought you might like some fresh air.”

  She nodded. “I’m coming.”

  ~*~

  At the gallery, Zander parked as close to the door as he could get. “I’ll take the lead.”

  “Then I’ll be the strong, silent one.”

  He smirked. “You? Silent? Are you trying to make it rain?”

  She raised an eyebrow and mimed zipping her lips closed, followed by pretending it was raining.

  “It won’t last. Come on, fish face.”

  She playfully hit him and scowled.

  Zander smirked and headed inside, holding the door open for her. “Wait here a sec.”

  Isabel nodded. She pointed to the paintings on the far wall and headed across the room.

  Zander went to the desk. “Hi. DS Ellery. Mr. Vixen was to leave some discs for me to collect.”

  “One moment.” The woman rose and headed to the internal office.

  Zander glanced over at Isabel, hiding a grin as she took sneaky photos of Lost Love, probably to compare with the postcard when they got back.

  Farrell rounded the counter to stand beside him. “DS Ellery. Here are the discs. That is all the footage we have.”

  “Thank you. One question, about that painting over there.”

  “The one that Izzy is looking at?”

  Zander jerked his head in agreement. “Yes. Both you and the artist said it was commissioned, yet like the Ten Commandments ones it’s on sale. Who commissioned it?”

  “I don’t know. It was to be displayed here and listed as for sale. I have the paperwork in a folder somewhere.”

  “Please dig it out and fax it over to me.” Zander handed over a card. “The office number is on there.”

  “Sure.” Farrell took a pile of envelopes from the postman. “Thank you.” He turned to sort it.

  Zander put the discs into his pocket and glanced at Isabel. “Let’s go.” He began to head to the door.

  “Sergeant, there’s a letter here for Izzy.”

  Isabel’s eyes widened and she pointed to her chest.

  Zander ignored the temptation to roll his eyes at her still playing dumb.

  Farrell held it out. “I would bring it over, but I don’t want to get arrested.”

  Zander put on gloves as he crossed the room to collect the envelope. He frowned at the oh-so-familiar printed handwriting.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No. Standard procedure.” He strode over to Isabel and handed her the envelope. “Say nothing and keep moving,” he muttered.

  Isabel slid the letter into her bag and followed him to the car. Once inside, she withdrew the brown envelope and studied it. All trace of colour vanished. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Or it could be another red herring. Either way I’m tanking it back to work. Open it there, not here.”

  “Tanking?” she asked.

  “Speeding.”

  ~*~

  Isabel sat at her desk; the rest of the squad gathered around in what was now a familiar routine. She donned a pair of gloves and opened the envelope. She pulled the postcard out. It showed a child’s play park. Green grass, swings, slide, roundabout, and a basketball hoop. She turned the card over and froze.

  I AM THE LORD YOUR GOD. YOU SHALL NOT STEAL. 5-19

  16

  Horror skewered Isabel to the chair. It hadn’t even been a week. “What’s the eighth commandment painting?”

  Zander pulled out the file with the postcards. “It’s called Abduction. It depicts a child being stolen or kidnapped.”

  “Guess that fits in with thou shalt not steal.” She shoved the card into an evidence bag.

  “So, we cross list all those on the list with people with a record or on the registry.” DI Holmes turned. “Harry?”

  “On it, boss.”

  Zander frowned. “Are we missing something vital here?”

  Isabel pulled over her pink notepaper. “So far we have this. All the girls have long dark hair, all are Christians or have attended St. Crispin’s church. They all wear necklaces that they never take off. They are all down to attend New Wine week two and went to Keswick three years ago.” She silently added a ‘like me’ to every single statement. “By the way, I’m not going to New Wine this year. I rang on Saturday and cancelled. I’ve lost the money I paid, but never mind. Guv, if you could cancel my leave for that week, I’d be much obliged.”

  “Why?” Zander asked.

  “Don’t want to go,” she muttered. She tapped the paper, not wanting a song and dance over her decision. “They all had a break-in between Jan
uary and March, but nothing was taken. Zander and I spoke to about half the girls shortly before they died.”

  DI Holmes looked at her. “You said earlier that you felt targeted. Why?”

  “The Slayer is sending the postcards to me—this one via the art gallery. As if he knew I’d be there this morning. He killed Gran and Mr. T—”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Zander interrupted.

  Isabel shot him a withering glare. “They were killed with poison hemlock. Unless that is now the weapon of choice for every Tom, Dick, or Harry in town, and we have several people running around Headley Cross using it, then yes, the Slayer killed them.”

  Harry grinned. “Hey, does that mean I’m on the suspect list as well as Zander?”

  DI Holmes shook his head.

  Isabel looked back at the card. “Even if he’s not doing it intentionally, it’s personal now.”

  The phone rang and Zander grabbed it. “DS Ellery.” He paused. “We’ll be right there.” He hung up. “Two kids found a body by the river.”

  Isabel pulled out her phone and took a photo of the postcard.

  “Is, let’s go. Now.”

  ~*~

  Isabel spun as she got out of the car at the riverside. “Don’t see a play area.”

  “It’s farther down the river, but I can’t park there.” He started walking to where several police officers stood.

  “Something’s not right,” Isabel repeated looking at the playground when they reached it. This just felt so wrong.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s not here. The swings are the wrong colour and there’s no basketball hoop.”

  A uniformed officer strode to meet them. “DS Ellery?”

  “Yes.” Zander produced his ID. “This is DC York.”

  “The coroner is already here. He asked for you.”

  Zander nodded. “We’ll go find him.”

  Isabel walked slowly to the tented area, making sure she walked on the slabs set out for them. It wasn’t the Slayer. He wouldn’t make a mistake like this. “Arend, what have we got?”

  “Nasty one,” Arend replied. He glanced up. “Not the Slayer. The MO is wrong. And before you ask, it’s not even a copycat. Come take a look.” He moved to one side.