by M K Farrar
The Gathering Man
DI Erica Swift Thriller
Book Seven
M K Farrar
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE GATHERING MAN
First edition. September 15, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 M K Farrar.
Written by M K Farrar.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Gathering Man (A DI Erica Swift Thriller, #7)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
About the Authors
Get a free copy of ‘Twice the Lie’ when you sign up to M K Farrar’s newsletter
mkfarrar.com
Chapter One
The girl stood beneath the trees with her face upturned to the night sky.
Between the silhouettes of branches—the last of autumn’s leaves clinging resolutely—a few pinpricks of white broke up the dark. She wished there were more stars. It would have been easier to picture herself spinning among them rather than all that endless black. Because it was endless, wasn’t it, if she believed what the books and the scientists said? It was too big for her to consider. Except she didn’t believe what the scientists said. There was more up there than endless space and stars...there had to be or else what was the point in all of this?
Fear clutched her heart, but she willed it away. She was doing the right thing, an important thing. But it was hard not to be scared. It wasn’t so much the ‘what came next’ question that frightened her—she’d been reassured about that part many times before tonight. It was more a fear of the pain. There would be no escaping that part. A blade cutting skin was going to hurt—and hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced before.
Upon learning her fate, she’d practised a few times by taking one of the kitchen knives and holding it to her wrist. She’d gritted her teeth and forced herself to press harder, until she’d stopped with a gasp and a rush of adrenaline. Even that had been painful, and she hadn’t even broken the skin, only left a red mark.
At least she wasn’t alone. Her people were with her, and she reminded herself that she was doing this for them. She’d see them all on the other side, and they would all run to her and hug her and tell her how proud they were of her.
Ever since the night it had happened, she’d known nothing but shame, and this was her way of cleansing herself. She would be born anew in a different form and could start again. Any of the others would have snatched this opportunity up in a heartbeat, and she was honoured that she was the one who’d been chosen.
A male voice came from behind her. “It’s time, Stacey.”
She sucked in a steadying breath. “I’m ready.”
Was she? Her heart hammered so fast it seemed to fill her whole body, drumming against the inside of her ribs and vibrating out through her skin. Even her head was full of it, a whooshing in her ears like horses’ hooves galloping through water. Her vision grew grey at the edges, and a fresh dart of panic went through her.
You don’t have to do this. Just run.
But she couldn’t. If she ran, she’d be letting everyone down, and then they’d all hate her, and she’d be alone all over again.
She’d let him down. That would be the worst of it. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes, the way he’d touch her chin and shake his head.
This was His will.
Singing rose around her, and she closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in their voices. She’d hear more of that soon, but even sweeter, the loveliest thing she’d ever heard. And she’d never again be lonely or fear pain.
“It will be over quickly,” he reassured her as he moved around, circling her. “You’re being so brave. Everyone is grateful for your sacrifice, Stacey.”
He was close, she sensed his presence filling the space right before her.
“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me while it’s happening.”
She did, opening them to fix on those in front of her. Eyes she loved, swimming with adoration. But he hadn’t loved her enough to choose one of the others, to have them go in her place.
“I...I’m not sure.”
Where had those words come from? They’d escaped her lips before she’d even known she was going to say them.
Something changed in his eyes, a flash of anger. “Don’t question me, Stacey. You know what will happen to you if you doubt. What happens to nonbelievers?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said in a rush. Was it too late now, had she already cursed herself?
“Shush, it’s okay.”
He touched her cheek, and she leaned into his palm, holding back her tears.
He continued, “We’re all allowed moments of doubt, but it’s what comes next that is important. Your actions mean the most now, Stacey.”
A tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek.
“Come here.”
He pulled her into his arms, and she sank against him gratefully. The faintest, flittering hope that maybe he’d save her now went through her mind. Maybe he’d decided he couldn’t stand to let her go.
Something sharp pinched the inside of her elbow, and she gasped and glanced down.
She blinked at him in shock. It didn’t hurt as much as she’d thought it would. That was a relief.
“It’s because I love you that I’m allowing you this honour, Stacey. You understand that, don’t you? I’d never have picked you if you didn’t mean so much to me.”
Her heartbeat slowed noticeably from the galloping rush it had been. Now it was like she was hearing it in slow motion, each thu-thump drawing out the distance until the next. The world pulled away at the edges. The only reason she was still upright was because of his arm wrapped around her.
Dying, she was dying.
He lowered her carefully to the grass. Were the others still around them, watching? Were they still singing? She wasn’t sure she could hear anything anymore, except the thud of blood in her ears which was gradually decreasing.
She caught the flash of metal in the moonlight, a lethally sharp blade as he stood over her.
The pain was real this time. Her thoughts drifted, and she was unable to grab one and pin it down long enough to give it any real consideration. She was vaguely aware of the others moving closer.
The pain faded, replaced by a coldness that went right down to her core. When would she ascend? When woul
d she become something else, like she’d been promised? Surely, it should be happening by now.
Her vision faded, and all she faced was nothing. The sky, black and endless stretched above her, and she drifted there after all.
Chapter Two
The body was discovered beneath an old oak tree in Springfield Park, her arms and legs stretched out as though she’d been caught midpoint making snow angels.
Though she appeared to be a teenager, her outfit of a long white smock spoke of a different era. She wasn’t tied down or pinned by anything, but instead looked like she’d simply lain down in the park for a rest.
Technically the park was located in North London, but since it fell under Hackney borough, this was DI Erica Swift’s case.
“We haven’t identified the victim yet,” Sergeant Mark Coggins said as he stood over the girl, “but I’d estimate her to be in her mid-to-late teens. There are no obvious causes of death, which makes those things even stranger.”
Erica didn’t have to ask what he meant when he referred to ‘those things’. Just the sight of them sent a chill running through her that had nothing to do with the early October weather.
Marks had been cut into the girl’s skin. Circles and lines grouped together in the same pattern, each around one inch in length. They were on her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, and down her arms and legs. Were they also on the parts of her skin hidden by the long item of clothing?
Erica bit her lower lip and shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, thank God, but I’d take a guess at those marks being ritualistic of some kind.” She lifted her voice and turned her head to address the Scenes of Crimes Officer. “Make sure we get some close-up photographs of them.”
He nodded and leaned over the body in his protective gear, snapping pictures of the cuts.
Other crime scene officers moved carefully around the scene, picking up and bagging anything of interest—an old Coke can, cigarette butts, and trace materials such as hair, blood, and clothing fibres.
Erica’s partner, DS Shawn Turner, addressed Coggins. “Any sign of the blade that was used to make those cuts?”
The sergeant shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Were they done pre or postmortem?” Erica wondered out loud.
Coggins clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “Hard to know until after the postmortem. Might be that the cuts weren’t even done here, and they happened before the victim was brought to this location.”
“Any signs of sexual assault?”
The sergeant took a couple of steps around the body. “None that are obvious. She’s still wearing her underwear, and there are no signs of physical trauma or bruising to the insides of her thighs.”
It was a small blessing, but one Erica hoped the victim’s family, whoever they might be, could hold on to.
There was blood on the hems and collar of the smock, but not on the main body of the dress, which made Erica think the cuts had only been done on the exposed parts of her skin, otherwise, they would have seen more bloodstains on the rest of the material where the blood would have seeped through.
With a gloved hand, she lifted the hem of the dress.
I’m sorry, she said silently to the girl. It felt like such an invasion of her privacy to raise the skirt to check beneath when there were all these people around. As she’d suspected, the cuts were only on the exposed skin of the victim’s arms, legs, and face.
“Was this how she’d dress normally?” Admittedly, it had been a long time since Erica had been a teenager, but she’d certainly never worn anything like this—not even to bed. “Did she put this on herself, or did whoever kill her do it?”
“Are we assuming murder then?” Shawn said. “Not suicide?”
“If the cuts happened postmortem, it can’t be suicide, though we won’t know for sure until after the postmortem. Gut instinct tells me someone did this to her, but you’re right. Until we know the exact cause of death, she may well have done this to herself. Cases of self-harm, especially among teenage girls, is on the rise, though this would be an extreme example.” She crouched to get a closer look. “The cuts are all fairly superficial, so I don’t think she could have died from blood loss.”
“Plus, there doesn’t appear to be enough blood on the ground,” Shawn threw in.
“It may have seeped into the earth, or else she was moved. The question is, how did she die? I can’t see any strangulation marks or stab wounds, or any obvious cause of death.”
“Drug overdose,” he suggested.
“It’s a possibility. The pathologist will run a tox screen on the body. That might give us more answers, but for the moment I’d say those marks were done when she was either dying or already dead, and that someone else did this to her.” She let her gaze roam across the ground around the body, looking for signs of a struggle. The grass didn’t appear to be disturbed like it would have been if she’d been digging her heels in while being dragged and she didn’t see any grass or mud on her fingers either, where she might have tried to claw herself away. Maybe she had been moved here when she was either dead or unconscious.
Erica glanced up at Coggins again. “Who found the body?”
“The park ranger, George Wiles.” Coggins nodded over to where a man in his sixties sat on the other side of the outer cordon on a bench next to another uniformed officer. “He found her at seven forty-five this morning when he was doing his usual rounds. Called it in immediately.”
“Have you run his name through the system?”
“Yes, and this is where it gets interesting”—he corrected himself—“more interesting. He did time twenty-two years ago for assault.”
“What kind of assault?”
“Beat his wife of sixteen years almost to death.”
“Jesus.” She peered over at where the weatherworn, kindly-looking man sat with his head in his hands. “Just shows, you never can tell, though I wonder why anything surprises me anymore. Has he had any convictions since his release?”
“No, nothing more than a speeding fine.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her fingers against her thigh. “Even so, I think it might be best to question him down at the station. Just because he hasn’t been charged with anything since his release doesn’t mean he’s put his violent side away forever.”
“This was clearly carefully thought out,” Shawn said. “This isn’t a crime of passion. He didn’t take things too far and then phone the police in a panic.”
“Maybe he wanted to be involved. He might have planned this so he could watch us investigating the case. Killers often like to engage with the police, trying to make out they’re smarter than we are.”
Shawn’s words took Erica back to a previous case where the killer had pretended to be one of the murderer’s victims. She’d made the mistake of getting too close to him, believing him to be a decent person. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“You’re right, and currently, he’s the only witness we have.”
Erica straightened and took in her surroundings. There was nothing else but grass and trees where they were standing. Further away, there were facilities such as a tennis court and a children’s playground, and beyond those ran the River Lea. A small horseshoe-shaped marina was the home to a number of narrow boats. The park wasn’t huge, but it was big enough for someone to hide in, with paths that crisscrossed between the grassy areas and trees.
“Why here?” she asked. “What reason did they have to come here and do this in such a public area?”
Shawn raised his eyebrows. “Trying to play with us? Show how smart they are to be able to kill someone out in the open like this and not get caught?”
“Not get caught yet,” she corrected him. “In which case we might be looking for someone who is confident and cocky.”
She glanced back over at the man on the bench. It didn’t seem as though it would be him, but again, he might be a good actor. Psychopaths and sociopaths often portrayed one version of t
hemselves to the world when they were someone completely different in private.
She turned her attention back to Coggins. “What about security cameras?”
“There aren’t any nearby, though there are cameras both down at the tennis courts and on the opposite side of the park where the café is located. Unfortunately, there are numerous different entrances to the park, including a couple of bridges over the river, and it’s unlikely we’re going to have them all covered by security footage.”
“I want the footage from each one on the perimeter of the park, including the bordering streets and any businesses nearby. She clearly hasn’t been dead long, so this must have happened in the early hours of the morning. That’s going to give us a nice tight window. How did the killer get her here? Did she come here alone? Did she come here willingly? Or did the killer bring her against her will, which would mean he or she most likely would have used a car.” She glanced around again. They were on the southwest quadrant of the park. “If someone brought her here, they wouldn’t have hauled a struggling girl right across the breadth of the park, or if she was already dead or unconscious, they would have had to carry her. I doubt they would have parked at the furthest distance and then carried her, so let’s focus on the roads around this side of the park.”
Coggins nodded in agreement. “I’ve got uniformed officers canvasing the houses surrounding the park in case anyone saw anything, and we’re questioning any residents of the canal boats as well.”
“Good. Hopefully someone will have seen something.”
Erica turned to Shawn. “We need to find out the identity of our victim. Can I put you onto that? Run her prints, and then check recent local misper cases. There’s the chance her family haven’t realised she’s missing yet, or at least haven’t reported it. They might think she’s at a friend’s house or perhaps she makes a habit of staying out.”
Shawn ducked his chin. “On it.”
“Oh, and I want to know what those symbols mean. Run a search and see if we can get a match.”
Erica left them and ducked under the outer cordon. She approached the older man who was still sitting on a bench, accompanied by a uniformed officer. She flashed her ID at the officer.
