The High Priestess (The Darkest Desires Series Book 1)

by N. M. Brown

  McQueen was so entranced he automatically found himself nodding. Numbers, antiques, a game of hide and seek… how had he not heard of this case? “So, what did they mean?”

  “The numbers? Nothing?” Benny slapped the back of the chair like he’d delivered the punch line. “No one could figure them out. And over time, more and more of these gifts would pop up; ten, twelve, fifteen, always to different people, always appearing from nowhere.” Benny took a breath and it was like he was building up from the big climax despite McQueen being the only audience member. “Then they started to die.”

  “Die?” McQueen stupidly found himself saying, so he cleared his throat and tried not to sound like aninquisitivefive-year-old. “The people who’d received gifts?”

  Benny shook his head, pleased as punch that McQueen was playing along. “Not that the Detectives could see at first. Random people; people with no connections. First, they’d go missing, and then they’d turn up six days later, on the dot, dead. Gruesome too, like this one you have now; eyelids gone, tops of their eyes burned away, blood crusting their skin. They’d been starved, dehydrated, shat-themselves head to foot. Of course, after the first few murders and the Detective’s started asking the right questions, they found that the first people to die were the first to get gifts. Months and months ago they got them; threw them out in the trash. Spouses and loved ones only remembered when asked ‘Did Joe Blogs ever find something that didn’t belong to them. Something that didn’t belong to any of you?’.”

  “What happened to this kid?” McQueen did the quick maths in his head, over a decade ago and in his teens, he’d be late twenties, early thirties… It was unlikely if not too hopeful that this Gift-Giver was their murderer, but if he’d escaped jail? Never been caught… “Did they catch him?”

  “Yes.” Snapped Hale, angry as ever. “As we will this killer who isn’t a serial murderer. Now go file your paperwork Benny, and you,” Hale pointed at McQueen, “Find me Mrs. Farrows address. We’ll go interview her at home tomorrow; see if she lets anything slip thinking she’s in a safe environment.”

  McQueen swallowed hard but twisted back to his computer screen, annoyed that once more he’d somehow disappointed Hale. He couldn’t help it though when his eyes flicked back to Benny, who looked pissed he’d lost his adoring crowd. His mind ticked over the possibility… “Is there anyway the Gift-Giver is behind this Hale? The method of killing might have changed, but if he’s grown up, escaped or been released from jail…?”

  “The kid is dead McQueen.” Hale answered in a hard undertone, not removing his eyes from his screen. “It’s nice to pin all the bad in the world on just a few, but the world an’t like that. You havemurderers who are put away or killed and then someone else will take their place.”

  McQueen sobered at that. It was true; the idea that evil acts were only ever acted upon by the evil at heart was believed by too many. McQueen knew from his past alone that the good and decent people of God’s Earth could just as easily do the most unspeakable things.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The shrill sound of a desk phone cut through the air just as McQueen picked up his coat to go back to his B&B. They had little to no success tracking down any information on Dwight and Mrs Farrows was being as cagy as a cat. McQueen’s good heart wanted to put it down to heartbreak and lost, but his head and Hale agreed something was amiss. They were packing up for the night, both needinga solid night of sleep before hitting it all again tomorrow. However, someone had other ideas.

  “Detective Hale.” McQueen watched his partner answer, looking for any sign of bad news. “Cassi? Why are you calling so late….? Yes, it is late; you do tend not to notice.”

  There was a softness to Hale’s voice that would have made McQueen’s Nana smile and start to giggle. Both Cassidy and Hale always worked to the very best of themselves – so similar to each other - McQueen almost wondered why they’d not gotten together before.

  “You have my report?” Rubbing his hand down his face, Hale was suddenly alert and awake. “Send it over. McQueen and I can look it over tonight.” McQueen perked at his name, hopefully for more information on the case, but the confused look on Hale’s face made him pause. Sitting back down, McQueen picked up his own desk phone, connecting the call.

  “No, no it’s not ready… not the full report-, I mean… Yes, I’ve completed the preliminary report but… well I think you should come down and take a look. This case is unusual.” McQueen heard Cassi say, her voice a bubbling mess, probably due to the lack of sleep.

  “Cassi…” Hale paused. “Is everything alright?” Cassi had a stomach hard as nails and she’d seen a body or two.

  “Yes, I ….” But Cassi paused, her breathing hitched. “I’m alright Jackson, but… really; I think this case just took a turn for the serious.”

  “Cassi, it’s a murder. It’s always serious.”

  “I know Jackson, I know, these poor men… I think the killer had more to say then meets that eye. There is a lot to discuss and I’d like to do it while its fresh.”

  Hale looked to McQueen who was already grabbing his coat. “We’re on our way.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Hale drove and despite the late time of night, there were a few people milling in the town. It was old-timey, with ancient cobbled streets and even older homes. Squat doors open to low ceilings and drafty windows made of diamond panes. Shop fronts that had never changed sold the basic food like it always had, not to be driven out by the super stores built a few miles down the road. At night, refurbished gas lights lined the street and floral hanging baskets hung off either side. It was like stepping into the past.

  The police station was in the centre of town and a few hundred years ago it would have been one of the first things to be built. The hospital however, had taken a while, and though it still had large stone work, a gargoyle or two, it was on the outer edges of Rippling. Large in size, it was far too big for their little town but once upon a time it catered to every village for miles around. Now though, even the locals tended to go for the newer, modern hospitals. Nevertheless, it was where the deceased ended up, whether they liked it or not.

  Thus, The Finvarra Peoples Hospital was tucked away in a rocky outcrop to the west of Rippling. Ominously sat on top of the hill, it wasn’t hard to see why people didn’t prefer it, but even as the two Detectives arrived, people were ferrying in and out the doors.

  Cassi and the morgue were down in the basement. It was newish with some of the instruments being second hand, but it was also compact with only enough room for fifteen bodies. Any more than that and the cadavers would be stuck in the hall, slowly rotting. “Cassidy?” Hale called walking through the cold stainless-steel doors.

  “Ah, Detectives. You made it.” The Doc spoke from beneath a plastic face mask that held a touch on top. She looked up as they arrived, blinding them. “Let me just put Mr Cavendish on ice.” She pulled a clear plastic sheet over the pale dead body of an older gentleman, who currently had his lungs in a cold metal bowl. McQueen blanched at the sight of them before moving beyond the door way.

  “What’s this: evil spouse? Entitled heirs? Angered gardener?” Hale guessed. McQueen took in the neatly folded Armani Suit, platinum plated Bentley watch and imported Italian loafers. All the items belonged to the deceased, so Hale was correct guessing the man was once rich.

  “Nope. The bastard went by heart attack.” Cassi snorted as she removed and threw her contaminated gloves in the bin. Face guard pushed up, her voice was no longer muffled. “But his sagging ex-wives and snooty children demand different. ‘He’s too young’ they keep calling, ‘It was foul play!’ No one wants to believe this eighty-seven-year-old died of natural causes. The family doesn’t want the – and I quote –‘gold diggingfloozy to get all his money’, despite her being sixty-nine, and the fact she’s the only one that’s been down here to see him!” Cassi let out an exasperated sigh. “This is my second autopsy on the poor man, as well as the one done before me, by the f
amily mortuary. We both claimed the same C.O.D.” Gazing at the dead man, Cassi was oblivious to the two Detectives. “I wished they would leave you in peace my dear.”

  “A-hum.” Hale coughed discreetly, “As sad as that is Cassi, what about our open case? What did you need us down here for?”

  “Ah, of course of course.” Bustling over, Cassi quickly donned some new latex gloves and passed some on to Hale, while McQueen had gathered his own. Pulling back the white sheet laid over each victim McQueen saw the perfect ‘Y’ incision made across Dwight’s pale, pristine chest. He had the sudden, cold notion it was brutal to cut up what was once so perfect. He frowned at his own thoughts. “I’ve completed the autopsy,” Cassi began, her white sneakers squeaking on the floor. “The two males died at approximately the same time. Mr. Farrows aged 38 and our young Dwight is around the age of 16. Dwight has the expected signs of living on the streets: poor nutrition, poor muscle definition, broken nails and signs of abuse; old breaks, bones bruised.” Cassi sighed sadly. “He had less track marks on his arms than most street kids, but he was well on his way to collapsed veins and ruptured heart valves. His toxicity screening isn’t back yet, but I’ll expect there to be trace amounts of some narcotic.”

  “No sign of the killer?”

  Cassi shook her head at Hale’s question. “No, not of the traceable variety yet. However, after further examination I found two head wounds that would have knocked them unconscious. Incapacitated, I suspect the killer could have done anything with them.” Pausing she looked over at Mr. Farrows. “Because we found them over the river, I would suspect the killer dragged them through the water, washing away any trace evidence too.”

  “Damn.” Hale muttered, “We could have done with better news.” He said more to himself, but McQueen saw the sudden flush of red that overtook Cassi’s cheeks.

  “We’ve worked with less.” McQueen interjected, trying, if not a little, to make Cassi feel better.

  “We’ve never had two bodies mutilated in such a way.” Hale snapped back, still oblivious to Cassi’s discomfort. “Every minuscule bit of evidence, every clue will help us catch this maniac. We need all the help we can get.”

  Turning to her right, Cassi began again, keeping her chin low and her hair, loose from being tied back, swung into her face. “Mr. Farrows is of average build and height while a lot of weight around the waist is due to drinking. Otherwise he seems to have had a good nutritious diet and no signs of drug use. His liver was two or three years away from becoming useless and he used to be a smoker. Otherwise nothing significant to note.” Looking at Hale, Cassi swallowed. “Dwight had malnutrition causing his bone’s to be weak which explains the fractures and breaks I found in his x-ray. That’s all I can tell you about the lives they led before their deaths. Their cause of death is more complex however.”

  “Complex?” McQueen repeated. “So, do you know cause of death? It wasn’t the blow to the head?” McQueen had hoped they’d had such a swift departure, but his gut told him otherwise.

  “Yes,” Cassi answered, her voice wavering slightly. Moving to the foot of each autopsy table, she lifted the white sheet from the bottom up, showing the victims lower extremities; from feet to hips. “Both men died from exsanguinations. As we feared, the mutilation of their legs was done perimortem and would have been-… would have been very painful. I can tell due to the bruises around their wrists, they were bound and hung, while they were torn apart from beneath. I have no doubt… it wasn’t quick.” Clearing her throat, Cassi continued. “What I wanted to show you was this.” Pulling close to Dwight’s pelvis, Hale, McQueen and the Doc all studied the creamy curve of bone jutting off the table. McQueen tried not to, but he couldn’t help but glance at the boy’s crotch. His poor testicles were mincemeat and his private parts… well, McQueen was sure it had probably been bigger, and didn’t look like a thrown-up hotdog.

  “Are those...?” Hale breathed drawing McQueen back to what he was meant to be looking at.

  “Yep, if your dentition is as good as mine.” Cassi answered pulling back while Hale scribbled notes quickly.

  “Wait…” McQueen stumbled, “Dentition, that’s...?”

  “Teeth young grasshopper.” Cassi answered. “These poor men both had teeth marks all over their lower extremities.”

  “You mean… Human teeth?” McQueen felt his stomach roll and his vision went dizzy. Cannibalism… holy heaven….

  “No, you dummy.” Hale growled. “Canine.” McQueen huffed a laugh at his own foolishness but coughed quickly when no one joined him. He had no doubt Hale had already thought about checking the pounds, the vets and all the pet shops.

  “A dog did all this?” McQueen asked, rubbing the back of his head.

  “Dogs. Plural.” Cassi stated, rolling the white sheets back down the bodies, first covering Dwight, then Mr. Farrows. “I’d say a fair few to chew through two bodies. They ate, ripped, and tore their way through skin, muscle, tendons, as well as getting very close to the liver and other organs. I would suspect that by being hung, their vital organs and anything that could have killed them quickly was kept out of reach.” Cassi shivered at the thought, but keeping a professional face, she continued to deduce. “Canines will go for the kill. They aim for the neck or an artery so’s to kill the prey quickly without a struggle. Keeping the victims suspended kept them alive longer. The torture they would have felt...” She paused, looking over the white sheets. “These poor men. What they must have gone through.” At that point, the Doc was purely talking to herself, but Hale still took notes.

  “Could you tell?” McQueen asked, trying to win back points for the human teeth remark, “What type of dog it was, or an exact number?”

  Drawn out of her thoughts, Cassi looked over the bodies again. “I can try, but it was quite a ferocious attack…” She trailed off. “It would be difficult, but I can try. I’ll also call a friend from up north; see if she can investigate the bite marks. She may be able to tell what breed of dog it was.”

  “Thank you, Cassi.” Hale nodded, tucking his notes away. “Anything else?”

  “No.” Cassi answered sadly. “I thought you’d like to inspect the damage yourself, like you used to.” She said to Hale, smiling slightly but quickly looked away. “It’s so odd to use dogs.” She remarked, covering.

  “Odd is good.” Hale answered, not looking up. In fact, even as he spoke he was backing up towards the door. “Odd means it’s more likely to be traceable.”

  “Plus, it wouldn’t be the first or the oddest thing we’ve come across in a case, wouldn’t you say Hale?” Cassi smiled softly, but Hale didn’t comment and, to McQueen’s surprise, wouldn’t even look at the Doctor. Instead he nodded again before he walked out only flicking a finger to indicate McQueen should follow.

  “Right. Thank you, Cassi.” McQueen said for the both of them before following. He watched as Cassi walked off into her office, a pokey room with a desk a filing cabinet and one trash bin. She only waved over her shoulder in response as she booted up the battered PC, the loading sound bouncing around the small room. But that didn’t matter. McQueen still saw it. The slight crumple of pain across her face. Hale could be a real bastard.

  IV

  Echo stretched in the morning light. Mid-morning really. Late afternoon if you were going to be picky. After she awoke, Echo contemplated on what Archer might tell her to do with regards to the situation. After only a quick think, she was sure his only advise would be, ‘Keep them occupied. Keep them out’. Which really meant, do nothing and allow the police-force of greater Rippling to trip over their own feet. They were incompetent like that.

  She’d recognized Detective Hale when he’d arrived but hadn’t said anything. It was unsurprising he didn’t recognize her. She had only been involved in one case and he hadn’t been invited in on it. Thus, they’d never interacted, and he’d become a change man since then. She remembered him full of focus and drive, running around the station solving cases. The man she saw this morning
was broken and tired. Tired of life no doubt. Echo didn’t blame him. Human life sucked.

  Rolling out of bed, she walked down to the shower tucked away in the corner of her room, loving the feeling of the heat scorching her back. By the time she was dressed and ready, the officer that had succumbed to Samantha’s thrall and happily waltzed into her bed in the middle of the day had come to his senses. His clothes were no longer on the floor while his wedding band had been plucked back up from the bedside table. Echo had only a fleeting thought of what he might tell his wife when he returned home suddenly jobless, and without a scrap of dignity… but then it was just fleeting.

  “Mother Fucker!” Echo screamed in the empty apartment as a streak of black pounced on her feet from the shadows. Wilson, her cat, his sleek black coat making him invisible in the dim apartment, was a beast. He scrambled up her pant leg, biting and scratching as he went despite her swatting at him. Most nights the only way Echo knew he was there was when his eyes became iridescent in a flash of light. She didn’t feed him, nor had she ever treated him like a pet. Wilson was an alley cat with a mansion to crash in. His viciousness and wild antics were one of the reasons she’d kept him in the first place. That and he’d eaten his siblings to say alive when tossed onto the streets in a box, earning him a gold star in Echo’s books. Grabbing him hard by the scruff of the neck, Echo flung the howling fur ball across the room. He bounced over the bed and rolled into a large, oversized plant that occupied a corner. Echo didn’t even look to see if he would get up. Tougher things had tried to kill him than a room toss.