The High Priestess (The Darkest Desires Series Book 1)

by N. M. Brown

  A third suspect. Liam Knight. Stalker and crazy if what Echo had said was anything to go by. He’d have to confirm with Ms. Summers, but the guy seemed pretty obsessed with Lizzy. He could have killed her and her clients out of jealousy. Possible, but it was doubtful that Liam would have reason to kill Dwight and Mr. Farrows… unless it was a practice run… but McQueen doubted that too.

  On the other hand, they could have all been paid hits by Maddock, the hit man that was currently at large with half the force looking for him. He had been paid to kill Mr. Farrow, as well as killing and stealing the real Maddock’s identity. But the tech guys couldn’t find a trace of money linking him to Ms. Bowheart or Mr. Primm. Another dead end.

  As for the latest victims, when the officers went around, Mr. Primm’s husband had a very different reaction than Mrs. Farrows. It seemed Mr. Primm was cheating on his husband with a mistress. His husband had spat as he said her name, telling the officers that his husband suddenly claimed bisexuality and needed to test the notion. Six months later he was still testing, but the guy hadn’t paid any hit man. He denied it fervently and had even said if he was going to kill the bastard, he’d do it himself. The tech team had verified that no substantial money had left Mr. Pimm’s joint account. Nevertheless, McQueen had filed it away as a possibility, though unlikely.

  McQueen could only think perhaps they Lizzy could give them a substantial lead? But that came up with its own list of problems. Their third suspect: Echo.

  She knew all the victims and if Ms. Summers was to be believed, had spiked all their drinks with something extra which led to their deaths. Did she do it on purpose? Did she intentionally help them be killed? She could have killed Mr. Farrows and Dwight after drugging them, sneaking out of work to finish them off? If so, she was either an excellent liar and expert in emotions, or does she have multiple people in her back pocket; either helping or working for her. That lead down a scary path: a mass murderer and co-conspirators…? She’d said she’d been working at their estimated time of death and Ms. Summers had collaborated. So, could they both be lying? Working together? Echo had been with him while the second victims had been strung up, and McQueen had seen Ms. Summers working the floor, but he didn’t know where she went after he moved upstairs. Both had alibis that he couldn’t question. But again… how likely was it that they had help?

  Looking through the rusty green bars that speared him and Echo, he watched her promptly ignore him and lie down for a nap. Did mass murderers nap while in the clutches of the police? He’d never seen Echo socialize? He didn’t even know if she had any friends. Really, how likely was she to be able to manipulate others?

  “Queenie, if you’re going to stare I can make the image much more interesting for you? All you got to do is ask.” She hummed out from underneath the arms she’d thrown over her face to block the light. “Of course, it’ll cost you.”

  Very, McQueen thought. It was very likely she could manipulate someone. And yet, his gut said different. There was something they were missing. “No thank you Ms. Headly.” He said while he reluctantly turned away. They were missing something big and McQueen’s gut told him he was walking in the wrong direction to find it.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The drive to where Lizzy and her guests had last been seen – as well as Liam – took a while in the traffic. Sat in the back seat McQueen pondered while Hale drove, his stoic face glaring out the front window. Ramirez sat up front besides him in equal silence. Instead of trying to draw out any kind of conversation, McQueen pulled out a blank pad and a pen. He’d started a train of thought, he’d best finish it.

  First McQueen wrote; Dogs. Cassi hadn’t been able to determine numbers and said they were looking for at least three dogs but wouldn’t rule out four. DNA had shown the breed was closest to a bulldog. They’d tried calling dog homes and animal shelters, but no one had purchased multiple bulldogs. That wasn’t a dead end yet, but across the whole country, it was a huge area to cover so unlikely to lead anywhere. Secondly, he wrote; large base of operations and a large mode of transport. You couldn’t move three bodies and rope and duct-tape in an original Mini Cooper. No one had reported screams apart from the typical domestic violence, so they were isolated. Underground perhaps, or in an old abandoned area. That really allowed for almost half the country side where warehouse ran for miles. Find one that’s lax on their security… Again, no solid leads there. Then he jotted down the next three titles; Prostitute, Mistress and Cheaters. Both deaths had a prostitute, Dwight and Lizzy. Mr. Pimm had a mistress and both men were cheaters. McQueen circled that as something nagged in his mind. Cheaters and dogs. It took him a moment, but quickly recalled Mr. Hellion had said in Ancient India, cheaters had been torn apart by dogs…

  “Hay Hale, I think I’ve got something.” Leaning forwards between the two seats, McQueen wasn’t even sure if Hale was aware of what he’d been doing in the back seat. “Ok, think our killer is using an old Indian punishment for cheaters. It’s said that in ancient times, the cheating spouse would be ripped apart in a public area. We’ve had two cheaters now, as well as prostitutes, who I’m sure weren’t held to a high standard in Ancient India either. Together, all five victims have been found in a public area which suggests this is the pattern the killer is following.”

  McQueen felt his heart beat louder in his chest as he waited for Hale to respond but forced it to slow. “Ancient India?” Hale said, was a tone of scepticism in his voice.

  “Yes… I mean, it’s a far reach, but it makes sense…” McQueen said, feeling a little bit more unsure.

  “Its… plausible,” Hale said, “But we have nothing to suggest Indian beliefs. And we have more hookers than we do cheaters.” Hale argued, but it wasn’t dismissive. It was more like a debate. McQueen realized Hale might want him to fight his corner on this one.

  “It’s just an idea at the moment,” He started with. “It needs work, proof even. Anyone with internet access could use this knowledge.” McQueen didn’t want to lose this idea though. He could feel it, like something perched on his shoulder, telling him he was onto some“. Both men cheated, and not only that, but cheated in Cardinal House.” Cheaters, prostitutes and liars, his mind turned over. Liars, cheats and whores…Both men cheated. McQueen almost ripped through the paper as he wrote his sixth sub heading: The House is the killer’s hunting ground.

  “What is it McQueen?” Hale asked as McQueen had gone silent.

  “I think… I think the killer uses Cardinal House as their hunting ground, not just somewhere to dumb the bodies. I think they find the cheaters and the liars, picks them out from the crowd. Maddock only had pictures from the outside of the House, but you would have to be inside to know who the cheaters were; get close to them. I think that Echo spikes people’s drinks and those who are the most wasted are bumped up the killers list.”

  Hale was following him intently now and Ramirez had turned in his seat to watch McQueen work. McQueen felt like his brain was going a mile a minute and he just had to get this all out. “But what about motivation?” Ramirez asked, prompting McQueen on. “He couldn’t just pluck anyone from the crowd. There has to be a check list of some kind.”

  McQueen looked at his tattered page full of scribbles and sudden thoughts. Motivation? He wrote. “People have killed prostitutes before, believing they were cleansing the streets. Jack the Ripper, in White Chapel was suspected of as much. People have killed cheaters before, more often than not, the betrayed spouse in a fit of rage.” McQueen said.

  “But this was a torture killing.” Hale interjected, still keeping his eyes on the road, but flicked his eyes to the rear-view mirror. “The killer wanted them to suffer over a very long period of time. Why kill two cheaters if you were linked to only one? Throw off the police’s trail? Or prepare to kill someone they knew?”

  McQueen sighed. This was impossible. The suspects they had didn’t fit into every sub heading; each one had a possibility of being the killer but each one had more than enough innocence
. In a court of law, no one would get convicted. He was no closer to knowing who their killer was, and he felt betrayed. His damn gut was telling him they had yet to find the right suspect and that was the final kicker. Maddock, Echo, Liam; they were all possibilities but in one way or another they didn’t fit.

  “Damn it.” He snapped. Ramirez sent him a pitiful smile and turned back to face the front of the car.

  “Don’t bust a chop McQueen.” Hale said, softer than McQueen had ever heard. Looking up again, McQueen came out of his world and watched Hale’s face through the review mirror. “If every case could be solved through logic and following an easy train of thought, we’d be out of a job.”

  “Yer, guess you’re right.” McQueen sighed.

  They were sat in silence again for a few moments until they turned into a narrow courtyard. It had a few parking spaces, empty now and an access path to the converted warehouse behind. “So, this is the address Reese got from the CCTV??”Ramirez asked, un-hooking his seat belt.

  “Who’s Reese?” McQueen found himself asking.

  “Reese? The techy.” Ramirez answered. Hale pulled into a space and parked the jeep while scouting the area for anything suspicious.

  “You know his name??” McQueen slapped himself looking to Hale for equal shock, but found none. “Why didn’t you say?” Stepping onto the street, the three men gathered and looked to the studio Lizzy rented monthly.

  “You didn’t ask.” Ramirez shrugged like he hadn’t just blown McQueen’s mind and followed Hale to the front entrance.

  “Liam Knight was last seen going down that alley after the three victims.” Hale said. He looked back down the empty loading dock, before hunkering in his coat. “We got his face off a CCTV camera and Ms. Headly identified him as a stalker. You two check out the Warehouseconversion, I’ll canvas the area for any information. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a witness.”

  “Sounds like a promising lead sir.” Ramirez said.

  “Yes. Yes, it does.” Hale gave them both a nod and they parted ways. Almost as an afterthought, McQueen sent up a quick prayer for a little bit of luck, anything they could get. Looking through the cars back window, he gave his note pad one last fleeting look before turning with Ramirez too the path.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Two, who McQueen now knew as Reese, in his normal perky manner had thoroughly enjoyed telling McQueen how he had found Lizzy’s ‘work’ address. After following the three victims down one of the main streets of Rippling’s town, they had stumbled along dark alleyways and around shady corners. Right off the bat, Reese had pointed out they had a tail; Liam Knight who had stayed a few meters behind them. He’d had been a faceless nobody who on the street you wouldn’t have noticed. The three victims sure didn’t as the stumbled from one security camera to the next. However, due to the Reese’s skill they had found the studio leased under a Betty Hilton and they hoped would lead them to Liam Night.

  “So, our stalker, Mr. Night was last seen following the three victims down here.” Ramirez stated as he and McQueen cased the outside of the studio. Large and tall, the warehouse would have once been a granary storage unit, before being outflanked by bigger, stronger companies. Somewhere along the line, it had been converted into rental space’s; studios, storage or serial killer hideouts. It was all incredibly quiet, and they didn’t believe there was anyone inside, but it was best to check for other exits first.

  “Yes. It was clear on the CCTV that he’s had some practice at being a stalker too.” McQueen explained. Liam had been wearing a simple black and grey coat and nothing that drew attention. “He’s wasn’t wearing any flashy clothes, or any expensive jewellery. He’s held a newspaper which he used to block his face from view if they ever came to a stop.”

  “Clever.” Ramirez commented, but allowed McQueen to continue.

  “By early-morning, they turned into another alleyway which Reese discovered is Lizzy’s home-away-from-home. It’s where she takes her clients. It’s a blind alley around to the back of the studio, so giving two exits. Anyone who exits and enters her establishment had two ways on leaving and therefore being unseen.”

  “So, you think something happened to them in there?” Ramirez prompted as they approached the alleyway.

  “Yes. Liam stayed outside for a few hours, - dedicated guy. He was growing twitchy and eventually moved to follow. After that it's harder to see clearly. What we can see, is Liam poking his head around the corner, pausing and then marched down like he’s seen something he doesn’t like. After that all we can pick up is a dark shadow of something falling and then dragged away.” McQueen's gut was quivering again, telling him that shadow was Liam and whoever had knocked him down hadn’t allowed him to get back up.

  By the time they reached the tiny lane, the sun was set behind the tall buildings and the street lights were starting to flicker to life. Both pulling out their flashlight, McQueen and Ramirez began to sweep the street and alley floor. The rough concert hadn’t been repaved in a year or two and the red brick walls were covered on old, faded posters. “McQueen, I’ve got blood.” Ramirez spoke into the darkness, his pinpoint flash light eliminating the ground where he knelt.

  “Same here.” On a soggy newspaper were some red, rusty dots, no bigger than a fifty pence piece. Three large and a dozen small dots with elongated tails, meaning it had been a hard blow. McQueen would guess a strike to Liam’s head, blood splattering on the floor as he crumpled causing the shadow they’d seen on the CCTV. Ramirez had moved further down the passageway, following the drag marks McQueen had also spotted.

  “What do you think?” Ramirez spoke, flash light sweeping from the floor, to a crusty metal door they now stood in front of. The street had been quiet since they had arrived, and not a single car had gone past. No housing was nearby and even the street animals had gone to hide. Too quiet. Stepping beside the door, McQueen gave it a gentle pull. The door, heavy and old, squeaked slightly, but opened with ease and relieved a small hall that lead onwards. Stepping carefully inside, they could see a stairwell going to the second floor and a storage unit Reese said was rented and was clear of any suspicion. Dead ahead, was the entrance to Lizzy’s unit. It had a sliding door made of chucky iron once painted blue, as if to seem cheerful, but now was cracked and rusty. Gently nudging this one too, it groaned, and the wheels of the door-run protested, but it was clear the door wasn’t locked. Both drawing their guns, McQueen stood poised by the door; Ramirez faced it, both ready to breach.

  A silent nod shared, and they spilled through the door, flash lights sweeping left, right, left, and right. “Police! Stay where we can see you.” But as McQueen’s voice echoed around the large empty room, they knew from the stench that hit them, they wouldn’t find anybody. It was the cold chill that slithered down their spine, the rusty, copper tang in their nose and bitter taste that washed over their tongue. Blood. Thick, congealed blood.

  “Mother of Gods Above!” Ramirez coughed, covering his nose and mouth. He staggered backwards but kept his gun raised high. But there was no point. No one was here. No living person, anyway. Breathing through his mouth, deciding the taste was more bearable than the small, McQueen looked for a light switch. He almost wished he didn’t have to turn it on, but he did, and he would.

  Flicking the switch, florescent tubing that ran along the walls and a few that hung from the ceiling blinked on like sleepy drunks. They were harsh yellow lights that were unflattering and cheap. One even remained blinking: on, off, on, off. McQueen thought he was prepared for what he could smell; blood was, after all the life of humanity as the sacrificial blood of Christ. It was what linked humanity closer to the Lord. But there was no humanity in the sight before him. It was so much worse.

  XXII

  C racks ran across the ceiling of her cell as Echo allowed her mind to doze. She was no longer hungry. A kind Officer had brought her a slightly stale sandwich and a drink from a vending machine when she’d yelled of starvation and prison battery. The wee little probatio
nary officer shook from head to toe as he made his offering to her. Echo would have felt empowered, if it hadn’t been for how pathetic he looked. His thick rimmed police hat that shook on his tiny head. Scoffing down the food, she also made use of the toilet quickly, enraged she had to with cameras watching, but still, she’d experienced worse humiliations at the House. This was really nothing.

  She was also blessed with other luxuries in her tiny cell. A two-foot by two-foot window onto nowhere let in no light and no fresh air and an automatic sanitizer dispenser built into the wall should she feel the need to clean. A blanket had been thrown in one corner should she feel cold, but it smelt surprisingly of piss and so in the corner it had remained. Really, it was all the creature comforts should could ever need.

  Relaxing now on the thin, mattress bed, she’d already run out of things to think about, so she allowed her mind to wander to more current problems. She wasn’t the killer, she was more than aware of that and though it would take the Detectives two or more attempts, they would eventually know that too. So, who dun it?