by Dave Lacey
“What if I just wr–”
Rook interrupted him by holding up a hand “Please, don’t tell me anymore. If you tell me, I’ll have to do something with the knowledge, and it might render my heroics tonight pointless.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye. It’s been short and brutal, Mr Rook. Nevertheless, I’m grateful to you.” He offered his hand to Rook, who took it and shook it with a firm grip.
“Detective, you’ll never know how glad I am to see you walk away from here. Just remember my words of warning, and remember also how difficult it’ll be in the coming year to keep it all to yourself. The temptation will be to talk, but I beg you to resist that urge until the time comes to protect your loved ones. When I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.” He smiled, nodded once and walked away into the angry winter night.
Chapter 43
London, England.
Caleb Thomas was currently located within the headquarters of the Church of the Everlasting Covenant. He was terrified to be anywhere else at present. The news had continued to come in regarding the deaths involving the members of his church. First Susan, then Anthony, just terrible news. At first, he had made no connection. But then when Anthony was killed and news of the deaths came to light, the connection was inevitable. He was angry with himself. No, more than that, he was livid. How could he have been so ridiculously trusting? How could he expect people would keep the secret to themselves? Of course they would tell people close to them; of course they couldn’t keep it quiet. He wasn’t angry with them.
Caleb had no family of his own, but he loved his brother, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had now placed him in terrible danger. Richard had told him because they were close, and because, when the time came, he would be able to help Caleb. But Caleb had broken his brother’s trust, and had told others within the church. He should not have said anything. Just this morning he had tried to justify it to himself – they were senior members of his church, they had a right to know what was coming. But secretly he knew, the little voice that always knew, had told him. He had partly wanted to tell them because it was, without doubt, the biggest news any of them would ever hear, that anybody would ever hear, and he wanted to be the one who told them.
He wanted to reveal the secret. Pride. As a man of faith, Caleb really should have known better than to fall prey to an emotion as sinful as pride. It was the one sin people least expected to get them. Worried though he had been about the murders and their true motive, Caleb had started the day as usual with coffee and some pastries, which he had collected from the bakery on the corner of his road. Tucking in to the still warm pastries, he had read The Times, keeping one eye on the clock as he was expecting a couple of church members to pay him a visit later in the morning. It was unusual for him to receive church members at home on a Sunday, but not unheard of.
They wanted to see him to discuss upcoming sermons, and also to run through some plans they had come up with regarding a possible expansion of the church, nationally and potentially internationally. At first, he had tried to put them off, but their talk of expansion had intrigued him. It would do no harm in the future, he thought, for his church to be the church of choice. When it happened, when the secret was revealed to the world, the world would have need of his church and his beliefs.
They would need somebody to lead them through the darkness and once again into the light. He did not consider this conceited or prideful; it was his duty to spread the word of the true gospel, the gospel at the heart of the Church of the Everlasting Covenant. He would not tell his visitors this morning what he had mistakenly told the other members of the church. That had caused enough trouble. He would simply listen to their thoughts and plans, and, if suitable, adapt them to his own needs.
They had arrived just before noon, and he had shown them into the rear lounge to discuss their suggestions. If he was honest, it had been a disappointment. They didn’t really have a plan as such, but rather some ‘blue sky thinking’ they had allowed to get the better of them. There was much talk and very little substance.
He had shown them out just after one o’clock, promising to take their ideas on board, but really just grateful they were leaving. At the very least, they had given him the idea of expansion, one that he had never been in a rush to expound upon till this point. He had then spent the rest of the afternoon considering his next move and preparing his travel kit for the coming week. As there were pods of the church up and down the country, Caleb spent a great deal of his time travelling. As such, he had purchased himself a Mercedes S class from his church coffers – there was little point hoarding the church’s war chest after all. It was his one little vice.
His kit readied and the afternoon light just starting to fade, Caleb had made his way downstairs without turning on any of the downstairs lights. He glanced outside, and was startled to see a man stealthily approaching the rear of his house. Caleb was incensed, and with indignation rising in him he accelerated toward the kitchen and the back door. As he reached the doorway to the kitchen he suddenly froze, his thoughts turning to the events of the previous two weeks, to the murders that had taken place and the reason for them. In a flash, perception washed over him, and he knew beyond doubt that he did not want to be here when that man got into the house. Caleb Thomas was certain he had to make a very sharp exit.
Quickly, he dropped to a crouch, then carefully but briskly he crawled back toward the front of the house. His every sense painfully taut, Caleb heard the back door handle turn behind him. More adrenalin surged through his body, almost causing him to take flight and scream in terror. There was no time to climb the stairs and collect his travel pack; instead he grabbed a jacket from the stand in the hall and reached for his keys in the dish, which always sat on the stand in the hallway. The dish was empty.
He knew he didn’t have much time; the locked door would be no obstacle to the intruder. He had to calm down, think. Where had he last seen his keys? The rear living room, they were in the rear living room. Fighting every instinct he had, his body screaming silently at him to run, Caleb crept into the room and scanned it for his key ring. It was there, on the fireplace. He glided silently across the room, grabbed the keys and turned.
He heard a sharp crack as one of the small panes of glass that made up the top half of the back door was popped through. As he stood in terror, he knew a hand would be reaching through the empty pane searching for the keys that would open the door. Quickly he angled across the room toward the door, still careful not to be seen. As he peered round the edge of the kitchen door, the black gloved hand closed on the key and began to turn it. Caleb decided it was now or never, and a quick dart would serve as well as a slow creep.
He passed the open doorway to the kitchen, hoping his pursuer had been too busy gaining entry to the house to see him, when he heard the lock click and the door handle depress. The time for stealth had passed, and Caleb ran the six steps or so that took him to the front door, the back of his neck prickling with abject terror. He turned the latch and opened the door wide. He knew to turn would be his undoing, and so he stepped with more assurance than he actually felt out of the door and closed it quickly behind him.
Feeling euphoria rush through him, he bolted for the end of the path, simultaneously hitting the door unlock button on his key fob. Caleb had no idea who was behind him, and he didn’t care. He pulled open the driver’s door and jumped into the seat, depressing the locking mechanism as he did so. He pressed the starter button, engaged drive and pulled away from the kerb. Huge waves of relief and nausea washed over him as he realised he had done it. He had escaped. As if to underline the danger he had been in, he saw in his rear view mirror a dark figure stood in the middle of the road, calmly watching him drive away.
***
“Now, Stanley, you’re quite sure you’ve only set up this one email. To be sent tomorrow should you not shut it down?” The colonel spoke in his most fatherly tones, leaning with both hands on the interview table.
> “Yes, sir, I can delete the email as if it never existed. Once I get your assurance and signed documentation that guarantees me a place when you leave.” Stan was playing hardball. He knew it would be easy for them to renege on the deal if he didn’t have it in writing from the highest authority. “Of course, that documentation has to be signed by the PM.” He raised his chin defiantly.
“Now, Stan, we’ve been through this. I’m not sure I can get the PM to sign anything. I said I would try.” He smiled good naturedly at Stan.
“No, I absolutely will not do what you want until I know my place is guaranteed.”
“I’ll do my best, Stanley.” The colonel was doing his best not to lose his temper; this little man was severely testing his patience. He advised Marshall that he was going to try the PM’s office now, and left the room. His adjutant followed him out of the room.
“Does this fucking idiot really think he’s going anywhere other than a watery resting place, sir? Does he really think you’re going to talk to the PM?”
“I don’t know, Walters. Either he’s very smart and playing along with us, and wants his email to be sent, or he’s thick as shit. It’s difficult to know which.” The colonel had documents prepared for such an eventuality, fake of course, but at present he didn’t know whether Stan Marshall would know the difference. If he left it for an hour or so, he could fake the PM’s signature and have the documents faxed from one building to another, as if sent from the PM’s office. He didn’t feel comfortable with this charade, but he had started to run out of options when Stanley wouldn’t play along. The whole scenario was very tenuous.
After a further hour, the colonel had a sheaf of faxed papers in his hand, letter-headed as though they had come from the Office of the Prime Minister. He strode through the warren of linking corridors and stopped at the door to the holding cell, suddenly feeling a trifle nervous. If he didn’t make this work, then they were in serious danger of being exposed, and none of them could afford for that to happen. He knocked and went in.
“Stanley, I have what you asked for. I have a contract signed by the Prime Minister that grants you a place when the time comes. It even details the location you need to travel to and provides a berth for two should there be somebody else you wish to take with you.” He held his breath, but the relieved, and disbelieving, look on Stan’s face confirmed they had a deal.
“Really?” Stanley’s face changed to a look of puzzlement. “How, did they get here so quickly?”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but we’re under pressure time wise, so I took the liberty of having them fax over the papers.” The consternation cleared from Stan’s face.
“No, of course not, that’s absolutely fine. Great.” Stan rubbed his hands together.
Surprisingly, the colonel thought, it really had been that simple. Stanley really was as trusting as a child. For the next ten minutes, the colonel thrashed out the details of the imaginary deal with Stanley, then he led the prisoner to a laptop which had a broadband connection. Naïve as he was, Stanley remained under the impression that all was well and that his privacy really mattered, and so asked them to leave him while he logged into his email.
It would make no difference, as two members of the colonel’s civilian workforce were capturing all of the details Stanley entered, and also setting up a mirror of the entire email account and all of its sub-folders, sent and deleted items, etc. After Stanley had finished, the workers would then go through every item in minute detail, looking for any clue as to whether there was another email address, blog, or social network page that Stanley may have been involved in and that might have been used to divulge information.
They would hold him for another couple of days to see if anything happened out of the ordinary. If it didn’t, Stanley would then be disposed of along with his fake contract. They would make sure he could be found, and in so doing would eliminate any risk to the enterprise. The colonel was not proud of this, but there was simply no alternative.
Several minutes later, the colonel was advised that the deed had been done, even before Stanley stood up and told them himself. They took Stanley back to his cell, and once there the colonel advised him they would need to keep him there a little longer. Stan baulked at this and accused him of going back on his deal, but the colonel assured him it was simply a little insurance and that he would be released just as soon as they thought the threat had passed.
Chapter 44
The journey south was a long one for the two detectives, and as Jack was driving Smithy had the dubious honour of calling Siobhan Mullins again. The call went better than either of them expected, probably because she hadn’t had to speak to Jack, and without much posturing she provided them with the telephone number and home address of Caleb Thomas. Smithy thought his job had been made easier when he expressed his concern that Thomas’s life might be in danger. Whatever, it had done the trick. As they drove, the chat dried up, so Jack fired up some music.
“Is this your mate’s label again?”
“It is.”
“What’s it called again?”
“His name is Ruf Dug. His label is RufKutz. Why do you ask?”
“Because it's growing on me, loathe as I am to admit it.”
“Good, I'm sure he’ll be over the moon to hear that. Having your seal of approval will make it easier to sleep I would imagine.” As they spoke, Smithy leaned forward and reached for the CD cover. As he did so, a pair of dog tags swung forward from the chain around his neck. “You still wear those huh?” Smithy looked down at the penicillin allergy tags swinging gently.
“Yup. It's five years since she died.” Smithy looked ahead out of the windscreen, lost in his own thoughts. His sister Tanya had died five years before and he kept the tags as a memento. They were quiet for a while as the album unfolded around them.
It was raining and beginning to darken as they came off the M1, fifteen minutes from Caleb Thomas’s address according to the sat nav. Seventeen minutes later, the two detectives climbed out of their car and headed for the front door of Thomas’s house. Jack rang the bell. A minute later, their concerns were confirmed.
“He’s not here,” Smithy muttered.
“It looks that way.” Jack said. They both stood back and surveyed the front of the house, as if simply looking at it might make Thomas appear from nowhere. “What now, Clouseau?” Jack asked his partner.
“We might as well check out the church HQ while we’re here.”
“Right, come on then.”
They pulled away from the kerbside, and headed toward the city centre and New Cavendish Street where the church headquarters was based. It would take them twenty minutes from Thomas’s house, but at least if he was not there they could give up for the night and find a hotel. After a good night’s sleep they could track him down tomorrow and find out what he knew. En route, Smithy decided to call Caleb Thomas’s mobile number in an attempt to establish his whereabouts.
“Is it just ringing out?” Jack asked Smithy after a minute or so.
“No, he answered, said something unintelligible, then it went dead.” Smithy looked confused.
“Try it again. He probably hasn’t got any signal,” Jack offered helpfully. Smithy gave him a withering look.
“Now it’s going to voicemail. Hello, Mr Thomas, this is Detective Smith of the Greater Manchester Police. I’m calling you with regard to a number of deaths that have taken place in the Greater Manchester area involving members of your church. If you could please call me back on this number, I would be very grateful. Many thanks.” He flipped his phone closed and looked thoughtfully out of the windscreen.
“Well,” said Jack. “I hope he’s not in any trouble.”
***
Ten minutes before Smithy’s call to him, Caleb arrived at the church headquarters on New Cavendish Street at a little after half past five. He pulled the car into a vacant space, got out and looked nervously up and down the length of the street for anything that looked suspicious, b
ut nothing looked out of place. He took out his set of keys for the front of the building and crossed the street. New Cavendish was yet another expensive district in a city already full of them: streets lined with period terrace and detached houses, worth millions of pounds, often housing businesses and medical practices.
It was an unusual place to find the head office of a religious sect, not just because of the nature of the businesses that surrounded it, but because of the huge cost of property in this area both for sale and rent. Per month, Thomas was paying £30,000 rent, yet because of the wealthy benefactors that frequented his parish, he rarely gave a thought as to the huge bills that came in each month. They were paid, and there was more than enough to pay them, which was all that mattered. He enjoyed the exclusivity too: the upmarket shops and the fact that he had sole occupancy of one of its venerable dwellings. Right now though, this was far from his mind – survival was the only thing he could think of.
He knew the man in the garden had been no accident. He was there in connection to the deaths in Manchester; it was as simple as that. As Caleb closed the front door of the headquarters behind him and reset the alarm to cover the perimeter, he could not help but slide to his haunches with his back to the door as a wave of relief washed over him. Caleb was not a fighter, nor was he particularly alert to trouble of any kind. It was difficult for him to understand the luck that had come his way as he had nonchalantly glanced out of the rear window and caught sight of death as it crept along the garden wall intent upon extinguishing his very existence.
He took a while to get to his feet. Once he had, he decided that a cup of tea was in order. He flicked on the lights in the hall and the kitchen, not wanting to be in the dark of the huge property. Once the kettle was on, and his teabag was in his cup, he regained control of his senses. What was he thinking? He should have called the police long ago! Good lord, how stupid of him. Caleb took his mobile out if his pocket and looked at his signal coverage: it was notoriously bad in this building. He could use the landline in his office. Leaving the kettle rumbling behind him, Caleb walked back through the corridor and into his office on the ground floor. He picked up the phone.
