The Celtic Cross Killer

by Keiron Cosgrave

  She slept on.

  He rose, knelt over the sleeping girl, stretched out his arms and flexed his biceps. Bones cracked. Cartilage twanged. He marvelled at his reflection returned in the mirror on the wardrobe door.

  He sensed movement. A nuance of uncertainty flitted behind his eyes. He steered his gaze back to Kate.

  Incandescent alive eyes met his.

  ‘Now!’ shrieked Kate, dragging a pillow over her face. ‘Now!’

  He spun towards the movement.

  Rose, howling, flung open the door and flew at Carter. A hint of light flashed from the blade. She slashed low, aiming for his groin. The instant she felt resistance at her wrist, she strengthened her grip and yanked hard on the handle. Teeth clenched so hard they hurt.

  It only took a second.

  Their torment exorcised in a molten spray of blood and a piercing, agonised scream.

  Their promise – made and sealed in blood - met.

  2

  Christmas Day 2012

  Pannal, Harrogate

  James Walters folded his napkin into a neat triangle and lay it on the empty, gravy-stained plate. He sat back. Burped into a fist. A full stomach and several glasses of expensive Shiraz had improved his mood. His worries about Mary proved unfounded. She’d been frosty, yes, but as agreed, neither had mentioned their impending separation.

  He rose. Poured champagne into crystal flutes and handed them around. He pushed the crumpled paper hat from his sweated forehead onto the crown of his skull. Bing Crosby sang of his dreams for a white Christmas. The rich aroma of Christmas pudding wafted in from the kitchen. He chinked a silver spoon against a flute.

  ‘I’d like to propose a toast.’ Nods around the table. ‘To you, Mary, and our lovely daughters, Sam and Kate, by some margin, the finest cooks in Yorkshire.’

  Mary’s face flushed crimson. Eyes rolled. ‘Sit down, James. You’re making me blush.’

  ‘No, Mary, I won’t have it. Credit where credit is due. That was marvellous. You’ve done me proud. All of you have.’

  Daughter Samantha suspended the champagne flute against her lips. ‘Dad, Mum did all the work.’

  ‘I thought you’d all mucked in?’ said James.

  Samantha smiled. ‘If by mucked in, you mean we stood watching, quaffing sherry, then yeah … we all mucked in,’ she said, stifling a hiccup under a clenched fist.

  Kate spun around. ‘That’s typical. I chopped the veg, mixed the stuffing and peeled the sodding spuds for the best part of an hour and nobody notices. Some of us don’t mind getting our hands dirty, do we, Mum?’ said Kate.

  Mary pouted. A tut escaped her lips. ‘Kate, dear, do watch your language.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘You’re old enough to know certain people will go through life without receiving the credit they deserve,’ said Mary, sinking the remaining fizz in a smooth draught, directing an accusatory glance at soon-to-be ex-husband, James. ‘Just look at me, for example, I’m the living personification.’

  An uneasy silence developed.

  ‘Sorry, Kate, so you did,’ slurred Samantha. ‘This wine … it’s gone straight to my head. I ought to have stuck to orange juice. I’m taking antibiotics. After we’ve cleared the dishes, if it’s okay with you, Mum, I’m going to nip upstairs for a lie down. I’m really not with it.’

  Mary settled a sympathetic hand on her eldest daughter’s. ‘Don’t fret about the dishes, darling. I’ll see to them. Go take a nap. I can see you’re not one hundred percent.’

  James raised his hands in a gesture of capitulation. ‘Eh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to start World War bloody Three. I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed my meal … that’s all. I meant no harm. Would anybody mind if we postponed dessert for an hour? I’m stuffed. I couldn’t eat another thing. Mary, is that okay with you?’

  Nods of agreement.

  Mary remained tight-lipped for what seemed like an eternity. ‘I suppose so. Just so you know, I’m not setting foot in the kitchen after six,’ said Mary, piling the plates into a neat stack. ‘Come hell or high water, tonight I’m putting my feet up.’

  James turned his attention to son-in-law, Stephen, and Kate’s partner, Howard. ‘Would you two gentlemen care to join me in the conservatory for a drop of the hard stuff? Yesterday, I picked up a cracking bottle of port from Sainsbury’s. It’s a Dow 2007 – an excellent vintage. There’s Scotch, too, if you prefer.’

  Stephen nodded, beamed. ‘Count me in,’ he said, delighted for the excuse to escape the strained atmosphere. ‘A tot of port would be great.’

  ‘Cheers, man, yeah I will,’ said Howard, rising. ‘Right after I nip outside for a blow.’ As he stood, his dreadlocks caught on the back of the chair and made a low whooshing sound.

  A grinning James pecked Mary on the cheek. She brushed away his unwanted attention.

  ‘Stop that, James. As usual with you, it’s too little too late. You’re a selfish brute, and you damn well know it.’

  ‘Yes, dearest,’ said James, rolling his eyes, leaving. ‘If you need me I’ll be in the conservatory, getting drunk.’

  3

  James entered the conservatory and strode over to the back wall. Stephen followed him in. He reached up and cranked a high-level window open. The baubles on the Christmas tree jangled in the breeze.

  ‘Ah, fresh air, wonderful,’ said James, stepping over to the sideboard. ‘Is port okay, Stephen? Or would you prefer something a little stronger? A whisky or brandy, perhaps? Don’t stand there on ceremony. Take the weight off your feet.’

  Stephen ran a hand across his chin. ‘A glass of port would be great, thanks,’ he said, lowering into one of the two olive green leather Chesterfield sofas. ‘It’s ages since I’ve had a good port.’

  James poured two generous measures.

  ‘Stephen, I’m glad to have this opportunity to talk to you,’ remarked James, flicking a glance towards the kitchen. ‘There’s a matter of some sensitivity I’d like to discuss.’

  James turned and handed Stephen a glass.

  ‘Okay,’ said Stephen, brow furrowing. ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’

  James lowered himself into the sofa opposite and propped himself on the edge of the cushion. Fell silent. Set the glass against his lips and took a sip. Raised the glass up to the coloured fairy lights adorning the Christmas tree and studied the rich blood-red translucency.

  ‘Beautiful colour … don’t you think?’

  ‘Sublime,’ said Stephen. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, as I was saying … there’s something I’d like to get off my chest.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘You can. Be careful what you ask. I am, after all, married to your eldest daughter. There are boundaries.’

  James sniggered. ‘I like that about you, Stephen. You possess an uncommon virtue in the young today.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘Intelligence. It’s a virtue which is frowned upon nowadays.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you to say so.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ smiled James, sipping port, his expression hardening. He leaned forward and placed the crystal tumbler onto the coffee table. He studied Stephen with wide eyes; hands clasped at the knees. ‘Do you consider yours is a happy marriage? Do you feel you and Sam are, not to put too fine a point on it … suited? I mean, it’s one thing being in love with someone, but it’s quite another to live with them twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.’

  Stephen edged forward, shoulders shrugging. ‘Happy? I believe we are, yes. Why do you ask? Has Samantha said something?’

  James hesitated, eyes narrowing, brow creasing into a thoughtful frown. A minute passed. His frown relaxed. He smiled. ‘No, she hasn’t. I’m sorry this isn’t about you two; it’s about Mary and I.’ James sipped port. ‘Bugger it. There’s no easy way to say this, so here goes … Mary and I are going our separate ways. We’re ge
tting a divorce. I’m the protagonist. Now the girls have flown the nest, there’s just no point to it any more. It, being our marriage. The thing is, Stephen, for as long as I care to remember, Mary and I, we’ve been living a lie.’

  Stephen gawped. ‘Living a lie? I thought yours was a happy marriage?’ Stephen hesitated. ‘That’s how it appears … sorry … appeared from the outside.’

  James shook his head. ‘No, that’s not the case. There’s been a dark cloud hanging over the marriage from the very start.’

  ‘Dark cloud? What do you mean … dark cloud? I mean, you’ve had two beautiful children together. You’ve got a beautiful home. You’re financially secure. You must have loved one another once?’

  Having crossed the line and begun the process of bearing his soul, James grinned with relief.

  ‘The truth is, I insisted upon something which has cast a shadow over our marriage from day one.’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘The thing is, my father never liked Mary. From the very first moment they met, he had her down as a gold-digger. Mary’s father died, bankrupt, the year before we tied the knot. It reinforced my father’s opinion of Mary and her family. My father knew her father from school. As teenagers, they’d had run-ins. They shared a mutual animosity.’

  ‘I see. You must’ve loved Mary enough to marry her, though. Married her regardless of her background and what your respective fathers thought. Nobody can knock that.’

  ‘I did … I do … Oh, I don’t know… When you’re young, you make rash decisions. Rash decisions which you grow to regret. What I do know is, it’s impossible to turn the clock back. I took my father’s advice and insisted upon a prenuptial agreement. The essential point of which was that all principal assets were put in my name. It was ill-judged. Is it any wonder Mary’s grown to distrust me over the years? It’s hardly surprising she’s had a string of affairs. Me? I’ve become a sad old man fixated by wealth. It’s what drives me. To be perfectly honest, it’s the only thing that does drive me. If I could turn back the clock, the sad thing is … I wouldn’t.’

  ‘You wouldn’t?’

  ‘Yes, you heard right. I wouldn’t. I’d do everything the same again. I’m a selfish bastard. I’m not delusional. I know what I am. I care for others for what I can get out of them. It’s hateful, but it’s who I am. It’s who I’ve allowed myself to become. I recognise that much.’

  Stephen shook his head, set the port against his lips and sank half.

  ‘Our marriage is over. Recent events have driven the final nail into the coffin,’ James said.

  ‘Recent events?’

  A sheepish look settled on James’s face. ‘I hired a private investigator,’ he said. ‘And do you know something? In less than a week, he’s come up trumps. I have irrefutable evidence that Mary is seeing someone again. She’s only having it off with the bloody builder who built the summerhouse last year. Rotter’s name is Roger. He’s a beast of a man. I bet they’ve been at it like rabbits ever since they met. The mind boggles. I’ve even secured photographic evidence. It’s cheap, I know, but sometimes Stephen – take my word for it – you have to do these things. I needed proof. Hard evidence that my suspicions were correct. I could smell the deceit. I could smell it on her. I needed to see them with my own eyes. I’ve got her over a barrel. Exactly where I want her.’

  Stephen slumped back, shook his head. ‘It’s a lot to take in. I won’t lie. I’m in shock.’

  James nodded. ‘I’ll be the first to acknowledge the corrosive effect of the prenuptial agreement on Mary’s state of mind. That said, I’m not standing for that kind of behaviour any more. I have my male pride to consider.’

  Stephen’s lips puckered into a pout. ‘I suppose I can relate to that. I don’t know what to say. I’m lost for words.’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. I wasn’t fishing for sympathy. I just wanted you to know. Life is too short for regrets. I’ve grown to enjoy the simple things in life. Life today has become far too complicated. That’s why I’ve come to another decision,’ said James, drawing breath. ‘Would you like a top up?’

  ‘Thanks, I’d love one.’

  James refilled the tumblers.

  ‘When I die, Sam will be the sole beneficiary of my estate.’ He sipped port. ‘Yesterday, I hand delivered a revised version of my will to my solicitor. Touch wood, the divorce will go through without a hitch.’ James paused, stood and steered his gaze to Stephen. ‘Stephen, Kate’s like her mother. She’s feckless and lacks ambition. What’s more, her judgement is appalling. Look at her choice in men. Howard is an absolute joke. All he’ll do is smoke and piss away any inheritance I bequeath to Kate in a matter of months. I’ve worked damned hard for my wealth and I’m not prepared to take that risk. I don’t want to sound boastful, but Sam, she takes after me. She’s bright, committed and hard working. She’ll make a success of anything she turns her mind to. You’re the same, Stephen. I’m delighted you’re in her life.’ James stepped over to the back wall and yanked the window closed. ‘In a nutshell, that’s how I see the future. That’s everything I wanted to get off my chest. As they say, a burden shared is a burden halved. Tomorrow, I’m flying out to Spain. I’ll work out of the Marbella office for the whole of January and February. You’re the first to know. I … we … Mary and I, we need space and time apart. When I return to the UK in early March, we’ve agreed that’s when we’ll tell the girls. There’s no point in ruining Christmas and the New Year. For the time being, please treat everything I’ve told you in the utmost confidence.’

  Stephen nodded. ‘I won’t say a word.’

  ‘Thank you, Stephen. This hasn’t been easy, airing my dirty laundry in public. I’m convinced the divorce is for the best.’

  Outside, just feet from the conservatory – under the canopy above the kitchen door – stood Howard. He dragged the cigarette from his mouth, flicked the tab onto the patio and stubbed out the glowing embers under a Doc Martens boot.

  4

  TO PURCHASE OTHER BOOKS BY KEIRON COSGRAVE

  Promises, Promises

  With Menaces

  Beyond Absolution

  Murder At Devil’s Bridge

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Keiron Cosgrave has written five crime novels. Keiron is a former Chartered Surveyor who writes professionally. He lives in Yorkshire with his partner of fifteen years, Christine. He has two grown up sons, Oliver & Louis. Keiron loves writing, classic cars, scooters and everything sixties. He divides his time writing in Yorkshire and Southern Spain.

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