Angels Bleed (Fallen Angels Book 1)

by Max Hardy

  Saul’s lip started to twitch as he took in the furious glare of Dr Ennis. He started to shake his head slightly, releasing the pressure in his fists a little, taking a step back. ‘It would give me great personal pleasure, great personal pleasure to beat you to a pulp.’ Saul whispered, the words full of vitriol.

  A derogatory sneer curled its way onto Dr Ennis’s countenance as he also took a step backwards, the immediate tension of the encounter dropping slightly. ‘The feeling is mutual, believe me. If that’s what you have come here for, then by all means have a go, as they say.’

  Just then, two Security Guards jogged into the room, short handled batons out tight against their forearms, ready for action. Dr Ennis raised a hand as he saw them approach Saul, who was turning ready to engage them. ‘It’s alright gentleman, DI Saul is just here to ask me a few questions, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Thank you for coming so promptly.’

  ‘Are you sure Sir?’ one of them asked as they both slowed to a stop beside Saul.

  ‘DI Saul, you are here just to ask me a few questions, I presume?’ Dr Ennis said, the question heavy with intent.

  Saul looked from Dr Ennis to the guards, then back to Dr Ennis. ‘At the moment, I am here to ask a few questions. At the moment.’ he finished curtly, sitting down in the seat in front of Dr Ennis’s desk, crossing the legs of his tattered trousers and relaxing right back into it, still staring at his host.

  ‘I am sure gentleman. You can leave us now.’ Dr Ennis said, motioning them out with a flick of the hand. He straightened his jacket, then sat down in his own seat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk, steepling his hands in front of him.

  ‘I see there is an anger inside you after all Saul. You aren’t the stoic automaton everyone makes you out to be.’ he stated, snidely.

  Saul shrugged his shoulders, the earlier anger dissipated through his frame, his demeanour now relaxed and calm once again. ‘Whereas you are the aggressive, sadistic bastard I always knew you were.’ Saul replied, his tone challenging.

  Dr Ennis visibly smarted at the words, sitting upright and clasping his hands together tightly, the ruddy hue of anger flushing up his neck once more.

  ‘But I haven’t come here to goad you.’ Saul added quickly, smiling at the reaction, seeing Dr Ennis just about to burst. ‘I have a few more questions for you following our meeting earlier.’

  Saul looked past Dr Ennis, to the picture hanging on the wall behind him. ‘You mentioned that the Cezanne was left to the Institute. Could you tell me who left it?’ Saul asked.

  ‘Back to the picture again. I know that you are an artist Saul, but I don’t know why on earth that thing interests you. What does it have to do with Rebecca Angus?’ Dr Ennis asked brusquely.

  ‘That’s what we are trying to ascertain. We are reviewing every lead and every piece of evidence again. It looks as though the initial investigation wasn’t as thorough as it should have been and there are glaring holes in the evidence. For example, we have already found out that Madame Evangeline’s residence, which Rebecca states herself, Michael and Madame Evangeline visited on the night of his death does, in fact, exist. I believe you concluded that her recollection of that location was part of her DID.’ Saul paused as he finished the sentence, observing Dr Ennis’s expression.

  Dr Ennis was still simmering, clasping his hands tightly in front of him. He raised an eyebrow and said. ‘That is correct. Based upon the evidence that was presented at the time, yes, that was the conclusion.’ he answered, evidently squirming in his seat, but keeping his frustration in check.

  ‘We have also found the limousine that Rebecca states took them there. Again, I believe you concluded that her recollection of that vehicle was part of her DID.’ Saul added, still watching Dr Ennis intently.

  ‘Again, that is correct, based on the evidence that was presented at the time. Neither of those things fundamentally changes the diagnosis of Rebecca’s condition. If anything it just clarifies the disjointed state of her mind and that reality and fantasy to her were inextricably entwined.’ Dr Ennis answered firmly, the main arteries in his neck throbbing with tension.

  Saul shrugged, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Possibly. However, we have also just taken a woman in for questioning. A woman who owns the property Rebecca and Michael Angus visited on the night of his death. A woman who owns the limousine they travelled to that location in. A woman who we know was in Edinburgh at the same time they were. A woman:’ Saul paused for a second, watching every single twitch, tickle and tick on Dr Ennis’s face as he delivered the statements, before finishing. ‘Who looks remarkably like the description of Madame Evangeline.’

  Dr Ennis banged his hands on the table suddenly, the simmering frustration inside spilling over as he shouted. ‘Once again, Detective Inspector Saul, based on the evidence we had at the time, it is my professional opinion -it still is my professional opinion- that Rebecca Angus suffers from DID. If you have any specific questions you would like to ask me, then please, ask them. However, if all you want to do is laud your Pyrrhic victory over me, then I would ask that you leave immediately.’ he finished, nostrils flaring and eyes bulging with anger.

  ‘What I would like to know Dr Ennis, is who left you the Cezanne. It is important to this case.’ Saul asked calmly, relaxing back into the seat again.

  ‘It was bequeathed to the Institute by one of our patrons on his death, along with a large cash donation. As I mentioned previously, we do have all the relevant paperwork.’ said Dr Ennis, still visibly frustrated.

  ‘I am sure that you do. What I want to know is, who was that patron?’ Saul reiterated.

  ‘It is no secret Saul. It was Henry Seymour. He was one of the original founders of the institute and its main financial benefactor at the time.’

  Saul tensed in the seat where he sat when he heard the name, gripping its arms firmly. ‘And was there any particular reason why Henry Seymour was such a prominent benefactor of the institute?’

  ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly comment.’ Dr Ennis answered, his demeanour changing as he noted the tension in Saul’s voice.

  ‘Dr Ennis, Henry Seymour is dead. Any professional confidentiality that may have been in place whilst he was alive has lapsed. I could get a warrant to make you divulge that information, but I would like to think that you would be co-operative with our investigations.’ Saul stated, his tone curt.

  Dr Ennis ruminated on the request for a few moments and then spoke. ‘Do you recall the gentleman I mentioned earlier, who painted the picture in the reception area?’

  ‘Yes, the psychopath.’

  ‘He was an ancestor of Henry Seymour. It was his great, great grandfather. The Seymour family over the course of the last few generations have been beset with a much higher than normal level of mental illness. There are some reasons for this. Interbreeding being the most pronounced. Henry wanted to understand if there was anything else in the genetic and mental makeup of his family’s bloodline that could be causing the aberration. He paid us to research the family ‘Curse’, as they called it.’ Dr Ennis relaxed back into his chair as he spoke, some of the rouge draining from his complexion as he calmed down.

  ‘What did the research involve?’ Saul asked.

  ‘For those family members that were deceased, it involved going through any case notes that were available from their touch points with the medical establishment. There were many. Ninety percent of the Seymour family had been in touch with mental health professionals from the records we have. It also involved providing care and counselling for living relatives and proactively researching the families conditions. With Henry’s death, the last of the known Seymour bloodline ended. Unfortunately we never came to any conclusive outcome before his death. It was a shame given the amount he had invested in the research.’

  ‘What living relatives were you involved with?’

  ‘He had a brother, a recluse, who lived in Northumberland. He was bipolar. It was very rare he wasn’t in a s
tate of deep depression. He passed away about two and a half years ago. He had a sister who lived in Italy. She was autistic and dyslexic. We only met a couple of times during the early inception of the Institute. She died about eight years ago.’

  ‘No other relatives.’

  ‘None that I was aware of. Henry spent a large amount of time of the family’s genealogy and couldn’t find any other living relatives.’

  ‘Given the relationship you had with Henry Seymour, I would surmise that you also knew his wife.’ Saul imperceptibly tensed as he asked the question, leaning forward just a fraction in his seat.

  ‘Jessica. Yes, I know Jessica.’

  ‘And what type of relationship did you have with her?’

  ‘Platonic on a personal level. We would often meet at fundraisers or dinners that she attended with Henry.’

  ‘What about on a professional level.’ Saul was leaning further forward now, scanning every movement of Dr Ennis’s face.

  ‘That is where I have to stop answering your questions as she is still alive. I cannot possibly divulge any information regarding my patients.’ Dr Ennis answered, slightly smugly.

  ‘So she is your patient.’ Saul pushed.

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  12:53 pm

  Strange held a bundle of case notes in his hands, on top, the artist’s impression of Madame Evangeline. He looked through the one way glass into the interview room at the far end of the MIU, to the sitting figure of Jessica Seymour. He put a hand over the hair in the picture, obscuring it from view, emphasising the facial features. He took in the green eyes of the picture, then looked to the green eyes of Jessica. He took in the high, angular and defined cheek bones in the picture, and the high, angular and defined cheek bones on Jessica. He took in the small, slightly rounded button nose on the picture, and the same nose on Jessica. The full bodied lips on the picture. The same on Jessica. The elfin ears, the same on Jessica. The narrow chin, the same. He watched her for a moment, taking in the precise way she held herself in the chair. Her spine was straight, shoulders back and head held high with perfect deportment, legs and feet parallel and angled to one side, with hands clasped together in her lap, immaculate etiquette for a seated lady. She took the occasional sip from the glass of water on the table in front of her, but otherwise sat calmly and patiently. He sighed to himself, then left the small observation room, coming out into the main room of the MIU again, before going into the interview room.

  Jessica stood up as he entered, straightening her dress down as she did. She held out a hand to shake as Strange approached the table.

  ‘Jessica Seymour.’ She said politely, leaving a question in the tone for him to reply.

  ‘Hello Mrs Seymour. I am Detective Chief Inspector Jeremiah Strange. I am leading the investigation into the discovery of a body at Featherstone Hall. Thank you for coming in today. I take it DI Saxon has given you a little bit of background to the case? Please, do sit.’ Strange finished, waiting for her to take up his offer before he too sat down.

  ‘Yes, she has given me a background to the case. I have to admit to being somewhat shocked and taken aback at what is going on, but please be assured, I am here to co-operate in any way I can.’

  ‘Thank you Mrs Seymour, I appreciate your candour, especially given the circumstances. I would just like to mention before we start the questioning formally that you are not under caution. You are simply here at this point to help us with our investigation. If at any time you feel that the questions I am asking become difficult, or you feel that you should be taking advice, please let me know and I will stop immediately. Are you happy to continue on that basis?’ Strange asked, smiling encouragingly.

  ‘I understand Chief Inspector and I am more than happy to continue.’ she replied, returning the smile confidently.

  ‘Right.’ Strange said, starting the tape at the side of the desk. ’12:35 pm Monday. Interview with Jessica Seymour. Interviewing Officer DCI Strange. The interview is not under caution.’ He finished, looking down at the file in front of him for a second before he continued.

  ‘Mrs Seymour, could you please confirm if you are the owner of the following companies, Axiom and Pison Properties?’

  ‘I am the Managing Director of the companies and the largest shareholder. Sixty percent of the company is in trust, but yes, fundamentally I am the owner and run the company with a board of trustees.’

  ‘We have information from the Land Registry that show the deeds for Featherstone Hall belong to Axiom. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, we own Featherstone Hall.’ she replied, gently rubbing the thumb of one hand against the palm of the other in her lap.

  ‘Could you explain how and when you acquired the property and why it was registered with an offshore company?’

  Jessica smiled at the question. ‘It may look slightly Machiavellian Chief Inspector, but there is a simple explanation. My husband’s brother, Cecil Seymour owned the property until his death. He was Lord Featherstone. The Hall has been in the Seymour family since it was built. On Cecil’s death, the property passed back to Henry, as did the title. Henry relinquished the title and he didn’t want to live in the Hall so planned to have it developed. It was put under Axiom, which is our offshore holding company for assets we are not actively exploiting. It saves the company paying various taxes while the property is empty. The company has not been able to progress the development of the estate, in the main due to Henry’s death and the time it has taken to sort out his affairs.’

  ‘The Company is not renting the property out then? As far as you are aware there is no one living in it?’

  ‘No, there shouldn’t be. The house was emptied and mothballed when Cecil died. The last time I was here was a few days before he died, when he was seriously ill.’

  ‘One of the rooms in the house, the main drawing room, looks to have been recently decorated. It was the room we found Michael Angus’s corpse in this morning. Did the company at any point carry out that work?’

  ‘No. I have no knowledge of that work being carried out.’

  ‘As the owner of the company, of a large company, would that be the kind of thing you would know about?’

  ‘In the general day to day running of a large company, perhaps not. However, having only recently gone through probate, we have had to be very vigilant on everything we spent, so every item of expenditure had to be approved by the trustees. I cannot recall seeing anything to do with development work at Featherstone Hall.’

  ‘And yet, we have a room which has been decorated with a number of very expensive items in it.’ Strange posed.

  ‘I am sorry Chief Inspector, I can’t explain why that would be.’ she offered, apologetically.

  Strange nodded and jotted some notes on the file in front of him. He then took some sheets from inside the folder. He placed the first one in front of Jessica.

  ‘For the tape, I am placing a photograph of Rebecca Angus in front of Mrs Seymour. Mrs Seymour, this is a picture of Rebecca Angus, the person who is currently incarcerated for the murder of Michael Angus. Do you recognise her at all?’ Strange asked.

  Jessica shook her head. ‘No sorry, neither the name nor the picture ring any bells.’ she answered.

  ‘How about this one: and for the tape too, it is a picture of Michael Angus?’

  It was a post mortem picture of his face, lifeless and cold. Jessica looked over it intently, her brown furrowing, a tinge of sadness in her voice as she answered. ‘No, I don’t recognise him either, sorry.’

  He placed a third picture in front of her. ‘For you and the tape, this is an artist’s impression of a woman Rebecca Angus claims was with her and Michael on the night of his death. She is called Madame Evangeline. Do you recognise her or the name?’ Strange asked, paying particular attention to her face as she looked down at the picture.

  Once again, she took her time viewing the image, a slight look of concern fleeting into her demeanour. Her thumb started to circle in her palm just a little
faster. ‘I have never heard of anyone called Madame Evangeline. However, the picture does have a lot of facial similarities to myself, although I have never had long red hair.’ she replied, wearing a worried frown as she did.

  ‘I know this must be difficult, so thank you for your openness Mrs Seymour. Could you tell me where you were on the day and evening of the 31st December, into the early hours of the 1st January 2012 please?’

  Jessica took a sip of water, her whole body becoming uptight at the question. She put the glass down and her hands returned to the rhythmical circling. ‘I was in Edinburgh. I was there running a half marathon. I was staying in the Old Waverley Hotel, at the end of Princess Street. I was there until the morning of the 1st January, until checkout time, about 10:30 am.’ she paused, taking another sip of water as her mouth dried out. ‘I was there with John Saul.’ she finished, the last few words rushed out. She sighed heavily, releasing some of the tension that had overcome her.

  ‘Thank you again Mrs Seymour. I know that we are going to be talking about your private life and about an Officer involved in this investigation, so if you do need to take a break at any time, just let me know.’ Strange empathised. He looked down at his notes, gathering his own thoughts for a second, then asked. ‘Could you tell me how you travelled to Edinburgh on the 31st?’

  ‘My chauffeur drove me up in the company limousine. He picked me up from home at around 7:00 am and we arrived at about 9:00 am. He went home after I booked into my hotel.’

  ‘Did he not stay around to take you home?’

  ‘No, the arrangement was that I would be going home with John.’

  ‘Who is your chauffeur?’

  ‘His name is Ewan Jones. If you need to talk to him you can reach him via the office, he is at work today.’ Jessica offered.