by Helen Phifer
This made Lucy chuckle. She didn’t have many female friends, so it would be nice to hang out with Catherine out of work.
‘I think that’s a great idea, you can count me in. I can’t remember the last time I went out without the rest of CID.’
‘That’s a date. Now, tell me what you have?’
Lucy gave her a brief explanation. ‘I think you need to see it for yourself, to appreciate the full horror.’
‘Oh, great. There’s nothing I love more to get my day off to a great start.’ She winked at Lucy then stepped inside the church hall. Lucy followed her.
‘Oh, crap. I’ve never seen anything like this, in all my years.’
Catherine turned to Lucy. ‘This is overkill? If we are assuming it’s the same offender then I would take a guess and say that it looks as if he’s regressed into a classic, disorganised offender. This is much worse than the first two. They were organised, methodical, clean – this is messy. He wasn’t killed here though, there isn’t enough blood.’
‘No, the vicarage is the primary scene. He was dragged or carried here. There’s blood everywhere in the hallway of the house.’
‘I’ll take a look at that after I’ve finished here, but for what it’s worth, I’m going to stick my neck out and hazard a guess that he’s probably gone into psychosis. If he already had a psychotic personality it might have been under control with medication. I think he’s stopped taking it and it’s escalating; the good thing is there’s more chance of him leaving evidence behind. He won’t be thinking straight. His contact with reality will be impaired. Of course this is just my opinion. But if you want a professional diagnosis you’ll have to speak to a psychiatrist.’
For the first time Lucy felt a glimmer of hope. If Catherine was right, and the killer was off his meds, he was going to be acting strange, out of character. If he was married or had a job, the people around him would notice the change in his demeanour. If they issued a press release, it might make people sit up and take notice. There were so many possibilities. She stood back and watched as Catherine began to take a cursory look at the body. Lucy stared at the crucifix; he was sacrificing his victims, but for what? What did it mean to him? What personal vendetta was he on?
‘Where are his clothes?’
‘In the house in a bloody pile.’
‘I need them, to check if there’s any damage to them which correlates to the wounds. Judging by the lack of blood, I think the slash wounds were done post-mortem. She looked at his neck; there were two deep wounds to the left side. ‘These stab wounds are the cause of death. Underneath them are the major blood vessels. The carotid artery and the jugular vein. This would have caused massive haemorrhage; the arterial spray would have been something. The offender didn’t get out of this one without being covered in blood; in fact he would have been saturated, depending on the proximity he was standing to him. The pattern of injury suggests to me that his motive was to kill the victim; he didn’t want to just injure him. Which, in my opinion, is premeditated murder. How am I doing? I bet you already had that figured out?’
‘I kind of guessed he wanted him dead. I didn’t know the rest of the stuff though. You’re doing good.’
‘Of course, I’ll be able to give you the full results at the pm, but for now it’s something.’
‘What about time of death? He was in custody until his release at 21.25 last night.’
Catherine lifted a half-closed eyelid. ‘Eyes are cloudy, which is a good indicator he’s been dead at least eight to ten hours. He’s in complete rigor which sets in eight to twelve hours after death. I would hazard a guess that time of death is somewhere between ten and midnight.’
‘Considering he was attacked in the hall and that was the only light that was on, while the rest of the house was in darkness, I think he was followed home. Or it happened pretty much as soon as he got home; so either someone knew about him being released or they were waiting for him in the hope of him coming back soon.’
‘He has defence wounds on his fingers, so he tried to defend himself. He’s quite a tall guy, so the killer must be at least his height. I mean how did he get him up here?’
‘No idea. I’ve heard that people having psychotic episodes can exhibit superhuman strength.’
‘That’s true and it would explain this.’ She pointed to the body.
‘I’m afraid that’s all I can give you for now, the rest will come out in the post-mortem. Lucy, I know you already know this, but there’s a chance he might strike again. Sooner, rather than later. We don’t know for sure he is having an episode, but it would explain the difference between the crime scenes. You need to be very careful. I’ll finish up here and see you at the mortuary. I’ll push everything else back and wait until you’re happy for him to be released from the scene. Once I’ve got everything I need it’s your call.’
‘Thank you, I don’t know what we’d do without you, Catherine.’
‘The feeling is mutual, Lucy. By the way what happened to your face?’
‘I had a run-in with the good vicar’s wife after I arrested him at a prostitute’s house and brought him in for questioning about the previous murders.’
‘Ouch, does she have an alibi?’
Lucy nodded. ‘Yes, she was in custody for GBH, and she was only released this morning. This whole investigation is a right mess, Catherine.’ The look etched across the pathologist’s face confirmed Lucy’s last statement. They needed to find whoever was killing these people and fast. She was glad she got that list of volunteers for Street Saviours from Jan before the shit hit the fan, because everyone who had a connection to St Aidan’s Church was going to have to be warned to be extra vigilant – that included her own daughter. Ellie had only volunteered there a couple of times but it still put her at risk. She needed to figure out a way to tell her to keep clear of the bloody place until they’d caught the killer, something which she’d been going to do before she got attacked. There was no way of guessing who was next on his list but she could guarantee it would be someone who had dealings with the church.
She walked out of the church hall, relieved to be in the fresh air. Catherine followed her on her way to speak to Amanda, who was standing outside the house. It was time to go back to the station and decide where to go from here. And to find out if she was being pushed off the case… because at this point she didn’t see how she could stay on it.
Chapter Fifty-Six
As Lucy walked into her office and looked around she sighed. She would have given anything for Mattie to be here. As it was, Browning had stepped up to the mark and was doing a really good job; she couldn’t fault him in that respect. It just wasn’t the same though, she felt more comfortable with Mattie. The office was full; her team were waiting for her to give them their tasks. Her head was aching before she’d even got to the church hall, now it felt like it was going to explode. She couldn’t tell anyone though, because they’d sign her off sick and send her home. Up to now she’d done a pretty good job of dodging the Chief Super, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up with her and told her she couldn’t work the case. She closed the door and shut the blinds, hoping it might give her a little more time. There was something about these murders – revenge or hatred were the most common motives when it came to religious crimes. What had Margaret done though? She could understand someone hating David Collins: he’d abused his power by using prostitutes. God knows what else he got up to behind his wife’s back, when all the time he was putting on an act of being a servant of God. Sandy, from the information given, was a big drinker, always had been. She lived in Bridlington Court, which potentially connected her to Collins. She read the latest email from Rachel; she said that Sandy Kilburn in the past had been known to sleep with anyone who bought her drinks and showed her a good time. She didn’t imagine that Margaret had slept with Collins; although who was she to rule that out? He might like older women. Sandy had been introduced to the church through her attendance at Street Saviours, so did that co
nnect her and Margaret? She was writing the names and connections down on an A4 sheet of paper. They needed to interview the male volunteers, speak to them and see if any of them were cagey. She’d be able to spot someone who was off their meds, as they’d be acting strange.
A sharp shooting pain across the side of her head made her close her eyes as a wave of sickness washed through her. She was finding it hard to concentrate. There was so much to do and it was only a matter of time before they removed her from the case.
Going into the communal office she perched on the end of Col’s desk. Browning was still at the scene, hopefully keeping the Chief Super busy and buying her a little more time.
‘Right, we have a tremendous amount of work to do today. I’ve printed off a list of the volunteers for the Street Saviours. I want to go and interview them all; they need to be warned they could be at risk. So, Rachel, you can come with me and we can get this boxed off as soon as possible. Col, I need you to run some background checks from way back in the day. I’m pretty convinced Sandy Kilburn wasn’t the first victim.’
‘How do you work that out, boss? We haven’t had any similar murders or attacks flag up on HOLMES.’
‘I’ll call it a gut instinct. There’s a connection. I think whoever is doing this has killed before. There was no doubt about what he was doing with Sandy. He just jumped right in and killed her in the most shocking way he could imagine; the doc said there was no hesitation on the wound to her neck. I want you to go back as far as you have to. Any cases – be they assaults, sudden deaths, murders which have a religious aspect to them. I need this now, if possible, because I have a feeling I’m going to get pulled from the case and we’re so close.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of Collins being in custody. The Super will be panicking and thinking about all the bad publicity. You know what’s going to happen: he was killed a matter of hours after being released. They will be treating it as a death following contact with the police.’
‘That’s ridiculous, you didn’t have anything to do with his death. That was his bad luck, why should you have to step back?’
‘Because that’s how it works. They’ll want someone to blame in the press to make them look good. Come on, Rachel, let’s get going. We have a few names to cross off this list, and I want to get out of here. If the Super comes looking, you have no idea where I am; I want to hold off the inevitable as long as possible. Col, ring me if you get anything, I don’t care how tenuous the link. If it mentions anything to do with God, a church, a bible or even that they were wearing a cross, I want to know about it. Thanks.’
Turning to leave, she reached the stairs, as Rachel stood up grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair and followed.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
May 1995
He sat feeling the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the trees, warming his face, and staring at the dead rabbit. It had been a close call. That slag Sharon had asked him what he was doing by the rabbits. She hated him, and he didn’t like her either, always calling him names and teasing him. Last year the pet rabbits had mysteriously disappeared, and Angie had sworn that someone had stolen them. She’d even phoned the police, who’d come out and spoken to her about it. Nothing had happened; they weren’t interested in two missing rabbits. He was pretty sure they had much more important stuff to be investigating. Angie had been sad they’d gone, and for a while he’d felt bad and had made himself a promise not to do it again. He hadn’t for some time; he’d concentrated on his school work and behaved like the perfect kid. It was hard though; the police had come back to speak to him another two times about his dad. Each time he told the same story: he hadn’t done it. They’d questioned him longer each time until Angie or Paul had stepped in and told them if they needed anything else to make it official. Both times they’d left, he could tell they were frustrated with him, but he wouldn’t crack. If they were waiting for him to make full confession they’d be waiting the rest of their lives. He didn’t care: he felt worse about killing Angie’s rabbits than he did about his waste of space dad.
He had to bury this rabbit and hope that he could stop himself from doing it again. At least Angie was on holiday, so she wouldn’t know about it. He should have broken its neck and left it in its hutch. They might have thought it had just died then; but it was a bit hard to blame it on natural causes when its head was no longer attached to its body. He heard the whispering in his head and shook it hard; the voices came when he least expected them. It made it hard to concentrate in school, as the teachers thought he was being disrespectful, but he was trying to shut them out. Sometimes he’d see things that weren’t there, and he didn’t like that. He would walk into the school canteen and everyone would turn to stare at him, sometimes they laughed. Then he’d shake his head or blink, and everyone would be busy eating, chattering, laughing and taking no notice of him. They had no idea who he really was; he was the teenage equivalent of Superman: he could fly if he wanted to. He just didn’t want to because he was scared of heights. He knew he could take every kid on in this school and kill them all. The teachers wouldn’t be able to stop him, he was that strong. He’d stopped talking to the few friends he did have and now they kept their distance. It was okay with him, he didn’t need them. He didn’t need anyone.
He heard his name being shouted, breaking him out of the trance he was in. Paul, one of the support workers, who wasn’t soft like Angie, would want to know where he was and what he was doing. He looked down to make sure his clothes weren’t covered in rabbit blood and guts. They weren’t, so he jumped up and rushed back through the overgrowth to get to the big house.
He rushed inside to see Paul standing there, arms folded across his chest and Sharon standing next to him, glaring.
‘Where’s the rabbit?’
‘What rabbit?’
‘You fucking creep, where is it? I saw you take it out of the run.’
‘Shh, Sharon.’
‘I took it out to play, and it ran away.’ He could feel the panic beginning to rise inside his chest. He’d fucking slit her throat if she carried on. He’d never liked her, always mouthing off and bragging about what she’d nicked from the shops or which boy she was shagging.
‘He didn’t, the freak has hurt it. Just like he did the last two; he’s a weirdo, he wants locking up.’
‘Right, that’s enough. Sharon you go to your room; you come in the office with me.’
She stamped all the way up the stairs and along the landing. As she reached her bedroom she shouted, ‘I want a fucking lock on my door; he might come in and kill us while we’re all asleep.’
Paul grabbed his arm, pushing him into the office and shutting the door behind him.
‘This is a serious accusation, do you understand that? Tell me you let the bloody thing go by accident again, because if I think for a minute that you’ve killed it I’m going to have to phone the police.’
‘I did, I swear. I only took it out to stroke it, and it jumped out of my arms and I’ve been searching for it ever since.’
He had his fingers crossed behind his back; he was going to get her back for this.
‘I hope so, I know she doesn’t like you and I also know how good she is at making horrible stuff up about people when she isn’t getting her own way. So listen to me, this time I’m going to believe you. When Angie gets back you tell her that you accidentally lost it, and if I so much as hear anything different I’m going to drag you to the fucking police station myself. Am I making myself clear?’
Nodding his head up and down so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, he whispered, ‘Yes, Paul. I heard you. I’ll go back out and look for it, might come back with a bit of luck. I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, if you had a bid for freedom what would you choose? To be stuck in a smelly, old hutch or running free?’
He thought that pretty much summed up his current situation. ‘I’d want to run free.’
‘Wouldn’t we all. I’ll talk to Sharon
. Don’t let me hear of any more weird stuff going down, do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right, sod off and go make a token effort to look for the bloody thing so I can tell Angie you tried.’
He turned and walked out of the office, his cheeks burning. He’d almost been caught. The last thing he wanted was for Paul to go to the coppers. They might figure out about his dad. He decided after this wake-up call, he wouldn’t do anything else. At least not until he was well out of here, that would be at least another two or three years and then he’d be free to do as he pleased.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Lucy snuck back into the office using the fire exit stairs and not the usual spiral staircase. She needed to see if Col had anything for her. Peering through the glass she couldn’t spot the Super and opened the door. Col was at the printer, which was across the hall from the boss’s office, so she waited for him at his desk. He crossed the room towards her, smiling, which made her feel slightly better.
‘Anything?’
‘Not a lot, but something. I found a murder from October 1994, a sixty-year-old God-loving alcoholic who lived on his own was bludgeoned to death with his bible and stamped all over. His body was discovered a couple of days later.’
‘Did they apprehend anyone?’
‘No, they had no prime suspect apart from his son, who had been taken into care a few years earlier after being abused and beaten by him. The kid at the time was taken in by the local vicar until they found a placement for him. Police interviewed the kid several times, said he hated his dad, but denied killing him. There was no forensic evidence and he had an alibi. There were stamp marks all over the body, but they were a shoe size eleven. The kid was a size nine.’
‘Where is he now? It’s too much of a coincidence. He was abused as a child, put into care, lived at a vicarage for some time. Our killer has a strong hatred of everything religious, and he’s taking out people for whatever reason. We need to find him.’
