Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1)

by James Costall

  She walked out of McDonalds and into the busy street, aware that all the while Gavin was staring at her with a look of utter mystification and revulsion.

  Chapter 12

  Having put Gavin out of his misery, Alix walked back down towards her Clifton flat where she then drove east through Redland to the Governess Retirement Home. As she pulled into the little car park she checked her watch. She had about an hour before the meeting starts. It was fifteen minutes to the station through the traffic and she had missed rush hour. Plenty of time.

  As she signed in, Alix couldn’t help but wonder what it was that actually made retirement homes smell the way they did, even the ones that you had to pay for privately. But this wasn’t too bad. The staff were ok, most of them anyway. Gail, the large black lady that mainly looked after Dad, was lovely. Some of the others were a bit odd, though.

  Vaughn Franchot was in the residential part of the home, which was nicer than the nursing side. Less dribbling and shouting here. There were only about fifteen residents, mostly women, and most of them had a decent use of most faculties. She didn’t feel guilty about Dad being in a home. He didn’t have to be here at all. He chose to be here. The facilities were good and there were people around to keep him entertained. Better than getting in a nurse to attend the old family home. Vaughn could have chosen to spend his retirement anywhere he wanted but the Governess had a certain charm to it that he obviously saw and she didn’t. Maybe it had a lot to do with Gail.

  She knocked although the door was open. Vaughn was sat in his chair as always absorbed in a book. A Matter of Honour. Jeffrey Archer. Again. He didn’t look up but turned the page very deliberately. He knew damned well who it was.

  Alix stepped in and stood by the window, gazed for a moment at the little courtyard around which the housing block was built. It was nice, especially in the winter. They put chemicals in the water features so they didn’t freeze and there was the permanent sound of trickling water. A robin fluttered momentarily to a standstill on a bird bath caked in snow before taking flight again.

  Maybe she could see some of the attraction in this place.

  “You need to trim your beard,” she told him. “It’s getting wiry.”

  Vaughn still didn’t look up but turned another page. It was obvious he was no longer reading. He knew very well of course that she could tell that. It was all part of the game he played.

  “What would you know of beards?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly, acknowledging the point. Her father was one of the few people in the world who intimidated her. He had an unrivalled ability to make her feel small and stupid. He had been, before his premature retirement, a leading psychiatrist. One of the best. Not like her. Book deal or no book deal, she was still a dropout in his eyes.

  “Are you getting out much in the snow?” she asked. This did at least bring him to raise half a bushy eyebrow at her.

  “What the Hell sort of question is that?”

  She shrugged.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I’ve come to see my father.”

  “Huh! What a privilege. So you’ve seen him. What next?”

  “A game of chess perhaps.”

  Another curt glance at her. “You’ve no time. You checked your watch when you entered the room although you must have known the time because you drove here and the clock in the car was staring at you the whole time. You’re dressed for, I’d say, a job interview but I think even you would wear more makeup for an interview so it’s something you need to make an effort for but not so much of an effort so it’s probably already a done deal. The crematorium isn’t open for two hours so I’d say this is the first day of a new job. You’ve no reason to come and tell me about it right now so I’d say you’re going to derive some pleasure from telling me either because you think I’ll disapprove and this will please you or because of some misguided view I’ll be impressed.”

  She moved her lips but emitted no sound and to her absolute horror she felt the beginning of tears forming underneath her eyes. She blinked them back quickly and looked away.

  “I’m right of course,” he said. “You took the profiler job the MCU were advertising about a month back. You’re working for the police.”

  She left without saying another word.

  Chapter 13

  DSI John Baron was a stocky man in his late fifties. He had dark hair, cut to an almost military-short length, and thick, bushy eyebrows that contorted downwards in the middle to make it appear as though he wore a permanent frown. His grim disposition was exacerbated by the creases on his face, all of which seemed to pull his features down into his chin making it appear as though he may be incapable of smiling.

  For ten years, Baron had run the Bristol Major Incident Unit. During that time, he’d been offered Detective Chief Superintendant on more than one occasion. He’d turned it down each time. The promotion would take him away from hands-on policing, maybe even away from Bristol. To the best of everyone’s knowledge, he had no family, hardly any friends and no mortgage. He spent his Sundays in the office doing paperwork. He knew every case under his jurisdiction backwards. No one took a shit without him knowing about it. John Baron was the light bulb around which every moth fluttered.

  And in the corridors they’d whisper his name. Not his real name. But the name the new recruits were told about when they joined. The name they would – if they were very lucky – one day find themselves whispering in the same corridors.

  John Baron. The Reaper.

  The meeting room comprised a long table which seated twelve comfortably, and which Baron sat at the head of. The heating system comprised one pitiful radiator which hadn’t been bled in years and which fell woefully short of what was required to bring the room above freezing level. Nonetheless, Baron had removed his jacket and seemed completely immune from the cold. Alix and Ash sat in thick coats next to each other, their breath condensing into fog with every exhalation.

  Harker was late.

  “Guv, did you know if the temperature drops below three degrees we can legally go home?” said Ash, catching Alix’s eye with a wink.

  Baron looked up from the papers he was reading and grunted. No one got away with something like that with Baron. Except maybe for Ash.

  “How was your first day, Doctor Franchot?” Baron asked, looking back down to the papers as if the answer didn’t interest him in the slightest.

  “Er... not quite what I was expecting. Turns out that there’s a government sponsored asylum near here which would put Guantanamo Bay to shame.”

  Baron looked up again and this time directly at Alix. She felt her cheeks start to burn instantly.

  “Amanda Harker Q.C. is one of the most respected counsel in this country. There isn’t a murder case worth talking about that she hasn’t prosecuted. She is also humourless and a personal friend of mine. These things will tell you, doctor Franchot, that, in her presence, you will both,” (and here he looked meaningfully at his young lieutenant), “think carefully about how you present yourselves. And, particularly, your views about the Innsmouth Institute are to remain just that: your views. Do I make myself unambiguously pellucid?”

  Alix opened her mouth and then shut it again, feeling the gentle touch of Ash’s hand on her arm. Shut up, now, said the touch. She found something interesting to examine on the back of her hand for a few minutes while they waited for Harker.

  When she arrived she surpassed Alix’s expectations. Harker strode into the room and threw her bag down over the nearest chair before plonking herself down heavily and pouring herself a glass of water from the carafe waiting for her. Only when she had finished the whole glass did she look up to the other occupants of the room.

  “It’s bloody cold in here, John,” she said sternly before pouring herself another glass of water. Her voice was gruff and manly, the words rasped from her mouth like running a knife along the side of a car.

  “I am afraid my office is too small to accommodate us all a
nd the heating is hopelessly inadequate, Amanda. You have my apologies. Can I arrange for coffee for you?”

  “No. I despise caffeine, as you well know. Now, Detective Fielding, I trust.”

  She got up and offered her hand, which Ash took courteously. She was extraordinarily tall, a good foot and a few inches above Ash, who was just under six foot himself. Her hair was a brilliant white, swept back and wound up into a bee hive. Not too dissimilar from a Mr Whippy ice cream, Alix noted. Her skin was as white as her hair, heavy on the foundation with quite an overpowering red lipstick. She was encased in a purple coat, buttoned right to the top.

  Too many bangles, thought Alix. Like a gypsy.

  “I shan’t remove my coat,” she said indignantly. “I would almost certainly freeze to death.” Her coat was too purple, thought Alix.

  “And I must assume you to be Doctor Franchot?”

  “Yes. Pleased to meet you, Mrs Harker.” Harker didn’t offer her hand but instead regarded Alix sceptically from over her thin framed glasses.

  “Yes, quite. I asked for someone with experience, John.” She turned to Baron. “Not a child.”

  Baron opened his mouth but Alix had already jumped in.

  “I’m thirty-two.”

  This time it was Ash’s turn to suppress a smile. Harker ignored her and proceeded to delve into her bag, which matched her coat, and pulled out a couple of lever arch files. She placed these on the table in front of her next to a blue notepad, similar to the one Anwick’s lawyer had used. Finally, she produced a very expensive looking fountain pen.

  “John, you’re up to speed,” she said. “You two aren’t. Not completely.”

  “Yeah, all the files are restricted,” said Ash.

  “As they should be. So how was your trip, Doctor Franchot?” Alix didn’t like her tone. She felt she was being patronised.

  “I have some concerns about the conditions that Professor Anwick is being held in,” she said. Beside her, she heard Ash grind his teeth. Baron shuffled in his chair, the displeasure he took at her apparent disregard for his warning exuded from every pore.

  Harker just nodded and went back into her bag. She picked out a photograph and put it in front of Alix. It showed a picture of a little girl lying naked on a table, her body gaunt and yellowing, her neck bent at an impossible angle. It made Alix’s stomach churn.

  “You have concerns about the conditions that a monster capable of murdering a child of nine years old is being kept it?”

  “Well, it’s for me to determine whether he’s capable of murdering a child, isn’t it?”

  “And is he?”

  Alix thought about it. She had already decided not to give Harker the satisfaction of knowing that, in reality, her first visit to see Anwick was a complete disaster. But she didn’t really have a very good answer to the question at this stage.

  “Too early to tell,” she said. “Eugene Anwick has multiple personalities. His psychological condition is complex. It’ll take time to break down.”

  “That’s not very helpful, doctor Franchot and time is not something that you have the benefit of in this instance.”

  Ash glanced momentarily at Alix’s legs, crossed under the table. Still as slender and perfect as the last time he’d stolen a look at them.

  “What about the media?” Ash asked, hoping to break the tension. He looked at Baron but Harker answered.

  “There is no public knowledge of Katelyn Laicey’s murder or the events that preceded it. We have a small window of opportunity to get our house in order before the witch-hunt starts. Which is why it’s critical, Doctor Franchot, that I have a completed report on Anwick’s capacity by the end of this week.”

  Alix laughed, half genuinely and half for effect.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Harker, but that’s just not realistic. What you want, with respect, isn’t just a view on capacity – it’s a complete psychological breakdown. Let’s face it, you want to establish whether or not Eugene Anwick was capable of child killing, well that’s fine but it’s not going to happen overnight.”

  “I agree with Alix, Mrs Harker,” Ash said, hoping she’d later appreciate his efforts to support her although in reality he knew that was unlikely. He was cut short by Harker’s glare in any event and, caught between a rock and a hard place, settled for tailing off lamely before looking at the table top vacantly for a while.

  “I think the issue,” said Baron, “is that there is more to this story than the killing of Katelyn Laicey, Amanda, and I wonder whether Doctor Franchot would benefit from the full version before you set out what is expected of us. It is the least that they deserve.”

  Alix looked quizzically at Baron and then at Ash, who shrugged. There was something she didn’t like about the way that Baron said: “before you set out what is expected of us.” As if he knew what was coming was somehow unpalatable.

  “What’s the full version?” she asked.

  Harker looked at Baron and something passed between them, some invisible message. It was difficult to tell which of them would back down first and for a moment it looked like there might be deadlock and they would remain staring at each other for the rest of time, until Harker spoke.

  “Fine, but the full version remains within these four walls. Absolutely and exclusively. Understand?”

  Chapter 14

  Particles of dust sparkled in the waves of light that shone through the windows around the musty church. A galaxy of tiny stars orbiting an invisible sun.

  Jacob’s hand trembled as he examined the knife in his hand. A tiny fragment of his mind fought to prevent the darkness overpowering him completely. But it was a futile effort and he could already feel the energy crackle down his arm and to the tip of the blade.

  He glanced nervously at the man in the black robe, unsure of how to proceed. In front of him, facing away, head bowed low, was a man he once knew but could no longer remember; knelt as if in prayer.

  “One quick cut across the throat, Jacob, deep and long, and it is done. If you feel the knife stick, pull your arm around and over the shoulder hard.”

  Unsure, Jacob took the hair of the man in his hand and pulled it back. He felt the blood course through the veins around the neck. Felt the life in his hands. Took the knife and delicately lined it up.

  Felt the hand on his shoulder holding him back.

  “The words, Jacob. Remember the words.”

  He couldn’t remember who this man was he was about to destroy. But he remembered the words the man in the black robe had taught him.

  “In the name of Cronos, I sacrifice this body to make this Portal.”

  One quick cut across the throat, deep and long, and it was done.

  Chapter 15

  “Professor Eugene Anwick was a physicist working on projects funded by Cambridge University, of which he was a don. His particular field was what you and I may call quantum physics. By all accounts, he was a leader of his field. Shy, determined, intellectually brilliant. His colleagues nicknamed him Little Newton. As far as everyone was concerned he led a quiet, simple life with his wife, Sasha Anwick, in a large country house five miles outside of Cambridge.”

  Arms folded, Alix eyed Harker suspiciously. She could swear that the temperature dropped a few degrees every time she spoke; she pulled her coat tightly around her neck, cursing her knee length skirt decision. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ash steal another glance at her legs before fishing a pen out to make notes with.

  “Anwick’s distressing demise occurred two years ago,” Harker continued with the air of a bored teacher reading to a class of imbeciles. “It would seem that whilst Anwick was a fairly normal and uninteresting individual, save for his extraordinary intellect, his wife, Sasha, was an unstable tyrant. She controlled Anwick’s every movements. She was insanely jealous of Anwick’s relationship with his work and illogically paranoid about her husband. She was convinced he was having an affair with one of the cleaners. So one day she went downstairs, took a meat cleaver from the kit
chen, went back upstairs and tried to hack off the cleaner’s breasts. She didn’t do a very good job. There was a lot of blood, as one might imagine, and the cleaner went into arrest. She died shortly after from the trauma. Eugene watched the whole thing from the bathroom. When Sasha came after him there was a struggle. It’s not clear what happened but somehow Anwick and his wife found themselves on the landing and at some point Sasha ended up falling down the stairs backwards, breaking her neck as she fell.

  “Having not turned up for an important lecture, Anwick was found by a colleague later that day. He found Anwick sat in his car, parked inside a garage. The carbon monoxide readings in his blood were off the chart. But nonetheless and, miraculously it would seem, he was alive.”

  “This all happened when exactly?” asked Ash.

  “Four weeks ago.”

  “Was Anwick arrested?”

  Harker scoffed, as if somehow that was a silly question although to Ash it seemed perfectly logical. Man gets caught having an affair, wife attacks man’s lover, man pushes wife downstairs and tries to kill himself. More than worthy of investigation.

  “It would seem,” said Baron, who was choosing his words carefully, “that that is the point at which Professor Anwick is placed in the Innsmouth Institute.”

  “So he wasn’t arrested?”

  “Technically,” said Baron, “he was sectioned.”

  “That would be fairly unusual, wouldn’t it,” said Alix carefully, her eyes on Harker. “How did you get a court order that quickly?”

  “In fact,” said Harker, “one doesn’t need a court order to confine someone to the Innsmouth Institute. That system is... different from the system you know.”

  As much as he was a detestable little creep, Alix couldn’t help thinking about Anwick’s lawyer’s complaints about Human Rights. He was right. Innocent until proven guilty. Sane until proven insane. These were the cornerstones of a free state, weren’t they?

  “I don’t accept that we have anything other than the system I know,” said Alix, folding her arms and sitting back in her chair.