by Clare Revell
He could almost feel the red dots of the ARU on his back as he walked. They’d been given the shoot order should this go pear-shaped on them all.
He reached out and knocked on the door. A woman opened it. She didn’t say anything, just stood there. “Raise your hands,” Zander told her. “Walk slowly down the path to the officers.”
She nodded and did as he asked.
Zander headed inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Isabel? Where are you?”
Farrell appeared in the doorway. “She’s down here. Where’s Cynthia?”
“Gone.”
Farrell waved a gun at him. “Hands up and turn around.”
“I’m not armed.” Zander raised his hands and turned slowly.
“What’s in the bag?”
“See for yourself.” Zander held it open.
“I’m not that stupid. Get down those stairs and keep your hands raised.”
Zander did as instructed hoping he wasn’t walking into a trap. The basement steps were steep, but he managed it.
Isabel sat tied to a chair. She wore the white towelling dress she had in the photo, guilty written on her forehead. “Hi.”
“Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine. Hurt my ankle trying to escape. It’s a tad sore.” She eased her leg forward.
Zander winced at the swollen and bruised flesh. “Never mind sore, Is, that actually looks broken.” He glanced at Farrell. “Have you checked to make sure there is still a pulse in her foot? If there isn’t, she could end up losing it.”
“She’s going to die, what’s the point?”
“Humour me.” Zander put the bag on the table and raised his hand again.
“Go on.” Farrell waved the gun. “But one false move, and I shoot. First her, then you.”
Zander nodded. He moved over to Isabel and knelt by her feet, making sure the camera got a good view of her foot. “How did you do this, Is?” he asked gently, running his fingers over the sore joint, feeling for a break and a pulse.
Isabel whimpered, biting her lip. “Fell down an embankment,” she said, tears in her eyes. “Sorry, it’s a bit sore.”
“It feels broken, but I can feel a pulse and your foot is still warm. You need an X-ray to confirm that.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“What he asked for. We’re still working on the two million coins. Other than this are you sure you’re all right?” He studied her bruised face.
She managed a lopsided smile. “I’m fine. Had better days. Really do have a headache now.”
“Enough of the chitchat!” Farrell yanked Zander to his feet and pushed him into the chair next to Isabel’s. He tied him to it.
“What’s the pool for?”
Farrell smirked. “Izzy’s death will be something special. I’m glad you’ll be here to witness it.” He pointed to the painting. “We’re going to re-enact it.”
A bolt of fear shot through Zander. “We?”
“Yes, I’m waiting on a friend.”
Zander hoped it was the person they’d already arrested and not someone else. “If you mean Ashton, he isn’t coming. We arrested him at the station before we arrived here.”
Farrell glowered. “What?”
Zander glanced at Isabel. “It was all a lie, you know. Every single part. Ashton Clydesdale isn’t a cop. Well, the real one was, but he vanished three years ago and this bloke took his place. His real name is Ashton Richards. He’s not related to you at all.”
He wasn’t sure if that was shock or relief that crossed Isabel’s face, but she didn’t say anything.
Farrell smirked. “Took you long enough to work it out.”
“Where’s the real Chief Superintendent?” Zander asked.
“Dead.”
“Where’s the body? You know, confession is good for the soul and all that rubbish.”
“We buried him under the patio here.”
“You both set up Zander,” Isabel said quietly.
She’d lost what little colour she’d had when Zander had entered the basement. He hoped he hadn’t damaged her ankle further when he examined it.
“It was easy.” Farrell moved behind her. “Enough wasting time.” He ran his fingers over the back of her neck, sending a visible shudder through her. “It’s time to pay for your sins. And the cost of those sins is your soul.”
21
Isabel shivered, longing to be able to move away from his touch. “So you didn’t really intend to talk to anyone.”
“And why should I?” Farrell leaned down, his breath warm on the back of her neck and her ear. “I have what I want. And no, it isn’t ice-cream or jam pudding or pound coins.”
“Then what is it?”
“You.” He kissed the back of her neck. He grabbed the back of her chair and swung it around to face Zander. “Because he’s here now, we can begin.”
Isabel took a moment to count to ten. She was terrified, but was determined not to show it.
Zander didn’t flinch. “That’s fine with me, but can you explain a few things first? Why all the cloak and dagger? All those women, the paintings, clothing? You went to so much trouble, and if you’re just killing her now out of spite, it’ll ruin it all. Besides shouldn’t she really have one last meal? I’m assuming that’s why you wanted the ice cream.”
Farrell shook his head. “You really are rubbish at negotiating.”
“I did tell you several times that I flunked it,” Zander smiled crookedly. “But I’m also the only chance you have of walking out of here.”
“There isn’t a court in the land who’ll convict me.”
“You forgot. Ashton isn’t there now to reduce the charges or talk to the CPS and get the charges dropped to insanity. Besides, you’re not insane and we both know it. You’re a cold, calculating killer, who knows right from wrong. You know exactly what you did and why. All I’m asking for is a little insight. Just for my final report, you know, so I can dot the I’s and cross the T’s.”
“I’m sure you’ve already worked most of it out.” Farrell walked behind Isabel, something cold running across the back of her neck, making her shiver.
“A fair bit, yeah, but that’s not as good as hearing it from you.”
Farrell tilted his head. “You want me to confess?”
Zander nodded. “It’d be nice. Isn’t that what all this is about? Confession, baptism, repentance? Is worked that out weeks ago. She’s a lot smarter than we men give her credit for. Sometimes. The rest of the time, she’s a meek, hormonal wreck.”
Isabel pulled a face at him. “That’s you off my Christmas card list,” she muttered. She knew Zander didn’t mean it, yet she had to make it look as if he did.
“Yet, you didn’t see her name in all this. When did you figure it out?” Farrell asked. His smirk seemed to indicate he liked the discord between the two officers.
“If I tell you that, I want you to tell me how you picked the girls.”
Isabel opened her mouth. He’d already done that. She frowned slightly as Zander dropped his eyes to his chest, then looked at her again. The penny dropped. He was wearing a wire. If they had the confession on tape, it might be watertight.
Zander looked at Farrell. “By the way, I saw your collection of necklaces in the gallery. Although we have taken them as evidence now. What was it you called them?”
“Tá admháil maith don anam,” Farrell replied. “Means confession is good for the soul in Gaelic. You had no right to take them. They were mine.”
“Actually, they belonged to all your victims.” Zander glanced at Isabel. “Yours was there, too, Is. It had pride of place. The Guv has it now. So, Farrell? We have a deal, yes? Quid pro quo.”
Farrell jerked his head. “You first. When did you figure it out?”
“This morning, actually. We’ve done the incident board several different ways, but we always had the names of the victims going across the top of it, never down the side.”
“Ah.”
&
nbsp; Something cold poured over her head and Isabel flinched. “What’s that?”
“Oil.” Farrell stood behind her, massaging it in. “To anoint you. I’d watched the girls for a while. They’d come into the gallery, flaunting themselves, full of self-confidence. So much like you, Izzy. Or how you should be. They all looked like you.”
“Is that why you picked them?”
Isabel shivered again as oil drizzled over her head. It slid down the back of her neck down her sleeves. Cold, slippery, oozing to her wrists. “Is this stuff flammable?” she asked.
Farrell’s breath was hot. “Very,” he whispered in her ear. “I made that mistake with Rosa. There were candles. She tried to get away before the hemlock took hold. She burned so fast. It was actually quite impressive.”
Zander’s face crumpled before he controlled it.
“But why spell out my name?” Isabel asked.
“You weren’t meant to be there. You were working at another police station, in uniform. This took planning. Organizing the paintings to fit the plan. It was meant to be a sign of my love.”
She shuddered again. “That’s a lot of planning. Did Dominic know what you wanted the paintings for?”
Farrell shook his head. “No. He’s just a dumb kid. And one that was easily led. I burned the shed he used as a workshop to make him think the paintings were blessed. In actual fact the paintings survived because they were in a firebox. Watching the women carefully in the weeks and days before I killed them, made it easy to fit the crime to the painting.”
~*~
Zander shoved down the urge to break the bonds that held him and flatten Farrell. But that wouldn’t help. They needed as much on tape as they could get. “Yeah, explain that to me. Some of the deaths only seemed to have a tenuous link to the commandment, and some just plain didn’t fit.”
“They fit perfectly. You just don’t see it. Where do I start?”
“At the beginning,” Zander said. “You shall have no other gods before Me. 5-7.”
Farrell smirked. “You even worked out the numbers on the postcard.”
“Isabel did.”
“I see. Iona Kevane. All that money she and her husband made, yet it was never enough. She had to lead a double life, work three jobs. Money was all she cared about.”
“You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the Lord Your God, am a jealous God. 5-8,” Zander said.
“Sally Rollin, a university student. She was a real party animal. Always in the Lao Órga. Every weekend, some weeknights. You know that means golden calf.”
Isabel nodded. “We do.”
“You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses His name. 5-11,” Zander said.
Farrell filled a bowl with water and sat in front of Isabel. He picked up her good leg roughly and started to wash her feet.
Isabel cringed. She hated having her feet touched and tried to pull away.
Farrell simply tightened his grip. “Keep still. Ashlyn Orkney was a nanny. Such language though. All over social media, outside the school gates in front of small children. I couldn’t allow that.”
“Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. 5-12.” Isabel tried to take her mind off what he was saying.
“Brit Yardley. A waitress who had to work on a Sunday. The only work on a Sunday is essential work. Doctors, fireman, police officers. Waitresses, not so much.”
Zander huffed. “And that doesn’t stop you eating out on a Sunday, does it? How about honour your father and your mother. 5-16?”
“Esther Leaney, company director. All that money, and yet she shoved her parents in a care home because she couldn’t be bothered to look after them.”
“Actually,” Isabel pulled her foot away from him. “Her father has dementia. They couldn’t care for him alone anymore. Her mother made the decision to move them both into a home where he had the help and supervision he needed, and she could still be with him.”
“OK, on to number six.” Zander sounded irate now. “You shall not murder. 5-17.”
Farrell smirked. “I enjoyed that one. Lexi Eke, a home help to your grandfather. And the woman claiming to be Izzy’s grandmother. She ran over a bird.” He taunted Zander. “Who’d have thought your grandfather had it in him? He recognised me, tried to chase me off with that stick of his. I couldn’t have that.”
Zander bit his lip. He wanted nothing more than to thump him. “That was you.”
“And Ashton. Or should I call him Dad, as you know the truth.”
Isabel winced as Farrell began washing her injured foot. “What about the seventh? You shall not commit adultery. 5-18.”
“Yasmin Bowery. A married woman working as a stripper.”
“Actually, you’re wrong. She was a secretary in an adjoining building. They shared a car park.”
Farrell scowled.
“Eight,” Zander said. “You shall not steal. 5-19.”
“I don’t need to tell you what Orla Arkwright did. She may have been working as a carer, but she swapped her dead baby for a live one. Yes, she’d already been punished by the courts, but she stole a child.”
Isabel listened, not understanding how he could be so judgemental, yet not see how guilty he was. She guessed the parable of the tree and the forest was truer than she’d realised. “What about Rosa?” she asked.
“You shall not give false testimony against your neighbour. 5-20,” Farrell quoted. “Rosa Shipman, KS1 teacher committed perjury. She lied in court. That is a crime and a sin. Yet, Zander pulled some strings, and she got away with it.”
“I didn’t, actually,” Zander said. “I was as surprised as the next person when she got away with such a light sentence.”
“And Kacie? You shall not covet 5-21.”
“Kacie Ingles. A firefighter, and one of the nicest girls I’ve dated in a long time. But she always kept whining and whining over things she couldn’t have. A new dress like Vicky’s. Or a car like Jared’s. A house like Simone’s. Or red shoes like the woman in the poster on the High Street. It’s also been in all the papers. She’d go on and on and on about how she needed them. No one needs shoes like that. You need food. Not fancy shoes.”
“I know the shoes you mean,” Isabel said. “Those impossible to walk in ones. A ten-inch heel or something ridiculous.”
“Only you’d be able to reach the top shelf in them,” Zander told her. “Without having to yell ‘I need a tall person’ every single time.”
She inclined her head in agreement. “That may be true, but it’s also rude.”
Zander looked at Farrell. “So, what will it really take for us all to walk out of here?”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Zander started. That possibility had never occurred to him and judging by the shock on Is’s face, it hadn’t been forefront in her thinking either. He had to work fast, to turn this around. “Why not?”
“I murdered eleven women. They won’t let me walk.”
“Let us go, put the gun down and you walk out of here. You get a chance to tell the world your side of the story, the inside scoop on the mind of the Slayer. That alone would be worth millions.”
Farrell grabbed the duct tape and tore off a strip. He fastened it over Isabel’s mouth.
Her eyes widened and she struggled against her bonds. Fear showed for the first time since Zander had entered the building.
Farrell bent to untie her ankles from the chair legs. “And if I’m a cop killer?”
“They won’t let you walk. The official story would be suicide by cop, shot whilst escaping or you pulled that gun on someone and they fired in self-defence.” Zander paused. “Do you really hate Is that much?”
“I don’t hate her. Hate is such a cruel word. It’s about justice. She sinned and now she has to pay.”
Zander nodded eagerl
y. “I agree. Sin deserves punishment. But what about you? The sixth commandment states thou shalt not kill and yet by your own admission, you’ve taken the lives of eleven women. Stolen their souls to enact some kind of vigilantism.”
“That was justice. The same way a trial judge who gives out the death penalty isn’t responsible for those deaths, nor is the executioner, and thus, nor am I.” He untied Isabel’s wrists from the chair, quickly rebinding them.
She struggled, screaming against the gag, as Farrell picked her up.
“Put her down. What are you doing?” Zander asked. Now would be a really good time for the backup to break down the door. All too late he realised he’d forgotten to set up the safe word, so the Guv knew when to intervene.
Farrell ignored him, focusing all his energy on the struggling Isabel. “Izzy, I want you to kneel in the water, just like in the painting. This has to be perfect. Do you understand?”
Isabel went limp in his arms and nodded.
“Farrell, please,” Zander said. “There’s no need for this.”
Farrell placed Isabel into the pool. No sooner had she knelt, than he shoved her head under the water, holding her there one handed.
Isabel struggled.
“Farrell!” Zander tried to free himself but was unable to. Instead he stood, still bound to the chair and, taking it with him, rushed Farrell, pushing him away from the pool.
“Zander!” Isabel had surfaced, wrists somehow free, and tape no longer on her mouth. She gasped for breath. “Gun! He’s got a gun.”
He glanced round to see Farrell, lying on the floor, gun pointing at him.
Farrell snarled. “You just had to ruin everything, didn’t you?”
For a long time Zander wasn’t sure which order things happened in next.
There was a gunshot, a scream, and pain like he’d never experienced before, and what sounded like a herd of elephants charging around him.
22
Shouting and running footsteps echoed in the hallway above them as Isabel heaved herself over the side of the pool. She needed to get to Zander. Her ankle gave way as she landed on it. The towelling gown, heavy and dripping water, impeded any movement.
