Strange Blood

by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

  ‘Guv?’ Dave Todd looked up expectantly as they entered the room.

  ‘Where’s Kate?’ Foy sat down heavily at a table strewn with evidence bags.

  ‘Out the back, collecting stuff from the SOCOs,’ he said. ‘Any joy?’

  Foy shook his head. ‘Body was a total abortion. Zero forensic evidence because of the state of decay.’ He shrugged. ‘If there was any ejaculant this time we’ll never know. How about you?’

  ‘Well, we haven’t found anything that connects her with Tessa Ledbury,’ he replied, ‘But I think we’re getting somewhere with the time of death. That Vicky woman said they always met for lunch on Wednesdays.’

  ‘Yeah, she already told me they were supposed to meet yesterday.’ Foy sounded impatient. ‘How does it help us with the time of death?’

  ‘Well, the reason they didn’t meet last Wednesday was because Joanna was due to fly to Paris. She was leaving the day after their last meeting, which was two weeks ago.’ Todd brushed away a fly that had settled on his arm. ‘Vicky said Joanna was planning to spend a week in Paris to get inspiration from the art galleries for her latest book commission,’ he went on. ‘But she never caught the plane from Birmingham International on the Thursday afternoon. That means she must have died sometime between 2.30pm on the Wednesday and about 11am on the Thursday.’

  ‘I see,’ Foy nodded. ‘Which means she’s been dead a fortnight.’

  ‘Looks like it, Guv, yes.’

  ‘There could be a pattern, there, couldn’t there?’ The men looked up, startled at the sound of Megan’s voice, as if they had forgotten she was there. ‘Tessa dies on a Thursday morning; Joanna dies sometime between Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning. Where was it they met for lunch?’ She had suddenly remembered the café in Pendleton and her mind was racing ahead like an express train.

  ‘Beatties,’ Todd said, derailing her theory with a single word. ‘That’s where they always met. You know – the department store in Wolverhampton town centre?’

  Megan nodded. ‘Do we know where she went after she’d had lunch? I mean, did she tell Vicky she was going shopping or anything?’

  ‘She told her she was going straight home to pack for the holiday.’

  ‘What if she needed something last-minute for the trip?’ Megan asked. ‘Pendleton’s the nearest supermarket to Stockhall.’

  ‘She could have gone to the local shops,’ Foy said slowly. ‘They’re only two minutes walk from the house.’

  ‘Yes, but they all shut at half past five,’ Megan countered. ‘The supermarket at Pendleton stays open until at least eight o’clock most nights, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Well I suppose she could have done that,’ Foy grunted. ‘But I don’t think it’s very likely because she didn’t own a car.’

  ‘She could have got there some other way, though, couldn’t she?’ Megan persisted. ‘On a bus. Or a bicycle.’ She looked pointedly at him. She still hadn’t forgiven him for witholding that witness statement from her.

  ‘Okay, okay!’ Foy glanced at the ceiling. ‘Have you checked her handbag yet, Dave?’

  ‘Yes Guv. No receipts for anything after the day she met Vicky Tomlins for lunch.’

  ‘But were any of those receipts from shops in Pendleton?’ Foy sounded exasperated.

  ‘I, er, think so, yes.’ He flicked through his notebook. ‘I was looking at them more from the point of view of establishing the time of death.’ His face had flushed and Megan felt a twinge of sympathy. ‘I’ll have to check,’ he said.

  ‘Tell the SOCOs to get onto it, will you Dave?’ Foy barked. ‘Get them to check barcodes with the supermarket. Oh, and don’t forget those rubbish bags outside.’ He sounded serious enough but Megan had a feeling all this was window-dressing. He had given himself away in that phone call he’d made to her when the body was found. Sean Raven was still his prime suspect.

  There was an uncomfortable silence after Dave Todd left the room. Megan wondered what Foy was thinking.

  ‘What I find hard to believe,’ she said, ‘is that Vicky Tomlins was Joanna Hamilton’s only friend. It’s odd, don’t you think? Both murder victims having such a limited social circle.’

  He frowned. ‘Well, in Joanna’s case it might not have been that limited. She hadn’t long moved from Australia, but we’re checking out local groups she might have joined, that sort of thing.’

  ‘By which you mean Sean Raven’s coven, I assume?’ Megan looked at him. ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing.’ He sounded sheepish. ‘Carole-Ann Beddows said she’d never clapped eyes on her. So did a couple of others we’ve tracked down.’

  ‘And the man himself?’ Megan’s eyebrows arched. ‘Come on Steve, don’t tell me he wasn’t back in the interview room the minute Joanna’s body was found?’

  ‘Guv!’

  Before Foy could say anything, Kate O’Leary appeared, almost staggering into the room. She was carrying an enormous pile of books, each one encased in a plastic evidence bag.

  ‘Just look at these, Guv,’ she said, leaning over the table so that they slid gently out of her arms.

  Foy picked one up, reading the cover through the plastic. ‘The Thoth Tarot,’ he announced, ‘An introduction to the Occult-Inspired Designs of Aleister Crowley.’ His eyes narrowed as he stared at the book before tossing it aside and grabbing another. ‘Queen of the Night,’ he read. ‘Exploring the Astrological Moon.’ Megan could hear the excitement in his voice as he reached for another, this time a thick hardback with a brightly illustrated jacket. ‘Parker’s Astrology: The Definitive Guide To Using Astrology In Every Aspect Of Your Life.’ He gave a low whistle. ‘Thank you, God,’ he breathed, pushing the books towards Megan and grabbing another handful.

  ‘They were just sitting there in a bookcase in the bedroom,’ Kate said. She sounded out of breath. ‘Can’t believe I didn’t notice them myself.’

  ‘Is there anything on witchcraft?’ Megan sifted through the books Foy had not yet seized.

  ‘Not actual witchcraft, no,’ Kate said. ‘But there’s loads on Tarot and Astrology. She was obviously one of the wacky brigade.’

  ‘I think that’s going a bit far, don’t you?’ Megan said, pulling a book about crystal healing from the pile. ‘I’d say this was pretty mainstream stuff. Or are you suggesting that everyone who reads their horoscope and burns scented candles is a closet occultist?’

  ‘Oh come on!’ Kate gave her a withering look. ‘Aleister Crowley? Don’t you know the kind of perverted filth he was involved in?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ Megan replied, reaching for the book Foy had picked out first. ‘But the woman was an illustrator and this has the word ‘Designs’ in the title. For all we know she bought it for the pictures, not the content.’

  She looked at Foy but his eyes were full of righteous zeal. He breathed in deeply and sat back, folding his arms. When he opened his mouth Megan caught a whiff of peppermint. ‘Come on,’ he said, his nostrils flaring. ‘Let’s get the bastard up here!’

  *

  Mariel Raven drew the thick green velvet curtains in her living room. She could see no reporters or photographers outside, but she wasn’t taking any chances. It had been hard, running their gauntlet every time she left the house. But at lunchtime they’d streaked off like sharks scenting blood. She’d seen the news later and breathed a sigh of relief. What she couldn’t understand was why those bastards were still holding Sean.

  She heard the sound of her son’s bicycle on the gravel path. He would have to eat quickly and get himself ready. The others would be here soon. She took candles, wine, a silver goblet and a knife from the kitchen cupboard. ‘Justin!’ she called. ‘In here!’

  An hour later, Mariel, her son and eleven others stood in a circle in the living room. The candlelight flickered on translucent white robes, beneath which each one was naked.

  ‘I call on the spirits of the air,’ Mariel cried out, sweeping the point of the knife above one of the candles. Working her way round the cir
cle, she invoked spirits of the earth, fire and water, cutting the air in a succession of intricate patterns.

  ‘Now choose your high priestess,’ she whispered to her son. Justin stood in the centre of the circle. Tall and slim-hipped, he had his mother’s jet black hair and high cheekbones. Mariel watched his eyes as they travelled over the bodies of the six young women she’d selected. By candlelight they were all beautiful. He was gazing at the large, pendulous breasts of the girl nearest to the altar. In a sudden movement he crouched at her feet, the folds of the robe hiding his swelling penis.

  He sank to his knees and bent his head. His mother wondered what was going through his mind. He knew how to perform the five-fold kiss. He had watched Sean do it many times. Mariel saw the girl’s legs quiver as his lips moved up her body. She was enjoying this as much as he was. And soon they would be left alone.

  Twenty minutes later Mariel and the others filed back in from the kitchen. The girl was lying on the floor by the altar. Taking up the knife, Mariel plunged it into the goblet of red wine. ‘The Great Rite is finished,’ she hissed. ‘Raise the cone!’ The others sank to the floor. Mariel took Justin’s hand and held it high above the circle. She could smell the girl on his body.

  ‘We raise a cone of power for our brother, Sean,’ she chanted, ‘We call on the spirits of earth, air, fire and water! By the power of the Goddess! Free him!’

  ‘Free him!’ the others echoed.

  Mariel breathed deeply and slowly, soothed by the scent of the jasmine oil burning on the altar. The spell would work. She knew it would work.

  When she opened her eyes she saw that Justin’s robe was smeared with blood.

  Chapter 11

  Dave Todd picked up the phone and punched out a number. ‘Al, it’s Dave. Can you get Raven up from the cells?’ He caught Megan’s eye as he replaced the receiver. His expression was one of resignation and she got the impression he was as unhappy as she was about the direction the investigation was taking.

  Steve Foy was rifling through plastic evidence bags piled on a table in the far corner of the room. He picked one out and waved it under Megan’s nose. She peered at the dark brown scrap of fabric inside and then at the label. It was Tessa Ledbury’s bloodstained bra.

  ‘Might come in handy!’ Foy sniffed and cocked his head at the door. ‘You coming?’

  ‘You don’t really need me for this, do you Steve?’ Megan tried to keep her voice steady, but her anger and frustration were mounting.

  He looked surprised. ‘Well, I suppose it’s not vital. But I thought you’d want…’

  ‘I think my time might be better spent at the crime scene,’ she cut in. ‘There’s a lot more I want to know. Okay by you?’ She looked him in the eyes, daring him to challenge her.

  ‘Okay,’ he shrugged. ‘Whatever turns you on.’

  ‘Shall I take Dr Rhys, Guv?’ Dave Todd piped up.

  Megan wondered why he was so eager to escape. Perhaps he was thinking along the same lines as she was.

  ‘Might as well,’ Foy grunted. ‘Don’t forget to check out those receipts, now.’ There was an edge of sarcasm in his voice. Bastard, Megan thought. The man had total self-belief. It was an unpleasant trait in any human being, but in a policeman it was positively dangerous.

  ‘We’re picking up Vicky Tomlins on the way,’ Dave Todd said as they got into the black Mondeo. We need her to tell us if anything’s been nicked from the house.’

  ‘Good,’ Megan replied. ‘I want to talk to her as well, if that’s okay.’

  ‘Get in the back when we stop at her house, then,’ Dave said. ‘You can talk on the way to Joanna’s. There won’t be anywhere private once we get there ‘cos the SOCOs’ll be all over the shop.’

  Megan gave him a sideways glance. ‘Were you there when the body was found?’

  He nodded. ‘Not a pretty sight. I’ve come across all kinds since I started this job, but that was definitely one of the worst.’

  ‘I didn’t get a proper look at the crime scene photographs,’ Megan said. ‘She was clothed, though, wasn’t she? What was she wearing?’

  ‘A red vest top and red trousers.’ A line appeared above the bridge of Todd’s glasses as he frowned in concentration. ‘Black bra and knickers. A gold beaded hair band. Nothing on her feet.’

  ‘Oh?’ Megan said. ‘No shoes?’

  ‘No socks or tights either. She must have been barefoot when he broke in.’

  ‘Like Tessa Ledbury, then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Todd shot her sideways glance. ‘Does that tell you something?’

  Megan pursed her lips. ‘Not sure. It could be down to the warm weather, of course. But it could also tell us something about the killer’s modus operandi.’

  ‘Do you think he took their shoes? Like a trophy or something?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ She looked at him. ‘Presumably Richard Ledbury was asked about that? Whether any of his wife’s things were missing?’

  ‘Yes, he was. I was there when Kate was going through it with him.’

  Megan’s eyebrows flicked up at the mention of the policewoman’s name. ‘The thing is,’ she said, thinking aloud, ‘Would a man necessarily know if a pair of his wife’s shoes were missing?’

  *

  The bloodstained bra shot across the table, coming to rest against Sean Raven’s left hand. At first he couldn’t work out what it was. It looked like a dirty brown rag.

  ‘Recognise it?’ Foy barked.

  Raven looked up, confused.

  ‘Go on! Pick it up!’

  Gingerly he lifted the fabric with his finger and thumb. ‘Jesus!’ He dropped it as if it had burnt his fingers, his other hand shooting to his mouth as he retched. ‘Oh Jesus!’

  ‘Not a very appropriate expletive for a Black Magician, is it?’ Foy sneered. ‘Was Joanna another of your sacrifices to Satan?’

  ‘I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Sean Raven’s voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘I’ve never seen that … that thing before in my life.’

  ‘Don’t give me that bollocks!’ Foy was shouting now. ‘You took it off Tessa’s body after you’d killed her, didn’t you? Was that before or after you left your sicko sign on her head?’

  Sean Raven stared at the coffee-stained table, not moving.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Foy went on, ‘You got bored of dancing naked round bonfires. You wanted to see how far you could go. How far you could push the poor slappers who fell for your witchcraft bullshit. You murdered Tessa and Joanna, didn’t you?’ For a moment there was no sound but the ticking of the clock on the wall. ‘Didn’t you?’ he roared.

  Raven jumped as Foy’s fist came down on the table. ‘You can’t do this,’ he croaked, cradling his head in his hands. ‘Where’s my brief?’

  *

  Vicky Tomlins looked much younger than her twenty-five years. Her short, wispy blonde hair framed a chubby face with red-rimmed eyes. Talking to her was like waiting for an icicle to drop from a roof. The way she held her head, the constant clenching and unclenching of her hands, spoke of a soul in torment. After a few minutes Megan became convinced she was holding something back. She wondered if Dave Todd’s presence in the driver’s seat was the problem.

  ‘Would you mind pulling in at this garage?’ Megan leaned forward, catching his eye in the rear view mirror. ‘I’ve got a thumping head. Could do with some paracetamol or something.’

  ‘No problem.’ He nodded and she knew he’d taken the hint. ‘I’ll pop in and get it,’ he said, swinging the car off the road. ‘Could do with some petrol, anyway.’

  As his door slammed shut Megan glanced after him. Without looking at Vicky she said: ‘It’s odd, you know. The police say they can’t trace anyone who was close to Joanna. Apart from her ex in Australia, I mean.’ She paused, still avoiding Vicky’s eyes. ‘I’d have thought she’d have had other people in her life.’

  ‘You know, that’s what makes me feel so terrible.’ The voice was a whisper.

  Megan said nothi
ng, but turned to look at the girl, trying to keep her face as expressionless as possible.

  ‘She asked me to move in with her,’ Vicky went on. ‘And if I hadn’t turned her down, she’d still be alive now!’

  Megan sat in silence as Vicky dug in her pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed, ‘it’s just that I … I…’ The rest of the sentence dissolved in a stream of tears.

  ‘It’s alright,’ Megan said gently. ‘Take your time. You say she asked you to move in with her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Another sniff and a deep breath. ‘You see Joanna was … well…’ She paused, looking down at the screwed up hanky in her hand. She took another deep breath, as if mustering her courage and looked straight at Megan. ‘She was gay.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Megan replied evenly, trying not to let the surprise register on her face.

  ‘I know it sounds strange, with her having been married and everything.’ Vicky blinked at Megan, obviously taken aback by the lack of reaction to what she had just divulged. ‘But that was why her marriage broke up,’ she went on. ‘She had a fling with a girl in Australia but it didn’t work out. She was really cut up about it and that’s why she decided to move back here.’

  ‘How long ago was it that she asked you to move in?’ Megan asked, avoiding the obvious question about Vicky’s own sexual orientation.

  ‘The last time I saw her,’ Vicky said, her eyes filling with fresh tears. ‘Up until then I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.’ She blew her nose loudly. ‘She’d never explained exactly why her marriage had failed. I had no idea she was a…’ She faltered, struggling with the word. ‘You know, a lesbian.’

  ‘So what happened? When she told you, I mean?’

  ‘It all came out in a rush. We were sitting there in the middle of Beatties restaurant and she started telling me all this stuff about the girl in Australia. She started crying and told me how lonely she’d been since she moved here. She knew I wanted to move out of my parents’ house and in the next breath she was asking if I’d go and live with her.’