“I’ve been giving it quite a lot of thought since your call. You know about finding him by the pyramid grave. You know a little of biblical Gideon, Detective Chief Inspector, yes?”
Cyril looked at April and nodded. He did not, but he knew someone who did.
The Reverend continued. “Gideon was likened to Moses; he was directed, like Moses, who freed his people from the Egyptians, so Gideon freed them from the Midianites. It was the first time I saw the connection.”
Cyril felt as though he were way out of his depth and when he saw April nodding and taking notes, he knew that he had to bring the interview back on track. “So why did he say that he was here on such a cold evening?”
“He didn’t and I didn’t ask. He was standing looking at the pyramid grave. He said he came as often as he could. It was where God spoke to him, corrected, yes, that’s what he said, corrected him.”
“What happened then?”
“We came into the church and I gave him a drink from my thermos flask. I invited him home for a hot meal and I’m pleased to say that he accepted but after that he assured me that he had to leave. He said that he had family locally and they would give him shelter. He even refused a coat that I offered and mumbled something about an ephod. That shocked me. His mood changed at that point and he left.”
It was Cyril’s inquisitive look that brought April to his rescue.
“An ephod is a priest’s garment. Gideon made one from collected gold and made his people worship it. He lost his religion, became apostate as did Moses.”
Cyril smiled, he was still lost in the wilderness of theological confusion and he wanted to get the interview back to the level where he had some understanding. “So he left and you never saw him again, not even by the pyramid?”
“Detective Chief Inspector, we get several visitors to the pyramid for many reasons but as far as I’m aware, the man of whom we now speak, has not returned.”
“Thank you for seeing us.” Cyril smiled. “During your time together did he mention his past? Did he talk about numbers?”
The vicar shook his head. “Sorry!”
Cyril stood and put out his hand. “Thank you for your time.”
They moved back through the church to the porch.
“I don’t know if this is anything but he gave me a page from his satchel. It was from Isaiah 1:18, around which he had tied a scarlet thread.”
April spoke immediately: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”
The vicar quickly turned and looked at April, astonished by her biblical knowledge. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Bless you, yes, that very passage. It is what he said afterwards that made me slightly uncomfortable.”
“And what was that?” Cyril asked as his phone rang. He dug it from his pocket holding up a finger.
“Bennett. Where? You know the procedure. Forty minutes.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Thank you very much. We have to dash. Emergency call.”
“Do you wish to hear what he said that made me uncomfortable?”
Cyril turned with a look of impatience written clearly on his face.
“These were his parting words. ‘Like Rahab, all Christians have a scarlet cord hanging in the window of their soul.’ As he got to my gate he stopped and turned to look at me directly and then said, ‘Including you.’”
“What was he insinuating?” Cyril’s expression was now one of total curiosity.
The vicar simply spread his arms. “We are all guilty of sin, Chief Inspector.”
“Do you still have the page and the thread that he gave you?”
The vicar smiled. “I couldn’t destroy it and I couldn’t keep it at home. It is safely kept here. I'll be happy to see it go.” He moved through to the vestry and returned with a small envelope.
The farmhouse was large, chickens moved along the hedge, scratching and pecking, as a dog barked from somewhere nearby. The door to the barn opened and Emma Robson looked out. She checked her watch.
“DS Owen and Ruth. You’re earlier than I thought; usually the traffic is bad on the A1 at this time. You’ll be ready for a coffee.” She moved across the yard and slipped off her boots before entering the house. Ruth and Owen followed.
They sat round the kitchen table; the coffee and warmth from the Aga was welcome. A border collie walked in, looked at the visitors and left.
“We’ve brought a photograph of the missing man. We now know his identity. He disappeared about the time you left home. We’d like you to take a look and tell us if it’s the man you knew.”
Ruth looked at Emma first to make sure that she was up to it before she slid the folder over to her. Both she and Owen watched for her initial response. They immediately knew that they had found their missing man.
13
The body was still in the position in which it was found. Brimham Rocks Road had been closed at the junction to the entrance of the National Trust site. The Crime Scene vehicles had parked on the road leaving the crime scene open. Within thirty minutes Cyril pulled up at the police cordon. He showed his ID and the barrier was removed. He was directed further up to the second tape and the cars parked to the left of the road. The sky had been threatening rain all morning and now he was exposed on Brimham Moor, he could see in the distance the approaching curtain of wet weather. He grabbed an umbrella from the car. April Richmond followed him turning up the collar on her coat.
“What do we have?” Cyril looked at the officer standing by the tape who glanced at Cyril's ID.
“Sir, ma’am. One body. Male, Asian. Found earlier this morning. A van driver pulled in to the layby for a pee and found himself staring at what was once a human being in the back of an estate car. Immediately called 999. Luckily for him he didn’t go near.”
“What time was this?”
“08:20 I believe. The weather was atrocious last night. There’d be few sightseers around at that time when the rain was so bad. This area is known as a spot for lovers. There’s the car parks used by people visiting the rocks just down the road but they’re closed at sundown.”
“A gate?”
“Yes. It was too convenient and too private. Problems with ‘dogging’ in the past.” He raised his eyebrows. “Takes all kinds to make a world, sir.”
“Indeed. Pathologist?”
“Chemical emergency called so nobody could go into the area until it was deemed safe. I believe it’s an awful mess. Some kind of acid they said. Frosted the glass where it hit so you can imagine what it did to anything else in its path.”
“Pathologist?” Cyril asked again, hoping to achieve a simple answer.
“Dr Pritchett.”
Cyril smiled inwardly. “May we?”
The tape was lifted and they moved to the side where he could clearly observe the crime scene. The car could not be seen. It was parked within what looked like a large, inflatable, blue and white Forensic tent. The hum of a generator keeping the tent inflated droned constantly. The Crime Scene Manager approached. He smiled as the rain started to drive directly at them. He pointed to a car and they quickly made a dash.
“Looking at the evidence collected from the area around the car, the theory to date is that one or more persons attacked the victim. The rear window was shattered from the outside and he has suffered very serious acid burns to the face and body. He also suffered a severe blow to the right side of the skull post-acid attack. We think it’s when he tried to leave the car. It also appears that at some point he wasn’t alone inside.”
“I take it the acid has delayed things?”
“Always has to be made safe, you want to see the clothing they’re having to wear. Pritchett looks like Neil bloody Armstrong!”
“Has he been identified?”
The CSM nodded. “He’s Abdul Kumar, forty-three. That’s from the documents and the car’s registration. Married, five children. He doesn’t have much face, which makes formal ID difficu
lt until he’s back on the table and DNA is taken. According to his wife, he was supposed to be visiting a business acquaintance in Blackburn. He told her that he would be late back.”
“Whose case?”
The CSM smiled at Cyril.
Owen was at his desk when Cyril walked in.
“Five minutes, my office with a brew, please, Owen.”
After hanging up his coat he sat at his desk and put his face into the open palm of his hand and massaged his temple with his thumb and fingers. It was going to be a long day. Owen walked in carrying the cup and saucer and a plate of custard creams.
“I can see from your expression, sir, that you need an intake of calories. I’ll just pop and get my brew.”
Within minutes Owen was back. One custard cream remained on the plate.
“So, what did you discover from your Northumberland trip?” Cyril enquired concentrating on sipping his tea. Owen was correct, the biscuits had immediately given him a boost.
“It was the boyfriend, the body in the hole. We’ve discovered the missing Ben. Not a dog after all. I can only make the scenario up but Mr Edge got his daughter pregnant, boyfriend went to sort it out but failed. Killed by a blow to the head. We’ll never know if it were deliberate or accidental. Body cut and put in a secure area and then covered by a false wall in either the attic or the bedroom.”
“Case closed?” Cyril finished the last of his tea. “What of the red toe nails?”
“This is how I know that she, Emma, is telling the truth. She mentioned the last time she saw Ben. They’d paddled in the river and then she painted her nails and for a laugh, she painted his. She told me they both lay there on the riverbank waggling their toes waiting for them to dry. Ruth felt from her responses that she truly loved him. When she spoke of these moments there was gentleness, sincerity and in some way a real sadness in her voice that she never conveyed when speaking about any other part of her early life. Funny thing, she never broke down at all at that point. She gave the impression that everything was in the past and therefore best forgotten. The two people who gave her the most grief in her life were dead and so was the one who had offered a glimpse of true happiness. Her words, sir.”
“So where did she think he went?”
“Ruth asked that too.” Owen pointed to the remaining custard cream.
Cyril offered the plate.
“There was a letter waiting for her the next day saying that he had had to go away for a while but he’d find her wherever she might be. She showed us the letter. She was a bit weepy then so I left Ruth to do her magic. He obviously wrote it before he went to see her father.”
Cyril raised his hand to his inside jacket pocket and felt the sharp edge of the envelope. There was a pause. “Or the father wrote it knowing what he’d just done.”
Owen noticed Cyril’s expression as he moved his hand away from the inside of his jacket. “Are you all right, sir?”
Cyril nodded. “Well done. Will Ruth be liaising? We'll close the case down, providing, that is, that no further evidence comes to light.”
“She’ll report as and when. What about you, sir? What about the crosses and the hair? “
Cyril recovered his composure. “Theological confusion, Owen. Blinded by chapter and bloody verse. I’ve left it with DC Richmond to look into. However, we have a body found this morning in a layby on Brimham Rocks Road, acid attack and then, we believe, a blow to the head. Asian male and, as a bonus, I appear to be SIO. I don’t know about meeting a vicar today, I must have killed a priest in my last life.”
Owen smiled and popped the whole custard cream into his mouth. “If you want a job doing, give it to a busy man, one of my old bosses used to always say.”
Cyril watched flecks of masticated biscuit escape from his moving lips. He sighed and thought of his hand wrapped around the throat of some ancient cleric.
Cyril wandered around Julie’s office. He valued time alone there, time he could spend inspecting the collection of specimens for a few private moments, a veritable treasure trove of anatomical objects placed on shelves, stored in jars. The pickled penis always distracted him and he tried not to look too closely. What did attract him was one jar sitting on her desk. He had not seen it before. He picked up the jar and turned it in his hands, like a child admiring a fish in a jam jar. Julie entered.
“Typical detective! You can leave nothing alone.” She kissed his cheek. “It’s a human tongue.”
Cyril turned the jar through three hundred and sixty degrees before announcing assuredly, “Strongest muscle in the human body.”
“Wrong, Mr Holmes.”
“It’s a well-known fact!” Cyril protested.
“Sorry, Cyril, actually that’s not true. What’s true, the tongue never suffers from fatigue, it’s not one muscle but made up of eight… muscular hydrostats… an elephant’s trunk or an octopus's tentacles are made the same way.”
Cyril put the jar back on the desk. He found himself moving his tongue around his mouth.
“You see we can use our tongue in many ways, curl it forward, back and sideways, stretch and retract.” Julie demonstrated. “It’s a vital organ of articulation, taste and sense.”
“What have you been able to discover about Mr Kumar?”
“He wasn’t on the moor taking the air. That was some mess, and owing to the acid used it took some neutralising. Let me tell you what we have for starters, but we need to look further now the corpse is back here. The body has suffered extensive burns to the face, hands, genitals and legs. Very strong acid was used. Firstly, and this is only a guess at this stage, concentrated nitric acid to the face and upper torso. This would have blinded him and caused severe pain. Then it appears that a concentrated form of hydrofluoric acid was poured over the genital area. You can see from the photographs how the body has reacted, the flesh has turned from normal flesh tint to white in places. The skin is peeling, this is where the hydrofluoric acid has attacked. The colour has been drained from the flesh as it penetrates the layers and enters the bone, a direct result of myoglobin being destroyed. What the acid does when entering the body is to replace all of the calcium-containing compounds. The most important of these tells your heart to keep beating and when that is destroyed... there is no treatment, no cure. You can only die.”
Cyril looked at the images on her computer screen, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. “So what quantity does it take to do that?”
Julie turned the screen back round. “If you were to put your index finger into this acid you would have some discomfort but it’s all that would be needed to kill you. HF eats through glass, Cyril. A dermal exposure of seventy per cent concentration HF to two point five per cent of your body area will result in death.”
“How’s it transported?” Cyril sat up and stared at his index finger.
“PTFE bottles, the stuff that lines your frying pan, it’s an inert material. However HF is made from hydrogen fluoride gas. The emergency services had to ensure it was safe to enter the site and they’ve their standard operating procedures for chemical contamination. What’s interesting is the fact that there was evidence of the rear nearside door being used more than the other; significantly, the rear window was also smashed. I’ve a theory that whoever did this broke the window to allow any build up of gas to escape and therefore safeguard any innocent who stumbled on the site.”
“A caring, vicious murderer, helpful! How’s the guy who found him, Mr Wells, wasn't it?”
“Sensibly, he moved away after looking at the victim. As you’ve seen he’s not pretty. Wells kept his distance and called the police. He was taken away in severe shock. The body and the vehicle have been cleaned to neutralise the HF. Severe drenching with water so don’t hold your breath for much forensic evidence. The vehicle will be taken for a thorough forensic investigation but… We have the body here. It’s isolated and will need special handling. Will you be attending or will you send Owen?”
“What about the blow to the head?”<
br />
“Superficial on inspection, probably self inflicted whilst thrashing about in the back seat.”
“If this acid, this HF, is so deadly how did the murderer get their hands on the stuff. Surely you’ll not be able to buy it at B&Q?”
“It’s used in industry, glass etching, electronics but a good high school chemistry teacher could produce enough in a morning by making HF gas using calcium fluoride and sulphuric acid and then progressing from there. You’d need a fume cupboard…” Aware that she had gone a little too technical, she smiled.
“Owen will be attending.”
14
Cyril stood outside Harrogate Police Station looking through the trees and then across the fields to the far horizon. He inhaled the menthol vapour and felt his shoulders relax. Ruth, the Family Liaison Officer, had parked and was just coming into the building when she saw Cyril.
“Taking the air, sir?”
He turned and smiled. “Happiest place to live in the United Kingdom, Ruth.”
“Where?”
“Harrogate. It won that accolade a while back. Might still be in the running. You wouldn’t believe that from where I’m standing, you wouldn’t think we’d be so busy, would you, if that were the case?” He turned and winked at her. “Been to visit the family?”
She smiled. “Happiest place, really? I must just meet all the unhappy ones and Mrs Kumar is no exception. Beautiful home, it’s a new build, affluent area, Dalesway, I think is its official title, just off the A59 and rather nice too. It was obvious that a number of people had arrived, probably extended family, to support Mr Kumar's wife and children.”
“Busy week, Ruth!” Cyril turned and smiled at the FLO who simply nodded. “Are you fine with this case coming so close to the last?”
“No problem, I’m on leave in two days. I’ll keep the Northumberland case. I was surprised when Owen mentioned that the Edges's son had been a heavy drug user and that, according to the post mortem, this was a contributing factor in the motorcycle accident. No other vehicle involved, no witnesses. Found nearly twenty-four hours after his death. He crashed on a bend owing to excessive speed, ended up in woodland concealed from the road. That information and the drugs had been kept from Emma. She’s got a new life and emotionally is very strong. ‘Hard as nails’ according to Owen!”
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