A cloud of vapour erupted from Cyril’s right nostril. “This one, however, needs a little more specialist support. Always a sensitive one considering the awkward and somewhat compromising situation in which her husband’s body was found.”
“I called and saw Mrs Kumar with the support from a Muslim FSO who’s now been assigned. Fortunately, she’s not known personally within this local, Muslim community. It will help if there are any psychological or religious barriers. Risk assessments have been completed and I’ll liaise, if necessary, on my return but she’ll be attending briefings and debriefs. By the way, she said in passing that you’ve met before, Mada Amber. Ring any bells?”
Cyril felt himself blush a little as he put a face to the name. It didn’t go unnoticed as Ruth continued speaking.
“There’s no objection to autopsy on religious grounds and she fully understands that a release date for the body cannot be confirmed yet.”
“Good, good.” He quickly turned away to look at the view. “We’ve managed to collect his IT equipment, it’s with the tech people to see if there’s anything that may help, also the equipment from his place of work. Presently we’re contacting the associate her husband was allegedly meeting. I take it Mada knows what she’s looking for?”
Ruth turned. “Of course. She’ll collect and collate the sensitive ante-mortem data. Must get on.” Ruth walked towards the main entrance. She stopped and turned back. “Mada said that it was a long time ago!”
Cyril turned. “A lot of water’s passed beneath the bridge, let’s say, Ruth. An awful lot!”
In his mind Cyril was back in Chester. He remembered rowing on the River Dee. Mada was smiling, sitting at the back of the boat giving directions and laughing whilst trailing her hand in the water. She’d occasionally flick the water and then giggle. They were both younger. As he had said, a lot of water had gone under Chester chain bridge since then. He smiled at the memory.
Owen stood looking at the corpse. Julie was dressed in a complete protective suit. The body was on a downdraft stainless steel bench allowing any contaminants to be sucked away.
“It’s a little different today, Owen. If it gets upsetting try the standing on your toes trick and if that fails, just leave.”
He waved and stood on his toes, remembering what she had told him on a previous occasion.
“Abdul Kumar. Asian male, forty-three years old. As you see, extensive facial damage including eyes and mouth. What is interesting is the severe and intense damage that we see concentrated to the groin and lower limb area; it would suggest that this section was targeted with a larger acid concentration. Targeting the head and face was a deliberate ploy to cause the maximum shock while suffering maximum trauma. The penis, you might not be able to distinguish, has melted and blended with the other severely damaged tissue on the thighs, particularly the right and the lower abdomen, here. However, if you look at the screen you can see the close-up view from my head camera.”
Owen looked at the large screen opposite and waved. Wherever Julie looked, Owen received close up images.
“Here and here we see the remnants of the ring of a condom.” Julie identified the areas using a pointer. “There will be other traces of the condom blended within the flesh. The fact that he was wearing a condom will aid your investigation.” She turned her heavily protected face towards Owen. He saw himself now on the screen opposite. “Someone may well have been in the car prior to the attack. That person may have been the attacker and that person could’ve been male or female. At this stage we cannot say for certain.”
“Why use two different acids?” Owen asked.
“Good question. One, the nitric acid was used first to stun and blind, causing immediate shock, pain and panic, and the other to kill. The person would’ve survived the attack by nitric acid. They’d have suffered life-changing injuries but they would have lived. The use of hydrofluoric acid gave them no chance. It was murder and we can’t rule out that it’s most likely a revenge attack. Vitriolage, as it is known, is a common form of attack in Bangladesh and Pakistan. If you check, you’ll see that cases are on the rise. However, it’s spreading to all parts of the world but it’s most common in South Asia. It’s meant to torture, maim and disfigure. Death is not the reason for doing it, simply revenge to make the recipient of the attack suffer. In Asian countries it tends to be related to relationships and sex. From the statistics I checked this morning, these attacks are on the rise for many different reasons.”
“Surely transporting it and using it put the attacker in danger also?”
“Not if they were waiting, prepared and secure in the knowledge that they’d taken all the necessary precautions. This attack wasn’t random, Owen, it was planned.”
“So a third party? Involved with the person who was with the victim in the car if it were a planned attack?”
“Slow down, Owen. Evidence, evidence and then more evidence is needed. We can’t assume anything at this stage.”
“Can we assume he was there for sex?”
“I think we can safely say that that was the case. However, we are only just beginning. Anything from Forensics on the car or the site?”
“Cyril’s department.” Owen smiled.
15
Cyril and Owen sat in The Coach and Horses each trying to work out the Tour de Yorkshire anagram that was cleverly printed on the top of the table.
“A puzzle! A bit like the numbers written on the crosses, Owen. They’re there for a reason. Each number must have a relevance, if not, why bother?”
“Bloody hate the things.” Owen muttered as he swiftly drank half the pint leaving him with a froth moustache. His sleeve came in handy yet again. “Bloody crap at these sorts of things. My mate was mustard at them when I was in Vice in Bradford. Had a book full. He’d spend all his break solving them.”
“What, anagrams or number puzzles?” Cyril sipped his beer and took a pen and notebook to write down and rearrange the given letters. “Jervaulx Abbey!” he said triumphantly.
“Well done!” There was little enthusiasm in Owen’s tone. “He did both. I remember he used to lick his pencil before he started a new puzzle, kind of a ritual. Seemed to have the desired effect.”
Cyril looked at Owen and frowned. “Really. April has her own theories but…” He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He read the text and looked carefully at the accompanying image. It showed a thin, scarlet thread, tied to what was described as the rear view mirror of Kumar’s Volvo. It dangled next to a car air freshener. Cyril slid the phone across the table.
“Just through from Forensics. According to the scientists it’s not the string from another freshener, it’s a very different material. Read it.”
Owen put the glass down and collected the phone. He read through the report sliding his finger on the screen. He then looked at Cyril.
“Plaited human hair?” Owen looked up with a puzzled expression drawn on his face. “Scarlet human hair? What the… disgusting, that is, if you ask me!”
Cyril slowly recited something April had said. “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be… I can’t recall the rest.”
“From the meeting with the vicar?” Owen asked handing the phone back.
Cyril nodded. “Gideon. He left him a single page of the Bible on which that was written; it was wrapped and tied with a scarlet thread. Deliberately handed it to Reverend Ian Fella, the vicar, the night Gideon disappeared.” He looked at the image on the phone and drummed the table with his fingers. “Coincidentally, we now find crosses linked to sealed packets of dyed hair spread around in various and varied locations.”
Owen finished his pint. “Another? It’ll help you think.”
“No, work. Now!”
Cyril quickly made four calls.
Shakti, Stuart Park, April Richmond and Mada Amber were waiting when Cyril and Owen came into the briefing room.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening but we have a strong link connecting
Gideon, our missing saint, and the newly found crosses and hair. I imagine that he’s no longer missing. If he is, someone is cleverly using the connection, as far-fetched as that might seem. Let’s recap.” Cyril stood and moved to an empty whiteboard, collecting a pen on the way. “We find a cross, a Christian symbol attached by a line to a packet of hair, a collection of hair comprising different DNA. It’s been dyed scarlet. Can we assume that’s another symbolic gesture?” He looked at each member of the team and saw three nod in agreement. April remained motionless but deep in thought. “We also believe that the hair has been taken at random. As we’ve had no one complain that someone’s been taking cuttings from passers-by on the streets, we can make a safe and educated guess that it’s been collected from the bin of one or more hairdressers. In the packets we then discover two DNA matches. One, a familial link to Gideon Fletcher and secondly a direct DNA link to Tracy Phillips who, like Gideon, simply vanished. Now, for whatever reason, we find the packets of hair, a newspaper is discovered in which this message is found and, like the crosses, we believe the paper to have been left deliberately. We now have a body, that of Abdul Kumar.” Cyril drew a large question mark on the board. “Thoughts, please.”
Owen was the first to speak. “Am I right in thinking that the two matched DNA samples were found in the same packet?”
“Good man, I think you’re right. Please check.”
Owen went to the nearest computer to draw up the relevant file.
There was a moment’s silence until Shakti spoke. “You haven’t mentioned the link that’s been found to make Kumar relevant to the two cases, sir.”
The others looked at Shakti, Cyril and then Owen who was still busy on the computer.
“Hair, for what we know, human hair. It was hanging from the rear-view mirror of Kumar’s car; a thin thread of plaited human hair. Here’s your starter for ten everyone. Colour?” Cyril looked at each officer in turn and concentrated on their lips as he saw them each mouth, scarlet.
Cyril smiled at his team.
“’Like Rahab, all Christians have a scarlet cord hanging in the window of their soul.’ Those were the final words that Gideon said to the vicar, sir, if you recall. He followed it up by saying—” April announced before Cyril cut in.
“‘Even you.’ Were his final parting words, if my memory serves me correctly, April.”
April smiled. “Correct, it’s here in my report.”
“They say the windows of your soul are your eyes,” Stuart added.
“I believe that they were the first part of Kumar that was attacked, his eyes. Nitric acid destroyed his eyelids and his eyes.”
“Kumar’s Muslim and not Christian,” April pointed out.
“DNA of the hair?” Shakti asked.
“As soon as, as soon as.”
Cyril turned to the board. “So let’s just consider that for some reason Gideon is back with us, more than likely in a different guise. We know that before he had his Damascus moment, he was an utter bastard. He demonstrated little tolerance of other people’s race or religion. Now we have a link to him and we find that we have a racist attack.”
Owen glanced at his watch. “First thing tomorrow, Stuart, a list of all the Fletchers within a fifty mile radius. We know his age and his height so you should be able to whittle that down.”
“Bit of a long shot. Surely he’ll have changed his name if he’s back for trouble.”
“If we don’t check, then we’ll never know. April, get an appointment with the vicar tomorrow as soon as. Ring now. See if he can tell you what Gideon meant by his final words. He might have a skeleton in his cupboard. He might talk to you.”
Cyril caught Owen’s sudden head movement. “Owen?”
“It’s just your saying ‘skeleton in the cupboard’ made me think of Boffey.”
Cyril looked at him. “There’s no connection with this. All that was closed down, questions answered, yes?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It was just the thought.” Owen looked down and rubbed his chin.
Cyril wiped the board clean.
Owen and Stuart Park left the room leaving only Mada and April.
“Sir.”
Cyril turned and smiled.
“You know about the true Gideon?” April asked looking at Mada and then Cyril.
“What about him?”
“Gideon was a man who was willing to do exactly what God wanted him to do regardless of his own judgement or plans. Could our Gideon live now both lives as one? I’m trying to get my head round it myself. You witnessed a complete change after he served his prison sentence. What if his characters are in some kind of conflict, one is controlling the other regardless of the consequences?”
“I don’t have answers to those sort of questions, April. I can see what you mean but whether someone with split personalities can find one of their characters controlling the other… like the good voice and the bad… psychopathic? I don’t know.”
Mada said nothing.
“Let’s see what tomorrow brings and what results are found from the forensics on the car. Hopefully, Mada, you’ll have more on Kumar’s background soon. Now let’s call it a day.”
As they left Owen caught April’s arm. “Can you spare me a couple of minutes?”
April smiled. “Sure.”
“The list from the Bible, St Mark, I think you said, the list of human weaknesses.”
“Yes, do you think I’m wrong?”
“No, it’s not that. I understand some but not others. What’s the difference between adulteries and fornication? What’s lasciviousness? As for an evil eye?”
April smiled. “I’ll have a list for you tomorrow and chat through it.”
Owen smiled. “Thanks. Don’t want to appear thick! Never been one for church stuff.”
16
Cyril walked home, his collar pulled up, protection against the chill breeze. As he crossed The Stray, he could see the lights of The Coach and Horses clearly visible, a siren’s call. Not tonight, Bennett, he said to himself. He had an appointment with the past that somehow he knew was going to encroach into the present.
Cyril needed space. If it were possible, he would have created a vacuum, devoid of the past and the future, isolated from human guilt, acrimony, resentment and bitterness. but he knew that to be impossible as he could feel his hopefulness bubble up within him, like methane from the depth of an ancient mire, ready to break the placid, dark surface. He wondered how the contents of the letter might disturb his life as he fondled the creased envelope. He smelled it again allowing what he believed to be a recognised aroma to linger a moment longer.
He moved over to the table lamp and read his name again, Mr C V Bennett. The blue, elegant handwriting was the only clue he needed to realise the sender’s identity. The small-bladed letter opener slid through the top neatly, but with a degree of reluctance, as if he were about to release the genie from within. He held it away slightly. Nothing appeared. He withdrew the letter allowing the envelope to fall onto the table. Opening the folded paper he read: My dearest Cyril…
April could not call it a day. The idea of what she had been trying to convey swam in her mind in a desperate attempt to make some sort of sense; like a toothache it nagged. She looked at the illuminated hands on the bedside clock that cast a faint, blue glow. She just could not stop her mind from racing. She got up and went to make a cup of hot milk hoping that would work soporific miracles and would be able to make her sleep; it was not to be.
She sipped the milk and moved to the computer before reluctantly lifting the lid of what she knew would be an electronic can of worms. Once the light from the screen struck her eyes she was fully awake. She typed dissociative-identity-disorder into the search engine but within ten minutes of researching she knew it was not the answer for which she was looking.
“Could somebody have more than one personality and one of those personalities bully and coerce the other or others?” she said out loud knowing full well that no answer would fo
llow. She recalled reading about a mental illness in some supplement magazine and she struggled to remember the medical term. She sat back sipping the hot milk and then from her tired and confused mind it came to her. She typed in the words socialised and integrated psychopath.
The light had only just cracked the dark eastern sky bringing an unnatural turquoise hue. Some streetlights were still on, each with a glowing, surrounding nimbus, reluctant to accept the day's advent. The garage door slowly climbed and rolled upwards with a degree of morning lethargy, the sounds seeming to add an appropriate accompaniment as the insipid new light began to flood the garage floor. Graham Baker started the car, selected drive and moved out of the garage. A quick press of the remote key brought the door down behind him. He checked his watch.
April Richmond had woken with a start, her head positioned almost on the laptop keyboard. She lifted her head cautiously noticing the half drunk mug of now cold milk to her left, the surface a wrinkled magnolia skin. As she moved she disturbed the computer and the screen suddenly lit, stabbing her eyes and revealing the last of her nocturnal searches. She stretched, trying to force some kind of movement back into her cramped torso whilst focussing on the screen. It was the time in the top right hand corner that generated a more positive acceptance of the morning.
“Bloody hell!” There was nobody to hear her. She had ninety minutes to make her appointment with the vicar.
Crossed Out Page 8
