Crossed Out

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  She quickened her step, following Kirkgate towards the Cathedral. It would take fifty minutes to walk to Clipton, and as the evening was fine she could think of nothing better to do; this would be her last ever visit to the Pyramid. As she crossed the top of Duck Hill she heard the siren. She paused briefly before turning to see the blue flashes from the emergency vehicle illuminate the top of the Obelisk that stood proudly above the darkened rooftops. Either the police or a paramedic were at the scene. She smiled before continuing her walk.

  Shakti arrived to be met by Brian Smirthwaite. She was dressed for a night out. She slipped on the police lanyard and signed in. “Where is he?”

  “Been admitted to hospital, serious case of withdrawal. Baker was addicted to Alprazolam, it’s an opioid used as an anti-depressant and a painkiller. They’re one of the two most frequently abused prescription drugs in the world, so you can imagine the different qualities that’ll be available on the net. According to the duty doctor, Baker’s a very lucky man. He’s not showing any signs of suffering from serious kidney or liver damage; the side effects of this medication, this drug, can be awful. The doctor told me that you can become quickly addicted, in as little as two weeks. They’re great for stopping pain, only you get used to them and have to take more to achieve the same relief. This Sam had him eating out of his hand. I wonder if he applied the same manipulative strategy to Angie Rhodes? Could she have been the person in the back of Kumar’s car or could it have been Sam?”

  Smirthwaite regaled her with his chat with Baker.

  “So the fact that he needed someone to plant the stuff for Angie and also using Angie as a courier, demonstrates that this is Hill, her neighbour, the friendly gardener who would bang on the wall when her music was too loud and be best of mates the next day. He’d be controlling her with whatever he supplied.”

  “He must have met her initially like he met Baker. Befriended her until she trusted him and then…”

  “How, when and why we might never know. What did April say? We may be looking for a Socialised and Integrated Psychopath. We need to be in that flat. Have you called Cyril?”

  “Is Sam the killer, is he the acid attacker, the murderer of Fella and Rhodes. Is he our Gideon?”

  “Have you called Cyril?”

  36

  Phillips stood across from the vicarage. The house was in darkness apart from the side security lamp. The village streetlights were few and widely spread, offering little light, but that suited her. For now, the darkness was her friend. She slipped off the bag containing the hammer and nails and lodged it securely behind the fence. It would be inappropriate to take it to the pyramid. She approached the church, a walk she had taken many times. On this occasion, she experienced the usual feelings of anticipation and excitement but also some fear and sadness. This would be the last lesson, the final instruction and correction.

  The small gate was closed as she stared at the clock: 11:10. She would wait and watch, make sure there was no one about. There were few people during the day, for goodness sake, so it was highly unlikely that there would be anyone here at this time of night.

  11:20 and she crossed the road and entered the churchyard. She followed the path and then turned round the back of the church, her eyes slowly growing accustomed to the limited light. When she saw the pyramid grave she stopped, her excitement increasing. Dropping the bag, she undressed before donning the brown, woollen robe. She removed the hat from her shaved head and what light there was shone on the taut flesh.

  She knelt and then stood, spreading her arms wide, her feet together; a human cross. The voice seemed weak but it was there, drifting in the silence of the dark.

  “You have done well, daughter, you have followed my commands and the corrections have been made. Some have learned and their lives will be richer, kinder. As we work to correct the weaknesses in others we gain strength ourselves. You now only have the harlot, the whore to look to. Has she shown signs of change?”

  Tracy called out. “She has but they occasionally still meet. I have seen and I have heard their fornications and their adulterous ways. I have witnessed their sexual immorality. She is in need of correction.”

  Her voice broke the silence of the churchyard.

  John Barlow stood by the tree, his deliberate dark clothing masking his presence. It was to be his last patrol of the church and grounds for the evening and all had appeared quiet until he saw the hooded figure move to stand across the road from the church. He waited too, to see what transpired. He then saw him cross the road and enter the churchyard. Now what are you up to, you son of a bitch? No good, I can tell that! He felt a flutter of excitement hit the pit of his stomach. He was even more surprised when the stranger removed something and started to strip before placing the discarded clothing in the bag. He had originally assumed it to be a male but even in the dim light he realised his mistake. Remaining motionless, conscious of how sound travels in the still of the night, he stood, fascinated. He had heard all about this Gideon character, and if the opportunity came his way, he would have strong words. Here he was, or should he say she? There was now silence; the silhouetted figure was still spread in the shape of the cross before the pyramid. He heard her speak again.

  “Your will be done. I have heard and I will heed your command of correction and then I shall come to you. I am now growing fatigued and I am eager to be at your side.”

  Cyril arrived at the station. He had requested a car be sent as a precaution as he had been drinking. He had dropped Julie off before coming to the station. Rolling his electronic cigarette along his lips before inhaling helped calm him. He was angry at having to leave Julie, particularly after the support she had given him. Forwarded instructions for the team to be readied to search the flat were sent as he was approaching the station. He had requested two firearms specialists along with three officers, a sniffer dog and a small Forensic team. From all accounts the flat would be empty until the following day.

  “We have an unmarked car at the site and all’s quiet.”

  Cyril checked the clock behind the Reception desk. “We go at midnight. Have we had anything back from the sweep of Angie Rhodes’ room?”

  “I’ll put someone on it and get back to you as soon as.”

  Cyril nodded.

  Tracy Phillips brought her hands together and bowed. Barlow moved quickly from behind the tree. Maybe because she remained in a trance-like state or was just totally surprised, she simply stood as he approached. His arm shot out, hitting her directly in the chest, pushing her backwards with some force until she stumbled and fell onto the grass. A short gasp exploded from her lips. He grabbed her before flicking her over, bringing an arm up her back until he heard her moan in pain. He locked it by grabbing the rough, woollen material. It was a trick he had been taught in the Forces that allowed him to be in control. Slowly, he brought her to her feet.

  “Now who the fuck are you, as you sure ain’t Gideon Fletcher? Gideon, from all accounts, didn’t have tits.”

  There was no response for a moment. “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me,” the chilled voice intoned.

  Even though she was tall, he was a good three inches taller and much stronger. He lifted her a little using the locked arm and the same short gasps erupted from her lips as she struggled to her feet.

  “You now have the choice between a dislocated shoulder or elbow or neither. Each is as easy for me to execute but none is pleasant, other than the last option. Now let’s try again. Who are you and what’s going on in my churchyard?” To emphasise the point, he applied a little more pressure to her shoulder joint. She tried to rise on her toes to compensate.

  “I’m here to receive instructions, just as Gideon received instructions, only he failed to follow them to the letter. He showed weakness. This will be the last time I come here. My work shall soon be done.”

  “And if you’re not Gideon, then who the hell are you?”

  “I’m t
he one who brought correction to Gideon. My name is Hill, Sam Hill.”

  Barlow leaned and grabbed the bag. “You’re coming with me. There are one or two things we need to discuss. Firstly, I want information about a friend of mine. You may know him.”

  He marched her in front of the church and through the gate, her bare feet barely touching the ground.

  Within minutes the light in the porch of his cottage illuminated them. He pushed her through the door before tossing the bag onto a chair.

  “We need somewhere private for this little chat. As you’ve just experienced, you never know who's watching and listening in the darkest of places. If the one who talks to you is so powerful, I wonder why he didn’t warn you I was there!”

  The Force Control Room of the North Yorkshire Police was located at Fulford Road, York. They were aware of and coordinating the search and would be quick to reassure the public of the activities within the neighbourhood should calls to 101 or 999 calls come in. Getting this right was critical for securing the forensic evidence and keeping everyone safe. Cyril had performed such procedures many times but each brought its own anxiety. David Owen moved towards him with his thumb in the air.

  “They’ve the big red key and ready on your say.”

  An officer was holding the ram that would be used to burst the locks on the door.

  Cyril checked his watch. “One minute, everyone, and no cock up. We must follow the procedure as discussed. Firearms Officers in first, then the dog, no one else enters unless they’re clean. If in doubt, keep safe.”

  Each station called its readiness and the door was shattered and the rooms cleared. As suspected, the flat was empty. However, the police dog was busy. A number of lights came on in the block and officers were quick to reassure the residents.

  Cyril and Owen slipped on suits, gloves and overshoes. They were, in Cyril’s eyes, now safe. Nothing in the flat appeared out of the ordinary other than the drugs that seemed secured in one room. The lounge was neat and orderly. Owen looked at two framed photographs on the fireplace. He pointed to one. “That is, if my memory serves me right, Tracy Phillips.”

  Cyril looked and agreed. He could not, however, make out who the other person was with her. Owen took out his phone and photographed it. The sudden flash made Cyril turn. “I’ll be able to enlarge that and enhance it later. It might go through the facial recognition system too.”

  Cyril nodded, a cynical expression sweeping across his face. “Don’t hold your breath, Owen.”

  “You might want to look in here, sir!” a voice from another room called.

  Cyril responded immediately. An officer held open a wardrobe door and pointed to the hanging clothing.

  “Thought Hill lived alone. There’s a collection of men and women’s clothing here. Look at the shoes!”

  Cyril shone his torch into the lower area. The shoes were neatly paired and stacked. He carefully inspected them, looking specifically at the size of a pair of women’s shoes and comparing it with the man’s. They were the same size.

  “I want a full call out, get someone to the hospital, I need a detailed description of Hill from Baker. Circulate the photographs of Tracy Phillips to all traffic and foot patrols. Add to social media and I want a link to local news set for tomorrow morning. We need as much help from the public as we can muster. Send them over to the Merseyside Force. I want the prayer meeting checked. Shakti and Owen, we need to have a word with Mrs Rhodes, she may be able to give a better description. I want everybody listed in this building to be questioned now. If they protest then they can be taken to the station.”

  37

  Tracy Phillips sat opposite Barlow, a look of total defiance clearly written across her face. The lights in the cottage gave a yellow glow to the room.

  “I’ve seen you before. You were talking to Ian Fella by the pyramid grave. Seemed to me as though you weren’t too happy. What was that all about?”

  Tracy held the arm that had been forced up her back across her chest and cradled it with the other but said nothing.

  “Did that little contretemps have anything to do with his death? A death that was clearly made to look like suicide but according to the police, the poor man was murdered. Was that your doing?”

  Owen’s phone rang. “Sir, acid attack on a youth on Ripon Market Square this evening. Nitric, as used on Kumar. There were two lads, one’s fine and has given a reasonable description of the attacker. Someone claiming to be correcting them did it. Time of the blowing of the horn, so about nine.”

  “Is it Gideon, Phillips or Hill? Maybe we're just looking for one person. Get a statement from the Hornblower and check with local hotels if anyone witnessed the incident.” Owen lifted his phone. “Get them to see if anyone’s reviewed their visit to the Hornblower on Trip Advisor. If so get them to follow it up.”

  “If it’s Gideon, sir, they could be heading for Clipton. I’ll get someone to check the pyramid grave and the church.”

  “The police showed me a photograph when I was at the station, asked if I’d seen a woman who’d been missing. Eighteen months, I think they said. You’ll not believe this but that woman had a striking resemblance to the man I saw, let’s say, arguing with Ian. Could have been her brother, I guess, but looking at you I’d have to be fucking stupid to believe that.” He smiled, went to the sideboard and poured himself a scotch. She leaned across and grabbed her bag rummaging through it for the Jif lemon but without success. She stuffed the bag behind her. “I’d offer you one but I doubt those who do so much correcting, I think you said, would dream of taking alcohol.” He turned and raised his glass.

  Tracy looked directly at Barlow and smirked. “What are you going to do, call the police? No, you’re too curious. You know I had a hand in your vicar’s demise but I didn’t put the noose around his neck, he did. Remember, if you give someone enough rope they’ll hang themselves. Fella was easy. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word. I met him a few times. He was troubled, though. It was easy to make him believe that he was a failure. He’d shown weakness when Gideon used to visit him. They talked about his job and how he seemed to be a failure, to be stealing a living.”

  “Are you Gideon?”

  She laughed. “Me?” She shook her head. “When I was working I would see the wrongdoings, people coming to the hotel illicitly, cheating under the guise of attending conferences with colleagues. You’d never believe what went on. The fornicators and the adulterers all collected under one roof. We had to clean up afterwards. Sexual immorality is rife. I was walking home after my shift and I met Gideon for the first time to speak to. I’d seen him on many occasions as he walked through the town. He handed me a page from the Bible. I read it and he stopped and talked. It was getting late and cold, and I asked if I could give him a meal and he accepted. I took him to my flat. Funny really, here I was, a single woman, taking a total stranger, some would say a strange stranger, back to my flat. It never occurred to me that he’d do me any harm and he didn’t. He stayed the night on the settee.”

  “What was on the page he gave you?”

  “I know it by heart. If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. It’s from Luke. He’d stop with me often, and each time we’d talk. On one of his visits he told me of the pilgrimages he made to the pyramid grave and how he received orders of correction. I went with him and I heard them too. They were whispers at first but slowly they became discernible. It was from the voice of correction. I realised that Gideon was not what he professed to be, he was an eidolon.”

  John Barlow suddenly began to feel uncomfortable. The tight constraints of the cottage seemed to grow claustrophobic. “Eidolon… never heard of one.”

  She laughed. “He was totally false, his Christian ways were but a façade to carry on his evil ways. It was a deceit. He would gain trust and then abuse it.”

  “He didn’t abuse you and from what you say he had the opportunity.”

  “He tried… once.�
��

  Barlow felt a chill run down his neck and his arms tingled. He’d met some evil people but she... In the light of the cottage, he felt as though he were staring into the eyes of evil.

  “You’ve not asked about your friend, Reverend Ian Fella.”

  “That’s all I can tell you. He kept himself to himself unless of course he was banging on the wall to get Angie to turn down her din!”

  Cyril left, offering his apologies for the upset his visit might have caused. Shakti remained for a few more minutes.

  “None of the other residents can shed any more light. Can’t believe these people live so close to each other and nobody can tell us anything, Christ, he’s out in the garden most days.” Owen kicked a can that was on the driveway against the gable of the house. It disappeared down the narrow steps and lodged against the cellar door.

  “Sir!” Shakti called in the darkness. Cyril and Owen returned to the door of Rhodes’ flat. “She’s just remembered, Angie sent her a selfie with Hill some time ago. She’s checked the pictures on her phone, but it’s not there, so she’s checking back over her e-mails.”

  Owen looked at Cyril who immediately glanced towards the sky and whispered the words, “Please God.”

  “No, it’s gone, sorry.”

  Cyril took a deep breath. “Get onto the phone people and see what they can drag up.”

  “We’ve already received them and the lab’s going through them for any links to Gideon.”