by Conrad Jones
Ged Knowles joined the police force four years before our first encounter. He attended the police training academy at Bruche, Warrington, where his employee records show that he was unpopular with the instructors and the recruits. His probationary notes show that he was recommended as a fail and yet he passed and was deployed onto the streets. Every note on his file shows that he was an unpopular, racist, sexist pig, yet his superior officer waived disciplinary action on numerous occasions. When he attacked me, he was already on his final written warning for misconduct; being suspended for excessive use of force during my arrest and a pending serious assault charge would be the final nails in his coffin as far as his career went. At least that’s what I thought at the time.
Soon after graduating, another police officer had introduced him to the Nine Angels purely because, after spending many long night shifts in the same patrol car, he saw that Knowles was naturally violent, racist and sexist. His colleague teased him with titbits of his secret organization to test the waters and see what his reaction would be. As soon as he mentioned their liberal attitude to violent sex, Knowles wanted in. Over a period of months, the officer weaned him into the order. Once he’d been accepted, they regularly attended their services, which turned into a seething orgy of violent sex. That suited him down to the ground. Ged thought the religious stuff was bullshit, but he went along with it for obvious reasons.
When he joined the Nine Angels, they promised him a promotion at work and a pay rise, and all he had to do in return was lean on people when he was told to. People like me, writers, journalists and other police officers; people who got too close to the Nine Angels. He was a violent, aggressive bigot anyway so he enjoyed it. The problem was, the Nine Angels demanded secrecy and discretion, especially the senior members that held important positions in respectable organizations and businesses. Most had families and friends who would disown them if they discovered their true religion. Ged Knowles was in serious trouble at work. His position as a police constable was fragile at best. The fact he’d received a final written warning months before – for assaulting a reporter while off duty on a night out in Manchester – didn’t help, and his excessive use of force during my arrest had put his behaviour under the microscope.
He was suspended on full pay and I heard later on that he was calling in favours from members of the senior hierarchy within the force. There were sinister members all the way up to the top, but they didn’t want to cover for a rogue officer who had overstepped the mark in public. He was making waves, attracting attention and becoming a liability. The Cheshire Constabulary were keeping a lid on the incident as far as the press were concerned, but I wasn’t. Despite being warned that I may still be charged with the mysterious assault on the Park Ranger, I told my side of the story to anyone who wanted to listen. I wasn’t guilty of any crime and the level of violence used to arrest me was unacceptable. That was my side of it. The police would have to respond on behalf of their suspended officer.
Looking back, the story made a few of the middle pages of the regional publications and then fizzled out completely. It was another indication of how wide and high their connections are. They had the power to stifle the press. Not completely of course, but they can ensure that an unsubstantiated allegation is treated as just that: unsubstantiated. A couple of the stories hinted that I was once a fighter and that my novels are graphically violent. The readers could read into that whatever they wanted, but it made sure that I didn’t appear to be a completely innocent victim of police brutality.
Whilst Knowles was on suspension, he tried to call in favours from his fellow Niners. Many tried to distance themselves from him, but officer Knowles was pedantic. He felt that he had gone out on a limb to ward me off and as such the Niners owed him. After a barrage of telephone calls, a senior member of the order contacted him and summoned him to a meeting. I know that he met with a senior officer and the nexion leader. Knowles was on the periphery of the order back then, a Neophyte; he was at the bottom of the hierarchy. But he was full of self-importance and would go to any lengths to achieve promotion within the police force and the Nine Angels. In his mind he was a superior being, an alpha male, and he deserved to be promoted. He wanted to progress and he knew that his suspension was a serious blow to his career in law enforcement. He needed to know what the Niners were going to do to support him. Progression would bring him power and he was desperate to embrace it, but he couldn’t progress until he was deemed ready by the order.
What happened before that meeting can only be guessed, but I know that he met with a man who was a local Justice of the Peace. He was a council member, a member of the Masonic Lodge and, unbeknown to his family and friends, the Master of the Temple in his sinister tribe. That is how they function. They integrate into all sections of the community and spread their evil subversively, constantly looking for new members. That is why I know they will find me eventually.
How do I know all these details about Knowles? Because he was a clever man who trusted no one. Knowles recorded his meeting with the Niners. He knew that the recording could be used to leverage promotion or to blackmail the attendees at a later date. He had several meetings recorded and he kept them on a memory stick, which I took from his pocket when he died. If I sound like a ghoul or a despicable thief, before you judge me, read on. The recorded conversation goes like this, and bear in mind that Knowles sounds drunk on the recording:
“What happened Knowles?”
“I had that fucking writer bang to rights on an assault charge, but a fucking do-gooder constable turned up at his house at the same time. It kicked off and things got a little bit out of hand. I sprayed him and roughed him up a bit. The constable reported me for assaulting him. I had him for assaulting a park keeper; she’s a Niner too, but another patrol turned up and screwed it all up.” Knowles can be heard laughing as he brags to the Niners, although the two senior members can’t be heard laughing at all. “He went down on his lawn behind a fence. I thought he was out of view of any witnesses, so I kicked his head like a football. He’s an arsehole; no one will listen to him and his whining. It will blow over.”
One of his colleagues snorts. He sounds angry. “It won’t blow over, you idiot.” His voice is crisp and well-educated.
“Don’t call me an idiot,” Knowles snaps. “You told me to ward him off! You fucking told me to sort him out!”
“I told you to lean on him, not to kick his face in on his front lawn in front of other officers!”
“Okay, you two, calm down,” a second voice pipes up. He sounds more mature than the others, and from the recording it’s obvious that he’s in charge. “Blaming each other is not going to get us anywhere. Ged thought he was acting on our behalf, so we need to come up with a plan to resolve the problem.” The last sentence sounds patronizing, as if he thinks that Knowles is of low intelligence.
“You don’t understand how an internal investigation works,” the first voice says, concerned. From his knowledge of internal affairs and the language he uses, I deem that he’s a senior police officer. “The assault charge is not going to disappear. The main witness is a well-respected police officer and there are two other independent witnesses. This will not go away.”
“You need to encourage Wright not to give evidence against me,” Knowles demands in a slurred voice. “With him out of the picture, it’s just Jones and his fat mate we need to worry about.”
“And how do you think I should go about encouraging a decorated police officer not to give evidence?”
“You’re the Governor, so act like one and fucking tell him!” Knowles growls disrespectfully. “If I go down, then I’m not going alone, I promise you that.”
“Your threats to expose another member of the order will be dealt with, Knowles,” the senior officer retaliates. “This is all your own doing and Jones is a high-profile victim of a serious police assault. There are two clear choices here…” He pauses. Knowles remains silent. He must have realized that his veiled threat was
a mistake.
“What do you see as the options?” the older voice asks.
“We need to shut Jones up.” He pauses. “Or we need to shut Jones and Knowles up permanently.”
“What are you doing?” Knowles sounds panicked at this point and there are other people in the room, moving about. There is the sound of a scuffle or a chair being dragged. Although I have listened to his recordings a thousand times, I’ll never know exactly what happened. “Okay, okay,” Knowles bleats. “I’m not going anywhere!”
“I agree,” the older voice says. “You need to shut him up, Knowles. If you fuck this up, then we’ll eradicate you along with the writer, understand?”
“Yes,” Knowles replies sheepishly, all his bravado gone. Then there is a loud cracking sound, like a whip almost, and he moans. “Okay! I fucking said okay!”
“How far has this mess gone?” the older man asks, ignoring Knowles’s distress.
“We know he has spoken to the girl, although I haven’t heard the tapes yet so I don’t know what she’s told them. It doesn’t matter, he must be silenced.”
“How did he get to the girl? I thought she was sectioned.”
“Sergeant Strachen from the murder squad arranged it, from what I believe.”
“What a tosser. If I had my way, I’d shut him up for good, too.” Knowles sounds like he is talking through clenched teeth.
“Do it and do not fuck it up.” The older man sounds weary with it all. “He caused us no end of problems with his infernal book. We were under scrutiny for months while investigative reporters searched for evidence that we exist. I cannot allow that to happen again. Kill them and you will be advanced, fail and you will suffer.”
The recording clicks and comes to an abrupt ending at that point. I think Knowles was using a watch or pen with a small memory to record, but there is enough there to explain what happens next. I didn’t realize that in writing my books I had put the spotlight on them. The buzz around the storyline sent journalists scurrying everywhere looking for evidence that they existed. Most people start with the Internet and the investigators bombarded sites with hits. The unwanted attention caused many of the order’s members to defect for a while to hide their identities. Apparently, that was my fault, and it was only a matter of time before they murdered me.
Chapter 13
Jennifer Booth
Jennifer tried to explain things to me as simply as she could and I accepted the things she told me with an open mind, although I wanted to believe her anyway. I was smitten with her. I wish that I could say it was all sympathy, but it wasn’t. She fascinated me physically, mentally and – although I’m twice her age – sexually, too. I kidded myself that it was about protecting her because there was a mental connection between us. I don’t profess to be psychic, but she was and I think that she used my imagination to communicate certain pictures from her mind. Maybe it was her looks, maybe I was smitten to the point of believing anything that she said, but the plain and simple fact was that I did. The Order of Nine Angels was daunting and shrouded in mystery and bedevilment, but I genuinely believed I could protect her from them. How wrong can a man be?
I knew that the moon cycle had an effect on the crime rate, but she told me how their strength increases during the full moon and how much more aggressive the females become. I had no problem believing that; it definitely affected my mood. It always had. I realize not everyone is going to believe it though, right? How can a lump of rock circling around the earth possibly affect the actions of the billions of humans going about their business far below? Most scientists will laugh at you if you were to suggest that the moon has a direct affect on the abhorrent behaviour of humans. Is it physical? I don’t know, maybe. Jennifer will tell you it is – she experienced their sexual violence for nearly a decade and it was far worse during the full moon.
There is enough basic research to show that there is a statistically significant increase in criminality during the full moon. Many people have a gut reaction about the moon, accepting without too much thought that they tend to get drunk easier when the moon is full or that they’re more likely to get into an argument. Women say their period pain can be worse during a full moon. As I said earlier, there is a theory that says the affect of the moon on women is tidal, that it has the same pull on the water in our bodies as it does on the planet’s oceans. Water accounts for more than eighty per cent of our bodies, so it’s possible that the pull of the moon affects the concentration of the chemicals in the body. Jennifer’s gift became ultrasensitive when the moon was waning.
The next day, the moon was doing just that and Jennifer was causing all kinds of problems at the asylum. She was demanding to speak to Peter or myself and said it was a matter of life or death. Peter rang me, explained that his caseload was massive and asked me if I would go and see Jennifer as a visitor. I couldn’t get there quick enough. The story of her childhood and the abuse by the Nine Angels was eating away at me and I didn’t need an excuse to want to speak to her.
I parked in my regular spot and scanned the car park for patrol cars. There was no sign of any policemen and no sign of Peter’s Citroën either. It was going dark when I walked into the reception area, and the same security guard booked me in. I signed in and waited for a flustered-looking nurse who took me into a visiting booth. They were similar to the interview rooms in size but for a Perspex screen between us. A male nurse stood behind her as she walked into the room and sat down. She didn’t look pleased to see me this time. She was not pleased at all.
“Hi, Jennifer,” I said. Her eyes looked into me and there was concern in them. She looked tired and sad as if she’d been crying.
“Hi, Conrad, where is Sergeant Strachen?” she asked abruptly, looking over my shoulder at the door as if she was hoping he would walk in. I was a little disappointed that she didn’t seem as glad to see me as the last time we met.
“He’s on another case,” I smiled, but she didn’t return it. She appeared cold and distant. “What is the matter?” I asked.
“Touch me,” she mouthed. She sat down and placed her hands flat on the screen. I touched the Perspex on my side. There was a tingle of electricity, static maybe, but maybe it was something more. The nerves down my spine glowed warm and my mouth started to water. “Can you feel that?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly. Have you ever been close to someone that you really wanted to kiss but daren’t, that you desperately wanted to grab hold of and stick your tongue down their throat? Multiply that feeling by a hundred and that’s how her touch felt. I nearly ejaculated in my pants. The tension was incredible.
“If you can feel that then believe me when I tell you that you’re in danger, Conrad, and so is the Sergeant.” She leaned closer to the screen. “I have seen it. They are coming for you and they are coming now. Do not go home to your loved ones; leave now or they will be hurt, too.”
The warning hit me like a freight train. I felt as if a giant hand had twisted my guts. I had researched the Order of Nine Angels for days and the more I learned, the more frightened I became. They were real and they were powerful. If Jennifer said they were coming for us, then I believed her. The night that Peter had been at my house, I found four incidents where journalists investigating them disappeared and another where a female reporter was found raped and murdered in a terrible manner. God knows what the poor woman suffered before they finally killed her. One of them was Malcolm Baines, and now that I’ve had the time to look into their deaths, there is no doubt in my mind that they are connected to the Niners. There was no solid proof that they were real, but I knew they were.
“What do you mean they are coming now?” I asked. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to know, but how can you pretend your life is not in danger? “Have they contacted you?”
“No, but I know they are coming. I do not know who they will send or when it will be, but trust me, they are coming.” She spread her hands open and moved her lips closer to the screen. I thought about smashing my head t
hrough it to get to her. I wanted to touch her, kiss her, and a voice in my head wanted me to hurt her. My mind was spinning like a top. Hurt her? Where had that thought come from? “Do you have a crucifix?” she whispered through the screen, shaking my thoughts into whispers.
“Yes,” I laughed. Believe me, it was a nervous laugh. I wear a silver cross from a holiday in Jerusalem. I am not religious, but I liked it. As I explained, I like iconology. I also have a crucifix tattooed on the triceps of my right arm and another huge one on my back. I showed her the chain and the tattoos. “Will they protect me?”
“No, Conrad, they won’t protect you.” She looked at me as if I was stupid. “This is not a Dracula movie, it’s real.”
“I know. It was a joke.”
“Save your jokes. You are in danger.”
“How can you know unless they’ve told you?”
“It’s not your soul that I’m trying to save. It’s you.” She pointed a finger to her heart and smiled. Her smile made me melt to the middle. “Tell the world my story before they come for you. You don’t have long, Conrad. Tell the world about them. They will take me, too, so tell them now. Make people look for them. Make them scurry for the dark corners where they deserve to be, Conrad. Slow them down. Stopping them is impossible, but you can slow them down for a while!” She closed her eyes and tears spilled from them and ran down her cheeks. Her chest shook with sobs and she kissed her right hand. She blew the kiss through the Perspex screen and then stood up and walked out of the room without looking back. I called out to her to come back several times, but she was gone. I was heartbroken.
