“Boss,” he said. “I’ve got a name. I’m almost certain that the woman we’re looking for is a thirty six year old Romanian. Her name is Selene Lupei.”
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
BORSA
Smith closed the door of the old church behind him and shivered. He rubbed his hands together but it didn’t seem to help. The church smelled musty and damp. The cloth on the wooden benches was worn through - the church had obviously not been used for a very long time. The door opened and Cristian walked in. He looked extremely anxious. He closed the door behind him and sat down on one of the benches.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “But we have to stop this.”
“Stop what?” Smith sat down next to him.
“The sacrifices - I thought it was all over. It’ll never be over will it?”
Smith was confused.
“What are you talking about? What sacrifices? What has this got to do with Selene?”
Cristian looked around the room as though he was frightened there may be somebody listening in.
“Twenty five years ago,” he said. “Selene did a very foolish thing. She must have heard about it from the rumours going round and, being curious of nature she decided to see it for herself.”
“See what?” Smith was still not sure what this man was talking about.
“For centuries things have stood still in Borsa,” Cristian said. “The winter turns to spring and the planting starts. The full moon shines and then dies. There are people here who haven’t changed in hundreds of years. They are simple people and superstitions are still strong.”
“Superstitions?”
Alin shook his head as a hint to Smith to keep quiet.
“People will always believe in God,” Cristian continued. “A god in some form or other - some higher force of nature that gives them hope. I myself find it difficult to comprehend the existence of such a deity - an all seeing, all knowing force that determines our fate. But I used to. I was young then and enthralled by the stories I used to hear. Have you ever heard of pagan rituals?”
He looked Smith in the eyes.
“Of course,” Smith said. “The druids and other weirdoes like them. It’s all nonsense.”
“Plenty of people believe in it. I used to be one of them. I know exactly what happened to Selene that night.”
Smith felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew he was getting closer to the truth.
“I was there that night,” Cristian continued. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I was eighteen years old and it was only my second sacrifice.”
Smith was about to say something but changed his mind.
“He was a farmer,” Cristian said. “A man from my own village. The full moon appeared and the ceremony got under way. When it was all over we heard a noise from a rocky crag overlooking the valley. It was Selene - she had seen the whole thing. Hidden from view, she had seen what she shouldn’t have seen. I didn’t know her but I knew what was going to happen to her.”
“Sorry,” Smith said. “I’m finding all this difficult to take in. Are you telling me that people used to be put forward as human sacrifices when the full moon came out?”
“Not people,” Cristian said. “Men. Only men. We believed in the power of the full moon. We believed if we made an offering we would have prosperity. Our crops would thrive and nature would reward us. A sacrifice was made under the full moon to appease some kind of spirit.”
“A man was murdered once a month?” Smith couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Not murdered - these men volunteered. They believed it was an honour. They were not murdered.”
“And you say Selene saw this?”
“Grigore was very angry,” Cristian said.
“Grigore?”
“The high priest if you like,” Cristian said. “The one who used to call up the spirits and make the sacrifice.”
“How were these men killed?”
“With a knife. With a knife so sharp they wouldn’t even feel it. The blood would drain out of them in seconds. They felt no pain.”
“What happened when Selene was discovered?” Smith’s head was starting to throb with all this information.
“She ran away of course,” Cristian said. “And we ran after her. She had seen something somebody who wasn’t one of us shouldn’t have seen and she had to be stopped.”
“But she escaped?”
“No, Grigore caught her. He was half spirit himself. Everybody was terrified of him.”
“I don’t understand. If he caught her why didn’t he kill her?’
“Only men can be sacrificed, that was the way it was.”
“What did he do to her?” Smith said. “This high priest maniac.”
“He kept her hidden away. For five years he locked her away from the world and schooled her in his ways.”
“What happened then?”
“When she was sixteen, she was allowed to participate in the sacrifice. Grigore considered her ready.”
“I thought you said it was only men allowed.”
“Only men can be offered up as sacrifices, but we had plenty of women in our midst. Selene managed to slip away during the ceremony and nobody has seen her since.”
“These rituals,” Smith said. “Do they still go on?”
“They did,” Cristian said. “Until very recently. Grigore died last year and the whole thing seemed to die out. I suppose people finally gave in to reason.”
“I still don’t see what’s made this woman suddenly decide to kill men,” Smith said. “After all these years.”
“Grigore died three days before Christmas last year. Three days before the full moon. When was your first victim killed?”
Smith thought hard and realised that Cristian was right. Christopher Riley was killed on Christmas Day under a full moon and Arnold Mather was also killed during a full moon.
“But why?” He said. “If she escaped all those years ago, why did she suddenly start the sacrifices again.”
“I don’t know, maybe she heard about Grigore’s death and something snapped inside her - something that had been lying dormant for over twenty years. You have to understand that Selene was very young when she was taken. Her innocent mind was manipulated for five years between the ages of eleven and sixteen. The most impressionable years of a girl’s life.”
“And you think she thinks she has a duty to carry on Grigore’s work now he’s dead?”
“That’s up to you to decide. I’ve said enough. I have to go now. My wife knows nothing of this and I’d prefer it to stay that way.”
“You have my word,” Smith said. “My colleagues are going to think I’ve gone crazy when I tell them all this.”
“We live in a crazy world,” Cristian stood up, opened the door and left the church.
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
YORK
“Selene Lupei,” Brownhill said. “Thirty six years old. Romanian national.”
“Whitton, Bridge and Yang Chu were sitting opposite her in her office. Brownhill had called them in after hearing Smith’s message.
“When’s Smith due back?” Yang Chu said.
“Tomorrow morning. He tried to get an earlier flight but travel out of Romania isn’t that easy at this time of the year.”
“Are we sure this is our killer?” Whitton said.
“No, but Smith seems to be pretty convinced and that’s good enough for me.”
“Does that mean he’s forgiven?” Whitton said. “For going over your head and everything?”
“That remains to be seen. All I know is we’ve got to start looking for this Selene Lupei woman.”
“She sounds like a character from an old horror film,” Yang Chu said. “One of those ones with Bela Lugosi in it.”
“Where do we start looking?” Bridge said.
“We’ll know more when Smith gets back. I just wanted to give you all a heads up on what Smith discovered. I’m afraid you’re going to have to brace yourselve
s for a hell of a lot of work this week. I suggest you go home and get some rest - you’re going to need it. We’ll meet back here tomorrow at seven thirty.”
“Any word from the shrink?” Bridge said.
Brownhill glared at him.
“Jessica will turn up,” she said. “I’m sure there’s no cause for concern there.”
“Did you read the papers this morning?” Yang Chu said. “They reckon all this is about Romanian immigrants. The Sunday Mail reckons there’ll be riots and everything. Bloody immigrants.”
“The Sunday Mail would say that,” Brownhill said. “As it’s mostly the lower intelligence proportion of the population who read it, I don’t think we’ve got anything to worry about.”
“It’s those type of people who are most likely to riot,” Yang Chu said. “They have that kind of mentality.”
“There’s not going to be any rioting.”
“They rioted at the circus grounds,” Yang Chu wasn’t giving up.
“Go home, and I’ll hear no more talk of riots.”
When Brownhill was alone in her office she closed the door and picked up the telephone. She dialed Jessica Blakemore’s mobile number and was surprised when it was answered on the third ring.
“Bryony,” Blakemore said. “Sorry to disappear like that. How are you?”
“We might be getting somewhere on the murder investigation,” Brownhill said. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Blakemore said.
“Your husband was really worried about you.”
“He’s always worried about me. He tends to overreact sometimes. I forgot to renew my prescription and went for a couple of days without my pills but I’m fine now. They say a doctor makes the worst patient.”
“Can we meet?”
“Sounds great,” Blakemore said. “How about lunch?”
“Meet me at the Keys Hotel in an hour. Does your husband know you’re alright?”
“I talked to him last night. Everything’s fine.”
Just over an hour later, Brownhill and Jessica Blakemore sat in the conservatory at the Keys Hotel next to the river. Brownhill couldn’t help but stare at the scratch on Blakemore’s cheek.
“That looks nasty,” Brownhill said. “That must have been some cat.”
“Sorry about that,” Blakemore said. “I said that to stop my dear husband from fretting. It was the medication again. I’m a bit freaked out about it myself. It’s actually self inflicted.”
“You did that to yourself?”
“Not on purpose. When I don’t take the pills I get nightmares. I fell asleep with my face on my hand, woke up abruptly from a nightmare and scraped my cheek on my nails. The cat story was all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”
“What medication are you on? Are you ill?”
Blakemore started to laugh. A tall waiter approached their table and Brownhill ordered a bottle of Chardonnay.
“I’m bipolar,” Blakemore said. “It’s more embarrassing than anything else to be honest. I mean, come on, have you ever heard anything more absurd? A psychiatrist with bipolar disorder?”
Brownhill didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not completely cuckoo, and it’s completely controllable if I remember to take the pills. I forget sometimes that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” Brownhill said. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t need sympathy, and you’d be surprised how popular being bipolar is these days. Everybody’s doing it - models, film stars. It’s the yuppie flu of the twenty first century. Can we talk about something else now?”
The waiter returned with the bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses. Brownhill poured them each a glass and took a long swig from hers.
“Any news in the investigation?” Blakemore asked. “I read about the Ukrainian guy. This woman isn’t going to stop is she?”
“Smith found out something interesting in Romania.”
“Romania?” Blakemore seemed shocked.
“I really don’t know how he does it,” Brownhill finished the remaining wine in her glass and poured herself another one.
Blakemore had hardly touched hers.
“He has this unbelievable sixth sense,” Brownhill said. “He reckons he’s found out who this woman is.”
“In Romania? That’s amazing. Who is she?”
“Smith should be back tomorrow, we’ll hear all about it then.”
For some reason, Brownhill’s instinct told her not to reveal too much about what Smith had found.
The waiter appeared to take their order. Brownhill suddenly realised she wasn’t very hungry any more. She scanned the menu and ordered a small chef’s salad. Blakemore ordered the same.
“Do you think you’ll catch her?” Blakemore said when the waiter was gone.
“We’ll catch her. This case has been the most frustrating one any of us have ever worked on. We’ll catch her sooner or later.”
“Shall I order another bottle of wine?” Blakemore pointed to the empty Chardonnay bottle on the table. “I see you really enjoyed the first one.”
“Why not? I must admit it’s going down rather well.”
“Do you still need my help?”
“I don’t know, I’m not sure how you can help us anymore.”
“Well, I’m here if you need me.”
The salads arrived and they ate in silence for a while. Brownhill spent most of the time pushing the food around the plate. She really wasn’t hungry.
“How are you and Grant getting on?” Blakemore said.
“Great, he’s so much different to Malcolm, my ex husband. Grant is the most direct man I’ve ever met - there’s no pretence about him. I like that.”
“Good for you,” Blakemore finally took a sip from her glass.
Her phone started to ring inside her handbag. She took it out and looked at the screen.
“Sorry, do you mind if I take this?”
Brownhill nodded. The waiter appeared and looked at the food on Brownhill’s plate.
“Could we get another bottle of that please?” Brownhill pointed to the empty wine bottle.
Blakemore had disappeared from sight. When she came back she had an anxious look on her face.
“Sorry about that,” she sat back down. “One of my patients was having a rather disturbing anxiety episode. I managed to calm him down again.”
The waiter put a new bottle of wine on the table.
“Is everything alright with the food?” He asked Brownhill.
“Yes,” Brownhill said. “It looks great. I’m just not that hungry.”
The waiter nodded and walked back inside the kitchen.
“I’m afraid I have to go,” Blakemore said. “I promised Ian we’d have a little heart to heart. Let me know if you need my help.”
She stood up, placed some banknotes on the table and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
Smith was surprised to see that the lights were still on inside his house when he parked his car outside. Whitton had agreed to stay there while he was away to look after Theakston but he thought they’d both be asleep by now. It was almost midnight. He was exhausted - all the travelling had taken its toll. All he wanted was a hot shower and a warm bed to pass out in. He opened the door and went inside the house. He’d never felt so happy to be home before. He could hear the sound of the television coming from the living room. Whitton and Theakston were nowhere to be seen. He hung up his coat, threw his bag on the carpet and went into the living room. Whitton was fast asleep on the sofa. Theakston was snoring next to her. Smith smiled.
“Some guard dog you are,” he whispered.
He kissed Whitton on the top of her head and she woke up.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Smith said.
“What time is it?” Whitton rubbed her eyes.
“Around midnight.”
“How was Romania?”
“Miserable,” Smith said. “Weird people and terrible weathe
r. I’m so glad to be home again.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Whitton sat up straighter on the sofa.
“I’ll make it. You go to bed if you’re tired. We can talk more in the morning.”
He walked to the kitchen. Whitton followed after him and sat down at the table while he made the coffee.”
“You didn’t miss much while you were away,” Whitton said. “A God awful press conference is about it. Brownhill really messed that one up.”
“I believe so,” Smith said. “I read some of the Sunday papers on the plane.”
He placed two mugs of coffee on the table.
“Yang Chu reckons that people are going to go crazy again,” Whitton said. “They’re going to target the immigrants for the murders.”
“I don’t think it’ll amount to that.”
“So, tell me what you found out.”
Theakston strolled in, looked at the empty dog bowl in disgust and banged his head against the back door. Smith opened it and let him out.
“Thanks for looking after him,” he said.
“He’s no trouble. All he does is eat and sleep. He’s got really bad wind though. Tell me what you found out.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Smith sat down at the table.
“Try me.”
“The first two men died when there was a full moon.”
“I know,” Whitton said. “One of the young press guys pointed that out. We didn’t think it was important. Chalmers says it’s probably just a coincidence. Luka Gravov wasn’t killed during a full moon.”
“The full moon is the key to all of this. I spoke to this woman’s brother in law and he told me everything. This whole thing revolves around some kind of ancient pagan ritual.”
“Pagan ritual?”
“Selene Lupei was eleven years old when it started. She was caught spying on a sacrifice. She wasn’t supposed to be there and they locked her up for five years. By the time she managed to escape it was too late. She’d been brainwashed into believing what these people thought. She thought it was normal. She was only sixteen when she managed to escape but, like I said, by then it was too late.”
Selene: A disturbing DS Jason Smith thriller (A DS Jason Smith Thriller Book 6) Page 22
