Cold Sacrifice

by Leigh Russell

  ‘Drinking alone?’ Bev asked, creeping up behind him and putting her arms round his waist. ‘Ooh, champagne! What’s this for?’

  ‘Do I need an excuse to celebrate spending time with my beautiful wife?’ he asked, cursing himself for his cowardice.

  Bev kissed him behind his ear, and they drank champagne together. He felt pleasantly drunk, and hornier than he had been in a long time. It would be a shame to spoil the evening by sparking off a bitter row. Their future could wait for a while.

  68

  HENRY HAD BEEN TRANSFERRED to a cell in Woolsmarsh. Instead of ranting against his arrest he sat on his bunk staring straight ahead, refusing food. Admittedly, he was in a tricky situation, his son having accused him of murder, but teenage boys were notoriously unreliable. By now Ian expected Henry and his lawyer to have concocted a tale involving puberty, depression, alcohol, drugs, and teenage angst following his mother’s recent violent death. It wouldn’t have been difficult to fabricate an excuse that exonerated Henry while not being unduly judgemental of his son. Mark’s betrayal seemed to have broken his father’s spirit.

  ‘There’s something odd about his behaviour,’ Ian insisted.

  ‘You’re telling me,’ Rob agreed cheerfully. ‘Unless you think it’s normal to stab your wife, and then strangle and suffocate two prostitutes, and finish it all off by trying to strangle your own child. He’ll plead insanity, and he’ll get away with it, more’s the pity.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘What do you mean then?’

  Ian shrugged. He couldn’t explain what was bugging him, but something didn’t feel right.

  ‘So how did your wife take the news?’ Rob wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, yeah, we got through two bottles of champagne last night,’ Ian equivocated, smiling at the memory. It had been a good night.

  ‘You haven’t told her, have you?’

  Ian gave a sheepish grin. ‘It’s not easy. Bev’s – well, she likes it here. She likes her job and she likes being near her family.’

  ‘You’re her family now.’ Rob smiled. ‘I remember when I told my missus about my promotion. I was bricking it that she wouldn’t want to move out of the area, but she was straight on the phone to her mother. ‘You know that no-good bobby I married?’ she said. ‘Well, you can kiss my arse now because my husband’s an inspector!’ Honest to God, those were her very words.’ He chuckled. ‘And the funny part of it is, I had no idea until then that her mother had been dead against her marrying me. Rosy hid that well. Made me wonder what else she wasn’t telling me.’

  He winked before he wandered off. Ian had never seen him in such high spirits.

  The custody sergeant dismissed Ian’s qualms.

  ‘Of course he’s bloody odd. He goes around killing people. That’s not a normal way to behave, is it? Or have we been missing something about what you get up to in your spare time?’

  ‘No, what I mean is, he’s acting out of character.’

  ‘Ah, that’s because he knows he’s nicked. They always quieten down once they know we know. Don’t you worry, I’ve seen it all before. He’ll soon give up on this not-eating lark, take it from me. He’ll only make himself ill if he carries on like this. But he’ll come to his senses soon enough. I’ve seen more prisoners refusing food than you’ve had hot dinners.’

  The custody sergeant laughed, and Ian smiled. But the sergeant had missed the point. It wasn’t the prisoner’s refusal to eat that perturbed Ian, but the thought that they might have arrested the wrong man.

  Even Polly wasn’t sympathetic to Ian’s misgivings and dismissed the idea that Mark might be lying.

  ‘Why would he?’

  Ian shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s the killer.’

  ‘You don’t really think he killed his own mother, for goodness sake. What kind of person would do that? In any case, he had an alibi, didn’t he? You saw the girl the same as I did, and I called and spoke to her father afterwards.’

  A terrible suspicion struck Ian. He assured himself Polly would have taken the time to corroborate Mark’s alibi properly, yet the ambiguity of her remark bothered him. Just to be sure, he went back through the records and found her notes. Staring at the screen, he felt a sudden panic. His fingers shook as he logged out before going to find his colleague.

  ‘Your report says you phoned Eve Thompson’s parents.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her smile faded when she saw his expression. ‘You told me to check out her story about being with Mark when Martha was killed.’

  ‘By phone? Didn’t it occur to you to go round to the house and make sure the girl who gave Mark an alibi really was who she said she was?’

  Polly shrugged. ‘Why would she lie about it?’

  ‘But you phoned. Didn’t you think you should have gone round there and confirmed for yourself that it really was her?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was necessary. The phone number checked out. It was the Thompsons’ landline and Mr Thompson’s description of his daughter matched the girl we saw. If you read my report –’

  ‘I read it. Was there any reason not to go round there?’

  Ian could see realisation dawning on her face. Unable to meet his eye, she mumbled something about not wanting to cause trouble for the young couple.

  ‘It’s just that she’s younger than him. Her parents might not know she’s seeing an eighteen-year-old boy. I didn’t want to get her in any trouble –’

  ‘So you’re happy to turn a blind eye to underage sex –’

  ‘She’s only just underage,’ Polly broke in quickly. ‘I checked. She’s sixteen in a couple of months. But parents of girls that age don’t like them seeing older boys. I should know,’ she added sourly.

  ‘Don’t bring your personal issues in to work.’

  ‘I’m not. It’s not an issue, not any more. But it’s not part of our job to grass up youngsters who are in love. You saw the way she looked at him. They were more than just friends. There was something much stronger going on between them, and she was nervous as hell about them being exposed. You could see that. She was shaking the whole time.’

  ‘Oh Jesus, this isn’t bloody Romeo and Juliet,’ Ian broke out in exasperation. ‘We have to be thorough. Look, I’m sure there’s no harm done, but in future don’t leave any loose ends. Not in a murder enquiry.’

  Once Mark had provided his alibi, very little time had been spent investigating him. They had been so focused on pursuing Henry, they had accepted his son’s story at face value. Polly had finally grasped the potential gravity of her blunder, but no one else had yet picked up on it. Ian didn’t intend to tell Rob what had happened unless it proved necessary. For now, he was determined to establish the truth. If the girl who had given Mark an alibi had been lying, it might mean that two women had died on account of Polly’s lapse of judgement. For the young constable’s sake, he hoped it would prove inconsequential that she had allowed herself to be misled by romantic notions.

  Ian drove to the address Mark’s friend had given them without telling anyone where he was going. A tall thin ginger-haired man came to the door. Ian introduced himself and established he was talking to Mr Thompson, father of Eve.

  ‘What’s this about, Inspector? Has something happened to Eve? She’s not in any trouble is she?’

  ‘No. Your daughter isn’t in any trouble, and we have no reason to suppose anything has happened to her.’

  ‘Only we had a phone call a couple of weeks ago, asking if she lives here. They wouldn’t say what it was about. But if there’s anything wrong, we would like to know. She’s only fifteen.’

  Ian frowned. The girl who had come to the police station had claimed to be seventeen but had looked closer to fourteen. That might explain why she had been so scared. She must realise her eighteen-year-old companion could be convicted if the police discovered he was having sex with an underage girl. If he was up to something nefarious, Ian hoped that seeing a young girl would prove to be Mark’s worst trans
gression. Paedophilia was among the most despicable of crimes, but sex with a consenting fifteen-year-old girl was easier to stomach than matricide.

  Eve was at school, so Ian asked if Mr Thompson had any photographs of his daughter.

  ‘Of course. Come in. But can you please tell me what this is about?’

  ‘Mr Thompson, all I can tell you is that your daughter may possibly be able to give us information that will help us in an enquiry.’

  ‘Information? What kind of information? What enquiry?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that, but rest assured your daughter isn’t in any kind of trouble with the police.’

  Mr Thompson led him into a living room, and went off to look for his photographs. He returned to say he hadn’t been able to find any recent pictures of his daughter.

  ‘I’ll call my wife. She’ll know where to find them.’

  He went off again and Ian heard him talking on the phone. He returned after a few minutes with a laptop.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘My wife keeps all our photos here. She’s always saying she’s going to print them out, but she never seems to get round to it.’

  Ian found the folder with the most recent images and scanned through the slide show with growing concern.

  ‘Which of these is the best likeness of Eve?’ he asked at last.

  ‘They all look like her.’ Mr Thompson looked down and pointed. ‘That’s a good one of her.’

  Ian stared unhappily at a thin blonde girl grinning at them from the screen. Apart from similar hair and eye colour, she didn’t look anything like the girl who had accompanied Mark to the police station. With a hurried thank you to Mr Thompson, and an assurance that the police were unlikely to contact his family again, Ian took his leave.

  ‘Do you really think he killed his own mother?’ Polly asked when Ian told her.

  ‘It’s worse than that. If I’m right – and God knows I hope I’m not – but if I am, then he not only killed his mother, he tried to pin the murder on his father. My guess is he waited until he was eighteen so he could inherit the house and his mother’s estate. Then he planned to get both his parents out of the way so everything went to him.’ He paused, watching Polly’s face as she registered the enormity of what he was telling her. ‘It’s the most evil murder I’ve ever come across,’ he added.

  ‘I should have gone round there.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself. No one could have seen that one coming.’

  ‘You saw it,’ Polly muttered.

  Ian gave her a sympathetic grimace. There was nothing he could say to make her feel better.

  69

  THEY KNOCKED SEVERAL TIMES before a window opened upstairs. Mark leaned out to see who was at the door.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Ian was careful not to say anything that might arouse the young man’s suspicion.

  ‘We need to ask you to confirm a few things about your father.’

  ‘What about my father?’

  ‘We have him securely behind bars but he’s refusing to co-operate with us, and we need your help to clear up one or two small matters.’

  Mark hesitated then disappeared. They waited but he didn’t come to the door. Ian knocked again, then sent Polly round to the back of the house. Mark’s refusal to admit them was futile given that they had seen he was in, but if he really was the killer he must be insane and unlikely to behave rationally. Ian knocked once more. Without waiting any longer for a response, he fished out his set of keys and attempted to let himself in. If he couldn’t unlock the door, they would have to break in.

  Having called for back-up Ian phoned Polly, but she didn’t answer.

  ‘What the hell is with this place?’ he muttered uneasily as his key turned, with a sharp click.

  It was like the Marie Celeste. First Mark disappeared, now Polly wasn’t answering her phone. Trying not to make a sound, he stole into the house. The only natural light in the hall came from a small window halfway up the stairs. The darkness was hushed. Ian felt as though someone else was there, listening and watching, preparing to strike. He hesitated, holding his breath, straining to see or hear any indication of movement in the house. There was a muffled scratching in the walls, and a faint ticking of pipework. Then he heard a choking sound, as though someone had been running and was out of breath. Following the noise, he crept along the hallway. At the door to the kitchen he paused, momentarily dazzled by sunlight streaming in through a large square window. Squinting, he saw the back door was wide open. Beside it Polly was standing rigid, her eyes wide with terror. Mark was pressed up against her back, one hand clutching both her wrists in front of her, the other holding the point of a long-bladed kitchen knife beneath her chin, forcing her head back. Ian froze.

  ‘Let her go, Mark,’ he said, doing his best to keep his voice level. He sounded robotic. ‘There’s no need for you to be upset. We only want to ask you about your father. You know we have him locked up. He can’t hurt you again. You don’t need to be scared any more.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  Polly kicked out behind her. Mark tightened his hold on her.

  ‘Mark, you’re not in any trouble, but you will be if you hurt a police officer. She’s got nothing to do with any of this. She just drove me here. I know you’re frightened, but you need to calm down and think about what you’re doing.’

  Mark seemed too agitated to take in what Ian was saying. It was difficult to be sure with his dark eyes, but Ian thought his pupils were dilated. He was mumbling incoherently about salvation. Ian paused, momentarily lost in an all-consuming fear.

  He had led Polly straight into the arms of a serial killer.

  ‘Mark,’ Ian tried again.

  His throat was so dry he could hardly speak. He struggled to stop his voice shaking.

  ‘Polly came here to help you. She’s your friend. I’m the one who wanted to come here. It’s down to me that we’re here. Let her go and we’ll leave. Let her go, Mark. Drop the knife and let her go.’

  He stopped, aware that Polly was gagging, her head forced back so far she was struggling to breathe. Mark jerked his head towards the other side of the room.

  ‘Get over there, now!’

  Ian hurried to comply.

  As soon as the table was between them, Mark began hauling Polly sideways across the kitchen towards the hall, keeping his eyes fixed on Ian all the time. Not looking where he was going, he stumbled. When Ian started forward, Mark jerked the knife so that it pressed harder against Polly’s throat. She cried out in alarm. Ian drew back, his hands raised in a gesture of submission as he watched his colleague being dragged from the room. He waited until they were out of sight before racing silently after them. Peering into the hall, he stared at Mark’s back framed in the open front door. A police car was waiting outside. Mark spun round, the knife still at Polly’s throat. He glared at Ian.

  ‘Send them away!’ he shouted frenziedly, ‘send them all away!’

  It wasn’t easy keeping his eyes fixed on Mark as two uniformed figures appeared in the open doorway. From their position behind Polly, they couldn’t see the blade pressing against her throat.

  ‘Put the knife down,’ Ian called out loudly. ‘Stop pressing it to the constable’s throat.’

  In his zeal, he had shouted too loudly. Aware that something was amiss, Mark tensed. He jerked the blade so the tip of it pierced her skin. Ian watched a thread of blood trickle down her neck, unbelievably dark against her skin. He took an involuntary step forward. As he did so, Mark shuffled backwards, dragging Polly with him.

  ‘Get away from me!’ Mark shrieked.

  The two uniformed officers simultaneously lunged forward and seized Mark’s arms, rendering him helpless. The knife dropped to the floor. It lay on the carpet rolling almost imperceptibly from side to side, reflected light winking from the shiny surface of its blade. Mark put up no resistance as he was handcuffed. Keeping up a constant babbling, he seemed oblivious to his captur
e.

  ‘Is that a Hail Mary he’s reciting?’ one of the constables asked.

  Ian shrugged. He couldn’t speak. All that mattered was that Polly was safe. Her assurance that she was fine was the only time Mark seemed to take any notice of what was happening.

  ‘Fine, fine, we’re all fine,’ he cried out in a curious singsong voice. ‘Everything’s fine, fine fine!’

  ‘Shut it,’ a uniformed constable snapped.

  Mark lowered his head and resumed his mumbling.

  ‘I told you to shut it,’ the constable repeated.

  ‘Leave it,’ Ian said. ‘He’s a nut job.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. All that gibbering was getting on my nerves. What the hell is he on?’

  ‘God knows.’

  Ian drove Polly back to the station while Mark was taken off in a van.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he asked several times.

  ‘Stop going on about it, will you?’ Her angry outburst startled him. ‘For Christ’s sake, you’re worse than my bloody father. In fact, you sound just like him. I’ve already told you I’m fine. How many times do I need to say it? I mean, I was shaken, who wouldn’t be? I was bloody petrified. I thought he was going to kill me –’

  ‘So did I.’

  He didn’t admit out loud that if Polly had been killed, it would have been his fault. He wondered if she was angry with him for leading her into danger, but was too drained to summon the courage to ask her if she blamed him. Meanwhile, she hadn’t stopped talking.

  ‘But he didn’t hurt me, did he? Not really. It’s only a scratch, and now I’m fine, and it’s all part of the bloody job, isn’t it? So just shut up about it, will you?’