by Max Hardy
‘Thank you DCI Strange. It saddens me to tell you this, but over the past three days, three more murderers have been exposed in circumstances similar to the Fallen Angels reveals in Edinburgh. While the circumstances are similar, they are not exactly the same. In these three cases, the serial killers we found have been murdered. Connor McFetrich, the politician for Leith in Edinburgh was found dead two days ago at his country home. We found evidence at his home of his involvement in the murder of multiple women. Douglas Ettrick, a prominent businessman from Edinburgh was found dead yesterday at his penthouse apartment in Dean Village, Edinburgh. Evidence was found in the apartment indicating his involvement in the deaths of multiple women. George Darrie, a Medical Officer working for Northumbria police was found murdered this morning at his home in Mitford, just outside Morpeth. We also found evidence associating him with the deaths of multiple women. The evidence we found at the three crime scenes also links back to the victims of Gordon Ennis who was exposed as a serial killer as part of the Featherstone Hall investigation. That is one of the reasons for merging the investigation.’ Cruickshank relayed factually, reading rote from the notes in front of her. She paused for a breath, taking a drink of water, the astonished gasps from the audience turning into hushed, quick conversations. A few of the reporters darted to the back of the room, into the foyer, mobile phones in hand to ring in the news quickly.
‘The second, and more important reason for merging the investigations is due to the evidence we have gathered that suggests the involvement of three people in all of the recent events. Our three prime suspects are,’ Cruickshank started, the TV behind her bursting into life, three pictures adorning the screen. A tumulus susurration of gasps waved around the room, interspersed with the incessant clicking of camera’s going off, as Cruickshank continued. ‘Detective Inspector John Saul, the escaped mental patient Rebecca Angus and a man known to us only as Gabriel. We have very strong evidence to suggest they are in the Morpeth area and feel it will only be a matter of time before we have all three in custody. We do not believe there is any direct danger to the public at this point, however we would urge the public not to approach any of them. If you do feel you have seen them, either in Morpeth or the surrounding areas in the last twenty four hours, please ring the number on the banner behind you straight away. Our officers are waiting for your calls. At this point in time, that is all the information we are able to share with you. We will answer sensible questions now, so please ensure they are related to the case and the information we have given you.’ Cruikshank finished, a furore of noise breaking from the agitated, eager crowd.
Strange pointed to a journalist on the front row, and the voluminous questions ebbed, allowing him to speak.
‘Jones, Daily Mail. Given a number of police employees seem to be involved in these cases, John Saul, George Darrie, Annie Tait, Richard Le Fenwick, are you concerned that the force itself has been compromised and may be in some way complicit in these events?’ the bespectacled, brown quiffed reporter asked.
‘It saddens me to see colleagues that I have worked with closely over the years associated with the atrocities we have witnessed in the last few weeks. I do feel that we have been manipulated by a number of people during that time, but I can assure you, the two authorities themselves are not complicit in these events whatsoever. We are, and will continue to work tirelessly until the three suspects are apprehended and the full facts of this case are exposed.’ Strange answered firmly, pointing to a thirty something woman with a short auburn bob sitting in the middle of the crowd, her Parker pen waving furiously in the air as the hubbub raised in crescendo again. ‘Sophie, your question please.’ Strange finished, smiling at the reporter.
‘Thank you DCI Strange. Sophie Middleton, The Journal. We are hearing reports that you have been consulting scientists at Edinburgh and Newcastle University about the possibility of the Fallen Angels being involved in some kind of gene manipulation. Could you confirm those reports?’ Middleton asked.
Cruickshank responded before Strange had a chance. ‘As with any investigation, we will examine every piece of forensic evidence. If we need to engage with subject matter experts, we will do that. We have engaged with biomedical scientists from both universities and they are assisting us with forensic examinations. As this is an ongoing investigation, I am not able to go into the details of those examinations at present.’ she answered, the waving of hands and shouting of questions blaring out before her last word was even out of her mouth. ‘Gentleman on the left, end of the third row, your question please.’ Cruickshank shouted above the din.
‘Baz Golightly, The Sun. Is it true that Ettrick and McFetrich were frequent visitors to the BDSM clubs in Edinburgh and were arrested in a raid on a club last week, but then subsequently released? Are the police covering up the sordid sexual exploits of these rich and famous people? Is that why the Angels are trying to expose them, because you aren’t doing your job?’ Golightly asked, sneering the questions. He was a paunchy, sweating man, with a greasy comb over strand of hair attempting to cover his almost bald head.
‘I pointed out earlier that we would answer sensible questions, not ludicrous accusations. Thank you for your time ladies and gentlemen, we have an active investigation to continue. We will hold another press conference at twelve noon tomorrow where we hope to have further information.’ Cruickshank answered abruptly, throwing Golightly a scathing glare as she steadfastly stood up and marched towards the side door, ignoring the verbal cacophony of questions raining through the air. Strange nodded appreciatively to the audience and followed her out into adjoining room, where Munro was waiting for them. The room was setup as a mini Incident room, with mobile whiteboards against the walls, already filled with pictures and evidence scrawl. A dozen seats were set out in three rows of four facing the boards.
‘Bloody Sun reporters.’ Cruickshank cursed as Strange closed the door on the incessant din. ‘You ask for sensible questions and all they are ever after is sensation. Munro, any updates from the house to house or roadblock searches. Tell me we have been able to get CCTV footage of the car leaving Darrie’s residence.’
Munro lethargically leant against the back wall of the room, notepad lolling in his hand as he answered. ‘Not a chance on CCTV Ma’am. There are no cameras down that road. We asked around the neighbouring houses but no one had seen anything untoward at Darrie’s house. We do have positive news on the car that Rebecca Angus was driving when she left the Fielding Institute. We found that parked outside apartments in Mains Place, which looks out over the Wansbeck River. One of the apartments is a holiday let. It looks empty. We’ve been able to contact the owner and she is meeting us there in half an hour. It was rented out this week to someone called Abigail Braithwaite, but the owner didn’t see her as the booking was all done over the internet. Forensics are already on their way to check the car out.’
‘It sounds like they have probably abandoned it and moved on elsewhere, but we might find something that points us to where they have gone. Thanks Mick.’ Strange offered encouragingly, pre-empting the snide jibe that Cruickshank’s features looked about to impart. ‘Were you able to find anything up at the Institute?’
‘Good news there as well Sir. I was racking my brains to understand where Angus got the files from and went back to search Ennis’s office. I noticed scuff marks on the carpet in front of a chest of drawers. On moving them, I found a retinal scanning device embedded in the wall. The wall was false and there was a hidden alcove behind it. For the most part it contained empty filing cabinets, which must have been where Angus got the files from. But it also contained a musical instrument case with the word Unas embossed on it. Confirms that Ennis was part of the cult Sir.’ Munro offered smugly.
Just a Munro finished, the back door to the room opened from the alleyway beyond and Harris, a tall, thin man wearing spectacles and blue PPE overalls entered, slightly out of breath.
‘Are you alright Ian?’ Strange queried, as he walked over to Har
ris and placed a concerned hand on his shaking arm.
‘Sorry Sir, yes, just a little in shock and I’ve just ran from the Forensic Van parked down by the river. I’ve just had the lab on the phone. They have started processing the forensics found around and on Darrie’s body.’ Harris replied in stuttering breaths.
‘And?’ Cruickshank demanded, stomping up alongside Strange, glaring up at the Forensic officer sternly. Strange shot Cruickshank an admonishing glance, before returning his gentle gaze back towards Harris.
‘And they have identified three different sets of DNA. Twelve different occurrences of John Saul’s DNA, from skin, hair and sweat. Twenty different occurrences of Rebecca Angus’s DNA, from the same sources, but also including a sliver of fingernail found in Darrie’s ripped heart.’ Harris paused, catching his breath.
‘And the third set?’ Cruickshank prompted impatiently.
‘The third set were from sexual fluids found in the folds of Darrie’s foreskin, which was the only bit of skin left on his whole body. The DNA is almost an exact match to Jessica Seymour’s and Madame Evangeline’s. It looks as though there is a third clone.’
Chapter 31
Strange sat quietly on the empty park bench, feeding the incessantly quacking ducks circling his feet with broken up pieces of bread from the bag in his hands. The park was busy, the dazzling warmth of the afternoon sun having drawn families out to enjoy the open space, with its paddling pool, swings, slides and roundabouts. The screech of excited children playing tag, hide and seek and ball games vied with the quacking ducks for vocal superiority, the children slightly ahead. Strange looked down over the meandering River Wansbeck, watching the boats leisurely row by, their occupants enjoying the tranquillity of the water.
An old, grey haired man, glasses perched on his nose, wearing beige slacks, white polo shirt, a brown zig zag tank top and Jesus sandals on sockless feet ambled up the path from the river, wheezy breathing as he came to the bench on the incline and sat at the opposite end from Strange. The ducks cautiously backed away from him, but not that far they weren’t in grabbing distance of the dropped bread. The old man smiled toward Strange.
‘It’s a long time since I’ve fed the ducks in this park. Tends to be something you do with littlun’s rather than as a grown man.’ The old man observed pointedly, in a whispered, gravelly voice.
Strange smiled back, throwing some more bread onto the ground. ‘Just waiting for the kids to arrive, taking the opportunity to relive memories.’ he answered, not elaborating further.
‘When you get to my age, the memories are all that you’ve got. I remember playing in this park as a kid. There used to be a long wooden rocking horse where that see-saw is now. We would come here every Sunday, from the care home, and I would see the same family, with their dad, playing on it religiously. There were three daughters and a son. They often dressed in home made clothes. Once they all had purple cowboy check material matching outfits, the girls all in dresses, the boy in a shirt the same, wearing shorts, all lined up in a row, riding the rocking horse. Their dad was a man I’d see around Morpeth, putting up the market stalls, working in the bookies, doing odd-jobs here and there. They always seemed to be such a happy family. I envied them when I was younger. Looking back, years later, I wondered where their mum was, and realised that perhaps they weren’t the normal family I thought they were. I think mum and dad were probably divorced, and that Sunday afternoon was his time with the kids. It made me realise that the thing I had been searching for all my life –to be part of a normal family-, didn’t really exist. More importantly, it made me realise that normal is not what makes you happy. Being a part of a family and having their love, no matter what the social make up of that family, is what is important. Most of my life, I didn’t think I had a family. Recently I’ve found out I am part of the most bizarre family in the world. It tells me I have its love, but so far it hasn’t showed me that. So far, all it has tried to do is kill me.’ the old man reminisced, looking longingly out over the gently flowing river.
Strange’s expression changed through the telling of the tale, from disinterested, to inquisitive and then to focused, looking at every nook and cranny on the old man’s face, taking in every furrow in his wrinkled complexion. ‘John?’ he queried, incredulously.
‘Just keep feeding the ducks Jerry and look directly ahead of you, to the upper right window of the last house before the swimming baths on the opposite side of the river. You will see the window is open. You will see the black barrel of a rifle sticking out of it. Rebecca has it sighted directly at your heart. If you try and apprehend me, she will shoot. All I want to do is talk Jerry. All I want to do is let you know what we know. Keep feeding the ducks.’ Saul answered, his voice still whispered and gravelly.
‘I didn’t quite know how you were going to get here. I assumed some kind of disguise, but that is extremely convincing. Truthfully, I am not wired and there are no officers under my control in the park. Just to be clear, that doesn’t mean you won’t see officers wandering through the park, given what’s happening in the town. They will be on the lookout for you, but right at the minute, I won’t be alerting them to your presence. As far as anyone is concerned, I am taking a five minute breather after the press conference, before I walk on up the river to Mains Place and check out an apartment we suspect you were frequenting.’ Strange answered calmly, throwing some more bread down for the quacking birds.
‘Pleased you’ve found it. There’s something in there that will explain how I know everything you do about this case. I’ll not spoil the surprise. But I do know everything you do about this case up until you left Edinburgh this morning, including the conversation you had with Bentley that pointed you towards Darrie. That’s why we were ready for you earlier. We were trying to get to him before Gabriel as well. We didn’t make it.’ Saul responded, his eyes dancing around the park, scrutinizing the faces of the people walking by.
‘And what do you know about Gabriel. We haven’t got much more than a first name and the pictures of him with the four murderers.’ Strange queried.
‘We know his surname, but that won’t get you any further at the moment. We know that he used to be part of the Fallen Angels, but became far too extreme, even for them. We suspect I am related to him. We know that he turned people into murderers. He made the four murderers the Angels exposed and also the dead men that have been turning up recently. We know he has a female accomplice. We know that female accomplice is a third clone, Jessica and Madame Evangeline being the other two. We have met her, and she tried to convince us she was an innocent party in this, just as we are. She isn’t. We suspect she killed McFetrich, Ettrick and Darrie. We suspect they were killed because of the cult they set up on their own. We know that he is trying to find out what the Angels are up to as well. We know that he will try and kill Rebecca and me. We know he has Jacob.’ Saul reeled off in a whispered refrain, not even pausing for breath.
Strange sat silent for a moment, digesting the information, throwing a few more morsels of bread out for the ducks, before answering. ‘Jacob. Explain to me how he is alive? I was with you when Featherstone Hall exploded. He was inside that crate in the hall.’
‘He wasn’t. He was in an apartment on the Quayside in Newcastle with Dr Ben Hanlon/Adam all along. What we saw was a video feed from there on the screens in the Hall. What we found in terms of DNA evidence was two pints of Jacob’s blood Dr Hanlon/Adam had put inside the crate.’ Saul answered, still scanning the afternoon revellers faces.
‘I suspect he isn’t with Gabriel by accident. I can’t imagine you letting that happen.’ Strange enquired, his face thoughtful.
‘Correct. We had to test the validity of our new Eve. Arguably he is in mortal danger. After all, his is with a man who makes murderers and who is himself a murderer. But we think this is all about Jacob. We think Jacob is the bait that will bring this all to a head. Nothing is going to happen to him until Gabriel understands what the Angels are doing and why Jacob is
so important. Right at the minute, we think he is searching for exactly the same thing you are, exactly the same thing we are: why?’ Saul responded, for the first time briefly looking over at Strange, noting the DCI’s furrowed, reflective brow.
‘Why do you think Jacob is so important John? You must have a theory, you are very good at theories.’ Strange asked quietly.
‘You already know that the Seymour family have been selectively inbreeding for decades. I don’t think you found out that historically, there is a link in the family back to a puritan minister called Cotton Mather. He believed that fossilised remains found back in the 17th century were of a Nephilim, the offspring of Fallen Angels and humans. We believe that he set the wheels in motion to purify a bloodline, by selective breeding, and latterly genetic engineering, so that the Fallen Angels could create a person with the characteristics of a Nephilim, the child of an Angel. We think that is what they believe. What you don’t know is that Jacob is not Sarah’s son. Sarah only carried him. Jacob is Rebecca’s son. The Angels keep telling us we are special, that Jacob is special. That is the theory we are working on. But it’s just a theory.’ Saul imparted, looking down to the watch on his wrist, then back up to scan the surrounding park.
‘It sounds incredible. I’d say farfetched even, if I hadn’t seen the forensic evidence for myself.’ Strange ruminated, flicking the last bits of bread out to the still ravenous ducks.
