JM05 - Deadly Ritual

by DS Butler

  Bruno hesitated, realising what he’d said.

  “I suppose she’s got her wish now, hasn’t she?”

  21

  AFTER CALLING INTO WOOD Street Station and speaking to Tyler, giving him the name of Adam Jonah’s ex-partner, it hadn’t been long before the team had tracked down the woman’s address.

  After receiving the information, Mackinnon and Charlotte headed off towards Kensington High Street on the tube. Their Oyster cards were seeing plenty of action today.

  Adam Jonah’s ex-partner was a woman called Joy Barter. Bruno Moretti said the name had stuck in his mind because Adam went on so much about the fact her name was Joy when she’d brought Adam anything but.

  But Joy Barter had obviously moved up in the world after dating Adam.

  Just off Kensington High Street, Mackinnon and Charlotte stood at the bottom of a set of polished marble steps that led up to a huge town house.

  “Clearly, plastic surgery pays well,” Charlotte said as they climbed the steps.

  She rang the ornate bell on the huge green door.

  A moment later, the door was opened by a young woman with shoulder-length fair hair.

  She had a little boy, aged two or three, sitting on her hip.

  “Joy Barter?” Mackinnon asked.

  Mackinnon and Charlotte held up their IDs.

  “No, I’m the nanny, Lucy Sampson. Mrs. Barter is inside.”

  “We’d like a word with Mrs. Barter, please.”

  The nanny nodded and stood back, opening the door wider, so they could come in.

  The little boy stared up at them with big chocolate brown eyes.

  Charlotte gave him a smile, and the boy shyly turned his head into the nanny’s neck.

  “Who is it, Lucy?”

  They heard a sharp woman’s voice coming from another room down the hallway.

  The nanny shot them an embarrassed look.

  “If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll just tell Mrs. Barter you’re here,” she said.

  Heaving the boy onto her other hip, she walked swiftly along the corridor.

  Mackinnon looked up and took in the grand surroundings. They stood on a polished marble floor, and a huge chandelier hung above them.

  “Must be a hell of a place to dust,” Mackinnon muttered.

  He couldn’t even imagine what a house of this size, in this location, would cost.

  They heard Mrs. Barter telling the nanny, in a dismissive tone, to go and make some tea. Then they heard footsteps, and a moment later Joy Barter walked towards them with her hand outstretched.

  She was certainly a striking woman. She was at least five-foot ten and towered over Charlotte.

  “I’m Mrs. Barter,” she said as she shook their hands. “How can I help you?”

  They needed to approach this carefully. Joy Barter may have ended her relationship with Adam Jonah, but he was still her son’s father. The news of his death would come as a shock.

  “Perhaps we could sit down,” Mackinnon said.

  The smile slipped from Joy’s face. “Something has happened, hasn’t it? An accident? Is it my husband?”

  In a daze, she led them along the hallway, and then into a huge room with floor to ceiling windows looking out over the garden.

  She sat down and put her hands on her knees. Her hands were shaking.

  “What is keeping that girl?” she said, in an irritated tone.

  Joy Barter raised a perfectly manicured hand and began to chew on a red fingernail. She frowned when she realised what she was doing and clasped both hands in her lap.

  “Well, what is it?” she demanded. “What has happened?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news,” Mackinnon said. “Adam Jonah is dead.”

  For a fraction of a second, there was a flicker of what looked like relief on Joy Barter’s face, which was quickly followed by a heavy frown.

  “And what’s that got to do with me?”

  “We were led to believe you had been in a relationship with Adam Jonah.”

  Joy Barter rolled her eyes. “A long time ago. I’m married now.”

  Charlotte was surprised at Joy Barter’s reaction. For most people, hearing about the death of even a casual acquaintance would elicit a more emotional response than that.

  They all looked up as the nanny entered with the tea. She set down the tray on a small coffee table.

  “Shall I pour?” she asked, looking at Joy Barter.

  Joy waved a hand at the girl. “Yes. This is Lucy Sampson,” she said to Mackinnon and Charlotte. “She’s our nanny. She’s been with us for six months. She can tell you I’ve not seen Adam in all that time.”

  The little boy was still clinging to the nanny’s leg, staring at Charlotte and Mackinnon with big round eyes.

  “And who is this little chap?” Charlotte asked, leaning towards the little boy. “What’s your name?”

  “Thomas,” Joy Barter said.

  Charlotte waited a moment, but there was no more information forthcoming. “Is he Adam’s little boy?” she asked.

  Joy Barter’s face screwed up. She looked as if she’d sucked a lemon. “I suppose you could say that. But he hasn’t been involved in Thomas’s upbringing at all.”

  “By choice?” Mackinnon asked.

  “If you knew Adam,” Joy said. “You’d know he’d be a terrible influence on a young boy. He’s a deadbeat. A waste of space. He’s no kind of role model for my son.”

  Mackinnon couldn’t help noticing she was referring to Adam in the present tense, as if she still felt she had to defend her son from him.

  “We have to tell you that Adam was murdered,” Charlotte said.

  Joy Barter blinked took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the floor as she leaned forward to pick up her tea.

  Her cup rattled against the saucer. “Murdered?”

  She took a sip of her tea and put it down, putting a hand to her mouth to smother a sob. “Even when he’s dead, Adam’s still trying to ruin my life,” she said.

  Mackinnon and Charlotte exchanged glances. That was a very odd thing to say.

  Joy Barter ran her hands across her skirt and seemed to gather herself. “Do you know who did it?”

  “Not yet,” Mackinnon said. “But we are investigating a number of good leads.”

  She nodded. “I don’t have any information. If that’s what you’ve come here for, you’re out of luck.

  “I have no idea who killed him, but he mixed in some dodgy circles, and he was always managing to piss people off.”

  The little boy looked up at his mother and said, “Bad word.”

  Joy Barter narrowed her eyes. “Take him to the playroom, Lucy.” She snapped at the nanny, who’d been hovering by the door.

  “Did Adam ever mention a Mr. X to you?” Charlotte asked.

  Joy wrinkled her nose. “Mr. X?”

  “We think he was a spirit guide Adam was using.”

  “No, I’ve never heard of Mr. X. What a ridiculous name. It sounds like a character in a comic!”

  Mackinnon had to agree with her there. He still wasn’t convinced that Kofi had been telling them the truth.

  She shook her head. “Is that who you think killed Adam? You don’t have much to go on, do you? I hope this isn’t one of your good leads.”

  Joy Barter leaned back in her armchair and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

  “I think I’m getting one of my migraines,” she said. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Charlotte and Mackinnon managed to ask a few more questions before leaving Joy Barter with her migraine.

  As they trudged down the marble steps and headed out towards Kensington High Street, Charlotte turned to Mackinnon.

  “Have you ever met anyone as cold or calculating as that? That little boy’s dad is dead, and she just snaps at the nanny telling her to take him to the playroom.

  “He’ll never know his dad. He’ll never know that his dad was fighting to see
him. I mean, he’ll have all this…” Charlotte gestured behind them at the row of terraced townhouses.

  “I’m sure the money is very nice, but how’s that going to make up for never knowing his real dad.”

  Mackinnon shrugged. “I feel sorry for the nanny. Imagine having to work for that woman.”

  Charlotte zipped up her coat. “Do you think she was involved in Adam’s death?”

  “Well, it’s very unlikely Joy Barter would have had the strength to kill him on her own,” Mackinnon said. “But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved.”

  22

  ALFIE HAD CREPT BACK into the flat at two o’clock in the morning.

  He had waited outside, shivering in the cold, until he saw all the lights had been switched off, and he was sure his aunt and uncle would be asleep.

  He’d let himself in as quietly as possible, tiptoeing to his room. He stripped off his rain-sodden clothes and tumbled into bed.

  He pulled the duvet cover over his head, so he’d be able to set the alarm on his phone. He didn’t want the light from the screen to wake anyone up, but it was essential he set the alarm. He needed to make sure he was up first in the morning and out of here.

  He selected the vibration alert. That would have less chance of waking Aunt Erika or Uncle Remi in the morning.

  Alfie didn’t know if they were just threatening to take him to Mr. X to scare him. He thought they might have said it to try and make Alfie behave himself. Maybe they had no intention of taking him to Mr. X. But Alfie didn’t want to take the chance.

  He had lain in bed staring up at the ceiling for a long time. Every creak and rattle in the flat had sent his heart pounding. He heard his uncle’s rumbling snores, coming from the room next door.

  Alfie had bitten his lip and tried to imagine Mickey playing at the beach at Southend. He pictured him, running away from the waves on the shore, and having an ice-cream. Alfie smiled. It would be chocolate. It was his favourite.

  Alfie had still been thinking of his little brother when he drifted off to sleep.

  It felt like he’d only closed his eyes for a few seconds, when the buzz of the alarm woke him. He frantically searched the bed for his phone, so he could turn off the alarm before it woke anyone else.

  He had pressed the reset button and then sat rigidly in bed, waiting to hear footsteps or telltale signs that his aunt or uncle had woken up.

  But there was nothing.

  He couldn’t hear his uncle’s snores, though. That probably meant he was only sleeping lightly. Alfie was desperate for the bathroom, but he couldn’t risk it. He would just have to wait.

  Alfie dressed as quickly as he could, making as little noise as possible, and left the house before six a.m.

  It was still dark, and Alfie had three hours to kill before school started and nowhere to go.

  But, first things first.

  He jogged to Rickman’s bakery on the corner of Hart Street. They had a public toilet, and Alfie was busting.

  The woman behind the counter eyed him warily as he came in.

  “You’re a bit early for school, aren’t you love?”

  She watched as Alfie selected a can of coke from the chilled cabinet.

  “You want anything to eat with that, love?” the woman said, tapping in Alfie’s order on the till.

  “Um…” Alfie looked up at the sign by the till, advertising ‘bacon sandwiches’ in swirly writing. His mouth watered, and he stared down at the coins in the palm of his hand. He was five pence short.

  “No,” he said. “I haven’t got enough.”

  “Give us a look,” the woman peered at the money in Alfie’s hand. Then she looked up and pursed her lips.

  She gave a big theatrical sigh, then said, “Go on, then. Just this once. I’ll let you owe me the five. You want a bacon sarnie, right?”

  Alfie nodded and poured all of his coins into the woman’s hand.

  “Can I use your toilet?” he asked.

  “Of course you can, love. It’s just round the back.”

  Alfie walked behind the counter and rushed into the toilet at the back. He couldn’t wait to get his teeth into the bacon sandwich. He’d been feeling too anxious to eat for the past few days, but now he was starving.

  After using the toilet, Alfie wolfed down his bacon sandwich and drank his Coke in tiny sips, dragging out his time in the warm cafe. But eventually the cafe started to fill up, and Alfie felt bad about taking up a table when the woman had been so nice to him.

  So he had left, and to kill time, he’d walked around the Towers Estate three times, meandering in and out of the alleyways. He zipped his jacket all the way up to his chin and looked up at the grey clouds. At least the rain had stopped.

  Although the morning dragged, his day at school went far too quickly, and Alfie was fast running out of time to decide what to do.

  By lunchtime, he was sure he should go to the nearest police station and tell them what had happened, but an hour later, he changed his mind again.

  What if they didn’t believe him? What if the police phoned his aunt and uncle, and they punished him for telling tales.

  Even if the police did believe him, what could they do?

  They’d still have to tell his aunt and uncle. No matter how many times Alfie tried to work it out in his head, he couldn’t see a way out of this mess.

  Alfie’s head ached and his throat was sore. He was probably getting a cold, he thought, because he’d gotten soaked to the skin last night. His grandmother had always told him not to stay out in the rain.

  By three p.m., Alfie knew he had to go and speak to his grandmother.

  She was the only one that would be able to help him. He didn’t have enough money for the train, but he’d borrowed enough money from his friend Stuart to make the phone call.

  He didn’t have any credit left on his mobile phone, and the stupid pay-as-you-go phone only allowed top ups in ten pound increments. So after school, Alfie had walked to the parade of shops, near where Mr. Xander had caught Francis smoking, and searched for a functional phone box.

  Alfie was out of luck. Both phone booths were unusable. They had been vandalised, and there was a definite whiff of urine around them. But worse than that, neither phone box took coins. Only cards.

  It was a sign. Alfie chewed on a nail. It was a sign that he shouldn’t call his grandmother.

  Alfie wandered around the streets for another hour, not wanting to go back to his uncle and aunt’s flat, but not having anywhere else to go.

  He briefly considered not going back at all, but last night’s freezing rainy weather had shown him that wasn’t the best option.

  He’d have to go back to the flat and speak to Aunt Erika. He had to convince her that he wasn’t possessed, that he was trying to be good.

  Maybe he could ask her if he could have some money for a trip to go and see his grandmother.

  Alfie made his way back to the flat. He still had another couple of hours before Uncle Remi was due home. That meant he had a chance. He’d just have to be persuasive.

  Alfie slipped his key in the lock and turned it quietly. He winced when the front door creaked as it opened.

  Alfie froze as he heard his aunt talking inside the flat. His heart pounded. Had Uncle Remi come home early?

  Were they going to punish him now? Were they waiting for Alfie to come home so they could take him to Mr. X?

  Alfie waited there in the doorway. The cold draught from the landing whistled between his legs as he listened.

  It was only his aunt’s voice he could hear. She was laughing, and she seemed happy.

  Alfie took a step inside, but he kept his hand on the door, still not willing to let it shut behind him and block his exit.

  Then he heard his aunt speak again.

  “I know Mother,” she said.

  Alfie felt a little jolt of hope when he realised she must be talking to his grandmother.

  Was she here?

  Alfie shut the door quietly be
hind him and moved forward to hear more of the conversation.

  “Oh, don’t you worry. We’ve got him in check. He’s a bad one, but we won’t let it beat us,” Aunt Erika said.

  Alfie froze.

  She was talking about him.

  “Yes, I know he was too much work for you,” she was saying. “You don’t have the energy, I know that. It’s not your fault. You haven’t let anyone down. The boy has got some evil in him.”

  Alfie slipped past the open doorway to the living room and went straight into his bedroom and closed the door.

  He didn’t want to hear any more.

  23

  EVERYTHING THAT COULD POSSIBLY go wrong on Wednesday night did.

  Despite being on the early shift, Mackinnon hadn’t managed to leave the station until six-thirty, and even then he would have preferred to stay, but he’d promised to get back for Katy’s birthday party.

  He’d taken the train back to Oxford, which was a mistake. There’d been a tree across a line somewhere which had led to his train being stationary for half an hour.

  He sat on the train, checking the time on his phone every few minutes. It was such a waste. He could have been working.

  The train had stopped in an area with absolutely no mobile phone reception. All around him in the carriage, people where fruitlessly trying to get a signal. One man was even holding his phone above his head and waving it around.

  It was funny how over the past few years, almost everyone had become addicted to using their phones. Sometimes at the expense of interacting with friends you were with at the time. He’d noticed friends break away, during a pause in conversation, to check on their phones.

  It seemed people found it impossible to do without them for even a few minutes.

  He’d taken a taxi from Oxford. He wasn’t about to wait for the bus. He was late already.

  It was eight p.m. before Mackinnon finally arrived at Chloe’s house on Woodstock Road.

  The house was warm and smelt of candyfloss.

  He could hear the sound of giggling girls in the front room. Obviously Katy’s party was in full swing. He didn’t want to intrude so he opened the door just enough to lean inside and wish her happy birthday.