by Maynard Sims
“Why”
“Wolfgang Metz, the chairman at Hematite, has a granddaughter, Karin. Markos started a relationship with her.”
“Let me guess, a blue-eyed blonde?”
“On the money,” Violet said.
“What is it with this guy and Nordic types?”
“I don’t know. It seems to go deeper than just a penchant. He seems to be specifically targeting them. There’s an underlying motive. So far I haven’t discovered what it is, but I’ll get there. Anyway, he zeroed in on Karin Metz, much to her grandfather’s disapproval. They began a relationship, and old Wolfgang moved quickly to knock it on the head. Maybe he could see something in Markos that everyone else seemed to miss.
“Unfortunately Karin took his interference badly. She was totally in Markos’s thrall, and her grandfather’s actions started a family rift that still rumbles on to this day.”
“What was the upshot?”
“Well, Wolfgang Metz is no fool. With some shrewd boardroom maneuvering, he had Markos removed as CEO, effectively putting him out of work. He also has some powerful friends and he called in some favors. The police got involved at the highest level, and a judge slapped a restraining order on Markos that stopped him having any contact with Karin. Markos was now in a corner. Thanks to Wolfgang, he was unemployable in Germany and he couldn’t have contact with Karin. So he left and came to England to start again.”
“I see a pattern emerging here. Flee, rather than face the consequences of his actions.”
“Exactly. And he carries on where he left off. Going by his past history, his involvement with Alice has nothing to do with romance, or, if it has, it’s from her side only. To him she’s just a cipher. She could be any pretty blonde. I think the man’s sick.”
“Well, he obviously has issues,” Harry said. “How does all this tie in with the Children of Hecate?”
“I don’t know. But I think if we keep examining Anton Markos, we’re going to find out. I’m glad you’re bringing John McKinley in. He can help you here in London. I think Jason can be useful elsewhere.”
“Really? Where?”
“Austria. Karin Metz’s family shipped her off there to get over the affair with Markos. She now works as a ski instructor in Kitzbühel. Send Jason over there. Get him to use his charm on her. I know Jason’s strengths. He can charm the birds off the trees. See what he can get her to spill about Markos. It may be our chance to finally get an advantage over him.”
“Do you think Jason will agree to go?”
“He’ll agree, and I should think he’ll love every minute of it.”
“Can you ski?” Harry said when Jason entered the office.
“Yes, why?”
“Because you’re going on a trip. How does an all expenses paid holiday to Austria sound?”
“What’s the catch?” Jason asked suspiciously.
“You’re going to have to form a relationship with a beautiful young blonde and pump her for information about Anton Markos.”
“Sometimes this job sucks,” Jason said with a smile.
Susan walked into the incident room and across to the board affixed to the wall. The board was empty apart from a photo in the center, taken on the riverbank. The room was half-full. Witherspoon and Bartlett were there along with two detective constables, one male, one female. The male DC, Tom Fox, was three years out of Hendon and was climbing rapidly up the promotion ladder. He was expected to reach the rank of sergeant before he hit twenty-five. Gillian Ryder had already reached twenty-five but was still a DC and showed no great ambition to climb higher.
“What have you got for me?” Susan said.
“We have a name for the victim,” Gillian said. “Kerry Green, sixteen, from Hackney. She was already in the system, a couple of juvies and a shoplifting charge last year that resulted in her being printed.”
“We’ve also identified the caller,” Fox said. “His name is Arthur Lane.”
“Do we like him for this?” Susan said.
“I went to interview him first thing. He’s seventy-two, a retired postal worker from Penge. He saw Kerry’s body and called it in.”
“Why didn’t he leave a name?”
“The usual,” Fox said. “Didn’t want to get involved.”
“So if he lives in Penge, how did he get to see the body?”
“He’s been staying with his sister in Belvedere Road. He was walking her dog along the Embankment.”
“So we have no lines of inquiry so far.”
There was a general shaking of heads around the room.
“Well, I’ve just got back from a meeting with McBride at UCH. There were a few marks on the body he wanted me to see.” She opened her briefcase and took out three color prints. She pinned them to the wallboard and stood back. “Okay. Image one: the stab wound, and probably this is what killed her. Notice the shape of the puncture wound.”
“It’s a star,” from the room.
“Professor McBride believes it was made by a five-bladed knife.”
“Odd.”
“Yes, that’s what he thought. He thinks it’s five blades welded together along the blunt edges, contained in a single handle. He thinks it might be ceremonial in some way. As you see, it leaves a star-shaped wound. I don’t know how significant this is, but if you join the points of the star together, they form a pentagram, an occult symbol. So we need to look at any groups in the area with some kind of black magic connection. Check with local cemeteries—see if they’ve had any incidents of graves being interfered with, headstones defaced, statuary vandalized, that kind of thing. Also check with the library and local bookshops to see if they’ve been asked for any books on the subject.”
“What about the Spiritualist church in Cooper Street?”
“No, we won’t go after the Christians just yet. Let’s concentrate our efforts on the fruit loops and oddballs.” She turned her attention back to the board. “The second photo. Someone carved this into Kerry’s flesh, postmortem according to McBride. Again the symbol suggests some kind of occult connection. It’s a crescent and could signify a new moon. And finally this, the remains of an ink stamp on the back of her hand.”
“That’s a nightclub reentry stamp,” Gillian said.
“Reentry?” Susan queried.
“Antismoking laws. If you’re at a club and you want to go outside for a cigarette, they stamp the back of your hand so you can go back inside without having to pay again.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of that. Right, Gill, make copies of the photo and get uniforms to canvass the clubs in the area. See if anyone can identify it. And that is all, for the time being. We need to tell Kerry Green’s parents and get them over to UCH to identify the body.”
“I’m on it,” Witherspoon said.
“And while you’re at it, have a word with them, gently, to see if they knew of any involvement their daughter had with any cults or groups. You never know; we might strike it lucky. But, I emphasize, gently. Kid gloves.”
Susan went back to her office and picked up the phone. She took a crumpled card from her top pocket and dialed.
“Harry Bailey?”
“Mr. Bailey. I don’t know if you remember me. Detective Inspector Tyler, Waterloo Road CID.”
“Inspector, yes. Of course I remember you.”
“How’s your boss, Mr. Crozier, after his stabbing?”
“He’s made a full recovery, thank you.”
Two years ago Simon Crozier had been attacked, stabbed by a woman with a kitchen knife, walking home along the Embankment. DI Susan Tyler had been the SIO on the case.
“What can I do for you, Inspector?”
“I need your help with a case I’m currently investigating.”
“Sure,” Harry said. “Anything I can do to help.”
“Last night a young girl, Kerr
y Green, was murdered. A single stab wound to the heart.”
“And?” Harry said. “How would that concern Department 18?”
“We have reason to believe it could be some kind of ritual killing. From the investigation of your boss’s attack, I discovered that your department deals with the weird and the wonderful, so I thought we might share a mutual interest. Can you come down here so we can talk?”
“No,” Harry said. “But you are welcome to come here. You remember where we are?”
“I do. Thirty minutes?”
Susan walked back to the incident room. Jake Bartlett was standing, staring at the photographs on the board.
“Jake, I have to go out for an hour or two. You can get me on my cell.”
“Nasty,” Bartlett said, pointing to the photo of Kerry on the riverbank. “She was only a kid. Sixteen. My Casey’s age. We’ll get the bastard who did this.”
“Yes, Jake.” Susan squeezed his arm. “We’ll get him.”
“Right, you’re on a flight out of Gatwick at 17.50 to Munich, and a taxi’s booked to take you to Kitzbühel. You’re staying at the Hotel Jägerwirt, bed and breakfast. You can organize your own evening meals. There are some very nice restaurants in the town. It will give you a chance to find somewhere classy to take her to dinner. The ski school is affiliated to the Jägerwirt, so you should cross paths with her without much effort.”
“How will I know her?”
Harry slid a photograph across the desk. Jason spun it around to see it.
“Yowza!”
“Yowza? What are you, fourteen?”
“She’s hot.”
“She’s also damaged goods. She narrowly escaped Markos’s clutches, but while she was with him she was totally infatuated. We don’t know her current state of mind, so tread lightly. Remember, her family is very wealthy, very protective and very powerful. You’ll probably be vetted in some way minutes after making contact with her. Don’t give them any cause for concern. We want information. We don’t want to drive her to a breakdown. Okay?”
“I hear you. Well, I should go home and pack. How long is the hotel booked for?”
“You’re booked in for three nights. It would be nice if you could get some results sooner.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
As Jason walked out of the office, he passed an attractive woman in the corridor, possibly mid forties with neatly bobbed, light brown hair. She was wearing a dark blue business suit. “Harry Bailey?” she said.
“Keep walking. The door at the end.”
Susan thanked him, reached the door and knocked.
“Come in.”
She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Harry was on his feet and walking around the desk to greet her as she stepped into the room. “Inspector Tyler,” he said. “A pleasant surprise to hear from you. Here, take a seat.” He guided her to an office chair opposite his, and went back to the other side of the desk and sat down. “Now, how can we help you? You said something about a murdered girl?”
Chapter Thirteen
“Her name was Kerry Green, sixteen, found on the banks of the Thames, just down river from Waterloo Bridge. We believe she was killed sometime last night and her body dumped in the river.”
Harry stared down at the photo in front of him. It showed a naked girl with cropped black hair and several piercings. She had a stab wound in her chest.
“Just a kid,” he said, almost to himself. He’d been expecting to see the body of a pretty young blonde. This surprised him. It probably had nothing to do with Markos.
“Look at the wrists, ankles and forehead. The marks suggest she’d been restrained at some point in the twelve or so hours leading to her death. The nature of the stab wound and the carving on the torso, coupled with the restraint marks, leads us believe that this was some kind of ritual killing, perhaps a ceremony gone wrong…or right, depending on your viewpoint. We were wondering if you were aware of any satanic cults or covens operating in the area?”
“Well, I can think of one off the top of my head. They call themselves the Children of Hecate.”
“Devil worshipers? Satanists?”
“Well, they’re certainly something, though what their particular craziness is, I haven’t been able to find out yet. Would you like a coffee?”
“Yes, I would.”
Harry reached out and pressed the button on the intercom on his desk. “Melanie, two coffees, please. One black, no sugar…” He looked across at Susan, a question in his eyes.
“White. One sugar,” she said.
Harry repeated the request into the intercom.
“What else can you tell me about…what was it? The Children of Machete?”
“Hecate,” Harry corrected her. “The Children of Hecate. Well, not a great deal really. We’ve only just started investigating them.”
“For what reason?”
“It’s what we do,” Harry said. He didn’t want to give her a complete answer. At least, not yet. “They seem to be governed by a man called Erik Strasser, real name Anton Markos, a Greek national with a shady past. He has a penthouse apartment in Clerkenwell, a house in the country, and he owns a warehouse somewhere in Docklands, where I believe his group hold their meetings.”
“Do you know where in Docklands?”
“Haven’t a clue. As I said, we only started the investigation yesterday. Details are still a little sketchy.”
The door opened and Melanie Cole, Harry’s secretary, came in with the coffee. She set the tray down on the desk and retreated to the outer office.
“Well,” Harry said, taking his mug from the tray. “How’s the world of law enforcement?”
“Why were the police here?” Simon Crozier said.
Harry sat across the desk from him. Crozier had eyes everywhere. It was hard to get anything past him. “DI Susan Tyler,” Harry said. “She was the senior investigating officer when you were attacked. She wanted some help with a murder case she’s running. I think it might have a connection to ours.”
“What, the Strasser case?”
“It’s the Markos case now,” Harry said. “Anton Markos is Erik Strasser’s real name.”
“And have you swapped information?”
“Some,” Harry said.
“Why? We try not to use the boys in blue in our inquiries.”
“I think it might be useful. We’re searching for Anton Markos. We can use the Met’s manpower to track him down. It will save us money in the long run.”
Simon Crozier stared at him thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose it will offset the cost of a three-night, all-expenses trip to Austria,” he said. “Why did you send someone to Austria?”
“To meet someone who had direct involvement with Markos.”
“Who did you send?”
“Jason West.”
“Vi Bulmer’s assistant?”
“He’s helping us.”
“So are the world and his wife, apparently. What happened to the time when we handled everything in-house?”
“Times change, Simon.”
“But why West? He’s had very little experience.”
“He has a specialized talent,” Harry said.
“Really? What is it?”
“He can ski.”
“So can I.”
“Maybe, but Jason’s thirty years your junior, and he has an eye for the ladies…which kind of rules you out.”
Crozier smiled. “Fair play, Harry. I trust your judgment.”
“And Susan Tyler?”
“I agree with you. We can use the Met’s resources. Go and see her again. Show her everything you have on the Markos case. If the police can track him down, it’s going to save us an awful lot of legwork.”
“No limits?”
“Use your discretion, H
arry. Stay away from the more controversial of the department’s methods.”
“Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll go and see her. Do you want me to walk you through what we’ve got so far?”
Crozier settled back in his seat. “Why not?” he said. “It won’t do me any harm to hear how you’re spending the department’s money.”
From Crozier’s office, Harry took the elevator down to the second floor to pay John McKinley a visit.
“Have you got much on at the moment, John?”
John McKinley sat behind his desk, long legs crossed, reading a paperback novel. “At the moment the department is paying me to sit here and read thrillers. What can I do for you, Harry?”
Harry pulled up a chair and for the third time that day found himself going through the Anton Markos case. The more he revisited it, the more necessary he found his and Department 18’s involvement to be.
McKinley sat and listened patiently. When Harry had finished, he stood up and walked to the window. “How long have you known Violet Bulmer?” he said.
“Over twenty years,” Harry said.
“And you trust her account of what’s going on?”
“I’ve come to believe it.”
“But you doubted her before.”
“I was in two minds,” Harry said honestly. “But the more I hear, the more I think he’s a viable threat.”
“Then count me in.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m running out of books to read,” McKinley said. “Unless I keep my hand in, I’m going to vegetate. So, I’ll do anything I can to help. How old are the girls he’s targeting?”
“Teenagers mostly.”
“The question you have to ask yourself is why? Are they just surrogates for the one he really wants?”
“That thought crossed my mind. It’s possible we’ll know more when Jason reports back from Austria.”
“I’m relieved I didn’t get that gig. Britain’s climate is cold enough for me. I don’t think I could handle Austria—months of snow and temperatures of minus twenty. I’m like a cat, Harry. I need warmth. Sometimes I really crave the California sunshine.”
