Death Rites

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Yes, guv.”

  Anderson carried on allocating tasks, and then he got to DS Bullock.

  “Check missing persons again will you, Bullock?”

  “If you say so, but nothing local came up last time, boss.”

  Anderson wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Not only had Bullock just questioned his order in front of the whole team, which was bad enough in itself, but it was specifically what he’d just said. Anger flared within him and as a result he hissed his reply, “Local? You mean to tell me you only did a local search for missing children?”

  Anderson had always thought Bullock a bit strange, but it never occurred to him that as a detective sergeant he would be bloody thick to boot.

  “Well yes, boss, the way I saw it was - how would a young girl get lost in this area unless she lived here?”

  Anderson rarely belittled his staff in public, but by God this time it was well deserved.

  “You fucking idiot. Didn’t you think that the girl could have been abducted from anywhere in the country and brought here? Now do a proper UK-wide missing persons search on both girls before I have your balls for breakfast.”

  “Yes, guv,” said Bullock, his fair skin flaming pink, clashing with his ginger hair.

  26

  Over supper Crane broke the good news to Tina. Or at least it was good news as far as he was concerned. He hoped Tina would agree with his decision to join the team. He could already feel the benefits of doing something useful, being accepted as an investigator once again and having a reason to get up in the morning.

  “So, what do you think? I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first, but Derek rather put me on the spot. I needed to agree there and then, so I could view the body in the morgue.”

  Crane ignored his food and concentrated on Tina’s reaction.

  “Please, Tom! Do you have to talk about dead bodies,” Tina grimaced. “I’m eating,” she indicated the fish and chips on her plate.

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” Crane had never had a problem talking about a dead body over food, but he guessed it took all sorts. Tina was clearly talking from a civilian point of view.

  “What about the practical stuff? Are they paying you? What are the hours? Is it full-time, or part-time?”

  “Yes, apparently they are paying me, but I don’t really need the money, not any more, not with you working and the medical discharge pension. And this isn’t about the money anyway.”

  “I never thought you’d be doing it for the money, Tom, what do you think of me? I hoped you’d be doing it for the chance to keep making a difference.” Tina grabbed her glass of wine and took a sip. It seemed to help keep her emotions under control as she then said calmly, “But there’s still your recovery to take into account.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on, Tom,” Tina pushed her plate away. “You know exactly what I mean. You’ve still got physiotherapy to go to. There’s a limit as to what you can do physically and if you push yourself too hard, will you be able to cope with the pain?”

  “I’ve thought about that,” Crane tried hard to keep the sullen tone of his voice, but didn’t really manage it. Why was Tina making this supposedly happy event into something very different?

  Tina looked askance, clearly not believing him.

  “I did, honestly,” Crane crossed his fingers behind his back. “But I decided that a mystery child and a dead girl were more important than any additional discomfort I may experience as a result of assisting in the investigation.”

  Tina laughed. “Well that was a good army speak reply if ever I heard one.”

  Crane grinned glad he’d broken her bad mood. “You know what I mean,” he said, finishing the last of his fish.

  “This case has really got under your skin hasn’t it,” Tina grabbed Crane’s hand where it lay on the table.

  He squeezed hers in return. “Yes, love it has. It’s got to Derek as well. He’s got three girls…” Crane tailed off, unable to finish his sentence, fighting with his own emotions, thinking back to when he’d found a dead baby on the steps of the Garrison Church and then had been unable to save another one.

  Tina filled the silence. “You two work so well together, and if anyone can solve this case, I know you can.”

  “But I wonder what happens at the end of the case... Or if we run into a brick wall and they close down the team...What will I do then?” Crane vocalised the doubts he had about the arrangement.

  “I think you should stop worrying about that and concentrate on the present.”

  “Yes, I suppose I’ve had a lot of experience doing that recently, what with the accident and my recovery and all.”

  Hearing Daniel crying through the baby monitor, Tina stood up, “Go for it, Tom. Daniel and I will be fine and I’ll always be here to give you any support you need. Go and do what do best,” she said, kissing him and then running up the stairs to check on their son.

  Crane wiped away his sudden tears. What the hell was wrong with him? Since the accident he seemed to be wearing his heart on his proverbial sleeve. Well that would have to stop. Right now. He pushed himself up from the table and started clearing up while he waited for Tina to come back downstairs.

  27

  Crane and Anderson were in the DI’s office going over the case before the morning briefing, when the phone interrupted them.

  “Dr McAllister here,” the psychiatrist said, “I’ve got an update for you.” Then as if realising she’d been rather too brusque said, “Sorry, if you’ve got a minute that is.”

  Anderson smiled, even though the Doctor couldn’t see him. “No worries. I’m going to put you on speaker, as I’ve Crane with me.” He mouthed who it was to Crane before pressing the speaker button on his handset.

  “Right, Doc, what do you have for us?”

  “I’ve just left Hope and I think you’ll be very interested in her latest picture. She’s drawn an ice cream van and next to it…”

  “Is a picture of her eating an ice cream?” Anderson guessed.

  “Exactly, DI Anderson.”

  “Can you take a picture of it on your phone and send it to us straight away?” Crane asked.

  “Of course, I’ll send it over via WhatsApp, and I’ll get the original over to you as soon as I can. I hope this information helps?”

  “Oh, most definitely,” agreed Anderson. “It’s very much in-line with our thinking. How is Hope?”

  “Alright. Fairly stable at the moment.”

  “Did it upset her, drawing the picture?”

  “No, Crane, she seemed quite calm and in fact seemed to view drawing the picture with a sense of achievement, as if she knew that her memory would eventually be able to help find out who did the awful thing to her.”

  “That’s excellent work, thanks, Doc, I look forward to seeing the picture,” and Anderson ended the call. “Well that’s a turn up for the books,” he said to Crane.

  “It’s confirmation of what you thought, or rather DC Douglas thought.”

  Anderson nodded and couldn’t help grinning. “This is the best lead we’ve had so far on the case. Come on, let’s go and brief the team.”

  Anderson pushed out of his chair and went out of the door with Crane following on behind, and called the team together. Once everyone was looking up and had finished their phone calls, or their work on the computers, he told them about the new picture Hope had drawn and throwing his phone to Douglas, told him to distribute the photograph to the rest of the team.

  “So, the question is, did we get anywhere with the ice cream van angle? Weren’t you doing that DS Bullock?”

  “No, sir, I was,” blurted DC Douglas.

  “Why? I’m sure I asked DS Bullock to look into it.”

  “Um, because DS Bullock asked me to? Um, was that alright?” Douglas was very flustered, looking from Anderson to Bullock and back again and then at Crane for good measure.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” Anderson didn’t see any point in shouting at Douglas.
Bullock was really the one he needed to shout at. Again.

  “So, as I was asking, did you get anywhere with the ice cream van angle?”

  Anderson was having trouble reigning in his temper, but it wasn’t directed at DC Douglas, but at DS Bullock. The new DS was definitely getting on his nerves and he needed to get a handle on his anger. He looked over at Bullock who held Anderson’s gaze. But then Bullock’s eyes went strangely blank, as though he were deliberately pulling the shutters down. Anderson couldn’t gauge Bullock’s feelings, as the man retreated to some private place inside his head.

  Derek had never seen that happen on the face of a policeman. But he had definitely been subject to that look before. He’d seen it in the eyes of murderers and psychopaths. The thought made Anderson shudder and it was with a great mental effort that he turned his attention back to DC Douglas, trying to tell himself that he was over-reacting in his anger and paranoia.

  “There’s nothing local, guv,” said Douglas. “No one has any vans missing. All the businesses seem legit and I can’t find any previous on any of their employees. So I left that and went onto other things.”

  Local. Anderson had heard that before. From DS Bullock.

  “And who said you should keep the search to local firms?” Anderson kept his voice measured, fighting with his natural instinct to shout.

  “Um, well, DS Bullock, of course.” Douglas seemed to be physically shrinking, backing into his chair as if to get away from the trouble that he was potentially in.

  “Well, I’m telling you to expand the search. Please.”

  “Where to, guv?” Douglas’ voice waivered.

  “Jesus Christ,” Anderson eventually exploded with the fury that had been building throughout the exchange. “Do I have to hold your hands on this?” he shouted. “Start with the whole of the South of England and then work your way up the Country.”

  “But that’s going to take ages,” Douglas said in a small voice.

  “Do I look like I care how long it takes, Douglas? Now bloody well get on with it.” He paused to take a breath and then added, “And DS Bullock?”

  “Yes, guv?”

  “I’ll be speaking to you later, in my office. In the meantime, I suggest you also get on with doing your job properly and stop trying to cut corners. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, guv,” Bullock said as everyone swivelled to look at him, their attention switching from poor DC Douglas to him.

  “And that goes for all of you!” Anderson shouted as a finale, before turning on his heel and stalking back to his office.

  Once they were safely ensconced in Anderson’s office, Crane shut the door and wanted to know why Anderson was so angry. “I’ve never seen you shout at your team like that before, Derek. Are you learning from me? You sounded pretty much like a Sgt Major out there.”

  “This bloody case is getting to me, Crane,” Anderson confessed as he relaxed somewhat. It’s my girls, see...” Anderson shook his head, then took a deep breath and swallowed.

  “Sorry, Derek, I should have thought. How old are they now?”

  “9, 12 and 15. It could have been any one of them that turned up dead, but especially the youngest. How can I keep them safe, Crane? How can I stop any more girls going missing or getting killed? I don’t have a bloody clue who’s doing this or why? It’s eating me up, I know. But I have to keep going. I have to find out who’s behind this.”

  “We will, Derek. You don’t have to shoulder the responsibility all on your own, you know. We’re in this together. And last time I checked we were a bloody good team. Or at least you always told me we were.”

  Anderson wanted to tell his friend how much his words meant to him and how glad he was that they were able to work together once again. But the words wouldn’t come out. They seemed stuck in his throat. But he guessed it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to explain anything to Crane. They knew each other too well. But DS Bullock was altogether another matter. He didn’t know him at all.

  “What’s our next move?” Crane asked.

  “A closer look at DS Bullock, would be a very good place to start.”

  28

  Bullock was fuming after another dressing down in public. Who the hell did Anderson think he was? If this was what it was like working down South, then he wished he’d stayed in the Midlands. At least there he’d known the bosses, knew how they thought, what made them tick. But here, well he was at a loss. Still reeling from the shock and embarrassment he got up from his desk and blundered to the toilets, where he washed his face with cold water in an attempt to calm down. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror he couldn’t see any outward reason for Anderson’s distrust of him. He looked normal. Ordinary. Okay, so he had ginger hair and pale freckled skin, but hey if Ed Sheeran could get away with it...

  The fact of the matter was that he’d never been spoken to like that before. No one would have done that in his previous division. He had made a carefully considered decision about where to search for the missing children and which ice cream businesses to investigate. It was just that his decisions didn’t gel with Anderson’s decisions. But only Bullock knew why. He had been hoping that stupid DC Douglas would take all the blame if his orders ever came to light, but the rat Douglas had told Anderson that it was Bullock who had controlled what Douglas did and didn’t do, putting him right in the headlights. It just proved that it didn’t do to rely on subordinates.

  Anyway, he hadn’t yet recovered from the body of the girl being found and so quickly too. Fucking Clay. He’d told Clay to hide her somewhere where she wouldn’t be found for a long, long time and look what had happened - she’d been found the very next day. Driving Anderson to the scrap yard had been pure agony. He’d had trouble, firstly trying to keep his temper with Clay and secondly with the building horror at what he would find at the crime scene. And how he’d react to it, especially under the scrutiny of Anderson. It was all Clay’s fault, of course. He’d let the first girl escape and had killed the second by giving her too much tranquiliser. Fancy giving her ketamine. She was half the bloody size of a horse.

  But he shouldn’t have thrown up at the scene. That really had been a sign of weakness. It was just that everything seemed to build up inside of him and he couldn’t stop it all blowing out, a bit like a geyser. His body showed the physical sign of the inner turmoil he was going through. It had made him look like an amateur, like someone who hadn’t seen a dead body before. He would be the laughing stock of the incident room if it got out.

  He fervently wished he was still up in the Midlands.

  Which led him to decide that all of this, if he was honest, was his wife Enid’s fault. Yes, that was it. It was her. All her. He had only joined the Satanists because she was so bloody ugly; with her straight black hair that looked like a helmet on her head and her dowdy clothes and flat shoes. Let’s face it, who wouldn’t look elsewhere for a bit of sexual excitement? She took ‘lying back and thinking of England’ to a whole new level. Sometimes, earlier on in their marriage when they were still having sex, he’d been convinced that he’d killed her as she would just lie there; pale faced, not moving and hardly breathing.

  They’d had to move down to Aldershot for her, the stupid bitch, as she wanted to be closer to her elderly parents, who were beginning to show signs of old age. The two old codgers kept coming down with lots of different illnesses and were always at the doctor’s surgery or the hospital for this, that, or the other. To be honest he didn’t really know what was wrong with them exactly, as he didn’t listen to her when she tried to tell him. He switched off and thought about something else, or read the paper, or watched the television while she droned on and on and on. She seemed happy as long as he put in the odd, ‘um’, ‘yeah’, and ‘oh dear’. And don’t even get him started on their memory loss. It was a wonder they could remember their own names!

  She seemed to be at their house morning, noon and night. He supposed that at least it meant he could work late and start early wi
thout her moaning. And it also meant that he could go out and organise the chapter of the Satanic Church on his free evenings. She went to bed so early from exhaustion, that it meant he was free to come and go and he pleased. Which brought him back to the thorny subject of Clay. Just wait till he got his hands on him. Hands that would more than likely end up around his neck.

  29

  To give his hip a rest, Crane was sitting at a desk with a computer in the incident room. He watched as Bullock walked back in. His face was damp from what at first Crane thought was sweat, but as the man’s shirt cuffs were also damp, he realised Bullock had more than likely been washing his face. Crane wasn’t sure about the man either, but he wondered if Anderson’s reaction to Bullock’s faux pas had been a bit over the top. For some reason Bullock seemed to push Anderson’s buttons, but that didn’t mean that Bullock was guilty of anything. The last time he looked, being a bit of a tit wasn’t against the law.

  Crane liked it in the incident room. There was lots of buzz, coffee and Anderson’s stash of sweet cakes and biscuits was only a stone’s throw away. But then again he needed to keep off them otherwise he’ll start getting fat. He’d lost a lot of weight after his accident and needed to bulk up, but he mustn’t go overboard. Carrying too much weight would exacerbate his pain, because of the pressure it would put on his injuries and joints. But at the moment his suits hung on him and he knew he looked gaunt and drained, as though he wasn’t very well, which of course was right on the money. But this new job, working with Anderson, would be good for him. He could feel it, the old excitement fizzing up inside him. There was nothing better than doing something that you were good at and that made a difference. His forte was putting away those who were happy to break the law, but were seriously pissed off once they got caught.