Angel of Death

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  "Would you like me to construct a profile?" Tasha asked between mouthfuls.

  "I'll speak with the DCI." Yvonne nodded. "He mentioned the possibility of us getting a profile done, and I'm sure he will agree to you having another consultancy role with us. I don't see how he could refuse."

  "Can I view the case notes?"

  "I should think so. I'll sort it. You can visit the incident room. Come in with me, tomorrow."

  Tasha smiled. "It's a date."

  23

  Trouble at the farm

  "What are you doing, letting those kids on my land again?" Emmanuel Tunicliffe strode up to his gamekeeper, Trevor Tindall and glared at him.

  They were standing outside Tindall's two-bed cottage on the edge of the forest.

  Trevor swallowed hard. "Well, I didn't think they were doing any harm-"

  "I found two carrier bags full of rubbish, left hanging on a gatepost at the edge of the wood."

  "Well, perhaps they meant to take them, but forgot. They cleared everything else away."

  "Look, it's your job to see that they do not abuse my property or disturb the animals. It looks to me like you've been slacking. And, anyway, what were they protesting this time?"

  "The pheasant shoot, sir."

  "What? Is that why half my stock was found wandering the roads? I had the RSPCA ringing the other day, telling me that too many of my birds are ending up dead on the highways and I keep being reported by concerned motorists and walkers."

  "Well, I-"

  "Do your job, Tindall. It's what I pay you for."

  "I can't make them leave."

  "You can call the police. God, threaten them with the shotgun, if you have to. Anything. Just keep them out." Tunicliffe scowled. "You let this continue and I'll dock your wages."

  "That's not fair. There's only one of me."

  "You're a fit man, Tindall and that scowl on your face is enough to scare anyone."

  Tindall rubbed his forehead. "I'll do my best, sir."

  "Oh, and take the Land Rover into the garage, will you? It's got a flat tyre."

  Tindall eyed his employer, his forehead furrowed. "How did that happen?"

  "I don't know. Get it to the garage, will you? Tell them I'll pay when I collect."

  "Right." Tindall scratched his stubble.

  "Some time today would be good."

  24

  Eva

  Eva Wilde split from the main group, heading for the pheasants, intending to give them their freedom. She held a pair of wire-cutters and a thick glove, for this purpose, plus a jacket to throw over the CCTV camera. She waited for it to be dark enough to act.

  The noises in the forest grew more eerie as night drew in. An owl hooted nearby, and she hoped Ed and his friend Matt would create a diversion on the opposite side of the land, making it easier for her to get the job done.

  A crunching came from somewhere behind and her heart lurched in her chest. Breathing heavily, she cowered, turning her head towards the direction the noise came from. It sounded like someone's stepping on branches or brush. There were further sounds, someone walking in the forest. They were moving away from her. She rose from her position, peering in the direction she thought the person had gone, but saw nothing and no-one.

  She walked about ten yards along and found a mallet leaning against a tree and lifted it with both hands. It was heavy with a large metal head. Too heavy for her to use.

  The footsteps were on their way back.

  Still with the mallet in her hands, she backtracked to her original hiding place, in a dry stream bed, tucked under a fallen tree, and lay the mallet beside her. In the distance, she could see the beam of a torch sweeping the brush and hoped that Ed and Matt would create the diversion, soon or she could do nothing about the pheasants.

  The sweeps of the torch beam continued for at least another fifteen minutes, while the night grew colder. She used the spare jacket as a kind of blanket to protect her from the worst of the chill, relieved when the carrier of the torch appeared to head off to another part of the wood.

  There was no sign of a diversion. The footsteps came again. She thought about Krysta and the others who had died. She prayed she had hidden the mallet well enough. Though police were tight-lipped regarding the manner of the deaths, rumours had spread that someone had used a mallet to bring the victims under control.

  And now, he stood at the tree where the mallet had been, his torch beam searching the undergrowth. He hesitated now, appearing jumpy, realising he wasn't alone and her heart thudded as she inhaled a deep breath, to quiet her breathing, before he turned and moved away.

  She heard the engine of a truck start up and exhaled with a sigh. She waited a further five minutes before moving closer to the pheasants. In the distance, shouts went up. Her cue. Ed and Matt were creating the diversion.

  25

  Killer profile

  Tasha poured over the documents and photographs of heart-rending scenes, all too vivid on the high-definition images.

  "He takes a real pleasure in watching them deteriorate, doesn't he? I mean, it would take hours for them to die." Tasha pursed her lips.

  "Do you think he watches them the whole time?" Yvonne frowned.

  "From a safe space? Yes, I do. Otherwise, why kill them like this? Why not give a fatal blow to the head with the mallet instead of incapacitating them? Oh no, he wants them to wake up. He needs them to realise the hopelessness of their situation, and that they will die and there is nothing they can do about that. The suffering is everything to him. He hates them and what they stand for."

  "Do you think he's deranged?"

  "If you're asking if there is evidence of psychopathy, the answer is yes. Whether he wants it to look that way, to cover his tracks, is another question. We won't know which category he fits into, until you catch him and we get him under analysis and observation."

  "Hmm. How old do you think he is?"

  "Given the crime and his level of confidence? I'd say somewhere in the thirty-five to fifty-five age range."

  Yvonne nodded.

  "Tell me about your suspects. Do you have people that age?"

  Yvonne grimaced. "Most of our suspects would fall into that category and one or two would fall just outside."

  "Oh." Tasha rubbed her cheek. "Not to worry. Other traits should narrow it down for you."

  "Okay, fire away." Yvonne's eyes wandered over Tasha's face, and her long eyelashes, while the psychologist read from the notes in front of her.

  "The killer is an intelligent male with a super-ego who fears that his intelligence and superiority is going unrecognised by those around him. He will exhibit ritualistic behaviours, like OCD and get up in the small hours, while everyone he knows is still sleeping. And he'll get kicks from that, like he's better than them because of it. He may live alone, but, if he doesn't, his closest family will know the rituals, such as excessive tidiness, hand washing or similar. I expect him to be fit and he'll take regular exercise. Again, he will most likely have a rigid system with an obsessive quality to it. He collects feathers. This may also be an obsession and someone is likely to have noticed them around his home, or boxes or bags of feathers in a room in his house or in a shed. He has some claim to the land where he murdered his victims, though this claim may be imaginary. Maybe his family have historical ties to it, or he owns it.”

  “Is he targeting specific victims?”

  "He will have come up against his victims at some point, in the form of personal arguments with them or with the groups they represent. The murders are personal, a revenge of sorts. He's taking a keen interest in your investigation, the letter shows that. He will follow newspaper articles, reading anything that can tell him what you are up to and how close you might be to catching him. He will keep handing you nuggets designed to mislead, so beware of any letters. Also, let none of your officers go anywhere on their own while they are investigating this case."

  Yvonne frowned. "Will he target one of us?"

&nb
sp; "It's unlikely, but it is possible, since he has communicated with you, via the letter to the press. And you've been there before, Yvonne. You, better than anyone, should realise what this sort of killer is capable of."

  The DI sighed. "Yes, that is true."

  "That is the meat of my profile, Yvonne. I will get it typed out and copied ready for your briefing, tomorrow. I hope it helps you." Tasha turned, giving her a broad smile.

  Yvonne's heart jumped, pumping like it was supplying blood to the whole office. She bit her lip, holding her breath. Perhaps, now was the moment. The time to disclose what she was holding inside.

  She moved her chair back, so that she could face the psychologist. "I would like say something, Tasha. Something that-"

  A loud knock made them start and Callum burst in. "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but you'll want to hear this."

  Yvonne pushed her chair away from Tasha's, her eyes wide and staring, heart thumping. "Right... err, what is it, Callum?"

  "A lad called Matt Talbot has just come into the station with information regarding Bannerman holdings and an altercation that happened between Jake Bannerman and Robert Griffiths."

  "Robert Griffiths?" Callum had her full attention. "As in, the male victim of the double murder?"

  "That's the one."

  Yvonne looked at Tasha. "I'm sorry, I'd better go. Come with me, if you'd like?"

  Tasha nodded. "I'd like to, thanks."

  Matt Talbot waited for them in interview room one, wearing a loose linen shirt and shell necklace, his dark hair in a ponytail. The date of birth he had given at the front desk, would make him twenty-nine. She noted the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the way he curled the fingers of one hand around those of the other, on the desk in front of her. She felt for him, her empathy only increased because both his eyelids drooped down to halfway, and he had to tilt his head back to look at her.

  "Thank you for coming in to speak with us, Matt. I understand you have some information you think might help our enquiry?"

  He nodded. "I- I- I do."

  She noted the stutter, but did not remark upon it. She cast a glance at Tasha before proceeding. "I'm sorry to ask you this, but are you okay? Is there something wrong with your eyes?"

  "M- M- Myasthaenia Gravis," he blurted.

  "Sorry, I don't-"

  "It's au- autoimmune disease. It affects my m- m- muscles."

  "I see. I'm sorry to hear that."

  He shook his head. "It's o- okay."

  "How long have you had that, Matt?"

  "S- since I was a t- teenager." He continued to hold his hands as though to stop them shaking.

  "Did you know Robert Griffiths well?"

  He nodded. "Qu- quite well. I knew him since high school."

  "What happened with Jake Bannerman? I understand there was an argument?"

  "Y- yes, there was. W- we were p- protesting at a site near Llani."

  "Llani? You mean Llanidloes?"

  "Y- yes. We'd been there for a w- week, or two."

  "Okay."

  "Bannerman w- wants to build a paid leisure park on the l- land and the c- community are dead-against it."

  "So, what happened?"

  "B- Bannerman came to meet with surveyors. W- we wouldn't let him enter. R- Rob stood in front of him and w- wouldn't let him pass."

  "What happened next?"

  "Bannerman pushed him. R- Rob fell backwards. When he got up, he p- pushed Bannerman right back. I th- thought he would hit him, but he j- just held the placard up to Bannerman's f- face."

  "Bannerman g- grabbed the board and smashed it on the g- ground. They were shouting and sw- sw- swearing at each other."

  "Did Bannerman call the police?"

  "N- no. s- security guards came. Bannerman's p- people."

  "Did they break it up?"

  "Th- they moved us further back and parked vehicles in the g- gateway to stop us from going back."

  "Bannerman th- threatened Rob. He said he'd be waiting for him when he least expected it."

  "Did he? Wow."

  "I- I thought you should kn- know that."

  "It's helpful. Thank you, Matt."

  "Rob was a good p- person. He didn't deserve wh- what happened to him."

  Yvonne nodded. "I know. No-one deserves to die like that. Can I ask you, are you still doing protests on the land?"

  Matt nodded, looking down at his hands.

  "For your own safety, and for the sake of our investigation, I would urge you not to until we catch the killer."

  "O- okay."

  "We may need to speak to you again, Matt. Where can we reach you?"

  Matt took out a mobile phone from his pocket and switched it on. "I- I can give you my n- number."

  "Okay, great."

  As Matt left, Yvonne turned to Callum and Tasha. "I think we should pay Mr Bannerman another little visit."

  26

  Capture

  Something struck Eva from behind. She didn't see it coming. After the truck engine died away, and the shouts from Ed and Matt went up, she believed it safe to approach the poultry pens and was in the middle of cutting the fence, not hearing the footsteps approach. As she fell, a hand grabbed her hair, tugging her backwards until her head throbbed and her legs shook. She cried as he hit her on the side of the head with a wooden bat. Her attacker made no sound. Pain seared through her head and neck and blood clouded the vision in her right eye. She fainted.

  When she came too, blindfolded, gagged and hog-tied, she lay on the cold metal flooring of a vehicle which bounced over humps in the ground, aggravating her injuries. She lifted her head to protect it and to listen for any other sound other than the engine and the bumping of the wheels, but could hear nothing else. They were off-roading, and the ride was torturous.

  The gag muffled her cries as tears flowed down her cheeks. She prayed that Ed and Matt would realise what happened and alert the police. If they didn't, the police wouldn't find her in time.

  She wet herself, unable to hold her urine any longer. This added to her misery as the initial warmth gave way to a cold which travelled the length of her. She closed her eyes and continued to pray.

  Yvonne was in the office alone, the team having left for home and Tasha having headed to the cottage to receive a delivery from an electrical company.

  She thought back to earlier in the day, and how close she came to confessing her feelings to the psychologist, before Matt Talbot interrupted them. Perhaps, she mused, fate intervened to stop her disclosing anything she might regret, or had decided the timing was wrong. She remembered the question in Tasha's eyes and how Dewi and Callum's presence meant the psychologist never voiced it. It hung in the air, cloaking the DI as she returned to work.

  As though a supernatural message passed between them, Yvonne's mobile buzzed, informing her of the arrival of a text. She reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved the phone, knowing in her bones it would be from Tasha even before she looked at the screen. It was. Two words. 'Call me.'

  She knew the psychologist wanted to hear what was going on inside her head, but Yvonne couldn't send her feelings by text or voice them down a phone. She would say what she felt while looking into Tasha's eyes. Eyes, whose expression she could read and confirm, at once, the truth of the matter, and whether Tasha shared her feelings as she hoped she did. For this reason, she did not return her friend’s call.

  In the meantime, spread on the desk and on her open laptop, were the notes and timelines that they had scraped together regarding the suspects. Top of the list were both Bannerman and Tunicliffe.

  Bannerman was in the right age group, with bucket loads of confidence and a claim over the land on which they found two bodies and he appeared to have a super ego. She could envisage him having a large collection of feathers, although they had no information to suggest that he did. He’d also had a major argument with one victim, that had become physical, and he appeared to want to take it further.

  Tunicliffe was the right age, too.
He lived alone and owned land in which they had found some of the victims. He was muscular and appeared to have a sizeable ego. She would speak to Tindall again, to find out what he knew as regards Tunicliffe's character.

  Neither Bannerman nor Tunicliffe had a police record, so the PNC check was fruitless. She wondered whether either of the prime suspects collected feathers, or suffered with visual impairment or OCD. That is why she had stayed late, to trawl the web for information on Bannerman, anything in the public domain. She had spent two hours going through everything, but could find no evidence of OCD or obsessive collecting. Their only other option was to speak to friends and colleagues and perhaps re-interview Bannerman.

  She wrapped up in the office by writing herself a few notes ready for the morning, prioritising what they needed to know as soon as possible. Following that, she grabbed her coat and left, reading her text from Tasha one more time before placing the phone in her bag and closing the clasp.

  The air outside was cool enough that she raised the collar on her jacket on her way to her car. The blackbirds sang their evening song, and the wind wrapped her skirt around her legs. She hoped the Angel of Death would refrain from attacking anyone that night.

  27

  Terror

  "So, come on, what was it you wanted to tell me?" Tasha stood behind Yvonne as the DI poured coffees for the team. "I sent you a text last night. Didn't you get it?"

  Yvonne cleared her throat, her back muscles tensing. "Yes, I got it..." Her voice trailed away as she stirred sugar into Dewi's tea. "I couldn't phone you last night. I was up to my ears in it and was here until stupid o'clock trying to wade through all the pieces of information we've gathered, researching Bannerman." She turned, her eyes falling on Tasha's soft cotton blouse.