Peterborough United are playing at home later. It’s a cup replay. Football fans flow through the streets on the way to the ground. I smile as they stagger off the pavement, jeering at each other. Sometimes they frustrate me, but not now, not today. My life will be different soon. I will finally be able to move on. Everything seems special as I ready myself for forgiveness. I want to run my hands over life and experience it afresh.
Oundle Road is heaving and Woodston Chippy is enjoying a roaring trade. I pass the railway bridge next to the Cross Keys pub and wait at the crossing for the signal to change. Decorations sparkle in windows; lights adorn trees. It’s as though they are guiding my path. I increase the radio’s volume in the campervan and sing along to ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham. I’ll enjoy this year.
Claudia and I should have some fun when this is all settled. After all, laughter is food for the soul. Although, it’s funny how the season of goodwill can bring such ill will.
I’ve found Christmas magnifies reality. If life is great, Christmas makes it better. If you are poorly, the day will sicken you further. Lonely, and you’ll want to die. If money’s tight, you’ll regret your choices. But worst of all, if you’re already angry, Christmas can push you to your limits. Murder becomes just a disagreement away.
I turn left at Ferry Meadows traffic lights and cruise past the Ramblewood Inn. There’s no car park for the church because it’s been there for centuries so I park on the verge as they must have done when they rode horses and drove carriages. The door is open, which is a good sign that there’s someone who I can talk to. I need to unburden myself, or it will have all been for nothing.
First, I stop amongst the newer headstones. Both victims and perpetrators of the snow killings are buried here. There are fresh flowers on the graves. Somebody still cares, despite the brutality of the Snow Killer. To think a paid assassin lies here in God’s holy ground. Can there be a sin more wicked than snuffling out others’ lives for money? The inscription on one says I will sleep in peace until you come for me. It’s food for thought.
The door of the church shutting interrupts my melancholy. The vicar is leaving. I crunch through the gravel behind him. He’s so old and crooked, I doubt it would take much of a shock to loosen his grip on life.
‘Father, could I have a minute?’
It’s the most weathered face I have ever encountered. I’ve seen fresher bark. The eyes judge me though, and that’s what I’m here for.
‘I don’t have many of those left, but you can have one.’ He walks to a nearby tomb and leans against it. ‘You looked at that family over there. Did you know them?’
‘I had dealings with some of them, just before they died. The fact people like that lie in hallowed ground is proof of His forgiving ways.’
‘It’s a sad story. Not all you read in the papers was true.’
‘Is it ever?’
He contemplates that for a few seconds. ‘You’re right, I guess it’s only ever opinion.’
I follow his gaze back to the graves. ‘Even killers need final resting places, but don’t people desecrate their tombs because of what they’ve done when they find out where they’ve been buried? I imagined there’d be protests or something at a funeral for murderers such as them.’
‘I laid them to rest quietly and without fuss. Now, what can I do for you? You seem a man with a burden.’
‘I’m a man with a question.’
‘Ask it.’
‘Does everybody go to heaven?’
‘Do you believe in Jesus?’
‘I think so. My mother and other religious people taught me to respect his story, but I have deviated from those lessons.’
‘In my Father’s house, there are many rooms.’
I look into his wise eyes. ‘What does that mean?’
‘There is space for everyone who asks for forgiveness and means it.’
‘Even for those who have committed inexplicable evil?’
‘The requirement for entrance into the kingdom of God is only to atone and believe in Christ.’
‘And what of those souls who never asked for mercy? What of those who don’t believe?’
Curious eyes regard me. ‘There are many views, a lot of which differ. Each person can believe in what they wish. I’ll ask again. What is it you want?’
‘I would like to repent.’
A cold breeze scatters leaves around our feet.
‘Perhaps we should go inside for a moment.’
I follow him through the stone doorway, and he suggests I take a seat on a pew. A crucified Jesus stares down at me. I sense the eyes following me as I kneel down before him. The vicar returns wearing his cassock and holding a small black Bible. Lowering himself next to me, he makes the sign of the cross.
‘I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to ask for forgiveness?’
‘I’m not Catholic. Forget what you’ve seen on TV. If you’d like to get something off your chest, now is the time.’
I repeat for clarity. ‘Anyone can be absolved, including people who’ve done terrible things? Maybe even those who took a life?’
His piercing glare settles on me once more. ‘When we repent our sins and receive Him into our hearts, God has promised to forgive us. Completely and fully. The Bible gives us a clear example that leaves no place for doubt. Two robbers were crucified with Jesus. They even mocked him while they nailed his hands. Yet one of them saw the light. He asked Jesus to remember him when he ascended. Jesus promised entrance to heaven with Him saying, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” Luke 23. And not only that, but it was to a killer who would never do good in life, as he was soon to die.’
‘I understand. All who ask are saved.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you won’t report me to the police?’
‘I think if the message got out that we blabbed to the authorities, then no one would talk to us. Not about the truth, anyway.’
‘Okay.’ I take a deep breath. 'I pushed my mother down the stairs and killed her because she was sick and cruel to me when I grew up. My girlfriend’s father’s cancer entered its final stages, and his last wish was to see us apart. I put a noose over his own head and I shoved him over the bannister.
‘A drowning man interfered in my relationship with his sister-in-law. Instead of saving him, I plunged him under to a watery grave. I throttled a man and buried him in an allotment for playing his music loud and generally being annoying. Turns out he had learning difficulties and was deaf. I faked my girlfriend’s sister’s suicide and keep her in my basement, because she, too, got in the way.
‘A detective in the police almost solved my crimes and tried to ruin my life. He befriended my girlfriend to catch me. It was the same person who bullied me mercilessly when we were at school. I bludgeoned him to death and placed his remains in a storage cabinet.
‘My girlfriend rejected me, but I hope we’ll run off and start a new life. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she decides not to come with me. Eventually, or sooner if necessary, I want us to go up to heaven together. Two people took advantage of my better nature at university. One paid with his life and the other is due a visit. My mother said to repent in this life, rejoice in the next. I am here to absolve my sins.’
The Bible slipped from the vicar’s fingers. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Deadly. Let’s hope he’s listening and feeling merciful because it sounds terrible when you say it like that.’
‘You must hand yourself in to the police.’
‘Are you mad? They’d lock me up and never release me.’ I let out a little chuckle. ‘Misconduct in public office seems rather an understatement.’
He leans away, as though it’s painful to be so near.
‘What are you?’
‘I’m a detective.’
He blanches. ‘It doesn’t matter. That is part of forgiveness. You must confess and take responsibility for your actions.’
‘Hmm, not tempting.�
��
‘Are you sorry for what you’ve done?’
‘Yes, I’m repentant. I didn’t want it to turn out like this.’
‘Do you utter those words in the hope of salvation, or do you truly believe?’
‘I believe I will rejoice in heaven. It’s all I’ve ever known.’
‘Even after your actions? Can’t you see the conflict in your words?’
It’s as though this peaceful place has stilled my mind. Only now can I think about what I’ve done clearly. I’ve broken every commandment there is, and then some. I open my mouth to blame my mother, but she never taught me to murder. If I’m to confess, I must lay it all out there. I may not get another chance.
‘It’s worse than you imagine.’
‘Explain.’
‘I knew that my victims didn’t believe. I wanted to do more than end their lives.’
‘I think I see. You think of yourself as some kind of soul killer.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And, in a way, you thought you were doing God’s work.’
‘That’s right. My mother told me to protect myself. Those people interfered, and I stopped them, forever.’
‘I have to say it’s a depressing take on things. I’m not sure that a place filled with people like you is any kind of heaven I’d be interested in.’
His honesty and evident sadness confuse me. All that time under my mother’s influence and then over a decade on my own has corrupted me. What is it I want? Can I still have it?
‘What do I do?’
His gnarled hand reaches over and takes one of mine. ‘You must care for others. Learn to turn the other cheek. Sacrifice yourself, not the innocent.’
I place my other hand on the top of his. ‘I will change.’
‘And you’ll lead a good life from now on? There’ll be no more crimes, no more killings.’
I consider his question carefully. It can’t benefit your salvation to lie to a man of the cloth. I stand to leave. He whispers a prayer under his breath and looks to the cross above as he speaks.
‘Remember. God is watching, always.’
‘I know, Father. I felt his hand upon my shoulder, but it wasn’t pulling me back. These were bad people. He gave me strength.’
‘Stop these wicked deeds, I beg you. Trust in the Almighty. It’s not too late to ask for His mercy.’
‘I know. I’ll return when I’m finished. When others have asked for mine.’
76
DI Barton
Barton shaved his head and face and gazed in the mirror before he left for the night. It had been a strange year that he’d be glad to see the back of. He’d had an unsettling visit from Claudia Birtwhistle not long before he finished work. He found shaving helped still his mind. He tried Clavell’s mobile number again, but it was turned off. Whitlam’s phone continued to ring out.
‘Another hot date on Christmas Eve, eh?’ said Holly.
‘That’s right. I have a double date with two sergeants.’
‘Bilko and Pepper?’
‘Sadly not. Think Police Academy. I’m meeting Hightower and – who was the one with the big boobs?’
‘Callahan. Although I probably wouldn’t mention that to Kelly.’
‘She’ll be flattered. I saw her in a film last week, and she’s pushing seventy and still fit.’
‘Will you be wearing animal furs tonight or just talking like a caveman?’
‘Ugg.’
‘If you’re done at eight o’clock, I’ll swing by and pick you up. I’m collecting Layla from Terri’s then.’
‘Sounds good. I’d hate to walk the five hundred metres home.’
Of the children, only Luke remained downstairs. Barton ruffled his hair and said he’d be back in time to put him to bed. Luke had finally got his head around the entire Christmas thing and was a little freaked out about the strange bloke coming down their chimney and going in his bedroom while he slept. Holly promised she’d leave a message to tell Santa to hang the stocking outside on his door.
Lawrence had babysitting duties. He came into the lounge and sat next to his little brother. Lawrence whispered into Luke’s ear, who then piped up, ‘Don’t eat Father Christmas’s mince pie, Daddy.’
Barton strolled along to the pub with a smile. Even his son knew about his legendary lack of willpower. When he got to the church, he crossed over the road past a campervan parked on the verge.
Barton checked his phone: 17:55 on the dot. He was the last to appear. They’d bought him a pint, but there were numerous empties around them. He spied two little Sahara nut tubs. Zander only ate them when he was tipsy.
‘Cheers, guys,’ he said, and they clinked glasses. ‘Been here a while, have we?’
‘Four,’ said Zander.
‘You got here at four?’
‘No, we had four drinks before you arrived. Remember, we took today off because we’re both on call tomorrow, so you can make your sofa groan all day.’
Even though Zander spoke clearly, the banter was well advanced. A slightly inane grin settled on Strange. Drinking at the same pace as Zander was tough when you were half his size. Especially seeing as she was one of only a few women he’d met who often went pint for a pint. Barton cleared his throat.
‘I know we said no talking shop, but I had an unusual visit earlier, and it’s got me a little worried.’ The other two slid their chairs closer.
‘Clavell might have gone missing. He didn’t show for a little get-together at the Wisbech station yesterday or for an arrangement with his girlfriend today. No one can get hold of him either. His car’s parked at his home, too. Now, he had two days off, and didn’t have to go to either event. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s not turned up to social stuff, but it’s got me thinking. I only found out because that Claudia Birtwistle who’s had all the bad luck came in to see me, distraught.’
‘Why does she care?’ asked Zander.
‘I didn’t think it was anyone’s business, so I kept quiet, but he’s been seeing her for a while.’
‘What? He’s been dating Whitlam’s ex-girlfriend? Didn’t Clavell think Whitlam was involved in that murder in his street?’
‘Yes, I thought it a brave move, too.’
‘The difference between being courageous and foolish can be a fine line. I’d do anything for love, but I wouldn’t do that. Oh, no.’
They all joined in with the next few lines from the Meat Loaf song. It was a nice moment, but Barton stopped quickly and Strange picked up on it. ‘You think Whitlam’s responsible?’
‘My rational head says of course not, but Clavell’s not spoken to her for days and he was keen. There’s a whole load of misery surrounding Whitlam. Robin Rowe killing himself put that investigation to bed, but Whitlam lived two doors away. If you start to look at Whitlam with real suspicion, it has to put him at least in the frame. And what if he was implicated in that drowning despite what he said?’
Zander piped up, ‘And there were the two suicides. This Claudia’s father and sister.’
‘Yeah, I’m not sure he’s involved with them though. What would be the point?’
They mused on that for a few moments. ‘What if Whitlam fell out with them? Maybe they were trying to split him and Claudia up,’ said Strange.
‘It’s bloody hard staging a suicide,’ replied Zander.
Strange came straight back. ‘Who better to do that than a detective? He’d understand how to cover his tracks and plan it.’
‘Interesting thought. Very dark. So, he knocks those two off to get them out the way. Now he’s done Clavell as well, which is actually more understandable. That doesn’t explain why he’d kill Arnold Stone.’
‘No, that’s true,’ said Strange. ‘Unless he’s a complete psychopath.’
She had spoken glibly, but her words hit home. Barton pressed his lips together. ‘It’s a stretch, but nothing surprises me any more. It’s just dawned on me, too, that I don’t really know anything about him. He’s a good detectiv
e, and he likes the gym. That’s it. If you two turned out to be homicidal I’d be surprised, but not so much with Whitlam. He enjoys a joke every now and again, but I get the feeling he said stuff like that because it’s expected of him. Malik said he was obsessed with Claudia, and unrequited love makes people dangerous.’
‘What’s happening about Clavell, then? Are they investigating it as suspicious?’
‘Wisbech station sent an officer to Clavell’s house share. One of the other tenants heard him in his room first thing yesterday, so he hadn’t even been missing for a full day this morning. And who’s to say he has vanished? Most missing persons cases tend to be adults who are thoughtless. Maybe he couldn’t be bothered with the party and forgot about the date. Perhaps one of his parents is ill. He’ll only be officially missing tomorrow if he doesn’t turn up or ring in for his shift.’
‘That’s true, but it doesn’t feel right.’
‘It’s skeleton staff at this time of the year, so I’ve put out a BOLO for him. Wisbech are taking it seriously now as it’s out of character for him not to answer his phone. Their chief rang me just after I found out to ask if I knew anything.’
‘Did you tell them about the Whitlam angle?’
‘Yes. It sounded bonkers when I explained it. The chief didn’t like the sound of it either, although he’s inclined to wait until tomorrow morning in the hope he shows. I placed a request with ANPR to see if Whitlam’s vehicle headed towards Wisbech lately. I sent Ewing and Zelensky to River End. Both attended as who knows what Whitlam’s frame of mind is? They reported that the house looks empty and, judging by its dirtiness, his car hasn’t been used for quite a while.’
‘Ooh, where’s he gone?’ said Strange. ‘Perhaps he’s back at the allotment? Wow. Could Whitlam be the Compost Heap Killer?’ Strange and Zander found that highly amusing and took a minute to settle down again.
‘You may laugh, but I told them to send someone there to check it out. Uniform have been briefed and I’ve asked for officers to drive past at regular intervals throughout the night. I’ve asked the EZ Crew who are on until ten tonight to travel between Whitlam’s house and Claudia’s house as well to keep an eye on things. They’ve been told not to engage if they spot him because we don’t know the level of risk. Luckily Claudia is out with an old school friend tonight. She won’t be back until nine.’
The Soul Killer Page 27
