The Black Shepherd

by Steven Savile

  ‘An officer came out when she first went missing. I told him about her obsession with One World.’

  ‘Do you remember his name?’

  There was silence on the line for a moment then, ‘No. Sorry. I didn’t think it was important.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t suppose you have any idea how she got involved with One World in the first place? Did she see someone preaching or …?’ Frankie shrugged her shoulders, meaning ‘or any of the many possible ways young girls might fall in with a cult’, not that Annja could see the gesture.

  ‘They run a soup kitchen down by the docks. She volunteered there for a while. I went to help out, once, but it was all a bit creepy.’

  ‘Creepy?’

  ‘It was like they were clones, you know? They all looked the same. Tall, stick-thin, blonde, blue eyes, you know the sort.’

  She did. It was all very Stepford Wives.

  But that wasn’t what had Frankie’s sixth sense bristling.

  Statements being buried? A cult like One World tied up in it?

  There was something rotten in the state of Tallinn.

  THREE

  ‘One World? That’s … not ideal,’ Peter Ash said as Laura put a mug down in front of him. The EU flag on the chipped china was beginning to fade from the dishwasher’s abuse. He was sure there was some sort of metaphor in that.

  ‘Ah, so you’ve made it onto page two without getting a nosebleed?’

  ‘Nope,’ Pete said, with a grin. ‘Halfway down the first page in Frankie’s summary.’

  ‘Smart woman. She knew you’d never get to the end.’

  ‘But One World? One fucking World. Of all the bat-shit crazy cults in this bat-shit crazy world, she had to walk into theirs?’

  There was a snort from the other side of the cubicle’s not-so soundproof barrier.

  ‘Half of the law-enforcement agencies around the world have investigated this sham,’ Pete said, shaking his head. ‘We’re talking everything from tax evasion to the legality of their servitude contracts that bind the faithful like slaves for a billion years. The whole world knows they’re a cult, but they’re Teflon. Nothing ever sticks.’

  ‘They’re a religion,’ Laura corrected. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick hardback book with The Shepherd’s face on the cover and the words Fork-Tongued Saviour across it. ‘Just like the Mormons, Scientologists, and Jehovah’s Witnesses.’

  ‘One made-up space fairy is just like another, you mean?’ Pete said, remembering one of the first conversations he’d had with Frankie when she’d asked him if he was religious, because one way or another everyone brought their own preconceptions and prejudices to the table when they were investigating. He certainly had plenty of those.

  ‘I mean that despite thorough investigations, no one has been able to prove they’ve committed any crimes, and they’ve tried. That has to mean something.’

  ‘Sure it does. They’ve never been investigated by me,’ Pete said, picking up the book. ‘You heard about this book, right? What happened to the writer? The guy was taken out in the middle of London at closing time, someone leaned him down in the gutter and reversed a fucking Range Rover over his head. They really didn’t want this book coming out. The publisher reported all sorts of harassment and intimidation trying to get him to pull the book.’

  ‘Again, nothing was ever proved. Bray’s death was considered an accident—’

  ‘The guy was an alcoholic nine years sober and he suddenly took it upon himself to get out of his skull and stumble conveniently into the street right in front of a Range Rover they never managed to trace because its licence plates were obscured by mud. Mighty fucking accidental, Law.’

  ‘And despite lawsuits they’re recognized by the EU as a religion.’

  ‘Look, people are free to believe what they want to, I get that, and if they get excited by a great volcano burning aliens alive, well, good for them. I’m not going to piss on their parade, but I’m not grabbing hold of the E-meter and confessing all my sins, either. Call it what it is, a cult.’

  ‘You are such a cynic,’ Laura smiled.

  ‘That I am. But you’ve seen that Ricky Gervais thing? If you took every holy book in the world and burned them, in two thousand years’ time they wouldn’t come back. They’re stories. Some other stories might replace them, but the ones we have now would be gone for good. But if you took every science book in the world and destroyed them, removing the knowledge from our collective conscience, in two thousand years’ time all of that knowledge would be back, because science we’d rediscover, because no matter how you look at it, science doesn’t change, it’s fundamentally the truth of our planet. You drop an apple, it’s always going to feel the force of gravity bringing it down.’

  ‘Just like you,’ a voice said from over the partition, earning a couple of chuckles around the squad room.

  ‘Funny fuckers,’ Pete said, but he was grinning.

  It felt good to be back.

  ‘Here’s the thing: sure, maybe they’re squeaky clean goody two-shoes by the letter of the law, but what they do is disgusting. They target the at-risk, the young, the vulnerable, and they brainwash them. And once they sign that indentured contract, they give up all of their worldly possessions, are given a couple of quid a week to live on, and charged double that for each confession, meaning they get deeper and deeper into a hole with One World, and there’s no getting out.’

  ‘I get all that, Pete, but they’re still not breaking the law.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s immoral.’

  ‘It’s their choice. Free will.’

  ‘How many of those kids would leave if they could?’

  ‘How many kids get buyer’s remorse when they sign up for the army and want to quit during basic training? How many more want to bail when they hear their first posting is a war zone?’

  ‘I don’t want to fall out with you, Law. These people are scum.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it.’

  ‘OK, riddle me this, why have the local cops excised all mention of One World from their reports?’

  ‘Pass. Ask me one on sport or arts and entertainment. I’m a killer when it comes to eighties music and B-movies.’ She was smiling, but it was a serious point, and he was going to say it out loud, because …

  ‘Because their reach is long and their influence pernicious. There’s no getting around the fact that interviewing officer either chose to exclude Annja’s statement, or was ordered to leave it out. And frankly, either way stinks. Gut instinct? Either one, or both of them, have been got at.’

  ‘Or they’re members of One World,’ Laura said. And that was the nightmare scenario, cult members on the inside, screwing with the investigation. ‘So, you want to turn this into a rat-catcher investigation into the Estonian police?’

  Pete sighed. ‘A bit too far outside our remit to sell Akardi on that, I reckon.’ But the fact that they’d turned a blind eye gnawed at him – and not for the obvious reason. Annually, across Europe, thousands of people joined One World. Most were young and impressionable. When he’d been young it had been the lyrics of The Pixies and REM those kids looked to for direction, now it was The Shepherd and his pseudo-spiritual bollocks. So why hide it? Why cut that reference from the file? It wasn’t as though Irma Lutz was the only young woman who thought the black hole in the middle of her life could be filled by a fake religion – and that was why it rang every alarm bell, because you only cut it if there was something to hide.

  ‘So, where’s Frankie now?’

  Laura made a show of checking the time on her watch against the clock on the wall as if it were a matter of minutes and not days that Frankie had been gone. ‘As of eight days ago, Tallinn.’

  ‘She’s gone there alone? What the hell was she thinking? You knew I was coming back today. One week and she had back-up. One week.’

  Laura lowered her voice, pitching her answer softly enough that her voice wouldn’t carry to the next cubi
cle. ‘You want the official version, or the truth?’

  ‘You tell me?’

  ‘Officially, she’s visiting her cousin, the mother of the missing girl. She’s also going to speak to Annja Rosen again and take a new statement, so she can close the file at our end, too.’

  ‘And what the fuck is she really doing out there?’

  ‘She’s going undercover …’

  ‘She’s what?’

  Laura reached inside her desk drawer and withdrew a white envelope. ‘She asked me to give you this when you came in.’

  The envelope had no name on it. Inside was a single sheet of white paper, the message handwritten. Meaning it wasn’t on any database or system back-up, meaning it wasn’t vulnerable to security breaches or hacking, or a paper-trail audit if the shit hit the fan.

  Or maybe he was being paranoid and it was the easiest way for her to give him a message?

  Pete read it slowly, digesting the implications of Frankie’s recklessness.

  ‘One … two … three …’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Working out how long it takes you to find an excuse to join her.’

  ‘Funny bugger.’

  ‘I know the way your mind works,’ she said, a smug smile creeping across her face. ‘If you’d like to step in the briefing room I’ll show you everything you need.’

  ‘Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Byrne?’

  ‘You should be so lucky.’

  ‘Is this strictly necessary?’ he asked as she switched on the large screen. Laura tapped out a series of commands on the laptop.

  ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful and turn down the lights?’

  Sometimes it was just easier to do as he was told. Plus, the office was Laura’s domain. The only difference to River House was that she had more toys to play with here. Like the projector.

  ‘You’ve heard about the forest fire raging through Estonia, right?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Have you been living under a rock?’

  ‘I’ve been watching a lot of porn. Since Stormy Daniels and the Orange One, I figure porn is how the world ends.’

  ‘Sometimes you’re just weird, Pete.’

  He nodded. ‘That I am. So, catch me up.’

  A series of images appeared on the screen. They showed the scale of the fire and the devastation in its wake. ‘Every time they think they’re starting to get it under control there’s a fresh outbreak somewhere else. This thing is raging. There are lives at risk every day, and not just the fire-fighters, and yet four days ago someone was arrested for deliberately lighting a new fire.’

  Which was all well and good but had nothing to do with Frankie disappearing into the wilderness in search of a made-up god. Or did it?

  The image changed.

  This time it showed scorched earth and the wisps of smoke still seeping from charred roots and branches.

  It took a moment for Pete to realize what he was looking at.

  ‘Not the best quality, it was taken on a mobile phone by a fire officer.’

  ‘It’s a body,’ Pete said as the image focused on a protruding arm. The flesh had been charred in the fire. The bone was visible in places where the meat and fat had rendered down to nothing.

  ‘No flies on you.’

  ‘So, what has this got to do with Frankie?’

  More images, this time of the body lying naked on a pathologist’s slab. The fire had done some damage, as had time in the earth, but it was a good bet the bullet hole in her stomach was the cause of death.

  ‘OK, a wild fire uncovers the body of a murdered girl?’

  ‘She’s Russian.’

  ‘Which isn’t exactly strange in Estonia given they’re neighbours. Hardly an international incident.’

  Laura sighed and shook her head. ‘And there was me thinking you’d be looking for a reason to go to Tallinn.’

  The penny dropped.

  ‘Do we have any identification?’

  ‘Not yet, but they’re working on it.’

  ‘So how do we know she’s Russian?’

  He could see her smile in the dim backlight from the projector. ‘The pathologist believes she’d had a number of procedures in Russia, including a titanium plate for an injury. The engraving on the plate, including serial, is all Cyrillic. We haven’t sourced the manufacturer yet but the odds are good it’s Russian in origin.’

  ‘Flimsy, but fair enough. So how do we get it past the suits upstairs?’

  ‘Peter, Peter, Peter, don’t you ever read your emails?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’

  ‘They sweetened my move here with something of a promotion. I say if something is worth following up, and I think this is worth following up.’

  ‘So, you’re my boss now?’

  ‘If you insist on putting a label on it,’ Laura said.

  ‘With great power, comes great responsibility.’

  ‘Spider Man?’

  ‘An unnamed French revolutionary writer.’

  ‘I never had you down as a historical soul.’

  ‘Daytime quiz-show addiction.’

  ‘OK, so, you’ll follow this up? With luck you won’t need to make contact with Frankie, but having you in place as back-up for when the shit hits the fan would make me feel better.’

  ‘I like the fact that you say “when”.’

  ‘I told you, I know you, Peter Ash. And I’m starting to know Frankie. That woman is a magnet for trouble. There was no way you weren’t going out there after her.’

  ‘You seem very sure of yourself.’

  ‘I am. You’re on the next flight out. Your boarding card is preloaded on your phone app.’

  ‘Welcome to the new world,’ Ash said.

  ‘We’ve been here for six months, it’s time you caught up.’

  FOUR

  It was getting late.

  It has been over a week since Frankie stepped off the ferry. She had twenty euros left in her pocket and no easy way to lay her hands on more. But that was the point. She needed to make herself vulnerable.

  There was a pay-as-you-go phone in the bottom of her rucksack along with a fake passport that shaved almost ten years off her true age and named her Ceska Volk, which was close enough to who she had always been for her not to be thrown by someone calling her it. She couldn’t risk carrying anything that even hinted she wasn’t who she claimed to be.

  And to sell the idea that she was a vulnerable young girl sleeping on the streets, she needed to be a vulnerable young girl sleeping on the streets.

  The one advantage she had over those other girls like the one she was pretending to be was that if things went south she had Laura to get her out of there.

  The twenty euros would probably buy her a night in a hostel, or a half-decent meal, but not both. But that kind of luxury wasn’t going to help her look street-worn fast enough. She needed this beaten-down look if she was going to pass for homeless when she finally turned up at the soup kitchen’s door.

  As it was, she would be marked out as a newcomer. People remembered faces when they saw them for the first time, especially when they were the kind that looked to help. You never knew who might slip through the cracks, or how long you had to catch them before they fell. So, tonight’s bed was going to be another uncomfortable doorway, huddled up under a bridge, or, if she was accepted, the cardboard city where the homeless congregated for safety. It was different in every city, and very much depended upon the identity of the place itself. She’d seen black-masked hooligans smash one up in Stockholm a few years back when football fans had taken it upon themselves to purge the streets.

  Frankie resisted the urge to head towards the waterfront to bed down for the night.

  She’d spent her first night there and quickly learnt her lesson. There were good and bad places to sleep. There was nothing good about the isolation that part of town offered. It was far too risky.

  Plenty of those homeless gravitated to the waterfront in bi
g cities, but in her experience it wasn’t a natural first port of call. New arrivals gravitated towards the brighter lights and stayed there for a while. They didn’t venture away from those shop doorways until the desperation forced them to. Some kept to the same doorway every night, but Frankie had moved on to pastures new every time darkness fell. It didn’t take long to find a new doorway for tonight. She pressed herself into the shadows and pulled the sleeping bag she’d brought around her. It was still early, but with nowhere to go she wasn’t going to wander. Exploring wasn’t natural. She needed to do everything right. She settled in for the long wait.

  She scrawled an ‘I’m homeless, helpless, and hungry’ message on a scrap of cardboard and set it down by her feet.

  She wasn’t expecting sympathy. A week of living like this had drummed that naivety out of her. Life was hard. Kids flocked to the big cities in the hope of changing their lives or finding a future they didn’t think they could have back home. Kids ran here because they couldn’t stay where they were. Kids ran here to hide. There were as many reasons as there were kids sleeping rough. And that meant that people were becoming inured to the plight of others.

  Still, the sign gave it an edge of realism, not least because she was at least one of the three.

  She placed a few coins on the card and closed her eyes.

  The concrete was painfully uncomfortable, but she was tired enough that she managed to drift in and out of a light sleep that offered no sort of rest.

  Footsteps came and went, keeping their own rhythms. Every now and then she heard the dull clatter of coins landing on the cardboard. Frankie pretended not to hear them rather than having to look up and show gratitude. It was better that way. Maybe better for those giving the money, too.

  Time didn’t have much meaning here.

  It was dark.

  It would still be dark for a long time to come.

  The footsteps slowed and faded away, wider and wider gaps between them until they stopped altogether.

  She drifted again, trying to ignore the pain in her back.