by Graham Smith
Beth made sure that she breathed through her mouth when DI O’Dowd lifted the crime scene tape and waved her over.
Off to her right a couple of constables were talking to a woman who kept dabbing at her eyes. Beth ducked under the tape and took care to step on the footpads laid out by the CSI team. The protective oversuit she’d donned rustled as she moved, and the sun was still so high that it brought a sheen of perspiration to her brow.
Once inside the building, Beth could see rows of chairs and various areas decorated with garlands of fresh flowers. The front of the house overlooked a manicured lawn bordered by colourful flowerbeds. As picturesque as the gardens may be, Beth couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose a dilapidated country house as a wedding venue. All of the walls may be more or less intact, but the building was nothing more than a hollow shell.
O’Dowd led her to a painted wooden partition, which Beth assumed had been constructed by the new owners. A panel had been removed, and they stepped from the paved area into a space yet to have even the scant renovations the section set out for the wedding had received. This part of the house was dilapidated and there was a bush growing in the corner, but none of this captured Beth’s attention. In a lower area, that Beth judged from the row of joist holes at ground level in the walls was once a cellar, a man’s body was suspended on a post.
In other parts of the area piles of rubble were overgrown with grass and weeds. Someone, Beth guessed a member of the CSI team, had propped an aluminium ladder against the wall at the side to provide access to the lower level.
Beth reached the bottom of the ladder and stood in front of the corpse. As she examined the dead man she could feel Zoe O’Dowd’s eyes on her. As much as she was trying to impress, she knew she was being monitored. What Beth did and said now would be forever recalled by the DI.
The body’s arms were held outright to the elbow by thick, black cable ties attached to a horizontal timber. Each arm had a tie at the top and bottom of the bicep to secure the body to the timber.
The body didn’t look as though it was newly dead, which made Beth glad she was breathing through her mouth. So far as she could see, it was discoloured. Parts of the body’s fleshier areas looked to have been scavenged on by wildlife, and these showed greater signs of decay. To Beth’s mind the body had been here a number of days. The recent spell of warm weather the county had enjoyed would have hastened the rotting process.
Beth lifted her head and looked at the man’s face. The eye sockets were empty and there were blisters around the mouth. Birds could be responsible for the missing eyes, but there was no way she wanted to jump to conclusions without some evidence to back up any ideas she put forward.
On closer inspection, she noticed the lips appeared to have been scorched. Beth’s first thought was a blowtorch, but she knew the scorching could have been done with anything from a blowtorch to a cigarette lighter.
At the body’s feet, three of the numbered plastic CSI markers drew her attention to areas where the weeds showed signs of fire damage. Coupled with the damage to the victim’s mouth, they pointed to this being the place where the victim was killed.
The noisy clearing of O’Dowd’s throat caught Beth’s attention. Following the circling movements of the DI’s outstretched finger, she padded round to the back of the body. The uneven ground made it awkward to keep her balance on the footpads, but Beth made it to the final one without incident.
She hadn’t meant to gasp when she looked at the victim’s back, but it was an involuntary reaction with a nasty side effect. As she exhaled, instinct and habit made her breathe in through her nose.
At once her stomach heaved and filled her mouth with bile. Beth pursed her lips together and swallowed down. Once, twice and then a third time until she felt it was safe to open her mouth and take a breath.
This was an action she’d had to do many times during her childhood in Penrith when a gust of wind had sent the stench of rotting flesh from the protein plant cascading through the streets and housing estates.
‘Good girl.’
Beth’s cheeks burned at O’Dowd’s patronising comment, but she still gave her boss a nod of thanks.
Her eyes returned to the body. Seen from the rear, it took on a whole different perspective, which made sense of O’Dowd’s cryptic briefing.
Beth leaned forward as far as she dared before she risked toppling forward, and examined the corpse with a greater level of care.
The folded black wings were where her eyes went first, but the point she ultimately focussed on was where they were attached to the man’s back.
A matchbox-sized area of skin had been removed from each shoulder blade, and the thin bones, which usually attached the wings to the body of a bird, appeared to have been fused to them.
The idea that Beth couldn’t shake from her mind was that whoever brought this man here, and left him in such a fashion, was only starting whatever project he planned. The whole tableau the killer had created was disturbing and horrific.
The mind which had dreamed up such a kill had to be warped. Whatever demons were haunting this killer needed to be contained, preferably by a lengthy confinement at Her Majesty’s pleasure.
‘Your thoughts please, Beth.’ O’Dowd’s voice was soft, as though she was being respectful to the dead man hanging between them. ‘I know you’re new to FMIT and haven’t seen anything like this before, but then neither have I.’
‘Bizarre. Twisted. Sick.’
O’Dowd gave her a stern look. ‘Care to elaborate?’
‘Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know, this is so far off the wall I’m not sure what to think. Ritualistic is a word that springs to mind, but I’m not sure if it’s the right word. I hate to tempt fate, but this is just so twisted in every sense of the word, and I can’t help but worry it won’t end here. I may be wrong, and this may turn out to be a one off with just the intention of killing this man, but I have a feeling that this is only the beginning of something bigger.’
Beth pulled her eyes off the wings and looked to O’Dowd to see how her words had been received.
She got a sharp nod of affirmation for her trouble.
O’Dowd’s agreement gave Beth a confidence boost, so she dared to ask a question. ‘I know there will have to be a post-mortem and I’m sure the CSI will have taken the victim’s prints, but what happens next? While I was waiting for you to bring me here, I looked at the house, took a quick look at the surrounding buildings. There’s nowhere here for anyone to live and I haven’t seen any security cameras. The gate we came through after pulling off the road has a heavy chain round the gatepost and an open padlock hanging from it. I can’t see us getting any witnesses or CCTV footage. The best hope we’ve got is that someone saw a vehicle parked in that lay-by outside the gate. I had a quick word with the woman who was looking after the wedding, but all she did was put out the chairs and show the guests where to go when they arrived. Evidently they have only just started hosting wedding ceremonies here, and there’s little more than a bower for the celebrant to stand under and a few dozen chairs for the guests. One day they want to be able to offer it as a full venue, where you can have the party afterwards too, but they’re not quite up to that yet.’
Beth saw O’Dowd’s eyes narrow in assessment of her and wondered what her new boss would make of her observations.
‘Who instructed you to go wandering around, asking these things?’
‘Nobody, ma’am, it just seemed like a better use of my time than standing around waiting for you or DC Thompson to come back and give me some orders.’
‘You’re right, it was.’ O’Dowd raised a finger in admonishment. ‘Just be careful; you’re quite obviously a smart person, but while you’re of no worry to me, others – especially some male others, if you know what I’m saying – won’t necessarily always see your initiative as a positive thing. They’ll see it as a threat. Make sure you have your back covered and don’t let your inquisitive streak lead you into trouble.’
Four
He perched on a bar stool and ordered a glass of tonic water. Early on a Saturday evening was always a good time to visit the Hare and Hounds. It was one of the nights Tamara worked and she was such a pleasant girl. Not to mention attractive.
The bar was starting to fill up with diners as he knew it would. Tamara didn’t just do the bar, she waited tables, which meant she’d be striding back and forth all night, her long legs probably encased in her usual skinny jeans.
If she was looking as good as she usually did, he’d dine here. Not only was the food good, and there was an early-bird menu, Tamara’s presence in the room meant the scenery would also be excellent.
His breath caught when Tamara emerged from the kitchen with a piled plate in each hand. She wasn’t wearing her skinny jeans today, instead she wore a skirt.
The skirt wasn’t as short as he’d have liked, as it finished just above her knees, but it still gave him a good view of her legs and it was tight enough to let him see the curve of her bottom.
As always, she gave him a polite smile when she looked his way, but like the professional she was, her focus was on the customers awaiting the plates she carried.
He would eat here; savour the home-made steak pie, or better yet, a salad of some description. If he had the salad, he could also find room for a starter and dessert. That would give him a nice excuse to spend at least an hour and a half appreciating Tamara’s beautiful figure.
The ring on her finger meant she could never be his, as did the thirty-plus years between them. Tamara had the vibrancy and beauty of youth, whereas he possessed the sluggishness and decrepitude of age. In terms of looks and appeal, he wasn’t even playing the same sport as Tamara, let alone in the same league. All he had to offer her was appreciation, but even that wasn’t something he could say out loud. It wasn’t that he was nervous about telling her how beautiful and sexy he thought she was, he just didn’t expect that she’d take his compliments the way they were intended.
He’d recently told two young women how attractive he found them. The first time had seen him berated and labelled a pervert. That had been humiliating enough, but the second time had been even worse. After returning to his car with a crimson handprint on his face, he’d vowed that never again would he verbalise his appreciation of the female form.
He took a seat at a table that allowed him to watch Tamara wherever she was and lifted a menu. This was a good night. Three slowly eaten courses admiring Tamara and then on to the Coach House. Wendy the barmaid was neither pretty nor young, but she had a generous cleavage and was always chatty with him. His evening would end with a few slow drives around the Crescent and along Lowther Street. Carlisle had a vibrant nightlife and both the Crescent and Lowther Street played host to bars and restaurants where he’d identified many of his angels.
The Crescent surrounded the former south, or Botcher Gate, of the old city known as The Citadel; while the gate had made way for a three-lane road, the circular guard towers with crenelated tops and pink sandstone walls still stood as a reminder of the city’s warring past.
The area, now known as Botchergate, was the northern end of London Road and home to Carlisle’s most hedonistic bars. On weekend nights, it was closed off to traffic due to the drunk people filling the street as they passed from one bar to another. Come the morning, the pavement was littered with the detritus of fast-food wrappers, dropped food and puddles of vomit.
He’d tried visiting the pubs and bars on Botchergate a few times, but in these places a man his age standing by himself attracted the wrong kind of attention. Too often they had looked right through him at the younger, hunkier guys they were trying to attract. Or worse, he’d been pointed at and sniggered over by the pretty girls he was there to admire.
Now he trawled the streets in his car, just looking for the girls who could star in his fantasies. It was a lower risk, isolated from the humiliation of being rejected.
In Tamara he’d found one angel for his dreams.
Next he had to find a companion for her. One angel at a time was never enough for him. He needed as many as he could possibly get.
Five
Beth filed along the receiving line for the evening guests behind DS Thompson, wishing she could be anywhere other than where she was. It was bad enough they’d been sent to interview the bride on her wedding day, but to make things even worse, Thompson hadn’t listened when she’d tried to suggest they did everything they could to lessen the impact on the poor woman’s celebration.
The reception venue was a place she’d never been to before, but she knew of Farlam Hall’s reputation. It was the kind of high-end hotel which was out of her price range for all bar the most special of occasions. Picturesque and exclusive, it was an ideal place for a wedding reception provided your budget ran to tens of thousands. The marquee which dominated the garden would have cost six months of her salary and that was before you counted all the staff passing out champagne like it was water.
Beth saw the bride frown when she didn’t recognise them, witnessed the way she looked to her new husband and saw her blank look reflected on his face. True to form, Thompson didn’t allow the poor woman time to ask who they were before flashing his warrant card under her nose and introducing himself.
With the bride looking nonplussed by their presence, Beth hoped the insensitive Thompson would let her lead the questioning. It was bad enough that the bride had found a dead body at her wedding venue, to now have her reception interrupted by an oaf with all the sensitivity of a raging wasp would further ruin what was meant to be the happiest day of her life.
‘We’re terribly sorry to have to trouble you, today of all days, but I’m afraid the first few hours of a murder investigation are critical.’
‘Can’t this wait? I mean, we’re meeting our guests, for goodness’ sake.’
The bride laid a calming hand on her husband’s arm. ‘It’s okay, Jason. The police have to do their jobs, and if that really was a dead body… I need to tell them what I saw.’ She looked to Beth and Thompson and pointed over her shoulder at the main hotel. ‘There’s a room in there where we can talk, it’ll be more private than out here.’
As they followed the bride into a small library, a guest wearing a suit that matched the groom’s lurched towards them, his foot a mere three inches from the train of the bride’s gown, and stopped in front of Beth.
‘Hey gorgeous, what you doing later?’
‘Oh, let me check my diary. Ah yes, sorry, I’m rather busy avoiding men with alcohol on their breath and wedding rings on their finger.’ Beth kept her tone light, though she suspected the man might have made a different comment if he’d approached her from the left instead of the right and seen her scarred face.
She brushed past him and then closed the door as soon as Thompson had stepped through it.
‘As I said outside, we’re very sorry to have to trouble you.’
‘Don’t worry, I know you have jobs to do.’ The bride looked at her wrist even though there was no watch there. Just the faint outline of where one had been worn while she had sunned herself. ‘Just be as quick as you can, please.’
‘Of course we will.’
Beth surmised Thompson must have realised the disruption they were causing, and the bad press they could generate, as his tone was soft when he asked the bride a series of questions.
Rather than interrupt Thompson, she let him carry on until he’d exhausted his questions, then added a couple of her own.
* * *
When they’d finished interviewing the new Mrs Welton, and Thompson was driving them back to Arthuret Hall, Beth decided to share her thoughts on the witness. ‘Call me cynical, but I’m not sure I believed everything she said to us.’
‘Really, Constable.’ The way Thompson said her rank made Beth lose the few shreds of respect she had
for him. ‘Were you not paying attention? That poor lass was fighting to hold it together. She’s seen a dead body on her wedding day and here you are, questioning her character as soon as we’re out of earshot. Let me tell you, Young Beth, if you want to succeed in FMIT, you’re going to have to become a much better judge of character in a very short space of time.’
‘With respect, sir, I was paying attention. I just think she wasn’t as distressed by the experience as she should have been. I mean, you saw the body. Saw how gross it was.’
‘I get it, you’re jealous that she’s tougher than you are. You need to drop it before you become tiresome.’
Beth fumed in her seat. It may have been self-preservation, a respect for Thompson’s rank and experience, if not the man himself, or some other factor she hadn’t yet worked out, but she didn’t respond. She knew her cheeks were glowing crimson and that just added to her humiliation. She wanted to protest further, to argue with the arrogant DS, but something made her keep silent.
Thompson drummed his fingers on the wheel and clicked his tongue as he drove. The few days she’d worked in FMIT were long enough for her to know it was his thinking tic. Her problem was, she didn’t know what he was thinking.
On the one hand, he could be reassessing what she’d said about the new Mrs Welton and realising he may be wrong.
Fat chance of that. A junior female officer would never be right in his eyes.
On the other, he may be preparing to tell O’Dowd she was useless, and that she had also been rude to one of the Weltons’ wedding guests, after being paid a compliment by them.
Another option was that he’d said his piece and would allow her to move forward with her career and learn from him and O’Dowd.
She felt that idea was even more ridiculous than expecting him to say she was right.
Six
