by Graham Smith
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means you can get yourself off, lass. I don’t think there are any other key details to come without hours of tests. Plus, I need to consult a few textbooks on this one.’
‘Are you sure?’ Beth was glad when he nodded. The sooner she could get out of here, the better. ‘I know you can’t be specific yet, but DI O’Dowd is sure to ask, do you have the official cause of death yet, and how soon can you get your report to us?’
‘Don’t quote me as I haven’t finished yet, but in my professional opinion, the answer is almost certainly going to be fire-related. I’ll send you my report as soon as I’m finished and have all the test results.’
Twenty-One
O’Dowd strode into the office flanked by DCI Phinn. Never the sunniest of people, the DCI looked as though he’d been given a week to live and told he must spend six of the seven days juggling rattlesnakes.
His presence was an indicator of the severity of the case. He wasn’t the hands-on type of manager unless there was something in it for him. That he’d shown up so early in their investigation told her that he was taking a personal interest.
While she wanted to be the one to solve the puzzle and identify the killer, Beth was glad he was there to help them earn justice for Angus and his family. Who reached the solution was nowhere near as important as catching the killer.
‘Right you lot.’ O’Dowd’s expression was serious as she addressed them. ‘Here’re your tasks: DC Young, I want you on with finding out the names of the children who were evacuated to Arthuret Hall and the people who were tasked with looking after them; DC Unthank, you’re to do the same for the RAF and MOD men.’ A sheet of paper was pointed at Thompson. ‘I want you to chase down these names and find out everything about them. They are the folk our victim may have had even the slightest of problems with.’
As O’Dowd had used formal titles in the presence of DCI Phinn, Beth made sure she did the same. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Yes?’
The word was snapped, but that didn’t worry Beth. With the implications uncovered during the post-mortem sinking in, it was little wonder O’Dowd’s temper was starting to fray. There had been a horrific murder and there were a multitude of leads involving what may potentially be hundreds of suspects.
‘Are you bringing in a criminal psychologist?’
Phinn raised an eyebrow as O’Dowd bristled at Beth. ‘Why do you ask that?’
‘This murder is seriously messed up, ma’am. We’ve got a body with wings attached to its back and the post-mortem suggests that the victim had some kind of accelerant poured into his mouth and then lit.’
‘I do know that, DC Young. I’ve plenty of experience investigating murders and they’re all messed up.’
‘I’m sorry, if I offended you. I’m certainly not questioning your judgement.’ Beth tried to dig herself out of the hole she felt she was in. ‘But with respect, ma’am, you said yourself you’ve never seen anything like it before. I just thought you might want to try and get an idea of what the killer might be thinking.’
Phinn lifted a hand to silence O’Dowd before she could reply. ‘What are you getting at, lass?’ When he spoke his tone was businesslike without crossing the line into brusqueness or condescension.
Beth felt her cheeks colour as the entire focus of the room shifted to her. She gave a little swallow before opening her mouth. ‘I’ve been wondering what the killer’s reasoning is. He’s put wings on a victim and fire in their mouth.’ Beth hesitated as she summoned the courage to share what she was thinking. ‘What do you think of when someone tells you about breathing fire and wings? Because my first thought was a dragon.’
O’Dowd’s curled lip combined with Phinn’s lengthy sigh pierced Beth’s confidence. Defeated she slumped in her seat and looked at the wall.
This theory would probably now be used as a stick to beat her with. She knew how the police worked behind the scenes; there were few officers who didn’t glory in the mickey-taking of a colleague. She’d done it herself and had it done to her before. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism for the stress of the job, but the slightest wrong word or silly idea was pilloried for weeks or sometimes even months. All the same, Beth, like everyone else, never wanted to be the butt of others’ jokes.
Her saviour was the one person in the room she least expected to have her back.
‘Actually, I think she’s onto something.’ Thompson rubbed at his ear. ‘Can you think of any other theory that ties together what our killer did to the victim?’
Phinn gave him a withering look. ‘To mess with our heads? To throw us off the scent?’
‘Fair points, but why would he want to mess with our heads? And if he wanted to throw us off the scent, why didn’t he hide the body instead of setting it up on display?’
‘You’re giving me a theory, but you’re not giving me a motive. We know the how and the where. What we need to discover is the who and the why. Get one and you’ll get the other.’ Phinn scratched at his turkey neck while chewing on the inside of his lip. ‘So you think he’s trying to make a dragon?’
‘No, sir.’ Beth was back on her feet as she spoke. Even to her, what she was thinking was outlandish, but there was no escaping what the facts were pointing to when she lined them up and considered them as a whole. ‘I don’t think he’s trying to make a dragon. I think this is him just starting.’
‘And what, pray tell, makes you think this?’
‘The evidence, sir. The cuts to Angus’s back were made with near-surgical precision. The wings were to hand and were ready to be attached. The killer had the accelerant with him. The post he was attached to. The cable ties that held Angus to the cross member nailed to the post. That all speaks of preplanning to me. He was organised; I don’t believe for one second that killing his victim in that way was something the killer did on a momentary whim. I think it was his plan all along, and I think he’ll do it again.’
Phinn scratched at his jaw. ‘What you’re saying makes sense, but why are you so sure he’ll try again?’
‘Think about it, sir. From the moment the killer poured the accelerant down Angus’s throat and lit it, to the point where Angus died would only have been a few minutes at most. Possibly less than a minute. Our killer wanted to make a dragon. His dragon died. Maybe after only a couple of fiery breaths. I think our killer would have been disappointed to lose his dragon so quickly after all his planning. After all his anticipation, it would have been a massive anticlimax. He’ll still want to have a dragon. Therefore he’ll try again.’
Beth watched in trepidation as Phinn looked at Thompson then O’Dowd. Saw the two nods he got.
‘Right, Zoe, run with that theory. I’ll get you some extra bodies to interview the evacuees and former servicemen once you’ve identified them. I’ll also let you have the budget for a criminal psychologist.’ Phinn looked at Beth with a mixture of exasperation and respect. ‘I don’t know whether I hope you’re right or wrong, but that’s neither here nor there. What matters is catching the killer before he strikes again. Work whatever hours you need to, I’ll sign off on your overtime. I want this guy caught and caught soon. Do you understand me?’
Phinn didn’t wait for an answer, he just turned on his heel and marched out of the office.
Beth sank to her chair relieved at the way things had turned out. She knew exactly what Phinn meant: if she was right they had a heinous killer to catch before he killed again. Yet if she was wrong, they would waste a lot of precious time and resources on her theory.
She caught Thompson’s eye. ‘Thanks for backing me up.’
‘I didn’t back you up, Young Beth, I just happen to agree with your thinking.’
‘Either way, thanks.’
She turned her attention to the brochure she’d collected from Arthuret Hall and flicked through its pages until she found the name she was looking for. Two minutes later she was speaking to the secretary of a private school.
Twenty-Two
The waitress who brought his Caesar salad over was a pretty girl. She had an easy-going manner and a ready smile, but she didn’t interest him. The delectable Sarah Hardy was the one who dominated his thoughts.
Since meeting Sarah, he hadn’t been able to find any joy in his hobby. None of the other women he’d seen since had measured up to her.
Just a couple of days ago, the waitress would have been admired for her girl-next-door looks and the well-filled blouse. Now she held the same attraction as a rotting carcass.
He knew it wasn’t the waitress’s fault and he recognised that she had a pretty face and shapely figure. It was all to do with him, and the fact he didn’t fancy her. Yet despite not feeling drawn to her today, he knew that in the normal course of events, he’d want to make her one of his angels.
Instinct turned his head when he heard the clack of high heels on the wooden floor. He saw a woman in a smart two-piece suit striding across the room towards the bar. The leather briefcase under her arm bulged, and she greeted the barman by name.
He watched as the barman came round and joined the woman at a vacant table. From where he was sitting, he could see the shape of her nylon-clad legs.
All he felt was sadness, bereavement even. The sleek and supple Ms Hardy had stolen his hobby and ground it into the dirt with a well-shod heel. Her beauty and radiance outshone that of every other woman he’d ever met. For him it was a cursed blessing. He’d met a woman who could dominate his thoughts whether awake or asleep, yet at the same time, her incredible beauty had denied him the appreciation of others.
Other women couldn’t be compared to her. Their looks were something he could no longer revel in. Where he’d once seen beauty he now saw pale imitations. Perfections were now marred by obvious flaws. Mismatched dimples, an over-padded backside or clothing that didn’t encase the body like a second skin were now noticed. Each tiny imperfection was overblown in comparison against the sublime Sarah. He often thought of her in alliterative terms. Sublime Sarah, statuesque Sarah, supple Sarah, even super-sexy Sarah.
If Sarah Hardy was a depiction of Helen of Troy, other women were the crude drawings of parents done by primary school pupils.
It pained him that he’d lost his appreciation for others. Many times he’d pulled out her card and thought about calling to cancel the test drive he had booked for Wednesday.
Something always stayed his hand though. He wasn’t sure he could endure not seeing her again, but by the same token, he knew seeing Sarah again would make other women seem even less desirable.
With his mind in a quandary, he picked up his fork and speared a crisp piece of lettuce. Despite it having a liberal coating of Caesar sauce, it felt dry and arid in his mouth.
Sarah Hardy was the one thing in the world that now gave him pleasure. He knew as he crunched on a crouton that he’d have to see her again. Have to make her his chief angel, regardless of how much of himself he’d invested into identifying his other angels.
Twenty-Three
Beth was running the names of the evacuees from Rossall School through the registry of births, deaths and marriages and adding their names to her lists of those who were still alive or were deceased. The names of those who were still alive went onto a spreadsheet she was compiling. It included their addresses and, where known, contact numbers.
She also ran the names of the living through the PNC – Police National Computer – to see if any of the children who’d been evacuated from the private school had grown up to live a life of crime. Even with Arthuret Hall’s history of ownership by someone with alleged gangland connections, it was a stretch to imagine that the offspring of some gangster or other had been sent to Rossall prior to being indoctrinated into the family business.
While it might be too simplistic or coincidental, it was something she hoped would prove to be true. That way they’d hopefully be able to solve the case before anyone else was hurt. It would also mean that she’d be the one to bring forth the connection which solved the case, even if it wasn’t her idea.
Her spreadsheet was also arranged by proximity so those who’d remained or returned to the area were at the top of the list. While her notes were filling up, she realised almost none of them were still in the local area. Most of the names had moved south towards London as the lure of the capital and its promised riches for the well-educated had proven irresistible. Their addresses ringed London like a halo of respectability.
She rose to stretch her limbs and made the universal gesture at Unthank to see if he wanted a cup of tea. He stuck his thumb up and let a smile cover his weary face as he held his phone to his ear.
To Beth, Unthank was one of the good guys. His descriptions of people never failed to amuse her. He could sum up people with a deft turn of phrase which encapsulated their looks or personality in a way she could only dream of.
Her smile faltered as she wondered, not for the first time, how he’d describe her. A shake of the head dislodged the dark thoughts that his description of her would centre around her scarred cheek. This was information she didn’t need to know, as possession of it would do nothing but harm. Her confidence might not be fragile, but neither was it cast iron.
As she made her way back with their drinks, some of her tea slopped over the rim of her mug and onto her hand. She managed to bite down on the swear word that leapt to her lips before it came out. It wouldn’t do for the person Unthank was calling to hear it. While she’d had full cooperation from the people she’d spoken to at Rossall School, Unthank was getting the runaround from a series of bureaucrats.
Beth placed a mug next to Unthank’s elbow and nodded at his smiled thanks. As he was a DC, the same as she was, she’d tried chatting to him, but while he’d always been polite, he’d not mentioned anything personal other than his fiancée, Lana. He didn’t even say if they’d been to the pictures, or for a meal or anything like that.
A part of Beth couldn’t help but wonder if Lana even existed. Unlike Thompson, there was no photo frame on his desk and he’d never shown her a picture of the two of them on his phone. It might just be that he was very private, or it might be that he was hiding something. Either way, she supposed she’d find out in due course.
Twenty-Four
No matter how Beth had tried convincing her friends, none of them seemed to believe her when she’d told them how much of her job was about painstaking research and reading statements, reports and interview logs. She was sure they imagined that she spent her days kicking down doors and slapping cuffs onto people as she told them they were ‘nicked’.
For some officers the drudge of compiling evidence to support theories was a necessary evil, but if she was honest with herself, sitting in a nice warm office with a computer in front of her was a lot better than wrestling drunks in the pouring rain.
Like every other officer who’d ever walked a beat, she’d endured abuse that was aimed more at the uniform, and what it represented, than the individual wearing it. Beth was proud of the fact she’d always managed to maintain her composure in the face of insults, but she had enough self-awareness to know that she’d been very close to snapping on several occasions.
Her brain was focussed on the spreadsheet she was compiling as she added every bit of information she could gather. For her, this was a new kind of puzzle and she revelled in the challenge. As horrific as Angus Keane’s death was, Beth knew it also presented her with an opportunity to establish her own credentials and prove to O’Dowd that she was worthy of a place in FMIT.
Regardless of how his death may end up benefitting her, Beth’s primary instinct was to make sure that Suzy and her daughters would know who’d taken their husband and father from their lives. Whether it offered them a sense of closure or not, as a police officer, it was as much as she could do for them.
Beth had no connection to Angus other than the fact she was part of the team tasked with investigating his murder, yet that didn’t stop her from getting mental pictures of his dying moments and imagining
that she could hear the gargled screams as his throat and mouth burned, as the fire was drawn down his throat into his lungs. She could see that her thoughts were shared by her colleagues too. Each of them wore a haunted look, although with everything that was going on with Thompson’s wife, maybe the sense of isolation on his face wasn’t just caused by work.
How it must be for Suzy to imagine her husband’s death was something Beth couldn’t begin to comprehend. As a couple they would have laughed, joked and faced life’s hardships together. Their relationship may well have been fractious at times, but the way they kept patching things up spoke of an inherent love that neither could deny for long periods.
Suzy had gone into shock when O’Dowd had told her the gorier details. She’d sat there with a blank expression and tears pulsing down her cheeks as she’d heard without listening. It was bad enough to witness someone receiving the worst news, but when the news had to be garnished with unpalatable honesty about the way their loved one had died, it made the moment even harder.
This was a part of her job that Beth wouldn’t discuss with her friends. It had felt wrong that she’d been present at what must surely have been the worst moment of Suzy’s life, to then share that experience chatting over a cuppa or a glass of wine would remove the intimacy she’d felt. Besides, her two closest friends worked in offices and they couldn’t begin to understand the toll police-work could take. Rather than burden them with the darkness of her job, Beth took lightness from her friends.
She knew that her parents would always listen if she needed to talk something out, but so far she’d always been able to deal with things herself. Always at the back of her mind was the knowledge that her mother had episodes of depression, and she tried to take care not to give her mother any triggers. The worst bout of depression Beth ever saw her mother suffer had been in the weeks after the bottle had slammed into Beth’s face. Her mother had tried to be strong, tried to support Beth, but she’d been able to see past the façade of everyday cheerfulness and see the effort it was costing her mother.
