by Graham Smith
O’Dowd’s jaw trembled as she levered herself back to a standing position. Her eyes flitted over Beth’s shoulder and blinked furiously. The cigarette dropped to the ground where it sent tendrils of smoke up O’Dowd’s leg until she ground it out.
Beth waited, she’d said her piece and now it was a case of seeing how the DI reacted. She felt like it could go either way – O’Dowd could bollock her, but maybe she would snap out of her funk and tell her she was right.
What she didn’t expect was for O’Dowd to crumble again. The DI’s legs went unsteady as if she would fall and her mouth widened as she fought to not release the tears which had suddenly filled her eyes.
Beth grabbed O’Dowd’s shoulders and guided her back to the bale of hay. She used her own body to shield the older woman from the view of anyone who passed their way. The only consolation she had was that they were out of sight of the house and all the people attending the crime scene.
At a loss as to what else to do, Beth patted the arms O’Dowd had wound round her waist. ‘That’s it, ma’am. Let it out. In five minutes you’ll be right as rain and spitting orders at me the way you usually do.’
Stoicism turned into sobs again as O’Dowd sounded like her heart was breaking.
It took every one of Beth’s prescribed five minutes for the tsunami of grief to wash over O’Dowd and ebb away. While she waited for it to pass, Beth rubbed O’Dowd’s back and tried to offer her reassurances that everything would work out fine in the long run. That they’d survived the ordeal in the cellar and, bar a few cuts and bruises, hadn’t been harmed.
When the tears subsided and O’Dowd released her grip, Beth took a half pace back and let the DI have a moment to collect herself.
‘You’re right, Beth. I should be in charge here, not crying like a baby or wandering about in a trance.’ Another cigarette was plucked from a packet and stuffed into her mouth. ‘It’s just… just, there’s stuff going on at home as well as this…’ Her hand flapped in the general direction of Highstead Castle. ‘The toughest case of my career. And shit, I thought you were a goner when that partition fell on you.’
Beth noticed the tremble had gone from O’Dowd’s hands and that she’d straightened her posture from its tearful slump. ‘If you want to tell me about it, it’ll go no further. If you don’t, that’s fine so long as I get my boss back. There are four victims we have to fight for.’
‘I know.’ O’Dowd pulled a face then lifted her head and looked Beth in the eye. ‘Tell me straight, do I look old enough to be a grandmother to you? Is that what I am now? An old woman with a hanky up the sleeve of her cardigan and knitting needles by her side? I’m not ready for the scrapheap yet. I’ve still got plenty of good years in me. I’m not old enough, am I?’
The questions caught Beth by surprise. Of all the things she’d been expecting, grandmotherdom wasn’t one of them.
‘Depends on the era, ma’am. Sixty years ago you’d be considered old to be having your first grandchild.’ Beth made a helpless gesture. ‘If someone saw you with a baby now though, they’d probably wonder if you were its granny or its mother.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ O’Dowd ground her latest cigarette into the dirt of the farmyard and pulled out another. ‘It’s my daughter. She’s pregnant. Seventeen years old and not a live cell in her pretty little head. Oh, and here’s the best bit. She doesn’t know who the father is because she was at a couple of parties where things got, to use her term, “hot and sweaty”.’ Smoke was blown from O’Dowd’s mouth with an exasperated fury. ‘That’s my little girl for you; the kind of idiot who thinks getting knocked up after being so out of it that she wasn’t sure who shagged her isn’t going to be a problem. Jesus, it’s all she can do to make beans on toast for herself. How in the name of God is she going to care for a baby?’
Beth got the whole picture in an instant. No wonder O’Dowd was so distracted. Her daughter’s behaviour would impact on her and the rest of her family. If the daughter stayed with her and her husband, as Beth expected she would given O’Dowd’s comments about her, there would be sleepless nights, babysitting duties and a whole host of extra work, not to mention that a large part of financing the child’s upbringing would fall on its grandparents.
‘She has no idea how hard being a parent can be. I had a husband to help me and I still found it a struggle at times. What am I going to do, Beth?’
There was no definitive answer to the question, so Beth answered it in the only way she could. ‘You’re going to cope. The Zoe O’Dowd who’s my boss is someone who copes. I’m sure there will be tears and tantrums along the way. But you’ll cope. Plus, if your daughter is anything at all like you, she’ll put on her big-girl pants and rise to the occasion.’ Beth took both of O’Dowd’s hands in hers, taking care not to burn herself on the cigarette. ‘I fully expect my DI to bore the arse off me with pictures and tales of the grandchild she loves. Yes, it’s scary just now, and there will be a lot of scary moments to come, but there will be so many wonderfully special moments as well. One day, you’ll look back and remember how you’re feeling now and wonder what you were so worried about.’
O’Dowd wiped her face with the palms of both hands. ‘That, Beth, is the best get over yourself speech I’ve ever heard. Thank you.’ She pursed her lips together. ‘You’re an odd one, but in a good way.’
Beth smiled at O’Dowd, pleased with her praise and glad to see a semblance of the DI’s usual personality coming back. ‘Just find my grumpy-arsed boss, I kinda need her now. And so do four dead people.’
O’Dowd pushed herself off the hay bale and straightened her shoulders. ‘She’s back. Now let’s go and see if our friendly pathologist has anything for us.’
Beth wasn’t fooled by O’Dowd’s sudden appearance of strength. But she admired her all the more for pulling herself together for the greater good of the team.
As she returned to the crime scene with O’Dowd, Beth couldn’t help but remember the way she’d been at the start of the week. O’Dowd’s confident can-do attitude had been infectious and had inspired her, yet she’d now seen another facet to her boss’s personality. The worrier, the person who despaired and looked to others for answers she couldn’t find herself.
Beth’s next thought was that O’Dowd’s confident manner was sometimes a front as she battled to hide her own insecurities. The realisation made Beth feel closer to O’Dowd as there were times she had to deal with her own feelings of unworthiness.
More than anything else though, Beth couldn’t shake the memory of the life that had once grown in her sixteen-year-old belly.
Thirty-Nine
The sparkle in Dr Hewson’s eyes should have been at odds with the nature of his job and what he’d just examined, but Beth knew what caused it. Because as much as he might feel for the victims, he clearly couldn’t help but also feel a thrill in trying to work out the cause of their deaths.
As he stripped off his oversuit, boots and gloves, he nodded at O’Dowd before she could speak. ‘You want time and cause of death for all three. I get that. I’m going to tell you all I can for certain. The man was killed most recently. Judging from the number of bites on him, I’d say he’s only been there a day, two at most. The woman, she’s been there a couple of weeks, perhaps three at the most. As for the skeleton, I’d suggest that’s been there at least three months. Cause of death can’t be formally diagnosed until after the post-mortems, but based on what I’ve seen of the remains, I believe it’d be fair to work on the assumption that they all died the same way as Angus Keane. Both the man and the woman had scorching in their mouths.’ He pulled a disgusted face. ‘From what was left of the skeleton’s internal organs, I may be able to match up what happened to them, but I think the wings fixed to the shoulders say enough. I’ll be able to tell you more when I get them on my table.’
‘What else did you find? Were there any distinguishing marks, something to help identify them? How old were they?’ Beth led the questions to give O’Dowd t
ime to get back to full strength.
Dr Hewson’s smile was benevolent. ‘You’ve trained this one well, Dowdy. She’s proper sharp.’
‘She’s her own woman. And you should know I don’t tolerate idiots on my team.’ O’Dowd jerked her head. ‘How about answering her question instead of trying to charm someone young enough to be your daughter?’
‘Touché.’ A smile caressed the doctor’s lips. ‘The man had the name “Dylan” tattooed onto his right forearm along with two dates connected by a hyphen. The dates were three years apart. I’d put the man in his thirties and the woman in her twenties, but I’m not prepared to guess at the skeleton’s age yet.’
Beth jotted down the dates from the man’s tattoo with a mixture of emotions. She felt for the unidentified man, the dates on his arm suggested that his son Dylan had died at an early age. However, it should make it easier to identify him.
‘What about the skeleton? Can you tell us what sex it was at least?’
‘Good question.’ The doctor’s eyes gave a twinkle. ‘It has a woman’s pelvis.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything we should have asked but haven’t?’
‘Not at the moment. I’ll know more when I get them on my table, but for now, you’ve had all the facts I have and all the educated guesses I’m prepared to make.’
As the pathologist wandered in the direction of his car, Beth was thinking about the interchange between him and O’Dowd. Their mutual animosity almost seemed fake, as if it was for show rather than really felt. The more she thought about it, the more she realised that whatever their differences may be, their squabbling was underpinned with a professional respect for the other’s skills.
Forty
The TV hadn’t been entertaining, the shows a mixture of the bland, the overacted and the downright brainless. The reality shows that dominated the schedules may well include the occasional stunner, but after a few minutes of admiring their beauty, he’d invariably find himself repulsed by their personality. Some were narcissists of the highest order, others were so competitive they trampled over others with nary a thought for the feelings of their competitors, and the rest, they were just bitches.
Even the soaps he’d once watched had turned every decent woman into screaming, mewling shrews. Their beautiful faces twisted into angry gargoyles by implausible storylines and bad direction.
Sometimes he’d get lucky and discover a decent series. Most of these were American-made, although there was the odd British one that delivered both good drama as well as angels for him to idolise.
As he lumbered from his chair and went about his bedtime routine, he thought about tomorrow. The test drive was something he was excited about in a way he’d not experienced for many months. He’d have time alone with the delectable Sarah Hardy; if he managed things the right way, he’d be able to enjoy her company for at least an hour. An involuntary shudder passed through him as he thought of her.
The route he’d take was etched into his mind. As the test drive was scheduled for eleven, he wondered if it was possible he could entice her to grab a spot of lunch with him. Oh, how good that would feel, to walk into somewhere with her by his side. The sensation would make him feel ten-feet tall.
The man could only imagine what it’d be like to be seen in the company of someone like Sarah. There would be jealous looks from men; he’d see the other, less-attractive women glance at her and pull a face of dismay at her obvious superiority in the beauty stakes. There would, of course, be whispered insults. It would be claimed that she was only with him for his money. Some would assume that he was her father or uncle.
Perhaps, if he could get her to take his arm, that would dispel a lot of the naysayers, put them in their place and keep them from making the wrong assumptions.
He’d have to choose the venue with care though. It couldn’t be too swanky or he’d scare her, make her realise that buying her lunch was more than a friendly gesture. He’d also have to pick a busy place, one that was well known for its food; as much as he wanted to have her to himself, he also wanted to savour the admiring looks other men cast her way so he could revel in the envy shading their eyes.
As he turned on the bedside light he saw the trousers and shirt hanging on the wardrobe. He’d wear them with his old regimental tie. It carried less weight than it used to, but there was a time when it had earned him respect.
Like a child on Christmas Eve, he was going to bed earlier than usual so that tomorrow, and the joyous gratification the day would bring, would come sooner. He closed his eyes and pictured her: she was striding across the garage’s showroom, all dimpled smile and bouncing curls, when out of the corner of his imagination he caught a movement. It was the two cops. The younger, taller one with the beauty-defiling scar was pictured in crisp, high definition, whereas the dumpy inspector was blurry, out of focus.
That they’d shown up in his thoughts about Sarah was telling. He supposed that O’Dowd was only there because he thought of her and DC Young as a pair. He had no objections to Young populating his thoughts, even if she was gatecrashing on Sarah. Had it not been for the scar on her cheek, she would have been every bit as beautiful as the car saleswoman.
His thoughts centred on the two angels as sleep came for him.
Forty-One
Beth twisted each of the bath’s taps and discarded her clothes. Only her underwear would go into the wash basket. The trouser suit and her blouse were ruined and, as such, only fit for the bin.
Her body had begun to stiffen as the various aches and pains she’d collected from the ordeal in the cellar manifested themselves. There was not a part of her that didn’t hurt in one way or another. She had multiple scrapes and there were bruises starting to show in a variety of colours on her legs, arms and torso.
She poured a few slugs of antiseptic into the bathwater and added a generous slop of bubble bath. A shower would be quicker, but there was something about a bath that soothed aching muscles and tired limbs.
As much as her body was spent, Beth’s mind was still on overdrive. So much had happened during the day that she’d barely had a chance to properly collate her thoughts. Three more victims; the drama of the collapse and the subsequent rescue by O’Dowd; the information learned early in the day; and not to mention O’Dowd’s breakdown and revelation about her daughter.
The first thing she put her mind to were the victims. If Hewson was right, and she had no reason to doubt him, the first two victims had been women, followed by two men. The killer could be working to a pattern, or it could be pure chance. If it was coincidence, then what connected the victims? And if it was a pattern, and everything about this killer suggested there was a hidden agenda, then that suggested a woman would be the next victim, assuming, that was, that they’d found all the people he’d killed so far. The media were already putting a lot of pressure on them for Angus Keane and it was only a matter of time before they learned of the poor souls killed at Highstead Castle.
Another factor she had to consider was how the killer was getting his victims into the abandoned places while still alive. Nobody would have gone down to that cellar without protest. She supposed the killer may have used a gun or knife to force them, but wouldn’t there have been a point when they refused to cooperate? Angus Keane was a builder, his body was lean and taut. Dylan’s father was a muscular man who looked as though he either worked out, or had a job that kept him physically fit.
She couldn’t get her head round either man acquiescing to the killer’s instructions without putting up a fight. But neither had shown wounds consistent with an attack. There were no knife wounds other than the surgery required to fit the wings to their backs. Bullet wounds were also absent.
All this meant the killer had found a way to control his victims. Drugs were the obvious answer, with Hewson’s suggestion of Rohypnol being a standout candidate. A pill dropped into a drink could render the person incapable of independent thought. They’d do as requested without question. Tha
t’s why it was known to many as the date-rape drug. Once taken, the user lost the power of free will.
With luck, the drug could still be traceable in the urine of the male victim.
Next on her mental checklist was to find a connection between the two country houses where the murders took place. She’d floated it as a theory to O’Dowd and had been given instructions to compile a list of other derelict houses in the county, in case there were more victims hidden in other cellars. After popping into the office first thing in the morning, Beth planned to visit the library to do this research. Penrith had a library, but Carlisle’s was far more likely to have comprehensive records.
Beth’s memories of Penrith library were sketchy at best. She knew she’d been there a few times as a child, but other than the constant reminders to be quiet, she remembered nothing other than tall shelves stacked with books. What she did recall were the news items about cuts to the library system; Penrith was large enough to have avoided the accountant’s axe this time round, but many of the smaller towns in the region had seen their libraries closed or cut back to minimal hours. She wasn’t big on reading – apart from her puzzle magazines and the books she bought to keep on serial killers – but if the libraries were first, how long before cutbacks were made to other essential services?
She’d had a look online, but hadn’t found what she’d needed. In among the listings which came back was a book on country houses in the north-west. It looked as if it would hold the information she needed. In the morning she could check to see if Penrith library held a copy. If they didn’t, she was sure that Carlisle library would have a copy in their archives.
O’Dowd hadn’t instructed her to do so, but she planned to extend her search to neighbouring counties as well. Dumfries and Galloway was only a few miles from Arthuret Hall, and she reasoned that the killer may not respect county boundaries the way bureaucracy did.
