by Helen Cox
Kitt reached across the counter and patted Ayleen’s arm. ‘From the sound of things, I think it’ll be worse if you don’t. And I think I know just who you should contact. When I was mixed up in that case I told you about I met a detective in York, DI Malcolm Halloran. You should ring the police and ask to be put through to him. With the latest target being in York, he’ll be part of the team working on this now and if anyone will listen with an open mind, it’s him.’
‘OK. I’ll do that . . . I’ll . . . Wait a minute.’ Ayleen’s eyes narrowed and she looked Kitt up and down. ‘Before, you used my name, Ayleen. How did you know my name? I didn’t tell you that.’
Kitt smiled to give herself time to think. ‘I understand your natural suspicion given everything you’ve been through,’ she said, praying the lie she was about to tell would stick. ‘But I don’t think you can make a spanking new website like the one you’ve got and not expect prospective customers to check it out before they get here.’
‘Oh,’ Ayleen said, her face relaxing a little bit but not quite completely. Kitt’s cover story for her little slip-up didn’t quite fit her original claims of feeling impulsive and deciding on the spot that she wanted a tattoo. When Ayleen’s expression held onto some of the tension, it was clear she wasn’t totally convinced. The best thing was likely to get out of there, pronto.
‘Well, I suppose I should probably let you get onto the police about this right away,’ said Kitt. ‘Don’t worry about my tattoo, you’ve got a lot going on right now. I can come back for that another day.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Ayleen. ‘You’ve been so kind to listen to my sob story, and offered me some much-needed guidance. I’m a witch, remember, and no witch worth her salt believes in coincidences. The powers that be clearly sent you to give me a nudge at just the right time. You can have a small tattoo on the house. I’m sure I won’t be on the phone long to the police, and while I’m doing that you can pick out your design. Just go and bob yourself on the chair in that side room over there and relax.’
Kitt tried to grope for a reasonable excuse as to why she shouldn’t get a tattoo but found when she opened her mouth that no words came out. In part, because she was convinced another U-turn in her story would really raise Ayleen’s suspicions. As she nodded to the woman and followed her instructions to take a seat in the side room, all Kitt could hear, above Ayleen asking to be put through to the police over the phone, was Grace’s almost hysterical cackles echoing through her earpiece.
Twelve
After the many revelations Ayleen had shared with Kitt, she was in dire need of a sit down and a cuppa. Mercifully, Marie Antoinette’s was just around the corner from Squid Ink. This delightful tea room served generous chunks of cake and soothing cups of lemon and ginger tea, which made a nice change from Kitt’s usual choice of Lady Grey. All the chairs and tables were made of solid dark wood and with its displays of delicate tea sets and vintage homeware, it had an ambience that Evie would have very much appreciated if she were here.
‘Still can’t believe you got a tattoo,’ Grace said, shaking her head and chuckling as she took her first sip of tea. ‘Though it doesn’t surprise me it was a Keats quotation.’
‘I was trying to think of something short,’ said Kitt, wincing at the dull throb the tattoo needle had left behind. ‘It didn’t hurt half so much as our Becca makes out when she gets one but I wouldn’t have wanted it to go on any longer. “Truth is beauty” was the most succinct quotation I could think of.’
‘And quite fitting for a hard-boiled detective,’ said Grace.
‘Ooh, I wish you’d stop calling me that,’ said Kitt. ‘It makes me sound old and bitter, and before you make any smart alec comments, thirty-seven is not old.’
‘No, not at all,’ said Grace. ‘Forty, however . . .’
‘Grace . . .’
‘Well maybe I’ll agree you’ve still got some life left in you if you tell me where the tattoo is. If it’s somewhere adventurous then I can’t really argue with that, can I?’
‘No matter how many times you try to bait me, I’m not telling you that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because that’s for me to know, and for Mal to find out,’ Kitt said, smirking, while imagining the sparkle in Halloran’s eyes as he admired it. ‘Anyway, you are always far too concerned with me and my dealings. I’ve never known anyone so young to be as obsessed with someone more than a decade their senior, as you are with me.’
‘Well, you must admit, you are a bit of an anomaly,’ Grace said, with an impish smile. ‘Put it down to a hangover from my psychology degree – pure scientific curiosity.’
‘What we need to be curious about are the people we’ve spoken to so far.’
‘Yes, I did do a quick check into Arnold Sykes since we’re following up on the leads he offered us.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing worrying to report. I did a thorough search of his online history going back ten years. According to his business website, and some local news articles I found, he opened the bookshop about eight years ago after a career change from working in insurance. There’s nothing untoward on his personal social media accounts and there is the odd post here and there of him sponsoring local charities so he’s above board.’
‘Good to know, and thankfully as expected, but Ayleen is another matter. Obviously she’s already phoned in her version of events to Mal. He texted me to say he’s going to question her himself later at the local police station this afternoon, establish her alibis for all three murders and such. He’ll join us at the guest house when he’s done.’
‘So glad that we didn’t insist on adjoining rooms after all.’
‘Thank you, that’s enough of that.’
‘I’m assuming that, since Halloran is establishing her alibis for the murders, you’re not sure enough about her story to remove her from the suspect list.’
‘Not as yet,’ said Kitt, considering the many strands of the story Ayleen had told her. ‘You know what I said to you about the purple paint on the walls in there. Not to mention the giant stencil of a vampire.’
‘We are in Whitby, Kitt, vampires are a bit of a thing round here,’ said Grace.
‘Not like you could miss that fact,’ said Kitt, thinking about all the nods to Bram Stoker’s novel they’d seen since they’d arrived just yesterday. Even some of the ice cream vans had rebranded strawberry sauce as ‘Dracula blood’. Kitt imagined this was the kind of detail tourists loved but, to her mind, particularly given the case they were working, such culinary ingenuity didn’t stir her appetite. ‘But there’s still a chance she’s involved with the killer, or is the killer, and is spinning us a bit of a yarn.’
‘Why bother to do that though?’ said Grace. ‘Why not just deny any involvement with the victims at all? Anna and Alix were customers of hers long enough ago that it’s unlikely the link would’ve been discovered. You said it yourself while you were in there – the police didn’t even pick up on it.’
‘But the longer the case goes on the greater likelihood there is of it being discovered as the police dig deeper and deeper into the victims’ lives and histories. According to the volumes I’ve read about serial killers, it is quite a common trick for them to admit to something small when being investigated by the police so that they can weave a narrative and evade suspicion for the bigger crime they are a part of.’
‘So, in Ayleen’s case, she’s admitted to knowing two of the victims? Which on its own seems like a small confession while also giving the impression she’s willing to be honest with us.’
‘Exactly, and then she told us an elaborate but plausible story about this cult up in Sandersdale. This allows her to control the narrative, and her place in it, when it comes to these killings. Don’t get me wrong, if she really went through all that she has my sympathies. There are some shocking examples of groups like this in British history
and their impact on the individuals who found themselves at their mercy is not to be underestimated.’
‘But you think she might have made the story up?’
‘I suspect that if she is playing with the truth in some way, she hasn’t told us a complete work of fiction. But we need to be sure, as far as we can be, that every part of her story adds up. If she’s lied to us about anything, even a small thing, she could be lying about other aspects of what happened to her and her connection to the current murders. We’ll need to do a lot of checking into what she’s said to be sure. She could just be trying to play the victim when really she’s the one behind it all.’
‘I got a head start on verifying what she had to say while you were in the tattooist’s chair,’ said Grace.
‘What did you manage to find? Does her story ring true?’
‘Her parents’ deaths were covered in the local news, there was an unexplained fire in their house in 1997. At least, I think it’s the right family. You remember she said she’d changed her name? Anyway, this was the only story about a family dying in a domestic fire in Sandersdale.’
‘It’s likely it’s the right family. I can’t think that’s too common an occurrence, at least not in recent history.’
‘Ayleen’s name was Jamelia Park back then; she was eight at the time her parents died.’
‘A terrible thing for a child to live through,’ said Kitt. ‘Did the coverage say anything useful about the incident? Remember what Arnie said about some people believing she had a hand in it? Although, he seemed to be hinting at a supernatural power which – of course – I give no credence to. I wonder if any of the newspapers said anything that might suggest that Ayleen could have been responsible or hint that there was something strange about the occurrence. I don’t understand why they weren’t woken up by their smoke alarm.’
Grace shook her head. ‘That is strange. I don’t know what the regulations were on alarms in 1997, but not everyone follows the regs at any rate. Maybe they didn’t have one? It’s not mentioned in the few reports I found. They were really just short snippets reporting on the tragedy. Each cutting stated the same thing: that the cause of the fire was unknown. That the fire brigade suspected it was arson but weren’t able to confirm it. Do you really think she had anything to do with it? Wouldn’t the fire service have been able to figure out if there was foul play? What would be her motive for killing her parents anyway?’
‘Though they can in many cases, the fire service can’t always determine the cause of a fire. And the Vampire Killer, whoever they may be, obviously has psychopathic tendencies. The way in which they take their time to bleed the victim, carefully leaving a jar of blood at the scene, that’s not the quick, vicious act of someone killing out of anger or passion. That’s a slow process that would require a person to be pretty detached from what they’re doing.’
Grace looked down at the raspberry topping on her cake with less enthusiasm than she had been before.
‘So, what, you think she had a hand in the death of her parents and it was an early demonstration of her psychopathic tendencies? Why didn’t she ever strike again? Why just that one time, until now? And why confess to you that she has links to the victims today?’
‘Well, that’s the part that makes me wonder if she’s spinning us a yarn. But in terms of why she might have waited so long to strike again, I’m not sure. Perhaps she’s been resisting the urges for a long time but can’t resist them any longer? At any rate, I’m just saying it’s a possibility. Unlike the local community, I don’t think her status as a witch has anything to do with it but psychopaths are skilled at pretending to be normal. At veiling their true horror behind politeness or kindness. They can fantasize about things for years and then something will trigger them into making that fantasy a reality.’
‘Isn’t there also a chance though that she had nothing to do with her parents’ deaths? That it was just one of those horrible flukes that happens from time to time but joining the Children of Silvanus changed her?’
‘You mean, brainwashed her in some way?’
‘Yeah, or conditioned her to carry out unspeakable acts. Or maybe she’s trying to regain control after being controlled for all that time by the godfathers and godmothers at the camp . . . ugh,’ Grace said with a shudder. ‘It’s sickening, turns my stomach, it does.’
‘We agree on that point. But until Halloran has checked out all of Ayleen’s alibis, we can’t draw any firm conclusions – even if her links to the occult, her strange past and the fact that she knows two out of the three victims somewhat count against her. There is still a chance she’s innocent in all this.’
‘When you list all the black marks against her name like that it doesn’t feel like it.’
‘I know. And I’m still not convinced we’ve necessarily got the whole truth out of her. But it might be less sinister than we’re imagining. If she did have a hand in the fire at her childhood home, for example, she might not have meant it to happen. There’s a chance it was a complete accident. And when her parents died she realized some part of her liked the feeling of power it brought.’
‘But do people really jump to serial murder just because they’ve had a taste of it? If she’s not a full-blown psychopath, wouldn’t she have felt guilt as well as pleasure and tried to find another way of satisfying that desire? I just think, based on that theory, there’s not much motive for her to go around killing people linked with the occult in quite the way the Vampire Killer is.’
‘It depends on so many factors,’ said Kitt. ‘Even if she had nothing to do with her parents’ deaths, she may have been affected by the trauma. Given her witchy leanings, perhaps she believes she has some kind of supernatural power that started the fire and is taking her self-hatred out on others who dabble in the so-called black arts.’
‘Maybe. Her idea about someone from the cult coming after her is quite convincing though,’ said Grace. ‘From what she said, they do not sound like right-minded people.’
‘I’ve already texted Halloran all the core details she gave me so he can check it against the statement she makes when he talks to her in depth. Did you manage to find anything on the Children of Silvanus online while you were waiting for me?’
‘There isn’t much about them, which I suppose is fairly typical of that kind of . . . organization. But I did find one thing. A Reddit post from someone looking for old members of the group.’
‘How old was the post?’ asked Kitt.
‘Six years or so,’ said Grace.
‘Not recent then. If it had been posted in the last six months we might well have found our killer.’
‘I know what you mean, but think about what Tremble said. Every detail of these murders seems to have been accounted for. Assuming they’re not clairvoyant, as Peter suggested, they might well have been planning this, or fantasizing about these acts, for that long.’
‘Good point. What’s the name of the person who posted the Reddit post?’
‘It’s a handle rather than a name. SimonB666.’
‘Ominous numerics.’
‘I know. I might be able to run that username through one of our tracer services and see if they can track it down to an attached email address or social media account.’
‘Yes, let’s do that,’ said Kitt. ‘Based on what Ayleen told us about the cult, how difficult it was to get away from them and the fact she felt the need to hide from them all these years, SimonB666 might well be our killer on the hunt for his runaway witch.’
Thirteen
The Elysium Guest House stood at the top of Whitby’s West Cliff, where East Terrace and North Terrace met. From the guest house bar, Kitt and Grace had been able to periodically look out over the harbour, which was bordered by stacks of red-roofed houses, as the sun slowly set and the sky became a palette of deep pink, orange and violet.
While admiring the view, they also conta
cted the Creed of Count Dracula to arrange an appointment with Stoke Bramley. They also called Seaview Care Home in Sandsend to start the ball rolling on organizing a chat with Cyril Armitage, just to well and truly rule him out. Additionally, it was agreed that Grace would do some of her notorious cyber-stalking and find out all she could about Joel Mendoza. Given that his only crime was being an artist with a pot of purple paint, Kitt didn’t want to waste time tracking him down and interviewing him unless something more incriminating came to light. Once it had been decided that Grace would report back tomorrow on anything untoward she found on his social media profiles, alongside making a list of any places he’d checked in on Facebook on the dates in their murder timeline, the pair had parted ways and made their way back to their respective rooms.
Though the guest house itself could do with a good paint and was filled from top to bottom with furniture Kitt’s great-grandmother would have deemed old-fashioned, it was the best accommodation they could afford on their limited budget. Opening a detective agency hadn’t been a cheap affair and corners had to be cut wherever possible. Frankly, Kitt was just grateful to have secured a place to stay in Whitby itself on the funds they had available, rather than in one of the outlying coastal villages. Particularly when their view of the harbour included the famous whale bones which not only harked back to the local whaling expeditions in the Arctic seas but beautifully framed the ruins of Whitby Abbey on the other side of the bay.
It was half past nine and long since dark when Kitt heard a hard knock on the door of her room. The knock sounded out in such a rhythm that she knew at once that it was Halloran. She smiled, made her way up off the bed and called to him through the door. ‘What’s the secret password?’
‘Same as your safe word, isn’t it?’
Kitt threw open the door at once, her cheeks burning. ‘Mal, would you give over? Don’t be saying things like that loud enough for the whole hotel to hear you. What will people think?’