by Helen Cox
‘So, you lost touch with her and your online post was a bid to reconnect?’ said Halloran.
Bramley shook his head. ‘If only it was as simple as that. I didn’t lose touch with her. She was deliberately cut out of my life by those people. One day, I tried to visit her at the camp and the guys guarding the gate wouldn’t let me see her. No matter what I tried I couldn’t gain entrance. They said only members were allowed inside.’
‘Can anyone verify this?’ Halloran asked, his tone a little gentler than it had been before.
‘I reported it to the police at the time,’ Bramley said, his eyes filling with tears, ‘so there’s probably some kind of record. But it was tricky. Technically no crime had been committed. As far as anyone could see, Penelope was there of her own free will. She’d had her eighteenth birthday by then so she could do what she wanted. Still, someone on the inside of that camp must have been worried about arousing suspicion because the police managed to gain access. They let them in willingly and made it look like they were cooperating.’
‘Did they find anything? Anything worrying, I mean?’ said Kitt.
Bramley shook his head. ‘The officer who reported back to me said it all looked very calm and peaceful there. There were no signs that anything untoward was going on. But there was no sign of Pen. The leader of the group got one of the members to feed the police some story, that Penelope had left the camp two months prior, of her own accord. As if a group like that would just let someone go.’
‘From what I’ve heard about them, I admit that doesn’t seem likely,’ said Kitt.
‘Right then, I knew, something had happened to my sister at that camp. And I was determined to find out what. I tried to join up but they recognized me and guessed my game so refused to admit me.’
‘So what did you do next?’ asked Halloran.
‘A few different things. I started to reach out online to find out if anyone had any information about Penelope. I knew a bit about the group’s practices from when they first tried to recruit me and knew they expected members to kill animals. It was described as a necessity – to keep the camp a sustainable community but it seemed to me more akin to animal slaughter, so I thought maybe occult forums might be a good bet. I used the handle you discovered with the 666 at the end so that I looked credible. But of the few ex-members of the group I came into contact with, none of them had useful information about Penelope, and most of them wouldn’t talk in any depth at all about their experiences.’
‘I’m quite surprised you found any ex-members at all,’ said Kitt. ‘Did they manage to escape or something?’
Bramley shook his head. ‘The cult disbanded in 2011, about a year after Penelope disappeared. There was a large fire in one of the barns and the leader of the group, alongside many of his followers, died in that fire. From what I understand, those that were left either had wanted to escape for a long time or didn’t want to be led by someone new. This meant that in the mid tens it was still possible to get in touch with some ex-members though it only seems to have got more difficult over time.’
‘So, you never found your sister?’ said Kitt.
‘No. When reaching out online didn’t work, I started to plan my own collective to see if I could draw someone out in the community who knew something. It took several years of strategy but as you can see I did it eventually,’ Bramley said, gesturing to the room around him.
‘The Creed of Count Dracula?’ said Kitt. ‘You mean, it’s really a front to put you in touch with similar groups so you can find your sister?’
‘It was to begin with,’ said Bramley. ‘But I’ve always been drawn to vampires and when I started work on the project, I got much more into it than I expected. I saw the opportunity to make a real difference.’
‘And a lot of money, judging by the membership fee. Twelve thousand pounds per year,’ said Halloran.
Kitt’s eyes widened. She had no idea that the membership fee would be a thousand pounds a month. Exclusive was the word. No wonder Bramley didn’t need to admit more than six people a year.
Bramley shrugged and a little of his former attitude returned. ‘There are a lot of costs associated with running a group like this. And despite what you might think, I don’t siphon off the money to spend on luxury items. I keep the manor to a standard the members expect when they come here for short stays and ritual gatherings. If there’s any spare, I put it into my search for Penelope. But as I say, I haven’t found her yet, or found out what happened to her. It’s been ten years since she disappeared now, so frankly, I’m starting to lose hope that I ever will.’
‘We will need to look into this story, Mr Bramley, and we’ll still need to conduct the search regardless,’ said Halloran.
‘I have nothing to hide, DI Halloran, and you have to admit I have no real motive for committing these murders,’ said Bramley.
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ said Halloran. ‘The culprit clearly gets a kick out of holding ritualistic power over people . . . similar to the kind of power you hold over your members.’
‘Be that as it may, I’ve never hurt a person in my life. Any power I have is given to me with the consent of my members. I will cooperate in any way I can to see the killer brought to justice. Especially if it has something to do with the Children of Silvanus.’
‘We don’t exactly know what role they play in this as yet,’ said Halloran. ‘But their name has come up more than once in our enquiries. We would be grateful if you could share any information you have about them. Any names we could follow up on, for example.’
‘The list of names of those still alive is short, I’m afraid,’ said Bramley. ‘I spoke to a man called William Brockley a few years back who told me that Justin Palmer kept a journal. That was a bit of a breakthrough. Knowing that out there, somewhere, there was a book that detailed everything Palmer did. In there, I thought I might find the answers about what happened to Penelope.’
‘How did Palmer’s journal survive the fire if most of the people on the camp didn’t?’ said Halloran.
‘Brockley said he didn’t keep the journal on his person. He buried it and had instructed a loyal few on where they could find it if anything happened to him. One of those loyal few survived. Brockley didn’t know what had happened to the journal but he believed Palmer had had a son before he formed the cult. He thought the journal might have passed to the son. I have tried to track down Palmer’s son but I haven’t been successful. According to Brockley, the kid probably didn’t know who his dad was until after he had died, and the rumours are that he went off grid. No phone, no computer, no contact with the outside world.’
‘Probably not surprising that he disconnected with the world after that. It can’t be the easiest thing to live with,’ said Kitt. ‘Learning that your father left the family to be a cult leader. It’s likely he just doesn’t want any reminders.’
‘Or is worried someone from his father’s past – an enemy perhaps – might find him,’ said Grace.
‘We’ll see if we can track down Palmer’s son,’ said Halloran. ‘If the Children of Silvanus are involved in this case then it’s possible he might be too. Or that he might even be in danger. Is Brockley the only person you’ve managed to find in all your years of searching?’
‘I have a suspicion I’ve crossed paths with others,’ said Bramley, ‘but they’ve always denied any involvement with the group. I’m guessing anyone still alive who had an affiliation with them likely regrets it. Their practices were . . . from the Dark Ages.’
‘All right, if you don’t have any other names for us, we’ll start looking into Palmer’s son,’ said Halloran.
‘Oh, wait. There is one other name I know because I’ve been specifically looking for leads on Penelope. The woman the police spoke to. Her name was Jamelia Park. She was a godmother, that’s one of the roles they had on the camp, but I don’t really know what it means other than that
they each seem to have been in charge of a small group of the members. She was the one who convinced the police that Pen had left of her own accord. Claimed to have been good friends with her and sad to see her leave. All that kind of stuff.’
‘Wait, Jamelia Park was a godmother?’ said Kitt. ‘Are you quite sure about that?’
‘I’m certain,’ said Bramley. ‘That’s what the police told me, anyway, and I’ve had so few leads in the time I’ve been looking it’s not difficult to keep it all straight . . . why?’
Without a word, Kitt turned to Halloran and Grace. Their expressions were just as tense as hers. If what Bramley had just said was the truth, Jamelia Park, or Ayleen Demir as she was now known, had lied to them. She wasn’t at the mercy of the obedience training and the drugging of the food, she had been one of the people in charge of it. And what if she’d enjoyed all that power and control she’d had over others too much? What if she missed it more than she realized she would? Could that unquenchable urge be motive enough to kill?
Sixteen
It was nearing midnight when Kitt settled herself into the small booth behind the double-sided mirror at Whitby police station. The local officers had understandably taken some convincing before they would allow Kitt to witness the interview, but luckily Halloran knew one of the officers, DS Sandra Drake, from his time working in Irendale. DS Drake had grey hair worn in a long bob that just met her shoulders and had a soft, round face that looked kindly enough. From her posture, however, Kitt got the distinct impression that she wasn’t the type to stand for any nonsense.
Duly, even if she had known Halloran for some time, she wasn’t entirely enthused about the idea of Kitt observing from the sidelines. Once he explained that Kitt was a civilian investigator who had already interviewed the suspect once and would thus be able to quickly spot any holes in the suspect’s story, however, Kitt was discreetly shown into the back room. It was already late and nobody wanted to make this a longer job than it had to be. Especially given that after the stroke of midnight, there would only be four days left to catch the killer. If they could put this case to rest tonight, they could all sleep easier when they finally got to bed.
Grace was, of course, put out not to be permitted the same access as Kitt. But once she had accepted they couldn’t breach protocol any further than necessary, she agreed to continue her research into The Curse of James I, A Musical – the play Cyril Armitage had performed in that he now seemed to be reliving.
As they were operating from a different police station, it was highly unlikely that Chief Superintendent Ricci would find out about Kitt’s sneak peek into the interview. Even if she did, Kitt wagered that with so little time before the next murder was due to happen, Ricci would forgive this lapse in protocol if they managed to bring the killer to justice.
Though Kitt privately admitted that, just now, it was a big if. Ayleen Demir may have lied to them but they still had to prove she had means, motive and opportunity to commit the vampire killings. The means were taken care of with the tattoo needles, the opportunity – well, she had known two of the victims and didn’t have an alibi for the nights they were murdered, so perhaps something further would be uncovered on that point. The motive, however, was the real issue. Had the death of her parents been her fault? Were they dealing with a long-term psychopath? Or had her experiences with the cult warped her mind in some irreparable way?
Beyond the glass of the two-way mirror Ayleen, or Jamelia, sat in a pair of jeans and a tatty grey T-shirt she’d thrown on when the police came knocking after she had already gone to bed. Her hair hung long and unkempt around her shoulders and the bags under her eyes betrayed the fact she hadn’t been sleeping well. Was that because of guilt over whatever acts she had committed in Sandersdale all those years ago? Was it because she had been left tossing and turning and wondering when the lies she’d told to the police would catch up with her? Or was it because she was the person they had been hunting for all along? Kitt could only hope that in the course of this interview they would find out. She had sensed from the get-go that Ayleen might not have been telling the whole truth but even she had been surprised by the revelation that she was a godmother for the Children of Silvanus; that she had inflicted all of the pain she had claimed to have been victim to.
‘She did my tattoo, you know?’ Kitt said to Halloran and Drake. ‘For that reason alone I’m sort of hoping you prove her innocent. Me being tattooed by a chief figure in a sinister cult is bad enough. If I’ve been tattooed by a serial killer, well, that is just the kind of information that sends Grace off onto a wild case of hysterics. And frankly I have to deal with enough of those as it is.’
‘She lied to you, Kitt, and to me,’ said Halloran. ‘And not about something small. She completely misrepresented her role in the Children of Silvanus. She sat there and painted herself as the victim. She didn’t tell you about some of the things the godmothers did on the camp, and I was hoping to spare you the details. But there were beatings, members pitted against each other in hand-to-hand combat, there was some suggestion that ritual animal slaughter played a part too, and that was just the stuff she felt like telling me about. She made us believe she was on the receiving end of all this. But she was the perpetrator. That’s a huge red flag in a case like this. We won’t have the forensic tests that have been carried out at Twilight Manor for a few days but the team that searched the site didn’t find anything on a first pass. Which means that, right now, she’s our chief suspect. If she’s capable of some of the things she described to me, she might be capable of much worse.’
‘Halloran’s right,’ said DS Drake. ‘If she’s carried out that kind of behaviour in the past, there is a chance that she’s escalated.’
‘I know,’ said Kitt. ‘I think I’d just rather you proved I didn’t lock myself in a private room with a serial killer for an hour with only Grace on coms as a fail-safe.’
‘You seem to have survived the experience,’ said DS Drake, with an admiring note to her voice the likes of which Kitt had never heard from DS Banks in nearly two years of knowing her. ‘And now you’re in a position to help us make sure that if she is responsible she doesn’t get away with anything else. Listen carefully, and make a note of anything that doesn’t seem in line with what she told you before.’
‘Er, yes, what she said,’ said Halloran, with a small reassuring smile. ‘Let’s see what she’s got to say for herself, shall we?’ Without another word he exited the booth along with DS Drake. The pair walked into the interrogation room and at once Ayleen’s brown eyes were on them. Kitt could tell from her questioning expression that Ayleen was looking for some clue as to why Halloran and Drake had dragged her down to the station. She knew she had been brought in for further questioning under caution, of course. But she didn’t know specifically what kind of questions might be asked. From her look of open curiosity, it seemed she was trying to figure out which lie had been unravelled, which left Kitt wondering how many lies she’d told them.
Neither officer spoke while they took their seats. After which they paused for a moment and fixed their stares on the suspect. Kitt remembered Halloran and Banks giving her much the same treatment the first time she had been in the interrogation room. It was the kind of moment some people, who think themselves tough, believe they would handle well. But in that small room, with just you and the officers, Kitt knew from personal experience that no matter how tough you were the pressure only mounted.
After a moment, DS Drake pressed the record button on the equipment sitting on a table.
‘Interview with Ayleen Demir, Tuesday the thirteenth of April at eleven fifty-four p.m. Present in the room is DI Halloran, DS Drake and Ayleen Demir. For the record can you confirm that you’ve been offered legal representation and declined it?’
‘I don’t need a lawyer,’ said Ayleen. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘That’s the story you’re sticking to, is it?’ said Hall
oran, raising his eyebrows.
‘Story? It’s the truth. What’s going on?’ asked Ayleen, a note of surprise in her voice. ‘I’ve already told you everything I know. What could possibly be so important at this time of night?’
‘We have a source that tells us you haven’t told us everything you know,’ said Halloran.
Ayleen flinched at this revelation but tried to morph it into a frown. Kitt hadn’t missed her reaction though and she knew that Halloran and Drake wouldn’t have either.
‘Why don’t you explain to us again, for the record, your involvement in the Children of Silvanus?’ said DS Drake.
Ayleen looked nervously between the two officers. ‘Nothing much to tell. At least not that I haven’t already told you.’
‘Let’s start from the beginning and see if we can jog your memory a bit,’ said Halloran. ‘Tell us again, why did you join the group?’
‘But I already . . .’ Ayleen saw the look on Halloran’s face and trailed off. There was no getting out of this, and in that moment she knew it. Sighing, she obliged.
‘When I was eight I lost my parents in a house fire. I spent several years in foster care. I never really got over the trauma that I’d experienced. I was into all sorts of things back then. I drank heavily. I experimented with . . . substances that I really shouldn’t have. I was looking for a way of just staying alive and then one day, on an internet chat forum, I met a member of the Children of Silvanus. The person at the other end of the line, they made it seem like they really cared about me. They told me lots about their family, as they called it.’ Ayleen paused here, seemingly for effect more than anything else. ‘A sense of belonging to a family, well, that was just what I was missing. So, not knowing what I was getting myself into, I ran away and joined them.’