by Chris Simms
‘This fits with what the pathologist had to say in his preliminary report,’ Buchanon announced. ‘Lack of smoke damage to the lungs suggests he was dead before the fire was lit. Toxicology has found no carbon monoxide in his blood. High levels of cannabis and alcohol though, but not enough to render him completely helpless.’
‘His crucial conclusion is this,’ said Nikki, turning to her copy of the final report. ‘He’s determined cause of death to be massive trauma to the head, as we expected. What he’s been doing is analysing the skull at the top and bottom edges of the wound. The way fragments have been compressed on its lower edge, and the angle of the wound itself, suggest the victim was standing up when struck from behind. he estimates the weapon was curved, about four inches long by about two across and swung downwards, on a slight angle from right to left.’
Buchanon stepped over to the plan of the church interior pinned to a nearby display board. ‘So Luke was clubbed over the head at the window. He fell to the floor where he was left to bleed, probably for several minutes. Then he was dragged over to the pyre, which was then lit.’
‘Perhaps he was on his way back out when he was struck,’ Rick said.
Nikki turned her head. ‘I have my doubts. The fire was not lit while Luke Stevens was alive. As DCI Buchanon mentioned, we know this from the absence of sooty deposists in his lungs. So why would he be attempting to leave the church before the fire was properly ignited?’
‘Maybe he was just standing by the window because it was someone else’s turn to light it. Webster has already said the MO is different for this one due to the fact there were no pool marks leading back to the window they smashed,’ Rick countered.
‘Which all points to a sacrifice,’ Buchanon said. ‘Luke Stevens simply wasn’t aware he was it. The pyre was complete, everyone ready at the window, then Stevens is clubbed.’
‘Has Webster brought that sniffer dog in yet?’ Jon asked. Nikki’s eyes connected with his for a second before she directed her reply to the room. ‘It’s not available until tomorrow apparently.’
‘Right,’ Buchanon announced. ‘We’ll hope for more news then. In the meantime, our priority is to find Peter Robson. Once you’re up to date with your reports, get some rest. We’ll go at it again in the morning.’
As everyone resumed what they were doing Jon turned to Rick. ‘Did you get hold of that bloke who was ringing Ben Waters?’
Rick sucked air through his teeth. ‘He was meant to get back to me.’ He checked his in tray for messages. ‘Nope. I’ll try him again first thing in the morning.’
Jon picked at a thumb nail, hoping the priest wasn’t in imminent danger.
‘Hello Jon.’
He felt his back muscles stiffen. ‘Nikki. Good work – going under the floorboards.’
She gave a modest smile. ‘Tricks of the trade, that’s all.’ Her eyes went to the empty chair at the next desk.
‘Sorry,’ Jon gestured. ‘Sit down. I’d offer you a drink but . . .’
She glanced at the brew table. Empty milk cartons stood among towers of dirty mugs. ‘I’m fine thanks.’
Now her eyes went to Rick. The pause became slightly awkward and Rick stood up, saying, ‘Oh, the Chronicle have sent over a load of old articles for you. I’ll go and get them.’
No! Jon thought. Don’t bloody leave me. He fired his partner a wide-eyed look, but he was already on his feet.
‘So.’ Jon turned to Nikki, trying to smile. ‘You’re looking well.’
Her lips tightened. I know I’m not, the expression said. She leaned forward, voice low. ‘Have you thought about what I said?’
Jon contemplated feigning ignorance, but he wanted the conversation over before Rick returned. ‘Counselling? No, I’m all right.’
‘When was your last nightmare?’
He made a play of trying to think. Lowering his eyes from the ceiling, he said, ‘Not sure. a few weeks ago, at least.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I reckon so.’
‘Jon, I can sense your pain. I’ve been there too, don’t forget.’
He turned from her beseeching look. Will you just fuck off, he thought, you sound like a bloody God Botherer. Let’s share our suffering, find comfort from the cruel world together.
‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
As she got up, she laid a hand on his forearm. He wanted to shake it off. ‘Just call me when you’re ready to address this.’
She walked off before he could reply. Directing a mental V sign at her back, he saw Rick on his way over with a load of print-outs. ‘Any luck?’
‘Not sure yet.’ Rick replied. ‘I need to go through them. Want a few?’
‘Go on then.’ As Rick divided the pile in two Jon’s phone rang. His younger sister’s name was on the screen. ‘Ellie, where are you?’
‘At home. I’ve been trying to contact Skye.’
‘She’s at her place.’
‘Well, she’s not answering her phone. She’s meant to be picking me up. We were going out tonight.’
Bollocks, that’s all I need, Jon thought. Two officers from McCloughlin’s syndicate following Skye Booth to my sister’s flat. ‘Ellie, Alderley Edge is a crime scene. One of Skye’s associates died up there last night. She was a member of this coven you’re wanting to join. I want you to steer clear of that place. In fact, I want you to steer clear of Skye Booth too.’
‘We weren’t going up there. I was taking her for a meal in town. She’s really low at the moment.’
‘Can’t you leave it for a day or two until we clear this mess up?’
‘No, I’m her friend. She needs support right now, not isolation.’
‘Ellie, in the opinion of a few people here, she’s a murder suspect. I’m asking you to keep your distance, understand?’
‘Stop bossing me around like I’m a child. I rang you to say that she’s not answering her phone. It’s not like her. Not when we’d made arrangements.’
‘Listen, she just got out of a nasty grilling from a colleague here. She’s probably chilling out – in the bath listening to whale songs or something.’ He thought about the car that would now be stationed outside her house. ‘Trust me, she’s not in any danger.’
‘Well, I’m going round to her place.’
He swivelled away from Rick, speaking down towards his chest. ‘No. Don’t. I’ll make a call, OK? Give me a minute.’ He snapped his phone shut and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Younger sisters. Twenty-eight and she’s still causing me grief.’
Rick gave a half smile, his eyes on the old Chronicle article in his hands. ‘Jon, take a look at this.’
‘Two seconds mate.’ He jogged down to McCloughlin’s room on the ground floor. An officer was just emerging, heading towards the doors to the car park. Jon searched his mind for the man’s name. ‘DS Mills, can you do me a quick favour?’
The man turned and Jon saw he had a cigarette in his mouth.
‘Not a big one, I hope. I was just nipping out for a smoke.’ Jon’s gaze lingered on the cigarette hanging from his lips.
Right now, he thought, that sounds about the best thing in the world.
‘Unless you want to join me?’
Jon saw the other officer was holding out a packet of Marlboro Lights, the lid open. A neat row of filters were lined up inside. Jon felt the fingers of his right hand twitch. ‘No, you’re all right, mate. You’ve got a car outside Skye Booth’s adress?’
‘Yeah, they just reported in. Everything’s quiet.’
‘Can you give me their number? I need to check something.’
They headed back into McCloughlin’s room where Jon jotted down the mobile. He raced back up the stairs and immediately called it.
‘Dave here.’
‘Hello, this is DI Spicer, back at Londsight.’
‘Sir.’
‘How long have you been outside Skye Booth’s address, Dave?’
‘About an hour.’
‘What sort of place is it?’
‘A big house. She has the ground floor flat.’
‘Did you see Skye enter it?’
‘No.’
‘You said it all looks quiet. Any sign of anyone inside? Lights on, movement in the windows?’
‘No, all the curtains are drawn.’
‘I’m concerned she’s not even there. What about the front door? Free paper sticking out the letterbox, anything like that?’
‘Hang on. there is something on the front step. Looks like a handbag.’
Jon felt his stomach sink. ‘Check please.’
He heard the car door open. A loud whoosh as a vehicle went past. ‘Crossing the road now. Yeah, it’s definitely a handbag. And there’s a set of keys next to it.’
Fucking hell, thought Jon. ‘Try her door.’
‘No. It’s locked. There’s something blocking the keyhole. an obstruction of some sort.’ The sound of knocking. ‘Miss Booth? Hello, Miss Booth, it’s the police. Hello? Sir, no one’s answering.’
‘Call for support. Now!’
He hung up and looked at Rick. ‘Skye Booth has gone missing. Handbag and keys have been abandoned on the front step of her flat.’
Rick’s eyes flicked towards Buchanon’s office. ‘We just cut all three members of Satan’s Inferno loose.’
Jon was punching in his sister’s number. ‘And we’ve no idea where Peter Robson or Tristan Arkell are, either. I wouldn’t mind knowing where Henry Robson is too,’ His sister answered.
‘Ellie, it’s Jon. Skye’s handbag and keys have been found outside her house. She’s not there. Can you go over to ours? I don’t want you in on your own.’
‘She disappeared?’
‘Seems so. Something’s going on and it’s linked to this bloody coven she’s part of. Please Ellie, go over to ours. I’ll be back soon.’
‘OK.’ Confusion and fear in her voice.
‘Ring me when you get there, all right?’
‘All right.’
He cut the call. Rick hadn’t moved, the Chronicle article still in his hand.
‘What have you got?’ Jon demanded.
‘This.’ Rick rotated the photocopy so Jon could see the main shot. It was of a crowd protesting outside the Psychic Academy. Arkell could be seen arguing with the small group. Jon read the words on a couple of placards: Pyschic Academy – Devil’s Play, declared one; Spare Our Children, demanded another.
Scanning the faces, it only took Jon seconds to spot Henry
Robson at the front. ‘Robson again. I said the guy’s a loony.’
‘Read the headline and opening paragraph,’ Rick replied.
Academy won’t win this Heart.
Jon’s eyes moved to the copy beneath.
Father Ben Waters, vicar at the Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Fairfield, once again led protests against the recent opening of the Psychic Academy.
Jon looked again. At the back of the grainy image were a few people wearing white dog collars. Jon looked more closely. Holding a placard above his head that read, Lessons in Evil was Father Ben Waters.
The cords dug into Skye’s skin, cutting painfully across her exposed breasts. She tried to flex her fingers, but all sensation had been lost long ago.
A hand gripped her jaw and forced her head up. She knew the powerful torch beam would hurt her eyes, so she kept them closed. Behind it’s cruel glare he would be lurking, a blurry form whose long robes whispered as he paced the wooden floor.
‘Their names. I will have their names.’
She kept the tears back, but couldn’t contain the sob as she breathed in. ‘I don’t know.’
‘You filthy daughter of Satan, do not lie to me!’
She heard him circling her chair once again. ‘There will be eleven others in your coven. Do not deny it. When you meet to worship the Devil, to fornicate and scheme, a thirteenth joins you. The Grand Master.’ His voice was now in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. ‘Give me their names and you shall not suffer.’
‘I don’t know of any coven, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know any names. It’s the rules. If I know that, you must do too.’
‘I know you belong to a coven.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Oh, you do. I know because Valerie told me.’
His words caused her to retch, and at that moment, she realised he meant to kill her, whatever she said.
A hand grabbed the bare flesh of her thigh. ‘You have the witch’s mark. You have pledged yourself to Satan.’
‘It’s a mole,’ she choked. ‘Please, you must see that. It’s only a mole.’
‘It is the sigillum diaboli. You use it to suckle your familiar, the creature you employ to do the Devil’s bidding. Call it and it shall come to you.’ He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back. ‘Admit it!’
Her cry of pain was immediately met by a shout of triumph.
‘See! See! It has come!’
His footsteps moved away and she opened her eyes. Oh no. Oh no.
He was flailing wildly at the bat that had flown in through the arched window. She tried to see his face, but the cowl covering his head kept it hidden. The tiny creature flitted beyond his reach then darted back outside.
He placed his palms on the sill and she saw his shoulders rise as he sucked in air. ‘Your familiar has deserted you. Satan has deserted you. Give me the names of your coven and I shall spare you the agony of the fire.’
Chapter 24
‘Jon, you’re twitching more than Punch does when he’s asleep.’
His eyes snapped open. The image of the forest faded and, with it, the sound of the creature pursuing him. He stared at the bedroom wall with relief.
‘Jon?’ He felt his wife’s cool hand. ‘Your back is soaking.’
‘Just a dream.’ He raised himself on to one elbow, blinking at his alarm clock’s screen. Six-fourteen in the morning. The dreams were definitely pushing out from their three o’clock slot, now tormenting him throughout the night. He sucked in air, waiting for his pulse to slow.
‘Do you remember it?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. Some anxiety scenario. Probably walking into my Inspector’s exams with no clothes on.’
‘Mmmm, that wouldn’t be such a bad sight.’
He grinned over his shoulder. ‘I’ll get a shower.’
The kettle had only just clicked off when Ellie shuffled into the kitchen, a yellow dressing gown wrapped round her. The sight of her caused a sudden ache in his chest.
‘Morning,’ she announced.
Jon registered her toneless delivery. ‘Morning. How was the sofa?’
‘Fine,’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t hear you get in What time was it?’
‘Just after one.’
She sat down and started fiddling with her hair. ‘Anything?’
‘No. We knocked on every door and visited every pub in the area asking if anyone had noticed a disturbance outside her place. Then we did the takeaway joints at kicking out time, but no joy.’ He thought of the cigarettes he’d tapped DC Murray for as they’d trawled the empty streets. None in over six months then, what – eight or nine? in a single night. He passed the fingers of his right hand across his top lip and caught the aroma of tobacco ingrained in his skin. The smell made him want to punch himself in the face.
‘Have you called the office this morning?’
‘Yeah. No news.’
She scrutinised her own phone. ‘Where can she be?’
Jon dreaded to think. ‘They’ll find something soon, don’t worry.’
‘But if her mobile was in her handbag, she can’t call for help.’
‘Ellie.’ He handed her a cup of tea. ‘There’ll be a team of officers working the surrounding streets, asking questions at bus stops, contacting the local minicab companies, gathering tapes from any CCTV cameras in the area. Something will show up.’ She cupped her drink with both hands, her shoulders hunched forward.
‘This coven you were going to join. Did she ever mention who els
e was in it?’
She shook her head, eyes on the floor.
‘Or how big it was?’
‘Eleven. I was to be the twelfth.’
Jon thought about the information sheets the officer at the Met had emailed up. Details of how witches were meant to possess an extra nipple with which to suckle their familiar. Descriptions of a typical coven, twelve regular members and a thirteenth, the Grand Master who only turned up for the main sabbats, or meetings. ‘What about the person in charge?’
‘Who?’
‘The Grand Master isn’t it?’
‘She never mentioned any Grand Master.’
‘He’s the person who leads the ceremony.’
‘He? No way, this is a female only coven, Skye was adamant about that.’
‘I was under the impression each coven has a Grand Master. A lead figure who shows up, probably with the drugs.’
She looked up. ‘Drugs? What drugs?’
‘Flying ointments. Herbal stuff to alter everyone’s state of mind.’
‘You’ve been watching too many films.’
Irritation caused his face to tingle. ‘I think you’re the one who’s misinformed. It’s not some harmless skip around a bonfire, Ellie. Three people are dead, your mate’s been snatched—’
‘Snatched?’
Shit, wrong word Jon. ‘Has gone missing.’
‘You think she’s been snatched?’
‘Maybe. Look, churches are being burned, we’ve got women coming forward who think they’ve been assaulted . . .’
‘Who? Which women?’
‘It’s ongoing, but the Psychic Academy is not the harmless place you think it is.’
‘You can’t make me give up my beliefs.’
‘I’m not trying to, but I want you to be safe.’ He bowed his head and shut his eyes. ‘I feel so fucking guilty, Ellie. I wasn’t there for you and Dave. I wasn’t there.’
Seconds dragged by in silence before he eventually heard her voice. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Jon. How could you have guessed? Me and Dave didn’t even admit it to each other.’
‘I used to laugh.’ He shook his head from side to side. ‘When you tried to make excuses for not going. God, I thought it was so funny watching the pair of you squirm when Mum called up the stairs, telling you to hrry up.’