Angels and Apostles

by Tony Hutchinson

  He nodded at McFadden who brought the pick-axe crashing down on Mekins’ right forearm. The crack echoed like a dry twig snapping beneath a heavy foot.

  ‘Bastard,’ Mat screamed but never moved.

  Geoff Mekins groaned from the pit of his stomach, no fight left in him. If he were a dog, a caring owner would put him to sleep. Mat Skinner’s lover would die but a humane send-off wasn’t in the script of his short and painful future.

  Billy spoke to Mark and Luke. ‘Keep him in the basement until it’s dark then sort out our friendly fisherman.’

  Mat whispered ‘bastard,’ the word almost lost in a raking sob as tears slid down his cheeks.

  Billy kept looking at his other two sons.

  ‘And make sure he’s conscious when you weigh him down and throw him overboard.’

  He turned to face Mat. ‘You might want to start shagging birds. They’ll not talk you into the kind of stupid stunt you pulled last night. Now fuck off and don’t even think of touching lover-boy on the way out.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ed drove through the gates and nodded at the young uniform cop standing just inside them. For once they had beaten SOCO to the scene.

  Edmundson’s abattoir had been closed for years, a decaying building with broken windows, rotten doors and lead stripped from the roof. What remained still stunk of animal flesh.

  ‘Enough to turn you veggie,’ Sam said. ‘Imagine them all coming here, slaughtered and cut up.’

  ‘The veggies?’

  Sam sighed. ‘Lack of sleep hasn’t dulled your wit.’

  Behind them they heard an engine and turned to see the white SOCO van pull onto the car park, Julie Trescothick behind the wheel.

  ‘May as well get suited up,’ Sam said.

  White paper suits on, the three of them went into the building.

  Hanging upside down from a metal girder were the bodies of two men. Blood had pooled on the concrete floor directly below their heads, their faces white, drained of any colour.

  ‘The video is on its way,’ Julie said.

  ‘That’s fine,’ Sam nodded. ‘We won’t touch anything.’

  The metal girder looked out of place.

  ‘That’s new,’ Ed said. ‘You can tell by the welding and anyway, the scrappers would never have left it.’

  Sam looked at the floor where in front of the pools of blood two leather wallets, one brown, one maroon, were neatly laid out.

  ‘Same again,’ Sam said. ‘The killers want us to know who these guys are. Don’t want us wasting time on ID.’

  ‘And this time they want us to know they’re paying for something,’ Ed said, pointing to a piece of paper stuck onto the girder between the bodies.

  The child-like handwriting was reddy-brown and the message brief…

  GUILTY.

  ‘They weren’t going to run out of ink,’ Ed said, nodding at the blood on the floor.

  Sam told Julie she wanted the wallets as soon as they could be moved.

  Back outside the gates she lit up.

  ‘This is getting weird,’ Sam said through smoke. ‘Two this time, another disused building, more evidence of planning, especially if you’re right about that girder being new.’

  Ed put his hands in his pocket. ‘That should be easily sorted. Just get a welding inspector off the Expert Witness Register. They’ll be able to tell how old the welds are, and how good they are.’

  ‘Good shout,’ Sam nodded. ‘Get Bev on that but ID is the big thing here.’

  She answered her mobile, the call from Bev.

  ‘That’s fine. We’re on our way back now.’

  She turned to Ed. ‘Councillor Elgin just walked into Seaton nick saying his grandson wants to make a complaint of sexual assault against our two friends in there. Question is how the hell does he know anyone’s dead?’

  ‘I got an anonymous phone-call into my office. My secretary put it through to me.’

  John Elgin was in the front office interview room with his daughter and grandson. They sat in the only three chairs.

  ‘Oliver told me last week what was happening,’ Elgin said. ‘That one of the men was called Julius. He couldn’t remember the name of the other one but it sounded Dutch.’

  ‘Dutch?’ Sam said.

  ‘Thank the Premier League for allowing kids to guess nationalities from names…I wanted to report it immediately but he didn’t, understandably.’

  Oliver looked younger than his 13 years, undernourished even, the black-framed spectacles dominating not just his face but his whole body. He had not looked up since Sam and Ed walked into the room.

  ‘If Oliver is prepared to tell us what happened I’ll arrange a specialist interview in a room nicer than this,’ Sam said. ‘Oliver?’

  The young boy nodded without looking up.

  ‘Don’t worry Oliver,’ she told him. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong or anything to be ashamed of.’

  The boy nodded again.

  ‘Mr. Elgin, would you come with me please? Ed can you put the call in?’

  Sam walked outside. The icy wind numbed her head, by her calculation a Force 4 on the Beaufort scale.

  ‘Mr. Elgin, who rang you?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘But why ring you? They must have known about Oliver. So who have you told?’

  Elgin looked offended.

  ‘Chief Inspector it seems to me you are implying I had something to do with the death of those animals.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Absolutely not and I resent the implication.’

  Sam leaned closer to him. ‘And I resent having the piss taken out of me. Make sure you’re not doing that. For the last time I’ll ask you again, who called you?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Elgin snapped. ‘Now with your permission I’d like to go and sit with my daughter and grandson.’

  After he had gone, Sam considered going into the CID office but thought better of it. The briefing could wait another ten minutes. A walk in the cold would clear her head. She ambled along the High Street, sidestepping the people who stopped suddenly when something caught their eye in a shop window.

  Was Elgin involved? Was the anonymous call a lie? But if he had ordered retribution why had Scott been killed? There was no suggestion Scott had ever abused Oliver. Maybe someone wanted to ingratiate themselves with the councillor, Sam considered.

  Jill Brown answered the door, her voice quick and quivering. ‘I had no idea Ed.’

  Her red cheeks and swollen eyes indicated Curtis had told her everything.

  ‘No wonder he never wanted to go,’ Jill sounded tortured. ‘I was leaving him with a monster.’

  Ed’s voice was calm and full of easy authority.

  ‘Let’s go inside Jill. It wasn’t your fault anymore more than it was Curtis’.’

  Curtis was sitting in the front room. He spoke the second he saw Ed.

  ‘I wanted to tell my mam everything before I told your lot. I needed to speak to her first. It all came back to me and I wanted to tell her, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. Those blokes did the world a favour.’

  Ed wanted details, starting with how long Dean Silvers had left before the van turned up.

  ‘Not long,’ Curtis said. ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘Could Dean have been one of the three men?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Is all this necessary Ed?’ Jill said. ‘He’s been through so much.’ ‘You rang me Jill,’ Ed faced her. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Keep Curtis out of all this. He’s vulnerable, an addict. I don’t want him to go to court.’

  Ed could sympathise but he had to be straight, make it clear Curtis had found a body, never mind that the corpse was his abuser.

  ‘I can’t keep him out of this even if I wanted to,’ Ed said. ‘You of all people should know that.’

  ‘Will it all come out Ed?’ Jill’s eyes were pleading.

  He understood her concern, but telling her what she want
ed to hear would come back and bite him.

  ‘Probably,’ Ed told her, the best he could do. ‘We’ll need a statement off Curtis telling us what he saw at the garage, how he videoed it. Then, if he wants, he can tell us what Scott did to him, but that’s his call. We’ll not force him to speak.’

  ‘Right listen up.’

  Sam marched towards the front of the room, the silence from the detectives immediate.

  ‘Two victims…Julius Pritchard and Hans van Dijk. Family Liaison are with Julius’ family now, Hans has no family according to his employment records at the university. I want to know who they were, what they were, how they were connected to each other, how they got to the old abattoir.’

  Sam paused for effect.

  ‘This was a premeditated murder, well planned and meticulous in its execution. These two guys were strung up, upside down and had their throats cut. Above them in blood was written ‘GUILTY’.’

  She looked around at the staring faces.

  ‘Guilty of what? There’s a suggestion of sexual abuse, but that’s all it is at the minute, a suggestion.’

  ‘Is it linked to Jeremy Scott?’ Paul Adams asked.

  ‘Too early to say, but there are glaring similarities. Isolated locations, locations that must have been identified prior to the victims being taken there. There’s work needed around that Bev.’ Sam sat on the edge of a desk.

  ‘See if anyone has noticed anything unusual in those locations over the past few days, especially vehicles. We know Scott was taken there in a Ford Transit, but what about these two? Let’s find out where Julius and Hans were last seen and who they were with. Remember the golden rule, the more we know about the victims, the more we know about the killers.’

  ‘More than one boss?

  All eyes turned to look at the young detective standing at the back of the room.

  Sam smiled. ‘Can’t imagine one person kidnapping and stringing someone up alone, never mind doing it twice. We are looking for more than one. We know there were three people involved in Jeremy Scott’s abduction and murder.’

  The door opened and Ed walked in.

  ‘Looks important but can it wait?’ Sam said.

  Ed shook his head and came to the front of the room.

  ‘Curtis Brown’s heard on the grapevine one of the victims of our two string-ups is the grandson of a councillor.’

  Sam was underwhelmed: ‘Not something we don’t know already.’ ‘Absolutely,’ Ed said. ‘But that’s not what’s spooked Curtis. He’s heard the councillor’s connected to the one and only Billy Skinner. He’s terrified he’s given us a video implicating the family.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Pixie Carlton trudged towards the caravan on a field high above the sea, the Mercedes parked alongside. The car looked older than he remembered.

  He fished in his wax jacket for more painkillers. His left hand to that point in his life had been used for nothing other than natural balance; even using his left pocket was alien to him.

  The bruising on his back, like the swelling to his face, would eventually go, but he’d have to adjust to one hand without fingertips, what he’d heard called a ‘life changing’ injury.

  He used the bend in his right arm to grip the plastic bottle of Fanta orange, unscrewed the lid with his left hand and washed down the painkillers. Putting the top back on was too much effort. He lobbed the bottle into the hedgerow. He looked up, dark clouds moving at speed towards the sea, and smiled. His deceased parents, both ardent environmentalists, would have done their nut, but needs must.

  Declan Doherty answered his knock at the caravan door dressed in pinstripe trousers and maroon braces over a washed out, white singlet vest.

  ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ Doherty grinned. ‘Last time I saw a bandage like that was after Appleby Horse Fair when some dozy bastard dropped a paving stone on his hand.’

  Pixie smiled. ‘Never tried riding a horse carrying concrete.’

  Declan stepped outside laughing, his bare feet immediately wet from the grass, and slapped Pixie’s back. His laughing stopped when Pixie doubled over, shrieking in pain.

  ‘Bloody hell I’m sorry young man.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Pixie whispered, rasping for breath and standing straight.

  ‘Who is it Pa?’ his wife shouted from somewhere inside.

  ‘The young lad from last night.’

  The caravan bounced into life, the sound of stomping feet mixed with high-pitched shrieks.

  ‘Give us a shout when you’re decent and I’ll bring the lad in for a brew.’

  Declan looked at Pixie. ‘You caused quite a stir amongst my girls.’

  Pixie reddened.

  ‘I didn’t mean any offence and I haven’t come to impose,’ he said. ‘I’ve just come to say thanks, you know, for what you did for me last night, and to return your clothes.’

  He handed a carrier bag to Declan.

  ‘Don’t mention it and I didn’t mean to sound offensive when I said you caused a stir.’

  Doherty’s face beamed. ‘It was really funny watching them all stare at the same place.’

  He looked at Pixie’s crotch and laughed again.

  ‘Even the wife was turned on.’ Declan winked. ‘You did me a favour there son.’

  Pixie managed a weak smile and stepped back. He didn’t need another back slap.

  ‘We’re all decent,’ a shout came from inside.

  ‘You look as if you could do with a brew,’ Declan turned and opened the door. ‘The missus will read your leaves afterwards. See what lies ahead.’

  Pixie followed him into the caravan and immediately looked down at the carpet, his cheeks burning. The women wore more make-up than clothes, the lace night dresses on the granddaughters tight and revealing.

  All the women were keen to hear about Pixie’s treatment. Tea was drunk, the hospital account given and everything dissected before Declan suggested a walk.

  ‘Listen son you need to lie low for a while,’ Declan said as they walked away from the caravan towards the cliffs. ‘You seem decent. The Skinners are not. If the fancy takes them they’ll do you again just for a laugh.’

  Pixie chewed his lip, the colour drained from his face.

  ‘Do they know where you live?’

  Pixie looked up, locked his eyes on Doherty. ‘That’s where they picked me up.’

  ‘Rented you said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Get your stuff and get the hell out of there.’

  Pixie realised it was the smart move but where would he go?

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘You’re the estate agent,’ Declan said. ‘You tell me.’

  The stumps on Pixie’s right hand felt like they were on fire. He wished he’d opted for the sling.

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ he told Declan. ‘You need references, a bond.’

  Declan said he wouldn’t know, had never had to pay rent.

  ‘You done much camping?’ he asked Pixie.

  ‘As a kid.’

  ‘I’ve got a tent in the van, old but still waterproof. You can camp here with us. We’ll be around for a week or so. The Skinners wouldn’t dare come here and in a couple of days there’ll be more of us arriving. Go home, get your things and buy a sleeping bag.’

  ‘Why you doing this?’ Pixie was touched.

  Doherty’s face darkened, something frightening filling his eyes.

  ‘Because I fucking hate Billy Skinner.’

  ‘How does Curtis know that?’ Sam said, jumping away from the desk, thoughts moving as fast as a racehorse out of the stalls.

  ‘You know this place,’ Ed said. ‘Not many secrets but we’re not always privy.’

  The rest of the officers in the briefing room were trying to play catch-up.

  ‘That opens up another can of worms,’ Sam told Ed. ‘I can see why Skinner would want a local councillor in his pocket, but would he kill for him?’

  ‘Skinner himself, probably not, but there’s
plenty would do it for him,’ Ed said. ‘And if Elgin’s the councillor in question and Skinner thought it would earn him extra brownie points, it’s more than possible.’

  Ed pulled out a chair and sat on it while it was still rolling.

  Sam was back at the desk, leaning against the edge, facing the room.

  ‘We need to trace the anonymous call to Elgin, if it was ever made,’ she said. ‘He’s certainly got enough motive.’

  Dead men couldn’t argue their innocence, Sam knew, but if the allegations were true, they had three paedophiles, all of them taken out execution-style.

  She looked down at Ed who was writing in his blue hard-backed A4 notepad.

  ‘Raise an action,’ she said. ‘I want to know if there’s any link between these three, however long ago. Like everyone else in this room I don’t like coincidences.’

  ‘I might be able to help there ma’am,’ one of the Intelligence Unit detectives spoke up.

  Sam looked at him. She nodded for him to continue.

  God I hate being called ma’am.

  ‘Julius lives with his wife and two kids, both under ten.’

  Nobody raised an eyebrow. They were dealing in facts, not emotions.

  ‘Works from home; self-employed web designer. Kids go to private school. He volunteers at a hospice.’

  ‘Very public spirited,’ Sam said, walking towards the window. ‘Always a cloak to hide behind.’

  ‘We’ve got nothing on him,’ the detective continued. ‘But Jackie Mason, Sergeant Mason, remembers the name from about 15 years ago. Locked up on suspicion of flashing to a young boy. Jackie was custody officer. He can’t remember much else, not even the arresting officer.’

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s ask around the nick see if anybody else recognises his name or the others. Leave it open ended. Just get something on the daily briefing asking for Officers Reports from anyone who has had any dealings with him or knows if anyone else has had any dealings with him, however historical. Do it for all three victims.’