Watching the Dead

by Wendy Cartmell

  Eddie cut into his food and chewed on it thoughtfully. ‘So looking at our differences from that point of view, they begin to be less restrictive.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ agreed Mick. ‘You can believe her, or not. The question is more do you believe IN her? As a woman, as a partner, or even as your boss.’

  Byrd felt affronted. ‘Of course I believe IN her, as you put it.’

  ‘Then maybe it’s about time you started to show it. Another drink anyone?’

  Eddie shook his head and putting his knife and fork to one side, said, ‘I need some air. Nice to meet you, Keith. See you, Mick,’ and he elbowed his way out of the crowded pub. It was becoming claustrophobic, what with the many patrons and the pressure he’d felt from Mick and Keith.

  Once outside he was grateful for the fresh air and leaned against the wall dragging oxygen into his lungs, hoping that would stop his trembling legs. Wanting to get the taste of alcohol-free lager out of his mouth he queued up at a local take away for a coffee. Once he had that, he wandered over to a free bench and sat looking at the Cathedral. In the city centre you couldn’t get away from the structure. It dominated the skyline. But did it have much effect on the local people? He wasn’t sure that it did. It had never meant much to Byrd himself; it had just always been there. There were others in the community who lived their lives in the shadow of the cathedral. Embraced it. Volunteered. Had faith, had belief. So carrying on that analogy Jo’s gift will always be there, dominating her. But she used her gift for good. He understood that. How did she put it? Oh yes, ‘to help solve the crimes of the living with the aid of the dead’.

  Given that, why should Byrd have a problem with it? It was her belief, her practice, her gift. Not his. Jo wasn’t asking for validation of her gift, but validation of HER. He was beginning to realise that he had done her a grave disservice. By refusing to accept her for who she was, he was turning his back on her love, her goodness, her kindness. She was a bloody good police officer with or without her gift. She was committed to her team, her family, her life. She was more alive than anyone he knew. And without her, he felt dead.

  Chapter 30

  Just as Byrd was about to leave the gardens, Mick came hurrying along. ‘Glad I caught you, Byrd, can I just have five minutes?’

  Not feeling that he had much of an option, Byrd nodded and sat back down on the bench.

  Mick huffed as he joined him. ‘Look, Byrd, I might be speaking out of turn, but I can’t not speak up. You understand?’

  Byrd nodded.

  ‘You know what Jo went through to get back to full health. No one is more determined than my Jo.’

  ‘I know that, Mick.’

  ‘Well, then you’ll know that she is determined to use her gift in the best way that she can.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘To help people! For God’s sake, Byrd, are you so blind that you can’t see that it’s still Jo underneath all this? Just because you now know about her extra capabilities, it doesn’t make her anything less. She’s still the person you fell in love with.’

  Byrd looked sideways at Mick. He had never articulated his feelings about Jo to anyone, not even to himself if he was honest.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, man, I’ve seen the way you are around her, the looks you give her when you think no one is looking. Why are you refusing to let yourself be happy? Why are you refusing to see her gift as a positive thing? But if you choose Jo, then you choose to believe in her and just maybe believe in her gift. From what I hear you’ve seen evidence of it.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose, that debacle with Odin.’ Byrd had to admit, albeit grudgingly. He looked down and kicked at the ground. Byrd was beginning to feel like a teenager being told off by a parent.

  ‘And it worked didn’t it?’ persisted Mick. ‘It banished Odin?’

  ‘Well he certainly hasn’t ever been found. And the BNL have faded away as well.’

  ‘Look, Byrd, it’s up to you, but I hear Judith’s been sitting at your shoulder too.’

  ‘What? Judith’s dead.’

  ‘Of course she is, but she visits Jo and now you.’

  ‘Well…’ Byrd refused to be drawn into that conversation.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Look, to be harsh, you’ve got to make a decision. You can’t keep this ‘on the bus’ and ‘off the bus’ stuff going any longer. You need to commit, one way or the other. It’s not fair on Jo otherwise, keeping her hanging, hoping. If you prevaricate much longer, she’ll throw you under the sodding bus herself,’ and Mick grinned.

  Byrd gave him a long searching look. ‘You’re right. I need to make things right with Jo. Thanks, Mick,’ and Byrd stood and shook Mick’s hand.

  As Byrd left, he still didn’t know what his decision was, but he guessed he’d better make his mind up sooner rather than later. Talk about being under the microscope, but the only way to stop it was to do something about it.

  Mick was not the only person watching Byrd walk away. Harry Sykes had been walking past the gardens, when he saw the striking figure of Mick Walsh. The man had always had a presence about him, barrel chested and muscular, yet nimble of foot. Wondering what had taken place between the two men, Sykes thought he might as well try and find out.

  ‘Mick!’ he called and raised an arm.

  Looking around, Mick saw him and raised his hand in greeting. Sykes wasn’t sure if he’d receive a warm reception but decided to chance it. As the two men met and shook hands, Mick said, ‘I’d heard a rumour you’d moved to Chichester. How are you finding it?’

  ‘Oh, you know, still finding my feet. And you? How’s retirement?’

  ‘Never knew I’d be so busy,’ laughed Mick. But Sykes detected a note of forced merriment. Or was that just envy on his part?

  ‘How’s Jo?’ Sykes asked.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d know that better than me,’ Mick’s eyes narrowed. ‘Or don’t you take much notice of your DI’s?’

  ‘Of course, I just meant personally.’

  ‘Then I suggest you ask her,’ said Mick. ‘Sorry, must be off,’ and he turned on his heel and left Sykes feeling affronted.

  Sykes wondered what had made Mick so prickly. Granted they hadn’t been friends exactly all those years ago, but Mick seemed to think Sykes was fishing. Maybe he was. He wondered if Mick and Jo had something to hide. He guessed time would tell and walked off to buy himself some lunch. But if he caught a whiff of anything untoward, well he’d make it his business to find out what they were hiding.

  As soon as Sykes walked off, Mick turned to watch him. He’d never liked Sykes when they were on the task force together. There was just something ‘off’ with him. Mick always felt Sykes made his flesh creep. He was just so cold. Had no empathy for victims or their families. He was abrupt to the point of rudeness and had those dead eyes that Mick had seen in the worst of humanity - sociopaths, and psychopaths. Not that Mick was saying that’s what Sykes was, he just had the same detached attitude as them. He’d come across colleagues who had known Sykes over the years, and it seemed he’d climbed the ladder on the backs of others. Taking credit for other’s work. Pushing himself forward, ingratiating himself with senior officers. He certainly knew how to play the game; Mick gave him that. He worried for Jo working under him, but according to her she didn’t have much to do with him. But Mick knew that if she failed to find any evidence, or produce credible suspects in a case, she would be roundly criticised. Sykes himself would never take the blame, never accept criticism of his leadership, it would always be someone else’s fault.

  He’d have to keep an eye on Jo, but for now he’d keep his opinions to himself.

  Chapter 31

  That evening, Jo arrived home exhausted. Not really from the case, but from staying positive, happy and acting as though there was nothing wrong. She dumped her bag, shoes and coat and headed straight for the shower.

  As the hot needles of spray touched her skin and massaged her back and shoulders, she began to relax. She decided to wash her
hair while she was there. It was still short and messy as she’d rather grown to like the style. After Anubis hacked at it, a hairdresser in town had managed to salvage something from it and now Jo kept it short, which was much more manageable than before.

  Turning off the water and then wrapping herself in towels, she cleared the mist from the mirror on the bathroom cabinet. She yelped as instead of her face staring back at her, she was looking at Judith.

  ‘Stop with the mirrors, Judith, you keep scaring the shit out of me!’

  ‘Sorry, it’s easier for me to appear in mirrors. Anyway to business, you do realise that John Holt is not the real perpetrator, not the person behind the rapes, although he would have found it hard to persuade anyone that that was the case.’

  ‘That’s my impression. I saw something when I had a vision from Storm. A black being hovering over John Holt. She also said John seemed to change during the act of sex.’

  ‘I also think Holt was killed to stop him talking.’

  Jo nodded her agreement. ‘So do we. But how literally do we take this fallen angels procreating with humans?’

  Judith appeared to think for a moment, before starting, ‘Biblical stories are often fantastical, unbelievable and sometimes confusing when it comes to interpreting their meaning. Of the apocryphal biblical texts, I understand there are few more enigmatic and fascinating than the Book of Enoch.’

  ‘Do some believe that, Judith? Beings from outer space?’

  ‘To be honest I’m not sure, but I’ll tell you things have happened this year that I’d never imagined in heaven or earth. I’m not the font of all knowledge, Jo, I can’t answer your questions about the Book of Enoch. Has the curate shed any light on it?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware, but Jill is liaising with him.’

  ‘Oh, is that what you call it these days?’

  ‘What? OMG No! Really? I thought she looked a bit doe eyed at him.’

  ‘Looks that way. At the very least she’s developing rather an interest in all things Cathedral.’

  ‘And on that happy note I’m going to get dressed and dry my hair before I catch my death.’

  As Jo went to get dressed, she wished her young DC well. Everyone in this game needed someone to lean on every now and again. At least if she lost Eddie, she’d always have Mick.

  Chapter 32

  The Watcher moved among the shadows of the night. Along the lanes and alleyways, where he merged into the darkness, flitting here and there. All the time attuned to the small changes in the forces protecting his son. He would stay close. Guarding him. Watching over him. He was confident that Edith would look after Damien. A rather fitting name. A stroke of genius from Edith. He would continue watching over him for the first few months of his life, leave him with his mother. Then strike. Take him. For a son needed his father.

  John Holt was gone and the police were focused on his death, trying to find his killer. But they would never find him. The Watcher left behind no clues. Nothing of himself. And anyway they couldn’t actually find him and arrest him, for to all intents and purposes he didn’t exist. For after all he wasn’t human. He could come and go as he pleased, and they would see nothing but shadows. Feel nothing but a slight change in the air as he passed. Teasing. Frightening. Invisible.

  Holt was nothing but a patsy. A stupid man who had been bought for a few measly pounds. It never ceased to amaze him how stupid some humans were. Blinded by sex, money, or violence. Whatever it took to buy their co-operation. And usually it didn’t take very much at all. Holt had deserved all he got. Which in the end, of course, was nothing.

  Halloween had been a good night’s work for all that. Two out of the three women pregnant. Shame about the woman that died. Not that her death meant anything to him per se. It was just that she represented a lost chance for another child. Still mustn’t be greedy, he thought.

  As the first few fingers of dawn broke through the shadows, he returned to his place atop the Cathedral, settling on his perch, becoming one with the stone. Just another gargoyle, one amongst many. Watching over the city that had become his own.

  Abbey mumbled in her sleep and turned over, her arm reaching for the cot and her baby, before falling back on the bed as she relaxed once more. Her blond hair spread over the pillow was damp at the roots and her eyes under the closed lids jumped this way and that. Her body, clad in pyjamas, had slimmed down after the birth of Damien. Her skin, having the elasticity of youth, had contracted over her stomach, only leaving a few faint stretch marks.

  Her dream was becoming more of a nightmare. In it she fought off those who would take her son from her. Invisible beings with evil in their souls. But she fought like the devil himself to keep her son safe. For the first time in her life she was responsible for someone other than herself. She recognised that finally she had grown up. Her baby deserved the best from his mother, and she was ready to take up that challenge.

  Chapter 33

  By the middle of January, after the Christmas celebrations were over, when all looked cold and frozen from the wind blowing in from the sea, Jo was finding it hard to be positive. She was disappointed in the team’s progress with the recent rapes and murders, or rather lack of it. The problem was that only Jo seemed to think that someone, or something, had killed John Holt. Everyone else was happy with the heart attack from natural causes theory. She was about to have a meeting with Sykes about her cases and wasn’t looking forward to it.

  She entered his office with some trepidation. Jo still didn’t feel that comfortable with the new DCI even though it had been a while since he’d joined them. He kept himself apart, watching over his teams rather than interacting with them. He was so different from Alex, although Jo realised, she had to stop comparing them. Maybe that was why she hadn’t warmed to their new boss, she still hankered after the old one. But Sykes did nothing to make the teams like him. It wasn’t just Jo, other DI’s felt the same way as she did. He was a bit of a queer fish most thought. Maybe the line that he wanted to move south for weather and the beaches was just a load of bullshit. Perhaps he was told to leave Manchester and had been relocated somewhere else. No one in Chichester had any contacts in the Greater Manchester police force, so if there were any rumours surrounding his transfer, they hadn’t heard any.

  Sykes got straight to it and wanted to talk about the rapes last Halloween.

  Pulling her mind away from speculations, Jo said to Sykes, ‘Storm and Suki both know that Holt is dead and will never bother them again. They’ll never stumble across him, never have to confront the man that violated them. He is gone, never to return.’

  ‘Ah, but is he the rapist?’

  ‘Well,’ Jo started carefully, ‘All the forensic testing has come back, the inquest open and closed and both Storm and Suki identified John Holt as their attacker.’

  ‘Remind me about the DNA again?’ Sykes sat back in his chair and regarded Jo with shrewd eyes. Another habit that felt to Jo as though he was keeping himself separate. Backing away from close physical contact with anyone.

  ‘Holt’s DNA didn’t match the DNA found in the semen taken from the three victims.’

  ‘That’s how I remembered it. So was he really our man?’ The unspoken criticism that Jo had identified the wrong suspect hung in the air.

  ‘I admit we’ve still not managed a match with any DNA in our databanks.

  ‘Which meant we can’t formally confirm that Holt had been the rapist and murderer. One of the girls didn’t make it, remember.’

  There it was. Out in the open. But Jo wasn’t finished.

  ‘On the other hand both Suki and Storm had his skin cells under their fingernails and hairs from his head and pubic hairs were lifted from their bodies. They also said they rang 999 straight after he attacked them.

  ‘Maybe they were confused?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Perhaps they had another client after him but because of the attack had got confused as to who did what.’

  ‘T
here’s never been an indication of that, Sir.’ Jo was adamant.

  ‘But you have to admit it is a possibility.’

  ‘Well, yes, but…’

  Sykes cut her off. ‘In that case, there’s still a murdering rapist out there somewhere and you haven’t caught him yet.’ Sykes was silent for a moment. Then he sat up in his chair and closed the file on his desk. ‘You can’t close the case. Keep trying to match the DNA. We need a result on this one, Jo.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ She knew this case was turning out to be a black mark against her and she felt that Sykes wouldn’t hesitate to throw her to the wolves if he got the chance. She was getting a bit fed up with the constant criticism. A bit of praise now and then wouldn’t go amiss.

  Chapter 34

  Jo and Byrd had spoken little on the short drive to where Suki still lived. She thought he looked tired. There were dark smudges under his eyes and he hadn’t shaved that morning. As they got out of the car, she teased, ‘Ran out of time this morning, did you? Or is this the new Byrd?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Just wondered if you were aiming for designer stubble.’

  Byrd smiled. ‘Ah this,’ he said as his hand rasped over his chin. ‘Ran out of time to shave this morning, that’s all. Why? Do you like it?’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Jo. ‘Not sure that it’s an improvement.’

  She was stopped from saying anything else, as Suki opened the door at Byrd’s knock.

  ‘Hey, Suki, how are you?’ Byrd said. ‘We’d like a chat with you if that’s alright?’

  ‘Oh right, come in then.’

  They were shown into a messy, but homely living room with plenty of evidence of the student inhabitants. Magazines and newspapers were strewn around, the tv was on with the sound turned down, so the super shiny couple on the morning programme were reduced to a background babble. Suki collected mugs and plates in an attempt to tidy up.