“I'd like Wales to be independent. I'd like the church to be pure, the way it was. I'd like you lot to go back where you came from.” The bishop yanked the head of his captive back, pulling off the hood.
“How is your hostage? Can we speak to her?”
Yvonne held her breath.
“She doesn't want to speak to you.”
“Is she alive?”
At least Rainer was asking the questions Yvonne would have asked.
“She's alive, for now. Maybe ask me again in ten minutes.” He gave a laugh which didn't sound convincing and Yvonne wondered, for the first time, whether the man in the boat was having a touch of self-doubt. In the distance, she could hear the swipe-swipe-swipe of the helicopter on stand-by, and knew it must be close. She was glad of its presence but frustrated by the level of noise. The thumping in her chest was a painful reminder of her desperation, and she fought the urge to throw up again.
Dr. Rainer continued. “Why don't you let the hostage go?”
A growl came from deep in the bishop's throat. He grabbed Tasha, and dragged her, roughly, to the edge of the boat. Now, fully visible, it was clear that not only was her head hooded and her hands bound behind her, but her ankles were also tied and a bag of something heavy attached. If he threw her over, she was dead. They'd never get to her in time.
“Wait!” Yvonne snatched the phone from the psychiatrist before anyone could stop her. “Dafydd, It's DI Yvonne Giles. I know they let you down, those people who dared to call themselves members of the clergy. They voted for female bishops and voted for gay people to wear the cloth. How could they have done that? Right?”
“Yvonne, what the hell are you doing?” Llewelyn's eyes flashed lightening at her. She didn't care.
The bishop paused at the edge of the boat, his victim held tight against him, his knife to her throat. “They didn't deserve to wear their collars.”
“Why did they even join the church?” she agreed.
“Probably didn't know what else to do with themselves. The words were delivered with a savageness, underlining his intent.
“You're playing a very dangerous game, Yvonne.” The DCI threw the words from behind clenched teeth.
The DI handed the phone back to Rainer, and glared back at the DCI. “I'm sorry, sir, but he was about to throw Dr. Phillips in the lake, you know he was. We wouldn't get to her in time to save her. I think there's a problem with the bishop's mental health. I don't think he's rational. There's something more than just his beliefs going on here.”
“You are not the trained negotiator.” His tone was firm.
“The man whom Lewis' father and brothers describe is not the same man we are dealing with here. I think we should play to his tune for as long as it takes to get Tasha back safe. I also think we should find his estranged daughter.” Yvonne looked over at Rainer and could see that she had support. This relaxed her a little, Rainer got it.
The officers from the North Wales and Cheshire Armed Response Unit were getting twitchy. More calls that they had a clear shot. The DI thought about the people she had met on that quiet, windswept farm in Pembroke. She really felt the bishop had a mental health issue. To kill him now would be to deny him treatment.
She grabbed DI Garside's arm. “Please, ask them to wait.”
Once again, Paul Garside asked his team to hold their nerve. DCI Llewelyn took Yvonne to one side. “Look, don't think I don't know what you're going through. It's not really any different for us. We don't know what physical shape Dr. Phillips is in. At some point, someone is going to have to pull the trigger. It seems to me, Bishop Lewis came with one purpose in mind.”
“I don't know...I don't know...can they really guarantee they won't hurt Tasha, if they take the shot? He's moving around quite a bit. He may be deranged, but he's not stupid. Anyway, I just thought we ought to give him a chance...a chance to get treatment.”
“He killed Meirwen Ellis, he has come here with the sole purpose of killing Tasha, and doing it very publicly. Just look at the news teams, over on the bridge.”
Yvonne looked over, and saw the throng, and sighed. Perhaps the DCI was right. Perhaps there would be no saving the bishop. Meirwen had been female and vulnerable, just like Tasha. Mental health or no, this man would have no compunction about dispatching another female.
Yvonne looked the DCI in the eyes. “Chris, we cannot risk Tasha's life.”
“What do you suggest we do?”
“We've got a chopper on standby, right?”
“About a quarter of a mile away.”
“What if we use it to get him off guard?”
“I doubt the noise would distract him for more than a millisecond, Yvonne.”
“I meant fly it at him, or at least, fly it at speed across the lake, right over his head.”
“What if he drops Tasha in the lake from shock?”
“Well what do you suggest?”
“I suggest we run your idea past Garside.”
They were at it again, that little huddle, the DCI, Rainer and Garside. Yvonne sighed heavily.
When the DCI rejoined her, his gaze was intense. “We're going to go for it. We're going to bloody go for it. Are you sure you want to see this, Yvonne?”
“Yes. I'm not leaving.”
DI Garside came over to Yvonne's side. He shook her hand and apologised for not having spoken properly with her earlier.
Dr. Rainer spoke into her phone. “Bishop, will you let us bring you and your captive back in? You'll have hot food, and can talk to us about your worries and grievances. We can get you help.”
“I don't need help. I don't need anything from you. What I need is for governments to listen, for Wales to be properly independent, and for England to stop using Wales for its own ends. They'll be turning us into one big wind-farm next. I want to stop the selling off of church property, and all bishops should be males.”
“Ask him why he killed his own clergy,” DCI Llewelyn instructed Rainer.
“Bishop Lewis, will you tell us why you killed your own colleagues?”
“They were letting the changes in. Voting for them. Relaxing the rules over everything.”
“What about Griff Roberts?” Llewelyn nudged Rainer. Yvonne knew this was to gain closure for the next of kin.
“Why did you kill Griff?” Rainer looked uncomfortable with this line of questioning.
“Griff Roberts? I thought he was my friend. He told me he was voting against the allowing of female bishops. He lied. He voted for them. I did the maths, the coward must have voted for.”
Of course, Yvonne could see it now, Della Roberts had told her that Griff had been a lay-member of the church. So that was it, he'd voted for female bishops and sealed his fate.
DI Garside barked instructions to his team. From somewhere behind, Yvonne could hear the increasingly loud swipe–swipe–swipe of the helicopter. Dewi came and held her arm. She was grateful, he knew how to reassure her.
“Can we bring you in, Bishop?” Rainer asked again.
“It's time.” The bishop stood fully up in the boat, hoisting his captive to the edge. His words were drowned out, as the chopper whirred overhead, shooting out over the lake, directly above the cabin-boat.
It worked: the bishop ducked, loosening the grip on his captive, who took her chance to pull away.
One shot. One shot rang out over the lake. The bishop dropped. No further movement was seen from him.
Yvonne felt relief and sadness, there were no winners in a situation like this, and yet she was glad for her friend. The shaking, which she had worked so hard to hide, was no longer controllable, and she sat on the ground, shivering.
A call came through on Dewi's mobile and he moved back, to a quieter spot, to take it. The news he relayed was no surprise to them now.
“It's ballistics, ma'am. The gun we found in Pembroke is the one that killed Griff Roberts and George Jones.”
57
Kelly was cutting deals again, her face animated as she ne
gotiated, over her mobile phone, in the hospital restroom. Yvonne finished her coffee and waved at her, heading in the direction of the corridor that would take her to Tasha's bedside.
The grin which met her couldn't have been wider, and Yvonne matched it with one of her own. Running to her friend, she gave her probably the biggest hug she'd ever given anyone.
“You were pretty impressive out there.” Tasha pushed at Yvonne's arm.
“I was?”
“Acting like you supported his stance on female bishops.”
“You heard that?”
“Sure, the phone was on loud-speaker. I heard pretty much everything...well, bits of everything. It was clearer when he took my hood off.”
“I got impatient.”
“I had a feeling you would.”
“I thought it the best chance of bringing him in alive.”
Tasha gave a wry smile. “I know. I feel it too...the sadness. The whole sorry mess, such a waste of life, both for the victims and the perp.”
“I'm probably on disciplinary.” Yvonne pulled a face.
Tasha laughed inspite of herself. “You never learn...”
“Says you, who took the hump with the DCI and went looking for trouble at Llyn Celyn.”
“I didn't know if you'd been involved in that decision. I was more annoyed with you than the DCI.”
“Not guilty. I gave the DCI what for, when I found out.”
“I thought you would. After I'd cooled right down, I knew you wouldn't have supported his decision. I was so bloody-minded, going off like that.”
“You took a helluva risk.”
“Says you, who got yourself kidnapped by the 'Sadist'.”
“Guess we're one-all...”
“Touché.”
“Not funny.”
“We've got to promise not to go risking ourselves like that again...ever.”
“Think we'll get to work together again?”
“Of course...”
“Fine by me.” Yvonne laughed. “How long will you be in for?”
“Hoping to be out tomorrow. They're treating me for dehydration and a cracked collar-bone. Other than that, I'm good to go.”
They were making light of it, but when their eyes met, there was a shared understanding of what they had been through. They were sat in a comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts, when Kelly walked in, apologising for having been away so long. Yvonne decided it was time to go, and squeezed her friend's hand before leaving the ward.
A week later, Yvonne was having morning coffee with Dewi.
“I still haven't properly caught up on my sleep.” Dewi finished his drink, leaning back in his chair.
“I'm feeling better than I was.” Yvonne replied. “But a mini-break might be in order.”
They were about to exit the tea-room when a smiling Tasha, fresh from the hospital, came through the door and plonked herself down. “Too late for coffee?” she asked, fake pouting.
“Put the kettle on, Dewi, we'll have another one,” Yvonne giggled.
“I've been looking at the pathologist's report, for Dafydd Lewis.” The smile had disappeared from Tasha's face.
“The DCI let you do that?” Yvonne was open-mouthed.
“A copy was given to Rainer, I sweet-talked her into seeing it...”
“Oh, you did, did you? I haven't even seen it, yet.” Yvonne placed her hands on her hips.
“You probably won't now,” Dewi interjected. “The case is closed.”
“Well, yes, I suppose it is.” Yvonne turned her attention back to Tasha. “What are your thoughts?”
“It's suspected that the bishop suffered with epilepsy.”
“Epilepsy, really?”
“Yes, really. It comes in a myriad of forms and strengths, but the bishop may have had a mild case which can turn a normally easy-going person into an obsessive fanatic.”
“And it had been undiagnosed?”
“It usually develops in later life. A sufferer can change from someone who is laid-back, with not a care in the world – no particular proclivities - to someone who will stand on street corners, trying to convince all-and-sundry to see the world from their new-found point-of-view. They go through an 'enlightenment', and want to convince everyone else they ought to go through it, too.”
“Are you on the level, here?” Yvonne asked.
“Straight up. The really sad part is that with medication, the sufferer can lead a completely normal life: no obsessions, no shouting from the roof-tops, no murder-sprees.”
“So, if our bishop's condition had been recognised, there would have been no victims...all those people...still alive.”
“Absolutely.”
“Were GPs negligent?”
“Not at all. In order to be diagnosed, you've got to present with symptoms, go see your GP, and be referred to a specialist etc. Thing is, Bishop Lewis lived alone. He saw his family, but only every now and again. There was no-one to spot what was going on, and suggest he see a doctor.”
“I see...”
“Other people are our mirrors. We see ourselves through their eyes. Their reactions give us insight into who we are, how we come across.”
“And for that to happen, there's got to be someone noticing the change.”
“Exactly.” Tasha gave a sad smile. “Various members of the clergy - vicars, vergers, Griff Roberts – knew something wasn't right, but didn't see enough of the bishop's general behaviour, or know enough of his past, to put the pieces together.”
Yvonne leaned forward, elbows on the table, her hands wrapped around her mug, eyes watching the swirling patterns ebb and flow on the surface of her drink. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, looking from Tasha, to Dewi, and back again. “We've learned so much from this case, and now we learn that our killer was, perhaps, also a victim. I hadn't allowed for that, until those last few minutes, there on the lake. I'd gotten used to thinking of him as evil. I hope all of those who died rest in peace.”
“Amen,” Dewi and Tasha said in unison.
THE END
© Anna-marie Morgan. All rights reserved. 2016
Edited: David Burton, Economyedits.
Cover: SelfPubBookCovers. com/Shardel
Created with Vellum
For my little boy, Christopher, and all who have faith in me.
1
We have a total wipeout.”
“Everyone?”
“Even the dog.”
Yvonne closed her eyes. Seconds passed. “How many?”
“Five, by the looks of it, ma'am: Mum, two daughters, the father, and son. Plus the dog.”
“Walk me through it.”
DC Callum Jones squeezed past the DI, leading the way to the bedrooms. “No signs of forced entry. We think the father killed the mother first.”?
Yvonne stared down at the double bed. The woman's face was peaceful, as though asleep, the duvet tucked under her chin. Below this, the cover was a ragged, bloody mess.
She'd been shot at close range with a twelve-bore. Blood spatter had reached three of the four bedroom walls. Tiny spots littered the ceiling. The DI held her breath until she gasped. There were no words.
Stony-faced, DC Jones walked out onto the landing. He turned to check she was following, his sunken eyes a warning of what was to come.
The children's room was further down the long landing. Two small girls, around five or six, shared a double bed. They lay facing each other, their duvet tucked under their chins. Just as with their mother, the cover was a crimson mess.
The little boy, no older than four, lay in his single bed. Eyes closed. Duvet tucked under his chin. Yvonne put a hand to her mouth, as a tear teased its way down her cheek. She stood, a clinically-suited intruder, on a scene peppered my forensic markers, wishing she could click her fingers and turn back time. Go back and save these beautiful children and their mother.
She pulled down her mask and took a deep breath, her legs melting away beneath her. She would have fallen were
it not for DC Jones, who put a hand on her elbow.
“The father's in the kitchen.” His voice now barely a whisper, he led her back the way they had come.
Mr Davies lay crumpled over the kitchen island, the back of his head missing. The shotgun next to him, covered in blood. Blood and brain matter littered the wall behind. The DI stood in the doorway whilst SOCO worked the room.
“He has spatter on his t-shirt which is not consistent with his injuries.” Callum pulled his mask down to address her.
“From his family?”
“More than likely.”
“I've asked the team to begin digging into Ben Davies' financial background and contact social services to find out if the family were on their radar.”?
“How desperate must a man be to destroy himself and his family?”
“If he did...” Yvonne stood very still, lips pursed.
“Well, everything we've seen so far would fit that narrative.”
“I know, but it's all a bit snug.”
“Ma'am?”
“Oh, I don't know. Something doesn't feel quite right. It's just...I have a nephew and niece of similar ages and I have almost never seen them sleeping so neatly tucked up. Especially Tom, my nephew. He always throws the bedclothes off.”?
“It was a cool night.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose it was.” Yvonne shrugged.
Dewi came in from the garden. “Nothing disturbed out there, that we can see. Fingertip search is underway.”
“Thanks, Dewi.”
As the DI left the house, she turned to face it, still feeling uncomfortable. The eight-bedroom property had a CCTV camera on each front corner. A smaller camera monitored the the front porch. The double gates behind her had been closed and padlocked, presumably by Mr Davies. They'd had to use bolt cutters to gain access.
As she looked back at the peaceful view towards Knighton, in the Welsh marches, the DI vaguely recalled the bones of a family-wipeout case that had occurred near Shrewsbury. The West Mercia force had dealt with it a few months back. That case had involved a mum, dad, children and family dog. She'd read about it in in the local press. She resolved to phone the detectives who'd worked the case.
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