The Gathering Man (A DI Erica Swift Thriller Book 7)

by M K Farrar

  “You’re right.” She smiled. “I don’t have anything to lose.”

  “Did you mention you were coming here to your parents?”

  “No, I didn’t. I just told them I was going out.”

  He nodded in approval. “Probably best if it stays that way, don’t you think? You know what parents can be like. They like to interfere in everything.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, they do,” she agreed. “How often do you meet up?”

  “We’re here every evening, but you’re not expected to come that often. It’s more that you know where we are, should you need us.”

  Should you need us.

  The words sang in her heart. Having actual people she could see every evening instead of sitting alone in her bedroom sounded like absolute heaven. She didn’t want to tell them all about the bullying, not wanting them to see her as any more of a loser than she already was, but it didn’t matter. Even if she couldn’t talk about it, she could talk to them about their lives and what they liked. She’d even listen to more of the mumbo jumbo if it kept everyone happy. All she really wanted was to be around people who accepted her.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll tell my parents I’m going to a friend’s house.”

  Her mum would be too busy being pleased that Bethany had a friend to spend time with that she wouldn’t ask any more questions than finding out a name.

  “That’s wonderful, Bethany. We really are happy to have you join us. We have a gift for you as well.”

  “You do?”

  He placed a necklace over her head. “This is to remind you that you’re no longer alone.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Shawn arrived at the pub to meet his cousin. He’d gone home first and changed into jeans, trainers, and a hoody, so he could blend in. He hadn’t wanted to show up in his work clothes, feeling like the suit would signal him out, make it seem as though he thought he was better than everyone else.

  He pushed open the door to a reasonably quiet pub. It was Thursday night, and most of the partygoers hadn’t yet got things revved up for the weekend. The place smelled of stale smoke—despite there having been a ban on indoor smoking in place for some time now—and spilled beer. A couple of people sat at tall stools at the bar, and a few of the tables were also taken.

  He cast his gaze around for Trevor and spotted him sitting at a table in the corner. Trev noticed him, too, and lifted his hand in a wave.

  Shawn headed over. It had been some time since he’d last seen his cousin, but Trev didn’t look much different. He wondered if Trevor thought the same about him.

  Trevor rose and stuck his hand out to Shawn. They gripped hands but then pulled each other in for a clap on the back.

  “Hey, man,” Trev said. “Thanks for coming. What can I get you to drink?”

  Shawn half turned back towards the bar. “No worries, I’ll get them.”

  “Shut up and sit down. It’s the least I can do. What’s it going to be?”

  Shawn shrugged. “Just a pint would be good.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Shawn sat in the chair opposite and waited while Trevor went up to the bar. He returned shortly with two pints of amber liquid with white foamy heads. He put them on the table, and some beer slopped out of the glasses. His movements were rushed and jerky, and Shawn thought he seemed nervous about something. Shawn guessed he would find out what was bothering him soon enough.

  “So, how’s it been going?” Trev asked him.

  Shawn shrugged and picked up his drink and took a gulp. “Good. Busy with work. Just the usual. How about you?”

  “Yeah, same.” He drank some of his beer and wiped his hand over his mouth. “You remember my kid, Rocco?”

  “Of course. How old is he now?”

  “He just turned fourteen.”

  Shawn had to stop his jaw from dropping. “Fourteen! How the hell do you have a fourteen-year-old?”

  “I know, right? It wasn’t intentional, me having him so young. He was the result of me doing stupid shit when I was not much older than Rocco is now.” He shook his head wistfully. “Thought I was invincible and that nothing bad would ever happen to me. Not that Rocco is bad, but when I was sixteen and found out I had a baby, I thought my world had ended.”

  By sixteen, Shawn had already been separating himself from the group, knowing that if he carried on hanging around with his old school friends, he’d get caught up in something that would mark his whole future.

  “His mother is stressed to hell about him right now,” Trev continued.

  Shawn frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Rocco has got himself caught up in some stuff.”

  Kids were getting into trouble younger and younger these days.

  “What kind of trouble is he in?”

  “Gangs. Drugs. I don’t want that life for him. I’d hoped for better, you know. I’ve tried to talk to him so many times. I’ve grounded him, and he’s just laughed in my face and walked out. Rocco’s as tall as I am now, and he knows I can’t physically stop him. I’m completely lost on what I should do with him.”

  Shawn pursed his lips. “I’m not really sure what you’re asking me to do, Trev.”

  He exhaled a breath of frustration. “I don’t really know. I don’t want him nicked or anything. Maybe you could just have a word, give him some examples of some of the stuff you’ve seen, and how going down the road he is will ruin his life.”

  “Do you really think he’ll take any notice of me? He’s a kid who probably thinks the police are the enemy.”

  “That’s the beauty of it, though. I thought if I tell him that you’re family, it’ll make him see that his way of life isn’t the only route he can go down.”

  “What about you?” Shawn asked? “Can’t you show him that, too?”

  Trev glanced away. “Nah, I’ve done time. Stupid shit—possession and robbery. That’s the problem. How can I tell him not to do stuff like that when I’ve already done it myself?”

  “Seeing you go to prison wasn’t enough of a deterrent?”

  He shrugged. “The kids these days almost just assume it’s in their future somewhere. They don’t even think about the possibility of doing something different. That’s why I thought of you. You broke through the mould, and look at you now, on the other side of the law.”

  Shawn couldn’t see any reason why he wouldn’t go and talk to Trev’s boy. He doubted the kid would take much notice of him, but maybe it would make him think twice about getting into trouble. Shawn had done similar things before, going into inner city schools and speaking to the older classes about the dangers of gangs and drugs. He’d been heckled plenty of times during those talks, many of the teens disgusted at even the sight of a police officer, but in his mind, if only one of the kids paid attention to what he’d said, and perhaps even changed their life because of it, it was worth every minute.

  “Okay, sure. I can talk to your boy. Do you want me to come over to your house one evening?”

  Trev screwed up his nose. “It would be better if he doesn’t know I’ve spoken to you. He might take things a bit more seriously if he thinks he’s actually in trouble, without him being in trouble, if you see what I mean.”

  Shawn raised his eyebrows. “You want me to fake arrest him?”

  “Something like that. Then give him a talk, explain that you could have been on the same track, but you made some different choices.”

  “I can try, but I’m not sure he’ll listen. It might mean more to him if he knows I’m a relative.”

  “Maybe we can try that if the first way doesn’t work out. I mean, it’s not like we can do it the other way around.”

  He had a point.

  Shawn sighed but gave in. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot. Where can I find him?”

  “You know the industrial estate behind the garages where we all used to hang out?”

  Shawn snorted. “Jesus, they’re not all
still spending time around there, are they?”

  “Yeah, when they’re not in one of their bedrooms, that is.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Trev blew out a relieved breath. “Cheers, bro. I really appreciate it.”

  Shawn lifted his glass and drained his beer, and tried not to worry about what he might have just got himself into.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Erica got into work that Friday morning to find a message saying that Professor Hauge had phoned.

  She immediately called back the number he’d left.

  “Professor Hauge,” he answered.

  “Hi, it’s Erica Swift. You called and left a message.”

  “Yes, DI Swift. How are you?”

  “Anxious to find out if you’ve learnt anything that can help me,” she replied.

  “Of course.”

  She heard the smile in his voice.

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m on the right track,” he said, “but I thought I’d let you know what my thoughts are anyway.”

  “At this point, I’m happy to hear anything.”

  “Very well. I believe I might know what the symbol is. The reason it hasn’t come up on any searches is because it’s a combination of two different ones. It’s made up of the Christian cross down the middle, with the circles being what I believe may be a symbol for energy.”

  “Have you seen anything like this before?”

  “Not combined together like this. Have you got copies of the pictures you left with me at hand?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, quickly pulling them up on her computer screen.

  “Do you see how they’re cut so one laps over the other? That’s what makes them so hard to recognise at first. It might have been easier if I’d seen them drawn on paper, but skin and a blade isn’t exactly a precise medium.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I’ve drawn them out myself, as I believe they might appear, and done a reverse image search online. Something did come up.”

  She sat forward expectantly. “It did?”

  “I found them in an article written online by a Derek Bushwell. He talks about a belief system called The Second Law, which I understand as being based around the second law of thermodynamics, which states that in a closed system, energy cannot decrease. Much of what he says fits in with your theory of this being cult related.”

  Erica scribbled down the name, her pulse picking up with anticipation. Could this Derek Bushwell be who they were looking for?

  But then Professor Hauge brought her back down to earth again.

  “I don’t know how much good it’s going to be for you,” he said.

  “Why won’t it be much use?”

  “The man who wrote the article died seven years ago.”

  “Shit.” She had to stop herself from throwing something in frustration. When the hell were they going to catch a break? “Can you send me the link?”

  “Already done.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you taking the time to look into that for me. Hopefully, with a little more digging, we can find someone who still has a heartbeat who we can track down.”

  “Good luck.”

  He ended the call, and Erica set her phone to one side. This was progress, she reminded herself. Derek Bushwell obviously couldn’t have been their killer, but maybe she could find some link to him that could be followed.

  Erica brought up the article and read it with interest.

  The Second Law centred around the belief that the entire universe is all part of one energy, an energy that cannot be created or destroyed, but that can be changed into something else. This was not so much a belief, he claimed, but a scientific fact. With that being the case, it meant that God was also a part of that one energy, and that by absorbing enough energy, a person could also become God. That energy needed to be willingly given over, transferred, if you like, to another person, and when a person donated their energy, their soul automatically ascended into Heaven.

  Erica paused and shook her head. “What a load of crap.”

  People could just make up whatever the hell they wanted, and some desperate person would buy into it.

  Shawn pushed a cup of coffee onto her desk. “Everything all right?”

  She smiled up at him gratefully. “I think so. How did it go with your cousin?”

  “It was fine. Good to see him again.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Just to catch up.”

  Was it her imagination or was Shawn acting cagey about it?

  “I think we might have a new lead,” she said, switching her focus back to work. “Professor Hauge put me onto an article that was written by a Derek Bushwell about a belief system called The Second Law. Featured in the article is the same mark that was cut into Stacey Ford’s skin. Trouble is, the author died eight years ago, so we can’t exactly go and have a chat with him.”

  Shawn propped himself on the edge of the desk. “Maybe not, but there must be other ways to find out more about him.”

  “Agreed. Did he have family? Children? Did he have followers? From what I can tell from the article, he wasn’t a leader of a cult or anything like that, he just seemed to have an interest in it.”

  “But he must have found out his information from somewhere,” Shawn said, “so he must have had contacts within the cult.”

  “That’s my thinking as well.” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe a poor girl was killed over this nonsense. Whoever their leader is must have convinced her that by dying she’d go to Heaven and that her energy would help him become God?”

  Shawn tutted his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That’s insane.”

  “No less insane than almost forty people killing themselves because they thought a UFO would take them up to Heaven.” She remembered what the professor had told her. “And there are plenty more stories like that one, too.”

  “And now it seems we have one of these men and his followers here in East London. If the leader believes that by his followers dying, he’ll become God, what’s to stop him convincing someone else to do the same?”

  A chill ran through her. “Absolutely nothing. That’s what worries me.”

  Could he have done this before? Maybe Stacey Ford hadn’t been the first? But Erica had had one of her detectives search past files for any signs of similar cases, and nothing had come up. That didn’t mean there hadn’t been others, of course. The cut symbols on the skin might be a new thing, and whoever came before them had looked like a suicide. It might even have been a suicide, but with a manipulative person pulling the trigger behind the scenes.

  Erica got to her feet and raised her voice to call over the general hubbub of the office. “I need your attention, everyone. I believe we may have a name for the cult we’re after. It could be The Second Law or some variation on that. We also have a name, a Mr Derek Bushwell, who had a connection to someone within the cult. Unfortunately, Mr Bushwell died eight years ago, but I still want everyone on this. Find out about his family, his friends, who his contacts were. We need to find out everything we can about The Second Law. Where do they meet? Who are their members? How do they recruit? I’m not saying it’s going to be easy—they are notoriously secretive—but there has to be someone out there who knows something, and we have to find them.”

  ERICA TOOK HER LUNCH at her desk, not wanting to miss anything, though the more hours that passed without them finding anything, the more her hope waned.

  There didn’t seem to be anything about a cult called The Second Law online.

  There was secretive, and then there was practically non-existent.

  From across the office, DC Howard got her attention. “Boss, I’ve tracked down Derek Bushwell’s sister. I’ve got her on the phone now.”

  “Can you transfer the call?” she asked. “What’s her name?”

  “Lynn Bushwell. She never married. I’m putting the call over now.”

  Erica clicked the fla
shing button for the right line. “Miss Bushwell, my name is Erica Swift. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.”

  The woman’s voice on the end of the line sounded older. “I’m sorry, Detective, but I really don’t know what help I can be. Derek died many years ago, and it wasn’t as though we were close when he was alive.”

  “Does the name The Second Law mean anything to you?”

  She released a breath. “Yes, it does, but only in that it was something Derek was interested in. He always got himself involved in crazy ideas and got obsessed with them until he got bored or disillusioned and moved on to the next thing.”

  “Do you know if he ever met anyone from The Second Law?”

  “He probably did, but I really wouldn’t know any names or anything.”

  “What about meeting places, anything like that?”

  “Sorry.”

  Erica tried to hold back her frustration. “What happened to Derek’s belongings after he died? Is there any chance you might have kept any of it, maybe notepads or even a laptop?”

  “All of Derek’s stuff was junk. I’m afraid I got rid of it all.”

  Of course you did, she felt like saying bitterly.

  “What about friends or other family members? Did he have any relationships with women? Might there be someone else you could put me in touch with?”

  “Derek was a real hermit. He didn’t like other people’s company, as a rule. I was surprised when he started getting involved with things like that.”

  “But you don’t know anyone who might have spoken to him about it?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “If he was a hermit, how did he support himself?”