Sacrifice

by Jay Nadal

  With her dismembered and stored away in containers, he stepped out into the cold night air and felt the chill penetrate the deepest corners of his lungs as he inhaled. Chills raced down his spine as the adrenaline wore off. He’d connected with the spirits tonight and offered the gods a gift, in return for good fortune and wealth.

  He decided he’d return soon as he disappeared back into the darkness.

  23

  As he raced into work, Scott decided the morning couldn’t have gone better. Helen had worked through most of the night. Despite drawing a blank with the CCTV footage near Palace Pier, she had gotten a hit on the purchasers of the red camping blankets. Two shoppers had used debit cards, a Stephen Casey, and Daniel Johnson. Helen had already dispatched officers to the house of Stephen Casey to enquire about his purchase.

  The second shopper raised Helen’s interest following further investigations. She had identified that he shared the same residential details as Barry Johnson, the caretaker that Scott and Abby had visited yesterday. Daniel turned out to be Barry’s son.

  As Scott burst through the doors of the incident room, Helen and Abby were sharing Helen’s PC and examining further details.

  “A credible lead?” Scott asked as he threw off his jacket and tossed it on the nearest desk. Abby sat back and allowed Helen to debrief him. “Cotswold, an outdoor camping store on Western Road, sold two of the blankets in the last few weeks. Unfortunately, they only keep CCTV for a week. They didn’t have video footage, but they could provide me with the transaction details. I’m still waiting to pull out more on the individual, but eighteen months ago he received two cautions from us with the RSPCA, for cruelty to animals.”

  Helen paused for a moment whilst she reviewed details on her screen. “In particular, he was cautioned for shooting birds with an air rifle. He’s kicked a cat, and been found in possession of a large penknife. Neighbours complained of a smell emanating from Johnson’s back garden. When the police arrived, they found evidence of blood. Daniel claimed it resulted from two cats fighting. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any evidence to prosecute.”

  “I know uniform are looking into the case of cruelty to animals and animal abduction, so I will pass this on to the officer in question,” Abby added.

  No sooner had Helen provided Scott with an update, than he grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, Abby hot on his heels.

  Johnson’s house appeared empty as Scott and Abby milled around it. With it being a terraced house, they were unable to go around the back. They found Barry Johnson at the community hall, preparing to open up. Johnson recognised them and stood up as they approached.

  “Mr Johnson, do you have a son by the name of Daniel Johnson, aged nineteen?”

  Johnson eyed them suspiciously, his eyes darting between the two officers. He nodded, before replying, “I do. What’s he done wrong now?”

  “We are just following up a line of enquiry. We understand he made a purchase from Cotswold on Western Road. A camping blanket.”

  “More than likely.”

  “And where is Daniel?”

  Johnson shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. He’s always out camping. Away every few days. He likes prepping you see.”

  Scott furrowed his brow. “Prepping?”

  Johnson sighed and cleared his mucus from his throat. “It’s like huge in America. Prepping means preparations, I guess. It’s about preparing for a possible disaster or emergency by stockpiling food, supplies, ammunition, and all that stuff. People who like prepping like to think they can survive, they see it as a way of life.”

  Johnson grimaced before continuing.

  “Some even go camping for weeks, seeing if they can survive off the land. All that bollocks about hunting, fishing, and surviving on the basics. He was telling me that prepping is a way of life and there is always something new to learn, different tasks to do, and gear to purchase. He bought the blanket for that. Camping out somewhere.”

  “Has he been doing this long?”

  Johnson shrugged. “A good few years. To be honest, he went off the rails after his mum left. One minute she was here, next minute she was up and gone. She sneaked out one night, took all the money from Daniel’s money box, took a load of her clothes, and buggered off.”

  “And you don’t know where she went?” Abby asked.

  “Nah. There were rumours down at the pub that she met some fella and fucked off with him. See, none of my business. Good riddance. I think all this camping stuff was his way of dealing with it. He just withdrew. He didn’t wanna talk to anyone, didn’t wanna see anyone, and he’s hardly spoken to me much since. He just does his own thing.”

  “And where does he do this camping thing?”

  “Anywhere where there is open land forest. Ashdown Forest, Sussex Downs, anywhere where he won’t get disturbed.”

  Barry Johnson had been more than happy to show them Daniel’s room. Johnson had led them down a dark hallway in the small and untidy property. Scott could see the lounge to his left, and the kitchen to his right. He glimpsed opened cereal packets spread across the worktop, a sink with dirty washing, and a half-eaten sandwich sitting on a plate. A distinct smell of tobacco hung in the air, evidence of smoking all around them, as the once white ceilings were now tinged a golden yellow.

  Barry Johnson stood outside one door and nodded his head. “This is Daniel’s room.”

  Scott glanced at the door, and noticed a padlock attached to a large galvanised steel hasp and staple. He looked back at Abby, who at this point had raised an eyebrow in sheer boredom. “Does he always have this locked?”

  Johnson shrugged. “Pretty much as long as I can remember.” Before Scott could ask, he continued, “And, no I don’t have a key.”

  “We need to gain entry. Do we have your permission to break the lock and enter?”

  “Well, as long as you explain it to him later.”

  Abby took a step back to give Scott more space as he shoulder-charged the door. Despite looking fastened, the door offered little resistance as it flew back, sending the padlock scuttling across the floor. Scott asked Johnson to wait in the hallway as he entered, followed by Abby.

  Abby and Scott snapped on blue latex gloves before touching anything. The dark, musty room hadn’t been aired in many weeks. The blinds had been drawn across the windows, creating a stifling atmosphere. Every square inch of wall seemed to be adorned with posters and drawings of the occult. Many had images, signs, and symbols that Scott wasn’t familiar with, but he had seen in passing from his research.

  Shadowy black figures in dark robes were scattered amongst the images. Some were artistic in nature, others bordered on sinister. Pictures of skulls painted on human faces caught his eye before Abby beckoned him over.

  On a bookshelf above the bed, were books of the occult. Abby pointed to one titled The Encyclopaedia of the Occult, and then another titled The Occult, Witchcraft, and Magic. “Not your average reading that you pick up from the library, Guv?”

  Something caught Scott’s attention out of the corner of his eye. As Abby spoke, he nudged her arm. Their eyes were drawn to a white apron hanging off the back of the door from a hook. It resembled more a butcher’s apron, the front marked with trails of red and finger smudges. One thing they hadn’t noticed until that point was a small white fridge, no more than two feet high and tucked behind the door. A plastic tray sat on the top with a selection of small craft knives, picks, and tweezers.

  Abby took a sharp intake of breath as she stepped towards the fridge and knelt down. Light filled the darkness of the room the moment she opened the fridge door. A waft of chilled air sent a shiver through her as she glanced through the various small Tupperware containers that crammed its shelves.

  Lifting one container, the contents swished, lapping up the sides. Abby pulled back the lid. Her eyes narrowed as the initial shock took a few seconds to register before they widened and her mouth hung loose. Abby’s hand trembled, and her mouth felt tinderbox dry. �
��Fucking hell, Guv,” were the only words that escaped her lips, as she looked over her shoulder.

  Scott paused looking through Daniel’s drawers by his bedside to shoot her a look of curiosity.

  “It’s a fucking heart, a heart, for crying out loud.”

  Scott instructed her to replace it as he glanced into the fridge. If his suspicions were correct, there wouldn’t be a need to look at the other containers.

  “Mr Johnson, does anything in this room belong to you?”

  Johnson shook his head. “I’ve not been in here for years. Jesus,” he added glancing over Scott’s shoulder into the darkened room.

  “Do you know what these keys belong to?” he asked, dangling a key chain with two small keys on it.

  Johnson peered at them and shook his head.

  “We found some items that interest us. I will be organising a SOCO to conduct further investigations. For the time being this room is off limits.”

  Johnson strained his neck to peer into the darkness, curious to determine what exactly was of interest. Despite pushing Scott for further information, he sighed and wandered off towards the lounge when no answers were forthcoming.

  Scott and Abby left not long after the arrival of the SOCO. With a photo of Daniel in hand, Scott needed to get back to the press appeal.

  24

  A low rumble of muted conversations travelled around the conference room. With a bank of cameras already trained on the stage, Scott and Abby joined Detective Superintendent Meadows as he prepared his notes. The room seated twenty-five people. On this occasion there were at least the same number standing towards the back.

  Scott recognised a few familiar faces that turned up for every press conference. He nodded towards the reporter and photographer from The Argus newspaper. He had spoken to the female reporter, Tracey Collins, frequently and had found her charming and professional. Not once had he been on the receiving end of a grilling from Miss Collins. The questions had been probing, but never loaded. She had a sincerity and authenticity in the way she conducted her questioning.

  Meadows welcomed everyone and introduced Abby and Scott. He explained that Scott was the SIO in this case, and would be happy to answer questions towards the end. Meadows began by explaining the circumstances around the first death before moving on to the second victim. He spoke about both boys coming from families seeking asylum, but he fended off questions about whether the murders were connected.

  One reporter, a large gentleman obscured in the back row, dragged his heavy frame from the chair and asked if the murders were racially motivated. His well-worn, light blue shirt carried a sweat patch that ran down the centre of his back. Rough stubble and unkempt hair offered some amusement to those seated closest to him as they noticed his collar sticking up at the back. He made a point of looking around the assembled audience with an air of arrogance.

  He pointed out that sources on the estate claimed that tension had been building between the asylum seekers and locals for some time. Incidents of tit-for-tat assaults had left many residents fearful.

  Scott interrupted to highlight the ongoing nature of the case, and they were not in a position to either confirm or deny racial motives.

  The reporter continued to goad the officers as he puffed out his chest. He claimed he had knowledge of police chiefs taking a decision to not prioritise reports of racial attacks on the Whitehawk. He aimed a volley of accusations that struck the gathered press silent as they spectated in this battle of words. “Why are the police not doing more about these attacks?” he argued as he sat down.

  Keen to diffuse and bring the appeal back on track, Meadows continued by explaining there appeared to be a ritualistic element to the murders, not just random killings. He emphasised this point when two other reporters expressed their concerns of a real risk of causing widespread panic amongst parents, in particular on the Whitehawk estate. The reporters nodded and continued to make notes as Meadows reassured them, and the wider public, that police had stepped up their patrols on the Whitehawk estate. He looked straight down the barrel of the nearest camera when he mentioned that their main concern was the safety of the public.

  A picture of Pastor Xabi flashed up on the projector screen behind the three officers. A mumbling echoed through the audience, a ripple of chatter, and a few gasps as the disfigured face of Xabi appeared. Flashlights lit up the room as photographers captured the grotesque image of Xabi, his large haunting face looking down on the three officers seated in front of the screen.

  Meadows gave Scott the nod to continue.

  “We are particularly keen to speak to this gentleman, Pastor Xabi. He’s from South Africa, and arrived here about eight weeks ago. He hasn’t been seen for the past six weeks, but we believe that he is still in the country and possibly still in Brighton. We are keen on any information relating to his whereabouts. We need the public to be our eyes and ears.” Scott took a moment for the picture to hang in the minds of those gathered in the room.

  “Is he your main suspect?” came a voice from somewhere within the crowd.

  Scott had to tread carefully here. He didn’t want to add further fuel to the fire. “We believe he has information that will be of benefit to us in this enquiry.”

  “Yes, but is he your main suspect? Is he responsible for the killings?” came the voice again.

  “Not at the moment. We are following several active lines of enquiry, and speaking to several people in relation to this case. This individual hasn’t been found, so I would like to stress that we would ask for Pastor Xabi to come forward.” Scott paused as he scanned the audience. “If any member of the public sees him, we would ask them to call the incident hotline number which is on the screen behind us.”

  Tracey Collins in the front row raised her hand. “Considering Brighton is synonymous with child murders, and probably will be for many years to come, how do you think the latest killings will affect the community and the reputation of Brighton?”

  Miss Collins’s question touched a sore nerve with her fellow hacks. The 1986 Babes in the Wood murders hung around the necks of Brightonians as a constant reminder of a dark period in their history.

  All three officers looked uncomfortable as they exchanged glances between themselves, none of them sure how to reply.

  Scott thought hard before he leant into his microphone. “Any crime where the child is a victim is always difficult. I’m sure you’ll all agree, that the taking of a young life ranks up there as one of the worst things that can happen in today’s society. The events of 1986 are both tragic and sad. I want to clarify that we haven’t forgotten about those tragic cases. Our focus has to be on bringing to justice the people responsible for these crimes. I can’t comment on the case in 1986, but what I can say is that we are using every available resource to find those who commit these terrible crimes.”

  He swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat. “Many of us in this room are parents, or have been parents, and we will do anything to protect our children. This ongoing investigation is no different. We will do everything we can to protect every citizen of Brighton regardless of their age, and bring those who commit crimes to justice.”

  Abby pursed her lips and gave Scott the slightest of sympathetic smiles as he looked in her direction.

  Much to Scott’s relief, Meadows concluded the press appeal not long after. He had fielded most of the additional questions before standing up to leave.

  The team gathered around the incident board having watched Scott and Abby on the TV.

  “That fat fucker gave you a right hard time, Guv,” Mike huffed. “I think he’s from some right-wing activist newspaper.”

  “If he is, then that explains why he went off on one,” Scott replied, taking a hefty glug of water to quench his thirst. He briefed the others regarding the discoveries at the Johnsons’.

  “Do you think he’s connected to our cases?”

  “We can’t rule him out, that’s for sure, Helen. We’ve got containers of small org
ans, and limbs. The limbs belong to animals. There were cats’ paws, chicken claws, what looked like rolls of skin, eyeballs, you name it. And that’s just what’s been discovered so far. Once SOCO is done, uniform is going to turn the room over. We’ll have to wait for analysis to confirm the origins of some of those pieces.”

  Abby continued, “It’s safe to assume that Daniel was dissecting and dismembering stuff, more than likely animals, but there could be human traces, too. The SOCO has found traces of blood on one wall that appeared to have been cleaned away.”

  “And the dad knew nothing of this?”

  “He claims he knew nothing, Raj. We’ll look at his background anyway.”

  A uniformed colleague came through the doors and waved a few sheets of paper as he approached. “Guv, we managed to identify one character from the CCTV footage by the pier. The images are low quality and grainy, but they show the same individual returning to the pier on several occasions and standing in the same spot, looking over the railings. He doesn’t engage with anyone, doesn’t look around, just stares at the water below. He’s dressed odd, Guv. Take a look.”

  Scott flicked through the sheets. A man with a long, black heavy coat and black baseball cap appeared in all the stills. A flicker of excitement raced through Scott as his heart thudded in his chest. He stared at the figure before handing the sheets to Abby, who passed them around.

  Abby took a second glance, unsure if her eyes were deceiving her. “You thinking what I’m thinking, Guv?”

  Scott nodded. “It’s not a great still, but he does bear some resemblance to Daniel Johnson. Look at the date and time stamp on pictures four and five. In picture four, he’s carrying a Sainsbury’s bag, but in picture five, he’s not carrying anything.”

  “And the pictures are only ten minutes apart.”

  “So whatever he had, he disposed of in the space of ten minutes,” Raj speculated.