Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  She awoke in darkness, still holding her bag, her feet cold and her shoulders stiff. It was an effort to prise herself from the sofa, but slowly she made it to her feet, gazing about the room as if she were a stranger here. It was her home and yet she had this irksome feeling that maybe she would never know real comfort. Not when her life remained in such turmoil. Traipsing to the fridge, she removed a carton of apple juice and poured a glass full. She’d finished by the time she reached her bed. Her watch read four-twenty. Hardly worth going to bed now and yet she was far from rested. The compromise was to remain clothed but to slip under the duvet.

  At seven she was wide awake and business like. Negative thoughts gone like the tide. A shower, fresh clothes and a bowl of cornflakes with breakfast news on the TV and she was feeling more confident of facing the day ahead. After tidying her kitchen, she grabbed her keys and bag and headed downstairs to her car. But her day got a whole lot worse much sooner than she’d envisaged. A man, mid-thirties, her neighbour from one floor below, stood in the centre of the forecourt with briefcase in one hand, the other in his pocket. He was staring intently at a car. It was a blue car but drenched in a dirty red liquid that had begun to dry on the windscreen and bonnet. It took a few seconds for it to register that he was looking at her Ford Focus. Much of the liquid had run off the body and had seeped into the ground.

  ‘Is that blood, do you think?’ said the man. Tara nodded once, but she was already on her mobile. ‘Bit of a sick joke. Is it yours?’

  Again Tara nodded, and the man smiled his sympathy then strolled along the row until he reached his BMW.

  ‘Alan, can you pick me up this morning? Someone has splashed what looks like blood all over my car.’

  ‘I’ve just called Wilson to hitch a lift. Looks like acid all over mine.’

  Wilson obliged by picking up both of his colleagues and driving them to St Anne Street. Tara ordered Sloan to an interview room straightaway.

  ‘Mr Sloan, I do not think that having your people threaten police officers by daubing their cars in blood and acid will do much to improve your situation.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t appreciate false accusations. My solicitor will be here soon, I hope, so you can prepare for my release.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Tara slammed the door on her way out. She’d love to wipe that smirk off Sloan’s face. On the one hand she hoped she was close to solving the murder of Alastair Bailey from so long ago yet, frustratingly, she felt no closer to unravelling the mystery of the recent deaths. She waited by her desk for news of the solicitor’s arrival. Murray and Wilson chatted about cars and football, while she perused a few emails and dealt with a couple of texts from her friend Kate. When Michael Coombes turned up at the station reception it was well after eleven. Tara was less than pleased until she realised that the person most inconvenienced by Coombes’ late show was his client, Carl Sloan. It transpired also that Carol Sherman was of the same firm of solicitors. Apparently, she had not found it necessary to turn up to represent Elsie Greenwood.

  ‘Do you have something for me, Mr Coombes?’ Tara asked before the solicitor had joined his client in the interview room.

  ‘Very eager, I see, Inspector. If you don’t mind I would like a word with Dr Sloan first.’

  She gave them ten minutes and had a coffee with Murray, using the break to discuss their next move should Sloan provide the requested information.

  ‘Could be time consuming if it’s a long list,’ said Murray.

  ‘I know, but I’m hoping there might be one or two familiar names on it.’

  ‘You’re thinking of Trudy Mitchell?’

  ‘Seems the most likely. She admitted an involvement at the time, and there was her relationship with Hargreaves who was closely associated with occult worship.’

  ‘You know, we should get Mitchell out to the farm to see if it was the place she had visited at the time.’

  ‘For that matter we should do the same with Janet Malcroft.’

  They were interrupted by a call from a sergeant at the desk downstairs to say that Sloan and his brief were ready to see them. Tara waited another ten minutes before she and Murray entered the room.

  ‘Your list of those associated with Dr Sloan’s group,’ said Coombes with a conceited look on his face. He slid a piece of lined A4 across the desk. Sloan remained silent, avoiding eye contact with her. Tara studied the sheet containing handwritten names. She counted twenty-nine.

  ‘Is this a complete list of your membership?’

  Coombes glanced at Sloan, who merely shrugged.

  ‘As complete as you’re going to get, Inspector,’ Coombes replied.

  Tara sat back from the table and examined the names. None of them were familiar. She did a second take searching specifically for Mitchell, but she wasn’t there. Sloan sat with arms folded, a smug grin on his face.

  ‘I take it that my client is now free to leave?’

  ‘Dr Sloan, you and I both know that this list is of no help to our enquiry.’

  ‘It is what you asked for, Inspector,’ said Coombes. Tara ignored the solicitor and addressed Sloan directly.

  ‘Someone in your church requested or insisted that those heads remained on your property. That person, I am assuming, was a member of the group who met there at the time of Alastair Bailey’s murder. I want to know their name, please.’

  Again Sloan looked at his solicitor.

  ‘I need to know what went on at the farmhouse twenty-five years ago, Dr Sloan. As I have already said, you will be charged with perverting the course of justice before you leave here today.’

  ‘Three people have been murdered recently,’ Murray added. ‘You helping us now might prevent any further deaths.’

  Still Carl Sloan remained silent, but his smug expression had disappeared, replaced by a grave look of doubt or even fear. Eventually, Coombes asked for some time alone with his client. Tara and Murray obliged, spending the time to arrange to have their cars collected, Tara’s cleaned and Murray’s to be repaired. When they returned, Sloan was on his feet, pacing the room, hands in his pockets.

  ‘The name we believe that you require,’ said Coombes, ‘Is Janet Malcroft.’

  Chapter 55

  They wasted no time in requisitioning a car and getting out to the Malcroft home in Grassendale. Tara recalled seeing a white Audi parked in the driveway when they were last at the house. Instead this morning she saw a small red van with the name Dobson Car Sales & Servicing displayed in white lettering on the side. The doorbell was answered by Peter Bailey, looking shocked and anxious.

  ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘She’s getting a flight to Malaga.’

  ‘How long has she been gone?’

  ‘She wasn’t here when I arrived, but it can’t be long.’ Murray was already on his mobile to arrange for police at the airport to stop the woman from boarding a plane. ‘I don’t understand,’ Bailey continued. ‘She called me at work, said she had to leave urgently, that she would explain all later. Why are you here? What’s she done?’

  ‘We need to speak with her, that’s all,’ said Tara, ushering him back into the house.

  ‘Then why did she run?’

  Tara briefly explained the situation, but when Murray came off his phone the pair of them hurried to their car, leaving a confused Peter Bailey looking on from the doorway of his mother’s home. With the aid of a siren they soon got to John Lennon Airport in Speke. They dashed through security and into Departures and, on the assumption that Peter Bailey was correct, they found the gate for the next flight to Malaga. Just as they reached it, they saw the EasyJet plane pushing off from its stand. Tara sighed in frustration, but Murray gave her a nudge. Re-entering the lounge was a harried looking Janet Malcroft, in blue jeans, white blouse and flat shoes, flanked on each side by a uniformed police officer. Murray showed his ID and they accompanied the uniforms and Malcroft to a security office.


  ‘Some questions for you, Janet; sorry to spoil your holiday,’ said Tara. ‘It was a holiday you were taking?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing until I see my solicitor.’

  After Malcroft was cautioned, Tara and Murray drove her to St Anne Street. Before she began to interview, she arranged for Sloan and Greenwood to be charged with conspiracy to pervert the course of justice.

  Murray had ensured that Malcroft’s solicitor was present before they entered the interview room. An hour later, Tara and Murray stepped into the room to face a pale looking Janet Malcroft, who was seated beside none other than Michael Coombes.

  ‘I see that representing members of an occult church is a bit of a speciality, Mr Coombes?’ The solicitor grinned sardonically at Tara but made no reply.

  Tara outlined the reason why they wished to speak with Janet Malcroft. The woman lowered her head as Tara spoke.

  ‘We believe you are associated with the activities which take place at the farmhouse owned by Dr Carl Sloan. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We also believe that the human remains found on the property were there at your insistence. Is that correct?’ The woman nodded as tears began to flow. ‘We need a verbal answer, Mrs Malcroft.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, wiping at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.

  ‘Can you tell us why?’

  ‘The soul remains in the head when the body dies.’ Tara already knew that answer. She wasn’t interested in their beliefs; she wanted hard facts.

  ‘Your former husband’s head, we believe, but have yet to confirm, was one of those found on the property. Can you tell us what happened to him?’

  ‘I didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Tell us what happened, Janet. Why was he killed?’

  ‘He was killed because he was discovered to be an activist of the Church of the Crystal Water.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Weren’t all of the people who attended meetings at the farmhouse members of this church?’

  ‘I don’t think you understand exactly what the Church of the Crystal Water is, Inspector?’

  ‘Then perhaps you should explain.’

  ‘The Church of the Crystal Water is not an occult or devil-worshipping group. It is a Christian organisation.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Janet, but I thought Alastair had become a member of an occult church and that was the cause of your marriage breaking up and eventually Alastair’s death. That’s what you told us when we first spoke with you.’

  The woman broke down in tears, crying into her lap. She tried to speak but the words were lost in her sobs.

  ‘Why don’t you take a few minutes, Janet? Have a chat with Mr Coombes, and I’ll arrange some tea.’

  Tara looked forlornly at Murray when they stepped out of the room.

  ‘I can’t take much more of these bombshells. Tell me, how are we any closer to finding our killer?’

  Chapter 56

  ‘When Alastair first brought me along to Vera Deitate, the Kirkman’s church, I was frightened.’

  ‘Vera Deitate?’

  ‘It is short for de Ecclesia in Vera Divinitate. Church of the True Deity. The farm was called Vera Deitate. I’d realised that Alastair was getting involved in some very strange things, but he kept telling me that everything was fine. And he was right, I told myself. Charles and Mary were wonderful, so friendly and welcoming that I really felt at home. The other members were the same, just ordinary people like us. And everyone seemed to have a great time. I looked forward to going each Saturday and getting more involved. You see, it was the social aspect I took to more than any of the rituals. With two young children; it was difficult at times to get out for an evening. Most of it seemed like a load of nonsense, although I could see that Alastair was very keen on learning what it was all about. After a few visits the gatherings became a little strange. I was aware that drugs were available and some people stayed overnight. I just wanted to get involved. I’d already made several friends. Alastair was very wary of becoming embroiled in the after-show as it was called, but one night I pleaded with him to stay and reluctantly he agreed.

  I can only describe what happened as a sex orgy fuelled by drink and drugs. But I enjoyed every minute, and I couldn’t wait for the next week. That’s when things began to go wrong. Alastair did not want anything to do with the after-show, and he certainly did not want me staying there without him. We had a furious row which resulted in neither of us attending any meetings for a couple of weeks. Eventually, I persuaded him to come back with me, but he didn’t want to stay overnight. We had another row. I stayed, and he left in a sulk. I thought that’s all it was, Inspector. Alastair sulking. When I got home he pleaded with me not to go back, but I was hooked on the experience. I took cocaine, and I loved the sex with other men and women, too. So I started going to the gatherings on my own and Alastair stayed at home with the children. That’s what ended our marriage. It wasn’t him, it was me. A few months later we separated.’

  It wasn’t the story that Tara had expected to hear. From what Tweedy had told her, and Malcroft on their first meeting, it seemed that Alastair Bailey was the person who got too involved with this so-called church. Then, of course, both she and Tweedy were under the impression that the occult group was called The Church of the Crystal Water.

  ‘What happened to Alastair? Did he return to the group?’ she asked. Janet Malcroft had regained some composure at this point, but tears began to seep from her eyes once again.

  ‘It was all my fault. Before we separated Alastair begged me to stop going to Vera Deitate. I had continued to attend our own church, and he said everything would be fine as long as I kept my eyes on Jesus. I told him Jesus was dead and that Vera Deitate was the right path. That’s when he told me he had become a member of the Church of the Crystal Water. I didn’t understand. I knew nothing of this church. He told me that they maintain great secrecy, their objective is to disrupt the work of subversive, extremist, satanic and occult organisations throughout the country. His only reason for attending Vera Deitate was to discover what went on there and then to find a way to break up the group and bring souls to Jesus. I was so angry with him. I mocked his beliefs and threw him out.’

  The woman broke down in tears again, but Tara needed the remainder of the story. At least she might be getting close to the truth of what happened to Alastair Bailey, although she couldn’t see how it had any bearing on the recent murders. She was struck also by a sudden recollection of Philip, telling her over dinner that the Church of the Crystal Water was irrelevant to her investigation.

  ‘You’ve done very well, Janet, thank you. But I really need to know what happened to Alastair.’

  Used tissues were piling up in front of Malcroft as she fought to hold back her tears. Bags had developed below her reddened eyes, and each time she dabbed at them with a tissue her hands trembled.

  ‘I didn’t kill him, Inspector. You must believe me. I couldn’t; I wouldn’t. I still loved him.’

  ‘Tell me what happened, Janet.’

  ‘After we separated I kept going to Vera Deitate. My friends there were so understanding. They helped me to cope with the children, suggested I brought them along to meetings. There were several other young children who came. They just seemed to play happily in one of the rooms while the adults did other things. You must believe me; I didn’t know that anyone did things with the kids. I thought they played under supervision. But it was the drugs. I suppose I was never aware of what really went on.’

  ‘What happened to Alastair?’ Tara could see that other issues were flooding the woman’s mind, and she was drifting away from the subject.

  ‘I told my friends that Alastair and I had separated. And I told them that Alastair was a Christian and he’d begged me to come back to God. Then I mentioned the Church of the Crystal Water. At first I wasn’t concerned by what I’d told them. They were my friends. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. But then Charles Kirkman came to see me at home one da
y. He asked a lot of questions about Alastair and about one of our close friends, Simeon Jones, who was also a member of Vera Deitate. He said he wanted to help us with our marriage and reassured me that whatever happened I could always turn to him and Mary. They would take care of us.

  A couple of months later, while we were in the middle of one of our rituals in the back yard at Vera Deitate, Alastair and Simeon were brought before us. Most of us were high on coke, and everyone was laughing and cheering. I really didn’t understand what was going on. Then Charles appeared in his robes, as usual, but he began the ritual by first replacing his silver hood with a black one. Suddenly everyone cheered. And I can remember all of the children coming out of the hay barn to watch, including Peter and Sandra.

  The next thing I saw was Alastair and Simeon being stripped by some of the other guys and tied to old cartwheels lying on the ground. Both men were screaming, everyone was going crazy, cheering and laughing and throwing their drinks over the two of them. Simeon began reciting scripture. Revelation, chapter twenty-one. Strange that I can remember that. Charles retorted with his own words and then mocked them by reciting from Proverbs. The whole farmyard erupted. People were drinking, smoking dope, dancing. Some people were having sex, and a couple, a man and a woman, urinated over Alastair and Simeon. Then a woman stepped forward with a hammer. Charles handed her nails, and she hammered them into Simeon’s and then Alastair’s hands. Please believe me, Inspector, I didn’t want any harm to come to my husband or Simeon, but I was crazy, everyone was crazy. It just happened. I’ll never get the sound of their screams out of my head as the nails went in. Alastair called out to me. And I did nothing. I should have stopped it. I should have saved them but it was the drugs, I was so high on coke none of it seemed real. It was just play. Then they hammered nails into their feet.