‘For her house inclineth unto death and her paths unto the dead.’
*
Tara and Murray spent the afternoon in discussion with Harold Tweedy in his office.
‘Yes, it’s another verse taken from Proverbs,’ said Tara, ‘But to me it’s been deliberately chosen to infer a threat. A threat against this so called Church of the True Deity.’
‘I agree, Tara,’ said Tweedy. ‘It’s very unlikely that members of this group would leave a body on their own property.’
‘But what motive is there for killing any of these people?’ Murray asked. ‘We know that Dinsdale Kirkman had a connection to this house through his parents, but we don’t know for sure if he was ever a member. Even if he was it still doesn’t tell us why he was murdered. Then there’s Greasby and Young. Both were sex offenders, but were they into devil worship?’
Tara couldn’t disagree with Murray’s reasoning. They may have solved a murder which occurred twenty-five years ago, but where was the link to the present day?
‘Why the same MO?’ Tara asked. ‘Surely the present killers are trying to show that there is a connection with the past.’
‘Could be someone associated with Bailey or his friend Simeon Jones,’ said Murray.
‘Family?’ said Tweedy. ‘Someone out for revenge?’
‘Against whom?’ said Tara. ‘The present day church is not the same organisation that existed twenty-five years ago. The name is the same, but Sloan and Greenwood were not around back then.’
‘But Janet Malcroft and Angela Sanders were,’ said Murray. ‘Either one of those women could be the key to this whole affair.’
They didn’t get the chance to finish their discussions. Tweedy’s phone rang, and when he’d finished the call with his counterpart in the Cheshire police he suggested that they all return to the Vera Deitate farmhouse.
Light was fading by the time they reached the woods and the site of where the body had been discovered. Now a much larger area had been cordoned off by tape. It stretched from the tree where the body was positioned, out to the right, and left then back towards the lane. Tara now realised that where she had first stood looking at the body was a clearing within the woods. A place perhaps for people to gather. But when they were met by the Crime Scene Manager, DI Stephen Balmer, a jolly man in his forties, short and pot-bellied, she soon learned that the area had been used for an entirely different purpose. None of them were permitted by Balmer to enter the clearing.
‘Bones,’ he said. ‘Lots of them.’
‘Human?’ asked Tweedy.
‘Some are, definitely, but I’d say there are some animal remains also.’ Balmer indicated the area they’d sealed off. ‘Not sure yet if we are looking at a mass grave or a place where ashes have been scattered.’
‘Whoever placed the body here knew exactly the significance of this spot,’ said Tara. ‘It’s been done to draw attention to the place. We need to speak with Sloan again.’
‘And we need to track down that Sanders woman,’ said Murray.
As they made their way back to the car Tara wondered if Sanders had really taken flight, or had she been found by the killer and was now the next victim.
This thought was soon put to the back of her mind when Harold Tweedy happened to mention, on the journey back to Liverpool, that his son Philip would be interested to hear the latest developments of their case. Tara was about to say that she would be seeing him this coming weekend when she realised, of course, that Harold was probably still unaware of her relationship with his son. That fact was abundantly clear when Harold continued what he was saying.
‘I’ll take a few minutes to bring Philip up to date when I see him at the weekend. Lorraine and Laura will probably go shopping and give us men peace to watch the match.’
‘Laura?’
‘She lives with Philip,’ Tweedy replied.
Chapter 60
Need to get myself a car as well as a van. It’s a pain in the arse having to get a bus out to Woolton, while I’m trying to build a picture of Ella’s routine. Makes for a long, slow process. And the other night I got seriously spooked. I was wandering about, close to the cul-de-sac where Ella lives, trying my best not to look conspicuous, when I suddenly got the feeling that somebody was watching me. As I was danderin’ along I heard a car approaching from behind me. Usually I don’t bother looking, just keep my eyes straight ahead, but then this car slowed down. I thought maybe it was someone about to stop and ask for directions to somewhere, but as I turned to look it speeded up again and roared away. It was a big old thing, a dark coloured Mercedes. Didn’t recognise the driver; couldn’t even tell if it was male or female. But it got me thinking that maybe I’d seen that car before. I know that I’d joked with the girl from The Swallow’s Tail about her stalking me, but was there really someone taking notice of what I got up to?
Thinking about it, I realised that I couldn’t afford a car and a van, so the next day when I was out on my round I stopped off at a car auctions place near St Helens, one I hadn’t used before, and had a look for a van. I needed some cover while I was watching Ella. By now though I’d decided, like many of my snatches, that Ella would have to be taken from a spot away from the family roost. She wouldn’t be so easily lifted as Vicki. Not with three daughters and a useless husband hanging around the house.
I managed to buy a well-used Renault Trafic for less than two grand. Nearly all I had so I would have to wait for a while before I had enough dosh to buy some China White from Janek. At least I was mobile.
First night out in her and I swore somebody was following me. Couldn’t make out the vehicle in the dark but I reckon it was that big Mercedes. I drove around for a while, with no particular place to go, just keeping an eye for any signs that a car was tailing me. Within a couple of miles there was nothing behind me, and I began to think I was doting.
A day later I made another delivery to the Ella household. This time I found her busy, once again flitting about the house trying to gather up things to take to her girls when she picked them up after school.
‘Sorry the place is such a mess, James. Haven’t even had time to tidy the kitchen.’
‘No problem, luv. How was your night out?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Your night with the girls from work.’
‘Oh that. Damp squib really. I was home by half ten. Didn’t bother with the club.’
She looked a bit forlorn, and at that moment I felt the urge to give her a hug, a bit of comfort. Instead, she noticed me staring at her. I think she was embarrassed.
‘Thanks, James. I’d better let you get on your way.’
No offer of coffee this time, I thought, as she held her front door open for me to carry out one of my food crates. Next time you see me, I thought, will be your last.
Chapter 61
Friday morning and she had no enthusiasm for work. The office was buzzing with information on the identities of those found at the Vera Deitate farmhouse. She tried to remain isolated from the chatter, staring at her screen but absorbing little of the information displayed. Friday, and Philip was picking her up and taking her to the Lake District for the weekend. But he couldn’t be aware that she had learned about Laura. Maybe it was too much to expect that a man like Philip was a free agent when she’d taken him to her bed. But why continue to see her after those first impulsive dates? Why would she want to be with him now that she knew he was involved with someone else? And how the hell did Philip explain to Laura when he left her at his parent’s house that he was off to the Lakes for the weekend?
She didn’t want to see him. She did want to see him. She could cope with the fact that he had a partner. She couldn’t handle the fact that he shared his life with another girl. What a mess. What should she do?
‘You were right, mam,’ said John Wilson, standing at her desk with yet another file in his hand. ‘Dale Hargreaves confirmed as one of the heads found at the farm.’
‘Yes, but it feels strange that as
far as we know there was no foul play in his case.’
‘And Kelly Pritchard, too?’
‘Quite possibly nothing criminal there, either. Her father told us that she had a terminal illness when she went to live at the farm.’
‘Just bizarre ways of holding a funeral.’ Wilson set the files on her desk and moved away to banter with Murray over the current fortunes of the Liverpool team. Tara left the folders untouched. Other things to occupy her thoughts.
What had they uncovered at the farm? The remains of how many people were scattered in that clearing? It could take months to figure out. And how many murder investigations would ensue? But her mind switched again to Philip Tweedy. Until that problem was sorted, how could she ever manage a proper day’s work? But as she scrolled through the alerts on her screen, the issues of daily policing on Merseyside, the robberies, stabbings, car thefts and assaults, one item suddenly leapt out at her.
A girl from St Helens still missing. She read the details. Marni Evans, a nineteen-year-old administrative assistant, last seen leaving work in Renshaw Street in Liverpool. Dressed in grey trousers and jacket, white blouse and brown mid-heeled shoes. Tara stared at the picture of the girl. She looked Asian or perhaps mixed race, a bright smiling face. She hoped for her safe return. Just thinking of the possibility that she was another victim of a serial killer that she believed was out there filled her with dread. Was Marni another one to add to the list of unknowns? Someone who might never be found, alive or dead? Had Terry Lawler really been on to something when he’d gathered those pictures of girls who had disappeared without trace? She could scarcely believe the next bulletin. A woman who’d been reported missing from her home in Tarbock Green. There might, of course, be quite logical and personal reasons for someone to disappear for a period of time. Most people reported missing turn up within two or three days, but Tara had learned to decipher the sinister from the more inert cases. In a way she hoped that a case like this would someday land on her desk. It would give her good reason to go looking into the files of those women identified by the deceased journalist Terry Lawler.
And once again her personal woes forced their way to the front of the queue. Still no sane answer to her problem: What to do about Philip Tweedy?
Chapter 62
Before she left work it was confirmed that the body found in the woods at Vera Deitate was a match for the head impaled on the railings of the Anglican cathedral and therefore was that of Maurice Young. Janet Malcroft had voluntarily identified the heads of Charles and Mary Kirkman, Alastair Bailey, Simeon Jones, Dale Hargreaves and Kelly Pritchard. So far they had no clues as to the identity of the two remaining, one male and one female. Both may have been members of the church and died, as the Kirkmans and Hargreaves had, of natural causes, or they may have been victims of the ritual murders that had taken place at this isolated farm. Janet Malcroft was unable to assist with the identity of the woman or the man. It brought Tara round to thinking again of Philip Tweedy’s theory on ritual human sacrifice. That many victims are chosen because they are regarded as low-life, people of little value and therefore dispensable. With Young’s body having been placed in a significant area within the woods and displaying such chilling words that seemed to be the issue of a warning, Tara was convinced now that someone had a grievance against Vera Deitate or against one or more people connected to the organisation. Did it have anything at all to do with the killings of twenty-five years ago, or was it entirely separate and aimed instead at the present incumbents? Apart from Dinsdale Kirkman’s connection, through his parents, to Vera Deitate, she had no reason to believe that the other recent victims, Maurice Young or Derek Greasby, were linked to the church. Only Dinsdale’s name had appeared on the list of names in the file from the original investigation. She still did not know why. And although Sloan and then Malcroft had filled in much of the detail, she felt that something was held back. Or perhaps there were others who could fill the gaps. She needed to speak again with Trudy Mitchell, and she needed to find Angela Sanders.
Leaving the office early, she hurried home and packed a few things for her weekend with Philip. All day she’d told herself that Harold Tweedy, although he’d mentioned that Laura lived with Philip, may not be fully up to date with the machinations of his son. She told herself to give Philip the benefit of the doubt. He’d asked for her trust. Surely he was not so callous as to leave one girlfriend sitting at his parent’s home while he took another to the Lakes? If he turned up, she told herself, then he was on the level. This Laura was not an important part of Philip’s life or else he wouldn’t be taking her on a romantic weekend break.
He arrived on time in a tweed jacket, jeans and blue shirt. She kissed him at the door, immediately aroused by the feel of his hands on her hips pulling her close to him. In a flash he attempted to lift her jumper, but she stepped back and pulled it down. It took all her courage not to fall into his arms, to allow him to carry her to bed and make love. Something fuelled her resolve.
‘You want to hit the road then, save it for later?’
‘Before we go, I need to ask you something.’
‘Fire away, I’m all ears.’
Without hesitation, she went for it.
‘What about Laura?’ He’d lifted her bag from the floor, ready to leave. The question stopped him dead.
‘Ah, you’ve heard about her?’ He set down the bag.
‘Not much. I was thinking perhaps you should explain.’
Both hands thrust into his jeans’ pockets he looked as though he was choosing his words carefully.
‘We’ve been friends for about three years.’ That was really all she needed to hear, but he ploughed on as if he thought he was improving his case. ‘But we’re not, you know, involved.’
‘But you live together?’
‘We share a flat, but I wouldn’t call it living together.’
‘And what exactly would you call it?’
He stepped toward her, but she backed away.
‘Look, Tara I asked you to trust me. I can’t explain everything at this point. It’s too…,’
‘Too what?’ She could scarcely believe the words coming from his mouth. At that moment she had more respect for a suspect she’d just accused of murder.
‘Please. At least wait until your case is sorted out. You can’t condemn me for wanting to get to know you.’
‘Honesty would help.’
‘Okay, I apologise. I should have told you about Laura. Now, please can we go?’
‘Where is Laura at the moment? Your father said she was coming to Liverpool with you.’
‘She’s in Cambridge. I could hardly leave her at Dad’s while…,’
‘And what about Laura after this weekend?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, are you simply going back down to Cambridge to carry on as if nothing had happened? As if I hadn’t happened?’
‘Laura doesn’t need to know, just now. Please trust me on this.’
She stood in disbelief in front of the man she’d wondered might be the one for her. She could see nothing of his father in him. Harold Tweedy was an honourable man. An honest man. She doubted he would ever allow his son to treat anyone in this manner. And she was wise enough to see that she wasn’t the only person being mistreated. This girl Laura had obviously placed her trust in him, and here he was denigrating their relationship in order to pursue an affair with another.
‘Time you left, I think.’
‘Come on, Tara, don’t be like that.’
‘Get out, Philip.’
‘I’m so sorry. I will explain everything to you. You just have to be patient.’
‘Get out!’
He shook his head then walked out, closing the door behind him.
*
She’d only taken to running in the last six months. It was the one thing she could think of doing right now. She could run and fume at the same time. She could run until it hurt, until it hurt more than the feelings she had fo
r the man who could do such a thing to her, to anyone. The night was cold, a stiff breeze off the river, traffic dying in the late hours, dominated by the flow of taxis escorting happy people to their homes after a good night out. She’d run to the point where she wasn’t exactly sure of where she was. She didn’t care. She didn’t feel threatened. She felt stupid. Silly stupid. Too principled? Had she rejected a man who might really love her? Why was there no answer? Her feet pounded the uneven pavement. Up and down, onto the road, back to the pavement, then cobbles and concrete. Pain gripped at her right side, the cold made her dry throat ache and her lungs fought to keep going, to keep supplying the air she needed to live. She dodged her way through a group of lads who cheered her on. No harm in them. A few drinks taken, but these boys were not the sort to cause trouble. Not like Philip. And on she ran, hurting.
The ever diligent John Wilson was first to greet her on Monday morning. Something for her to think about right away.
‘Mam, a report came back on the check of Maurice Young’s computer.’
For a second she had to think on who Maurice Young was, never mind recall the occasion when she and Murray had searched his flat and brought back a lap-top.
‘You all right, mam?’
She glared at the young detective constable, who looked as though he was regretting having asked.
‘You look pale,’ he said.
‘I’m fine, John. No makeup this morning. Didn’t have time. Thanks for asking.’
‘No problem. I’ll leave this with you.’ He placed a folder on her desk and seemed relieved to be on his way. She puffed air through her lips and wearily opened the file. Every part of her body ached. Her late night run on Friday had done her little good. Should have followed it up with another on Saturday and Sunday. Instead, she’d spent all of Saturday in bed, alone. Not much sleep though, continuous visions of horrid crime scenes battled thoughts of Philip. Anger and fantasy rolled together. Despair flavoured with anguish and frustration. Sunday was no better, but after turning down lunch at her parents, she started into a bottle of wine. By evening she was gorging on chocolate biscuits and ice-cream. This morning her reckless behaviour was coming back to haunt her. A hangover didn’t make reading easy. Within a few minutes, though, she realised exactly what lay before her.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 44