Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind

by Robert McCracken

  Tara looked frustratingly at Murray. They’d taken themselves to the station canteen for coffee, although it was lunchtime for the Detective Sergeant.

  ‘What do we do now, Alan?’

  ‘Sloan’s been no help at all, and yet we keep finding more to connect his church with the whole affair.’

  ‘But if he and Elsie Greenwood were the killers surely they would not have brought their victim so close to home? Someone has a score to settle, and if it’s not with Sloan or Greenwood then it’s someone else within this organisation, church or whatever you wish to call it.’

  ‘I’d put my money on the Malcroft woman. She’s admitted seeing her first husband murdered. Despite his death she’s remained involved with this cult, and she’s insisted upon keeping those heads on display…,’

  ‘Yes I know, but as a member of this cult why would she want to attract attention?’

  Sally, a cheery woman in her fifties, and the canteen supervisor, set a plate of sausages, chips and beans in front of Murray. She smiled at Tara who’d made do with a fruit scone.

  ‘Thanks, Sally,’ said Murray. ‘I’m starving.’ The woman laughed.

  ‘Long way to go before you’re starving, Alan luv.’ Tara smirked as Sally, humming an unfamiliar tune, sidled back to her kitchen.

  ‘I’m thinking more of her children,’ Murray continued. ‘If Peter Bailey and his sister have discovered that Janet was responsible for their father’s death, then maybe they are exacting revenge on that church and their mother.’

  ‘Do you think that all of the recent victims, Kirkman, Greasby and Young, were involved with killing Alastair Bailey?’ Murray couldn’t reply, his mouth full of chips. ‘If you’re right about exacting revenge then there will be more killings. Janet told us that Angela Sanders hammered the nails into Bailey’s hands. If that’s true then her life is also in danger.’

  To Tara’s amazement, Murray set down his knife and fork.

  ‘What if the Bailey children are the modern day Church of the Crystal Water?’

  Chapter 69

  Tara and Murray continued their discussions into the evening at a city centre pub. They covered every aspect of the case, pondered every angle, each suspect and victim. The conversation left both convinced that someone connected to the murder of Alastair Bailey was now embarked on a campaign of revenge for his death. Several pints into the discussion, the chat moved to wider issues of their jobs, their views about Superintendent Tweedy, his Christian faith, and how he coped with the depressing nature of murder investigation. Soon they were comparing their failures in personal relationships. In her three years of working with Alan Murray it was the most open conversation they had shared. She would always feel a special bond with him, indebted to him for rescuing her from the hands of James Guy. Tonight had been a good remedy for her hangover. All she felt now was tiredness. She needed a good night’s sleep. As they parted for home she gave him a peck goodnight on the cheek. His eyes lit up.

  ‘Goodnight, Alan. See you in the morning.’ He couldn’t help his beaming smile as she climbed into a taxi.

  While they had spent the previous day in questioning Carl Sloan followed by their evening at the pub, Angela Sanders had been arrested at her cottage by officers from Devon and Cornwall Police. She was quickly transferred by car to Merseyside and St Anne Street for questioning in relation to the murder of Alastair Bailey.

  The woman looked no different from when Tara had last seen her, plain dark clothing, little make-up, the single hoop earring, but now a more nervous countenance.

  ‘Well Ms Sanders,’ Tara began, Murray sitting beside her. ‘When we last met you denied knowing Alastair Bailey. Is there anything you’d like to say about that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We have a witness who was present at Vera Deitate when Alastair was killed. This witness claims to have watched as you hammered nails into the hands and feet of Alastair Bailey and Simeon Jones.’

  ‘Not me. Your witness is mistaken.’

  ‘This witness also claims to have seen you present an axe to Mary Kirkman who then used it to behead both men.’

  Sanders shook her head and glared directly at Tara. She didn’t seem as bemused by the sight of the young detective as she had on their first meeting.

  ‘Not me,’ she replied. ‘How did you find me?’

  Tara realised that she had only Janet Malcroft’s word to go by, but she was surprised that Sanders seemed more concerned about how she was found by police in Cornwall, rather than by the accusations put to her.

  ‘Your house in Worsley was searched. An address for a cottage in Cornwall was found. We simply had the police down there check it out for us.’

  The woman frowned, but didn’t respond.

  ‘Were you acquainted with Derek Greasby, Maurice Young and Dinsdale Kirkman at the time of Alastair Bailey’s death?’

  ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘Were you a member of the Vera Deitate church at the time of Alastair Bailey’s death?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When did you leave the Church of the True Deity?’

  Sanders glared again at Tara, but it was met with a thin smile.

  ‘Who told you all these lies about me? They’re making it up. I didn’t kill anyone. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what you’re talking about, luv.’

  This time Tara glared at Sanders. She was disappointed by the woman’s attitude, but realised that she wasn’t about to implicate herself in a murder. She’d probably guessed the identity of the witness. And Tara was well aware that Malcroft’s version of events was all she had. The word of a woman who had lied previously and who at the time of her husband’s murder was high on cocaine.

  ‘Ms Sanders, I’m sorry that you have decided not to co-operate in our enquiry, but the matter is not finished. Derek Greasby, Maurice Young and Dinsdale Kirkman have been murdered, and we believe it is connected with Vera Deitate. Someone has taken issue with that organisation, and we think it’s related to the killing of Alastair Bailey. If you are linked in some way to his death then your life also may be in danger. It would make sense for you to share with us anything you know about Alastair Bailey or the activities of Vera Deitate.’

  ‘Can I go now, Inspector?’

  Chapter 70

  Superintendent Tweedy was keen to get a measure of the latest developments in the case, especially since the arrest of Angela Sanders which had heightened the interest of the media. Sanders had always been a controversial figure, and she was well known in Britain for her radical views. Her arrest had made national news bulletins. It was irritating and yet a relief to the detectives at St Anne Street that she had been released pending further investigation. As matters stood they had only the word of Janet Malcroft as to how her first husband had perished, and at the time she’d been high on cocaine. Hardly a reliable witness. Convicting Angela Sanders as an accessory to murder would be difficult based only on Malcroft’s version of events.

  ‘John mentioned that you have some more leads to follow,’ said Tweedy to both Tara and Murray. They were seated in his office, Tara having just brought her boss up to date on the interview with Sanders.

  ‘Yes, sir. John has managed to trace a brother of Simeon Jones who may be able to explain Simeon’s involvement with the Church of the Crystal Water.’

  ‘I’ve tried asking around some of my friends who were in our congregation back then,’ said Tweedy. ‘The name Simeon Jones rang a bell with one or two of them. He was definitely a close friend of Alastair’s, although I certainly do not remember him.’

  ‘Also, sir, we have to follow up on the person who was in contact online with Maurice Young. They had arranged to meet. Could be the last person to have seen him alive, or it could be the person responsible for his death. And, sir, I want to speak again with Peter Bailey and his sister.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘If these murders are a case of revenge for the killing of Alastair Bailey, then his children have motive,’ said Mur
ray.

  ‘Could just as easily be someone related to Simeon Jones out for revenge,’ said Tweedy.

  ‘Or to someone related to the other unidentified victims found at the farmhouse,’ said Tara.

  ‘I agree,’ Murray replied. ‘But we don’t have any names except for the Baileys.’

  Tweedy looked grave. Tara could see that he still felt a personal hurt or guilt with regard to Alastair Bailey. It would suit him more, she thought, if it turned out that the recent killings had nothing whatsoever to do with his old friend or his family.

  *

  Trevor Jones was a hefty-framed man of sixty-three, bushy grey hair and ruddy face. A sheep farmer and Welsh speaker, he sat on a kitchen chair listening seriously as Tara explained the reason for her visit. She and Murray, after the long drive into North Wales, were grateful for the piping hot tea and freshly baked bread with butter and strawberry jam. Trevor’s wife, Nerys, had been very welcoming. Tara had arrived with a rather peculiar sensation coursing through her. Only a few weeks since she had driven through this area with Philip Tweedy and now she was back for an altogether more depressing reason. She wondered though what Philip had been searching for as he drove her through the countryside.

  ‘Simeon told me everything that went on in his life, up to a point,’ said Trevor Jones, his elbows on the table and thick hands clasped together. His green eyes, in watery and reddened sockets, darted from Tara to Murray. ‘Then one day he said that he had met some wonderful people. Good Christian people, he said. And he told me that they had a job to do for the Lord.’

  ‘Did he mention the Church of the Crystal Water?’ Tara asked. The farmer shook his head and grunted a no. ‘Did he mention the names of any of his friends?’

  ‘Used only Christian names, but I can’t remember them now.’

  ‘What job was he doing for the Lord?’

  ‘Very cagey, was our Simeon, but we prayed several times for the work he was doing. Trying to rid the place of very evil practices, he told me. He and his friends were helping people who had fallen into depravity.’

  ‘Did he say where he was doing this work or what it involved?’

  ‘No. He didn’t say much about it, although he seemed very concerned for some children, and we prayed a lot for them. He said they were exposed to some very unsavoury goings on. Drugs and sex parties. Nerys and I still wonder what happened to them.’

  ‘Any names?’

  The man shook his head. The news that Tara had brought him would not be easy to absorb. She’d explained about the finding of human heads at Vera Deitate and her belief that one of them was Simeon, based on what Janet Malcroft had told her and her subsequent identification.

  ‘When was the last time you saw your brother?’ she asked.

  Trevor Jones rubbed the tears into his face and sighed deeply.

  ‘I suppose I never thought anything was wrong for about five or six weeks after I last saw him. I knew if he hadn’t been in contact with me he would certainly have spoken to mother. When I realised that he hadn’t been to see her, I knew something was wrong. He would never have gone more than a week without checking on her. I went to the police, and he was listed as missing. Heard nothing until you turned up this morning. Mother’s passed on now and never knew what happened to her youngest.’

  Tara couldn’t help her tears as she looked at the strong farmer grieving for his brother. She hated bringing such tragic news to a relative of a murder victim. Hated more those who inflicted such pain on the innocent. She was saddened always by the spread of sorrow through a family or through a community at the tragic loss of life. But as she had learned, almost from her first day on the job, look at the victims and you won’t stop until you’ve caught the killer.

  She had gained little from Trevor Jones except that her gut feeling was growing that someone who was around at the time Alastair Bailey and Simeon Jones were murdered, now had reason to kill Derek Greasby, Maurice Young and Dinsdale Kirkman.

  Chapter 71

  ‘What do you know of the Church of the Crystal Water?’

  Peter Bailey stood at the door of the garage workshop, a heavy spanner in his hand. He didn’t look pleased to see Tara and Murray. She’d thought him quite affable on their first meeting and certainly well mannered. Today he seemed angry and irritated.

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Has your mother ever mentioned it in connection to your father?’

  ‘No. And I don’t want you bothering my mother again. She’s been through enough.’

  ‘And what about you, Peter? How are you feeling right now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your father’s remains being found, and your mother knowing of them all this time since he was killed.’

  ‘That was her business, part of her belief.’

  ‘What about your belief? Don’t you want the people who killed your father brought to justice?’

  ‘But it was the Kirkmans who killed Dad, and they’re both dead.’

  ‘There were others involved. Don’t you want to see them pay for what they’ve done?’

  ‘You mean my mother? I’ve told you to leave her alone.’

  ‘What about Derek Greasby or Maurice Young or Dinsdale Kirkman? Did you want them to pay for their crimes?’

  ‘What are you talking about? Are you suggesting that I had something to do with these murders?’

  ‘Did you, Peter?’

  ‘No way. You people are nuts if you think me or my family had anything to do with murder.’ He pointed his spanner at Tara. ‘Leave me alone, and stay away from my mother.’ He turned and walked back into the garage.

  ‘I wonder what Janet has told her son. He’s certainly angry about something.’

  ‘Depends on what he already knew of his father’s death,’ said Murray. ‘Must have been a shock to learn that his parents were on opposite sides when it came to this devil-worship nonsense. That it was Janet who got involved against her husband’s wishes.’

  ‘But is Peter aware that Janet is still a member of Vera Deitate?

  They climbed back into the car, and Tara checked her notebook for the address of their next call.

  ‘Do you think devil-worship is just nonsense?’

  ‘A load of old tosh,’ replied Murray.

  ‘Some people say the same thing nowadays about Christianity.’

  ‘Maybe, but you don’t see many human heads in glass jars in the Church of England.’

  As they were moving off from the small forecourt of the garage a red van emerged from the rear of the building and sped onto the main road. Peter Bailey was at the wheel, a mobile phone clasped to his ear.

  ‘Where’s he off to?’ said Murray, immediately taking to the road in pursuit of the van. Tara wasn’t quite so keen.

  ‘Never mind, Alan. Just as likely to be job-related than him running off to speak with Mum.’

  ‘There’s something we haven’t considered. Mother and son working together to get their revenge on those who murdered Bailey.’

  ‘But why would Janet Malcroft have waited for twenty-five years if she wanted to avenge her husband’s death? The Kirkmans were already dead. Ultimately, those two were responsible for his murder.’

  ‘Maybe she’d discovered that her son had only recently taken up the crusade.’

  ‘That would suggest that he carried out the murders without the knowledge that his mother was a witness to the killing of her husband, and that she has continued to be a member of the Vera Deitate.’

  ‘Reason then for both to be shocked and angry with each other.’

  Chapter 72

  Tara thought it a rather unlikely spot for a trace on an email of this nature to lead. Then again the person who had been in contact with Maurice Young may simply have used a computer in their workplace. Murray parked outside the shuttered entrance to Oak-bespoke, a furniture making enterprise set within a modern business park close to the river and a little over a mile from Tara’s apartment at Wapping Dock. When M
urray rang the bell, within a few seconds, the green metal shutter began to rise, and before them stood a young girl with dark hair, wearing denim dungarees and a royal blue t-shirt.

  ‘Hiya,’ she said with a cheery smile, as if she already knew Tara and Murray well.

  ‘Hello, luv,’ said Murray. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Murray and this is Detective Inspector Grogan…,’

  ‘Hiya,’ she said again to Tara. ‘I’m Sharon.’

  ‘We’d like to speak to whoever is in charge please, Sharon.’

  ‘That’ll be Jemima. Follow me.’ She led the way through a workshop, where a middle-aged man with bald head and glasses was applying a dark polish to a beautiful circular dining table. The smell of wood, polish and varnish hung in the air, while Radio Two blared as Tara and Murray were shown into a partitioned office to the rear of the workshop. There, seated at a computer, was a woman of around thirty in a plain dark green jumper, blonde hair in a ponytail, fresh-faced, wearing little make-up and a pair of glasses resting on a bony nose.

  ‘Jemima, these police officers want to speak to you.’ With a smile the woman looked up from her computer.

  ‘Hiya,’ she said in similar tone to how Sharon had first greeted them. ‘How can I help you?’ Sharon left them and returned to a bench where a long dowel was held in a vice and proceeded to apply a stain with a small brush.

  Tara explained the trace of the IP address linked to emails exchanged with Maurice Young.

  ‘Has anyone who has access to your computer been in contact with this man?’ Tara asked.

  ‘Don’t recall that name, but it may be one of our customers. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Who has access to your computer?’

  ‘We have two. This one for office work and another in the workshop for CAD.’

  ‘CAD?’

  ‘Computer Aided Design. We use it for drawing plans of our furniture. I use it mostly, but Sharon is learning. So why do the police want to know if we’ve been in contact with this man?’