‘You don’t blame her for your father’s death?’ Murray asked.
‘Absolutely not.’
‘What about these recent murders?’
‘What do you mean? You think Mum has something to do with those?’ The girl was close to yelling at Murray. Janet tried to calm her daughter by clasping her hands in hers. Yet again, Tara realised, her colleague had weighed in with both feet with his usual lack of sensitivity. But the damage was done; she allowed him to continue.
‘How do you feel about them? Some of the victims were around at the time your father was murdered.’
‘So you’re asking if we have killed these people? To get revenge for Dad? That’s ridiculous.’
‘Is it?’
Sandra looked pleadingly at her mother.
‘I’ve told you everything I know,’ said Janet. ‘Believe me, Inspector, I have lived with the guilt of what happened to Alastair and what I did to him for twenty-five years. The people who killed him are long dead. I have no reason to kill these others.’
‘Does that include Angela Sanders?’ said Tara. ‘You told us that she nailed Alastair’s hands to the wheel and she handed the axe to Mary Kirkman. And yet you remained as a member of this church.’
‘So why would I want to bring suspicion down upon my church by killing these people? You need to start looking somewhere else for your killer, Inspector. Leave me and my children alone.’
‘What about your present husband?’
‘He works abroad. He knows very little about what’s going on, and he’s not likely to stay with me when he learns the rest. So you see, your investigations can wreck lives just as easily as a murderer.’
Those last words from Malcroft stung as Tara got back into the car beside Murray. The thought that their attempts to bring a killer to justice might destroy other lives in the process wasn’t one that she’d considered before. She felt genuinely sorry for the Malcroft family if all she had done was to bring them more pain. But then, unlike Sandra Bailey, she didn’t believe that Janet Malcroft was completely blameless for the death of her husband.
Murray had taken details of Sandra Bailey’s and her mother’s whereabouts on the dates around the deaths of each of the recent victims. If the daughter’s checked out then she was nowhere near Liverpool when any of the murders had taken place. That only served to get Tara wondering again about the mystery surrounding the Pritchard children. What had really happened to them?
Chapter 80
With a cool glass of wine set beside her, she perused the collection of leaflets and pamphlets spread across her coffee table. Most of them had been gathered from Carl Sloan and from the Vera Deitate farmhouse. Some resembled religious tracts like those handed out by born-again Christians on a Saturday in Pembroke Street. Except these stated the reasons for the non-existence of God. Scientific evidence mixed with conspiracy theories over how the earth was created, why Jesus had not risen from the dead, how he’d fathered a child of Mary Magdalene, and how cultures from much further back in time had understood that only the seasons, the sun and stars ruled over the earth. But many of the more detailed booklets dealt with strange energy sources within the human soul and how they may be harnessed. To Tara it seemed that much had to do with bizarre sexual practices, the use of mind-altering substances and peculiar rituals to summon these forces. She really didn’t understand much of it and certainly could not agree with any of it. Often it was said that religion was the cause of most wars and yet here was one that claimed to do good by ritual sacrifice. Some of those sacrifices she now realised involved the murder of innocent people.
Her buzzer sounded. It would be Aisling and Kate over for a catch-up night. Quickly she swiped the papers together and slipped them into her bag. Devil-worship was not a topic she wanted to discuss with her best friends. And before she opened the door to them a picture of Philip Tweedy flashed through her head and a brief thought that quiet waters run deep.
‘Hiya, luv,’ said firstly by Kate, followed by Aisling.
‘Wine is open already,’ said Tara. ‘Glad you guys are here. I could do with some light-hearted chat.’ As soon as she’d said it she hoped it hadn’t sounded condescending. She was always conscious of trying not to burden her mates with her problems at work. And tonight she was more than happy to hear about the latest offers at Harvey Nic’s or what Kate was up to with her daughter Adele.
When she awoke next morning it was to the feeling that she’d had a decent night’s sleep. First night in weeks. The wine had helped, of course, but she considered it had more to do with an evening’s relaxation in the company of her friends. The news that Aisling had a new man in her life, and one who seemed to fit the bill, both rich and handsome, left her though with a bittersweet feeling. A few weeks back she was thinking that she might have been on the road to Mr Right with Philip. How strange that turned out to be.
Once at her desk at St Anne Street all thoughts of Aisling, her new man and Philip Tweedy, were swept to the back of her mind as she deliberated on what to do next regarding these ‘Pentacle Killings’ as one local paper had named them. One question in particular had been niggling since the death of Angela Sanders. Why had the MO changed? Why had the killer gone further this time? Did they consider that Sanders was deserving of such mutilation, or were they becoming crazed, their anger boiling over? Her thinking was soon interrupted by the assiduous John Wilson.
‘Morning, mam. Some info on Oak-bespoke for you.’
‘Morning, John, thank you.’ He set the paper on her desk and wandered off. Tara glanced at the sheet briefly and then turned her attention to the forensic reports on each of the killings. She read firstly the file on Derek Greasby. Body left in wooded area, arranged as a pentacle, head removed, hands and feet nailed to a wooden circular frame, and the biblical inscription from the Book of Proverbs. His head was discovered on railings at Stanley Park. Why? She could only think it was done for shock value, to publicise the execution. The killer wanted the public and the police to know exactly what was going on. Still, she had no motive for Greasby’s murder. So far he had not been linked to either the modern-day de Ecclesiae in Vera Divinitate or to the church of twenty-five years ago. The killer, of course, may have known differently. Secondly, Maurice Young. According to Carl Sloan he may have been a member of the old church community, but it remained unknown whether or not he was present at the time of Alastair Bailey’s killing. His head, found on the railings of the Anglican cathedral, again for public display? Or did the cathedral hold some significance? Certainly the placing of Young’s body within the grounds of the Vera Deitate farm suggested that the victim had a connection to the cult. Dinsdale Kirkman’s murder appeared as a direct swipe at those who were involved at Vera Deitate twenty-five years ago. His parents, according to Janet Malcroft, carried out the killing of Alastair Bailey, Simeon Jones and perhaps countless others, including the two victims whose heads were found at the farm and who remained unidentified. Finally, Angela Sanders. Tara dared hope it was the last killing. She had been identified again by Janet Malcroft as having taken part in the murders of Bailey and Jones. Her murder differed from the others by the degree of mutilation of the body. And still the same question for Tara. Were all of the killings a swipe at de Ecclesiae in Vera Divinitate or revenge for the killing of Alastair Bailey and perhaps Simeon Jones? Revenge for Bailey suggested Malcroft or her children. But if it were revenge for Simeon Jones or for those victims still unidentified she had nothing. She had no clues. And then there was the death of Kelly Pritchard and the mystery surrounding her children. If they were still alive would they be seeking retribution for their mother who, by all accounts, died of cancer?
And what of the Church of the Crystal Water? It existed twenty-five years ago because Bailey and Jones had been members, but was it still active? How many people? Was someone of a Christian background embarked upon a campaign of terror against a so-called satanic cult? If so, then she should expect to see more victims. But Philip had told her that
this church was unlikely to be relevant in this case. How did he know?
Her gut instinct told her that someone was out for revenge, but for what? She couldn’t help dwelling upon the question of what happened to the Pritchard children. Murray, thankfully, interrupted her thinking.
‘Are we paying another visit to this furniture place? Wilson said he’d dug up some info on the owner.’
Tara gave a loud sigh and pushed herself away from her desk and the files upon it.
‘Yes, I suppose so. At the very least it might cut off that avenue of thought about the murder of Maurice Young.’
Wilson had provided a home address for the registered owner of Oak-bespoke. They drove to Melling, and not far outside the village they came to a stone cottage, partially hidden from the road by trees and hawthorn. It was a higgledy-piggledy array of two storey building adjoined to a single storey block which had a large conservatory attached. Behind the main house were two further buildings, one resembling a garage or workshop, the other for accommodation, a guest flat perhaps. The gardens were lavish and well-tended, a beautiful sweeping lawn with numerous flower beds. Murray parked across the gateway to the house to avoid leaving the car obstructing the narrow road. As the pair started into the drive toward the house they came across a woman who was gathering leaves scattered over the front lawn. She called out a hello, and Tara stepped off the drive and came toward her. Wearing jeans and a green fleece jacket, the woman looked around sixty, perhaps a little younger. Her face was clear and lively, blue eyes and tightly-curled brown hair.
‘Good afternoon. I’m Detective Inspector Tara Grogan, Merseyside Police.’ Tara showed the woman her ID.
‘Hello, Inspector,’ the woman replied, immediately looking concerned. ‘I’m Daphne Collywell. Is there something wrong?’
Chapter 81
‘I wanted to ask you about your company, Oak-bespoke.’
‘It’s really my husband Alec you should speak to, but he’s at the workshop today.’ Tara recalled seeing a middle-aged man who had been polishing a table when they had visited the workshop.
‘It is a family business then?’
‘Yes, our daughter Jemima takes more to do with running the place than Alec nowadays, although he likes to think he’s still in charge. Still the owner in name but it will all belong to Jemima one day. Has something happened, Inspector?’ Daphne Collywell’s face looked grave. ‘You haven’t brought me bad news?’
‘I’m not quite sure, Mrs Collywell. Can you tell me about Jemima, please?’
The woman looked uneasy.
‘If there’s something wrong, I’d like to know before we go any further.’
It was another bitterly cold day, and standing in a garden, no matter how splendid, was not the place to carry on a conversation.
‘Perhaps, if we may come inside I can explain,’ said Tara.
‘Yes, please do. I’ll make some tea.’
In a spacious kitchen, over a cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits much to the delight of Murray, Tara explained the reasons behind her visit. She approached the subject of Jemima by explaining her concern over the girl arranging to meet men on her own through the internet that she hadn’t met before.
‘I do worry about her at times,’ said Daphne. ‘She has never really had a steady boyfriend. Neither has Jason had a serious relationship with a girl.’
‘Jason?’
‘Jemima’s older brother.’ The mention of a brother sparked a fresh hope in Tara that her instinct was correct.
‘A number of email messages were traced to Jemima’s computer at work. A man had tried to make arrangements to meet with her. She told us that he was merely a potential customer. Shortly after his last communication to her he was murdered.’
The woman’s eyes widened in horror.
‘Oh my goodness. Do you mean to say that Jemima could have been in danger if she had met this man?’
At that moment Tara was thinking more that Maurice Young might still be alive if he had never been in contact with Jemima. She ignored the question and decided to ask what she had been guessing at for the last few days, certainly since they had narrowed things down to a suspect hell bent on vengeance.
‘Are Jemima and Jason your natural children, Daphne?’
‘Why do I get the feeling, Inspector, that there is something you still haven’t told me? You don’t think Jemima had anything to do with this man’s death? Please tell me the answer is no.’
‘Did you adopt Jemima and Jason, Mrs Collywell?’ The woman was on the verge of tears. Murray fetched her a glass of water. Her face had paled; she no longer looked the bright woman they had met in her garden ten minutes earlier.
‘The two of them are so close. Jason would never let Jemima get involved in such things. Why do you think she is connected to this man’s death?’
‘You need to tell me, Daphne, are your children adopted?’
‘Alec and me tried for years, you know. Just a matter of time, we thought. But I never did get pregnant. We started out by fostering. A couple of years on, Jason and Jemima came to us. Orphans. They were the most grateful and loving children, and they were so happy with us. We had to fight tooth and nail to finally adopt them. That was twenty years ago. Please tell me Jemima hasn’t done anything wrong, Inspector. Our children are everything to us. Our heart and soul.’
Tara placed her hands on those of Daphne Collywell. They were freezing cold and shaking. She found it hard not to shed a tear for this lovely woman. She prayed that her instincts were entirely wrong.
‘Did you ever hear the names Aeron and Corey mentioned by either of your children?’
‘No. Why? Their names have always been Jemima and Jason. Social services confirmed it although they never could trace birth certificates. They were found living on the streets in Manchester. Apparently, their natural parents were both dead. As far as I know neither Jason nor Jemima have ever made attempts to find out what happened. They never speak of those times.’
Tara looked at Murray for help. She needed reassurance from him that she was doing the right thing in sharing her theory with this poor woman. But if she was right then Alec and Daphne Collywell had so much more pain to endure. Murray seemed to sense what she was intending. He gave a nod of approval.
‘Daphne, we can’t be certain just yet, but we think that Jason and Jemima were the children of a young woman called Kelly Pritchard who died twenty-five years ago. No one can account for the children’s whereabouts since that time. Their names were Aeron and Corey.’
‘But that’s good news. You’ve found out what happened to them before they came to us.’ Tara couldn’t help squeezing the woman’s hands. She felt her own heart pounding and her temples pulsing. This was not a pleasant task, breaking the heart of an innocent woman.
‘Kelly Pritchard was a member of a satanic cult at the time of her death. It is possible that Aeron and Corey believe their mother was killed, that she didn’t die of natural causes. If that is true then they may be responsible for killing the people who they believe killed their mother.’
‘Oh my god! Please no.’ Tara came around the table to comfort Daphne, the woman reaching out to her for support. They hugged each other.
‘Do you know where we can find Jason and Jemima now, Daphne?’
‘Should be at work,’ she sobbed. Tara nodded to Murray who took it as his cue to order a car to call at the workshop of Oak-bespoke. ‘Alec should be there, too. He’s not going to understand what’s happening.’
Tara felt the whole world sagging on her shoulders. She was running with her theory. If she was wrong there’d be hell to pay. She’d already caused great upset in one family, and now she had devastated another. They couldn’t go after anyone themselves. Couldn’t leave this woman alone. Murray would have to organise the arrest of the Collywell children.
‘Where does Jason work, Daphne?’
‘In the city. He’s a probation officer.’
Chapter 82
Uniform w
ere unable to trace either Jemima or Jason Collywell at their workplace. Tara and Murray returned to St Anne Street having left Daphne in the arms of her husband Alec when he’d arrived home from work. He’d telephoned from Oak-bespoke when the police had called looking for Jemima. Daphne had immediately summoned him home. Tara was saddened by the heart-rending sight of the husband on his knees beside his wife trying to comfort her while at the same time struggling to comprehend the situation in which his family now found itself. She wanted to be wrong about this case, if only to spare the sorrow of this couple. Before leaving, they prised a short list of places from Alec and Daphne where the Collywell children might be found. Tara had somehow convinced herself that not only was she right that they were the killers, but she worried also that this evening the pair may be in the process of selecting another target for their brand of murder.
‘Any news, sir?’ she asked Tweedy, who had taken personal charge of the emergency at the office.
‘No sign of the girl at the furniture workshop, or of the male at his office. I’ve sent a car to the address you gave me for their flat. I’m waiting to hear.’
‘John, what have you found on Jason Collywell?’
The young officer sprang from his chair, and with his usual efficiency presented some notes to Tara. He commentated as she read.
‘Probation officer for the last six years. Before that studied law and theology at university. But we’ve got our man, mam. Look at the list of offenders assigned to him over the years.’
Tara could hardly believe the names in front of her. Dinsdale Kirkman, Maurice Young and Derek Greasby were there amongst a list of dozens. But the name leaping out of the page, yelling at her to notice, was the man she perhaps feared most. The man who had taken her, drugged her and stripped her naked. The man who may have taken her life had not her friends Kate and Aisling, along with Murray, rushed to her rescue. James Guy, recently freed from Liverpool Prison, was now under license and under the supervision of Jason Collywell.
Lethal Dose; Lethal Justice; Lethal Mind Page 49