“Yeah, yeah, no problem,” Finchy sighed, pulling a flick-knife from his trouser pocket as he approached Sam. “I’m just adding a little something to your handiwork, that’s all.”
He then bent down and stabbed Sam again. This time in the ribs.
Sam felt the steel go in deeply and he gasped in agony; his eyes staring wide with shock as his assailant pulled it free.
Finchy then grinned, apparently satisfied with his work, as Sam slipped back into unconsciousness.
***
When Sam roused again, some time had clearly passed yet Claudette was still being brutalised by the animals who had invaded the glade in what had been a prolonged and savage ordeal.
But he still could not even move or summon the strength to cry out; needing every ounce of his resolve just to remain conscious.
Nonetheless, his poor, sweet girl was suffering terribly and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.
Tears of utter despair streamed down his face as his heart broke for her.
By this time, however, Claudette was merely staring vacantly, her eyes free from tears and void of emotion as she tried to block out the depraved thing they were doing to her.
Indeed, by the time it was finally over, many torturous minutes later, she had shut down both mentally and physically; the bright, bubbly, intelligent person she had been just a short time before now gone forever.
Afterwards, she lay where they had discarded her; abused, bloodied and broken. The skin around her long neck had been rubbed to raw flesh by the chaffing of the chain and her back was striped with livid weal marks from being beaten by the branch.
By now Sam had lost an awful lot of blood and the ground around him was thick and sticky with it. He was dying, he knew it, but he would not give up whilst Claudette still lived.
Then someone spoke.
It was Locke, the leader. “Okay, get her up,” he ordered, “Take her to that big tree over there.”
Instantly four of the men - the two skinheads, Finchy and the pale-skinned man - picked Claudette up by her arms and legs and carried her away as directed; her body limp and unresponsive.
Sam was fading fast, but he determinedly fought against the blackness that was threatening to wash over him and watched as the men took his pregnant girlfriend to the tall tree some fifteen feet away from where he lay.
Then, as Locke strode towards the others, the swarthy man handed him a rope which had been fashioned into a noose.
With his good eye now almost closed and his face white from blood loss, Sam had a terrible premonition of what was about to happen and his stomach filled with dread.
He tried to scream, tried to get up but the effort was futile as he was almost done for.
Then something strange happened.
A dog appeared at Sam’s shoulder. A labrador. It sniffed him inquisitively for a moment or two and licked his broken hand. Then, just as quickly as it arrived, it ran off. It was almost surreal and Sam thought he must have imagined it. Was he delirious?
However, the voices of Claudette’s attackers snapped him back to the dreadful reality of what was about to happen.
Powerless to prevent it, Sam watched horrifically transfixed as Locke placed the noose around Claudette’s neck.
Then, as four of his associates held her upright, he withdrew the long-bladed knife with the brass knuckle guard from its sheath down the side of his boot - the same knife he had used to stab Sam in the arms and legs.
Locke studied the keenly sharpened edge for a moment as it glinted murderously in the sunlight then, without further consideration, plunged it deeply into Claudette’s abdomen, murdering both her and the baby she was carrying.
Her eyes flew wide and she emitted a blood-curdling scream as her body convulsed with pain, but the men held her tightly until at last she was still.
Then, on that beautiful cloudless afternoon, with the sun beating down and the birds twittering merrily, they strung her up so that she might become carrion for the crows.
As her filthy, blood soaked corpse hung limply from the thick branch overhead, the man named Finchy inflicted one last humiliation upon her; carving a large bloody swastika across her naked breasts. He chuckled to himself as he worked, as if it was all some marvellous game.
But it mattered little as her suffering was over.
Sam felt Claudette’s pain as acutely as if it was his own and the grotesque sight of her hanging there utterly abhorrent. Yet, as his eyes closed at last, he did not have enough strength left to even cry.
Indeed, as he lay there about to die, his last thoughts were of Vasily and Miriam and how they would be expecting to meet up with him and Claudette later that evening to celebrate.
Now they would be left disappointed.
Finally, as he drifted away, Sam heard one of the men ask, “What about her boyfriend?”
“Don’t bother,” another replied. “He’s already dead,”
And as the six men left the glade, Sam felt sure that he was.
Chapter Three
Emma was already downstairs, humming sweetly to herself as she prepared her husband’s packed lunch.
She and Roper had only been married a couple of weeks - indeed, they had returned from honeymoon just two days earlier having spent a wonderful ten nights together in Alcudia, but now they were back and she was determined to make a good wife for him.
Even though he was not a particularly ambitious man, his career was on an upwards trajectory and with her behind him, she would make certain it stayed on course.
What is more, at just twenty-three he had already made an impressive start and today he would be taking up his new position as the youngest Detective Sergeant in the Cambridge Constabulary.
However, moving to Cambridge was not Emma’s choice and she would much preferred them to have stayed in London where she felt Roper’s career prospects would be better. Indeed, She and her husband were both Londoners by birth but after his father’s untimely death the previous year, Roper decided that a fresh start might be for the best and, with a wedding date already set, Emma felt obliged to support his choice. Although the fact that the move involved a promotion helped make it somewhat more palatable.
As it turned out, Emma thought Cambridge to be nice enough and it would certainly suit until she could convince Roper to return to the capital - it was all just a matter of gentle coaxing.
In time she would be able to make him see that London offered better opportunities to ascend the promotional ladder - and Emma always had her sights on something better.
If she had her way, then Roper would be Detective Chief Superintendent of The Met by the time he was thirty-five. But all in good time and for now Detective Sergeant would do just fine - even if it was in Cambridge.
Roper, himself, was not so concerned about his career path. It was the work he loved most and he had a particular talent for it. Dogged and tenacious by nature, he found things difficult to let go and once a case got hold of him it could quite often become an obsession.
‘Roper’ was his mother’s maiden name and was one of the last things she had given him before heading off for pastures new; motherhood, apparently, not being for her. Yet he and his father had coped well enough on their own.
However, his dad’s death had hit him especially hard and he hoped that marriage and a new job would help him finally move on.
As it was, he arrived in the kitchen with little time to spare, still trimming his dark stubble with his electric razor and trying desperately to flatten his attractively messy mop of brown hair.
Indeed, everything about Roper was attractively messy but it certainly worked for him as Emma had to all but fight off the competition before finally bagging him for herself, although he remained happily oblivious to his natural charms - which only seemed to add to his allure.
Nonetheless, Emma ha
nded her new husband a hastily buttered slice of toast along with his briefcase containing his freshly packed sandwiches before hustling him out the door to start his new job on the force.
Two large mugs of coffee and half a pack of cigarettes later, Roper had been introduced to his new boss, Detective Inspector Jeff Grainy, and had been fully briefed on the current case load.
Grainy then took his new sergeant to lunch in order to get better acquainted with this ‘wonder boy’ from London; the two of them enjoying a pint and a ploughman’s by the river on a glorious summer’s day.
As it turned out, the two of them got along very well. D.I. Grainy was a copper of the old school and everything about Coyle told him that his new sergeant was the same. Clearly he was someone dedicated to the work and committed to catching criminals not just someone looking for his next step up the ladder as he had previously feared - although Emma might not necessarily agree with Grainy’s appraisal.
When they returned from the pub, Roper felt a pang of guilt as he saw the untouched packed lunch, which his wife had lovingly made for him that morning, sitting untouched on his new desk. However, he had no time to dwell on it further because at that moment the call came in and everything went to hell.
***
In his brief but varied life as a policeman, Roper Coyle had seen many unpleasant things yet nothing could have prepared him for what he saw in that glade on his first day as a Detective Sergeant.
Indeed, Roper instinctively knew that the sight of that poor, brutalised girl would stay with him for the rest of his days.
Grainy, too, had never seen anything quite like it. He had been on the job ten years longer than Coyle yet he was equally shocked by what he saw.
An old man walking his dog had stumbled upon the macabre scene just an hour before he and Coyle got there.
Apparently the man’s suspicions had been aroused when his labrador came running back to him with fresh blood all over its paws. The dog had then led its owner back to the glade where he discovered the bodies of the two young people.
Thinking it to be a double murder, the old man had hurried home to call the police.
However, the first officers on the scene had found that the young man was actually still alive, although he had lost an awful lot of blood and his condition was critical.
Yet, he was hanging on by a thread.
By the time Grainy and Coyle arrived he had already been whisked away to hospital but as to his chances of survival, they would just have to wait and see.
Sadly, for the girl, there was to be no such hope.
Her torn and violated body was still hanging from the tree, the vile carving of a swastika clearly visible on her chest; flies buzzing greedily around her bloodied corpse as it steadily ripened in the heat of the afternoon sun.
Moreover, an abundance of bloody footprints all around the killing ground, which the forensic team were busily photographing and documenting, suggested it to be the work of multiple assailants.
It was also clear that the dead girl had been raped repeatedly, both anally and virginally, in a sustained attack which, at first glance, appeared to be racially motivated.
Yet Roper was not wholly convinced. The swastika certainly suggested it to be racially inspired but in his opinion something about the scene looked staged. As if the perpetrators wanted the police to think it was a hate crime.
For the time being, however, Roper kept an open mind and his reservations to himself.
The girl’s overnight bag had been found at the scene, its contents ransacked and strewn all over the glade. However, her student card had been amongst her scattered belongings and she had been identified as one Claudette Sekibo. However, the male victim’s identity was yet to be determined.
After a thorough inspection of the crime scene, Roper and Grainy headed to the hospital to see if there was any change in his condition.
They found him intubated and unconscious, his face a bloody mess and his head, arms and legs liberally wrapped in bandages; clearly he been through a dreadful ordeal.
Roper had just snapped a Polaroid of his face to help with their enquiries, when they were greeted by a pretty but very tired looking doctor.
She informed them that her patient had regained consciousness very briefly upon arrival at the hospital before slipping into a coma. Unfortunately, she could not speculate as to when, or if, he would come out of it.
“Don’t suppose he happened to mention anything when he came round did he?” Grainy asked.
“Not really,” the doctor replied, “although he was babbling a little.”
“Babbling?”
“Yes. He was whispering something repeatedly but it didn’t really make any sense.”
“Whispering what exactly, Doc?” Roper asked, immediately intrigued.
“Something about animals I think - which just seemed—”
“Animals?” Interrupted Coyle. “What sort?”
“Well I can’t really be sure,” replied the doctor, now feeling a little foolish for mentioning it, “but he kept saying - or at least it sounded like he was saying, ‘hare, bulldog, finch,’ over and over again.”
“Hare, bulldog, finch?” Grainy asked. “You sure there was nothing else?”
“Well no. Like I said he was just babbling - most probably delirious after receiving such a severe blow on the head,” replied the doctor. “I’m sorry I can’t be of anymore help.”
“No, that’s great. Thanks Doc,” Coyle assured her, smiling. “Everything’s useful at this stage.”
She smiled back, immediately taken by his soft brown eyes before noting with disappointment his gleaming new wedding band. What a pity, she mused silently before adding, “Good, then if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course,” said Grainy. “But if there’s any change in his condition—”
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” said the pretty, young doctor, purposely addressing Coyle, not his boss, as she turned on her heels and headed back to work.
Grainy smiled and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Oh, to be young and good looking again, he thought.
“What do you think it means, Guv?” Asked Coyle. “Hare, bulldog, finch?”
“Got no bloody idea. Nothing most likely. Probably just some gibberish,” replied his new boss. “He’s had a bad crack on the head, like the doc said, so no doubt just spouting a lot of nonsense.”
“You think?” Replied Roper, not so certain.
“All I know for sure, son, is that we’ve got a butchered girl and at least five vicious thugs out there who know something about her murder,” replied Grainy. “And ‘hare, bulldog, finch’ don’t get me anywhere close to finding them.”
“No Guv.”
“So until we can at least find out who her boyfriend is,” continued Grainy, already walking towards the exit, “I suggest we start looking at anyone with Nazi sympathies who might have had a mind to kill our girl.”
“Yes Guv,” obeyed Coyle. However, as he spoke he was already underlining the three words he had written in his notebook, to give them greater emphasis.
Hare, bulldog, finch. Because something told him they were very important words indeed.
***
As soon as Grainy and Coyle visited the university and spoke with Claudette’s class mates, the question of the second victim’s identity was quickly resolved.
His name was Benedict Beresford II, although everyone called him ‘Sam.’
It was common knowledge on campus that Claudette Sekibo and Sam Beresford were in a relationship and all indications suggested they would have been picnicking together.
This was tragically confirmed when Grainy and Coyle visited the address they had been given for Sam on campus.
Upon arriving at the flat, they found Vasily Voronin and Miriam Dufour making preparations for their friends’ engageme
nt party - the pair of them busily blowing up balloons and hanging streamers from the ceiling; a banner, reading Congratulations, had also been pinned up above the tiny window.
Grainy, as the superior officer, took it upon himself to break the awful news to them and the couple were visibly stunned.
For a moment they just stared at the detectives; their faces blank with astonishment, not quite able to comprehend what they had just been told.
But then Miriam broke down, understandably distraught; her sobs loud and unrestrained, her shoulders heaving in terrible grief.
Vasily put a comforting arm around her whilst trying to keep himself together but the tears were brimming in his eyes as Roper showed him the Polaroid he had taken at the hospital.
“I’m so sorry,” Coyle said softly. “I know this is extremely difficult, but could you just confirm that this is definitely your friend?”
The man who Vas saw in the photograph was bandaged, bruised and breathing through a tube, but there could be no mistake.
Vas nodded ‘yes.’
It was Sam.
***
The detectives interviewed Vas and Miriam as best they could, being as sensitive with their questioning as possible but it was evident that neither had any idea who could have done such a terrible thing. Indeed, as far as they knew, both Claudette and Sam were extremely well liked and had no enemies that they could think of.
However, any further questions would have to wait as the two friends were anxious to get to the hospital to be close to Sam should he regain consciousness.
As Vas opened the door for them to leave, Coyle asked, “I don’t suppose the words ‘hare, bulldog, finch’ mean anything to either of you do they?”
Grainy frowned a little, still convinced the words were just the confused mutterings of someone who had suffered a major trauma, yet he found himself interested to hear the answer nonetheless.
“Sorry, no,” said Vas, clearly puzzled by the question.
“Afraid not,” Miriam sobbed, “Why - are they important?”
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