The Vine Cross (The Vine Series Book 1)

by S P Dawes

  “What are we going to do?” Panicked PC Davis, flicking from the monitors to his partner.

  Suddenly PC Vacher jumped out the back of the van and ran up the street to Demy’s front door.

  Banging loudly on the door, Hayley’s panicked face was obvious through the screen, PC Davis watched her on. She gathered the items she’d laid down and ran up the stairs. PC Davis hoped she got them hidden before Demy got inside, as he flicked to the monitor with Demy pulling up outside his house.

  Demy looked over to DC Vacher, standing outside his home wearily. “What do you want?”

  “Sorry sir, I’m looking for my dog.”

  Demy slammed the car door, making his way to the front door, swinging the keys in his hand. “Not seen it,” he said, pushing the key in the lock.

  “I don’t suppose you mind me just checking your back garden, do you?”

  Demy rolled his eyes and opened the door. He could hear muffled sounds coming from upstairs, but not wanting to draw attention to it, he held his hands out for his visitor to take the lead.

  “Come through,” he offered, walking through to the front room.

  The house was silent, if not for an odd creaking sound coming from upstairs.

  Vacher hoped she’d got them hidden in time.

  There were no remnants of her activity downstairs.

  Inwardly sighing with relief, he followed Demy through the kitchen into the utility room and then out into the garden.

  “My name’s Andrew, thanks for this.”

  “Well, I think you can see it’s not here,” pointed out Demy impatiently.

  “How long you lived here?” He asked, wandering further up the garden towards the shed knowing he had to make time.

  “Not long. Are you from round here?” Demy asked while Andrew checked the bushes at the back of the garden.

  “Yeah, not far away, the next road, Drummond road,” answered Andrew, taking a quick glance through the kitchen window and seeing PC Davis with the back of the television off in the living room.

  “Have you done?” Asked Demy, turning back to the house.

  “Don’t suppose you’d mind telling me how much you paid for it, do you? We’ve been looking around and your house looks lovely.”

  “It’s not mine afraid, I rent it.”

  “Oh shame, so you from round here originally?”

  Demy shook his head.

  “Close by?”

  “Not a million miles away,” smiled Demy, exhausted with making conversation.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Hissed Hayley as she reached the bottom step, watching a man fiddling with the back of the television.

  “The video cut out; we couldn’t see what you put on the floor.”

  Hayley rolled her eyes. After that near miss, she would never try that again. She’d only barely got the ladder back up when she’d heard Demy’s voice, then the lock had almost fallen from her shaking hands. If that had hit the floor, it would have been game over.

  “They were pictures,” she explained.

  “We didn’t see them,” he shrugged as he carried on trying to screw the Phillips screw back in the television hastily.

  They heard the back door bang and looked at each other. Hayley grabbed the door and PC Davis ran out towards the van as quick as he could, on the heavily trodden path so as not to leave footprints in the snow.

  “Oh hello, this must be your fine wife, nice to meet you,” smiling, the visitor held his hand out to Hayley.

  She shook it.

  “I was just borrowing your husband. I’ve lost my dog; thought he might have escaped in your garden.”

  Hayley smiled, looking from him to Demy. His face was steady, but his eyes had heat within them. Demy was staring at the open door.

  “Congratulations.”

  Looking back to the visitor, bemused as he glanced to her stomach.

  “Thank you,” she said rubbing her belly.

  Demy reached over, placing his hand on hers with a grin. “Been a long time coming,” he smiled to Andrew.

  Andrew nodded slightly uncomfortable as Hayley swallowed hard on the bile rising. “Well, all the best with that,” he said walking over to the door and closing it behind him.

  Demy watched him out the window, walking up the path until he disappeared around the corner at the top.

  “Why was the door open?” Asked Demy, watching her.

  “I heard a noise, wondered what it was,” she said attempting a smile. “Must have been you two?”

  He nodded, satisfied, and she felt her body relax a little as he walked into the kitchen. Still trembling from her over exertion, she tried to take in lengthy breaths, to steady her heartbeat and re-inflate her lungs.

  Martin sat at his desk with his pen pushed into his forehead as he tried to ease a tension headache. They had informed him of the seventh victim that morning. After speaking with the pathologists, they had taken relevant tests and had an ID.

  He now knew her as Annabelle Maxon, aged twenty-seven, a primary school teacher, who had been on a night out with friends until they separated when some guy had come along. She had gone off with him and that was the last anyone had seen of her until 5.30 that morning when a man walking his dog across the park discovered her body. She hadn’t been sexually assaulted, and they had left her eyes intact. But she had the brand.

  He was having trouble understanding why the pictures of London were so important, but they were. Picking up the phone, he called a friend in the Met.

  DC Turner had been uncharacteristically busy since giving his explanation regarding the information he’d received over six months ago.

  Today he was presenting his evidence to internal affairs, who’d brought his conduct into question after Martin blew the whistle.

  When Martin had finally pinned him down, he’d apologised for not making more out of it, but explained that he’d thought it was just another domestic violence case.

  He explained he hadn’t heard the officer say there were any similarities in appearance to Hayley, just that someone badly injured the lady.

  Martin had righteously rollicked him over not passing information on, and for judging things himself. But that was all he could really do; he had explained in no uncertain terms he expected transparency from here on out.

  Martin had also taken his concerns to DCI Walker and after being fobbed off about work load and ill judgement he made an anonymous call to internal affairs and laid out his concerns at their door. Not long after they had turned up in their suits and briefcases and torn the department apart.

  Martin explained to the DCI why he’d chosen not to tell DC Turner about Hayley’s location and he’d agreed. When he had left Hayley that day, he had to inform his team it was a mistake. The woman had fallen foul of an unprovoked attack months before, and there was nothing else to it. Which earned him a salacious smile from David. Morale had dropped significantly, and he had had to lift their spirits and move them on to other lines of inquiry. When everyone had been suitably miserable, he’d headed to the DCI’s office to reveal his plan.

  “Sir, can I ask a question?”

  Martin looked up from his desk as Rosa opened the door. He beckoned her to take a seat.

  “When you asked me to get DC Turner out of the way before…. why was that?”

  Martin wanted to tell her to mind her own business, as he wasn’t ready to show his cards, but he had brought her into it and it was only natural she would suspect his motives.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped, sir.”

  Martin sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, shaking his head as he did so.

  “Everything I tell you, must stay within these walls,” when she nodded, he continued. “I’ve drawn you into this so I trust you to handle the information with care, do you understand? I don’t think DC Turner is being completely honest, he seems to do his level best to pass off evidence as though it implicates DI Hallam and then forgets or doesn’t follow things up that he shou
ld. I’m wondering why that is. Now I realise that everything I have just told you is conjecture, but it also means he won’t be prepared.”

  “Prepared for what? Sir,” asked Rosa, confused.

  “Keep a very low profile; look at what he’s doing and where and when he’s going,” Martin watched Rosa digest what he had asked her to do.

  Rosa took a deep breath and glanced out of the window. “So, am I looking for his name on the records to see when and why he was down there?” She asked, turning back to face Martin.

  He nodded; they’d just found out that the knife being stored as evidence had gone missing. Martin was desperate to find out why, how and by whom? When evidence was in the habit of coming to light in unexpected places and then other parts were going missing, he was growing uneasy about the security of his team.

  “Sarg?” Raising an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. “I’ve been looking over the scene of crime photos again, those pendants at the first two murders...?”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re crosses, but a weird kind. I did some research on them and they’re called Vine crosses,” Rosa explained.

  “OK?”

  “Jesse mentioned that Hayley had one, it’s what they left on her locker at work.”

  “Yeah, I know,” sighed Martin. “None of the others had it, though?”

  Shaking her head, she eyed Martin as he seemed in deep thought. “And we don’t believe in coincidences, do we, Sarg?”

  “No, we don’t. Did this research tell you anything about that particular cross?”

  Taking out her notepad, she flipped it to the relevant page. “The vine cross is heraldry, it’s Christian but not common. In John 15:1-3, Jesus calls himself the vine and Christians the branches of that vine. The branches that bear fruit represent man. Jesus, is the vine, and mediates between god and man, and the fruit will grow if and only if the vine has roots which can deliver moisture from a rich soil. The grapes signify the produce man creates.”

  “A child?” Martin offered.

  Rosa nodded.

  “Jesse wasn’t wrong when he said this was ritualistic,” Martin said, remembering their conversation at one scene. He was sure it had been in jest, but this was getting less funny by the minute.

  “By the sounds of it, they need to keep the bloodline pure,” added Rosa.

  “So why kill those women?” Asked Martin more to himself than her.

  “Maybe they had what they needed?” Offered Rosa.

  “A baby?” Asked Martin, feeling sick, Rosa just shrugged. “They weren’t recently pregnant the pathologist checked, but they had given birth.”

  Martin felt his lungs collapsing. Was that the only reason Hayley was still alive?

  “Well, this is nice,” announced Demy stood proudly at the dining table with a fork and carving knife in his hands.

  Hayley looked across to her father, father-in-law, and mother-in-law, all smiling at Demy tepidly.

  “Shall we say grace?” Asked Frank, placing his hands together.

  Hayley let out a snort and instantly tried to disguise it as a cough, apologising and reaching for the water in the middle of the table.

  She was all too aware everyone was looking at her, with one person seething. Hayley hadn’t meant to laugh, but she found the whole pretence of religion hilarious, especially from the surrounding men. God was an ass if he thought these were men to be adored.

  Frank started the prayer and Hayley tried to look like she was listening. It was only when he came to her; she tuned in.

  “… and we thank you for bringing our Hayley back to the loving arms of her family and to the duties of being a wife. We pray that you keep the unborn baby alive and well and that we all meet him soon. God bless, amen.”

  Staring at him dumbfounded, Demy tapped her plate with the carving fork. Jumping, he asked her how many slices of beef she would like. She held one finger up, and he placed two slices on her plate before serving everyone else. When they had filled their plates of food, and Hayley had hers filled by Demy, they all started eating, talking about the weather, politics, the church and any other topic they could think of to discuss.

  Selina hardly spoke, nor did Hayley. They knew their views weren’t important, so there wasn’t much point airing them. Having another woman there should have come as a comfort, but Hayley had learnt long ago not to trust her or put any effort into trying to humanise herself. She was a commodity to bargain with, and that was all.

  “What do you think Hayley?”

  Hayley looked up to everyone staring at her, waiting for a response. Realising she had been daydreaming. Thinking back to a time with Jesse cuddled up on the sofa, a big bag of popcorn, watching Die Hard, having never watched it before. Jesse had known all the words, as he had kept telling her what was coming up. She had laughed at him, trying to lower his voice to represent Alan Rickman’s. The time seemed so far away, almost as if it had happened to someone else.

  “She’s not even listening,” remarked Frank sharply.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Demy was looking at her across the table with fury in his eyes, as he felt disrespected.

  “I was talking about these murders; they don’t seem to want to stop, do they?”

  Hayley tried to smile as she turned back to Frank. “Apologies Mr Richards, I seem to lose concentration these days, baby brain,” she tried to explain, smiling.

  “Yes of course sweetheart, you’ve not got this far before, you must be excited?”

  Hayley knew not to look at Demy as she plastered a fake smile across her face.

  “Well, there have been some horrific murders, young women just cut up. I hear they believe a police officer may have been doing it.”

  Hayley concentrated on cutting up a roast potato, but she could feel her hands shaking. Putting the knife and fork down, she held her hands in her lap, willing them to stop. Was this all part of their plan, to tell her step by step what they would do to destroy Jesse’s career. She’d hoped they’d given up on that plan, seemed not.

  “I’m sorry, I need the toilet.” Standing up, she pushed the chair back, which squealed on the floor, and made her way up the stairs.

  Hayley sat on the toilet holding her head in her hands, trying to count to ten. Her mind kept going elsewhere before she even reached six. Concentrating on breathing in and out slowly, trying to stop the tears from falling. She could feel them threatening to smash through her defences, she could feel them in her throat dying to come out. But she couldn’t cry, she couldn’t let them see they’d hurt her.

  Just then the baby kicked, and the door suddenly opened. Demy stood watching her with a smirk on his face. Standing there, he reminded her of Alan Rickman’s character in Die Hard, with his surreptitious smirk. With any luck, he’d have the same fate.

  “Funny way to take a piss,” he remarked, noticing she sat fully clothed on the lid.

  “I already did it, the baby just kicked, took me by surprise.”

  She witnessed his face soften and walk over to her, pulling her jumper and T-shirt up abruptly. He placed his icy hand on her belly, making her jump slightly. She watched him smile as he felt his creation move under his hand.

  “He’s a fighter,” announced Demy.

  Better than a sex trafficking, murdering woman beater, she thought. Thank god for small mercies.

  Pulling her up, she tried to shake the feeling of dread off. Demy half dragged her downstairs to make his way to his father. “Dad, the baby’s kicking, feel.” He reminded her of a child with a new toy.

  Pushing Hayley ahead of him, she stood directly in front of Frank, who rose obligingly from his chair. Breathing in his hands and rubbing them together, he pulled Hayley’s skirt down below the bump and rested his hand at the base.

  Hayley could feel his eyes boring into her heaving chest. Then she felt his hand slip gently and slowly into the band of her pants. Stepping back, Frank pulled away, smiling at her. Everyone else’s at
tention on her had diminished.

  Demy re-seated, and she wished she sat further away from Frank. The men all talked about baby names, and Hayley felt Frank riding his hand up her thigh. She was stuck. If she said something, all hell would break loose. And it would be all her fault, somehow, if she let him continue. She didn’t want to think about that. She should move. Then, remembering the surveillance, she took advantage.

  “So, you were saying about these murders?” Her voice came out shaky, but it worked.

  Frank moved his hand and Hayley almost let her body sigh with relief.

  “Ah yes, they have found them, slit across the stomach, strangled, and apparently the killer’s leaving photos,” explained Frank looking to his son, knowingly.

  “Poor women,” said Selina thoughtfully.

  “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for them mum, they were all whores,” said Demy.

  Hayley glanced at him whilst he shovelled beef in his mouth. There was no emotion.

  “Probably fucking deserved it.”

  “How would you know?” Asked Hayley.

  All eyes on her again as she focused on Demy. She needed him to say something, but hoping she wasn’t inflicting herself to more pain. They’d come in if they saw him hurt her, and they needed more time to find Lynnie.

  “I think I have enough knowledge of the case to know everyone one of them deserved what they got.”

  “Seems excessive,” Hayley remarked coolly, trying to draw him out.

  “Maybe to someone like you. But for those of us trying to make something of ourselves, maybe these things need to happen, to send a message.”

  “What kind of message would that send?” Hayley was conscious no one else was speaking, and that her father was yet to utter a single word.

  “That if you mess with—”

  “People you shouldn’t, you’ll get your comeuppance,” answered Frank firmly, eyeing his son.

  After the meal Demy, his mother, and Frank all moved to the living room talking Russian and knocking back glasses of vodka. They had put on the radio, which made Hayley panic about the audio transmitter. Could they still hear?