Dark Shadows

by Sibel Hodge

  ‘How awful—for everyone involved. If she had no history of mental health problems, do they think the schizophrenia could’ve started suddenly then?’

  ‘They believe so, yes. But I’m not convinced. Prior to this, she was a vibrant, happy girl. And recently, she also began disappearing or acting strangely for periods of time and had no recollection afterwards of where she’d been or what she’d done. The fact that all three students were exhibiting the same kind of odd behaviour before these incidents occurred seems suspicious to me and could indicate a cult’s influence.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘A cult?’

  ‘It’s not as strange as it sounds. There have been many incidents in recent years of cults infiltrating universities in the UK. People tend to think of cults being an American problem, but experts think the UK actually has the same problem per capita as the States. I’m sure you’ve probably heard of some famous ones on the extreme spectrum—the Waco siege, the Manson murders, the Jonestown massacre, which resulted in mass murder-suicide of members of the Peoples Temple Cult at the behest of their leader. But many of them are tiny and based in small homes or meeting places. And it’s the smaller ones that can actually be the most insidious and sinister, because they’re very difficult to rumble. Often, the leaders or people recruiting members are very different from the crazy, bearded messiahs stereotypically associated with these groups. They’re seemingly ordinary people—teachers, dentists, sports coaches, friends, students.’

  ‘Seriously? I wasn’t aware it was such a problem here. It’s not something I’ve had much experience with, but I’m guessing most cults have political, religious, or financial agendas? So how does that fit with what’s happened?’

  ‘Often they do have those overtones, but there are multiple possible agendas and motivations at play. Some leaders want to acquire great wealth. Others want to take over the world. Some believe they’re God. Some just like the control and power—the ability to bend people to their will. And others are just sick, twisted individuals who want to live out their evil fantasies.

  ‘In 2016, in the UK, there was a group called the North Shields Death Cult, led by a violent psychopath who, on the surface, seemed to be a harmless, disabled man in a wheelchair. But he managed to brainwash a group of women into luring a vulnerable man with mental health problems to his flat before stealing his bank card then torturing and murdering him.’

  I took a sip of coffee that tasted stale.

  ‘That’s just one example of a cult coercing people to kill others, which could fit with what Natalie did. There are also many examples of suicide cults over the years—the Peoples Temple, the Solar Temple, Heaven’s Gate, Adam House. The idea that a cult could be operating at the university is not as ludicrous as it sounds. Even way back in the 90s, cult activists were discovered to have infiltrated most of the ten halls at University College London. So it’s entirely possible, and it would be a prime recruiting ground.’

  I frowned. ‘Were Ajay, Vicky, or Natalie particularly political or religious?’

  ‘No. According to their friends and family, none of them were religious or outspoken in any political or social causes, although Ajay had dabbled in Buddhism before, but he wasn’t practicing. But cults are dressed up as multiple organisations—self-help groups, social or community groups, and yes, religious groups. And the fact that people have actually joined one doesn’t often occur to them, or their family and friends, until it’s too late and they’re in too deep.’ He leaned his elbows on the table. ‘But if there is some kind of cult operating in my county, then I want to know about it. And if they’re influencing or coercing the students to commit suicide or kill or injure people, then we need to stop this before anyone else dies.’

  When he put it like that, it didn’t seem so far off the wall, but I didn’t have a clue why he was coming to me when a) I was supposed to be on annual leave, and b) there had to be plenty of other officers of a higher rank who should be dealing with a potentially high-risk investigation into possible cults. And just as I was wondering all that, he hit me with the reason for his breakfast-time visit.

  ‘I want you to go undercover and see if you can find any evidence that something sinister might be going on there. If we launch an official police investigation, it’s likely any cult members, if they exist, could go to ground. This needs to be handled discreetly. Talk to the three students’ friends and mingle with other students, because they’re more likely to open up to someone they see as an equal rather than the police.’

  I was swallowing a mouthful of coffee and almost choked. I put my hand over my mouth, coughed, and waited until I could breathe again. ‘Me? I’m not a trained undercover officer.’

  ‘No, but you’ve got guts, and you know how to use your initiative. And you’re more than a little unorthodox. You’re also young enough to blend in as a slightly mature student.’

  I didn’t know whether or not to be offended by the ‘slightly mature’ reference. Since when did being thirty make a person slightly anything?

  ‘I think you’d be perfect. And all the undercover officers we have are either unsuitable or tied up with longstanding investigations. You look at least four years younger than your age, and you’ll easily be able to pass yourself off as a student who’s taken a break to do some travelling before doing her degree. I know you’re on annual leave, which is the perfect cover. Right now, no one’s expecting you to be at work. I asked around, and your colleagues said you weren’t going away anywhere.’

  My jaw was still hanging open with surprise as I looked at him.

  ‘I want you to report directly to me and only me. This is a strictly hush-hush investigation. If you find there’s nothing untoward going on in the two weeks you’re supposed to be on holiday, then it will put my mind at rest.’

  I chewed my lip, thinking. It was a great opportunity. Being singled out for an undercover operation would be a huge challenge, and it would look great on my CV. Plus, it wasn’t like I had anything planned for my time off. I’d been forced to take it due to all the hours I’d stacked up in overtime and untaken leave. To be honest, I’d been dreading filling the days until I could return to work.

  ‘You’d be doing me a big favour, and I’d be eternally grateful.’ He laced his fingers together on the table. ‘And it goes without saying that this will look fantastic on your record for the next round of promotion recommendations.’ His words dangled in the air between us.

  But I didn’t need any more time to think about it. I could already feel the excitement building at the thought of a new opportunity. I grinned. ‘I’ll do it, sir.’

  He smiled back. ‘Good.’ He picked his briefcase up from the floor beside his chair and opened it. He pulled out several files, a laptop, and a mobile phone. ‘Use this phone only to contact me. I’ve programmed a number into it already. I’ve also written down an email address and password. Use that for our emails. Everything you need to know about the previous cases are in these files and on the laptop. Take a read through this stuff today. I’ll arrange everything with Anthea so that you’re in the university’s system. Tomorrow will be your first day as a new student.’

  Chapter 3

  Detective Becky Harris

  After Sutherby left, I curled up on the sofa with my breakfast, which consisted of a packet of Hobnobs that were just about to go out of date. Munching through them, I opened the files Sutherby had given me and read through them. Pickle sat on the arm of the sofa, eyeing the biscuits for stray crumbs as I perused the post-mortem reports for Ajay and Vicky, along with the statements from their friends and families, who all reiterated that their suicides had come out of the blue. They didn’t seem to be suffering from any personal problems their loved ones knew about, apart from the trouble sleeping, instances of disappearing, and somewhat secretive behaviour.

  I turned to Natalie’s file, going through more statements from friends and family, her medical history, and the preliminary psychiatric evaluation. On the laptop, I wat
ched a video of the initial police interview she’d given before being declared unfit to carry on. I studied the distraught and confused young woman as she told how she couldn’t remember anything about the incident. She said she must not have seen the elderly man she’d hit and killed. She’d driven away, straight back to the university, where she’d been arrested a little while later. Witness statements said that the seventy-five-year-old victim had been on the pedestrian crossing when she’d driven straight into him at speed. They said it seemed as if she’d hit him on purpose, but she didn’t know him, and her friends spoke about what a nice, kind girl she was.

  None of the students had criminal records. Not even a hint of mental health problems in the past or drug abuse. Apart from attending the same uni and their recent strange behaviour, they apparently had little in common. Ajay Banerjee was studying medicine. He was a high achiever with excellent grades. He lived off-campus in a rental house with four other friends. Vicky was studying accounting and Finance. She lived in one of the on-campus student accommodation blocks. Natalie was doing a degree in English literature and lived in a different on-campus block to Vicky.

  I reread the statements from their friends again, trying to build up a picture of what was going on in their lives recently. None of them appeared to know each other, and after going through their social media accounts—Instragram for Natalie, Facebook for Vicky, and Snapchat for Ajay—none of them had friends in common or appeared in each other’s photos. There’d been no communications via phone or email found between the three. Ajay was gay and a member of the uni’s LGBTQ club. Vicky and Natalie didn’t appear to belong to any uni organisations or clubs. There was no mention of them being involved with any remotely cult-like organisations, or any specific groups that used hazing rituals. I doubted the LGBTQ club had an initiation ritual that included cremating themselves. And none of them were reported as being in a relationship.

  I searched the internet for hazing and initiation ceremonies in the UK. The Greek system of fraternities in the US had had a lot of well-publicised incidents over the years, but they didn’t operate in the UK. So I was shocked to find plenty of university staff interviews saying that the hazing culture in Britain was actually quite common. Excessive dares or dangerous rituals that had gone catastrophically wrong, mostly involving excessive consumption of alcohol, had resulted in several serious injuries and deaths recently. One student had drowned in a lake. One had fallen from a six-storey building. One had jumped from a stairway, which was similar to Vicky’s death. One had been hit and killed by a vehicle when playing chicken on the motorway, and one had died because the level of alcohol he’d consumed had led to fluid filling his lungs and starving his brain of oxygen.

  Purring, Pickle nudged my hand with her head, cat-speak for ‘Stroke me’. I tickled her under her chin until she got bored and decided to push the half-eaten packet of biscuits onto the floor with a swipe of her paw.

  ‘You little minx,’ I said to her as she pounced on the crumbs spilling onto the carpet, trying to gobble them up.

  I picked up the packet, and she stalked towards the door, tail haughtily raised in the air. Then she paused a moment to give me a glare for ruining all her fun before scarpering off.

  I put the biscuits on the coffee table and then looked up information on cults and read through several articles. One expert defined a cult as a group or organisation which used any form of psychological coercion to recruit, brainwash, and influence people, so all their previous sets of values, whether it be social, intellectual, spiritual, or financial, were replaced with the cult’s motivations and agendas. Often, though not always, the organisations hijacked religion or politics as a way to ensnare victims. Even seemingly innocuous groups could be poisonous traps, with some sects luring recruits with offers of therapy, self-help, and even things like yoga and meditation or smoking cessation strategies.

  Often, they were set up and registered with the government as religious organisations or simple charities. According to the Cult Information Centre, a group defined as a cult formed an elitist, totalitarian society. Its leader was charismatic, dogmatic, messianic, and unaccountable. The cult believed the ends justified the means in order to solicit funds or recruit people. And its wealth didn’t benefit its members or society as a whole. I snorted out loud. It actually sounded to me like they could well be describing any country’s government.

  I reached for my phone and called my friend and mentor Detective Inspector Warren Carter.

  ‘Morning. What are you up to on your first day off?’ he asked. ‘You’ve certainly got nice weather for it. It’s going to be a scorching week.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I’m not going to be here, actually.’ I hesitated for a moment. This undercover operation was a huge opportunity for me, and I was frothing with chatter that I wanted to share with him. We’d traded secrets in the past many times, and I trusted him implicitly. But I didn’t want to let Sutherby down, and he’d told me to report only to him. Maybe I’d tell Warren when this was all over. ‘I’ve decided to book a couple of weeks away on the spur of the moment, and I need someone to feed Pickle. Would you mind?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. You deserve a break after all the ups and downs with Ian. Going anywhere nice?’

  ‘Spain. Got a last-minute cheap deal to Marbella.’

  ‘Sounds great. I’m jealous.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t want to overstuff Pickle, so how much food does she have?’

  I gave him feeding instructions then said, ‘Thanks, mate. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘No worries. You have a good time.’

  I hung up and turned my attention back to the laptop. Was it really possible some kind of cult was operating on our doorstep? I was buzzing with energy, ready to find out.

  DAY TWO

  “A secret’s worth depends on the people from whom it must be kept.”

  ~ Carlos Ruiz

  Chapter 4

  Detective Becky Harris

  Student ID? Check. Timetable? Check. Welcome pack? Check. Key to my new on-campus accommodations? Check.

  I exited the admin block after receiving everything from Sutherby’s ex-wife, Anthea, and studied the map in my hand to make sure I was heading towards the right block for my new room. There were several accommodation buildings arranged on the edge of the campus around a car parking area. Mine had an en suite bathroom—thank God. I didn’t fancy going back to sharing communal showers with other girls. I’d had enough of that when I lived in the police hostel after joining the force at eighteen, before I could afford my own place.

  Anthea had helpfully arranged for me to stay in Vicky’s old room, which meant I’d be able to cosy up to her neighbours and do some digging. I was supposed to be studying English literature, like Natalie had been. Again, I was glad they hadn’t arranged for me to study medicine, like Ajay. The sciences had never been my strong point, and even though I’d been to many post-mortems, it wasn’t my favourite pastime, and I had a strong feeling I’d puke if someone ever tried to get me to dissect a cadaver.

  I lugged my suitcase up the stairs to the second floor of the block, the backpack on my shoulders weighing me down. The corridors were quiet, apart from a faint sound of music coming from one of the doors I passed. I found my room, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

  It was painted a warm creamy beige and had a double bed, a desk along the wall beneath a window overlooking one of the car parks, and a small wardrobe in the corner. I poked my head in the en suite. Everything looked bright and fresh.

  I’d never done the university thing. I’d joined the police after finishing my A-levels and fell in love with the job. After my probationary period, I was a patrol officer for a while and was then fast-tracked to detective constable before being promoted to DS. I had no idea about being a student, although I suspected there was a lot of alcohol involved with a side order of hard work. Still, I wasn’t there to study or get drunk. I was there to ask questions.

  I looked in the cupboard and
drawers and under the bed then fiddled with skirting boards to see if any were loose and could be used as hiding places, hoping I’d find something interesting that Vicky had left behind—a hidden suicide note, perhaps, because she’d never left one. The place had been cleaned, though, and there was nothing.

  Leaving my unpacking for later, I studied my timetable. I had a free period before a lecture at ten, so I headed down the corridor to the communal kitchen. A black girl with sleek, straight hair that fell past her shoulders sat at the large kitchen table in the centre of the room, feet up on one chair and a lollipop in her mouth as she read a textbook.

  ‘Hi,’ I said.

  She glanced up quickly, pulling on the lollipop stick so it emerged from her mouth with a sucking sound. ‘Hey.’ She looked me up and down, sizing me up.

  For a moment, I was plunged back into the nightmare world of junior school, where I’d been the fat, ugly kid who was bullied. I suddenly had a flashback of my mum cutting my hair into a bowl shape to try and control my mad waves that would never look as neat as the other perfectly groomed schoolgirls’. I’d cried for days after she did it, and for months afterwards, the other students had called me ugly and a lesbian, sometimes adding, ‘You look like a boy!’ I’d been one of the thousands of kids who were never going to be cool or trendy, and I never really fitted in. Kids could be utter bastards to each other.

  ‘Who are you?’ She stared at me, oozing a confidence that came from arrogance.

  My first instinct was to ignore the obviously calculating look on her face as she worked out whether I was worth talking to or not. I could tell instantly that this girl thought she was superior to me. In my real life, I wouldn’t care. But if Ajay, Natalie, or Vicky had fallen in with some kind of hazing group or cult or had been subjected to bullying or coercive behaviour, then I needed to act like a meek and mild version of myself. Bullies loved someone they could manipulate and terrify.