Death Unholy

by Phillip Strang

  ‘Nobody wants to continue,’ Hughes said. Tremayne could hear the sadness in his voice.

  ‘We’re professionals. We do our job,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘We realise that. We’ll keep working, but apart from the obvious, there’s not much more to tell you. There’s a shotgun in our possession. It’s covered in fingerprints. I’ve had someone down to the Wheatsheaf in Wilton to check out Kathy Saunders’ car, and the prints match. Apart from that, there’s two dead, four that need hospitalisation, although they’ll live, and the others are minor.’

  ‘Wylshere?’

  ‘He’s in the hospital now. Apart from some internal bleeding, he’ll pull through. What about the woman you’re with?’

  ‘Elizabeth Grimshaw. She’s admitted to killing Adam Saunders. Unrepentant, as they all are. What is it with these people?’

  ‘You’ll need a psychologist to understand how the minds of such people operate.’

  ‘How’s Yarwood?’

  ‘She’s not taking it well.’

  ‘You can’t blame her. She was closer to Oldfield than any of us. What’s happening with him?’

  ‘I’m on my way over there.’

  ‘And Yarwood?’

  ‘Harry Holchester’s coming to pick her up.’

  Clare sat in the corner of the kitchen; Brutus the dog had come and sat down next to her. She was patting it.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Elizabeth Grimshaw said.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Tremayne said. ‘You seem to be a kind person, yet you can kill a fifteen-year-old youth.’

  ‘Death does not concern us.’

  ‘What are we going to do with Vic?’ Clare asked.

  ‘We need to get back to the station. There’s not much we can do here.’

  ‘And Miss Grimshaw?’

  ‘She’ll have to come with us.’

  ‘I’ll get my coat,’ Elizabeth Grimshaw said. ‘I’ll need to pop next door to ask them to look after Brutus.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Clare said.

  The two women left by the back door and walked through a small gate in the adjoining fence. Tremayne sat down and patted the dog. He remembered his first partner and how he had felt when he had died in a motorcycle accident. It had upset him at the time, but with Oldfield he did not feel the same degree of sadness. He wondered if he had become jaundiced by too many deaths over the years.

  Tremayne spoke to the dog. ‘You’re right. It’s not time yet for me to retire. A few more years in me yet.’

  The dog went back to sleep.

  Clare and Elizabeth Grimshaw returned. ‘I’ve phoned Harry, told him that I’m going back with you,’ Clare said.

  ‘And next door?’

  ‘They said they’d look after Brutus. Can you believe it, nobody locks their doors here?’

  ‘The old ways are the best,’ Elizabeth Grimshaw said. Clare found it difficult to remember who she was talking to. For some inexplicable reason, she liked the woman, even after what she had done.

  Chapter 28

  Tremayne drove, with Clare and Elizabeth Grimshaw in the back seat. The two women said little. He could see Clare with a handkerchief in her hand, occasionally dabbing her eyes. Elizabeth Grimshaw just sat calmly, her face expressionless.

  Even he, cynical and seen-it-all, had been shaken by the suddenness of Oldfield’s death. Before leaving Avon Hill, Tremayne had obtained the phone number of Oldfield’s parents and had made the phone call, offering his condolences. Clare had called Oldfield’s girlfriend; she was coming down to Bemerton Road Police Station. Clare had told her that there was no reason to, but the woman had been adamant. ‘I want to be near him,’ she had said.

  It was clear that the most direct route from Wilton to Salisbury and Bemerton Road Police Station would be heavily delayed due to the accident. Tremayne decided to take the longer route up to Devizes Road and then down Highbury Avenue and right into Bemerton Road, down from the crash site. The trip took thirty-five minutes. Clare escorted Elizabeth Grimshaw into the police station for formal charging; Tremayne headed up to the accident scene. He needed his siren and flashing light to extricate himself from the traffic build-up. The police were attempting to redirect traffic around the area, but it was late afternoon, and it was at its heaviest. He parked his car fifty yards from the railway bridge and walked up.

  ‘It’s not a pretty sight,’ a uniform said on seeing the detective inspector. Tremayne continued walking. Oldfield’s car could be seen down below on the railway tracks.

  ‘They’ve stopped the trains running,’ Moulton said. He was last person that Tremayne had expected to see out of the office.

  ‘Oldfield?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Dead on impact, the woman as well.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Ten minutes after word came through. I’ve phoned his parents.’

  ‘So did I. They’ll be here in the next few hours. How long before the bodies are removed?’

  ‘I’ve been told within the hour. Where does this place the investigation?’ Moulton asked.

  ‘We have the person who murdered Adam Saunders.’

  ‘Can you prove that the woman with Oldfield killed two people in Avon Hill?’

  ‘That’s conclusive. The witnesses will confirm, not that I’d give them much credence.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The same as the woman with Yarwood. They always went on about how it was a misunderstanding, or it was a command or some such other nonsense.’

  ‘No sense of guilt?’

  ‘None at all. If Wylshere commanded, they obeyed.’

  ‘These gods, what’s the truth?’ Moulton asked. Down below on the railway tracks the two men could see the first body being removed from the vehicle. Heavy-duty cutting tools had sliced open a section of the roof.

  ‘I’ll admit that Avon Hill is a place to believe in such things, but it’s nonsense. Wylshere for some reason was able to control these people.’

  ‘I’ve met him,’ Moulton said. ‘He never struck me as anything special.’

  As the two men spoke, for once in a cordial manner, the second body was removed from the vehicle. A crane was waiting to lift the car from the rail tracks once it had been given the all-clear. The bodies would be taken to Pathology, the vehicle would be subject to further checks.

  ‘Do you know what happened?’ Moulton asked.

  ‘No. Yarwood spoke to Oldfield a few minutes before the accident. He told her that he was driving the woman to the police station.’

  ‘It’s not a dangerous road, yet he smashes into the back of a mobile crane, sideswipes a couple of cars, almost runs a motorcycle off the road. What speed was he doing?’

  ‘No idea, sir,’ Tremayne said. The first body passed by the two men. Tremayne checked; it was Oldfield.

  ***

  One hour later and Elizabeth Grimshaw was in the cells. Clare wanted to go home and be with Harry, but first there was another pressing matter: Edmund Wylshere.

  Clare, realising that a police officer needed to rise above the sadness she felt, accompanied Tremayne to the hospital. They found the man sitting up in bed. He was surrounded by well-wishers. Tremayne recognised a few from the pub in Avon Hill; the others he did not.

  ‘Detective Inspector Tremayne, I’m pleased to see you,’ Wylshere said. The well-wishers left the room.

  ‘They’re looking after you?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘I know everyone up here. It’s almost a second home to me.’

  Tremayne could not agree with the home analogy. The hospital was too clinical for him, too clean and too full of the ill. He had not been sick, apart from a brief prostate scare, in the last twelve years. He hoped it would continue. To him, the worst thing in life would be to be incapacitated, being fed through a tube, wheeled from one place to the next.

  ‘You look well enough,’ Clare said.

  ‘Pain killers. A couple
of days and I’ll be out of here.’

  ‘Dr Wylshere, we’re not here for a social visit,’ Tremayne said. He could see the smugness in the man, almost as if he was thumbing his nose at the two of them. He could only feel contemptuous of the man.

  ‘It was a misunderstanding. Kathy would never have done that normally.’

  ‘Then why?’

  ‘The woman was upset,’ Wylshere said. ‘Her son’s been killed. She needs to blame someone.’

  ‘Adam Saunders was murdered. We have the proof,’ Clare said. ‘And now Kathy Saunders is dead as well. That’s three in one family, all within the space of sixteen hours. Doesn’t it concern you?’

  ‘I’m sorry. What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Adam Saunders was murdered by Elizabeth Grimshaw,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘And you believe her?’ Wylshere said.

  ‘We have proof.’

  ‘She’s always been a little crazy.’

  Tremayne could see Wylshere attempting to divert them by pre-empting their questions. He had seen the trick used before; he wasn’t going to fall for it.

  ‘Dr Wylshere, we are aware that within Avon Hill there are ceremonies where the ancients are summoned. Is that correct?’

  ‘Is that any crazier than the Druids at Stonehenge for the summer solstice, children believing in Father Christmas, Morris dancing with men dressed in costume, bells on their knees?’

  ‘It is when people die.’

  ‘What people?’ Wylshere asked.

  ‘There were two in the pub with you.’

  ‘As I said, it was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘You’ve said that. The woman may have been stricken with grief at the deaths of her son and husband, but it’s not normal to go out and shoot people straight after. She blamed you for their deaths. The question is why?’

  ‘You’d need to ask her.’

  ‘We would have.’

  ‘Dr Wylshere, did you kill Kathy Saunders?’ Clare asked. Tremayne winced at the question.

  ‘From an ambulance? You’ve been listening to Elizabeth Grimshaw. She’s full of such rubbish.’

  ‘You’ve not denied the ceremonies to summon the ancients,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Why should I? It’s a tight-knit community. We keep ourselves entertained. It’s just harmless fun, that’s all.’

  Tremayne and Clare knew there was nothing harmless about what went on in Avon Hill.

  They both knew that Wylshere was going to block every question they threw at him. They left him to the nursing staff at the hospital and returned to the police station.

  ***

  Tremayne phoned Jim Hughes on his return to Bemerton Road Police Station. ‘Elizabeth Grimshaw?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. The woman would have been physically strong enough to have killed Adam Saunders, and the shoe prints we found at the murder scene are the same size as hers. Neither is conclusive, and there are no fingerprints. If she says that she killed him, then she probably did.’

  Elizabeth Grimshaw was escorted into the interview room. She had a lawyer with her.

  ‘Miss Grimshaw,’ Tremayne said after he had completed the formalities, ‘you have admitted to the death of Adam Saunders.’

  ‘It was for the good of the village, don’t you see?’ The woman sat calmly.

  ‘Miss Grimshaw, the taking of life is a crime,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘It depends on the reason.’

  ‘And you believe this?’ Clare asked.

  ‘I have seen what they can do.’

  ‘Miss Grimshaw, can we go through the night that you killed Adam Saunders?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Very well. I had been keeping a watch on him for some time. I even took him an apple pie earlier in the evening. He thanked me for it. Such a sweet boy.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I went back to my cottage. I can see his cottage from my upstairs window. I saw him leave. I made a phone call to Dr Wylshere, he told me what to do.’

  ‘Don’t you have any guilt with this?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Why should I?’

  Tremayne knew that if she held to her testimony, she’d never see the inside of a prison. Her confinement would be in a secured psychiatric hospital.

  ‘After Dr Wylshere told you what to do?’

  ‘I followed Adam up the hill towards Cuthbert’s Wood.’

  ‘Did he see you?’

  ‘It was dark.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘He climbed over the fence and walked into the wood. I was frightened to go, but Dr Wylshere had told me that I would be safe.

  ‘Now you’re in the wood. What next?’

  ‘I followed Adam’s light until he fell over. After that, I asked for help.’

  ‘What sort of help?’

  ‘I could hear them talking to me.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘Kill, kill, kill.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t the wind in the trees?

  ‘It was them.’ Elizabeth Grimshaw’s lawyer did not speak. Tremayne thought the man was speechless after hearing such drivel.

  ‘Adam Saunders was hit three times by a branch. Was that you?’

  ‘The first time, it was an accident. I hit him the second time, but he just stumbled.’

  ‘And he never saw you?’

  ‘I told you. It was dark.’

  ‘Then how could you follow him?’

  ‘I could see him silhouetted.’

  ‘Yet he couldn’t see you.’

  ‘He was frightened. He never looked around.’

  ‘Please continue.’

  ‘The second time that I hit him, he fell over. I thought he was dead.’

  ‘Why did you hold his head under water?’

  ‘It was the chosen way.’

  ‘Kathy Saunders has been killed,’ Clare said.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Was it your gods again?’ Clare asked.

  ‘She tried to kill their conduit to the mortal world.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’ Tremayne asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  The interview concluded, the lawyer left, and Elizabeth Grimshaw was taken back to her cell.

  ‘She’s mad,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘The whole village of Avon Hill is,’ Clare said.

  ***

  Moulton made an impromptu speech, attended by everyone in the police station, where he praised Vic Oldfield as a credit to the police force, a man who had had a great career in front of him, and said that he’d be sorely missed.

  Tremayne also spoke. Clare was surprised that a man who was usually direct in his speech could be so eloquent. She realised, perhaps for the first time, that her DI was an emotional man, not given to showing it, but on that stage in that assembly hall he had shown his vulnerability.

  Clare, who had not wanted to speak, felt the need to join her DI on the stage when he mentioned his team. ‘I am proud to have worked with Vic,’ she said. They were the only words she said, interspersed as they were with tears. Tremayne put his arm around her. ‘It’ll be fine, Clare. We still have a case to solve.’ It was the first time he had addressed her by her first name.

  After the speeches had concluded, Harry came to pick Clare up and to take her out of the station, at least for a few hours. ‘I’m sorry, Clare,’ he said. ‘I liked the man, but accidents happen.’

  ‘It wasn’t an accident,’ Clare said. ‘You weren’t in Avon Hill. I know these people, what they’re capable of.’

  ‘Clare, you’ve got to stop this. The man was driving too fast, he had an accident.’

  ‘Not Oldfield. I’d been in that car enough times to know he was not a fast driver, and he was safe.’

  ‘Maybe the woman in the car started acting irrationally, lashing out, grabbing the steering wheel, putting her foot on the accelerator?’

  The two were sitting in a café not more than two hundred
yards from the police station. It was the first time they had met for some time, their unusual working hours impacting on their relationship. Clare realised that no matter how much grief she felt over Oldfield’s death, she loved the man sitting opposite with an immense passion. She also realised that they had not made love for some time. She knew that she wanted him, but Tremayne’s messaging to come back to the police station would not allow them.

  ‘Yarwood, they’ve recovered Oldfield’s phone,’ Tremayne said.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Clare asked.

  ‘He recorded his conversation with Kathy Saunders. We need to hear it.’

  Clare did not like the idea of hearing the voices of the recently dead, but it was important. She and Tremayne made themselves a cup of tea and locked themselves in his office.

  Tremayne switched the iPhone to play, the voice of Oldfield loud and clear. Clare looked for a handkerchief, found it in her handbag. She held it close to her face, although the numbness from what had happened had stopped her tears. Tremayne sat close to his desk, listening intently.

  So far Tremayne had not spoken about their former colleague’s death, other than at the meeting where they had both spoken. ‘The woman’s admitted the shooting,’ he said.

  The two listened as Kathy Saunders spoke about the pub at Avon Hill, her belief in the pagan gods, her sorrow at the death of her son. ‘She sounds sane to me,’ Clare said.

  ‘They all do, that’s the trouble.’

  ‘Do you believe it was an accident, guv?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ Tremayne admitted. ‘We’ve a woman in the cells who’s admitted to killing Adam Saunders, another one with Pathology who admitted to the shooting at Avon Hill, and a doctor in the hospital who’s treating us as if we're damn fools.’

  ‘We are, guv,’ Clare said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘People kill for a reason; there’s always a motive, whether it’s anger, hate, revenge. With these people, we assume that it’s one or the other, but it’s not.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘They don’t see that they’ve done anything wrong. If that’s the case, then there’s no motive. Or, at least, no reason that we’d understand.’