Blood Axe

by Leigh Russell

  Ian was disappointed by the constable’s apparent lack of interest. He was impressed by George’s logical insights, and keen to hear what he had to say. He turned back to the profiler, who had begun to speak again.

  ‘Someone steals an axe from the Viking Festival and starts slicing people up with it,’ he said in his clipped voice.

  ‘Yes, that’s what we just told you,’ Naomi said impatiently.

  Ian frowned at her. To be fair to her, George was just repeating what he had been told, but they had to allow him time to piece together the scraps of information they were throwing at him, until he could make sense of it.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid it sounds to me as though our killer may be playing at Vikings,’ George said at last.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ted asked, scowling under his overhanging brows. ‘What do you mean, he’s playing at Vikings?’

  George shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he admitted, ‘and yet it does all kind of make sense.’

  ‘Go on,’ Ian urged him.

  He thought he had grasped what George meant, but wanted to be sure. Anyone who thought they could see some sense in what was happening deserved their attention.

  George nodded at Ian. ‘The killer – let’s not try to analyse why at this stage, we may never fully understand it – the killer steals an axe, a Viking axe, in the melee at the Festival. This is a replica Viking axe we’re talking about. It may not have been very sharp, but that could be rectified. All the same, stealing it wasn’t going to be easy. For a start there would have been some risk of discovery. Then the owner was a big chap. He wasn’t likely to let his axe go without a fight if he noticed what the thief was up to. The axe cost him a fair amount. The question is, why would someone want to use that particular weapon, when it might be easier and less risky to get hold of an axe somewhere else. Axes are not that hard to come by. Why steal that one?’

  Eileen nodded. ‘Go to a different area; wear a hat or a minimal disguise; pay cash.’

  ‘Exactly,’ George continued. ‘Any adult can get hold of an axe. So, with a replica Viking axe – obtained at some risk – the killer sharpens the blade and brutally attacks his victims, robbing them, like a marauding Viking. The original theft might have been opportunistic, but what happened after that is deliberate. He wanted a Viking axe, one that couldn’t lead us to him, because he’s acting out being a Viking.’

  ‘Why?’ someone asked.

  George shrugged.

  ‘That’s why he took their metal,’ Ian said.

  ‘What metal?’

  Ian could hardly contain his excitement. The profiler’s suggestion made sense of something that had been puzzling him.

  ‘The killer stole gold and silver from a jewellery shop, and he stole coins from Angela, but left the notes in her purse. He’s only interested in metal.’

  ‘Precious metals like gold and silver were valued by the Vikings,’ George agreed, his eyes meeting Ian’s in mutual understanding. ‘That was their currency. Paper money didn’t exist.’

  Naomi looked up from her phone. ‘Paper money was first used around the seventh century in China, but it didn’t reach Europe until much later,’ she said.

  ‘The Vikings didn’t use paper currency,’ Ian repeated, turning back to George. ‘The killer’s playing at being a Viking on a raid. I see what you mean.’

  ‘So all we need to do is find a man in a horned helmet wielding a bloody axe, and the case is solved,’ Naomi said with a short laugh.

  ‘The Vikings didn’t wear horned helmets,’ George said solemnly. ‘That’s a fallacy.’

  ‘But they were violent,’ Ian added. ‘They did use axes in battle, and they stole precious metals on their raids.’

  Ian and Eileen exchanged an anxious glance.

  Ted looked worried. ‘Are you telling us we’re dealing with a psychopath who’s fantasising that he’s some kind of Viking on a raid?’

  ‘If my suspicions are correct – and remember these are only suppositions based on the nature of the weapon – but if I’m right, then that might be what’s happening, yes,’ George replied.

  ‘You mean, he thinks he’s carrying out some sort of normal Viking activity by killing people and stealing their money and jewellery?’ Naomi asked. Her earlier scepticism had vanished and she sounded interested in the theory.

  George looked at her solemnly. ‘I’m no expert on the Vikings. You’d have to research the subject. But yes, that’s what I’m putting forward as a theory. I have to stress that I’m no expert on the subject. This is just an idea.’

  ‘They know all about them at Jorvik,’ Ted said.

  ‘The obvious place for someone to spend their time if they’re interested in Vikings?’ George asked. It wasn’t really a question.

  Ian decided to return to the museum and find out if they had any serial visitors.

  ‘It could be someone who works there,’ George added thoughtfully.

  Ian told them what Andrew had said about talking to a couple of people who worked at Jorvik just before his axe went missing. It was pure speculation, yet it all seemed to fit. Promising to give some thought to the killer’s possible motivation, and research the subject of Viking killings further, George left. All he had been able to tell them with any certainty was that they were looking for a strange and violent killer.

  ‘Killing is always strange,’ Ian replied.

  ‘And violent,’ Eileen added.

  After the profiler had taken his leave, Ian and his colleagues strolled down to the pub outside the police station to have a quick pint and continue the discussion. Ian was taken with the notion that they were dealing with a lunatic who, for some reason, had convinced himself that he was a Viking.

  ‘But why?’ Ted wanted to know. ‘Why would anyone in their right mind do anything so bloody weird?’

  Ian shrugged. ‘I’d hardly call these killings the actions of someone who’s in their right mind.’ He understood that Ted was irritated at how little they knew. ‘Why would anyone ever want to kill anyone else?’

  Ted took the rhetorical question seriously.

  ‘All sorts of reasons. You know that as well as I do. Jealousy, anger, greed, the whole gamut of human vice. But why would someone pretend to be a Viking, and take coins but leave all notes behind? I still don’t get it.’

  George’s answers raised more questions than they answered. But one thing seemed clear to Ian. If George was right, they needed to find the axe man quickly. The reason they hadn’t been able to find anything to link the two victims was that the attacks had been random. The killer wasn’t selective. He had killed two random strangers simply in order to rob them, and he had done so without any scruples. On the contrary, he probably believed his actions were honourable. That meant that, if they didn’t stop him, he was likely to kill again.

  Ian turned to Ted. ‘It’s not always easy to understand why people do these things,’ he said.

  ‘Isn’t that his job?’ Naomi asked, nodding her head in the direction of the police station. ‘He’s supposed to be the profiler, but he didn’t tell us anything about the killer.’

  Ian didn’t agree, and he said so.

  ‘So what you’re saying is, the more people he kills, the more likely he is to get to Valhalla or wherever it was the Vikings believed their top warriors went?’ Ted asked.

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘I can’t believe you two. You’re talking about bloody Vikings for Christ’s sake!’ Naomi burst out, exasperated. ‘This is the twenty-first century. No one goes around committing bloody murders in some crazy belief that it’s saving their own souls!’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Ian said quietly.

  ‘All George has told us is he thinks the killer may have some kind of delusion that he’s a Viking,’ Naomi replied, ‘or he’s pretending to be one at any rate. So wha
t? How does that help us? Unless he really is running around with a horned helmet on his head, we’ve got no way of knowing who he is. It could be anyone.’

  Ian sighed. That was the problem.

  ‘We need to go back to Jorvik,’ he said. ‘There are a few more questions to ask. Only this time we need to be aware that one of the staff there could be our Viking axe man.’

  ‘Anyone could be our Viking axe man,’ Ted replied gloomily.

  38

  Ted set about contacting organisers of the Festival to gather a list of the stall holders who had been in York selling Viking memorabilia. While there was a nucleus of people who turned up every year, there was also some movement of one-offs and new stall holders, people coming and going as they joined or went out of circulation. It would take some time to establish a definitive list of stall holders who had attended the Festival every year. Not many would have had axes for sale, but Ian was keen to contact every one of them in case they could recall anyone else selling weapons. It was highly unlikely that the organisers could have overlooked one of the registered stall holders. Nevertheless it was possible other stall holders might remember some snippet of information that had not been officially recorded; someone registered to sell ornaments or other knick knacks who had a few axes on display as well. If one of the vendors could recall selling an axe to Andrew, and give them a lead to help identify the axe with the algiz rune inscribed on the blade, it might assist them in gaining a conviction later on.

  On Tuesday morning, Ian returned to Jorvik shortly before the museum was due to open. Ralph led him wordlessly up the stairs to an office where Oliver and Sophie were sitting clutching mugs of tea. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. Oliver was leaning forward, gazing at Sophie and talking earnestly in an undertone. Seeing Ian enter, he fell silent. Looking around at the faces watching him, Ian thought about what George had said. The killer could be in the room with him right now, waiting for him to speak. He began by enquiring about Jimmy.

  ‘He’s always late,’ Ralph explained, ‘but we’ll be able to tell you anything you want to know, and you can talk to Jimmy when he gets here. I can give him a bell if you want and find out what time he’s going to be here. He’s probably on his way.’

  Ralph smiled uneasily, Oliver stared morosely at the floor, and Sophie gazed at Ian, wide-eyed.

  ‘First of all, I need you to give me as much information as you can about the Festival,’ Ian said, after a pause. ‘Nothing is too small to be of possible significance.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’ Ralph asked.

  Ian took out his notebook and jotted down their remarks. His earlier shyness forgotten, Oliver became quite animated talking about Viking axes. Even his gaze seemed more direct and his expression grew lively as he talked about the ideal weight of an axe head relative to the length of the handle.

  ‘I haven’t memorised the details of all the weapons here,’ he added with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Of course the Vikings weren’t the first people to use axes in battle,’ he went on, ‘although they were possibly the most skilled in their use, ever, and certainly they were at the time.’

  Sophie sat staring at Oliver all the time he was speaking. At last, he fell silent and nudged Sophie with his elbow, nodding at her and jerking his head in Ian’s direction.

  ‘What is it?’ Ian asked, gathering from the dumb show that Oliver wanted Sophie to say something.

  ‘Go on,’ Oliver urged her in an undertone. ‘You said you wanted to tell him. Now’s your chance. Go on.’

  ‘Sophie, if there’s something you want to say, is now a good time?’ Ralph asked.

  ‘It’s nothing...’

  ‘Let the police decide whether it’s important or not,’ Oliver interrupted her. ‘Tell him.’

  ‘Should this wait until after the inspector’s gone?’ Ralph repeated.

  ‘It’s the inspector she needs to tell,’ Oliver replied.

  There was nothing more galling than to learn a lead had been held back because a witness thought information wasn’t important.

  Ian turned to the girl. ‘Sophie, what is it?’

  She glanced at Ian and blushed.

  ‘It’s just that I think I might have been followed home last night,’ she muttered.

  Ralph cleared his throat but he didn’t speak, and Sophie’s blush deepened. Ian considered what she had said. Sophie was quite attractive, delicate, with shoulder-length blonde hair, wide blue eyes and dainty features. It was possible some young man had taken a fancy to her and was following her home, but he couldn’t see what that had to do with the investigation.

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘We close at four in the winter but I didn’t leave until about four thirty. I had to get changed and clear up before I left. I didn’t exactly rush, but I didn’t have any reason to hang about here either.’

  ‘Were you on your own?’

  She looked surprised. ‘Yes. And that’s when I thought I saw someone following me. I mean, he did, he followed me all the way along the pedestrian path to Clifford Street, but when I got to the bus stop he saw that I’d seen him, so he crossed the road, but he didn’t go away even then. He just stood there, watching me.’

  Oliver and Ralph were both staring at her now. Ralph was holding his head back, so that he seemed to be looking down his nose at her, as though he found her rather stupid. Oliver looked worried. Before Ian could reach any decision about whether to take her claim seriously, he needed more information. Sending the two men away on the flimsy pretext that they should be opening up the museum to the public, he kept Sophie back for a moment.

  ‘Can you tell me anything about the person you suspected was following you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t see him very well, because he kept to the shadows.’ She shuddered. ‘I was probably wrong. It was just a feeling I had.’

  ‘Can you describe him in any way?’

  ‘No. Only that he was tall. That’s all I could see really.’

  She was staring very intensely at Ian. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he rose to leave. He was aware that this was a potential lead, but it would be more appropriate for Naomi to pursue it.

  ‘If you’re bothered, please do go along to the police station and make a full report. And if you notice anyone suspicious hanging around again, let us know straight away.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Shall I ask for you?’

  ‘You can do so, but if I’m not available you can leave a message with the officer who takes your call. I’ll make sure you get through to someone connected with the investigation.’

  They left the office together. Jimmy Sutherland, the other full-time member of staff, had finally arrived and was chatting to Oliver in the corridor at the top of the stairs. He apologised to Ian for being late, and mumbled something about his baby keeping him and his wife awake half the night. Grey pouches beneath his eyes bore out his explanation, although he could just as easily have been out on the town. Ian only spoke to him for a few minutes as the other man was preoccupied with starting his day’s work. He was already late. He claimed to know little about Viking weapons, although he seemed quite knowledgeable when Ian questioned him about the types of blades they used.

  ‘You should ask Ralph,’ he concluded. ‘He knows all there is to know about the weapons. He’s the expert.’ He lowered his voice. ‘He gives them all names and talks to them when he thinks no one’s listening. We’ve all heard him.’ He laughed easily, a man comfortable with his life.

  He clearly had no inkling that his throwaway remark might be significant.

  39

  Back at his desk in his little office, Ian made a half-hearted stab at writing up his notes. He didn’t want to skimp, but he didn’t really know what to make of George’s revelation of the previous day. The more he considered the theory of the Viking, the more sense it made. He squirmed uncomfortably. Whatever posi
tion he adopted, his legs were somehow too long for his chair. He was reluctant to commit too much of his thinking to paper, because the idea of a modern Viking was quite outlandish. If it turned out to be true, all well and good. If not, he risked appearing, at best, gullible in taking the profiler’s comment so seriously. All the same, he couldn’t shake off the suspicion that George had given them a glimpse into the mind of the killer and his twisted psyche. A team was tasked with questioning everyone who worked at the Jorvik museum, again. The work would begin first thing in the morning.

  Ian drove home, distracted, and barely registered what Bev was telling him.

  ‘Ian, are you listening?’

  He trotted out his usual assurance that he was. All he had taken in was that she had been telling him something about her parents.

  ‘So do you mind?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, Ian, you said you were listening.’

  She gave him a playful slap on the arm. He flung his arms around her and gave her a bear hug, pinning her arms to her sides.

  ‘You know what happens to women who physically abuse their husbands?’

  She laughed, squirming out of his grasp.

  ‘What I was saying, when you weren’t listening to me, was that I thought I might go and visit my parents this weekend.’

  ‘Of course I was listening. I always listen to you.’

  ‘So? Do you mind if I go?’

  ‘Can I stop you?’

  ‘But would you mind if I went to see them this weekend?’

  ‘You’ve only just got back.’

  His protest sounded half-hearted. When she had lived near her family and friends, busy with a job she enjoyed, she used to grumble about his preoccupation with his work, but she had coped. Since the move to York, where she knew no one, she had quite reasonably demanded more of his attention. In time, she would settle down and form new friendships, but it was still early days, and she was left on her own a lot of the time. While he couldn’t allow her to guilt trip him into neglecting his investigation, he could hardly complain if she wanted to spend time socialising with her family and friends in Kent. Apart from that, for his own part, he would be quite relieved to have a few days alone to think about the case uninterrupted. A brief period of scant attention to his wife could be rectified easily enough once the case was over. But if he overlooked some vital information, and the killer remained at large due to Ian’s oversight, another victim might be killed. Nothing could put that right.