Blood Axe

by Leigh Russell

  ‘I’m afraid your wife’s dead.’

  ‘No! I shouldn’t have let her go.’

  ‘It wasn’t a car accident. She was murdered.’

  ‘Murdered? I don’t understand.’ Mr Morrison shook his head, as though trying to clear his mind. ‘What do you mean, she was murdered? She was going to visit our son…’ He gasped. ‘Is Luke… has anything happened…’

  ‘Your wife was on the road to Leeds when she was attacked. Does your son live in Leeds?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the widower began to gabble, as though talking would bat Ian’s words away. ‘Yes, Luke lives in Leeds. He only moved there a month ago. Beryl was desperate to go and see him. I’ve been laid up with a bad back. I didn’t want to sit in the car all that time so she said she’d go by herself. Oh God, why didn’t I go with her? She should have got the train. I told her. Oh God.’

  He dropped his head in his hands and began to cry. Ian wondered whether he had been rash, travelling all the way to London to bring Mr Morrison the news that his wife had been murdered. He had been keen to question the widower himself. Now he wasn’t sure that would be possible. He gave the old man a few moments then spoke to him gently.

  ‘Would you like me to make some tea? Then I’ll ask you a few questions about your wife, if I may.’

  Mr Morrison looked up and heaved a deep sigh. ‘I’ll be all right, just give me another minute. And don’t worry about the tea.’

  ‘Is there someone you can call? Someone who can come and keep you company for a while?’

  Mr Morrison frowned. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell her…’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our daughter. She’ll have to know, won’t she? Luke’s in Leeds. Suzy’s in Enfield, not far away. I could phone her. But what do I say?’

  ‘Would you like me to tell her?’

  ‘No, no. I’ll tell her myself. And what about Luke? Do I tell him this over the phone?’

  Ian said he would arrange for a police officer to visit the son in Leeds and tell him face to face.

  Mr Morrison nodded. ‘Thank you.’ He drew in a shuddering breath. ‘What happened?’

  ‘It seems she met someone on the road who attacked her. Did she know anyone in the area? She was killed just outside York, on the road to Leeds.’

  Mr Morrison shook his head. He looked puzzled as he assured Ian that his wife didn’t know anyone living in Yorkshire, apart from their son, Luke.

  ‘Are you sure? Could she have some connection in the area that you were unaware of?’

  ‘Inspector, we’ve been married – we were married, that is – for thirty-three years. We’ve never been to the north of England, never. And no one she knows moved there, until Luke went to Leeds. We were married for thirty-three years,’ he repeated, tears in his eyes again. ‘You don’t keep secrets after all those years, Inspector. I would have known.’

  Walking back along the road towards the car that had brought him there from the station, Ian thought about what Mr Morrison had said. It didn’t make much sense. According to her husband, the victim hadn’t known anyone living in the area. Yet she had stopped her car and opened the door to a stranger. With a sigh, Ian instructed his driver to drop him at the nearest station. From Totteridge and Whetstone he took the Northern line down to Kings Cross where he had arranged to meet his former colleague. Geraldine was travelling down a different branch of the Northern line to meet him there. She had been his superior officer back in Kent when he was still a sergeant, before her move to London and his promotion to inspector. Her sharp insights had been legendary in the Kent constabulary, and he still missed working with her. He couldn’t wait to discuss his current workload with her. The longer he spent investigating the case, the less sense it seemed to make. Looking at the facts with a fresh eye, he hoped she might be able to make sense of the mystery surrounding the axe murders.

  45

  Ian and his former colleague had arranged to meet in a pub upstairs at Kings Cross station. Geraldine was already waiting there when he arrived. He spotted her as soon as he walked in. She was sitting against the wall, looking out for him. Her short dark hair glistened and her dark eyes seemed to glow with health. She half rose to her feet, and gave a little wave. He raised his hand to show he had seen her and she sank back into her seat, following him with her eyes as he made his way over to her. They didn’t shake hands, or indicate through any physical gesture how pleased they were to see one another, but he returned her smile. It was enough.

  ‘It’s a bit less hectic up here,’ she said as he sat down. ‘We’ll be able to hear ourselves talk. But let’s order first. I’m starving!’

  Ian grinned. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until then. While they were waiting for their food, he explained the reason for his trip to London. It was a relief to be able to talk about the purpose of his visit to Mr Morrison without being swamped with expressions of sympathy. Instead of commiserating, Geraldine spoke directly. They had worked too closely together in the past to feel awkward talking about death.

  ‘This is your axe murderer we’re talking about, isn’t it? The case is all over the news. I thought you must be working on it. I mean, York are going to put their best detective on a case like this, aren’t they?’

  He smiled at the compliment. She had praised his skills before, usually adding that she took full credit since she had trained him.

  ‘So where does the woman from Tottenham fit into it?’ she asked, when he had outlined what had happened so far.

  Ian explained they were working on the theory that she had been flagged down on her way to visiting her son in Leeds.

  ‘She was found lying across the front seats of her car. Her feet were still on the driver’s side. The passenger door was open and she’d been dragged sideways from her seat head first, and her chest slashed open.’

  ‘With an axe.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Geraldine looked thoughtful. ‘So she stopped her car, we don’t know why, and either she opened her door to enable him to grab hold of her, or else she left it unlocked for him to be able to open it from the outside.’ She paused. ‘Was the window open?’

  Ian looked up from his soup. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Was the passenger window open? If she stopped for some reason, and someone came towards her, what would she do? If she didn’t drive off again quickly, wouldn’t she have opened the window to hear what he wanted, before opening the door?’

  Ian closed his eyes, picturing the scene. ‘The windows were shut.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No. Shall I check? It won’t take a moment.’

  He made a phone call that confirmed the car windows had all been closed when the body was found.

  Geraldine resumed thinking aloud. ‘So did she open the door to let him in? Or did the killer open it himself before he dragged her from her seat? Isn’t that a bit odd? Someone opens your car door and grabs you. Wouldn’t you try to drive away? She didn’t get out of the car at all, did she?’

  ‘No. Her feet were still inside.’

  They ate in silence for a moment.

  ‘This is all assuming she didn’t know him, of course,’ she added as she finished her soup. ‘Could someone have followed her from London? I don’t see why not. Or what about the son who’s moved up there? What do we know about his circumstances?’

  Ian told her that Beryl’s son had been living with his partner for three years and they had a one-year-old. It didn’t sound as though the son or his partner would be setting out to murder Beryl.

  ‘And in any case, what about the other two victims? Anyway, we’ve sent an officer from Leeds to inform the son of his mother’s death, and while we’re at it, we’ll eliminate him if we can. But he seems an unlikely suspect, given the other deaths.’

  Geraldine nodded. ‘Although he has just moved to the area, hasn’t he?
And is it a bit of a coincidence that she’s killed so close to where her son lives?’

  Ian felt a momentary excitement. It was just possible the killer was connected to Beryl and that her murder would offer them the lead they so desperately needed.

  ‘But don’t forget, the others were killed in the centre of York. This doesn’t feel like a domestic. Beryl’s the third victim.’

  ‘She’s the third one we know about,’ Geraldine reminded him. ‘There could be others.’

  ‘Don’t say that! Someone outside the car got her to stop before he pulled her out of the car to kill her,’ Ian repeated. ‘That’s all we know for sure. Why did she stop?’

  ‘That’s just what I was wondering. It was night. A woman of sixty, out driving alone in the dark. Is it reasonable to suppose she stopped her car for a stranger, and not only that, but she left the passenger door unlocked?’

  They discussed the possibility that Beryl’s car had broken down. If that was the case, she might have asked another driver for help. But they agreed that didn’t make sense either. The car had been checked and nothing appeared to be amiss, and in any case Beryl would have telephoned for help, not stopped a passing stranger. Her phone was working, the battery charged. It was in her bag. As far as they could tell, she hadn’t even tried to call anyone.

  Over coffee the conversation moved on. Neither of them had kept in close contact with any other former colleagues in Kent so they chatted about themselves. Geraldine was keen to know how Ian liked York. He told her he was pleased with his move, but his wife hadn’t settled yet.

  ‘It’s early days,’ she replied.

  ‘She needs to do something.’

  ‘Yes. Everyone needs to do something.’

  They parted with mutual assurances that they would keep in touch. They had worked closely together on several cases in the past, sometimes facing extreme danger side by side. Such experiences were bonding. No longer a colleague, Ian thought of her as a close friend. He hoped she felt the same way about him.

  ‘You know you can always call me if you need to talk about a case,’ she said. ‘Any time.’

  ‘Same here.’ Staring into her unfathomable dark eyes, he added, ‘if you need anything at all.’

  She laughed at that. ‘How about a seriously rich single man with no baggage?’

  Usually one for lighthearted banter, Ian couldn’t think what to say. He wasn’t rich, but for an instant he almost wished he was single. He turned away without answering.

  Watching the gently undulating green landscape flash past the train window, fields and trees, occasionally cows and sheep, Ian pictured a woman stopping her car out of town at night to speak to a stranger. Geraldine had raised an important question. Had Beryl known her killer? It was hard to believe she would have stopped for a stranger, but her husband was adamant she had known no one in the area apart from her son and his family.

  46

  Ian was worn out by the time he arrived back at York station. The train journey had passed without any delay in either direction, but travelling was still tiring and uncomfortable. There was never sufficient room for legs as long as his. Tempted to go straight home and soak his aching body in a bath, he drove to the police station instead. There was still time to do a few hours’ work before grabbing a takeaway on his way home. Bev was in Kent for the weekend, so he had no reason to go home early. First he wanted to relax over a cup of tea before getting stuck into writing his report on Beryl’s husband. It was a depressing task. The trip to London had taken up most of the day without moving the investigation forward. Besides that, he always felt miserable after talking to the bereaved, especially if he was the one to break the news. The highlight of his day had been meeting Geraldine for lunch, but even that left him feeling sad. He didn’t know when he would see her again.

  Ted was in the canteen, sitting alone with a mug of hot chocolate. Ian joined him. While evidence gathering and report writing was crucial, it was important to make time for mulling over ideas as well. Geraldine had made a few suggestions he and Ted could usefully consider. Ian enquired first whether there had been any developments since he had left for London that morning. Ted looked pleased to see him and told him the post mortem on Beryl’s corpse had been completed that afternoon. The sergeant had been waiting for Ian to return before going to speak to the pathologist.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Ian said. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  Without pausing to finish his tea, he jumped to his feet. Casting a rueful glance at his half drunk mug of chocolate, Ted followed him. As they drove to the mortuary, Ian ran through what Mr Morrison had told him. So far it added nothing to their store of information. Ian was keen to check out Beryl’s son in Leeds, but first they wanted to see what the post mortem had revealed. Arriving at the mortuary, Ian was pleased when Avril, the young blonde anatomical pathology technician, opened the door for them.

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about me,’ she scolded him playfully.

  ‘As if any man could forget you! Do you know Ted?’

  ‘Of course. How’s it going?’

  Pleasantries over, they put on their protective gear and followed her. Jonah glanced up when they entered the room.

  ‘Aha, the cavalry have arrived,’ he greeted them with a wave of his scalpel. ‘Too late to save this poor soldier, I’m afraid.’

  From behind his mask Ted sounded puzzled. ‘Soldier?’

  ‘Oh never mind. It was just a manner of speaking. She was no more a soldier than you or I. In fact, she doesn’t look as though she’s ever done a day’s marching in her life. A soft life, by the looks of things. Privileged. Even apart from her expensive clothes, just look.’

  He held up one of the dead woman’s hands to display perfectly manicured polished nails.

  ‘She didn’t put up much of a fight,’ Ian remarked, noticing the absence of defence wounds.

  ‘No, she was clinging to the steering wheel of her car before he pulled her off. She was holding on so tightly, a fine layer of skin on the underside of her fingers has been scraped away. SOCOs found her skin cells on the steering wheel of her car, more than you’d expect just from driving, although you wouldn’t know it just by looking at her fingers.’

  ‘But there’s nothing else on her hands?’ Ian asked urgently.

  Jonah sighed. Had Beryl let go of the wheel to hit out at her attacker he might have fallen back, giving her time to slam her car door shut and drive off. Failing that, she could at least have scratched his face, leaving a few particles of his skin under nails to be discovered at her post mortem. As it was, her body told them nothing about her killer, other than that he had slashed her body with a long sharp blade.

  Ian gazed at the bloodless gash on the dead woman’s chest. It looked fake, like a wound effect created for a film.

  ‘She has one deep wound, made with a very sharp heavy weapon. The blade cut across her at a slight angle, presumably because she was half in and half out of the car. It looks as though he was holding her hair with one hand, attempting to yank her out of the car. Her head was forced backwards, obstructing her windpipe and causing her to choke. She was struggling against his tugging, still hanging on to the steering wheel for some reason, probably panic. She would have done better to have let go and tried to fight back, but I don’t suppose it would have made any difference. A few tufts of hair have been pulled out and most of the hair has been pulled out of place.’ He flicked the dead woman’s hair. ‘You can see she had some sort of gel or spray holding her hair in position in a certain style, most of which has been messed up. She was killed at around nine o’clock last night. Now I can’t say for certain, but she could have been killed by the same weapon that was used on your other two recent victims. So this could well be the third person killed with the same axe.’ He looked up at Ian, his expression more serious than Ian had seen before. ‘I think it’s time you brought this to an end
, Ian. God knows I like to be busy, but this is getting out of hand. Three people viciously attacked in less than two weeks. Are any of us safe? What does the profiler say about it? Does he think it’s the same killer?’

  Ian inclined his head without speaking. He didn’t need Jonah, or anyone else, telling him he needed to find this killer urgently. And at the back of his mind he could hear Geraldine’s voice. ‘She’s the third victim we know about.’

  Even if the death toll so far didn’t exceed the three victims they knew about, until the killer was caught there could still be more to come.

  ‘Is there anything to suggest why she stopped?’ Ted asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Ian chimed in, ‘we were wondering why she would have stopped the car.’

  Jonah shook his head. ‘Examining her here tells the story of how and when she died, it doesn’t offer any explanation as to why. And it tells us nothing about her killer.’

  ‘But she must have been killed by someone pretty strong?’ Ian suggested.

  ‘Or by someone wielding a very, very sharp axe.’

  ‘Would using a blade to inflict injuries like this blunt an axe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So he must have a way of keeping his axe sharp.’

  It wasn’t much to go on, but they couldn’t afford to overlook even the slightest shred of potential evidence. As they drove away, Ian asked Ted to look into sales of whetstones and knife sharpeners. Somewhere in York a man with a razor-sharp axe was hiding his weapon. He had to be maintaining it somehow.

  ‘Get going on that first thing tomorrow,’ he said as they reached the police station car park. ‘I’m off.’

  Too tired to stop for a takeaway he drove straight home and poured himself a large bowl of cornflakes. As he chomped, he tried Bev’s phone. She didn’t answer. He was dozing on the sofa, thinking that he really ought to get to bed, when she phoned back having noticed his missed call. It was difficult to hear what she was saying. There seemed to be noise in the background.