by Clare Revell
“From a Christmas carol actually. There like stars His children crowned, all in white shall wait around. Towelling was easier to work with than cotton. Not that they were cheap.”
Somehow his singing was chilling. Isabel wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to listen to the carol in the same way ever again. “You picked really expensive ones.”
He smirked. “Only the best.”
She nodded. “And perfect fitting lingerie as well. How did you pick the colour?”
“Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.”
“Isaiah 1:18.” She smiled faintly. “You’ve been studying.”
“The Internet is a marvellous tool.” Farrell tilted his head, pacing as he spoke. “But that was slightly harder to arrange than simply buying so many towels all the same size. It had to be a perfect fit for each girl.”
“Clever, though.” Isabel noticed her ploy was working. She just wished she were wearing a wire to record all this. “A break in where nothing was taken. How did you manage that one?”
“Cynthia, actually. She knew every single one of the girls. She had coffee at their place and found out that way.”
“And the break-ins?”
“Simply to throw you off the scent. And managing to convince you that your boss’s wife was a target was particularly clever. It distracted him and you so nicely, because at that point you were much too close to working it all out.”
“Lexi…” Isabel narrowed her eyes. “You attacked Gramps?”
“There you go again. Caring for everybody apart from me. Adopting people as family with the exception of me. Yes, I attacked him. The stupid man should have died, just like your precious Gran and that stupid cat of yours.”
Again, she wished for a wire. A conviction would be so much easier if all this were on tape. He wouldn’t be able to worm his way out of the charges. “So that was you, as well.”
Farrell stomped across the room to her. “Why are you asking so many questions?”
“Just interested,” she replied. “I mean, I’ve been working this case for months. You’ve done such a wonderful job and now it’s all over. I figured you could simply fill in the gaps in my knowledge for me. It’s the least you can do before you kill me, right?” She paused, looking into his eyes. “So, tell me about Gramps. He said it was kids who attacked him.”
“Stupid fool tried to protect Lexi. She didn’t want to go with me and made some excuse. Things got a little out of hand.”
“A little? You almost killed him.”
“The other girls weren’t a problem. They came willingly.”
“One thing I don’t understand. Why pretend you were a cop when you dated them?”
“I didn’t.” Farrell’s cold gaze swallowed her whole.
She stopped short. “Didn’t what?”
“Date them. Pretending I was a cop. Why would I do that?” He smirked. “You really haven’t worked it out. Oh, you have your suspicions, I’m sure of that, but you haven’t worked out who my partner is. Or why I picked who I did.” He laughed. “Oh, I finally did win.” Then his expression changed from joy to pure, unadulterated evil. “That’s enough chatting. You need to change.”
“Into what?” She shivered. She knew but wanted to keep him talking as long as possible. The more she ‘bonded’ with him, the longer she had before he killed her.
Farrell pulled open a drawer and produced a set of red lingerie. “This and the dress.”
Isabel refused to look at it. “I have a question first. You said Cynthia found out all the sizes for you. Well, I’d never met her, interacted with her, or even said hello on the street.”
“She knew you. She’d asked for directions once when you were in uniform. I watched you waving your arms around as you told her where to go.” Farrell glanced at her. “But as for the size of this? I had to do that. And then I had to go back to the shop and buy a new set. Killing you wasn’t part of the original plan back in early spring when I bought all I needed. But things changed and I adapted.”
He held out the underwear. “You will change.”
“No. I will not.”
“The same answer everyone else gave.” He picked up a bottle and sprinkled a few drops over her knee.
She watched in fascinated horror as the wet fabric disintegrated.
“That was just a few drops. I have far more. So, you either change or I dissolve all your clothes and I have to change you myself. I don’t have a preference either way.”
Isabel shivered, and not just with the cold. There was no way she would let that happen. She rattled the restraint. “Then you need to unfasten me. I haven’t needed help dressing since I was three.”
“What’s the magic word?”
She resisted the urge to shoot back a sarcastic answer or argue with the man. At the end of the day it was just clothes. Stripping wasn’t her first choice, but all he hoped to gain from this was to humiliate her. She wasn’t ashamed of her body, even though it was far from perfect and nowhere near as slim as she’d like. As much as she hated the idea, she wouldn’t let him know that. But she had the answer to the question she and Zander had often debated. How the Slayer got the women to change.
“Or don’t,” she said. “But you’ll have to unfasten me before you can change me. As I said, that ain’t happening. So either you unfasten me so I can change or do as you want. Or we sit here ’til I’m half naked, then I’ll simply attack you when you do let me go.”
Isabel honestly doubted he’d douse her in acid, or whatever it was. It would damage her too much—Unless…Rosa?
“Your choice. But it won’t end well.”
She had to know. “Is that why you burned Rosa’s body? Did she refuse to change, and you had to hide what you did?”
Farrell shook his head. “I wish I’d thought of that, but no.”
“Then why?”
He scowled. “Why the interrogation? I’m tired of your endless questions. You’re not the cop here, Izzy, you’re the victim. Now change.”
“Then you have to uncuff me,” she repeated. She rattled the restraint.
Farrell moved over to her and unlocked the cuff on her wrist.
Isabel immediately rushed him, knocking him to the ground. She made it as far as the door, her damaged ankle holding her back, before he grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.
“Nice try, Izzy.” He shook her hard.
She refused to show fear. “You’d have been disappointed if I hadn’t at least attempted to escape.” She pulled free of his grip. “I’ll change, but not with you in the room.”
He sneered. “Nothing changes. Apart from your hair.”
“I remembered who I was. I don’t need to be afraid anymore. Not of you or anyone else. I’m a child of the King. Nothing you do to me can alter that.”
Farrell shoved her against the wall. “I can kill you.”
She gasped, winded for a moment. “Please do.”
He did a double take. “Did I hear you correctly? Aren’t you afraid of dying?”
“Dying itself…maybe a little, but death, no. Killing me changes my address from here to Heaven. And that can only be a good thing.”
Farrell scowled.
Isabel smiled on the inside. “What, no comeback?” she taunted.
It had the desired effect. “Just change!” he yelled and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Isabel grinned. Lord, I think that is Us one, Farrell nil. Give me the strength to get through this. If I end up dying today, may my last thought be of You. Because if Farrell is true to form, my death will be on my knees in prayer.
~*~
Zander stared at the new map Jason had done with the pins in the order in which the photographs were taken. But it had revealed nothing new. They were still the same distance from Isabel’s old house and the time stamps seemed to make no difference.
Zander looked at the postcard. The foreig
n phrase bugged him. He picked up a pen and wrote it on the bottom of the new incident board.
Tá admháil maith don anam. Question was where had he seen it before and what did it mean?
Jason dropped his pen to the desk. “That phrase. Saw it earlier in the art gallery. It was the title of that new display they were doing. You wrote it down and shoved it in your pocket. You also took a photo of it.”
Zander clicked his fingers. Of course he did. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper. “Yes, the exact same wording.” He strode to the computer and pulled up a translation page. He slowly typed in tá ad…
The ‘a’ with the acute above it caught him out. “What’s the short cut for an ‘a’ with a forward slash above it?”
Jason typed rapidly for a second. “Alt plus 0225.” He grinned. “I have the character map bookmarked on here. Because you never know when you’ll need a ½.”
“Thank you.” Zander carried on typing. Before he had chance to finish the phrase, the squad room door burst open, slamming against the wall.
Chief Superintendent Clydesdale arrived like a hurricane. “Why didn’t you tell me Isabel was missing?” he demanded loudly.
“Because we’re handling the case,” Zander said, wondering who’d told him. “And it’s nothing to do with you.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Really?” Zander couldn’t help but bait the man, senior officer or not. “And yet you totally ignored her until recently.”
“I didn’t know she existed. I have explained all this to her and she’s fine with it.”
“Funny that. You insisted she take a DNA test to prove it, when you yourself didn’t do one.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.” Zander glared at him. “She asked for the results and was told the test wasn’t done. That they were still waiting on your DNA.”
“That’s enough!” DI Holmes roared. “Isabel is missing, possibly in great danger. That’s enough drama without the pair of you adding to it and acting like a couple of kids.”
“Danger, why?” Chief Superintendent Clydesdale asked.
Zander’s phone beeped. He frowned. No one had this number aside from the Guv, Adam, and Isabel. He tugged it free and looked at it. “It’s from Is.” He opened the message. A cold chill spread up his arm and down his spine.
“Zander?” DI Holmes asked. “What is it? Is she OK?”
“No. No she’s not. The Slayer has her.” With trembling hands, he held out the phone so the Guv could see the photo. It showed Isabel bound and gagged, kneeling as if in prayer, the word guilty written on her forehead. The text below read, you have six hours.
17
“Trace her phone now,” DI Holmes barked.
“On it,” DS Philips replied.
Zander started at the image in his hands. “No necklace.” He saved the image to his phone, then emailed the photograph to his printer. He set a timer on his phone for six hours. It would countdown silently on the lock screen until time was up. Next he put the phone down and resumed typing tá admháil maith don anam into the translate page.
Austin came in. The man was dressed in black and looked distraught. “Sorry,” he said.
DI Holmes put a hand on his arm. “No, we’re sorry for dragging you away from a funeral. Next time just let me know you won’t be here.” He paused. “We’re all really sorry for your loss.”
Austin nodded. “Any news?”
“We got sent a photo to my phone from Is’s a few minutes ago.” Zander held out the printed sheet to show him. “It’s not geo-tagged, I checked.” He glanced at the translation page. Goosebumps covered his arms. “I need to go out. And I’m taking the traffic car again. Blue and twos will be so much faster in this traffic.”
DI Holmes spun to face him. “And where are you going?”
“The art gallery. I need to check something.” He changed his computer password.
“What?” Chief Superintendent Clydesdale asked. “What does that have to do with Isabel being missing?”
Zander had forgotten the man was there. “Missing paintings,” he muttered. “Jason, with me.” He closed his computer down, confident that no one could access it at all.
“Did you translate that phrase?” DI Holmes asked.
Zander glanced at him. “Yeah. It means confession is good for the soul.” From the look in the man’s eyes, Zander knew he’d twigged the same thing he had. “If DS Painter returns my call or gets here before I get back, can you ask him to ring me immediately?” He headed for the door, Jason behind him.
“Sarge, why the gallery?”
“I have a hunch and want to know I’m right before I say anything.”
Jason grinned. “The Guv told me to trust your hunches. He said your hunches are better than most officers’ facts.”
“Did he? Well, this one may lead us straight to Isabel and the Slayer.” Ten minutes later he pulled up outside the gallery and switched off the siren. “Come on. Just watch and learn.”
Jason fired off a mock salute. “Yes, Sarge.”
Zander smiled, appreciating the attempt at humour. He headed inside the building. “I need to see Farrell Vixen,” he announced loudly.
“He’s in Ireland,” someone replied. “At a family funeral.”
At least the story was consistent, even if the staff members weren’t. “Is Bessie here? I spoke to her yesterday.”
“No, it’s her day off. I’m Vanessa.”
Zander headed over to the collection of necklaces. They hung in a glass case on the wall. He peered in at them, then picked up one of the metal barriers and smashed the glass.
Vanessa ran over as an alarm rang. “Sir, you can’t do that. I’ll have to call the police.”
Zander held up his ID. “Don’t bother. We’re already here. Be a good girl and silence that alarm. We don’t want the entire police force here.” He reached into the broken case and took the pendant that had bothered him so much the previous day. It was so familiar. He opened it and hissed. “It’s Isabel’s.” He looked at the other necklaces. “In fact, I’d go as far as saying these are all stolen. The missing necklaces from the murders.”
Vanessa paled. “What?”
“I’ll need to take all of them.” Zander glanced at Jason. “Ring the Guv and get SOCO and Will over here ASAP.”
“Yes, Sarge.” Jason pulled his phone out and dialled.
Zander turned back to Vanessa. “I don’t want anyone in here until further notice. Actually, you’d better close the gallery for the day.”
“I really don’t have the authority to do that.”
Zander scowled. “Jason, ask the Guv to get a court order to close this place, will you?”
Jason nodded. “Guv, did you hear that?” He shot Zander a thumbs up.
“Thank you. So be a good girl and close the gallery. Actually, I’ll do it.” He strode across the room and turned the sign to ‘closed’. Then he headed out to the car and grabbed a box of evidence bags.
Back inside the gallery, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He carefully removed each necklace, along with the backing card it was attached to and the little card describing it and bagged them individually.
“You can’t just take them,” Vanessa objected.
“They belong to the Slayer’s victims, so I think you’ll find I can. Where did Mr. Vixen get them?”
“I don’t know. There was a shipment yesterday morning, but there wasn’t a receipt.”
Zander frowned. “Speaking of receipts, who does the books?”
“Mr. Vixen.”
“I need to see them.” The unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach was growing.
Jason hung up. “SOCO and Will are on their way. So’s uniform and the court order. The Guv’s asked for one to close the gallery indefinitely and to see all the financial records.”
Vanessa fetched the books and laid them on the counter.
Zander pored over them, flicking the pages b
ack to the end of February and beginning of March. There were several large amounts of money that had been taken out in February and weren’t for bills or anything else that Zander could see. But he was no accountant. He photographed the relevant pages. “We need an auditor to go over these properly. We’ll need to take them with us.”
“I need a receipt.”
Zander rolled his eyes. “We have a court order, but fine.” He scrawled on the same piece of paper as before. “There. I don’t want you going anywhere. Wait for SOCO.”
Jason glanced at him. “Guv told me to wait here and help Will.”
Zander nodded, relieved. “OK. I’ll take these back and get them processed.”
~*~
Farrell finished filling a large pool with hot water.
Isabel had watched with interest and a few well-timed comments as he’d first assembled it, wrong, and then began filling it. He’d taken the gag off once he’d taken the photo and sent it, and then chained her to the wall once more. He must have charged her phone in order to get it working again. She couldn’t resist teasing him. “So are you going swimming now it’s finished?”
“Don’t be facetious.”
“Did you do this to the other girls?” She stretched her legs out; surprised he hadn’t bound them yet. He’d made her pose as if they were.
“No. I told you, you’re different.” Farrell scattered rose petals on the surface of the steaming water. “I have something special planned for you. The other girls, their crimes fitted the paintings. But this time, your death will match the painting almost entirely.” He held out a glass containing a thick red liquid. “You must be thirsty by now.”
Isabel was, but she shook her head. “I’m fine. Thanks, anyway. Tell me about the poison hemlock.”
“It’s very clever stuff. It’s used in executions. In small doses it paralyzes slowly. Legs, arms, chest, until finally you suffocate. But the brain remains active right up until the end. The victim is fully conscious and knows what’s happening. In larger doses and mixed with other drugs, death is virtually instantaneous.”
“Nice stuff,” she muttered with every ounce of sarcasm she could muster.