Rules of the Earth: A dark gripping detective thriller (Crane and Anderson Book 1)

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Yes. See, there’s burning in the oesophagus. They’d inhaled the scorching air.”

  “Both of them?”

  “I’ve only done the male, but I expect it will be same in the female.”

  “How do you know this is a male?” Crane indicated the burned blob of what could have been mistaken for a particularly large piece of coal or charcoal.

  “Not from any genitals, that’s for sure.”

  That’s what Crane had thought.

  “It’s the size and shape of the pelvis. The clothes and most of the flesh may have been burned away, but underneath the skeleton is remarkably well preserved. Which takes me to my second point.”

  Crane got the impression he wasn’t going to like the second point any more than he’d liked the first.

  “Some of the burns on the body show evidence of burning at a different temperature than the others.”

  “Sorry?”

  “In a fierce fire the clothes or bedclothes melt into the flesh, but at a lower, more normal temperature for a fire the body burns in layers; the clothes are burned away first, then the skin, then the fat…”

  “I get it, no more description necessary, thanks.”

  “Oh, I was just getting started.”

  Crane said, “Well stop and tell me what this flash burning means.”

  The Major laid down his scalpel and looked at Crane. “They were doused in petrol in their bed. When I was at the scene I was chatting to the Fire Officer, who told me they’d found evidence of a trail of accelerant, most probably petrol, running from the back door, up the stairs and into the bedroom.”

  “So the house and the old couple were deliberately set alight.”

  The Major nodded and turned back to the body once more, but Crane had seen enough and heard enough. He needed to go and tell Anderson that they were not only looking for a cold blooded killer, but a sadistic one at that.

  “Thanks, Major, I’ll be off now. You’ll send your report through as soon as you can?”

  “Sure. But I’ll wait until I’ve done the post mortem on Mrs Underwood and then send them both through together.”

  “Of course.”

  Crane grabbed his stick, nodded to the Major’s assistant and left the morgue, his brain grappling with what he’d just been told. Who could have had such a hatred of Mr and Mrs Underwood that they could have done something like that? Surely Bullock wasn’t that type of man? If it was Bullock? He was a policeman. A champion of the law, But if their theory proved correct and Bullock’s wife Enid was the Underwood’s daughter, then Bullock had killed his parents-in-law, in one of the most horrible ways imaginable. The thought made Crane shiver, despite the warmth of the hospital corridors.

  56

  Crane and Anderson wound their way through the incident room, their destination being the relative quiet of Anderson’s office. They were worn down. Exhausted by a day in which they’d witnessed three bodies before lunch-time. Even by Crane’s reckoning this was the worst day he’d ever had as an investigator. He never wanted to see a burnt body again, nor a dead man that had a piece of wood lodged in his skull.

  The whole thing was beyond him. There was a maniac on the loose and they didn’t know who it was. Who would he go after next? Would he turn on members of the team, the closer they got to finding him and the more he panicked? For that’s what Crane thought was happening. Their killer, whoever he or she may be, seemed to be seeing people as a threat and then eliminating them. So there must be a connection between Mr and Mrs Underwood and Clay. Crane just didn’t know what it was yet. It was inconceivable that there were two killers abroad in Aldershot at the same time.

  Crane seemed to wade through the warm air of the large open space where the rest of the detectives, analysts and civilian employees worked. The air was fetid; a soupy mixture of sweat, stale food and stale cigarettes, all emanating from the clothes the team were wearing. A mirage of the steam lifting from each person made Crane stumble and to stop himself from falling he had to grab the corner of a desk.

  “Douglas,” Anderson barked. “Help Crane into the office and then go and fetch us two cups of tea.”

  Douglas sprang from his desk and grabbed Crane’s arm.

  “I’m alright,” Crane said, shaking his arm to try and dislodge Douglas’ hand.

  Anderson said, “No you’re not, Crane. I know that because I’m not. So shut up and accept help for once.”

  Crane did as he was told, too exhausted to be angry with his friend. Douglas led him to Anderson’s office and Crane had to admit that it felt good to lean on a fit young man, taking the pressure off his hip. Crane could remember when he had been young and fit himself and wondered where the years had gone.

  After depositing Crane in a chair in Anderson’s office, Douglas said, “Guv, I’ve…”

  “Got to go and get the tea,” snapped Anderson, settling in the chair behind his desk.

  “But…”

  “Two sugars,” gasped Crane and rummaged in his pocket for his pain killers, “and a glass of water so I can take these.”

  “Yes, guv, I’ll be right back,” said DC Douglas as he scurried away.

  “I take it you’re shattered and fed up too,” Crane lifted his head to look at Anderson.

  “Yes and the fact that I can’t make head nor tail out of the whole sorry mess is just making it worse, because I’m adding worry to the exhaustion.”

  “That’s pretty much where I’m at. So it’s time to do something about it.”

  “What? Everyone out there is working their arses off, Crane. We can’t fault them for that.”

  “I know, Derek, I’m not saying anyone is at fault, I’m just saying that perhaps we need to look at the case, or cases, from another angle.”

  “What bloody angle?”

  “Connections.”

  Just then Douglas appeared in the doorway, holding a tray of drinks.

  “Douglas, go and get a white board marker and a cloth would you?”

  “Um, yes, Crane, but…”

  “But nothing.”

  “No, of course not,” and Douglas left the office again.

  By the time Crane had taken his tablets, Douglas was back. “Right, clean that board would you? We’re going to explore connections. I used to do this at the Garrison, only then I could stand upright for more than a few minutes at a time, so you’ll have to write for me, Douglas. But first close the door and drop the blinds. We don’t want this to become general knowledge.”

  “What are we doing, Crane? I’m too knackered to think,” grumbled Anderson.

  “A mind map, Derek. Right, Douglas, write up on the board randomly the following names: Bethany, Dawn, Mr and Mrs Underwood and Clay with plenty of space between them. Oh, put up Satanic Church and Enid as well and a question mark for our unidentified killer. On second thoughts, put the killer in the middle of the names.”

  As Douglas wrote, Crane sipped his tea. “Any biscuits, Derek?”

  “No, you’ve eaten them all.”

  “Ah, sorry. I’ll bring in some more tomorrow then. Right,” Crane turned to the board. “Bethany. Draw a connecting line from Bethany to the Satanic Church and one to Dawn as both girls were found with Satanic symbols on their arms. And of course a link from Dawn to the Satanic Church.”

  “Then, we need an ice cream van on there as well and both girls connected to it,” said Derek.

  “Mr and Mrs Underwood need connecting to their daughter Enid and to the killer.

  “Clay…”

  “Sir, about Clay.”

  “Yes?”

  “Um, his finger prints match the ones taken from the ice cream van.”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before,” spluttered Anderson. “That’s vital information, Douglas.”

  “I know, sir, I’ve been trying to tell you, but I had to get the teas, then clean the board, then…”

  “Alright, that’ll do.” Crane thought that Anderson was as angry with himsel
f as he was with his young DC, indicated by the way a slight flush had spread across the DI’s cheeks. “Is there anything else we should know?”

  “Yes, sir. There were a couple of ginger hairs found on the body. With the roots still on.”

  57

  “Douglas, leave the room.”

  “Guv?”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Um, right.”

  As Douglas moved towards the door, Anderson added, “And shut the door behind you and this meeting never took place. Understand?”

  “Understood, sir,” Douglas agreed, even though his eyes were full of unanswered questions.

  “And if DS Bullock asks what’s going on, you’ve just been getting us tea and biscuits.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “And the blinds are closed because Crane’s not feeling too good what with his hip and all.”

  “Exactly, sir,” Douglas at last seemed to get the hang of the conversation as he nodded emphatically.

  Once Douglas had backed out of the door and closed it behind him, Crane said, “Wasn’t that a bit of an overreaction?”

  “No. Douglas is a good lad, but he works opposite Bullock and reports to him.”

  “And you want Bullock as far away from this as possible.”

  “Right.” Anderson struggled out of his chair and picked up the whiteboard pen. “Let’s get on with it.”

  By the time they’d finished they were both beyond exhaustion, but felt confident they’d got all the links.

  Bethany and Dawn were linked to each other, to the ice cream van that was used to abduct them, to Birmingham where they’d lived, to the Satanic Church via the symbols on their arms and the bloodletting, to the sign of the sulphur also on their arms and through that to the tattoos, and of course to Clay, who had, at the very least, abducted them.

  Clay was linked to the girls, the ice cream van, the Church, the tattoos, Birmingham and to the person who killed him who had ginger hair.

  Mr and Mrs Underwood were linked to their daughter, Enid and to Birmingham where she’d come from and to their killer, of course.

  Enid was linked to Birmingham, her dead parents Mr and Mrs Underwood and her husband, who happened to be DS Bullock, who just happened to have ginger hair.

  The tattoo shop was linked to Clay and possibly to their killer, who had had a sulphur tattoo done as well and had been described as having ginger hair.

  If their killer was who they thought he was, he was linked to the Satanic Church via the tattoos and therefore via the Church to the abducted girls and through them to Clay and Birmingham. But he could also be connected to Clay as his killer. And to Birmingham because that’s where he came from. And to Enid as she was his wife. And to the Underwoods as he was their son-in-law.

  “Are we any further forward?” asked Crane.

  Anderson nodded. He was secretly pleased with Crane’s idea that had helped clarify the muddle of clues and shown how the people involved related to each other, but he had no intention of telling him so. They were a team now, so in order to be able to work closely with each other, neither should have the upper hand, or the bigger ego. And as Crane’s ego was a pretty fragile thing, Anderson didn’t want to mention anything that could, instead of pleasing him, remind him of the man he used to be, thereby plunging him into the cloud of depression that, whilst mostly being kept at bay, still hovered close by.

  Anderson went and peeked through the blind which was covering the glass panel in the wall of his office and that overlooked the general area. Satisfied with what he saw he picked up the phone on his desk. “Douglas,” he said as the phone was answered.

  “Yes, guv?”

  “The office is looking a right mess. Gather up the empty mugs from the desks would you?”

  “Oh, right, guv.” DS Douglas could be seen through the glass panel looking around at the pristine office as the cleaners had already been round. The only two mugs on view were his own and the one on the desk opposite him.

  “Oh, and you might want to wear gloves because your hands might get in a mess. And pick up DS Bullock’s mug first would you? And put it in a clean plastic bag for protection. You wouldn’t want to break it.”

  Douglas did as he was told and entered Anderson’s office, mug in hand in a plastic evidence bag.

  “I take it this hasn’t happened either, guv?” he grinned.

  “Absolutely right,” confirmed Anderson. “Time to go home, I think.”

  58

  The following morning Anderson was up and about early, going to Frimley Park Hospital to see Bethany, but leaving Crane at home for a bit of a lie-in. Last night he’d gone home via the Crime Lab, where he’d dropped off Bullock’s mug and given specific instructions as to its testing and then comparison of the results. Although he’d been at dropping point, he’d been aware of the problems that could have occurred with the chain of evidence, if he’d taken it home with him and then dropped it off the following morning. If they were to get the result they wanted in the case, every piece of evidence had to be allowable in court and without any possibility of it being contaminated. He couldn’t, for instance, have left it in his car overnight without being challenged about it. Equally as bad would have been to leave it in his house, amid the chaos of his family life. So even though he’d been on the point of collapse himself, never mind Crane, it had been better to be safe than sorry and run that one last errand.

  Anderson made his solitary way up to Bethany’s room. After fielding the usual questions from her parents as to when she could travel back to Birmingham with them, he called for the FLO to act as a witness and then showed Bethany a parade of six photographs, all men of similar looks.

  “Do you see the picture of the man who took you?” he asked the wan child. He hoped she would put some weight on soon; it was upsetting to see her still so pale and thin. The health professionals seemed to think she’d start eating soon. In the meantime they were trying to entice her with nutrient drinks. Apparently, the chocolate one was proving a bit of a hit.

  Bethany nodded in answer to Anderson’s question.

  “Can you point to him?”

  Raising a shaking arm, Bethany managed to place her finger on Clay’s picture, but immediately withdrew it and began to cry. As her sobs increased in force and in volume, Anderson made way for her mother who had rushed into the room as the sounds of her daughter’s distress carried out into the corridor.

  “What have you done to her?” she snapped, taking both Anderson and the FLO in with her sweeping gaze.

  “We had to show her some pictures,” the FLO explained. “She managed to point out her abductor, which is a great help to us.”

  “But it upset her beyond reason,” hissed her mother. “Get out, both of you and leave her alone.”

  Anderson and the FLO retreated.

  “Sorry, the wife’s a bit protective at the moment,” Bethany’s father said as they joined him outside the room.

  “That’s understandable, I’m sorry but we had to…”

  “I know. But its best you push off now.”

  Anderson agreed and went to turn away.

  “Mr Anderson?”

  “Yes?” Anderson turned back.

  “Is she safe? Or do you think the bastard who did this to her will come for her?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Of course.”

  “I really don’t know. We’ve found her abductor. He is dead, so that’s that. But we haven’t found another man that we’re looking for, who we believe to be behind the abductions. So it’s better to err on the side of caution and leave someone with her at all times. When you and your wife go for a break, the FLO and another police officer will stay here. It’s not worth taking any chances is it?”

  “Thanks,” Bethany’s father nodded and smiled though his eyes shone with tears of sorrow, not happiness. As he turned away Derek wondered if and when the family would ever feel truly safe and happy again.

  Anderson hoped that it was a muc
h refreshed Crane that he was to pick up from his home in Ash. It was mid-morning by the time he arrived, which had given Crane a bit of extra sleep and a slower start to his day.

  “How are you today?” Anderson asked, once Crane was settled in the passenger seat.

  “Great.”

  Anderson looked closely at his friend and saw, despite Crane’s clean suit and crisp white shirt, the strain on his face, the wince of pain as he got in the car and the dark shadows under his eyes. “Try again.”

  “Fucking awful. There, is that better?”

  “It’s nearer the truth at any rate.”

  “Anyway enough of me, did you drop off the mug?”

  “Yes, last night,” said Anderson starting the car.

  “And how was Bethany today?”

  “Pretty much like you,” said Anderson and explained what had happened.

  “Good work, though,” said Crane. “It’s a good thing that she picked out Clay’s photo, kind of closes the circle on that one.”

  “Not that he’ll ever be brought to justice now.”

  Crane said, “No, but him being dead and all is a kind of justice in itself.”

  “But with him out of the picture, we don’t know who’s behind all this.”

  “Behind the Satanic Church, you mean?”

  “Yeah, if there is a Church at all.”

  “Of course there is, Derek,” said Crane. “Have faith,” and a lopsided grin split his face, chasing away some of the pain etched there.

  59

  Crane had been eagerly awaiting this particular trip out since they’d agreed on it last night. His buoyant mood and just plain out and out exhaustion had helped chase some of the demons away last night and the rest had done his body good. The pain wasn’t gone, though, and Crane doubted it ever would. His other problem was the fact that he’d been sitting down too much over the past few days and hadn’t had time to do the exercises the physiotherapist had insisted he do. At the time Crane had thought they were nothing more than a nuisance, but was becoming to realise the importance of keeping his hip and leg moving as much as possible and he vowed to keep up with the exercises every day in future, although at the moment he had no idea when he was going to fit them into his busy schedule. Perhaps he’d start a new regime once this case was over.