Fifty Two Weeks of Murder

by Owen Nichols

  On the train to Richmond, she reflected on Mal and what she should do. She liked him, but the pain of her fiancé’s death was still raw, a ghostly pall that was a constant companion, at times leaching the colour from the world. He was also her senior officer. There were so many things that could go wrong. Then her mind flashed to an image of Mal laughing with Aaron and she realised that he needed a male role model as much as she needed to live a normal life. That was why they had fled America and come to Britain. She decided she’d give it a try and see where it led to.

  Inevitably, her mind drifted to the case and she started thinking about her prisoner, stuck in a holding cell at Scotland Yard. She started working through her interrogation and barely noticed as the train pulled into Richmond and she had to carry Aaron back to the flat and up the long flight of stairs, muscles sore with the effort.

  Having put him to bed, it took moments for her to collapse on her own mattress and fall asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Jesse handed Anders a file as she stepped from the stairwell. It was early, but he seemed fresh and awake.

  “I like this new Jesse,” she said. “It’s good to see you with a purpose.” He glowed with pride and led her back to his desk, showing Anders a squat figure sat on his bed in the holding cell on his screen.

  “Devonte De La Cruz,” he said. “I set up a team to knock on his door and wake him up every twenty minutes for the last seven hours. He should be nicely baked for you.” Anders gave him a sweet smile and lay a hand on his arm.

  “You give me the best presents,” she said. “The inspectors?”

  “On their way now. First up is Inspector Barco, who’s decided to enjoy her stay as much as possible whilst she is here.” Anders caught the triumphant glint in his eye.

  “You didn’t?” she asked, grinning. Jesse sniffed haughtily.

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” he said, though his triumphant grin spoke volumes.

  “You’re insatiable, you know that? I take it back. You haven’t changed.” Jesse laughed and gave a mock bow.

  “Guilty as charged Agent. Anyways, the other inspector is called something or other Molina. He’s a bit dour, but was pleased with the hotel we gave him for the night.” A chime from the lift sounded and Barry and Mal stepped out, striding towards them. Barry gave his usual gruff greeting and Mal smiled at them both, no trace of awkwardness at all, which made Anders glad. She was useless at things like that. He started to speak, but the internal line rang to let them know that the inspectors had arrived.

  “Right. Let’s go and greet our guests shall we?” Anders moved with Mal to the lift as the light above showed the cart to be moving down. He glanced sideways at her and muttered under his breath.

  “I had a nice time last night.” Anders smiled, still facing the lift.

  “Me too,” she replied and the lift pinged to let them know it had arrived. The doors opened and Duncan stepped out, followed by the two Spanish inspectors. Barco was short and pretty, dressed in a suit that highlighted her curvaceous figure. She caught Jesse’s eye and gave him a cheeky wink. Molina was tall and lean. His balding head seemed slightly too large for his body and he hunched forward as if ashamed of his height. His suit was crumpled and looked as if he had slept in it.

  Anders stepped forward and greeted them in Spanish.

  “Buenos días inspector, me imagino que habrá hecho un buen viaje. Soy el agente de policía…” Barco cut her off with a raised hand and a sheepish smile.

  “Sabemos quién usted es Santa Muerte, es un honor de conocerle” Anders blushed and waved her greeting away.

  As they conversed in Spanish, Mal exchanged a puzzled look with Barry who indicated that he had no clue either. He caught the word legend and noticed Barco’s wide-eyed wonder at meeting Anders. Making an educated guess as to what she was saying, he supressed a smile as he watched his Assistant Chief Constable squirm. She clearly hated compliments and he filed that information away for future reference. Information he would later forget. Eventually, Anders indicated Mal and Barco turned her attention to him.

  “I am delighted to meet you Mr Weathers,” she said, her Spanish accent thick. “This is my associate, Inspector Molina.” Mal shook his hand and was given a limp squeeze in return.

  “Please call me Mal. I prefer not to stand on ceremony here. Shall we go and speak to De La Cruz? He should be ready now.” Barco smiled and clapped her hands together in delight.

  “We’d love to,” she said and Mal led them from the Hub. As they left to go to the interrogation room, Barry gave an impressed grunt.

  “She speaks Spanish as well? A big surprise in a very small package that one.” Jesse leaned back in his seat, interlocking his fingers over his flat stomach.

  “She spent a year in Mexico, supporting the local police with their investigations. Some kind of diplomatic relationship stuff.” Barry scratched the stubble on his cheek and frowned.

  “That cute girl said Santa Muerta. I’ve heard that before somewhere. What’s it mean?” Jesse leaned forward conspiratorially and ushered Barry and Duncan closer.

  “It means Holy Death. That’s what she was called when she was in Mexico. See, she was there to help them resolve kidnappings and the first one she was on went tits up.” They leaned closer, intrigued to hear more. Jesse lowered his voice even though they were alone in the Hub.

  “This young kid, son of a wealthy businessman, was kidnapped by a local drug lord. Parents super rich. This drug guy, gets the money, but kills the kid anyway. Anders is first on the scene. Snaps.” Jesse had their attention and revelled in the story, fingers snapping loud in the room as he spoke.

  “It’s local knowledge that this drug guy goes to church every Sunday afternoon. He gets his goons to clear it out so it’s just him. Anders goes to arrest him, or so she says. All we know is, she goes in alone and is the only one who walks out.” He shakes a finger at them.

  “She does this on holy ground. Kills fifteen men, all armed, and leaves without a scratch.” Barry rolled his eyes and stood up.

  “That’s bullshit. I call bullshit on that.” Jesse raised his hands defensively.

  “Read the reports! It’s all there.”

  “Have you read them?” Jesse looked guilty for a moment.

  “No, but I have a friend who did. He swears by it.” Barry snorted with derision.

  “It’s not like the movies Jesse. Crap like that just doesn’t happen. A few men, maybe five, I’ll buy that, but not fifteen.”

  As he spoke, he remembered the moment he had arrived at the docks the previous day. She was alone against a large and aggressive crowd, but her breathing was steady, her actions smooth and unhurried. He’d seen her move in the warehouse, calm and efficient. He’d met many different types of men in the army. He’d worked with the best in the SAS and one thing always rang true. The most dangerous, the ones you watched out for were the ones who had a stillness about them in battle. Not in movement, but in presence. The invisible men they were called. Anders had that quality. He knew in his bones that she was a warrior, much like himself.

  They’d received similar challenges in the military, fear training a primary focus in both Armed Forces. Research had shown that the amygdala, a section of the brain, controlled the fear response, so their training had sought to initiate a different reflex to fear and danger. The worst of this was pool comp, where the feelings of helplessness and drowning were replicated under water for twenty terrifying minutes. More soldiers dropped out after failing this than anything else in America, but he fancied Anders would have passed first time. It had taken him two attempts.

  “We should all be grateful she’s on our side is all I’m saying,” said Jesse. “She’s an angel in the truest sense of the word.” Duncan frowned, contemplating Jesse’s words. They were unused to seeing him so thoughtful.

  “I don’t get it. Angels are pure and good. You’re saying Anders is a stone cold killer.” Jesse spoke softly, choosing his words carefully.

&nbs
p; “She’s no stone cold killer, Duncan,” he admonished. “She feels too deeply for that. Angels are not pure and good if you go Old Testament. They’re warriors of Heaven. Lucifer himself is a fallen angel. They are not good as we understand the word, but they are righteous and that is something very different. They pass judgement and deliver it.” He nodded at the direction Anders went.

  “Whatever happened in that church? However many she killed? What she did was righteous in the Biblical sense. If she fell, like Lucifer did, we’d all be royally screwed. Every one of us. She walks in darkness every day and her light burns it away.” His next words chilled them all. “What happens when that fades and the darkness consumes her?”

  Chapter 8

  De La Cruz looked shattered. He sat groggily in front of Barco and Molina, Anders and Mal leaning on the wall to one side. He was a squat figure with dark hair that had receded to a sharp widow’s peak. His eyes were deep set and dark from lack of sleep. He had thick, muscular arms that lay on the table, cuffed with a chain to a hoop set into the metal of the table top. A light blinked on above the door to indicate that the interview was now being filmed.

  “Devonte De La Cruz,” said Barco, her Spanish accent thick, yet clear. “You have been arrested for the murder of…” De La Cruz spoke rapidly and angrily, cutting off Barco with a stream of expletives, questioning his rights to be deported to Britain.

  “Soy nativo de España. Y no puedo ser interrogado en este país.”

  Anders answered him in Spanish, reminding him that he’d murdered his brother for a prize offered by a British citizen. She finished by reminding him to speak in English. He glowered at her sullenly as Molina leant forward. He’d transformed in the interrogation room and no longer looked surly and dour. He spoke with intensity and anger.

  “She’s right. You chopped the head off your own brother and his dog, then stitched the dog’s head to your brother’s torso.” He laid out the pictures on the table in front of him, horrific images of his work, a human, dog hybrid like some modern day Chimera of myth. He then laid out several sheets of paper, all the assiduously collected evidence. “We have prints, we have witnesses putting you at the scene of the crime and we have your own weapon at the site.” He put one last piece of paper on the table. His bank records.

  “And we have a deposit of almost seven million Euro’s in your account.” Mal gave a mirthless chuckle.

  “And you went straight to a Ferrari dealer to buy a new car. You really are stupid.” De La Cruz glared angrily at him, his dark eyes full of hatred.

  “I hated my brother. Why not make some profit from his death?”

  “Well that money now belongs to Spain,” said Barco and De La Cruz paled, visibly deflating in his chair. “We need to know how you received your winnings. Did Lord Buckland contact you in any way?

  De La Cruz was a reluctant witness, refusing to give many details, but that was mainly because he knew very little. He’d posted his picture and description on the Fifty Two Weeks of Murder site and found the money deposited straight into his account.

  “How did he get your bank details?” asked Molina. De La Cruz gave an apathetic look.

  “I never gave them. The money just turned up.”

  The questioning continued for an hour, but De La Cruz had nothing to offer. They wrapped up the interview and Mal brought them back to the Hub, signing the papers to keep him in London in case something of use could be obtained in the future. He looked dejected at the lack of evidence De La Cruz had provided but wished them farewell and safe journey.

  Barco turned to Anders and gave her a hug, speaking rapidly in Spanish as she did so. Mal felt his sour mood lift slightly at this display of hero worship that was making Anders so awkward. She returned the hug, leaning forward to embrace Barco and responding in Spanish, her tone clearly glad to be saying farewell. Molina gave her a limp handshake and set off for the lift, muttering as he left, obviously annoyed at Barco and unimpressed with Anders.

  Ignoring Molina, Barco took Mal’s hand and bade him farewell. As they returned to the lift, Jesse waving at Barco as the doors closed and miming a “call me” sign, Lucy and Duncan approached Mal.

  “Blood Eagle case in Liverpool?” said Lucy. “We’ve got some good news. Debrief?” Mal grunted an affirmation, worry etching his face.

  “Good news would be most welcome.” Duncan bade Jesse switch on the projector and the team sat on chairs and leaned on desks as it whirred to life. There was a companionable silence and Mal could see that the group was becoming close. He’d seen pressure break several teams in his career, but these guys were the best in their areas and he realised that McDowell had selected well. As the projector shone on the wall, the crime scene photo’s flashed up. Abi gave a gentle sigh.

  “This case is giving me nightmares. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.” The photographs showed a woman who had once been beautiful in life. Her eyes were closed and her face almost peaceful. Her naked body was curled up in a fetal position, head resting on her hands, arms covering her breasts. Her back, however, was a bloody mess and the image made Anders’ own twitch, every scar pulsing in sympathy. The victim’s front was clean and pure, the back bloody. Chunks of gore had splashed out, spilling to the concrete floor on which she lay, her ribs torn and shredded, sticking out in visceral white against cloying darkness. Her lungs were splayed behind her, artfully layering the superior, middle and inferior lobes like feathery wings. The picture was fascinating and beguiling, appalling and horrific all at once.

  On the wall above her, written in blood, someone had written words to chill the team.

  “I set you free so you may fly.”

  Lucy spoke as Jesse slid through the photographs. Sarah Baldwin had been a secretary in a small law firm. Lived at home. Parents had reported her missing the night before. Call had come in the next day from a dog walker who had found the body in the park, displayed on the concrete basketball pitch. On site, Duncan had noticed a tracking camera.

  “One of those ones naturalists like to use. They come on at night when they sense movement. Films foxes and badgers, stuff like that.” Lucy flicked through her notes.

  “We traced the camera back to a retired couple a few streets down. They hadn’t collected it yet, so gave us permission to download the footage. Caught everything. A Johnathan Sanders. Known to the police for stalking women but always considered harmless.”

  “Every stalker should be given a full assessment before that decision is made,” said Abi sadly, pointing to the Blood Eagle effigy on the wall. Lucy grimaced and turned to Mal.

  “We’ve put a warrant out for his arrest. Should be any time now.”

  “Cancel the warrant,” said Anders and everyone turned to her. Barry saw her plan quickly and nodded his agreement.

  “She’s right. That picture there? That’s a winner. We keep our distance, see if he wins and check if Buckland makes contact.” Abi shook her head, lifting a wagging finger and speaking quickly.

  “No, no, no. That poor girl’s family deserve closure. We cannot do that to them.” Duncan chipped in.

  “I think it’s a good idea. I’m not sure it’ll fly in court though. Mal?” All eyes turned to Mal and Abi used his pause to carry her argument.

  “We don’t get to make decisions like this. The suffering of one for the good of all? We uphold the law and that’s clear in its morality. No judge or magistrate would allow this.” Mal stared at Anders. He’d made his decision as soon as she’d spoken, but he needed to be clear with himself whether he was making a decision based upon the idea itself or who had suggested it. He turned to Abi and gave her an apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry Abi. I’ll speak to McDowell and if he clears it, I’ll have him tailed.” Abi threw her hands up in frustration.

  “De La Cruz yielded nothing. You said yourself he was a dead end.”

  “Buckland is in Britain. That much we do know based upon Boyle’s death. He’s stuck here unless he swims the channel himself. W
e don’t know whether he gave De La Cruz the money straight to his account because he couldn’t meet him personally. We traced the wire that deposited the money. It’s a dead end. We have very few choices left to us.” Abi stood and spoke fiercely yet quietly.

  “There’s always a choice. We have chosen to inflict pain and misery on her family and you can’t tell me they’d be okay with what you are doing.” She walked elegantly from the room to her office, closing the door firmly behind her. A thoughtful silence descended as everyone focused on Mal. He seemed to be reconsidering his choice. Eventually he nodded.

  “Lucy, contact Liverpool. Tell them Duncan is on the way up to coordinate a sting.” They both got up to leave and Mal turned to Jesse. “Pull up the last Interpol report.” Jesse did so, overlaying the reports onto a world map. Last week, there had been a few red spots where entries to the competition had taken place. They were only a couple of days into week two and the number had increased tenfold. Red spots glared angrily over poor, deprived areas, affluent places of influence and many more in between. There’s no demographic when five million pounds are on the table. Barry spoke softly as Jesse added more and more spots to the map.

  “You think he can do it?” Anders gave him a sidelong look and put a gentle hand on his arm. They’d formed a strong kinship in a short space of time.

  “Destabilise societies to the extent that chaos takes over? No, not at all. But he is creating enough havoc to make it seem as if he will. We have the largest manhunt ever conducted in the UK underway and a big reward for any information. We’ll catch him.” Mal stood up and walked to the map, arms folded across his chest as he spoke.

  “McDowell is under a lot of pressure. The press, the government, agencies from every country affected. All of them are putting sustained pressure on him to deliver. He’s doing well to shield us from it, but he can only do so much. If we don’t find Buckland soon, things are going to get much tougher. Our operational independence will be rescinded and our ranks demoted so that SCO can direct operations.” Lucy returned, having spoken to the Force in Liverpool and caught his last words. She sat next to Barry and looked at the map in shock.