Edwards wasn’t content with the delay, but it gave Cliff the chance to secure DS Fenton’s commitment to being their advisor on a short-term basis. Fenton would be leaving Chester at two, likely to reach Blaine by six that evening. Daniel had asked Aitken to handle the logistics for a six-thirty meeting. Meanwhile, he’d thought deeply about how best to run the session. By five o’clock Daniel, Aitken and Cliff were in the hall, configuring the chairs into a circle.
People drifted in from five thirty. Daniel wasn’t overly impressed with his two additional DCs. They seemed pre-occupied with when they’d get back to Lincoln. Something about an inter-service football match against Nottinghamshire. Aitken was more forgiving. As they readied, she sat with them, full of smiles and passionate explanations of the dialogue method and the reason for the circle of chairs.
‘Tables form a barrier,’ Daniel heard her say, and a smile crept across his lips.
Cliff was helping Daniel re-adjust the chairs to symmetrical perfection. “Shouldn’t we have a projector for this boss?”
“Cliff, do me a favour would you?”
“Sure boss.”
“Stop calling me boss. It makes me feel like I should be ordering you to carry my luggage or something.”
“Right you are b … right you are.”
“And a presentation’s the last thing we want. I don’t want to spend the whole session filling their brains. We’ll brief them, sure, but the balance needs to be tipped towards their ideas. You tell me if I’m wrong Cliff, but so far we have a suspects list which has just one name on it.”
“River Dilletantes?”
“Precisely. And that’s only because he has access to the drugs. Entirely circumstantial. Enough to bring him in for further questioning? Sure, but we’ll need more.”
“What about Charlotte Torrence?”
Daniel breathed and swallowed hard, we’re not even going there, he thought. But he knew he had to. “Possibly. But, if she had been involved in the murders of Fallon and Hewitt, why set herself up for the murder of River. It just doesn’t make sense.”
It was precisely six-thirty. Eleven chairs were occupied, Fenton’s still empty. Edwards had brought along his PA, a middle aged woman who sat cross-legged in a tartan skirt, a notepad balanced on her knee. Four community support officers had attended at Aitken’s request. This support - in case they needed to conduct searches of the woodland around Blaine - was requested with a degree of optimism. Daniel had been surprised and impressed by their commitment.
He was feeling confident and in control. His only anxiety came from the prying presence of half a dozen sets off eyes; locals who’d gathered outside and took turns to look in, on tip toe, through the windows at the end of the hall. He caught Edwards glancing at his watch. Daniel cleared his throat.
“We’re just waiting for one more, but let’s not delay any further.” All eyes were suddenly upon him. He was about to launch into some scene-setting when a bearded man, presumably Fenton, entered through the far door. He walked with a plumped chest and sucked in stomach, surveying the room as he neared the circle of chairs. Cliff got up, welcomed Fenton with a firm handshake, gave up his seat and moved to the spare chair. The circle was complete.
Daniel said, “Good evening and welcome, DS Fenton?” Fenton nodded and sat, removing his cap and placing it under his chair. “To some of you, this might strike you as an odd setup for a briefing. And that’s because this isn’t just a briefing. That’s part of it, but within this room, we’re going to sew the seeds of resolution to an intricate investigation involving sixteen known victims, perhaps more unaccounted for. But before we get into that, let’s do some introductions. I’m DI Daniel Sheppard, SIO for the investigation.”
Having allowed each to share their name and how they saw their role, Daniel laid it all out to them, starting with Fallon’s death and ending with Charlotte and River being interviewed at the hospital. He then invited DS Fenton to give an account of the events in Chester. The rest of the group listened, stony-faced, until the story about Shirley Davenport being killed by the rhino. The story caused the DCs next to Aitken to nudge each other and whisper. Daniel wasn’t much good at lip-reading but he thought one had whispered something about her, ‘getting the horn.’ Both DCs smiled and then returned their attention to Fenton. Daniel wasn't impressed but buried his disapproval.
When Fenton was finished, Daniel simply said, “Thoughts?” It was the broadest prompt he could conjure. Aitken and Cliff were clearly itching for their guests to speak first, but silence won out, marred only by the distant, indistinguishable sounds of tittle-tattle coming from beyond the door.
Cliff spoke up, “Mrs Torrence’s blood test is critical.”
Daniel nodded, “I’m expecting it back anytime now.” He glanced at his phone which he’d left face-up, on silent, on the floor in front of him. No missed messages.
Aitken said, “We need to assign resource to missing persons’ cases, reported in or around Blaine going back at least a year.”
Daniel caught Edwards shaking his head and looked at him directly, “Sir?”
“Sounds resource intensive. What are we to do if there are outstanding cases. Are we supposed to scour the entire area surrounding Blaine?”
Aitken looked like she’d just received a body blow to her career. Daniel said, “There isn’t that much hidden ground. Just the forested areas around the main road. Other than that, it’s mostly farmland. Searching those areas, plus a quick sweep of ditches, won’t take as long as it sounds. As long as we control the perimeter of the search area that is.”
One of the community support officers spoke up, “We’re happy to help. Plus there’s a keen neighbourhood watch fraternity in Blaine. I’m sure we could raise volunteers.” Daniel believed it.
Edwards puffed out his chest a little and said, “Your offer of help’s appreciated - we’ll bear it in mind - but let’s explore other avenues first.”
The DC which Daniel had earlier taken a dislike to - a gaunt dark-haired man with eyes a little too wide apart - said, “Can you expand on this Charlotte … Torrence wasn’t it?” Daniel nodded. "What did she remember about how she felt during the attack? Did she recall any sort of motivation?” Daniel could hold on to the details no longer.
“She felt as though she needed to punish. To punish River for … for being a homosexual and for him taking those drugs. She felt certain he’d done it.”
“And the reason she came after you?”
He had a fraction of a second to decide whether to be honest. “She was coming home to die, and I got in her way. I prevented her from carrying out her planned suicide.”
“Seems like the odd one out,” said the gaunt man.
“How so?” asked Edwards.
“The others took their lives on the spot either at the same time or immediately after they’d dished out their punishment.” All eyes were on him.
The DC next to him said, “Punishment? We’ve only confirmed that motive for one of these incidents.”
His colleague looked unperturbed by the challenge. “Sure, but let’s speculate for a minute that the drugs match on all of these attacks. Mrs Torrence described the desire to punish. So, put it another way, have we got reason to think that if the drugs were used in the same way, the motivations for the attacks would be any different?”
The room fell silent and a feeling settled on Daniel’s stomach that a divine truth had just been uttered. The manner of the attacks, frenzied, brutal. The St Christopher pushed deep into Hewitt’s flesh. Mrs Jackson’s words, ‘when you serve God, the manner in which you serve Him might be a heavier burden than you expect.’ And Nixon, Jackson even Charlotte were church goers, all at St Hughs.
Desire to punish.
“Daniel, everything okay?” Cliff’s words were distant. As was the quiet in the room which sought Daniel’s view. Daniel thought of Jonah, and about creating the conditions. The key had come from the last person he’d expected, the one whom he thought the least
of. Finally he spoke up, smiling at the two DCs who’d earlier shared that tasteless joke about Shirley Davenport’s death. “Everyone, let’s run with this for while, please. Let’s say you’re right. Is it possible this has a religious dimension - were they dishing out the wrath of God? We know Fallon was a sadistic paedophile, that Hewitt was culpable for securities fraud. We suspect that River Dilettantes was a thief, that he likely stole those drugs from the pharmacy and that Charlotte Torrence temporarily found his homosexuality morally reprehensible … Fenton, could you check back on those five cases in Chester and establish if there was even a hint of suspicion that any of the victims might have committed a crime, or at least something that could be deemed immoral, by someone with a fundamentalist religious bent?”
Fenton nodded and took a note.
Daniel continued, “We also know that Nixon and Jackson, and Torrence were church goers. All regulars at St Hughs.” He had that feeling, the one which comes when an investigative cog is about to slide into place. His phone’s screen brightened in response to a new message, distracting him. He bent over to bring the content into view. He sat back upright - smiling. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a match. Torrence tested positive for Scopolamine, Mescaline and Ketamine.” He let this news sink in for a moment. “So what now?”
Aitken made a suggestion that she clearly knew would rock Daniel, “First, presuming she’s signed off as fit to do so, we need to bring Charlotte Torrence into custody. Either she’s a danger to others or she’s in danger herself. Either way, she has to be held to account for the assault on River Dilettantes.” Daniel nodded soberly; there was no arguing with Aitken’s logic. But the thought of how Charlotte would react to being arrested … she continued, “I’ll go to the hospital and bring her in. Who knows, in the forty-eight hours we have her, she might recall the events of that morning more clearly.”
Cliff recommended they bring in Dalgliesh. This time they’d press him to identify the person who’d helped torture him. This was received with nods and murmurs of approval from all. Daniel suggested his two new DCs investigate any missing persons, within a twenty mile radius. If any had been reported, the DCs would work with the community support officers to organise a search. Edwards relented to allow it.
They agreed to regroup in the hall the following afternoon at four p.m., everyone except Edwards (and his PA) who appeared comfortable with Daniel’s handling of events.
Daniel resisted taking any actions away; co-ordinating it all was going to be a big enough task. Besides, he needed to speak with Reverend Jacobs.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Aitken had arrested Charlotte at the hospital and was driving her to Westgate station in Louth, via Charlotte’s house. Charlotte sat in the back trying not to look down at the handcuffs tethering her wrists, as every time she did, tears bubbled up. Through the wire mesh which prevented suspects from reaching forward and throttling their police captor mid-drive, Charlotte stared into the rear-view mirror, assessing the mood of Aiken’s face. Aitken checked the mirror and Charlotte ensnared her gaze. Animosity played out in their eye contact: an instinctive mistrust of each other; sexual competition; resentment at Aitken’s authority and power. Somewhere in-between all these was the possibility of a thaw coming; some compassion on Aitken’s part.
“I’m sticking my neck out here, you realise that don’t you?” Aitken broke eye contact to concentrate on the road. “Protocol says I take you straight to the station.”
“I know.” Her tone was ungracious.
“If you abscond. It’ll be my job on the line.” There was no need to respond to that. “Anyway, do you know what you’ll need?”
“A change of clothes I guess.”
“You’ll need more than that.” Their eyes met again. Charlotte raised her eyebrows questioningly; perhaps she’d missed something obvious, in her docile state. Her body and head still felt disconnected, but were slowly coming together like a fuzzy picture drifting back into focus.
“I suggest taking a book, or two. We can apply to hold you for up to ninety-six hours, whilst we consider the charge. Pick up a notepad and pencil - you won’t be allowed a pen. Oh, and make sure it’s not a spiral-bound one. I suggest you make notes of anything you recall that might impact your case. Also pack toilet paper and a toothbrush. The desk sergeant is likely to make some jibe about you not being on holiday, ignore him - you’ll need them. Oh, and bring jumpers. It can get really cold in there, especially at night. And remember, because you've been arrested at the hospital, and are clearly healing, you have every right to call for medical assistance should you need it.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because you’re a friend of DI Sheppard and-” Aitken paused to consider, letting out a defeated sigh. “And I honestly don’t think you meant to do what you did.”
Charlotte nodded and looked at her empty house as they pulled into her drive. She had the briefest of flashbacks, of inexorably dragging her leg up that drive, towards Daniel. Mostly she envisaged Kerry and Luke’s bedrooms which would - to the onlooker - appear perfectly normal. But to a mother, there would be screaming clues of her children’s absence: Luke’s missing phone charger, Kerry’s absent hair straighteners.
As they came to a halt Charlotte said, as if to no one, “Daniel’s more than just a friend.”
Aitken said, “Ah-hum,” in a nonchalant way as if Charlotte had told her it would rain that afternoon.
Charlotte had a shadow; Aitken followed her around the house. The hunt on crutches for a suitable notepad was particularly protracted and it felt like the two of them were tethered as she roamed and backtracked.
Getting changed in front of Aitken was humiliating, despite Aitken having the decency to look away. There was something doubly humiliating about her shadow being younger, with an undoubtedly firmer body.
Then there was the duration of the whole damn task. She’d pulled out her best Levis at first, then looked down at the pins in her foot, realising she’d have to cut a slit up the leg of whatever pair she chose. She rummaged inside her double wardrobe for a old, worn pair.
As she slipped her good leg into her jeans, dizziness overcame her and she landed on the bed. A pain roared up her leg and she had to take breath. She sat there with her hand clinging to the waist of her jeans which hadn’t made it further than her thighs, staring at the wardrobe doors without really seeing them. Her whole body twitched as snatches of a vision, or a memory - she couldn’t be sure which - played with her mind. Tree roots, thick with algae, snaking along a path. The moment she attempted to cement the image, it disappeared. Then another image came of her in a wedding dress. This couldn’t be a memory; the dress was nothing like the cream explosion of a dress she’d worn to marry Marcus. This was a subtle, clinging dress, more evening dress than bridal. Then it was gone.
“Are you okay?” asked Aitken.
“Yeah, I think so. Just got a bit dizzy. I guess whatever was in my system hasn’t quite flushed itself out yet.”
The cell wasn’t as cold as she’d imagined, but it was no Premier Inn either. Four walls of white ceramic tiles which looked - to Charlotte - like they’d been put on the wrong way round; in landscape rather than portrait. They had that ultra-gloss finish, gleaming despite the grubby grout which separated them. The bed consisted of a plank of teak, two feet off the ground, positioned on top of a heating unit with metal grills, which probably hadn’t worked for decades. There was a mattress of sorts - two inches deep, covered in squeaky navy plastic which looked more like a mat you’d use for gymnastics, than a mattress. There was a single blanket, with itchy brown fibres, folded neatly on a flat, lumpy pillow. She lay with the blanket over her shoulders, staring at the wall, trying to push away her recent memory of being processed through the system by the desk sergeant, who’d seemed familiar to the point of tedium with the whole procedure.
Pushing that memory away was easier than she’d expected; it was pretty hazy anyway. She’d walked through the
whole morning in a daze. Her strongest memory was of calling Daniel. Perhaps she should have called a lawyer, but she hoped Daniel would do that on her behalf. Her only nagging doubt was that she might somehow be compromising his position by putting so much on him. He’d taken it in his stride, the man has broad shoulders. How she wished he was with her now.
Her eyes surprised her by hanging heavy. She shut them and was aware of drool escaping her mouth, but wasn’t awake long enough to stop it. REM came quickly. And in her dream state, something unlocked her subconscious and the time she’d lost between being at the pharmacy and attacking River, was painted into memory.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Daniel had taken Charlotte's call whilst standing on the path outside St Hughs, unaware that his foot rested upon the exposed root which had recently appeared in Charlotte's disconnected flashback.
He hung up, took a few moments to breathe deeply and looked up at the darkening cloud. A few specs of rain cooled his face, and he welcomed them, though instinctively standing his jacket's collar to attention. The action linked a memory. He recalled, all those months ago, standing outside Westside station, just after being interviewed by Edwards. And it struck him that so much had changed since then, his relationship with Charlotte; returning to work; his first case exploding as it had. And yet, in a sense, nothing had changed. Fallon and Nixon were dead and they still didn't know who was responsible. They might be edging closer with this potential connection to Hewitt and Jackson’s deaths, to events in Chester, and to Charlotte's random attacks, but did he feel that much closer to the truth? Some. Not much.
He huffed through his nostrils then walked the winding path to the church's front door. It creaked as it swung open. As the noise diminished, a deafening silence hit him, much like that of Fallon's old place at two a.m., this was something deeper; it had the weight of God behind it.
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