Jennifer followed him inside. It was amazing how the hint of arrest opened doors.
Apart from giving Jennifer the opportunity to voice her disgust, her meeting with Mr Marshall did little more than confirm Emily’s son was sadly neglected. Such information compounded her regret, but did not bring her any closer to resolution. But there was more than one way to catch a killer. Emily’s mobile phone burned in her pocket with the need to examine it.
Chapter Twenty
Bert
* * *
Bert eyed up the large oak tree that skirted the empty fields at the end of their house. Lately he had been feeling sicker than ever, and wondered if the special concoctions his mother brought him to drink contained more than just vitamins. Sleepy all the time, his legs no longer afforded him the strength to escape to the forest. Instead, he focused on the oak tree, staring at the raven housed in its branches, waiting for him to come. As he hitched up his dungarees, his mother’s voice echoed throughout the house in song. She was busy making preserves, and the last thing he wanted was attention being drawn to the fact he was doing something she perceived as dangerous. But he had gotten away with disposing of his special tonic, and was going to make the most of the time he felt well enough to go outside. Bert swung his leg through the open window. He was eight years old now, and didn’t need his toy box to reach it any more. He ambled down the field, swearing under his breath as Callum called after him from the shed. He swore a lot in his head, they were words he picked up from his father, used only when mother was not around. He liked how they made him feel. Callum would never swear. The very mention of a swearword made his face crumple, as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.
Bert kept walking, his head bowed against the wind as he kept the oak tree in sight. Tiny spikes of drizzle jabbed his face as he strode down the damp gravel path. Callum scampered after him, his heavy footsteps kicking up stones in their wake. Dad used to say that Callum had footballer’s legs. They were far removed from Bert’s spindly limbs, which had spent too long resting to build any muscle.
‘Bert, you shouldn’t be out here, if mum …’ Callum panted.
‘If mum nuthin,’ Bert said, scowling at his red-cheeked brother. ‘I’m just getting some air, and she don’t have to know about it.’
Callum’s face screwed up in frustration. He knew better than to argue with his brother. ‘Well, just a few minutes, then you’d better head back in before she comes looking.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Bert said, infuriated by his brother’s attention. He was such a pain, why did he have to be around him all the time? Callum the annoying shadow, who had to be prised away to attend football games and the occasional birthday party. Mother’s ray of sunshine. Well he’d show them. He’d be the one to blot out the sun. Bert stared up at the oak tree, wondering if his scrawny muscles would find the strength to climb it. The branches bowed and shook as the wind whooped around them. Bert kicked off his shoes and began his ascent, clutching the knobbly tree bark as he panted in his efforts to reach the top. He could do it, he knew he could do it.
‘Come down,’ Callum shouted, clenching his fists and stamping his foot against the ground. It was a habit he had picked up from mother when she didn’t get her own way. ‘It’s too windy, come down right now.’
Bert climbed upwards, the howling wind whipping his brother’s words away. His shirt flapped and the hard, cold branches bit into the soles of his feet, but he kept climbing until his muscles trembled and he was too tired to go on.
‘Bert you get down … you hear? Mum’s gonna …’
As Bert clung to the branches and looked at the view across the fields, he didn’t feel free at all. His skinny limbs were frozen like icicles, and just as rigid. ‘I can’t,’ he said feebly, too scared to shake his head. His mother’s calls echoed in the distance as she called for them. He was really going to get it now.
‘It’s OK, I’ll come get you,’ Callum said, wrestling his way up in half the time. Their mother was still looking for them when Callum reached the branch beside him, red-faced and out of breath. ‘I’ve never been this high up before,’ Callum panted, looking down at the fields below. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’
If only you would get yourself killed, Bert thought, wiping his streaming nose on his shirtsleeves. ‘You’re the same age as me, Callum, it don’t give you the right to boss me around.’ The cold was really biting into him now, and his teeth chattered as his body shivered involuntarily.
‘It’s my neck on the line too, if mum finds us up here she’ll go spare,’ Callum said.
‘Not to you she won’t. She won’t say nothing to you,’ Bert said bitterly, knowing his escape would cost him dearly. A raven flew past, its caws slicing through the air. Bert wished he were more like the black-feathered bird, strong, independent, free.
Callum frowned, and spoke through chattering teeth. ‘Follow me down, OK?’
‘I can’t,’ Bert said, his fingers sliding into the moss-lined grooves of the tree.
‘Hold onto me if it makes you feel better.’ Callum glanced down. ‘Oh hell, she’s seen us. We’d better hurry up before she calls dad.’
Fuck it, Bert thought, a familiar anger rising within. It’s all his fault. Mum wouldn’t have come looking if Callum hadn’t followed. Why does he have to get involved in everything? Bert’s heart began to pound, fury boiling his blood and drawing out his darkest thoughts.
Callum shifted position to climb down the tree, and beckoned at him to follow.
Grabbing the back of Callum's shirt, Bert stepped onto another branch. The sudden movement jerked his brother forward, causing him to lose his footing. He could have pulled Callum back, helped him steady himself on the tree. In that split second, he held Callum’s life in his hands. Bertram simply smiled. And released his grip.
A sharp howl rose up between them as Callum slipped off the branch, his arms flapping as if he was trying to fly. He fell like a stone, screaming and grasping for a hold of something, anything which would slow the plummet to the unforgiving ground rising up to meet him. Bert squeezed his eyes shut but could not block out the noise of his brother thudding to the ground below. Reluctantly he opened them to see his mother dropping to her knees beside Callum, patting his face in an effort to bring him back to life.
‘Nooooo,’ she wailed, as the pool of blood spread through the mud, soaking the hem of her long black skirt.
Her head snapped upwards at Bert, who was still embracing the tree. Her face was contorted in fear and rage as she screamed the words ‘What have you done?’
The wind whipped and billowed Bert's clothes as it howled in an angry roar. Bert panted in cold breaths as he edged along. Something warm greased the branch and he looked down to see a small blood trail leaking from the sole of his foot. He was so engrossed, he had not even felt the tree branch slice his skin. Slowly he clambered down, clamping his arms around the branches as they swayed, toes and fingers stiffly bent over and gripping with the conviction that he would do what his brother was unable to do. The thought warmed him. He was better than Callum. He could reach the bottom without falling. By the time his bare feet touched the ground, his mother had driven Callum's body to the hospital. But it was the mortuary she needed.
Bert rested his weary limbs, hugging his knees as he tried to figure out what to do now Callum was gone. It wasn’t at all as he imagined, and he had not counted on having a witness. All the years Bert had prayed to be an only child, fate had decided to give him his wish just as his mother was watching. But he was gone just the same and that was a good thing. Turning his head to the rolling clouds, he watched the black knights of the sky circle overhead. As always, he marvelled at their freedom, wishing he had been granted such power and grace. His eyes crept over to the pool of blood now thickening as it soaked into the soil. It reminded him of mother’s preserves. She had shown him how to test a spoonful, hot from the bubbling pot. First, you cooled it by blowing on the spoon, then you jabbed the thickening
liquid with the tip of your finger. If it wrinkled, then the jam was done. He shuffled over to the blood and nudged it with his big toe. Small bubbles were forming as it congealed – as if taking a few final breaths before leaving for good. Fuckarooney, he muttered. Mum and dad were going to be really pissed off at him.
The raven took his thoughts as it swooped down. Bert gasped as the bird opened its long black claws and expertly grasped the branch. He had never seen his friend of the night so close in the daylight before. ‘Auugh! Auugh!’ the raven said, his beady black eyes swivelling towards the blood and back to Bert again.
Bert embraced the moment; the smell of the wind, the coldness slapping his cheeks. The creaking branches fighting to stay in position as the wind tried to bend them to its will. The feel of the cold earth beneath his feet and the heady desire to touch the blood. His brother was dead. It was time to reclaim what was his. Shaking its long sleek feathers, the raven opened his beak and gave a hearty cry. ‘Augh! Augh Augh!’ he screamed as his magnificent throat feathers expanded in a flurry.
‘Caw! Caw!’ Bert replied, and smiled as the bird hopped closer. Bert lay down. Stretching out his arms as far as they would go he moved them up, then down, flapping against the cold hard earth.
The raven cawed overhead as if to say, ‘That’s right! That’s how you do it!’
‘Caw caw,’ Bert said loudly, ‘caw! I’m a raven!’ Bert closed his eyes and imagined soaring through the skies, slicing through the wind and the rain, tearing up his prey without a moment’s thought. Spots of rain landing on his nose and eyes halted the exhilaration.
Sitting up, he turned to stare at the blood-soaked ground behind him. The length of his body patterned the cold earth, with dark wings either side. A beautiful blood angel. Sober thoughts returned in aid of self-preservation. He would take himself home and hide his clothes. He would have a bath and wait for his parents to return. He would cry all night if he had to, so he didn’t get the blame. None of that mattered right now because he had passed his initiation. Dark grey clouds rolled overhead, laden with rain. The downpour would wash the blood away, but he was an honorary raven, bold and wild and free, with no need to answer to anyone.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a common occurrence to be called into work on your days off, have them cancelled, or sometimes, be forcibly ordered to work overtime. Members of the police were not allowed to join a union for a reason, but spending more time at work than at home didn’t bother Jennifer, because for her, work was her home, and her colleagues were her family. She would lay her life on the line to protect them, and the people of Haven, whom she served. She always maintained a professional distance with her cases, and never came close to compromising an investigation. So why was she holding onto a dead girl’s phone? The high tech crime unit could examine the handset at an advanced level, tracking phone calls, texts, pictures, emails, and even maps and GPS location. In the case of a murder investigation, they could even recover deleted items. Jennifer consoled herself that all she was doing was looking through the evidence bag and pressing a few buttons. She already knew the password, having watched Emily type in four zeros to access her texts the last time they spoke.
With one percent of battery left, Jennifer accessed Emily’s call history. It did not turn up the treasure trove of evidence she had hoped for. Emily appeared to have been deleting her texts and pictures as she went along. Jennifer chewed the inside of her lip as she trawled through the phone. No internet history, no call history, and no pictures … she threw her head back in exasperation.
‘Everything all right?’ Zoe said, bobbing her head up over her computer screen.
Jennifer’s palm clasped her chest. ‘Oh! You frightened the life out of me.’
Zoe stood, looking a lot more comfortable in her casual clothes of baggy jeans and vest top. ‘I left my phone charger in my desk. You look guilty, whatcha up to?’
Jennifer trusted her new colleague enough to confess, and Zoe’s eyes lit up with interest as she relayed the series of events.
‘Flipping hell, girl, if delaying booking in evidence is the most dishonest thing you’ve done in your career then you’ve nothing to worry about. Now give it here.’
Jennifer handed the phone over. ‘The battery’s almost dead. I may as well book it in for the tech team.’
Zoe checked the bottom of the phone and gave Jennifer a knowing smile. ‘This …’ she said, walking over to a plug ‘… may just be your lucky day.’
Jennifer was about to point out that it was unlikely, given a young girl had been murdered, but silenced her words as Zoe plugged in her charger and pierced the other end through the bottom of the bag. It clicked neatly into the phone socket. ‘Look at that, fits perfectly. Now, let’s have a little lookie …’
‘I didn’t know you were a technical whizz,’ Jennifer said, watching Zoe’s fingers run nimbly through the various apps on the phone. ‘What department did you work on before you came here?’
‘I was a TP for six years for another force. Great job.’
‘Oh I see,’ Jennifer said. Suddenly it all made sense. Zoe’s discomfort in formal wear, her habit of swearing, and her discomfort at being in the limelight; test purchasers were used to go deep undercover, integrating themselves in communities of drug users and pushers. Chameleons of sorts, they had to think on their feet and have the ability to reinvent themselves to suit any situation. Invaluable to the drug squad, their covert cameras delivered damning footage at court, which secured major convictions. Jennifer was about to ask why she had left, when Zoe exclaimed.
‘Bingo! We’re in.’
Jennifer looked over her shoulder to see Zoe trawling Facebook, scrolling through the pictures of Emily during various nights out with what looked like a string of random men. None of them matched the description of the Raven, but she hadn’t expected to see him there anyway. She flicked to the side setting, finding the groups. They consisted of the usual free ads groups such as Things For Sale in Haven and Second Hand Goods. Then she caught sight of it, nestled among the other titles. Second Chance Group. Jennifer’s gasp caught in her throat. No wonder her internet searches had drawn a blank. She had been searching for every variation of The Reborners online. Unlike the other groups, access to the Second Chance Group was by invitation only.
Jennifer stood with her hands on her hips, painfully conscious of the time. ‘What do we do now? I have to go to Lexton for briefing. What will I tell them?’
Zoe tapped a black polished nail against her teeth. ‘Say nothing. We’ll book it in later.’
‘But what value is keeping it if you can’t get into the group?’ Jennifer said.
‘There’s always a way. I have a fake Facebook account from my old TP days. I’ll friend Emily through her account, then she’ll invite me in. I’m not saying they’ll give it up straight away, but leave it with me.’
‘But won’t the time of the request show up? Word will soon get around that she’s dead.’
Zoe’s eyes flicked up from the screen, alight with devilry. ‘Ways and means, babe … ways and means.’
Jennifer mulled it over. The Facebook account would have been authorised by the police and been above board, and if anything, their involvement may speed things along. ‘I’ll book it in as seized property and tell them I’ll drop it over to the tech team when briefing is over. Will that give you enough time?’
‘Yeah, for sure,’ Zoe said, logging onto the computer to open her corresponding Facebook account.
[#]
Jennifer was a small spoke in a very big wheel of officers investigating the murder, but she was grateful to be at briefing at all. Op Moonlight was limited and could not facilitate a complete murder investigation, but they provided invaluable advice and leads when it came to the investigative element of the case. She had access to the investigation without the burden of all the paperwork – or at least that’s what Jennifer told herself as she entered the briefing room. The truth was, she wanted everything. Her
need for control had always been there, but she managed it by keeping a professional distance. Now all of that was forgotten, as the Raven crept under her skin. The briefing location was a stifling windowless room without the luxury of air conditioning, but the whiteboard that took up one full wall left Jennifer in no doubt that no stone would be left unturned in the hunt for Bert Bishop.
Those who could not find a seat had to stand, and Jennifer was pleased to see a seat reserved in her name. Her position in the team had been elevated, and for once, people were interested in what she had to say. Officers hastily scribbled notes, as tasks and handouts were passed among them. Lexton’s DCI Jamieson talked through the investigation to date. He was a thickset Scottish man, who took no bullshit but had a reputation for being fair. Jennifer was relieved to hear him announce that Christian Bowe’s ex-wife was off the hook. As outlined on the board, their prime suspect was now a killer who created self-fulfilling death prophecies. Jennifer may have been tempted to shoot a smug grin across to DC Hardwick, if she had not been furious at the needless deaths of Emily Clarke and her predecessors. Her anger was fuelled by the discovery of a scrunched-up flyer from a recent psychic fair, found in the bin in Emily Clarke’s bedroom. Jennifer’s eyes widened as the evidence bag was passed around the room.
‘I don’t believe this,’ she said, re-reading the same line of the flyer over and over again, through the transparent bag. ‘I was there that day, I must have just missed him.’
DCI Jamieson unbuttoned his suit jacket and hung it on the chair. ‘Probably. So far, this man has passed through Haven unnoticed. But to quote Doctor Locard, “every contact leaves a trace”.’ As if to assure himself more than anyone else, he added, ‘It won’t be long before we catch up with him.’
But Jennifer wasn’t so sure. She believed that the best way to find Raven would be through The Reborners. While she relayed everything she knew in briefing, she fell short at giving them the name of the Facebook group. She justified her actions by telling herself it was the right thing to do. Operation Moonlight would investigate the Second Chance Group, and she’d infiltrate it herself if she had to.
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