The Chief Constable invited Cyril to look at a computer screen that had been facing away from them. Cyril stared at an image of one of the wooden crosses, not dissimilar to those found in Harrogate and held by forensics. He slipped on his glasses before dipping into his pocket for his notebook. He cross-referenced the number on the screen with those held.
“This is the type of cross…” He paused and turned. “We don’t have this cross. The ones we hold were discovered with links to Gideon and a missing female. The link, as you know, was in the DNA of the hair sealed within the attached packets. We hold crosses marked 12, 1, 13, 9, 8 and 6 and now this, number 5.”
“Found with Reverend Fella, it was in an envelope in the house hidden in a locked drawer. Attached was a biblical reference—“
“Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,” Cyril interrupted.
The Chief Constable smiled. “Indeed, Cyril, astute as usual but also there was this hand written section beneath, ‘Like Rahab all Christians have a scarlet cord hanging in the window of their souls…’ We received these images and details ten minutes ago.”
The secretary brought in the coffee and left it on a side table. Only Cyril acknowledged her with a nod. Cyril returned his gaze to the photograph as it appeared on screen.
“April Richmond, a temp DC from Leeds, who’s working the case has an astonishing biblical knowledge. She's a Sunday school teacher, and she linked the numbers on the crosses to thirteen human weaknesses.” Cyril reopened his notebook, turned the pages and read from the list. “Taken from St Mark. I’ve made notes.” He flicked to the correct page of his notebook. “Jesus mentions thirteen things that defile a person: For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness. It is a supposition at present that the numbers written and scratched on the crosses are in some way linked, so if we take those in order we have one to thirteen.”
Cyril handed over his notebook.
“If that were the case then we can assume that the number on the cross refers to theft, providing, that is, that the perpetrator is working to the same list and the same order.”
“They’re ordered that way in the Bible but yes, supposition as I said, but we can’t rule anything out at this stage. We’ll see what the pathologist finds but Caner was adamant that it was suicide and if that’s the case then maybe someone or something has pushed him over the edge.”
“So why have the other crosses just been dumped, left without any consideration as to whether they’d be discovered?”
“If you take them in the order you see there and compare the numbers, I think that we’re all guilty of those weaknesses; evil thoughts and foolishness and others. I have to hold my hand up. Maybe whoever left the one at the vicarage didn’t anticipate Fella taking his own life. Maybe it was just a warning to him that someone knew what he was up to. It might even reference something historical.”
“Anything at the scene of the acid attack other than the human hair?”
“As yet, no, but we’re searching Kumar’s business premises and home.”
“The case is in safe hands. I’m sure that you’re keen to get back. Keep me informed, Cyril.”
Cyril looked at the pot of coffee and realised a drink would not now be offered.
21
Shakti and April were in the Incident Room when Cyril returned. Smirthwaite busied himself on one of the many computers alongside other officers who were dealing with the reports and information that had come in from the various public appeals for information. The social media posts had garnered a number of enquiries and each had to be checked and verified.
Caner had requested that Owen attend while the paper was extricated from Ian Fella’s hand.
“Sir, Caner has managed to extract the paper and we have another cross location.”
Cyril placed his coat over the back of a chair and moved quickly to April who pointed to a whiteboard. A photograph of the wrinkled paper was clear to see and in the middle of the page were the words, Including you! The photograph was attached to the board by four magnetic discs. Cyril moved more closely and straightened the disc ensuring that they were all symmetrical. He noted too that the handwriting was marked in red ink. “Fella told us that. They were the last words Gideon uttered as he left the night he disappeared, the same night he’d had a meal with Ian Fella.”
April looked at Cyril. “Mrs Fleet was clearly shocked when we went to see her. She believed that he was poorly but not seriously ill. I suppose that she never considered his mental state and neither did she ask. As far as she was concerned he was his usual self.”
“Was there anything going on between them?” Cyril asked eager to know more about the cross that had been found.
April smiled. “I spoke with Owen after the visit and as far as we could tell, nothing, unless someone has witnessed an indiscretion, or she tells us, then…”
“Open mind on that one, then. How’s she now?”
“Distraught, to be honest. Her sister’s coming over for a couple of days, lives in Beverley.”
Cyril nodded. “The cross?”
It was clear from her expression that Shakti was eager to tell. “Mada was speaking with Mrs Kumar about their house move and their plans for the future. It’s been difficult. Mrs Kumar’s been surrounded by members of her family since her husband’s death. That’s normal, believe me. This morning Mada showed her a photograph of one of the crosses we found and immediately she realised that she’d struck a chord. It turns out that when they moved in to the new property, a similar cross like that was found in the garden when they were having it landscaped and planted. The gardener brought it in and her husband couldn’t understand how it had ended up on their plot. Prophetically she believed it to be a harbinger of bad luck. It was, as far as she can remember, damaged by the gardener’s spade. One of the arms on the cross piece had broken.”
“What happened to it?”
“Abdul, her husband, put it in the bin.”
“Bin?”
“It doesn’t end there. Fortunately and unbeknownst to her husband and remembering that she was fearful but respectful of the find, she wished to get rid of the piece appropriately. She mentioned to Mada that one of her relatives fought with the British in the First World War and she felt as though it shouldn’t be in the bin. She took it and placed it on the Grove Road Methodist Church War Memorial when she was passing. She told Mada that she didn’t want to put it near the Cenotaph, as it’s usually too busy. This, however, was a couple of weeks ago. We’ve sent a car to see if it’s still there. Heard nothing as yet.”
“Anyone like to guess the number that’s on it? That’s if there is a number.”
All eyes glanced at the list of human weaknesses that were clear to see on the board. A phone rang and Smirthwaite answered the call. He listened and then covered the mouthpiece turning to Cyril. “It’s there. Some damage.”
“Number?” Cyril asked impatiently.
“Scratched mark that looks like a number three.”
Cyril smiled at April. “We have a match! It looks as though your theory stands up to scrutiny too. We can go with that but still with a degree of caution. Well done all. Thank goodness for Family Liaison Officers.”
Owen came in, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his finger in the loop.
“Someone looks happy,” Owen said looking at Shakti.
“Owen, the waters appear to be getting muddier not clearer.” Cyril quickly explained what had occurred that morning before Stuart Park chipped in.
“Why three and not two?” he asked. “Surely he committed adultery. These biblical terms can be so bloody confusing.”
April looked at Owen and smiled. Even though he had come in on the end of the discussion, Owen did not need a second prompt.
“In biblical terms, ad
ultery is when an unmarried man has sex with a married or betrothed woman whereas number three, fornication, means when a married man has sex with an unmarried woman and therefore we can assume that whatever went on in the car on Brimham Moor was between him and…” Owen tossed his jacket onto the table.
Stuart Park nodded. “Right, thanks!”
Owen turned to April and smiled.
Cyril put his hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Good man! Been doing your scripture studies, I see, as well as your anatomical work.” Cyril took Owen to one side. “Now, how was April after leaving the vicarage?”
“Strong, sir. Works really well.” He blushed wondering if Cyril had guessed that April had furnished him with his newfound biblical understanding.
Cyril patted him on the back. “What time’s the autopsy?”
Owen checked his watch. “Another couple of hours. Looking forward to it.”
“A brew in ten would be lovely. You’ve time.” He smiled at Owen. “Dry saucer is your challenge.” Cyril collected his coat and went to his office.
He was on the phone when Owen entered. The cup rattled in the saucer as he lumbered through the door, his tongue protruding through his teeth as he concentrated on not spilling a drop; he was successful. Cyril lifted a hand in thanks and pointed to a chair at the other side of his desk. Owen sat as Cyril continued with the call. He let his eyes drift around Cyril’s office; it was always impeccable, just like him, really. He glanced at the top of the filing cabinet and noticed that Liz’s photograph had been removed. He looked back at Cyril with a degree of concern. Since her death he had always had the photograph there. Cyril was watching him closely. He finished the conversation.
“Mada on the phone.” He picked up the cup and saucer and sipped the tea. “Good brew as always, Owen. I noticed that you were looking for Liz?”
He nodded. “The photo’s gone.” He pulled a strange face that suggested a degree of embarrassment and curiosity.
“She’s still here, Owen. She comes and goes as she pleases now, you could say.”
Owen really did not have a clue as to what he was talking about but simply smiled, uncertain as to how he should deal with the situation. He knew that Cyril had been through some dark times but on the whole looking at the man you would not notice it.
He drained the cup and rested it on the saucer. “What information should we be chasing, Owen, after our conversation earlier?”
Owen looked at Cyril. “We need to know who the gardener is who found the cross at Kumar’s house.”
“Ten out of ten, Owen.” Cyril leaned on his desk. “Interestingly, I was just speaking to Mada. She tells me that the gardeners for the site are contracted to the builder. The site foreman was somewhat surprised; no gardener had been allocated to Kumar’s address on the day that the cross was discovered. They weren’t due to sort Kumar’s garden for another week according to the builder’s schedule. I’ve asked Mada to talk to Mrs Kumar and get a description; she has with her the photographs of Gideon so we should soon know if she’s had a visit from the missing Gideon Fletcher. If that’s the case, then we can safely assume the murder was pre-meditated. Kumar was set up.”
Cyril looked at his watch. “You need to go, you have an appointment with Caner.”
Owen looked at his watch. One minute. “If we have crosses definitely linked to theft and fornication that in turn are linked with deaths representing those sins, if I can use that term, what others might not apply to the general man in the street? Can we just forget about the ones that were left around?” Owen stood seemingly a little more comfortable with his newfound knowledge.
“They all apply, Owen, that’s the tricky bit. What constitutes sexual immorality to one individual might not to another whereas theft, adultery and fornication are pretty clear-cut. The grey areas I believe at this stage of the game we could put to one side as you rightly say. What we must do now is concentrate on the black and white. We have potential for more victims if we don’t track down Gideon. Interestingly a report has come through regarding Ian Fella’s last sermon. Turns out to be modern day temptation. Spoke about instant gratification that today’s society seems to need, the lack of patience and tolerance. He also mentioned false news. I’ve asked to see if there’s a draft on his computer. Might prove valuable. I’ll get April to chase that up.”
22
Owen stood momentarily on his toes as he peered down at the three people working around Ian Fella's naked body. He was used to the cloying atmosphere that seemed to hit you physically. He could never quite put his finger on it; even though the temperature appeared fine he always seemed to feel uncomfortably hot. It could be nerves or maybe it was just him.
He concentrated on the corpse that seemed vulnerably exposed, only then did he recall Mrs Fleet's words, “You’ve not met Ian, have you?” Here he was, broken and in some ways undignified; the rope lay on a small side table. The reddened flesh at the lower part of the body seemed in stark contrast to the upper part of the torso.
Caner talked his way through the removal of the thoracic and abdominal organs before handing them over to an assistant. They were weighed and their general condition noted before being moved to a further work station for a more detailed analysis. To Owen, the room suddenly seemed brighter than usual and he could feel the perspiration bead along his forehead. He took a deep breath but kept his eyes focused on Caner and his colleagues.
“We’ll be moving to the neck shortly, blood and tissue samples will be screened. Toxicology results shouldn’t take too long. Are you all right?”
Owen just smiled and waved a hand, thankful of the glass screen that separated them. Somehow he felt more secure than being in the same space.
“Why the blackening to the neck?”
“There are a number of types of hanging; this one was a slow one, a strangulation. It was painful I’m afraid and probably quite prolonged. Looking at some of the damage to the elbows and heels there was a degree of severe thrashing of these limbs against the building’s surface. Scratch marks to the neck here and here, you will see them clearly on the screen, suggest he had second thoughts and tried to ease the pressure on the neck and allow air passage, but once the steps had been removed he had little hope, unless of course, the rope or hook had given way. That could account for the greater movement but my experience tells me that in strangulations you tend to find the body squirms and fights. The blackening to the skin is due to the heat caused by friction of the ligature. You’ll notice here that displacement was to the right owing to that movement…”
Owen heard the words “decorticate” and “decerebrate rigidity” but they passed well over his head. He was focussed on the man and not the body. He wondered what could drive someone to go through that. What could they have done that required such a devastating and undignified end? Surely nothing is more frightening than tying a rope around your neck and then kicking away the only means of staying alive.
“…Fracture of the thyroid and hyoid, normal considering the age of the victim. They ossify. We know that there was a fixed knot rather than a slip, and the noose was just large enough for the head but then very slack around the neck. We observe a transverse tear to the carotid artery. If you look at the screen you can see it clearly.”
Feeling a little more composed, Owen looked across. He was finding the terminology interesting but confusing. Caner paused; all the while photographs were being taken. The team performed like clockwork but on occasion Caner wanted specific and more detailed shots.
“You're doing well, Owen, not long now. However, we’ll not have toxicology for a while. I told Cyril that I was convinced that there was nobody else involved.” Caner stopped and stood back from the table before looking directly at Owen. “Considering the damage to the elbows, as I mentioned before, and the ligature marks here, and here, on the skull, I now feel that others might have been involved. This man tried to release the rope whilst he thrashed. How did he maintain the grasp of the note?”
Owen’s
ears pricked up. “So there’s a chance he was murdered?”
Caner lifted his Perspex visor and looked at what remained of Ian Fella. “I’ll need to do more tests and see the results of the fingernail samples but I’ll say on record that this was not a suicide. The note was added at the point of or just before death. I don’t believe he would have placed it in his own hand.”
Owen removed a screwed-up tissue from his pocket. The observation window, even though it was angled, misted slightly in the area directly in front of him as he leaned forward. He wiped the window and then his brow. “When will you know?”
“Give me six to twelve hours and I’ll give you a definitive answer. Well done again. Seeing Hannah must be good for your constitution!”
Owen smiled as the picture of Hannah swam into his mind. He could not argue with that.
Graham Baker sat across from his wife. The aroma of the freshly prepared meal lingered. He sipped from his wine glass as she finished the last part of her dinner.
“You’d been saving that until the end.” He knew how much she enjoyed the chicken wrapped in Parma ham, and she had left a small mouthful on the edge of her plate.
She looked up and smiled. “You prepare it so well, darling.” She lifted her glass. “To the chef, cheers!” She moved her glass towards Graham's who quickly reciprocated.
“A pleasure as always.”
“After working in the garden it’s so good to come in to a beautiful meal. You’ve been out early the last few mornings. I hear you but I feel so tired.”
“It’s all the fresh air you get from gardening and shopping. I only wish I could do more.”
“You do enough. I had a dream the other night that I saw you leave, heard the garage door and saw the car lights…”
“Maybe we should not have wine with our evening meal, love!” He laughed.
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