The Divinities

by Parker Bilal

  ‘Six years ago he went out to Syria on his own initiative. Joined the resistance, the fight against ISIS. Managed to get himself killed.’ Hawkestone Man thrust his hands deep into his coat pockets. ‘For what it’s worth, I think he was trying to make amends. Maybe he thought that going back there would make things right.’

  This, Crane realized, was the reason he had agreed to meet her. Not because Stewart Mason had pulled some strings, but because he wanted to put the record straight.

  ‘Do your bosses know that you’re here, talking to me?’

  He didn’t need to answer. ‘Hicks was a good soldier. Shrewd, strong, resourceful. He was destined for great things. It’s a shame to see a man like that go off the rails.’

  ‘Hicks was a consequence, not an anomaly. There’s nothing noble about killing women and children.’

  Crane saw the anger flare up in him, but that didn’t stop her.

  ‘I have one last question for you. Is it possible that Hicks didn’t die in Syria? Could he have survived and come home with a grudge?’

  But Hawkestone Man had clearly had enough. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, eager to be on his way, eyes darting left, already picking the shortest line of escape. To his credit, he did answer her question, or try to.

  ‘I’d like to tell you that’s impossible. I can’t tell you how much we want to put all of this behind us. The truth is that we don’t know. Things out there are chaotic. One report contradicts another. All I can say is we’ve never been able to confirm his burial site.’

  Crane stood there long after he had gone, oblivious to the steadily increasing density of the rain falling around her, the damp seeping into her skin. The details of what Hicks and Reese had done filled her with revulsion. She felt physically sick, replaying the details in her head. Of course, what had happened to Janet Avery was horrendous, but there had to be a way of dealing with evil that didn’t turn us all into monsters. Surely, there had to be?

  As she walked back down the hill, her mind replayed the conversation. There was no clear evidence that Hicks had indeed died in Syria. Did that mean that he was back in this country, alive and well and exacting his own vengeance on a society that had not cared about the sacrifice he and his mates had made? Did he want them to feel the physical and mental suffering he had known?

  The only way to find out was to find the killer.

  CHAPTER 43

  Drake was surprised to find it was still there. The spot where he had chipped his name into the burred concrete all those years ago. It was tucked into one of the bends in the staircase running up the side of the building. The tips of his fingers traced the uneven letters: C-A-L.

  On the third floor he moved along the catwalk, pausing here and there to look over the side. The square was quiet. In the distance a car revved its engine noisily. As it died away the snick of bicycle chains could be heard from somewhere out of sight below.

  The last time he had stood outside number 227, the front door and windows had been boarded over. A thick streak of black soot stretched up around the door and along the underside of the gallery above. He remembered standing here in his uniform staring at it. The rain drizzling down just out of reach. It looked like ink spreading across water.

  The door in front of him opened without warning and a girl of about seven stood there, her hair tied in ringlets.

  ‘Whatyouwant?’

  ‘I, er . . .’ Cal tried to think of something to say. He managed a smile, but that only made the frown on her face deepen.

  ‘We don’t want it,’ she said brightly. ‘Whatever you selling.’ With that she turned and addressed someone inside the house. A large woman brushed past her, fixing a coloured wrap around her head. She dragged the girl behind her.

  ‘Get inside, I tell you!’

  The little girl remained where she was, staring wide eyed at Drake from behind the woman’s ample hips as the door swung closed in his face.

  ‘Lost your way, Holmes?’

  At first he didn’t see where the voice was coming from, then the shadows parted and he saw the kid wearing a hoodie, his Jango Fett shirt still visible underneath.

  Drake sighed. ‘Trip down memory lane.’

  The kid held out a cigarette, which Drake took as a peace offering. They leaned their elbows on the wall and looked down over the square.

  ‘So, what is it, like, you miss the place?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it for years. Too busy trying to get away.’

  ‘Is that how you got into all this, the feds?’

  ‘Yeah, ’spose it is.’ Drake looked round. ‘I joined the army. The only way I could see out.’

  ‘Heavy. I could never do that.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ Cal said, looking over. ‘Sometimes it’s about knowing what you’re afraid of.’

  ‘Yeah, the army? Uniforms and salutin and all that? No way, man.’

  ‘It’s hard to explain, but I wanted to prove that I could do the worst they asked of me.’

  ‘Right,’ Jango shook his head. ‘You still go out an die for them, innit?’

  ‘I didn’t go out there for anyone but myself.’

  The kid studied him for a moment but said nothing. ‘You think you made a difference?’

  ‘Some days,’ Drake said. ‘One thing for sure. You sit back and it’ll go round on repeat.’

  ‘Yeah, well, true dat.’

  Drake broke off the conversation to answer his phone.

  ‘I thought it might be helpful to compare notes,’ said Crane.

  ‘Sounds like an idea.’

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked.

  Drake suggested they meet at his next port of call.

  ‘I can be there in fifteen minutes,’ she said before hanging up.

  ‘Gotta go,’ said Drake, heading for the stairs.

  ‘Say, Holmes?’ The kid looked up from his own phone, his face illuminated by the glow.

  Cal turned. ‘What?’

  ‘You serious about that, making a difference?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.’

  Jango chewed that one over for a while, then he leaned over the side and whistled. When Drake reached the square he found it magically deserted. No sign of any of the kids who’d been there earlier.

  Drake arrived at Magnolia Quays to find Crane was ahead of him. How she did it, he didn’t know, but she seemed to move around the city with remarkable ease. She climbed off the Triumph as he parked and came round to climb into the passenger seat.

  ‘Sorry, I stopped off for coffee,’ he said, handing her a cup. ‘I didn’t think you’d be so fast. Black, right?’ He didn’t know, but somehow he guessed she wasn’t the type to fuss around with milk, skimmed or otherwise.

  ‘That’s fine, thanks. So, why here?’

  Drake peered through the windscreen at the fence and the advertising hoarding that announced Magnolia Quays.

  ‘Ahh, I’ve got this feeling about one of the security guards. A man by the name of Flinders. Ring any bells?’

  ‘Sorry.’ Ray shook her head. ‘Why not go to the firm?’

  There had been a question mark hanging over Flinders ever since Drake had first run into him that night at Magnolia Quays. The service tattoo, pretending to be a fellow serviceman. People got tattoos to impress. Happens all the time. Only this had a feel to it.

  ‘I’d like to have another look at him without tipping him off.’

  ‘So, what, you’re just going to wait here until he shows up?’

  ‘That was the plan,’ nodded Drake. He detected a note of scepticism in her voice. ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ She looked up and down the deserted street. ‘Just doesn’t seem like the most efficient use of your time.’

  ‘Yeah, well, with Pryce in charge I have to take my chances.’ Drake filled her in on developments at Raven Hill.

  ‘Can he do that, just cut you out of the loop?’

  ‘It’s the Met, he
can do what he likes.’

  ‘What does Wheeler say?’

  ‘Wheeler says, Don’t rock the boat.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’ It pretty much summed up her view of the superintendent. ‘I hear you found Hakim.’

  ‘It would be more accurate to say that we found most of him.’ Drake tilted his head against the side window. ‘Double amputation of the hands. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Both hands is unusual.’ She gave Drake a long look. ‘Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

  ‘Making it up as he goes along.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean anything, of course.’

  ‘Right,’ he agreed. ‘Could be just improvising, looking for maximum shock effect.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  They were both silent for a moment, turning over the possibilities in their heads. Then Drake turned to her again.

  ‘So, where are you?’

  ‘Okay, well. Remember I told you I had done some work for the military?’

  ‘The hush-hush stuff you aren’t supposed to talk about.’

  ‘Yep.’ Crane turned to sit with her back to the door and one knee raised. The kind of person who could do yoga in a coffin. ‘Well, it seems there may be a connection.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘Okay, well the military wanted research done to try and deal with PTSD. Specifically, with actions related to soldiers going off script.’

  ‘The ones who cracked under pressure.’

  Crane winced. ‘That’s putting it bluntly.’

  ‘Blunt is my middle name.’

  ‘The point is that the experience of trauma is compounded in some cases by feelings of guilt, the sense that one has failed one’s mission.’

  ‘You were drafted in to deal with that.’

  ‘We were trying to find a way to deal with it. I took a sample group and interviewed them before they shipped out and again when they returned from active duty.’ Ray sipped her coffee. ‘At some point things became more urgent. There were questions being asked about whether we were doing enough by our servicemen and women. Public opinion was hardening against the conflict.’

  ‘They wanted answers, all tied up in a neat little bow.’

  ‘Exactly. And as everyone knows, it doesn’t work like that.’

  ‘It never does.’ He caught her look as he spoke. ‘And don’t even think about analysing me.’

  ‘I can offer you competitive rates.’

  He laughed it off.

  ‘Stick with the story, Doctor Crane. I take it all of what you’re telling me is classified. The Official Secrets Act and so on?’

  ‘Absolutely. I called on an old contact. He has a thing for me.’

  Drake sniffed. ‘Do I need details?’

  ‘Nothing to tell. He’s never going to get what he wants.’

  ‘Right, and in the meantime, he’s ready to play fetch.’

  Ray smiled. ‘Sounds like you know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Men, underneath that veneer of sophistication, we’re all the same. We have trouble thinking clearly when there are women in the picture.’

  ‘You’ll have to enlighten me some time.’

  ‘Meanwhile, are you going to tell me where this is all leading?’

  ‘Okay, so the men who worked on freeing the hostages were an outfit called Hawkestone. Or they used to be.’

  ‘Deorum sanctum or some such Latin bullshit.’

  Ray was impressed. ‘So you did get somewhere.’

  ‘I hit a wall. You managed to get over the other side.’

  ‘Two operatives, Reese and Hicks, went amok when they discovered that one of the hostages had been raped and tortured. They started killing civilians. It was all hushed up.’

  ‘Hicks? Brian Patrick Hicks?’

  ‘Does the name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Milo found a link between Flinders, our security guard, and this guy Hicks.’ Drake was checking the mirror for any sight of the Kronnos Security guard. ‘There’s only one problem. Hicks is dead.’

  ‘He went out to Syria to try and win the war against ISIS singlehandedly. There was no confirmation of his death.’

  ‘But there’s nothing after that. Milo found no record of Hicks after his reported death in Syria.’

  Ray sat back and closed her eyes. ‘Which means we have nothing.’

  ‘There has to be a connection. It’s too much to be pure coincidence.’

  ‘That’s my thinking too,’ nodded Ray.

  Cal shifted in his seat. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  She glanced over. ‘Is this personal?’

  ‘It might be.’

  Ray considered the idea for a moment before nodding. ‘Okay, shoot.’

  ‘Your career hit a bump in the road.’

  She pushed the plastic cap back on her coffee cup before setting it on the dashboard. ‘I was sued for malpractice. I lost my research post, my job, a good job. A job I liked.’

  ‘What happened exactly?’

  Ray settled herself back in the seat and stared up at the night sky. ‘One of the people I was treating turned up in the middle of Manchester strapped inside a suicide vest.’

  Drake gave a low whistle.

  ‘I was trying to convince the powers-that-be that I was making a difference, that fanatics coming back from Syria could be turned into valuable assets.’

  ‘You couldn’t have prevented him from doing what he did.’

  ‘That’s the thing I ask myself all the time.’ Ray was motionless in her seat. ‘Maybe I could. I was so intent on trying to make a success of myself. Perhaps I missed something.’

  ‘It’s always easier with hindsight.’

  ‘What about you, any regrets?’

  Cal straightened up in his seat. ‘More than I care to admit.’

  There was a long silence before Ray finally broke it. ‘I keep thinking back to those group sessions that I did.’

  ‘Hicks attended?’

  ‘This was just before he went to Syria, I think.’ Ray had been trying to remember. Reading through her notes from the time. ‘I went back over it all. I used to tape the sessions. I had forgotten all about that time.’

  ‘Is there anything in particular that you recall?’

  ‘That’s the thing. He was upset, deeply affected by what he had seen, and what he had done. He knew the war had screwed him up, sent him into a spiral of alcohol and sedatives, but he didn’t blame the people who sent him there.’

  ‘You’re saying he wasn’t political?’

  ‘He blamed himself. He wanted to die. He never expressed a desire to wreak vengeance on society, or on the people whose war he fought.’

  ‘Then he takes himself off to Syria and gets himself killed.’

  ‘Which leaves the question, who are we dealing with now?’

  It was a good question, and one that Drake couldn’t answer.

  CHAPTER 44

  Crane took herself off and Drake decided that she was probably right. He was wasting time sitting around. He decided to pay a call on Archie Narayan. The lights were on when he arrived at the coroner’s office. In the downstairs reception area a worried-looking woman in a green raincoat sat on one of the sofas. She was in her fifties, heavily built. Next to her a younger, slimmer woman wearing glasses watched a man in his twenties strolling restlessly up and down.

  ‘Hakim’s family,’ Archie explained when Drake found him in the basement. ‘They insist that he be released for burial. Something about him having to be buried quickly.’

  ‘I didn’t know the family was Muslim.’

  ‘Apparently it’s just the brother.’ Archie’s tone echoed his usual scepticism on the subject. ‘He’s got a bee in his bonnet about religious rites. Makes you weary, all this kowtowing to deities that sprang from some fertile part of the human imagination.’

  ‘One of these days somebody is going to nail your ass to the wall for incitement.’

  ‘And I shall go to my death
happy to pay for my convictions.’

  ‘Ever the diva. Before you martyr yourself for free speech, how about telling me what you’ve got?’ Drake nodded at the examination table where Hakim lay covered in a white sheet.

  ‘Ah, yes, the worms? Well, as you know, we’re no strangers to insects around here, but I have to say, this is a first.’

  ‘Hard to believe.’

  ‘Sarcasm?’ Archie peered at Drake over the rim of his glasses. ‘Strictly speaking, I’m not supposed to share anything with you. Pryce explicitly mentioned you by name.’

  ‘Pryce can go fuck himself.’

  ‘And I’m the heathen who will be burned at the stake,’ Archie tutted, shaking his head before turning serious. ‘You need to watch out for that one, Cal. He really doesn’t like you.’

  ‘Please, doc, tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘He won’t be happy until you’re suspended, or worse.’

  ‘Worse is probably right,’ Drake admitted. He let Archie’s words sink in as the white sheet was whipped away to reveal the remains of Akbar Hakim.

  The body was slim, bony and dark, the skin broken here and there by lines of what looked like bites or scratches. Drake leaned in for a closer look. Archie pushed him gently out of the way.

  ‘Try not to get too intimate, will you?’

  ‘What are all these?’ Drake indicated the tracks on the skin. ‘Looks like he’s been bitten.’

  ‘Patience, dear boy.’

  The autopsy had not really begun. The body had been subjected to low temperatures to kill anything that might be lurking. As a result there was a cockroach lodged in Hakim’s left nostril. It looked as though it had expired while making a valiant bid to escape.

  ‘Alas, poor Yorick! The one that got away.’ Archie used a set of steel tweezers to remove the offending body which he dropped into a steel tray. ‘Almost.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re enjoying this?’

  Archie spoke without looking up. ‘You’re watching a professional at work. Live and learn.’

  ‘Okay, tell me what we’ve got here.’ Drake gestured at the tray. He had a bad feeling about this.

  ‘A wide variety of fauna, I think you could say. Centipedes, scorpions, spiders, cockroaches, slugs, leeches, worms, adders. A veritable feast, almost all home grown or easily available. Nothing too exotic yet.’ Archie set the tweezers on the examination table and stared down at the body. ‘If you ask me, he was tortured.’