“But hang on,” Ross interrupted. “The previous killings all took place in the churchyards.”
“Aye, well, Victoria here says otherwise and that'll do for me.”
“She's right, sir,” said Miles Booker as he joined the small but growing gathering. “He's been carefully placed in that position, quite deliberately, I'd say, to make a point, or to tell us something.”
“I'd agree with your last point, definitely, Miles,” Ross answered as he moved closer to get a better look at the corpse. Nugent and Strauss closed in on the scene at the same time, while Izzie Drake swerved off to one side to quickly search the immediate surrounding area for any clues or trace evidence.
Despite having been witness to the appalling cruelty inflicted on the previous two victims, Ross couldn't help but feel the killers had taken things a step further with the murder of Lucas Devereux. Even at this early stage, he could see there were differences between this and the previous killings.
This was confirmed soon afterwards when Christine Bland arrived in the company of Sam Gable and Derek McLennan, the profiler having just arrived at headquarters as they were leaving to join Ross and Drake, and thereby hitching a ride to the scene with them.
“I think they're devolving,” she said quietly to Ross after taking in the scene, and walking around the body which was still being scrutinised by both pathologists and Miles Booker, the senior Scenes of Crimes officer. They had raised the body sufficiently to make a quick examination of the front of Devereux's remains, and had been horrified at the proliferation of wounds present.
“Devolving?” a puzzled Ross repeated the word.
“Yes, it's a word they use a lot in the States. Basically it means our killers are now so caught up in their bloodlust that they're beginning to take risks, becoming sloppy. Whereas the first two murders gave the impression of meticulous and orderly planning, everything here hints at a level of sadism not displayed in the first two kills, and the complete change in methodology makes me believe they're essentially heading down a path of eventual self-destruction.”
“Do you mean you think they're suicidal?”
“No, I'm sorry if I gave that impression. What I meant was they are now not doing things as carefully as before. Look at the facts. Previously, they left no trace evidence, and before you say you haven't found any here yet, I think you will do. The wounds on the body indicate not only a degree of sadism and, dare I say it, torture, over a period of time, and the fact that the murder took place not here in the graveyard, but elsewhere marks a distinct change in their method. There's a glaring indicator here that we're most definitely dealing with two very different personalities.”
“Please, go on. What do you mean by that last remark?”
“It's like a pendulum has swung from one side to the other,” she said. “Previously, I think the dominant one in this partnership, who I've always believed to be the male, was in charge, keeping them on track according to some well laid plan. This time, I think the woman somehow imposed herself on this murder and wrested control from the man, who was quite probably appalled at the way she carried out Devereux's torture and eventual murder.”
“Why would he be appalled?” Ross asked. “He's already killed twice and was obviously intending that Devereux should die anyway.”
“Ah yes,” said Bland, “but I don't think he intended things to go this far. Did you see the damage around the man's anus?”
“Hard to miss, really,” said Ross disgustedly.
“I think you'll find that was done by the woman and that could be their first big mistake.”
“How so?” Ross was intrigued now.
“Because I now believe with a degree of certainty that the woman is taking a form of revenge for a very personal reason. Either she, or another female, very close to her, was the victim of an attack by your team of rapists, Inspector. It may be a daughter, a sister, maybe even a mother, but your answer lies in a previous and possibly unprosecuted rape from the past.”
“Wow, that's a lot to glean from a quick glance at the scene,” said Ross.
“It's my job, remember,” Bland replied.
“I hope you're right, about them devolving,” said Ross as he heard the voice of Izzie Drake calling to him. Looking up, he saw her standing about thirty yards away, next to an old, grotesque looking mausoleum, a crypt of some kind that looked to be as old as the church itself.
Ross summoned Sam Gable and Derek McLennan to join him. This time, McLennan had managed to control his stomach and felt rather proud of himself for not being sick at the scene.
Izzie Drake, standing close to the old crypt, waited until the three others joined her and then, without wasting a second, pointed to the old padlock on the iron gates to the crypt.
“Sir, you have to look closely, but if you get up close, you can see that this old padlock has been sawn through. It would have needed a damn good hacksaw or something similar to cut through the hasp on the old padlock, and whoever did it needed time to tackle the job. And that's not all,” she said, as she bent close to the ground in the slightly overgrown grass that had sprouted up around the walls of the old crypt.
“Oh, my god, is that what I think it is?” Sam Gable asked, turning a little green at the gills as she and the others bent down to examine what Drake had indicated.
“A piece of intestine, I think, yes,” said Drake as Ross waved across the graveyard for Miles Booker to join them.
“You might want to bring a couple of your team over here, Miles,” said Ross as Booker carried out a tentative examination of the padlock and the small but significant piece of human remains that lay in the grass beside the entrance to the crypt.
The iron gates creaked ominously, like the entrance to the gates of hell, or maybe Castle Dracula, Derek McLennan thought. In the gloom that lay within the entrance to the crypt, Booker turned on a powerful halogen-beamed torch that instantly illuminated their surroundings. Five steps led down into the depths of the crypt, and before taking even one step into the darkness below they all smelled it, the sweet, cloying, coppery smell of blood, and Derek McLennan prayed he wouldn't let himself down by throwing up yet again.
“Oh, shit, in the name of God, look at this place,” said Booker as his torch beam swung around the main body of the crypt.
The detectives stood, staring incredulously as the scene played out in the light of the torch, like a surreal and horrific old-fashioned flickering silent movie, although this one was in full colour and accompanied by the stench of death.
“Wait,” said Ross as the torchlight indicated a light switch on the wall at the bottom of the old concrete steps. He quickly flicked the switch, and the crypt was illuminated by the glow from the single overhead bulb in addition to the swaying beam of Booker's torch, which he kept switched on in order to highlight the scene as they knew they were literally walking in a sea of evidence.
Derek McLennan threw a hand over his mouth as he gagged at the sight that assaulted their eyes. Ross heard the sounds emanating from Derek's throat and shouted, “Outside, Derek, right now.”
McLennan turned and ran up the steps and out into the daylight, where somehow, he managed to control the gag reflex and much to his surprise, his breakfast remained in place in his stomach. Of course, he knew the boss had sent him out not just for his own benefit, but because he feared McLennan would contaminate what was now clearly the scene of Devereux's murder down there in the depths of someone's family mausoleum.
* * *
The floor of the crypt resembled that of a nineteenth century slaughterhouse. The blood from the multiple wounds inflicted on Lucas Devereux's body had stained the concrete floor a deep, dark red. The walls literally dripped with blood spatter, presumably, Ross thought, from the cutting of the man's throat, with a massive stain spreading from a lump of tissue on the floor, a large part of the man's intestines, the rest having been left attached to the corpse. The smell was terrible and it was all those present could do to prevent themselves j
oining Derek McLennan outside in the fresh air. Ross's eyes, and those of Drake and Booker, were drawn inexorably to the butcher's hook dangling from the ceiling. They could only imagine the suffering that must have been inflicted on Devereux as he hung from that vicious looking hook.
Sam Gable was busily taking notes, writing down the tiniest detail of everything she saw in that terrible place. It came to Ross that the fervent scratching of her pen of the paper on her notepad was probably her way of tuning out a little from the horrific sights and smells of the crypt.
“They didn't find this place by accident,” Ross observed, after taking a few seconds to gather his thoughts.
“You're right,” said Miles Booker. “That hook wasn't part of the original design of the crypt, that's for sure. It looks new. Someone planned this well. They were ready for him. This was their combined bloody torture and execution chamber.”
Booker's two crime scene technicians were by now busily photographing the room from every angle and noting down measurements of every splash of blood, and much more.
“What about the light switch, sir?” said Drake. “Surely crypts weren't built with electric light built-in whenever this one was built.”
“Not originally, but the last burial interred in here was fifteen years ago, I looked before we entered,” said Booker. “It's possible the family arranged it for some reason. The switch and wiring look old enough.”
“But the point remains, someone knew about this place, and I want to know who,” said Ross. “I'll leave you and your lads to examine this place while we go and have a word or two with Father Byrne.”
“Thanks for nothing,” Booker grimaced at Ross.
“Any time, Miles,” he smiled a wry smile at the Crime Scenes boss before leading Izzie out of the room of death.
Chapter 33
Overkill
“Something's not right with this one,” Ross spoke quietly. “It just doesn't stack up. Don't ask me why, but I think the killers have slipped up and we just need to work out how and where.”
“Your instincts are usually on the button, sir,” Drake acknowledged. “What are you thinking?”
“So far, the killers have been meticulous in their planning, leaving nothing to chance. This is so sloppy, there's a sense of overkill about it. I think we're going to end up with more clues than we've had previously. It's as if they want to be caught, as if they're challenging us to work it out.”
“But if what the landlord at The Belerophon told Curtis is correct, there's still the matter of the one called John to account for,” said Drake with a slight look of puzzlement on her face.
“Maybe he's not as important to them as Devereux.”
“Or maybe they knew Devereux would be harder to get to if he won a seat in parliament,” Drake hypothesised.
“A very good point, Izzie,” Ross agreed. “Tell you what, Izzie,” Ross said in a quick change of mind, “while we go and have another chat with the pathologists up top, send Sam and Derek to begin talking to the priests and Mr. and Mrs. Redding. Make sure they talk to them one at a time. We'll catch up to them as soon as we're finished out here.”
Drake left the crypt, leaving Ross, Booker and his technicians in the bone-chilling atmosphere of the murder site.
* * *
“Just awful,” Nugent concluded after Ross questioned him and tried to pin him down to a preliminary determination of cause of death.
“You can't be more precise?” Ross pressed the pathologist.
“Inspector, I doubt we'll be able to be more precise even once we get the remains back to the mortuary. The wound to the neck and the one to the abdomen would both have been sufficient to cause almost instantaneous death, and it will be almost impossible to determine which came first.”
“Either way, you're looking at two very sick killers,” Vicky Strauss added from her place, kneeling on the ground beside the corpse, which had by now been removed from its previous obscenely grotesque position and was now laid respectfully on a black groundsheet, ready to be transferred to a body bag for transportation to the mortuary. Strauss was cataloguing the most serious injuries, as Francis Lees' camera continued to click away in the background as he photographed not only the corpse, but every inch of the scene around the grave where it had been deposited.
“We know that, already, Doctor Strauss,” Ross replied, and then asked, “Any particular reason why you should say that, bearing that in mind?”
“Most of the injuries are superficial, designed to cause pain without being lethal,” Strauss said. “But, as far as I'm aware, a lot of the injuries inflicted on your previous victims were inflicted post-mortem, right?”
“That's correct. So you're saying there's a significant difference here?”
“I believe so, Inspector. We should be able to determine it for sure at autopsy, and there's one other thing.”
“Go on, what it is it?”
William Nugent took up the story from his junior doctor.
“The first two victims, they had their manhood cut off post-mortem before having them stuffed in their mouths. Victoria found something disturbing in this case.”
Drake looked horrified as she asked, “You don't mean they…”
“Yes, they did,” Nugent replied. “They must have somehow made sure Devereux was sexually turned on before they cut his penis off, Sergeant Drake.”
“You can tell that from looking at it?”
“Of course we can. It's still erect, exactly as it was when they sliced it from his living, breathing body.”
Drake almost turned green at the pathologist's revelation.
“They really wanted to make the poor bastard suffer, for sure,” Ross said.
* * *
Devereux's body had been sealed in a body bag and removed to the mortuary by the time Ross and Drake walked the short distance to the house where Sam Gable and Derek McLennan had begun interviewing Fathers Byrne and Willis and the housekeeper and her husband.
Miles Booker's forensic team were going over the entire scene, above and below ground in a meticulous search for the smallest piece of trace evidence that could assist the investigation, while the uniformed officers promised by D.C.I. Porteous had arrived and been sent to conduct house-to-house inquiries in the area, though Ross held out little hope they'd discover anything of use.
It lurked in the back of Ross's mind that in some way, the killings were inextricably linked either to the recent arrival of Father Gerald Byrne, who never seemed far from the hub of the investigation, or to Byrne's time at Speke Hill so many years before and yet, he found it difficult to believe a direct involvement by Byrne in the horrendous series of murders. Though not an overly religious man, Andy Ross just couldn't imagine Byrne as a killer.
Meanwhile, back at headquarters, based on a vague suspicion voiced to him by Tony Curtis after his and Derek McLennan's interview the previous day, Paul Ferris and his trusty computer were on the verge of the breakthrough Ross had been waiting for. For now though, he was speculating, and it would take a little time to turn that speculation into facts that the inspector could use to his advantage in tracking the killers of three men.
Chapter 34
Beginning of the End
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” D.C. Tony Curtis could hardly contain his excitement as he read the information that Paul Ferris had just printed out.
“Of course I'm sure,” Ferris replied. “Looks like you and Derek were bang on in your estimation of the Manvers woman. Nothing about her adds up at all. She's what I'd call a real enigma.”
“Great,” said Curtis. “This stuff is like dynamite. The boss was wrong about her motives, obviously, but he was right to be suspicious of her. You don't think he'll be mad at me and Derek for proving him wrong do you?”
“Don't be bloody stupid, Tony. If it helps the case move closer to a solution, he'll be over the bloody moon and might even recommend the pair of you for a commendation.”
“You think so?”
> “Well, that's maybe going a bit too far, but he'll be bloody pleased with you both, that's a certainty.”
“Talk me through it one more time, Paul. Save me having to read it all again. Then I'd better call the boss.”
Ferris did as Curtis asked.
Meanwhile, Ross had moved on to interviewing the residents at St. Luke's. Gable and McLennan had done well but hadn't got as far as talking to the priests yet. He'd read through Gable's notes following her talk with Iris Redding and McLennan's account of Tom Redding's rendering of his discovery of the body. While husband and wife were helpful and cooperative, neither statement threw much light on the case. Neither of them spent their nights at the manse and could throw no light on how or why Devereux came to be found in the crypt. Tom Redding's statement only contained one piece of useful information. Father Byrne's predecessor, the late Father O'Hanlon, had once informed Tom that he'd installed the lighting in 'the old Greasby crypt' as he'd described it with the permission of the family's executors after the passing of the last member of the family. It appeared the crypt was the oldest of its kind in St. Luke's graveyard, and the best preserved too. With over twenty members of the Greasby family interred there, Father O'Hanlon wanted to carry out a personal investigation into the history of what he'd told Tom were an 'ordinary everyday merchant class' Liverpool family. According to O'Hanlon, the family were pretty much just a step above working class, and by no means wealthy, but their faith in God and the Church had been an example to others over the years. There were many old Latin inscriptions on the walls of the crypt itself as well as on the sides and tops of the stone coffins interred within the underground family vault. With no natural light present down there, O'Hanlon would have struggled, even with a torch, to make out some of the oldest, faded inscriptions, with which he hoped to assemble a chronicle of the family's faith and devotion through the generations. By so doing, he'd informed Tom as the gardener was working the grounds around the crypt one day; he hoped to bring some of the Greasby family values to his current day parishioners and congregation. Sadly, Tom had said in his statement, the old priest died before he could complete his task. At least, Ross thought, the mystery of the electric light in the crypt had been satisfactorily explained.
All Saints- Murder on the Mersey Page 29