Ross and Drake were jointly interviewing Father Byrne. The man was a definite enigma. What the hell is his connection to the murders? Ross wondered for about the hundredth time.
“Father Byrne, don't you find it rather coincidental that you, or your name at least, appears to rise to the surface every time one of these murders takes place?” Ross asked the priest, whose face betrayed nothing but sadness and shock at what had taken place in his own churchyard, so close to his own home.
“I admit it's all rather suggestive, Inspector Ross, but, truthfully, I cannot say just why these terrible murders have begun since my return to Liverpool, or why I seem to be getting dragged into your investigation somehow. I hope you're not suggesting I may have some connection to these terrible crimes?”
“I'm suggesting nothing, Father, but I'm not a great believer in coincidences, and there do seem to be rather a lot of them springing up around your name, don't you think?”
“I'm sorry, Inspector. In this case I believe the thinking part of it is all down to you. I can offer no satisfactory explanation other than that of the one thing you appear to reject, and that is a terrible liturgy of awful coincidences. I'm shocked and appalled at what's taken place here at St. Luke's. Why my church was chosen, I really don't know.”
“Oh, we can at least give you an answer to that one, Father,” said Drake.
“You can, Sergeant?”
“Yes. Apparently it may be linked to a prayer.”
“A prayer? But in the name of God, how?”
Drake began slowly reciting, “Matthew, Mark, Luke and John…”
Byrne took up the words, “Bless the bed that I lie on. Yes, it's an old, simple children's prayer, but what the heck has it do with these horrendous murders?”
Drake explained how the landlord at The Belerophon had used the four apostles names to describe the four men they assumed to be the targets of the killers. That being the case, it seemed logical that in some twisted way, the killers also thought of them in that way and were using churches bearing the men's own names as killing grounds for their victims.
“But, the man out there was Lucas, you said, not Luke,” said Byrne.
“But he was apparently known as Luke to his friends, Father,” Ross enlightened the priest.
“Oh, I see. So, what happens now, Inspector?”
At that point in the interview, Ross's mobile phone began to ring.
Excusing himself, Ross stood up and walked across to stand near the window, looking out onto the well-tended garden beyond the glass.
“Ross,” he said into the phone, irritation in his voice at being interrupted.
“It's Curtis, sir,” the voice that spoke replied.
“This had better be important,” Ross said.
“Oh, I think it is, sir. It's about the Manvers woman.”
“Go on then, Curtis, and make it quick.”
“She's a fake sir. Vera Manvers, the real one, died as a baby in a house fire years ago, and she was the only Vera Manvers born in Liverpool in the last hundred years according to Ferris, who's looked it up. Anyway, sir, our Vera Manvers suddenly appeared about five years ago, and Ferris has traced a deed poll document which shows her birth name to have been Ruth Gillespie.”
“You've got my full attention, Tony. Keep going, lad.”
“Well, sir, I just can't see how she got the job at Speke Hill, because she doesn't appear to have any previous work records that we can locate, even as Ruth Gillespie.”
“Okay, Tony, this is all very interesting and I must admit, a little suspicious, but I can sense you're holding something back. You and Derek have managed to connect her to the case, haven't you?”
“To be fair sir, it's more thanks to Paul Ferris's digging around in the records. Fifteen years ago, a young girl by the name of Brenda Gillespie was gang raped while walking home one night with her boyfriend. She was later able to identify the boyfriend as being one of her attackers. His name was Matthew Remington.”
“Bloody hell. Go on, Curtis, go on.”
“Right sir. The problem arose because she reported the rape, accused Remington, but he produced a string of witnesses that said he was nowhere near the place she was raped that night. He apparently admitted taking her out that night, but said he'd dropped her at home an hour before the attack and at the time she was assaulted, he claimed to have been in a card game with a group of others who all gave him a solid alibi. He alleged she must have been so traumatised by the attack that she got confused and accused him by mistake. The police investigated thoroughly at the time, but there were no witnesses to the rape, no forensics to tie Remington to the attack and no reasons to disbelieve the men who gave him his alibi, even though there's a note on file that the senior investigating officer, a D.I. Spencer, strongly suspected the men who'd provided the alibi, who just happen to have been Mark Proctor, Lucas Devereux and a John Selden could easily have been the other three rapists, but Brenda Gillespie never saw their faces, as the three unknowns wore masks, and before the investigation could be concluded, she suffered a total mental breakdown and had to be admitted to a sanatorium of some kind, a specialist place where they treat long-term patients. The name of the institution isn't mentioned in the report, I'm afraid. I can't say for sure sir, because the case was closed due to lack of evidence, but she's probably still there if she's still alive. The thing is, she had a sister, sir.”
“Don't tell me, Tony, let me guess, Ruth Gillespie?”
“Got it in one sir.”
Ross fell silent for a second as he quickly processed Curtis's information. If nothing else, he now knew they had the name of one of the killers, and also of John Selden who without a doubt had to be the fourth man on Manvers and her partner's death list.
“Revenge, Tony, that's what this has always been about. I was wrong. I thought she was protecting Proctor and Remington out of some warped sense of loyalty to Speke Hill, but she used the place to access the records and managed to identify the other three rapists. The police at the time of the attack certainly wouldn't have released their names to her, they were in effect nothing more than witnesses to Remington's alibi, so she must have worked out, somehow, that the other rapists would be found amongst Remington's circle of friends. That can't have taken her forever, so she must have waited years before something set her off on the killing spree. Maybe it was her idea to start killing them now, or maybe it was the man's. She turned herself into a private investigator in order to identify and track them down. She didn't want us finding out the names of Devereux and the last man, whoever John is, before she got to them. We have to find this John Selden, and fast.”
“Agreed, sir. What about Manvers? Do you want me to pick her up, sir?”
“Yes, I do, but take Paul Ferris with you. Don't forget, there's a man involved in this too. I don't want you walking into a situation where he might be with Manvers and you end up in any danger from the pair of them. God knows what they might do if they feel cornered. Dodds can check out Devereux's house with a couple of uniforms for company. I doubt they'll find anything of value and it's probably locked up but tell him to make a thorough external search and of course, if a door should have been accidentally left unlocked…”
Ross let his last words hang in the air.
Curtis acknowledged his instructions before going to find Nick Dodds to inform him of the change in plans,
“Right, sir. Consider us on our way.”
“Curtis,” Ross said with caution evident in his voice.
“Sir?”
“Be careful. Listen, take no chances. Go and tell D.C.I. Porteous your findings and ask him to send a couple of patrol cars along as back up when you and Ferris go to make the arrest. Also, with all the pressure we're likely to get on this latest killing, the boss should have no trouble getting a search warrant before you leave. Tell him we need the warrant to cover Vera's home and place of work. The uniforms can help with the search, and I'll ask Miles Booker to get a couple of crime scene techs t
o meet you at the house. She'll be at work by now I think so go there first and let Booker know when you're heading to the house, so the C.S. guys aren't hanging around waiting for you. I'd rather be with you, but I need to talk to the priests here at St. Luke's first. I'm sending D.C.'s Gable and McLennan to meet you there as well. Don't make a move on Manvers until they get there, understood?”
“Understood sir.”
“And Curtis?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Great work lad, you and Ferris.”
“Thanks, sir. Don't forget, Derek was with me yesterday too.”
“Of course. I'll make sure he's aware of what's happening before he leaves here with Sam. Make sure you do everything by the book when you pick her up, and keep her isolated in an interview room until we can question her.”
“Okay and thanks again, sir,” said Curtis, ending the call and allowing Ross to turn and fill Izzie Drake in on the call.
Chapter 35
Home from Home?
Detective Constable Nick Dodds, accompanied by two uniformed constables, arrived at the home of Lucas Devereux within an hour of the discovery of the body in the graveyard.
Constables Flynn and Davis were both experienced officers and Dodds felt he could rely on them to back him up in case of unforeseen problems, though he doubted they'd encounter any. He knew the dead man had been single and lived alone, so he expected the search to be nothing more than routine. In the back of his mind, however, lurked the thought that no one had told him where Devereux had been abducted from, so there was a chance he could have been taken from home, in which case, there just might be evidence at the house that would prove important. Having informed Flynn and Davis of such a possibility he decided to take the front door himself, while the two uniforms were sent round to the rear of the house, along the narrow path that ran along one side of the property.
Dodds knocked on the front door, first using his clenched fist and then, receiving no reply, by use of the heavy brass door knocker in the upper centre of the door. Continuing to receive no reply, Dodds tried the brass door handle, situated just above a keyhole. The door was securely locked. Looking up, Dodds saw a small sensor situated in the corner of the door frame, obviously part of Devereux's alarm system. Any attempt to force entry through the front door would doubtless trigger the alarm. Not knowing if it was a silent or audible alarm, Dodds decided against trying to force an entry, for fear of setting off an incessant loud alarm that might attract any number of inquisitive neighbours.
He moved to one side and, placing his hands either side of his head to obliterate glare and reflection, peered through a large bay window into what appeared to be the lounge of Devereux's home. He could make out a large television set in the far right corner of the room, a leather three-piece suite with chesterfield-style sofa, a glass topped coffee table and a tall, expensive looking hi-fi system in the opposite corner of the room. An ornate fireplace stood out from the chimney breast in between the TV and the hi-fi unit, the mantle-piece bearing a couple of framed photographs and a large anniversary clock, the balls gently twisting back and forth, oblivious of the passage of time. Nothing appeared out of place. If there had been an altercation in the house leading up to Devereux's abduction, he was fairly certain it hadn't taken place in the room he was looking into, unless Devereux had been taken by total surprise, maybe even held at gunpoint before being taken from his home, but that could mean the dead man may have let his killers in through the front door, also leading to the possibility he knew his killers and unsuspectingly let them in to his home. Nobody knew the facts of Devereux's abduction thus far and Dodds' scenario did at least fit the facts as far as he was aware at that point.
Suddenly, however, he was jolted from his thoughts and his viewing through the window by a shout that came from the rear of the house.
“Oy, you, come here you bastard,” Constable Flynn shouted, followed by the voice of P.C. Davis as he joined in with a shouted warning. “Coming down the path, Nick.”
Dodds quickly took three steps to his left, just in time to see a dishevelled, unkempt looking man running towards him along the path at the side of the house.
“Police, stop!” he shouted, only to be knocked to the ground by the outstretched arm of the man as he bundled his way past and onto the grassed lawn, heading for the front gate, hotly pursued by the two uniformed constables.
“I'm okay, go get him,” Dodds called to the two constables as they hesitated, in case he'd been hurt.
Flynn and Davis were younger and fitter than the fleeing man, and before he managed to make it through the front gate, they were on him, an expertly timed rugby tackle by Flynn bringing him down, after which Davis quickly pinned him to the ground, wrenching the man's arms behind him and slapping the handcuffs on his wrists.
Dodds picked himself up, quickly dusted himself down and walked across to where Flynn and Davis had pulled the man to his feet, and now held him by an arm apiece as he glared from one to the other malevolently.
“Right, you,” Dodds spoke with authority. “What the fuck are you doing here, on private property? And why did you run away when the constables found you?”
“They took me by surprise,” the man replied. “I thought they was goin' to hurt me, like.”
“And why would they do that? They're in uniform. Couldn't you see that?”
“I never took the time to stop and look, mate, honest. I was scared and just ran for it.”
Dodds turned to P.C. Flynn.
“Where was he, Mike?”
“He was holed up behind the shed, Nick. As we walked round the back, he just legged it before we could say a word. Looked like the hounds of hell were on his tail.”
“Right, sunshine,” Dodds spoke firmly to the scruffy looking man.
“You'd better tell me what you're so afraid of and why you're hanging around in Mr. Devereux's back garden.”
“I was supposed to meet Luke here last night,” the man began. “I saw him at his office and he told me to go home, get some things and come and spend the night here with him, but when he never showed up, I was too scared to go home. I hope nothing's happened to him, has it?
He's not been home all night so I ended up sheltering behind the shed where no-one could see me.”
Saying nothing about Devereux's murder, Dodds simply replied,
“I see, and just what is it you're so afraid of, Mr…?”
“Selden, John Selden,” the man replied, and all became clear to Nick Dodds.
“Right, Mr. Selden,” he said, “I think you'd better come along with us. We've some questions for you to answer and once you've warmed up and had a hot cup of tea, you're going to give us some answers, you got that?”
John Selden silently nodded his head, and as he was marched to the patrol car by the two constables, Dodds saw the man's shoulders visibly sag as if his body was acknowledging the fact he'd reached the end of the road.
As they drove back to headquarters, P.C. Davis sitting in the rear of the patrol car with Selden, Nick Dodds knew without a shadow of doubt that D.I. Ross would be eager to question the man who sat, his face a mask of fear in the back seat, staring vacantly at nothing in particular.
Chapter 36
Arrest
As the handcuffs snapped shut on the wrists of John Selden, a few short miles away Tony Curtis and Derek McLennan strode into the office of Vera Manvers at Speke Hill. Both officers did a quick double-take as they tried to reconcile the dowdy, matron-like woman who sat behind the secretary's desk with the vampish and sexually attractive woman they'd spoken to in her home the previous day. This Vera Manvers, with her hair scraped back, wearing a high-neck yellow sweater and long brown skirt and with nothing but a little eye shadow in terms of make-up, and reading glasses hanging from a chain round her neck could have passed as a totally different woman. The two men looked at one another before Vera herself broke the deadlock of silence.
“Good morning, detectives. You look shocked. Is it my ap
pearance? Surely you wouldn't expect me to arrive for work in my 'off duty' clothes would you?” she smiled.
“Ms Manvers, hello,” said Curtis. “Yes, I must say you do look rather different.”
“Very different, in fact,” said McLennan.
“Well, now that my appearance has been sorted out between you, perhaps you can tell me what I can do for you.”
“Yes, Ms Manvers, or should we say Miss Ruth Gillespie? You can accompany us to police headquarters where we need to ask you some questions on an extremely serious matter.”
Vera's face fell. The shocked look told the two detectives immediately that they were facing a guilty woman. If she could have turned and run away at that moment, they were both certain she would have done just that. Trapped as she was, behind her desk in the small office, there was nowhere to run. Having thought she'd outwitted the two officers the previous day, she now realised she was cornered. Somehow, they'd worked it out, or at least, some of it. She'd need to be very careful, and try to find out just how much they knew.
“Am I under arrest?” Vera asked with a faint tremor in her voice.
“I'm afraid so,” said McLennan and D.C. Curtis proceeded to read Vera Manvers/Ruth Gillespie the standard police caution as McLennan helped her to her feet before snapping the handcuffs in place.
As the two men led Vera from the office, Charles Hopkirk stepped from his own office along the corridor and stared aghast at the sight that met his eyes.
“Vera?” he almost choked as he said the word. “What's going on here?”
“Ms. Manvers is accompanying us to police headquarters,” McLennan said in response. “We need her to assist us with certain inquiries.”
“But really, officers, are the handcuffs really necessary?”
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