by Tia Reed
“Do you not think it a fitting memorial? Their lives may have been cut short, detective, but their images have been immortalised.”
“Melanie Denham died five days ago. That’s hardly enough time to carve an effigy.”
“You underestimate the skills of a good mason.”
“How do you think the relatives are going to react?”
“The girls’ families are quite grateful.”
The disgust was plain on Rob’s face. “That’s not what Mrs Catherine Jones told me four days ago. How did she phrase it? Something along the lines of, ‘I am a staunch Catholic and will not permit a commemorative plaque or any other sort of tribute to Caroline in that pretence of a church.’ She sounded so upset on the phone I went to pay her a visit.”
So Mrs Jones had been the phone call that necessitated Rob leave her with Brendan Rhymes. Ella would have to extend a heartfelt thank you to the woman when she went to check if she had, in fact, changed her mind.
“I said I would take it under consideration, and I did.”
Ella pursed her lips. The arrogant bastard would not have given it a second thought.
“You went ahead, and with far more than a plaque, despite her requests to the contrary.”
“Grieving relatives are not always in the best frame of mind to make monumental decisions of this sort. Surely, in your line of work you are aware of that, Detective. She’ll thank me once the media hysteria is over. It’s their biased reporting that has tainted the good name of my church, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Jerome?”
For that jibe, Ella intended to see the scandal dragged on for days.
“Matt Hayes has only just been reported missing. The coffin suggests knowledge of his circumstances,” Rob said.
“Nonsense, Detective. Mr Hayes was offered interment in gratitude for his carpentry work in the belfry. He accepted with unqualified enthusiasm. ‘Wicked’ I believe his exact phrase was. Arrangements started weeks ago.”
“His phone was in the mason’s bedroom,” Rob said.
“Romain commissioned a new crucifix from Mr Hayes. Perhaps he left it behind during one of his visits. Romain is apt to collect items he finds lying around.”
“When was he last here?” Rob asked.
“I really couldn’t say. Romain admits his own visitors.”
Rob dialled Matt’s message bank. “The first message was dated the twenty-third.”
Ella bit her lip. Reluctantly, she had to admit Matt had been alive and well on the twenty-fourth. “But his friends said he wasn’t answering their calls. You can’t assume that message accurately dates his last visit.”
Rob pursed his lips and gave her that look. The one that meant the evidence was circumstantial at best, that they couldn’t prove Matt had been here after the twenty-third. He turned to Genord. “Forensics is going to comb every inch of the church.”
“If you think it will help, Detective.” The slightly patronising tone given to his title sent Rob striding off to re-inspect the nave. Regardless of any involvement in crime, that man was going to fall foul of him sooner rather than later. Rob had never acted in anything other than a professional manner, but when Ella’s life had been threatened, it had become very personal. Ella knew he was working hard not to let that show.
“We’re ready to go.” Danes’ grim face appeared at the top of the lower stairs.
Below, bright spotlights lit the crypt, revealing incredible detail in the life-like effigies. The octagonal area beyond the tombs was bare. Forensics had already cleared it of anything other than dust. Ella held her breath as the first marble slab rose. There would be no easy way to deliver devastating news to Adam. They lowered the slab. It balanced precariously across one corner. She exhaled. The empty interior sparkled a pristine white. A sliver of hope remained for Cecily Williams. Ella crossed her fingers as Rob instructed the operators to move on. She noticed he was digging his nails into his palms as he waited for the lid on the second tomb to grate across. It too was empty. As were the others. Nothing. Not a smudge or scratch on the interiors.
“Last one,” someone called, cranking a winch to lift the lid off Matt’s tomb. “We’ve got something!”
They sprang over. Inside lay a small wooden carving of a dragon.
“He liked those,” Ella said. She outlined what she had learned at the woodcarving academy.
They waited while forensics swabbed and dusted tomb and dragon.
“Not enough evidence to charge anyone,” Danes said.
Rob shot his partner a cautionary look. “We don’t need to charge anyone. We need to catch the bastard responsible.” He looked across the crypt. “What’s he doing here?”
The mason was hobbling past policemen, shouldering aside those who approached, though his hunchback, drooping face, and incoherent murmurs kept most at bay. With single-minded determination, he scuttled past the tombs and lunged at the sandy-haired forensics guy bagging the dragon. He was out of their grasp and tossing the snatched bag at the wall before anyone could react. His heavy workboot pounded the cracked carving once, twice, three times.
“I heard he didn’t like wood.” Ella shivered. “What was that?” She could have sworn a blue streak gusted out of the broken carving. A fading hologram? She would need to chase down that lead after all. She looked at Rob, but no one else was reacting. She scanned the room for a niche that might have hidden a projector and took in a sharp breath. Genord was standing at the base of the steps. The concentration on his face made her skin crawl. He was watching a homely young officer with a gentle voice inch toward the mason. Romain’s foot halted in the air. He looked at the broken carving and blinked. A pathetic smile distorted his gruesome face as he lowered his foot. “Safe. Safe. Girls safe,” he mumbled, suddenly cooperative enough for the officer to lead him out.
“So am I still a suspect?” Ella asked Rob when Danes had left with the team.
“I’m not about to waste my time chasing you down for murder.”
“That’s comforting.”
“But I will hound you until you divulge every last scrap of information you have on this case.”
“What information?” she said too quickly.
“Ella, this place is squeaky clean. Nothing’s this clean unless it has something to hide. If you know something, we need to hear about it, because nailing the bastard is going to be near on impossible as it is.”
“I told you about the underwater passage, didn’t I?” A living grotesque at her house was beyond his rational mind. Chocolate frogs, it was beyond hers.
Rob sighed. “We need to leave.”
“Look, Rob, I’ve seen some kind of animal down by the canal.” She had to convince him to stick around. It was forty-eight hours since she had seen Adam. Despite the absence of a tomb, her hope was fading fast. “Something vicious enough,” she blurted, “to raise those welts on my arm.” She pulled up her sleeve. The swelling had gone down, but the scratches were scabbed. “Adam Lowell saw it too. I think . . . I think he might have come to find evidence.”
He searched her pleading eyes, then nodded.
They climbed to the nave. Ella’s intention to avoid Genord and his smug observations amounted to nothing when the caretaker waylaid them at the entrance.
“It’s turned out to be a lovely afternoon, don’t you agree, Detective, Miss Jerome? The first time we’ve seen a hint of sunshine in days. It’s just perfect for admiring the craftsmanship on that dragon gargoyle and reminiscing.”
A career built on tailing homicide detectives allowed Ella to picture what a fiend like Genord might reminisce about. Rob must have had similar thoughts. For the first time in the long years she had known him, he looked like he might come to serious blows with the suspect. Uncharacteristically, she wished he would.
Chapter Fourteen
28th October. Night.
ORDINARILY ELLA WOULD have found the smell of damp earth soothing. It reminded her of the hikes her father had taken her on as a child. In the fading light, a
fter recent events, the natural surrounds only served to remind her how vulnerable she was. People—and police dogs—did not belong in this corner after dark. As if to agree, Rastas the German Shepherd gave a soft ruff. Ella shifted uncomfortably. More from habit than because she felt like it, she unwrapped a piece of chocolate. The ripping paper cut through the chill night air.
“Go easy on the chocolate.”
She turned her head as far as she could. Rob was only visible as a silhouette. Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t heard him approach. She held out the packet, her offer visible in the light of the torch he carried.
He took a piece. “Less for you.”
“I’ll buy some more.” Ignoring his advice, she popped another two squares in her mouth. “I’m glad you believed me. About the creature,” she said when they had melted.
“Something has to be taking those poor girls. And besides, someone has to teach you how to trust again.”
That comment hit a little too close to home. She looked at the church. “I hope it shows itself.” In an even smaller voice, she added, “And that you’ll still believe me if it doesn’t.”
Rob leaned against the tree. “We’ll watch the canal. Danes and Rastas have their eyes on the church.”
She strained to make out Danes. The trees obscured him, but the soft lilt of his voice as he chatted on his phone was amiable enough. “Has your partner calmed down?”
“We’re taking a lot of heat. This case is nowhere near being solved, and now you go and find crucial evidence.”
“Me meaning a second-rate reporter?”
“You meaning not him. And you are not second-rate,” he said emphatically.
She pushed off the trunk and faced him. “Your vote of confidence is not shared by your new partner, whom I dislike by the way.”
“He’s a solid detective. And for what it’s worth, I don’t know how you got those blood samples, but I don’t for a minute believe your involvement in any of this goes beyond a reporter investigating a story.”
“Well, thank you,” she said, unable to keep sarcasm from her voice.
“Look, Ella. We need to get the bastard behind this.”
“Danes is just going to hinder you if he goes about alienating anybody who has information.”
“You’re not anybody.”
“Yeah, well Matt Hayes is.”
“What do you mean?” Rob asked.
“Matt had a fight with Bekka Todd. She stormed off in this direction. He didn’t tell Danes because he was afraid of becoming a suspect. After today, I must say I agree with his decision.”
“You’re only telling me this now?”
“Come on, Rob. I’ve been telling you the church is involved from the beginning.”
“Not once have you given us all the details.”
“Information is all I have to bargain with. Admit it. You would never allow me to accompany you if I disclosed everything.”
He sighed. “In the interest of finding your friend, is there anything else?”
“I have it Genord holds the reins on a judge, and the same source suggests Judge Radcliff might be more sympathetic to your cause.” Her attempts to follow up on the lead had been spectacularly unsuccessful. She trusted Doer’s information, though. Likely that meant Alden was corrupt beyond redemption.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Have I ever messed around when a story was involved?”
“No. But I’m not sure I know who you are any more, Ella.”
“That’s just fantastic, Rob.”
“I barely recognised your house under all the ironing, and you’re eating chocolate like it’s some drug you depend on.”
“So I’ve put on weight. It hardly affects my investigative skills.”
He was quiet a moment, then said, “You look good, Ella. No really. The extra weight suits you. You never used to stop long enough to eat. And this past week I’ve seen some of your old determination.”
She brushed her hair back, reminded herself he was being conciliatory. “Yeah, well, I’ve found something to get determined about.” She offered the packet of chocolate. They both took another piece. Suddenly conscious of what it must be doing to her hips, she stuffed the remainder into her pocket. The crackle of the paper only brought home the unnatural quiet. Not even a whisper of wind disturbed the stillness.
Hands in pockets, Ella rubbed fists against her thighs and blew air gently onto her face as cold bit her lips and nose. It didn’t help her aching ears. Huddling her neck as far into her shoulders as possible, she stamped her feet. Rob placed a hand on her shoulder, his firm grip warning her to still. The lapping of disturbed water broke the silence. Iridescent blue light streaked along the canal, brighter than the lights twinkling across the expanse of the river. When Rastas growled, she snapped on her torch and joined her beam with Rob’s. Then both of them were running for the water. From behind came three barks and a shout.
“What was that!?”
They were only halfway to the rocky bank when a fearsome shape swung over their heads. Rob raised his arms in defence against the leathery wings that beat at them. The creature dropped in front of them. Its spread wings came round to enfold them. Rob threw his arm around her, turning them so their backs would take the brunt of the creature’s fury. Its strong legs pummelled against them, kicking them to their knees. Rob scrambled up, dragging her with him, reaching for his gun. The grotesque continued flapping its wings. She pushed his arm, fighting him.
“No!” she cried as she caught sight of the leonine head and the terrible impossibility of who it was confronted her.
“Go!”
She tried to pull the gun from his hand. Rob pushed her away. The dog kept barking.
“Run!”
“No!” she repeated, battling for the weapon. Under simultaneous attack from her and the winged monster, Rob dropped the gun. The creature immediately took the weapon in its mouth and spiralled upward.
Rastas bounded after it as far as the canal, his tail wagging crazy encouragement. His attention turned to the water when a large object broke the surface with a prolonged whoosh. Hackles raised, the dog growled.
Danes fired a shot into the air. With a piercing shriek, the flying creature wheeled over the canal, one lopsided wing testament to his aim. Ella bolted toward the detective.
“You can’t!” she panted, grabbing his arm. “It’s Cecily. It has her DNA.”
Danes threw her off with a warning look before taking aim again.
“No!” she yelled, then, “Oh, please, no!”
Another impossible being was slinking along the ground toward the detective. Wingless, crouched low, it padded forward on paws that sported dagger-sharp claws at the end of four long toes. Rastas turned toward it, whined, then trotted to the canal to stand guard.
“Look out!” Danes warned, adjusting his aim. He did not seem to have registered what she had said. The creature pounced, toppling the detective and sending the bullet wide. Its wide, yellow eyes glowered from under prominent ridges that met in a central depression. It pecked at his nose with the beak-like protrusion at the end of its triangular mouth. Were it not for a leathery hide and backward pointing ears, Ella would have thought it an overgrown, mutant lizard. The creature eyed her before sliding off Danes and scampering toward the canal, taut muscles rippling under oily skin. In that moment of eye-contact, Ella was sure: the creature was sentient. As Danes got to his feet, gun still in hand, Ella pummelled him down before he could shoot. She scrambled up and dashed to the canal. The winged grotesque was not visible, but there on the rocks the gecko beast faced the water, watching, guarding.
“They’ll shoot,” she yelled at it, questioning her sanity and ignoring Rob’s shouts for her to get out of the way. She waved hand and torch to shoo it off. “They’ll shoot you.”
Rastas whined, then yipped, not the least fazed by whatever the creature was. If that was not enough proof it meant them no harm, the grotesque hissed and spit to drive
her back as a dark elongated shape rose from the canal and cruised toward the shore. The shape submerged, but the blue light surfaced to the crash of breaking waves. Long fangs gleamed as they rose from the water, terribly solid in that insubstantial jaw. An almighty roar shook the ground she stood on. Fear sent cold goose bumps tickling down her spine. Rastas yelped then bolted. She backed up, then ran toward the others. They were running in her direction.
“Back,” she shouted.
“Get out of here,” Rob said, eyes glued to the canal.
“Get back or I’ll arrest you for obstructing a police officer,” Danes said.
She ran to the sheltering wall of the bell tower. When she looked back, Danes and Rob were clearing the area. Danes still held his gun at the ready. The lizard grotesque had vanished, but whatever was in the river was drawing close to the bank. She sidled toward the canal, skidding as another pair of wings batted before her. The grotesque she had discovered blood on, terribly alive, alighted on the grass, blocking her line of vision. It pecked its beak toward her, driving her away. Another roar forced her to cover her ears. The grotesque shrieked like a raptor on the hunt. Ella ran.
Chapter Fifteen
28th October. Night.
THE PALE LIGHT shining through the narrow slit of the ground level window screamed warning. Ella barely glanced in its direction as she dashed for the main doors. Behind her, insistent roars battled with furious screeches, shattering the night’s calm. In front, one arched door stood ajar. The evil lurking inside had to be a whole lot saner than the monsters by the canal. A whole lot safer even. She squeezed into total darkness, shuddering as she remembered the dragon gargoyle keeping watch above. At least it wasn’t about to tear her into morsels. She switched on the torch. Its wan light failed to dispel the shadows.
A rumble shook the flagstones beneath her. The doors to the church slammed shut. Off balance, Ella tottered against them and steadied herself. Worried the others would require quick entry, she grabbed the handles. The doors wouldn’t budge. She forced her shoulder against them and pushed. Still they held fast. She shone the torch along their length, feeling for a latch, a bolt, anything that might assist her. She found nothing. Dizzy from exertion and worry, she leaned against the wood. Neither bestial cry nor human shout penetrated their thick mass. She shivered. The temperature had plummeted. She flicked the torch around, certain a predator lurked nearby, watching, waiting for her to be at her most vulnerable.