by Joy Ellis
Joseph closed his eyes. ‘Thank you, Denise. I’m really pleased that Harry’s been found. Do give our best to Elaine.’
‘But Jez?’
‘We’ll follow it up, I assure you, and you’ll be kept informed.’
‘Oh, I do so hope it’s not him, Sergeant. He’s such a gentle man. A lovely guy.’
Nikki felt a pang of sorrow. Sometimes they had some really gutty jobs to do. She picked up the phone and rang Rory.
‘Missing me already? It must be almost fifteen minutes since we last spoke.’
Nikki didn’t feel like laughing. ‘We might have an ID, Rory. Has our man suffered a broken wrist in the past?’
‘Not that we noticed, but the bones were very badly degraded. Let me take another look for you. Can you hold on?’
Nikki waited.
It was nearly ten minutes before he was back on the line. ‘It’s almost imperceptible through the charring, but the right wrist does show a probable fracture through the scaphoid, and possibly an avulsion fracture around the head of the humerus. Tomorrow I’ll get some in-depth work done on it and confirm. Meanwhile, I need sustenance and a relaxing, bubbly bath! I’m exhausted, darling! Au revoir!’
Nikki hung up. ‘I think we have another unpleasant job to do before we get home tonight, Joseph.’
He looked at the address. ‘Another local. 1 Rain Bridge Lane, out near the recreation park. Single man — oh hell, he still lives with his parents. This is going to be a really tough one.’
Cam stood up. ‘I’ll get a liaison officer to meet you there. You can’t leave them alone with news like this.’
‘Thank you, Cam, we appreciate it.’ Nikki looked at Joseph. ‘And we need to get hold of the others who were at this “lads’ night out.” How many blokes do you know who’d walk out on an evening’s piss-up with their best mates and go home early?’
‘Good point. Someone or something lured them out. I’ll put a note on Cat’s desk. First thing tomorrow morning she can get a list of names and addresses from Elaine Moore and chase them up.’ He sighed. ‘I guess we can’t put this off any longer, can we?’
Without a word, Nikki stood up and pulled on her jacket.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
One Rain Bridge Lane was the only house with lights burning in all the windows. It was a semi-detached house in a pleasant road where people looked after their gardens and, with one or two exceptions, kept their homes in good order.
A man answered the door almost at once. When he saw their warrant cards, his face fell.
‘You’ve found him, haven’t you?’ His voice was gravelly and his words clipped. Nikki guessed he already knew his son was dead.
‘Can we come in, sir?’ She kept her voice neutral.
In silence he held the door back, and led the way through the hall to where his wife waited in a brightly decorated kitchen.
Nikki noted the plants filling the windowsill. The fridge door was covered in little magnets from holiday places and days out. It was a cheerful room, and they obviously spent a lot of their time in it.
‘This is Marion, my wife.’ A small woman with a round face sat at the table, looking up at them hopefully.
‘Have you got some news?’ Her hands were clasped around a mug that declared her to be “The Best Mum in the World.”
Nikki took a deep breath. ‘Mr and Mrs Bedford, there was a serious incident last night. Now, although we have no firm confirmation as yet that Jeremy was involved, we have to prepare you . . .’
‘Jez?’ Marion’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Prepare us?’
‘A man died, Mrs Bedford,’ Joseph said softly. ‘We believe that it might be Jeremy.’
‘Might be?’ Her husband glared at them.
‘There was no identification with him—’ Joseph began, but Mr Bedford cut him short.
‘I’ll come with you. Now! I need to know if it’s our son! I’ll identify him.’ Mr Bedford moved to stand behind his wife. His hands gripped her shoulders tightly. ‘We have to know.’
‘Please, sit down, sir. This isn’t straightforward.’ Nikki looked at them sadly. She knew what they were suffering. She had been there too, when she was told that her own daughter, Hannah, was about to die.
Joseph seemed to know what she was thinking and tactfully took over.
‘We believe the man was deliberately killed. It’s a serious murder investigation, so we must be careful what we say. As DI Galena said, we can’t be sure it’s Jeremy, so until we know more, we can only ask for your patience, and give you all the help and support we can.’
‘Murder? There’s not a soul on this earth would want to murder Jeremy!’ Edward said.
‘Eddie’s right, Officers.’ Marion seemed to take heart from this. ‘It can’t be our Jez. He’s our gentle giant. No one would hurt him.’
‘Please, will you help us?’ Nikki asked. ‘Tell us all about him. You say no one would hurt him, but he was mugged a while back, wasn’t he?’
‘Oh, but that was just terrible bad luck. Wrong place, wrong time. A drug addict tried to steal his wallet and his phone. Jez tried to calm him, but the addict was off his head on something, and really hurt our boy.’ Edward flopped into a chair next to his wife. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly, so why would anyone want to kill him? No, it has to be a mistake.’
‘I know this is a long shot, but would you still have any of the hospital paperwork from when Jeremy was attacked? A report about follow-up treatment, anything like that?’
Marion Bedford started to rise, but her husband touched her shoulder. ‘I’ll get it. We always keep our family medical stuff in the sideboard.’
He returned a few minutes later and handed Nikki a sheaf of papers. ‘That’s everything from the orthopaedic and the dental maxillofacial clinic.’
Nikki glanced down the reports and saw the words scaphoid and avulsion fracture.
Exactly what Rory had said. It seemed there was little doubt.
The doorbell’s tinny melody sounded loud in the small kitchen.
‘We’ve organised some support for you both, sir,’ said Joseph, moving towards the door. ‘That should be one of our family liaison officers. She’ll help you until we have a definitive answer.’
Nikki was pleased to see Sergeant Lucy Wells come through the door. She was a sensitive woman, with many years’ experience in dealing with these situations.
‘I’ve been briefed,’ she said softly to Nikki. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘We’ll update you the moment we know anything ourselves.’ Nikki turned back to the Bedfords, introduced Lucy, and apologised for having to leave so quickly. ‘Be assured, we’ll do everything we can to get you an answer as soon as we possibly can.’
Outside, she slipped her arm through Joseph’s. ‘That poor couple.’
‘You okay?’
She nodded, but kept her hold on him. ‘Just brings back painful memories. You think they’ll fade with time, but they don’t. Still, thankfully, you do get over them quicker as time passes.’
He slipped his arm around her waist and they walked slowly down Rain Bridge Lane and back to the car.
* * *
It was around midnight when they finally got home, and even then, neither of them could relax.
Nikki felt cold right through to her bones. The autumn nights were chilly now, but she felt as if the cold came from within.
They sat at the old pine kitchen table and sipped hot milky drinks.
Joseph stared into his drink. ‘Three local people. All similar ages, all described as quiet, inoffensive, kind, creative, harmless . . . It doesn’t make sense, does it?’
Nikki leaned forward, her elbows on the table. ‘No, it doesn’t. If they were hardened criminals, or were known to support some evil, radical group who’d done something terrible, then I could see that this might be a revenge spree, but not these people.’
‘A man who loved the land and lived frugally, a sensitive and otherworldly artist, and a gentle giant who spends his spar
e time coaching disabled kids in different sports.’ He shrugged. ‘Why on earth choose them?’
‘I still believe, even though there isn’t a shred of proof to support it, that they’re somehow connected. They have to be.’ She looked up. ‘What was that about disabled kids?’
‘Photos in Mum and Dad Bedford’s hall, and certificates too. Jeremy was certainly no hardened criminal.’
‘Nor were the others, unless they were the cleverest bunch of con artists ever.’
‘I wonder if Curate Leon knew Jeremy? So far he’s the only vague connection we have. It’s possible, I suppose,’ Joseph said.
‘We’ll ask tomorrow.’ Nikki yawned. ‘And then it’s back to the hunt for the missing bloody link.’
Joseph stood up. ‘We’ll find it. If there is one at all.’
‘But how many more nice quiet people are going to be cremated while we look?’ Nikki said. ‘We have to find the reason why he’s doing this. But we’re not going to get any further tonight, are we? We need some sleep. We’ve been on the go since three this morning, that’s twenty-one hours. We’ll be no good to man or beast unless we recharge.’
* * *
Laura Archer was also awake, sitting up in bed, papers and printouts scattered across the duvet. She had traced back as many case studies as she could find, then emailed her old mentor, Sam Page, and picked his brains. The religious connection kept coming up, and she was beginning to feel that the killer was driven to use fire for a very special reason. He was not an arsonist by choice. It was as if fire was the only way to accomplish his aim — whatever that was.
Laura again read through a case study involving a disturbed young man from a severely dysfunctional family, who had killed ten people in a fire in a residential care home. He had been adamant that they had to be “presented to the living flame, in order to be released.” Somehow he believed that he was freeing them from the intolerable suffering of being incarcerated in a home. He couldn’t see that they were living mostly happy, socially integrated lives, well looked after and comfortable. According to this young man, “Fire is the only true purifier of the soul, and through fire you will attain enlightenment.”
She closed the paper and opened another. This one featured a disturbed youth who wreaked a biblical vengeance on all the people who had bullied him throughout his childhood. He posted a message through their doors, a quotation from Jeremiah. It read: My wrath will go forth like fire, and burn with none to quench it, because of your evil deeds. Jeremiah 4:4. No one took the threat seriously, and nine people perished. He set fire to their homes while they were inside.
It occurred to her that their killer was driven by a similar compulsion. He had a deep-seated grievance against each of the dead victims, and the only way for them to atone was to die by fire.
Laura gathered up the papers and put out the light. In her head was the single question: Why?
* * *
Cameron Walker, his arm draped across his sleeping wife’s shoulders, also lay awake, trying to make sense of his new job.
He had called it culture shock, but it was much more than that. It was a whole different world, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to live there. Cam was old school. He’d spent his early years in the force happy to be a “proper copper,” and he wanted things to stay that way. They couldn’t, of course, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He was uneasy about the way things were going — stations closing, fewer officers on the streets, more civilians than police officers, and university graduates fast-tracking directly into the higher ranks.
On the positive side, he had inherited a station with, on the whole, good, honest officers, men and women who felt the way he did — DI Nikki Galena for one. As long as he had her on his side, he would cope.
He eased himself down, trying not to wake Kaye. He hadn’t sought this job, but he hated to give up on anything. And there was something rather exhilarating about his new post. He felt a little like a fielder in a cricket match, a go-between, a middleman, re-assembling the information that came down to him from the gold-braided planners until it made sense, and passing it on to the foot soldiers, who would put it into effect.
He put his head down and closed his eyes. His first task was to do everything he could to assist Nikki in her arson case. So far he had held the media at bay, but very soon the sensationalist press would get hold of the story, and they could have mass panic on their hands. He needed to keep a lid on it for as long as possible.
His first week at Greenborough. A baptism of fire!
* * *
Tom Black unlocked the side door to the Black House. Tonight they were holding an extraordinary meeting of the more influential members of their group. Silently, one by one, they slipped into the house and made their way to the Temple.
When Tom had counted eleven nocturnal visitors, he called Giles, and the two of them joined their guests.
The room they called the Temple was Gothic in appearance. This was pure chance. The original architect of the Black House had designed it that way, and it suited them perfectly.
Heavy oak panelling adorned the lower half of the walls. A massive ornate fireplace, where tonight a roaring log fire blazed, took pride of place in the centre of a long wall, lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. The other three walls were decorated with large, beautifully painted symbols, each reflected in similar carvings in the floor.
The room was clear of furniture, save for a ring of thirteen high-back chairs. Each chair sat at the point of a strange geometric star, etched into the wooden floor. At the centre of the star was a circle containing the three symbols — an eye, a flaming torch, and the alchemical symbol for sulphur, a kind of cross of Lorraine, a two-barred cross resting on the infinity sign.
When they were all seated, Giles spoke first. ‘Brothers and sisters, thank you for coming here tonight at such short notice. I’m sure you are all aware that our scuffle with some of the more unsavoury Greenborough youths has come to the attention of the local police. Since then we have had two visits from an officer called PC Collins, and my brother Tom and myself are of the opinion that she is showing a somewhat unhealthy interest in our gatherings.’
There was a low murmur from the seated group.
Giles held up a hand. ‘She’s a very pleasant woman, not in any way aggressive or rude, but the fact is, we would rather that she had no call to return.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said a well-dressed man with iron-grey hair and bushy eyebrows.
‘One thing that she did suggest, and we agree, is that we should alter the days and times of our meetings so as to avoid attracting the attention of the youths. We’ve been keeping to a strict calendar until now, so we need your input as to how we should proceed.’
An elegant woman in her late fifties lifted her hand. ‘I presume this doesn’t refer to specific festival days like the vernal equinox and Walpurgis Night?’
‘Oh no, they’ll go ahead as always. It’s only our monthly get-togethers that need to vary. Possibly with even an occasional change of venue.’
Tom smiled encouragingly at her. ‘Basically, we are trying to keep the police happy and on side. If we are seen to be complying with their suggestions, it will be better for us in the long run.’
‘What does your lady police officer think of us, Giles?’ asked someone.
‘I’m not absolutely sure’ he said. ‘She’s obviously a shrewd, intelligent woman, but we made sure she saw and heard nothing that might give her cause for concern.’
‘If you would kindly get your business diaries out, perhaps we could get to work planning a new schedule for the coming months? And when the formalities are over, we might enjoy ourselves for an hour or so before you have to leave. What do you think? We have some very good Pinot Noir and a small late supper laid out for you in the dining room.’ Tom smiled around at them.
Giles raised an eyebrow. ‘And to follow? Well, that’s up to you.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next day, Rory phon
ed Nikki to tell her that having consulted the maxilla facial surgeon at Greenborough Hospital, it was confirmed that their latest victim was Jeremy Bedford.
Nikki had already instructed Dave to start formally interviewing the group of young men who’d been out celebrating that night. By eleven o’clock he’d managed to put together a timeline of Jeremy’s last evening on earth. All that was left was to talk to Harry Moore. Although he had been discharged from hospital, he was apparently still confused about what had happened. Nikki decided that as Cat had already spent time with Elaine Moore, she should be the one to go and see if Harry remembered anything further.
‘What have we got so far, Dave?’ Nikki asked.
They all stared at the whiteboard with the photo of the latest victim now added to the rest.
Dave checked with his pocketbook. ‘There were six lads. They met at the Britannia public house at around seven thirty and stayed there all evening. According to the others, Harry and Jez were on very good form, and were thoroughly enjoying themselves. Harry said that he needed to get away at around ten, but that was nothing unusual apparently. The others said he worried about his wife being on her own at night.’ Dave ran his finger down the page. ‘Just before Harry left, Jez received a text. It seemed to upset him, so they said, but he laughed it off. He told Harry he’d leave when he did and walk part of the way home with him. The others stayed until they were thrown out at closing time, which for the Britannia is eleven.’
‘Did they say what sort of mood Jez was in when he left?’ asked Ben.
‘They were pretty rat-arsed by that time, but the general consensus was that something was bothering him, probably the text message.’ He looked at Nikki. ‘Now it all gets a bit fuzzy. I’ve been down to your friend Spooky in IT, and she’s started a CCTV search right across town. With luck and a fair wind, we might discover how they came to be abducted, if that’s what happened.’
‘Which way did they head?’ asked Joseph.
‘They turned left outside the pub, and I’ve already got them on camera walking towards the high street. I picked them up outside the parish church, and then I lost them. That’s the point where Spooky’s taken over.’