STALKER ON THE FENS a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Joy Ellis

  Yvonne raised her hand. ‘Surely a professional hitman wouldn’t have used the weird method our killer used?’

  ‘It all depends on the man who was hired to do the job. Let’s face it, no one who goes around assassinating people can be regarded as normal. Maybe something there just flipped him out, and he decided to have some gruesome type of fun. Who knows? I know it’s highly improbable, but not impossible.’ She shivered, and tried to shake off the memory of finding Helen’s body. A young detective entered the room, breaking into her thoughts.

  ‘For you, ma’am. From Professor Wilkinson.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She took the package eagerly, ripped it open and scanned through the contents. After a moment or two, she packed the reports together and said, ‘I’m going to need a bit of time to assimilate this lot. It’s the initial forensic findings about Helen Brook, plus an expert’s opinion on what the design on her torso may have meant. Let’s meet again in an hour, then hopefully we will have something more definite to go on. Until then, continue with whatever you are working on, and Joseph, come with me. I think I may need another brain to help me make sense of all this.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It hadn’t been easy, keeping what he’d discovered to himself, but now he was experiencing a delicious feeling of excitement. It had been lucky for him that those reports had arrived and taken the bitch and her sergeant away for a while. As soon as her office door had closed, Eric slipped down to the yard and commandeered a car. Now he stared down at the map book balanced across his legs and tried to concentrate. So, his precious boss wanted Andrew Gregory, did she? Then that’s exactly what he’d give her, and without the help of the load of garbage that she called a team. This one was his, and his alone.

  As he had hoped, two names had matched, Alex Power and Teresa Starr. And it was Teresa that really interested Eric. He’d checked up on her and found her to be a pretty low-level cog in the big wheel, something like Andrew Gregory. She was a homeworker, one of several disabled workers employed by Seymour Kramer Systems. Eric remembered that the file name on Helen and Andrew’s home computer was “Telstar.” It hadn’t been easy finding either of them, but he had managed to locate a couple of telephone numbers on Helen Brook’s computer. He traced these through a series of other numbers, to their mobile phones. It hadn’t taken an Einstein to get their addresses, and calculate that the last time Gregory’s car had been spotted it was heading in the direction of his workmate’s home.

  Tracing a finger along the lonely marsh roads and cursing the fact that the old pool car didn’t have Satnav, he finally settled on the place he was looking for. Twenty minutes max, and with a bit of luck, he’d have a handcuffed Andrew Gregory in the back seat of his car. The DI could bloody well eat humble pie, and sweet little Catkin could kiss his arse!

  * * *

  ‘I still don’t understand what the hell it all means.’ Nikki looked from one set of drawings to the next. ‘Jenny has done a very thorough job on the mandala, and I admit it seems to tell a story, but I just don’t see how it fits in with Helen’s murder.’

  She picked up a printed list of the semi-precious stones and crystals that had been used on the body, and shook her head. ‘I’m not really the right person to be trying to make sense of all this. It’s too new age airy-fairy for me. But surely you can see something in it, Joseph? You are far more sensitive to this kind of stuff. Numerical vibrations of stones? Chakras? Astrological symbols? Oh please! I’m a bloody detective, not Mystic Meg!’ Nikki looked totally exasperated.

  Joseph stared at the designs and Jenny’s notes. ‘Come on, ma’am, it’s not that bad. Let’s see. Jenny has calculated that amongst other things, the mandala is made up of signs and symbols of a particular zodiac type. A Pisces to be exact. Born between 19 February and 20 March. Other signs represent runes.’ He looked at Nikki’s blank face and chuckled. ‘Runes are an ancient form of writing, maybe Germanic or Norse in origin, but now used in the West for divining or healing.’

  He picked up a couple of black and white sketches. ‘It would appear that these three symbols are repeated throughout the mandala. They are called — forgive the bad pronunciation, eh, Eihwaz, which is the rune of Anger, Othila, the rune of Grief, and Ansuz, the rune of Guilt.’

  Nikki raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, the names passed me by, but I know what the words anger, grief and guilt mean. Even so, I think we need a witch doctor, not a detective.’

  ‘Hang on in there, ma’am. There are also the numbers, 4, 5, 6 and 9. Jenny says if you are calculating your destiny in numerology you would be looking at a series of five, the life number, the expression number, the heart number, the Destiny number and the Fadic number. Now I know there are only four on the mandala, but she says one particular number is often repeated, i.e. heart and destiny are both 5. Jenny thinks they could be a numerological version of the killer’s name.’

  ‘Why does she think that?’

  ‘Well, she believes that this mandala is actually a very clear description of a particular person. If we can decipher it correctly, we will arrive at a birthdate, a psychological profile and even a name.’

  ‘You are kidding! Out of all this mumbo-jumbo?’ Nikki said.

  ‘It’s not, honestly. And Jenny’s obviously no flake. I’d rather like to meet her.’

  ‘You are right, she isn’t a flake. She is actually very nice, and you will meet her — but her background is in art and design, not necromancy.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Now let’s see what she makes of the star in the middle.’ Joseph had returned to the original design.

  Nikki read her notes. ‘Nothing in particular. She says the star has different meanings in different faiths and beliefs.’

  ‘But she’s certain that this whole thing is an artistic profile of the killer.’

  Nikki sighed. ‘Well, it’s not Helen, that’s for sure. She was a Libra — her birthday was in October. I’ll get Jenny to work out her numerology numbers, but I’m damn sure they won’t tally. So, who else could it be?’ Nikki tentatively ran a finger over the mandala. ‘I think the killer wants us to find the name hidden in here. It’s a test, a nasty game. He’s saying, are you up to solving such a cryptic problem?’

  ‘And are we?’

  Nikki pondered for a moment. ‘Just because it looks like hocus-pocus doesn’t mean we can’t work it out like we do any other problem — logically. We’ll get Jenny to continue working on it and maybe present us with something like a simplified check list.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘For Helen’s sake, we can do this.’

  Joseph smiled. ‘We can. With or without the help of Eihwaz, Othila and Ansuz.’

  * * *

  Eric stood silently in the yard and looked around. The bungalow had an odd feel to it. It wasn’t what he had expected. It was built in a lonely, remote part of the marsh, and with the high conifer hedging and heavy gates it looked more like a compound than the home of a disabled single woman.

  He parked a little way from the entrance to Teresa Starr’s isolated home, and entered on foot, skirting the noisy gravel. The only car in sight was a converted people carrier with blue and white disabled stickers in the back window, which was pigging frustrating. He had banked on finding Andrew Gregory’s BMW. He paused and looked around. The gravel had been pretty badly churned up, as though several vehicles had recently driven across it. Maybe he was too late. A feeling of foreboding began to suck away his euphoria. It was all too quiet.

  A cold wind brushed against his cheek and he looked uneasily around the place. Way out here on the marsh, Teresa Starr had no immediate neighbours, no passing traffic and nothing to look at other than the bleak watery marshland, the deep tidal river, and a distant grey view of the Wash bank. He shivered. Eric was a city boy. He just about tolerated Greenborough, but he was most at home in glass and stone, neon lights and twenty-four hour noise. This place gave him the creeps. He felt vulnerable and exposed. Out here in the sticks his street-wise savvy was about as much use as a
glass hammer.

  With a great effort, he shrugged off his unease, and concentrated on the job in hand, that of getting a result — and getting one over on Cat Cullen.

  The door was unlocked. Eric pushed it open and stepped inside. He saw a tidy, homely sort of room, with nothing particularly out of place. He should have felt reassured, but he didn’t. His inner warning system was screaming at him that something here was terribly wrong.

  He found the woman first. The sight of her bloated, beaten face caused the bile to rise in his throat. No use checking for a pulse. She was about as dead as anyone he had ever seen, and the thought of actually touching her body made him heave again. He backed out into the hall and leant against the wall, taking in great gulps of air.

  Had Andrew Gregory killed her as well as his lover, Helen?

  He swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness in his mouth. It had to be Gregory. If he could kill his own girlfriend, then he could most likely top a work colleague without even breaking a sweat. A small part of him was regretting his decision to go it alone, but a bigger part couldn’t wait to describe this gruesome scene to the blokes in the mess room.

  A curious flickering light was coming through an open door ahead of him. He moved towards it and carefully peered around the door frame, into a massive computer room. He whistled softly.

  It had the works — wall-to-wall processors, monitors, printers, towers, and a vast assortment of complex peripherals. He looked around in awe, listening to the electronic hum and wondering what on earth the woman had used all this for.

  He entered the room. Trashed equipment was scattered across the floor. Memory sticks, scanners, cameras and a brand new Blackberry DTEC50 lay broken and smashed. He picked his way through the mess, and found the second body.

  The young man was partially concealed by a steel framed desk. Eric tried to look at the whole thing, as he had been trained to do, but his eyes were drawn to the chisel jammed into the man’s throat. From the short amount of handle protruding from the flesh, there was no doubt that it had been hammered there with great force and had pierced the floor beneath him. His arms were broken, and several fingers were lying a few inches from Alex Powers’ mutilated hands.

  Eric backed slowly away.

  In the hallway he leaned back against the wall and bent over, trying to clear his head. He should get out, switch on his mobile and bring in the troops. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair. He’d come this far, so he might as well finish the job. Gregory had clearly disposed of his two partners in crime and done a runner.

  A small sound from inside the house made him draw back against the wall. He needed a weapon. He glanced around, and saw a heavy figurine on a display shelf. He sidled up to it, checked its weight and lifted it down. It would do. He thought again of radioing in. He knew he should, and he sure didn’t want to finish up as the third victim, but he wanted Gregory. He wanted him badly, and he wanted to bring him in alone.

  Slowly he moved forward, gripping the figurine.

  The last room still unchecked had to be the bedroom. He hadn’t heard the noise again, but it had come from this direction. Gritting his teeth and clamping his fingers tightly around his makeshift club, he entered the room.

  ‘Fucking hell!’

  Eric recoiled in horror, then he realised that he was looking at the man he had come after. He had his wish. He had found Andrew Gregory.

  Elation coursed through him. He’d done it. No one was going to take this away from him. He’d beaten the whole damn team! Eric fought to regain his composure and took a tentative step towards the twisted shape, half leaning, half slumped against the bedroom wall.

  ‘Christ. You really are in a mess, aren’t you?’ He squatted down on his haunches and stared. This was not what he had expected at all. He glanced around the room, his eyes remaining a little longer on the bloodied bed covers, and the stained ropes still attached to the uprights of the big bed’s headboard. On the floor next to the bed, lying in a darkening pool of blood, was an open toolbox. Eric thought of the chisel protruding from Alex’s neck. He had no idea what the hell had happened, but it obviously wasn’t as simple as he’d supposed.

  Gregory’s condition looked as bad as the others — except that he was still breathing.

  This wasn’t right. It definitely wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Eric could see his heroic coup sliding straight down the pan. He bit his lip. Shit! Shit! He contemplated the damaged body of Andrew Gregory. If he could just hold his nerve a little bit longer, he might yet salvage something from this mess.

  He knelt closer to Andrew. ‘I think we can truthfully say you have really upset someone, Mr Gregory.’

  There was fear as well as pain in Andrew’s eyes. He fought to speak, but all he could manage was a gurgling noise deep in his throat.

  Well, at least he understood what was being said to him, so perhaps he would cooperate with what Eric had in mind. From his position, Gregory had little or nothing to lose.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m a policeman, Mr Gregory, and I’ll get an ambulance out here as quickly as possible. As soon as you tell me that it was you who killed Helen Brook.’ Eric watched the agonised expression change from relief to complete disbelief. ‘Do you understand me? All I want is to hear from your own lips, that you murdered your girlfriend. A simple confession, Mr Gregory, then I call for help and we get you out of here.’

  Eric waited. Surely it would take only seconds for the man to crumble? Instead, a look of intense hatred seared into him, with the slurred words, spat from between broken teeth, ‘Burn in hell! Bastard! You’re worse than the men that did this! I never killed Helen. I loved her. I still love her, and I have to get to her!’

  Eric stepped backwards and stared at Andrew Gregory. A sick feeling of shame washed over him. He had allowed his burning ambition to compromise any ethics or principles he might once have had. He staggered back, pulling his radio from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry, I . . . I’m so sorry.’ All he could do now was the thing he should have done minutes ago. Just get help.

  He barked their position into his radio, then, noting the unnatural position of Andrew’s lower body, requested the air ambulance. No way would this man survive a ride down the bumpy tracks of the marshes. If he was to survive at all, he would have to be flown out in the helicopter.

  After his call, the full significance of what he had done crashed about him. He ran to the kitchen and brought back a glass of cold water and some damp towels. Still murmuring apologies, he tried to moisten the man’s lips with water, but Andrew Gregory somehow found the strength to lift his broken hand, and dash the glass to the floor.

  ‘Go burn in hell.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  From the relative calm of her office, Nikki could hear Joseph and Dave laughing loudly. Suddenly the sound was abruptly cut short, and she spun in her chair to look. Yvonne was talking rapidly to her two colleagues and her face was grim. A moment later, she was at the office door.

  ‘Ma’am, we’ve just heard that Andrew Gregory has been airlifted to Greenborough Hospital. Sounds like he’s in a bad way.’

  ‘Jesus! What happened to him? Car crash?’ Nikki grabbed her coat from the back of her chair.

  ‘It’s all very vague, ma’am, but it’s certainly not an RTC. It seems that Eric Barnes found him somewhere way out on the marshes. There were two dead bodies out there with him, a woman and a young man. Barnes has gone straight to the hospital. He’ll meet you there.’

  Nikki saw the figures of Joseph and Dave standing behind Yvonne in the doorway. She slammed her bag back down on her desk. ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry, ma’am. That’s all I was told.’

  Nikki’s fury exploded. ‘What the hell does Barnes think he’s doing? Did anyone know he was out there playing lone fucking ranger?’

  Joseph looked helpless. ‘No, he told me he was still checking out the Seymour Kramer staff.’

  ‘I expressly told him to ring me if he had anything, absolutely anything, on
Andrew.’ A coldness spread through her. The bastard! He went solo, just to get his own back on me for bollocking him out! Well, if that’s the case he can look forward to going back to working traffic. See what detecting bald tyres does for his ego! Nikki lowered her voice. ‘Okay, Yvonne, where was he found?’

  ‘A place out beyond Wisdom Creek Village. Apparently it’s the home of someone who worked at Seymour Kramer.’

  ‘And who is that?’

  ‘Miss Teresa Starr, ma’am. She’s the dead woman. Uniform have got the place sealed off. Shall I go out there?’

  ‘Yes, yes, and Joseph, you go too. Quick as possible. I have to get to the hospital. I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve spoken to DC Barnes, and hopefully, to Andrew.’

  * * *

  Nikki hurried into A&E and was relieved to find that she knew the doctor in charge of the resus room from when her daughter had been in hospital. They looked at the still form of Andrew, then each other, and Nikki knew he would not make it.

  Dr Lisa Campbell shook her head sadly. ‘Sorry, Nikki. This is a bad one.’ The doctor moved away from the trolley, leaving Andrew with two senior nurses. She took Nikki’s arm. ‘Let’s go outside, shall we?’

  As the doors closed, Lisa pulled off her mask and shook her head from side to side. ‘He’s too badly injured to even consider moving him upstairs to ITU. He has severe spinal injuries and huge internal damage. We have given him pain relief, but his organs are closing down and now I’m afraid all we can do is wait. What the hell happened to him? Who would do a thing like this?’

  Nikki felt sick. ‘It was done deliberately? I just had a call to say he’d been brought here. I have no idea how this happened.’

  ‘Well, the poor guy’s been tortured, no doubt about that.’