Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3)

by Max Hardy

‘That’s as maybe. But it doesn’t change the facts. It doesn’t alter the overwhelming forensic evidence. Even if he is trying to figure out what is happening, he’s still doing it on the wrong side of the law and I stand by what I said earlier, buck your ideas up or I will talk to your Super.’

  Strange chuckled, swigging back the whole tumbler of rum, watching Cruickshank match him swallow for swallow, before filling them both up again. ‘And is stand by what I said earlier, I think you have a locked and prejudiced approach to this. I agree, we need to target John and Rebecca. But we also need to work out if he really does have a double, or that’s just a decoy. I’m waiting to hear back from Harry Massah on those photographs, because if the dates on them are correct, there’s at least three that were taken when I know John was in the station with me.’

  ‘Okay, just to show you how open minded I can be, would it be worth forensics double checking the DNA from the crime scene today and from the Bentley murders to see if they could be Saul’s alleged twin?’

  ‘I’m not sure that you can forensically differentiate the DNA of identical twins.’ mused Strange. ‘But it’s certainly worth exploring. The other thing we need to explore is this ‘unknown’ man in the four photographs. I get the Angels wanted to expose the atrocities these religious leaders have carried out in the name of their religions, but why highlight this guy? Is he the person that radicalised them? The person that set them down the path to murder? If so, given the totally different Modus Operandi of this current death, could he be involved in it and be trying to frame John?’

  ‘Well, that’s where I have to show you how closed minded and prejudiced I can be. There’s no fact there Strange, that’s just supposition. Where do you go with that? What possible line of enquiry could you justifiably pursue with that woolly hypothesis?’

  ‘I know, I know, and if this wasn’t John, I would be telling my officers the same. I even told him the same thing when he was exploring woolly hypothesis. Okay, back to fact. We know that all four religious leaders were murderers. We know that they all knew this ‘unknown man’. We know none of them have so far admitted to that. Who is the most unstable of them?’ Strange queried, lolling over slightly as he emptied his tumbler again.

  ‘The first one, Archbishop Liam O’Driscoll. He was fire and brimstone, hell and damnation and foaming at the mouth at one point. Why?’ Cruickshank replied, holding out her empty glass with perfect steadiness as Strange filled with the last remnants of the bottle, having to use both hands to steady the pour.

  ‘If he radicalised them, then they will be loyal to him. That’s obvious in the fact that they won’t give up him name. It pains me to say this, but I was thinking about your approach with Bentley earlier, where you were trying to unhinge him emotionally. Can we play on how he might have radicalised them, how he was instrumental in making them murderers, and they are really just pawns? They might get frustrated by that and break just enough to give something away. Not necessarily his name, but a place, another person, something? What do you think?’

  ‘I think I like it when you say I am right. The facts of the situation are that this man knew them all. What we don’t know is the significance of that. A line of questioning trying to probe that significance is, in my opinion, justifiable. I also think the rum is finished and you are slightly inebriated.’

  Strange raised and shook the empty bottle. ‘They are indeed, cold hard facts. The rum is gone, no woolly hypotheses there, empty as charged. I am also slightly inebriated, whereas you, my bonny wee lassie, only appear to have the slightest flush in your beautiful cheeks.’

  Cruickshank stretched over and placed her empty glass on the coffee table with one hand, using the other to start unfastening the buttons on her blouse, exposing the gentle curve of her small, pert breasts as she then leant in towards Strange, their faces millimetres apart.

  ‘In that case,’ she whispered, staring straight into his eyes, planting the softest of kisses onto his willing lips. ‘I think it’s time to stop talking shop, and time to start fucking.’

  Chapter 10

  The car jolts to a halt, less than a foot of air between it and Adam. Chance has saved his life, this time.

  I thump the seat belt button, loosening the strap, and fling it off my chest. In the same movement I grab the door handle and thrust the door open, twisting my body out of the car and onto the road.

  I sprint around to the front of the vehicle, my fist balling and my arm rising as I close in on Adam, the furnace of fury in my furore exacerbated by the sardonic smile on Adam’s lips. ‘What fucking part of this are you finding funny!’ I scream as my fist flies through the air, in a line for Adam’s left cheek.

  Adam simply sidesteps my oncoming appendage, and watches on in obvious amusement as I fall to the road in an ungainly heap. My exposed palms rake along the uncompromising tarmac, ripping the skin from them and leaving a trail of blood on the road. Adam walks past me, looking down at me humorously and heads towards the entrance to the Chillingham Estate.

  ‘I would get up off the road if I were you and get your car pulled into the side. There’s bound to be a car along any minute and I would hate it to go into the back of yours and injure Jacob. Hurry John, we don’t have much time.’ Adam relays, matter of factly as he heads off down the side road, and walks up to a wooden fence separating the road from the fields, where a few dozen white cattle are grazing.

  I scramble to my feet, still looking furiously after Adam, but backtracking to the car at the same time, ready to climb in. I didn’t need to. Rebecca has jumped into the driver’s seat and is steering the people carrier into the side road and onto a grass verge opposite the fence against which Adam is now leaning. I follow the vehicle in, stomping toward Adam, rubbing my palms, pressing the fingers into the injured flesh, feasting on the pain. Rebecca jumps out of the car and sprints straight in front of me, butting her head into my chest, slightly dislodging her wig, exposing the scars and scabs of harm that she self-inflicted during her incarceration in the ‘Fielding Institute’. I stop dead in my tracks.

  ‘Stop being a dick John. Just remember, Adam managed to stop Jacob’s fits. We need to find out how.’ Rebecca whispers in disappointed frustration, both hands firmly implanted in my chest.

  I looked down into her angry, imploring emerald eyes, then to the scars on her head, then down to the stigmata scabs on my hands, and the fresh wounds on my palms, still feeding on the pain as I force my fingers into them. What the fuck am I doing? What is the selfish, self-obsessed bloody mind of mine trying to achieve?

  ‘Like you said, that’s just fucking life, I’ve got to come to terms with the pain. Sorry Rebecca. I conveniently forget this isn’t just about me. I conveniently forget about the agonies you have gone through. Sorry for being a dick.’ I apologise, raising a hand and straightening her wig as I bend down and kiss her on the forehead.

  ‘You’re not just a dick. You are a cunt-twat-dick, and so up your own arse it’s untrue. We can talk about that later. Right now, Adam is over there and we can hopefully get some answers. So let’s get back to our plan, and let’s stop being played. Let’s start playing.’ Rebecca counters, reaching up and taking one of my hands from the side of her face and deliberately squeezing it overtight, inflicting pain, making me wince as she turns and leads me towards Adam.

  Adam has his back to us now and is looking out over the rolling fields, watching the ambling cattle as they nonchalantly munch on the verdant grass and inquisitively stare back at him.

  ‘They are remarkable creatures, Chillingham Cattle.’ Adam begins, as we come up to the fence beside him, Rebecca standing between the two of us. ‘They have remained genetically isolated on this estate for hundreds of years and have remained a sturdy and hardy breed, without any of the genetic issues you tend to expect from inbreeding. Absolutely remarkable.’ he continues, turning sideways from the field to look at us. ‘John, I fully understand your anger. I fully understand why you would want to kill me. I can only re-iterate what
Eve told you last night. We would gladly give our lives a hundred times for the two of you and Jacob. That is how much you mean to us.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like that Adam. If anything, it feels like we are being used as patsy’s, as the scapegoats in whatever twisted game you are playing. Did you know that we are now prime suspects in the deaths of Fenny and Desiderata Bentley? Were you aware that there has been a murder associated with the Fallen Angels and that they found DNA from John and I at the murder scene. We are fugitives Adam, on the run and feeling so fucking alone right now.’ Rebecca answers angrily.

  Adam straightens up, with a glimmer of surprise in his voice, ‘What do you mean, another Fallen Angels death?’

  ‘Just that. A politician called Connor McFetrich. A serial killer, just like the other four the Angels exposed. Only he was killed and the police are pinning that on us.’ Rebecca states, still fuming.

  ‘There were no more revelations. This isn’t the Angels. This is him.’ Adam answers stoically.

  ‘By him I assume you mean the man in the photographs. The man who makes murderers.’ I interrupt. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Yes, that’s who I mean. The revelations were meant to flush him out, to give the police a starter for ten as to who he was. To give them enough evidence to find him and take him down as well. You were never meant to be involved. Your part was meant to be over.’

  ‘Well, it’s far from fucking over, in fact, it feels like it’s only just starting, so who the hell is he?’ Rebecca interjects, irritation imbuing her already angry tone.

  ‘His real name, not that it will help you in any way, is Gabriel Caldwell. If he has implicated you and the Fallen Angels in McFetrich’s death, then he must be on to our plans. He will be trying to flush us out, the same way we are trying to flush him out. We need to find out more about this McFetrich. You need to find out more about this McFetrich.’

  ‘Caldwell?’ I respond curtly. ‘That’s your surname. Is he related to you? Related to us? If we are related, and I can’t see how we wouldn’t be, given we look exactly the same. Are we related?’

  Adam pauses for a moment, taking in my questions. He doesn’t answer for a moment, just looks out over the fields, to the white cattle lazily sauntering around. ‘It was meant to be over for you. This was meant to be the part where you started finding out about who you are and why you are so important.’

  ‘We know that we both went to the same fertility clinic. We assume, somehow, eggs were switched and hey presto, we are the parents of Jacob. We also think that it is something to do with the Seymour’s, and what Henry Seymour was studying with his bloodline at the ‘Fielding Institute’, trying to stop the ‘curse’, trying to stop the madness in the family caused by inbreeding. Somewhere down the line, there is a 17th century puritan minister called Cotton Mather involved as well. Are we close?’ I ask tersely, my frustration rising again at Adam’s matter of fact manner.

  ‘Eve was right, the two of you need very little help from us now. As I said to you weeks ago John, you are a brilliant detective, meticulous in the detail. You have all the evidence and pointers you need not only to discover what your part is in this, but also what Gabriel Caldwell is doing. Rebecca, Eve gave you every single sexual tool you need to survive in the world the two of you need to investigate. There is very little you need from me and very little the Angels can do to help you. However, very little doesn’t mean nothing. I have three things to give you. Three things and a warning.’ Adam answers, his tone still calm and controlled. He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a USB memory stick, handing it to Rebecca.

  ‘What is it?’ I query.

  ‘I suppose you could call it an omniscience stick. It has all of the websites you need to view the various cameras the Angels have placed in strategic places pertinent to what we are doing. It also has usernames and passwords and access routes to some of the more secure government and law enforcement agency computer systems. It could be invaluable in keeping you one step ahead of the law and one step ahead of Gabriel: and trust me, you need to worry about him a whole hell of a lot more than the law.’ he answers, reaching inside his pocket again, and pulling out a silver tube about six inches long by an inch wide.

  ‘And that?’ Rebecca asks.

  ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be heading to the Fielding Institute to search for the files on the Seymour Family. Ennis will have them hidden. This will help you find them.’ he relays, reaching into his pocket once more, retrieving a small phial of clear liquid.

  ‘This is for Jacob. This will help to control his fits. Five millilitres will suppress the fits for up to three weeks.’ He passes the phial over to Rebecca, who grabs it off him eagerly.

  ‘And the warning?’ I ask, agitation accentuating my tone.

  ‘Gabriel is not just a man who makes murderers. He is a murderer. He has no compassion. He has no remorse. He has no moral boundaries. He thinks that you are part of the Fallen Angels. He knows that you were involved with Bentley’s capture. He will be out to kill you. What you have to do is find him and kill him first. As always though, you have a choice. You could just hand yourself in to the police, let justice take its course and hope that they find him before he finds you.’ Adam declares.

  ‘Like that’s a choice, given all the forensic evidence they have against us. Given that Gabriel has already managed to get our DNA. And that is all the Angels have to offer to support us, a fucking memory stick and a silver tube!’ I rumble angrily, the fury starting to rise in my bones once more. Rebecca grabs my rising hand and forces it down on the fence, spreading herself wide, making herself a barrier between the two of us: the two doppelgangers.

  ‘It’s more than you have had so far and you haven’t done too badly. But there is one other thing. One piece of information which you might find useful.’ Adam starts, looking back at the cattle again. ‘Chillingham Cattle have been inbreeding for centuries, and have had no mental or physical issues because of it. Henry Seymour wasn’t trying to stop the inbreeding in his bloodline: he was trying to accelerate it and to control it. He was trying to selectively breed out the mental and physical problems associated with inbreeding.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘Is it touching the sides yet?’

  The soles of two red Jimmy Choo stiletto’s sat astride his neck, one resting on each bare shoulder blade. Her toes were pushed forward, the heels raised, keeping the tip of the heel from touching the skin. She crouched naked over his torso, her long slender legs bent nearly double, the ankles caressing her curvaceous behind. Her torso was bent forwards, arms stretched out and holding tight onto the wooden bedstead, her full firm breasts dangling seductively between them.

  ‘Barely even tickling them.’ Ettrick moaned, his head lost in the pillows of the large bed he was lying on. The lighting in the hotel room was subdued, coming from three lamps, each casting Eve’s crouching shaded shadows in a dancing tapestry on the walls and ceiling. The red evening gown was draped wantonly over a nearby chair, not a jot of female underwear anywhere. Ettrick’s tweed suit lay strung out on the floor where he had stepped out of it, socks lying last at the foot of the bed.

  Eve smiled wickedly and dropped the heels once more, directly into the soft muscle between the shoulder blade and back, forcing the whole weight of her crouched body down on top of them, using the bedstead as leverage, the soles lifting off the blades.

  Ettrick writhed and shook as Eve worked the heels right into the cavity, low, muffled grunting emanating from his face cocooned by the pillow, dampening the intensity of the pained moaning.

  Eve pivoted back onto her soles, quickly positioning them further down the back, either side of the spine just below the shoulder blades, the heels hovering over the vertebrae.

  ‘Obviously I’m still nowhere near. How about now.’ Eve teased, dropping the heels once more, straight into the spine, causing it to visibly twist and grind. Ettrick’s shoulders shot up, rocking Eve in the process, but she held tight to the bannister, ridin
g the jolt, keeping the pressure on the heels, drawing blood from the broken skin over the spine. Louder muffled screams seeped from the pillows a second before his torso collapsed back into the bed, relieving the pressure of the heels momentarily.

  ‘That definitely touched the sides.’ Ettrick mumbled, ‘I’d like to touch your sides now.’ he added, lifting his head out of the pillow and raising his body from the bed, onto all fours. Eve stepped off his back and sat on her knees beside his rising body on the bed next to him. As he raised his torso straight, his large, erect penis came into view, the head throbbing a deep purple. Eve reached out a hand and started stroking it slowly as she circled a thumb and forefinger around the girth. He reached down with his hardened hands and stopped the stroking, taking her hand off his penis, lifting her arm up to his eye line. He leant forward and placed a gentle kiss on the tips of her fingers, allowing his tongue to snake out and lick them. He left his tongue out, and moved his head up over her hand, onto her forearm, up to her elbow, all the way up to her shoulder, licking the skin in one continuous movement all the way: his mesmerising eyes not leaving hers.

  ‘On your back now.’ Ettrick instructed as his head left her arm and his lips passed her ear, gently nibbling at the lobe as he spoke.

  Eve tilted her head into the nibble, her nipples hardening under the sensuous tingle it sent shivering through her body. She shuffled up to the pillow, initially positioning herself on her back, exposing her shaven vulva and the colourful snake tattoo coming out of it, its sibilant tongue nearly licking her belly button, the ink writhing as her stomach muscles moved.

  ‘Would you not prefer to explore this view of heaven first?’ Eve teased, her hands coming in from the sides and cupping her breasts, the fingers squeezing and teasing the hard nipples.

  ‘Perhaps later. For now, I want to see how much pain it takes to touch your sides.’ he answered, positioning himself between her open legs as he grabbed her hips and quickly flipped her body, her firm, round buttocks staring him in the face. He leant over her, his penis rubbing up the cleavage of her behind, and grabbed a pillow, in one swift movement removing the pillow case from it.