Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3)

by Max Hardy

  ‘Archives are down the main admin corridor, last on the right if I recall. Are the doors on lockdown still?’ Rebecca responded.

  ‘That’s right, last on the right. No, you’ll be fine getting in. All of the security locks have been disabled. No point in having them on when there’s no patients here.’ I’ll bring your tea down for you and please, just call zero from any phone if you need assistance.’ Henry answered helpfully before waddling off to a door to the right of the reception.

  ‘Thank you Henry, I’ll call if I need you.’ Rebecca finished, smiling pleasantly before scurrying off through a set of double doors into the main thoroughfare of the Institute.

  ‘Perfect misdirection. Custard Creams will always do that.’ Saul crackled in Rebecca’s earpiece as she slowed her pace, straightened up slightly, walked past the side entrance to the Admin corridor and headed straight into the main secure area of the Institute. The decor changed suddenly, from glass and metal to stark white tiled walls and ceilings, devoid of windows, the corridor ahead in darkness. Automated lights flickered on as she passed underneath them, illuminating the side doors, all of which were closed.

  ‘It wasn’t hard John. This is a place I know. It may sound strange, but it’s a place I am comfortable in. For all the harm I caused myself here and the hundreds of suicide attempts, not to mention all of the sexual molestation, being in here probably saved my life. If I had been put into a normal prison for killing Michael, I would have been dead within a day.’ Rebecca responded quietly, staring at a blank spot in the darkness ahead, purposefully walking towards it.

  ‘Well, if the Angels hadn’t messed with your life, you wouldn’t have been in that position at all. Are you near the archive yet?’

  ‘But then, I would never have met Madame Evangeline and been exposed to such exquisite ecstasy. There’s somewhere I need to see before I go to the archive.’ Rebecca replied, slowing down as she approached a door the same as every other one down the corridor. She paused outside, running a finger down the cold, white painted, solid metal door, letting it come to rest on the handle.

  ‘What are you doing Rebecca? There’s no time for anything other than checking the archive and Ennis’s office. Just because you’ve hoodwinked the guard for now, doesn’t mean he won’t get suspicious if you go off plan?’ Saul crackled, his tone concerned.

  ‘I will only be a minute. I just want to see home, one last time.’ she replied, before turning the handle, opening the door and walking into the room she had been incarcerated in for a year.

  Sadness drew a veil over her emerald eyes, and floated over the disguised features of her face as she walked into the almost empty room and ran a slightly shaking hand along the solitary bed that sat in the centre of it. Her fingers sketched a trail over the leather restraints tied to the metal frame of the bed.

  ‘It’s strange to think that weeks before I was imprisoned here, I had been tied up with restraints like these for pleasure: that I tied Michael up in something similar before letting him fuck my brains out. I lay on that bed for a year, tortured not only by the thought of killing him, but more so by the thought that I had fucked my own son. What kind of moral monster does that make me? And yet, I stand here today, and that could be something my ancestors have been doing for centuries. It makes the molestation by the staff here pale into insignificance.’

  ‘Rebecca, you shouldn’t be in there. What the staff did to you was absolutely abhorrent. You didn’t know that Michael was your son at the time. They knew exactly what they were doing to you. You have to get out of there, it can only bring back bad memories and you need to focus at the moment. Don’t forget, you are a fugitive and you are inside a secure mental facility.’ Saul urged, a slight undertone of panic in his voice.

  ‘You sounded just like Doc Hanlon there. It wasn’t my fault because I didn’t know it was Michael, that’s what he kept telling me. I vaguely recall the first day I was here, the first time they strapped me to this bed. I was dosed up with Diazepam but was subconsciously aware of what they were doing. Two female orderlies, Janet and Dawn, were getting me out of my clothes and putting a hospital gown on me. They decided to have a game of Toad in the Hole. They started with my ears, each digging their thumbs deep into the canal, covering them in wax, then forcing them into my mouth, making me lick the wax off. My nose was next, making me eat the dry snot they managed to pull out. They thumbed my cunt after that, making me sniff my own stale, piss smelling juices before putting those into my mouth too. All before the denouement, where in tandem, they both thrust their thumbs up my arsehole together, covered them in shit, and laughed as they made me suck it off. Do you know what? At that moment, I felt like I deserved every last bit of that, and so much more.’ Rebecca fell silent, looking down at the empty bed, one hand shaking, clasping one of the restraints tightly, the other hand circling its wrist, the thumb rubbing over the weals left from the last time she had been restrained.

  ‘Rebecca, that is tragic, let’s talk about those feelings later. Sorry for being an insensitive dick, but right now, you have to get on and do what you need to do. You’ve already been in there ten minutes more than planned.’ Saul crackled curtly, breaking Rebecca’s reflective reverie.

  Her eyes refocused from the memory in time for her to hear echoing footfalls from the empty corridor outside.

  ‘Shit, I think Henry is coming with my tea.’ Rebecca whispered, stooping her back as she turned and shuffled out of the room and back into the corridor, sadness sailing from her face to be replaced by a broad, eager smile.

  ‘Ah, you found me.’ Rebecca started before Henry could speak, taking the mug of tea out of his hands as she approached him. ‘Just thought I would get a quick idea of where she was locked up. It helps to visualise these things rather than just read about them. Did you ever come across the Angus woman at all?’ she finished, hurrying off down the corridor, towards the Admin entrance.

  Henry looked quizzically at the open door to the cell she had just left, then fell in behind, quickly catching her short steps up. ‘I only started here when they closed the place, but I read about her in the papers. Some scary stuff that she did, killing and eating her son and, well, you know, the other thing: having sex with him. All kinds of wrong going on there. Here’s your Custard Creams.’ he added, now walking by her side.

  ‘Thanks Henry, I appreciate your help, and the Custard Creams. Yes, you are right: definitely all kinds of wrong going on there. I shouldn’t be too long in the archives, probably ten minutes or so. I’ll bring the mug back with me.’ Rebecca responded, still smiling radiantly as she turned left and headed down the corridor to the Archive room. She reached the door, quickly opened, entered and closed it, then leant with her back against it and let out a huge stuttering breath, her hands shaking slightly, her eyes taking in the row upon row of perfectly aligned, drab grey filing cabinets.

  ‘Sorry John. That was stupid of me. I could see him getting inquisitive.’ Rebecca whispered as she stood back up straight and headed over to the nearest filing cabinet, popping the mug of tea on top while checking the indexing on the top drawer.

  ‘Well, we are where we are, and you diffused his curiosity well. Let’s focus on…’ Saul started, pausing mid-sentence.

  ‘Let’s focus on what?’ Rebecca queried, moving from the first to the second row of cabinets quickly, her eyes darting between the drawer labels.

  ‘Shit. You need to hurry up. There’s another visitor just been registered on the Group 4 scheduling system. Detective Inspector Munro, one of my colleagues from Northumbria. He’s due there at 12:30, which means you’ve got about twenty minutes before things get really complicated.’

  ‘Bollocks, sorry John. Right, I am at the S’s now.’ Rebecca cursed, agitation animating her actions as she pulled the drawer open and started flicking through the records inside. ‘Bugger, bugger, bugger.’ she added after a second, slamming it shut and hurriedly running around the end of the cabinets into the next row.

  ‘What�
�s wrong?’ Saul queried, concerned.

  ‘No records in the drawers for anyone at all called Seymour.’ Rebecca relayed curtly before pulling a drawer labelled ‘An-Ay’ open. She flicked through the files quickly, her features and finger movements becoming furiously worried. ‘Nothing in here for Angus either. Fuck.’ she shouted, banging her palms off the top of the cabinet.

  ‘That’s okay. Keep calm. There was always the possibility that Ennis had them stowed away somewhere, that’s why Adam gave us the tube. That somewhere is probably his office. Now focus and remember the little tip about walls and pictures. Fifteen minutes.’ Saul relayed with gentle, conciliatory undertones to his firm voice.

  ‘On it.’ Rebecca replied simply as she rushed around to the front of the cabinets, grabbed her mug of tea, slouched her shoulders, took a deep breath, opened the door and walked into the empty corridor wearing the mannerisms of an unconcerned old woman. She jauntily sauntered half a dozen doors up the corridor and entered Ennis’s office, pushing the door closed behind her. In contrast to the rest of the building, this office was decorated with paisley print wallpaper, a thick burgundy carpet and mahogany furniture.

  ‘I can see you now. We know that the front wall faces onto the corridor, the side walls into other rooms, so the likely location of any hidden cubby hole is on the back wall. There’s an original Cezanne on there, where the camera is located, so try behind that first.’ Saul instructed.

  Rebecca rounded the large writing desk, popping her mug of tea on its top, and then lifted the painting, whispering expletives as she saw the blank, flat wall behind it.

  ‘That’s fine.’ Saul assured. ‘Now, start tapping the walls. Listen for variations in the tone. Either hollow or hard. Ten minutes.’

  ‘Stop the fucking countdown will you, it’s not helping.’ Rebecca hissed as she wrapped her knuckles off the wall below the picture, then started moving around to the right, where a tall chest of drawers sat against it. Her attention was caught by the carpet, and the slight flattening of the pile in front of the drawers. ‘I think I have something.’ she relayed as she bent over and pulled the surprisingly light drawers forward, exposing the wall behind, with a small Perspex hole about head height. Rebecca looked into it and saw a red laser light bouncing off a prism inside.

  ‘Found it.’ she whispered, reaching into the pocket of her tweed jacket and pulling out the silver tube that Gabriel had given them. ‘I’m not looking forward to this.’ she said, as she unscrewed the top.

  ‘Don’t think about what it is, just think about what is can get us.’ Saul offered encouragingly.

  ‘That is the most asinine thing I think you’ve ever said to me, and there’s been some howlers. It’s a fucking detached, dead eyeball. It’s going to freak me out regardless of what you say.’ she replied curtly and reached into the open tube, squeamishly gripping the end of the optic nerve and lifting Ennis’s glistening eyeball from the formaldehyde preserving it. She grimaced, then gripped the circumference of the globuled ball between shaking thumb and forefinger, then pressed it against the Perspex hole. There was a loud beep, and the wall started to slide back to the right, revealing a small cubby hole behind.

  ‘Bingo!’ she shouted in a whisper. She dropped the eyeball back into the tube, screwed the top back on and placed it back in her pocket.

  ‘What is it?’ Saul enquired.

  ‘A small recess with a filing cabinet. There is a trumpet case on top of the filing cabinet. It’s got the word ‘Unas’ embossed on it in gold. Isn’t that what was on the instrument case in McFetrich’s trophy room?’ Rebecca relayed, opening the top drawer of the filing cabinet.

  ‘Yes, it was. Why would two unrelated people have cases with the same word on? We’ll need to do some digging into this ‘Unas’. What’s in the cabinet?’

  ‘Just what we hoped. Lots of files. Jessica Seymour, Henry Seymour, Cecil Seymour, Clarissa Seymour and a ton of other Seymour’s to boot along with a good dozen other files.’ She thrust the top drawer closed and yanked the bottom one open, sifting through another concertina of files, noting one labelled ‘Angus’ right at the front, before grabbing the whole bunch and plopping them on top of the others.

  ‘How long have I got?’ Rebecca asked as she placed the large pile of files on the desk, turned back and hit a little button just on the inside of the recess, which caused the wall to close up again, then pushed the chest of drawers back against the wall.

  ‘I thought you wanted me to stop the fucking countdown? Five minutes.’ Saul replied calmly.

  ‘Smart arse. Right, let’s get out of here.’ Rebecca responded sarcastically. She picked up the pile of files and tucked them tight into her chest, took a deep breath and let her Dr Evans demeanour wash over her once more. She reached down to grab the handle, just as it started to turn, just as the door was pushed open and just as a large, suited man filled the frame, looking at her curiously.

  ‘Dr Evans? Afternoon, I’m DI Mick Munro. Henry tells me you are working on the Ennis case. I can’t recall meeting you before?’

  Chapter 15

  ‘I think we should start with the substitution.’ a skinny, ginger haired and pallid faced woman, wearing a white lab coat, piped up. Her larger than life head was being displayed on a plasma TV that sat at the end of a cluttered lab bench in the Centre for Biomedicine at Edinburgh University.

  ‘I think we should start with names, then we could toss a coin to see which of you enthusiastic boffins goes first.’ Strange interjected, jovially irritated by the posturing. He was sitting on a tall wooden stool next to Cruickshank and opposite two other agitatedly excited scientists eager to expound their theories to the two detectives.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, quite right, a little formality will help.’ the ginger lady on the screen broke in before her colleagues had an opportunity to comment. ‘I am Professor Janice Auld from the Biomedicine facility at Newcastle University. I have to say, what you have given us to study is absolutely remarkable.’

  ‘And I am Professor Aubrey Quinn, from the Biomedicine Centre here at Edinburgh. This is remarkable.’ a sturdy, tall gentleman, with a shock of wiry, unruly black hair on his head, sitting opposite Strange, introduced.

  ‘Professor Hilary Martin, from the Roslin Institute, also here at the University. I specialise in animals, not humans, but am equally astounded by your samples.’ a bespectacled older lady with a tight crew cut hair style, naturally greying and distinguished, finished.

  ‘Excellent. Now we have enthused over how remarkable these DNA samples are, let’s not forget that they are from potential murderers. So it is critical that you focus on giving us facts relevant to our investigation, and please, in plain English: we aren’t scientists.’ Cruikshank ordered, her stoic face as stern as her words.

  Professor Quinn started speaking before Cruickshank had a chance to finish, taking the breath out of his colleague’s lungs a second before they spoke. ‘The first thing to state is that while we are excited about what we have seen, everything we are about to share with you is morally wrong, ethically wrong and illegal. Secondly, whomever has done this has a serious god complex going on. Thirdly, from a layman’s perspective, do not confuse inbreeding with incest. The first is pure biology, the second pure morality. Let’s leave morality at the door for now. So, the very high degree of DNA alignment of the four samples you provided indicate not just a prolonged period of interbreeding between a contained group of people, but the lack of physical abnormalities indicates that the breeding was selective. In animal husbandry, that is not uncommon. It’s not as uncommon as you might think in us humans either. There are examples, particularly in isolated tribes or communities, where that pattern of breeding has been documented and to a smaller extend in the bloodlines of royalty. However, never to the extent where four, and who knows how many more, people have such a DNA alignment. The scientific understanding required to ensure there are no chromosomal abnormalities is staggering. This must have been going on for generations.’


  ‘So, I take it from that, they are all related, but may not be brother and sister related intimately, in an emotional sense, but rather a biological sense.’ Strange summarized, trying to emphasise the salient points.

  ‘Well, I can’t comment on the intimacy of any relationship, but the discipline required in selective breeding to produce this type of healthy, strong DNA is definitely not an emotional activity. This is pure science. Jan, tell him about the gene replacement.’ Quinn finished, looking over to the plasma screen.

  ‘You might have heard in the news recently a lot of press about three parent ‘god’ children, or mitochondrial donation. It’s where mitochondrial DNA from a healthy ‘parent’ is transferred into the egg of a parent where there may be known diseases such as diabetes, heart or liver conditions in the potential foetus and subsequent baby. The DNA replacement eradicates the chance of those diseases. The techniques to carry this out have been around for years and we have been at the forefront of that research, but ethically, we are still trying to get approval to carry out the procedure. All four of the DNA samples that you sent to us show signs of this type of procedure being carried out. It goes some way to explaining how the inbreeding has resulted in no obvious genetic abnormalities. Hils, I have to concede, I think yours is the most fantastic finding, tell them about it.’ Professor Auld finished excitedly, her features vibrant with enthusiasm, looking toward Professor Martin.

  ‘So, just to keep it real and simple, we have four people who have been genetically modified, a bit like GM food, to make them a little bit healthier.’ Cruickshank summarised, her face an alignment of curiosity and patient questions.

  Professor Martin answered, leaning over the lab bench, her hands clasped as she rubbed them together in excited anticipation. ‘Essentially, yes, they have been GM’d: and the rest. Have you heard of Dolly the Sheep?’ she asked, eyes wide with glee.

  ‘Wasn’t she the first animal cloned, and as I recall, called Dolly after Dolly Parton, although I can’t remember why. That was done here, wasn’t it?’ Cruickshank offered.