Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3)

by Max Hardy

  Cruickshank nodded, looking at the board in quiet reflection for a moment. ‘Help me out for a moment while I try empathy on for size will you.’ she said after a moment.

  Strange smiled and nudged her shoulder. ‘Sarcastic sod. Go on then, I’ll help. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Just say Saul and Angus were totally oblivious of their genetic background and links to the Seymour family. Just say they are totally innocent in all of this. Just say they have been played at every turn by the Angels and now by them and the ‘Unknown man’. That is a whole heap of pressure to contain. They have already turned criminal trying to understand this for themselves. At what point, to preserve their innocence, to save themselves, do they become murderers as well: or have they already.’

  ‘I think one of them has already and I don’t think it would take too much more to push the other one over the edge. It certainly feels like someone is trying to lead them down that path.’

  ‘How do they cope with that? Someone playing god with their lives, quite literally from inception it seems and never having control, constantly being buffeted from one play to the next.’ Cruickshank mused, her eyes darting over the evidence wall reflectively.

  ‘If you are of a religious persuasion, then someone is always playing God with your life, right from inception. Most of us cope, regardless of the slings and arrows thrown at us. Granted, for John and Rebecca it is more nuclear bombs and nerve gas, but perhaps that’s what the selective breeding was trying to create, someone who could cope with those extremes and not break. Someone who could stand up to God and say, come and have a go if you think you are hard enough.’

  Cruickshank smirked, a little giggle escaping her lips. ‘Just send God to Govan, they’ll sort him out. Okay, what about this ‘Unknown man’ then and what about Unas?’ she finished, her reflective mood lifting, to be replaced with stoic determination.

  ‘Yes Ma’am!’ Strange answered sternly as he stood and approached the empty white board and started to reposition photographs and evidence. ‘I think we can make an absolutely factual assumption that this ‘Unknown man’ is in some way connected with all of the killers that have been exposed and murdered. While the Modus Operandi of the latest two is different in terms of them being killed, the pattern of them as killers is very similar to that of the four we have in custody. They are all serial killers, they all kept body parts as trophies and we never found any of their victims. Therefore, I think we link them all on this new board, with a solid line to the ‘Unknown man’ because we are sure he knows them. A dotted line to John and Rebecca because they may be involved. We also link them to Unas, our old living God and pharaoh and try and figure out what the link is there. That’s something worth pitching to our four in custody and see what reaction they have.’

  He stood back from the board, now filled with half a dozen pictures and lines heading off onto the other boards.

  ‘We can do that now, you are scheduled to interview O’Driscoll in about five minutes to try and get him to reveal the Unknown man’s name. Drop Unas into the conversation as well.’ Cruickshank suggested as she stood and approached the board. ‘The only thing I would have different, is that as a solid line.’ she added, taking the pen out of Strange’s hand and running it over the lines to Saul and Angus.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give you that.’ Strange replied.

  ‘See, no arguments at all. We can all learn you know, even you.’ Cruickshank teased as she passed by him and headed for the exit to the Incident room.

  ‘Oh, I’m always learning. Every breath should be a learning experience. If it isn’t, what’s the point of life?’ Strange responded as he grabbed a folder off a nearby seat and then followed her out of the Incident room and down the corridor towards the Interview suite.

  ‘Have you got your interview strategy and questions ready for this?’ Cruickshank asked, passing a door and pointing a thumb towards it, indicating that was where Strange needed to go.

  ‘All ready, I’ve even got that titbit that Purves found for us.’

  ‘Good luck. Just remember, O’Driscoll could well freak you out. He sees demons everywhere and will delight in telling you about yours.’ Cruickshank offered as she turned a corner, heading off to the control room.

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind. I might even use it, being a Voodoo child.’ Strange shouted after her. He stopped outside the interview room door and took a deep breath, shaking out his hands to dispel the nerves as he did. He quickly took something small from his pocket and popped it into his ear. ‘All wired up Ma’am and ready to go. Can I enter?’

  ‘Yes.’ came Cruickshank’s tinny voice through the earpiece. ‘PC Barnes is in attendance in the corner. O’Driscoll is chained to the interview table. He has been violent. Did I mention that?’

  ‘No you didn’t but I’m sure if he’s restrained, Barnes and I will cope swimmingly.’ Strange responded and then entered the room, closing the door behind him. He walked laconically over the table, watching as O’Driscoll’s slightly manic eyes swivelled towards him and started to take in every part of his person. He sat down in the seat opposite, placed the file on the table, and stretched out a hand to shake O’Driscoll’s.

  ‘Archbishop O’Driscoll. I am Detective Chief Inspector Jeremiah Strange. Thank you for your time this late in the evening, I appreciate your flexibility. Hopefully we won’t keep you too long.’ Strange introduced politely.

  O’Driscoll took the offered hand and shook it inquisitively, looking from it up to Strange’s welcoming face with a curious gaze. ‘None of them are in you, which is good. Did you know they let them out? They could be anywhere, wreaking havoc. You are Jamaican. Are you a servant of the spirits?’

  ‘I don’t practice, but I believe. We all have our faith Archbishop and all of our faiths are aligned. My spirit is Orgu Damballa, the primordial creator of all life. He is also syncretised with your Saint Patrick. Can you see if he is with me?’ Strange asked, looking directly into O’Driscoll’s manic eyes.

  O’Driscoll looked from Strange, to the mirror on the far wall, his features alternating between excited and droll, his manner agitated. ‘No, we can’t see any spirit in you tonight.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Now, could you tell me who this person is?’ Strange asked, pulling a picture of O’Driscoll and the ‘Unknown man’ out of the folder and placing it in front of O’Driscoll.

  The agitation suddenly left O’Driscoll and a calm emptiness took its place. He sat back in his seat and looked Strange directly in the eye. ‘No.’ he said, simply.

  ‘Well, it’s obvious you know him as he is in a picture with you. I see you were both wearing Irish Republican Army badges as well. Killers together. Was it him who helped you rationalise murder and religion. Was it him who radicalised you?’ Strange asked with no emotion in his tone.

  ‘I’m not radical.’ O’Driscoll stated firmly.

  ‘If buggering and asphyxiating women in the name of your religion isn’t radical, then I don’t know what is. It’s certainly not something they teach kids at Sunday school, is it?’

  ‘Vade retro satana. Go back Satan. Exorcism has been a part of the Catholic faith since the beginning, there is nothing radical about it.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just your interpretation that is radical then. But then, it probably isn’t your interpretation. I don’t think you’ve got the imagination to be that horrendously inventive. I think it takes a mind like the man in the picture to dream up the kind of murder that you inflicted on those poor women.’ Strange said with a hint of brusque and challenge in his tone.

  O’Driscoll clenched his fists, his index finger scratching the scars of his stigmata as a manic glare entered his eyes again. ‘It had nothing to do with him. It was us. We created this technique to capture demons.’

  ‘Really? So how do you explain this then?’ Strange countered, pulling a picture from the folder and placing it in front of O’Driscoll. It was a black and white picture in the front room of a derelict house. In the mi
ddle of the room was an upturned milk crate. Lying over the milk crate was a naked man, slumped dead with a plastic bag over his head and taped around his neck. ‘That is Paddy O’Dwyer. He was in the IRA as well. He was also buggered and left dead like that, back in nineteen eighty eight, a full three years before your time in the IRA. You are just a copycat O’Driscoll. He showed you that technique. He taught you how to use it. He told you what to do with that knowledge. He turned you into a murderer.’

  ‘No.’ O’Driscoll fumed, white specks of phlegm gathering at the edges of his mouth, his whole body shaking with fury, his eyes bulbous with rage. ‘We invented that technique, tell him Lilith.’ he screamed, looking over to the mirror frantically, wanting assurances from his demon. He started yanking the chains and stood up, pulling the table, his whole body now turned towards the mirror, his argument now with it. ‘You can’t say that Lilith, it wasn’t like that. He had nothing to do with it, it was you and me. You told me how to put your spirit inside them, you told me how that would chase out the demon, you told me that the plastic bag would capture and contain them. You told me all of that! It had nothing to do with Gabriel.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘J…’ I start to shout, trying to get my safe word out, but the woman with the exact same snake tattoo as Rebecca and Eve drops her glistening lady lips right over my mouth, the rest of the word muffled in her moist delight. I try to shake in my bindings but they have been fastened tight, with no give at all. I feel movement around my crotch. Even in my currently frantic state, my penis is still hard, possibly even more so. It feels like Rebecca is climbing off. Did she hear me? I don’t think so, I can still see her hands caressing the woman’s breasts and I can see the woman throwing her head back in pleasure as she rubs her clit up and down my nose. I don’t want to lick her, I don’t want to let my tongue probe her glorious vagina sitting on my face, but I can’t help myself. Her musk is intoxicating, her wetness beguiling. My tongue starts to flick in and out of her.

  I feel pressure being reapplied over my groin and the sensation of naked skin touching my cock sends shivers down my shaking spine. Rebecca has undone her cat suit, she is straddling me again. She is dropping herself onto me. A hand circles the base of my shaft and angles the erection upward, away from my body. In a second I feel the warmth of her wet heaven as it surrounds my tip and sucks me in, dropping all the way down my length, the muscles tight, constricting around my member. I hear her moan as she starts to ride me, slow long strokes, with her hips bucking back and forth as her torso rises up. The woman on top is leaning back now as I continue lapping her juices. She is leaning back so that Rebecca can lean over and kiss her. I can just see their lips meet and watch as the woman’s tongue flicks into Rebecca’s mouth, circling her teeth. Rebecca’s hands are frantically fondling her breasts, the nipples being pulled furiously, the woman moaning in the pleasure of the obvious pain.

  I try to shake my head, to get Rebecca’s attention, but she is lost in her own ecstasy. And in my eye line is the snake tattoo, writhing in its own sublime susurrations. My mind is screaming for this to stop, but every single sinew in my body is filling with the tingle of oncoming orgasm. Rebecca is riding me more frantically, her hips bunny fucking my length now, her vagina muscles squeezed tight around my swelling, hardening shaft. I start to pant quickly through the one free nostril I have, still tongue tickling the woman’s cunt, her flowing juices meandering down my chin.

  Rebecca’s hands are squeezing the woman’s breasts faster, as she bucks me faster, my whole body shaking, the glow of orgasm throbbing in my groin as my cock expands, my hips thrust and I come deep inside Rebecca’s dripping vagina. She screams, pinching the woman’s nipples hard at the same second I bite into her clitoris, making her moan in exquisite agony as well. I thrust again, and again, spilling my whole load inside Rebecca, before my body slumps from tense, back onto the bench, spent.

  The woman climbs off my face, freeing my mouth and I take a long deep breath, ready to shout on Rebecca, but the woman speaks first.

  ‘Beautiful John, just beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever been tongue fucked so intensely. And Rebecca, my nipples are on fire, they are still sending aftershocks all the way down to my clit.’

  Rebecca stiffens in concern, still sitting astride me. ‘What makes you think that’s our names.’ she says, flustered and off guard.

  ‘Tattoo.’ I say, not using names, as I look up at Rebecca. ‘She’s got the same tattoo as you.’

  ‘This isn’t a place to talk, this is a place to fuck. Let’s go somewhere a little quieter and I’ll tell you how I know your names. You don’t need to worry. I am a friend.’ the woman says as she faces Rebecca, her snake tattoo fully visible. She starts to undo the silk scarves binding me to the bench as Rebecca slowly raises herself off me. Rebecca removes the scarves from my legs and I push my torso up with an effort, energy sapped from orgasm, and stand as well.

  ‘There’s some private snuggle rooms off the back of the main room, let’s go there and get to know each other.’ the woman says, her mesh covered eyes looking disconcertingly evil as she sways up alongside Rebecca and takes her hand, leading her on. Rebecca follows obligingly, grabs my reins and pulls me behind.

  My synapses are still firing, but not with the pheromones of sexual activity, those ones are abating. They are firing with tastes and textures. The taste of the woman’s juices, the texture of her skin. Of the tincture in her voice. I watch her shapely body as she leads us into the main room, through the iniquitous menagerie, and to a door with the words ‘Snuggle Room’ on it. We go inside and I close it behind us, not believing what my mind is trying to tell me.

  ‘Who are you?’ Rebecca demands, her brief panic overcome, her Madame now back in full flow.

  ‘Someone who knows what is happening to you, because it is happening to me as well.’ the woman responds, hunkering down onto a deep pile of multi coloured cushions covering the floor.

  ‘And what do you think is happening to us? What makes you think we aren’t just a couple out for a fun night of debauched sex?’ Rebecca counters, slinking down onto the cushions beside her. I stay standing with my back firmly against the door.

  ‘That tattoo for a start.’ she starts, pointing to Rebecca’s still exposed stomach and privates. ‘It’s the same as mine. Exactly the same. The scars on your skin from your time in the Fielding Institute. John, the just healed weals on your penis where Dr Ennis wanked you off wearing a Vampire glove, and the stigmata on your palms. You may very well be out for debauched sex, but you are also John and Rebecca. What is happening to you is the Fallen Angels. Since last week, when Madame Evangeline appeared on TV, they have been happening to me as well. And since then, I have been looking for you.’

  ‘How did you know we would be here tonight, if we are who you think we are?’ Rebecca asks, still not admitting anything. Why would Madame Evangeline appearing on TV draw her into this and why would that cause her to look for us. What’s challenging my mind at the moment is that her body language is so much like Eve’s. She can’t be Eve though, because we watched her die. Could she be a twin, like Adam and I.

  ‘I didn’t know, I hoped. On the balance of probability you would have been in some sex club tonight, looking for the person who killed McFetrich. Given that the scene in Edinburgh is desolated due to the recent raid, this was the next obvious choice. It’s where the Edinburgh crowd have bolted. It’s where he might be, looking for his next victim.’

  ‘And why are you looking for us, if we are who you think we are?’

  ‘For answers. A week ago my life was simple. It was shit, but it was simple. I live in a grotty bedsit in the Elephant and Castle in London and have been a prostitute since I had my first period. That was the week after I ran away from the care home I had lived in for all my thirteen years up until that point. I’ve had this tattoo all my life as far as I can recall. I can’t remember ever having it done, it’s always been there. Up until last week, I thought I was alone in the
world. Up until last week, I thought I would die on my own, either beaten to death by a psycho punter, or choking on my own drunken vomit. Until I saw her on TV and got a visit the very next day from someone called Adam who had a remarkable tale to tell me.’

  ‘And what did this Adam look like?’ I ask, my voice broken and hoarse.

  ‘Just like you John. Just like you.’ she reaches up and grabs the back of her head mask and starts pulling it off. ‘My name is Eve, and it’s not just our names that are the same.’ she says, dropping the mask into her lap as she shows her face to both of us. ‘We look the same as well. Exactly the same.’

  The world turns again as I look in stunned amazement at the third incarnation of Eve. Rebecca’s gaze reflects my incredulity as we both look upon Eve’s sparkling emerald eyes, her perfect high cheekbones and her porcelain complexion. I slide down the door, my bum thumping on the floor. I reach up and grab the back of my mask and pull it off my head, shaking my hair out as I do.

  ‘I’m John Saul. I think you are right, it’s time to talk.’ I say as Rebecca takes her mask off as well, still staring at Eve, and introduces herself.

  ‘Nice to be formally introduced, even if we have already fucked. God, you and Adam are exactly the same as well.’ Eve says a little coyly, an air of vulnerability surrounding her with the mask off.

  ‘I don’t suppose he told you if he and I were twins did he?’ I ask, knowing what the answer is going to be.

  ‘No. He told me that was a path you had to travel all on your own.’

  ‘So how long have you been trying to find us, and why?’ Rebecca queries, her tone suspicious.

  ‘I got the first train from Kings Cross after Adam talked to me and was in Edinburgh four hours later. I was up there for three days looking for you. I saw you once John. I was in the Scott Monument. It’s a great vantage point to view Princess Street and I was hoping I might see you from up there. I did. You rushed from Jenners when the Chinese Hag was exposing Chodak in the gardens. I think you saw me too.’