Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3)

by Max Hardy

  No, that was Jess I saw. I’m sure of…hold on. Throw a fact into my mind and it will bounce off memories and stir them. Jess was Annie Tait. Ten seconds after I thought it was Jess I saw up on the monument Annie Tait came running into the Gardens with DCI Cruickshank and arrested me. At the time I didn’t know Jess was Annie. I do now. So it was this Eve on the gantry of the monument. But I recall her talking to someone. Who was she talking to? Adam?

  ‘I did see you. I thought you were Jess. That is, Jess was Madame Evangeline and Eve, all three at the same time. It’s gets difficult to keep track. Now there are physically two of you as well with five different identities.’ I say, slightly flummoxed.

  ‘Not quite. At least, that’s not what Adam told me. Physically, there were three of us. Jessica died in a car crash. Madame Evangeline, Eve as you know committed suicide, and that leaves me.’

  No, that can’t be right. Jess and Eve were the same person. They had to be.

  ‘So, you were triplets then, is that what Adam told you?’ Rebecca enquires. She must be thinking the same as me, she has to be doubting it.

  Eve shakes her head slightly, the question amusing her. ‘Not quite, not if you believe the incredible tale Adam told me. If you were to believe him, we aren’t triplets, we are clones.’

  Chapter 23

  We all have different ways of coping with the things in our life we can’t come to terms with. Mine is building mind rooms. Neat little compartments with precise labels letting me know exactly what it is I am hiding away. They have intricate mind map locks written on the door. They are a certain sequence of memories to be triggered in a specific order if ever the contents of the room try to get out. It boils down to a distraction technique. The day Jacob was born was the very first time the rooms in my mind had ever started to wobble, since the time I built them as a teenager, to lock away the memories of my childhood. That’s when the rooms started to become rickety. As we started to understand the full extent of his condition, and it felt to me that his childhood, indeed his life, was as empty as the childhood I had, there were occasional breaches from some of the rooms. I would have flashbacks to the pristine white, windowless space I lived as a child, spending days and weeks alone, on a bed with nothing but my imagination to keep me company. A limited imagination that knew very little of the outside world, apart from needles, tubes, wimples, doctors and Nun’s. It was the desolate emptiness I had to hide away, the utter despair of being alone in the world. But when I was in that room, as a child, that’s not how I felt. I didn’t know what emptiness was, I didn’t know what alone was. I just knew that room. It was only when I was moved into a care home and started to interact with people, started to have friends and the positive emotion that comes with those relationships that I started to understand the desolation and despair of being alone and needed to put those memories away.

  Every single rickety room burst open when I thought that I had lost Jacob, Jess and Sarah all in the same day. I couldn’t sequence the mind maps fast enough. Just as I started to lock one room back up, another would burst open. The desolate emptiness overwhelmed me and my thoughts and my emotions wanted me to kill myself. But my actions didn’t, not totally. I gave myself a chance playing Russian Roulette. That chance of possibly dying, possibly staying alive helped to focus the thoughts and the emotions. It is not our thoughts or our emotions that define us. What defines us is the actions we take in reaction to them.

  Why did I give myself a chance when my mind was screaming out at me just to kill myself? Is it genetic? Has that bias for action, to experience rather than to observe been bred into me? I wanted to stop myself having sex earlier, but I couldn’t, the action overwhelmed the thought. Has it been bred into all of us? Rebecca should be dead. Yet she is sitting on a sofa opposite me, her eyes alive with shared experiences, chatting to Eve as though they have been family forever. Her coping mechanisms are even better than mine. Is that from the mental conditioning that took place at the Institute? And Eve, from the same background as both of us, left alone to fend for herself in the world, without any kind of family. A prostitute at thirteen. In reality, an abused child at thirteen. She seems to have taken on a totally new life in three days without even breaking stride.

  We are all from the same genetic family. The same family as Adam and the other Eve’s, and I have no doubt the same family as Gabriel. The Fallen Angels. It’s a dark and twisted family, but it’s a family. None of that explains why. Perhaps this path we have been led down for years is to build the mechanisms for us to cope: to cope with whatever the why is.

  ‘It’s been a part of my life away from prostitution, which might sound bizarre. After all, it’s sex. But prostitution is how I earn a living, it is money and punters. Going to BDSM munches is about me. It’s where I feel in control. I can do what I want, not what the punters want.’ Eve tells Rebecca as my ears attune to the conversation once again, returning from my reverie. ‘The snake is always a talking point. Do you think we’ve been branded? Is this the mark of a female Fallen Angel, sin slithering its way out of sex?’ she prompts.

  ‘Did Adam mention anything about it?’ I query, interrupting their sex talk. Eve is sitting on the sofa opposite, facing Rebecca, the two of them dressed in jeans, Eve in a red t-shirt, Rebecca in a white one. Rebecca lent Eve the clothes. They are both sitting the same way, but mirrored, their legs tucked up under their backside, bodies turned in to each other with one arm draped over the back of the sofa, coffee cup in that hand. While their looks are slightly different, the body language and mannerisms are almost identical.

  ‘No, we never got that intimate. We only talked for an hour and that was mainly about the two of you. He wanted me to find you and join your journey. He said we were all heading for the same destination and it was time to join together, to ensure we get there in one piece.’

  ‘Did he say why now, when you had been blissfully unaware of us so far?’ I ask. Rebecca throws me a reproaching look, annoyed at the detective in me coming to the fore.

  ‘Yes, he was very specific about that. I look exactly the same as Madame Evangeline. He knew that I would start to get attention, given that she was all over prime time TV news. He didn’t want me to be arrested on suspicion of being her. He didn’t want me exposed to religious fanatics that might think I was her. He didn’t want me to have to face punters that might get off on the thought of banging a celebrity, even though that might be good for business. What he couldn’t do was just say, ‘Be aware, you look like someone on the TV.’ What he had to do was give me the background I told you about. Otherwise, I would have just thought he was a nut job.’ she answers candidly, her demeanour open and honest.

  ‘Did you still not think he was a nut job? It is an incredible tale he told you. What did he say that made you believe him?’ I pursue, deliberately ignoring Rebecca. I need to understand. I need to control. Once again, I feel more than a little blind sided.

  ‘It’s not what he said, it’s what he showed me. It was a picture of a baby girl, about 18 months old, sitting in a cot, looking up into the camera. Now, it could have been any baby, not necessarily me, but it was the room that made me believe him. It was pure white, sterile, no toys, no furniture save for the cot and a single painting on the wall. A Cezanne. ‘The Bathers’, a group of naked men and women enjoying the sun at the side of a lake. I remember that room vividly from my childhood, and the blue robed Nuns that would come in and feed and change me. That’s how I knew there was substance to his story.’

  Rickety rooms rattle. Is she pressing buttons to make them open, or is she being honest. If she is pressing buttons, then she is very good at it because I feel an absolute affinity with her and an emotional empathy on a par with my feelings for Rebecca: and only after knowing her for an hour. Is that family? Or is that being skilfully played? What possible benefit could she get from playing us? If anything, it feels like she is being played as well. She hasn’t asked us a single question, only answered every suspicious one I have thrown at
her openly and honestly.

  ‘It sounds like you’ve been on the same journey as us, and know just about the same as we do. You seriously need to ask yourself if you want to be involved with us though. I am an escaped mental patient, we are both fugitives from the law and there is a potential psychopath trying to frame us for murder, if not kill us.’ Rebecca intervenes and continues the conversation as I go quiet again.

  ‘I have nowhere else to go and like it or not, I am involved. I want to know the same thing as the two of you do. I want to know why? Why has my life been a lie? Why have you been hidden from me for so long?

  Why are The Fallen Angels doing this? There has to be some kind of reasoning behind this madness. There has to be some greater purpose to warrant the death of the innocent, Michael, Sarah and Jacob.’ Eve finishes, her last words emotionally charged, wringing with frustration.

  Rebecca looks over to me, a burning question in her eyes. Thought and emotion are telling me not to let her know the one thing she seems oblivious about. But only because trust has been pummelled out of them. But is it only because of that? Who was she talking to when I saw her at the Scott Monument? Why was she with Darrie tonight, the one person in the place who has a connection to me? Why hasn’t she asked us any questions at all? Wouldn’t you be just the slightest bit curious? So if she were playing me, how would I play her back? Would I even dare go down that route? My bias for action wants to tell her, it wants to take control. It is the one thing she doesn’t seem to know. I nod imperceptibly.

  ‘Jacob is not dead Eve. He is very much alive and sleeping in the next room. That’s another reason why you have to think seriously about whether staying with us is a good idea.’ Rebecca imparts.

  It is done. She knows. For better or worse, now she knows. I just hope I’m not playing Russian Roulette with Jacob’s life.

  Chapter 24

  A blur of light invades the darkness behind my eyelids, enacting a teasing dance as my waking eyes try to focus on it, try to pin it down. It is evasive, enjoying the chase, a watercolour sheen on the greyness of my being, an image my mind captures and stores away, for a future time, when I will paint it. The light warms, not only my eyes, but my body, my mind registering sun, my mind thinking: warm sun, that’s way past day break.

  My eyes open suddenly as I raise my torso from the bed quickly, reaching over to the side table to grab my watch. I can see the sun outside and from its position, would guess its nine thirty. I check the watch. Nine forty three. Shit, they will have started the morning briefing at HQ by now.

  I throw the quilt back and jump out of bed naked, then trot across the room and out into the hallway. The apartment is quiet, all the other bedroom doors closed. I tap on Rebecca’s door, opening it as I do. She is lying spread-eagled on her back, in the buff and asleep, her quilt crumpled on the floor. I step in and give her bare backside a quick slap, startling her.

  ‘Come on sleepy head, it’s after nine thirty. I need to check in on the morning briefing. Could you pop in on Jacob, see how he is doing for me please?’

  ‘Bastard. Yes!’ she grunts, kicking her legs randomly, trying to hit me.

  I smile, pulling her door closed, then tiptoe along to the study and enter, heading straight for the monitors. I power them on as I slip into the chair in front of them. The leather is cold on my bare backside, setting goose bumps on my skin.

  The HQ screen starts to come on and I see a full Incident room. They have a new white board at the front as well. Strange and Cruickshank are up front together, that’s interesting. I hear Strange talking as the audio kicks in.

  ‘So to recap, in order to contain and capture Saul and Angus, within the hour roadblocks will be placed on all roads in and out of Morpeth. Every vehicle coming out or going in will be checked. In addition, more than sixty uniformed officers will start house to house checks across the whole of the town. We will focus on rented and holiday accommodation first, then move on to the rest. A team will also be checking all of the industrial and office buildings in the town. DCI Cruickshank and DI Trentor will be accompanying me down to Morpeth to assist in the search.’ Strange finishes, asking for any questions.

  What have I missed? What has happened? Why are they moving to roadblocks this quickly?

  ‘When are we going to the press about the two murders Sir? Before the blockade of the town?’ Trentor asks. Two murders. Who is the second one? When did that happen?

  ‘There is a conference arranged for lunchtime where we will be informing the press of the murders of McFetrich and Ettrick. We will also be informing them that Saul and Angus are the prime suspects.’

  Ettrick has been murdered as well and they think we did it. Shit. I can understand why they want a cordon around the town. A little sooner than I had expected. Still, we’ve got an hour, and we’ve got contingency plans. Need to get moving though. I jump from the seat and sprint over to the door, one ear still listening to the audio.

  ‘Rebecca. We’ve got problems. You need to get in here now.’ I shout, turning back to the displays.

  ‘Why are we sure they are in Morpeth Sir?’ DI Purves asks.

  ‘Rebecca Angus was as the Fielding Institute in Morpeth yesterday. We know that she took files from there relating to the Seymour family. We have CCTV footage of the vehicle she was driving leaving the hospital grounds but no CCTV footage of it leaving Morpeth. So it must still be in the town somewhere.’

  ‘What’s happening John.’ Rebecca asks, stepping naked into the door space and leaning against the frame as she rubs her sleep filled eyes.

  ‘Another murder. Ettrick. They must have evidence incriminating us otherwise they wouldn’t have received the authorisation for an operation of this size. They know we are in Morpeth and they know you were at the Institute yesterday. We need to start packing and get moving. Is Eve awake?’

  ‘No idea, I’ve just crawled out of bed. I’ll go check Jacob first, then give her a shout.’ Rebecca responds, an air of urgency entering her sleepy body as she heads off down the corridor.

  ‘So if she was in Morpeth yesterday, does that not conflict with her being seen with Ettrick?’

  What’s he talking about. How could Rebecca have been with Ettrick? She was with me?

  ‘The timeline stands up Barry. A good many witnesses saw someone looking like Rebecca Angus, but calling herself Madame Evangeline having drinks with Ettrick the night before last. The Medical Examiner puts Ettrick’s time of death at around one thirty a.m. That gives more than enough time for her to be in Morpeth at twelve yesterday. At this point in time, we have forensic evidence and eye witness statements saying it was Rebecca Angus with Ettrick directly before he was murdered.’

  ‘John, have you put him in the living room, he’s not in the bedroom?’ I hear Rebecca call anxiously as darkness starts to chew on the pit of my stomach. I spin into the hallway, seeing her approach the living room door. I know I didn’t put him in there. I know that it wasn’t Rebecca with Ettrick, because she was with me. Which means it must have been a woman who looks remarkably like her, probably in disguise. A woman like Eve.

  ‘He’s not in there Rebecca.’ I say, striding up to Eve’s bedroom door and flinging it open. She follows me, standing at my shoulder as we both look at the perfectly made empty bed.

  Eve is gone, and she has taken Jacob.

  Chapter 25

  ‘That is the main order of the morning ladies and gentleman. This is now a joint operation between the two forces, so open sharing of information and we help each other fully. I don’t want any parochialism and glory hunting. We’ve got enough to keep us busy without in fighting. Do I make myself clear?’ Cruickshank shouted out to the assembled detectives in the Incident room. A murmuring of reluctant acknowledgements surfaced around the room. Cruickshank continued. ‘Good. We also need to ensure we are on top of everything else local to the case, so let’s do a quick round of updates and see if we have any more intel to assist us. Trentor, is there anything from Coleen Naismith yet? She ha
s to be in a position to interview now?’

  ‘Ma’am, good news. She is being interviewed as we speak. The psychiatric liaison officer is with her now. I’m hopeful that we will have something from her in the next half hour.’ Trentor relayed with obvious enthusiastic relish.

  ‘It will only be good news if she has something useful to tell us Trentor. Keep your powder dry until then and as soon as you hear anything, then let me know. Did we find anything else out about McFetrich’s movements?’ Cruickshank reproached, hooking onto the negative in the update. Strange shot Trentor an encouraging smile as he saw the enthusiasm drain from the detective’s demeanour.

  ‘Nothing yet Ma’am. His car was caught on CCTV heading out of Newcastle, but we haven’t found where he got off. We are still looking. We still haven’t been able to locate Sheila Warren. She hasn’t been seen since we bailed her after the raid. We are treating her as a missing person now and have her picture out on all the boards.’ Trentor relayed flatly and factually.

  ‘In other words, you found nothing useful and we also potentially have another victim. Keep on with the CCTV search. At least that might give us an idea about where he was killed. Right, Gregory. We now know the ‘Unknown man’ is called Gabriel thanks to DCI Strange. We also know that the latest two murdered murderers had a connection with something called Unas. Research suggests this could be a funerary cult following religious teachings documented in something called ‘Pyramid Texts’. One of those texts is a ‘Cannibal Hymn’. Given our Pastor Bentley is known to be a cannibal, we need to question him again. DCI Strange will lead the interview directly after this with you in attendance. Watch and learn Gregory.’ Cruickshank stated, glaring at the moustached detective, who nodded amiably and took a long swig of his coffee.

  ‘Right, any more for any more before we crack on?’ Cruickshank asked, sternly staring at each detective in turn.