JM05 - Deadly Ritual

by DS Butler

  They found Collins nursing a cup of coffee at his desk, staring at the computer.

  “Any news?” Mackinnon asked.

  Collins nodded and put down his coffee. “We’ve got an ID, I think. The parents are here now. They reported their son missing on Friday night.” He took a deep breath. “They are formally identifying him now.”

  Mackinnon winced, after all that time in the Thames, it wouldn’t be an easy identification. Not that those sorts of things were ever easy.

  Collins took another sip of coffee, which made Mackinnon crave a cup of his own. “His parents say they think he fell in with a bad crowd. He’s been acting out for the last six months or so.”

  It was great that they had an identification, but he couldn’t imagine the hell the boy’s parents were going through right now.

  In his pocket, he touched the slip of paper the Oracle had given him. Now they had an ID for the victim, they would probably have more reliable leads to go on.

  “So, how did you get on?” Collins asked them.

  “We didn’t have much luck,” Mackinnon said. “I spoke with Professor Matić. She was helpful and obviously an expert on the Voodoo religion, but she didn’t recognise the bit of wood found in the boy’s mouth.

  “She gave us details for a contact of hers, a kind of religious leader in the local community who practices Voodoo. His real name is Germaine Okoro, but they call him the Oracle. Unfortunately, he didn’t recognise the object either. Both he and the professor say they don’t think it’s of any religious significance.”

  Collins looked disappointed. “So, no leads at all?”

  “Well, Germaine Okoro gave us the name of a teacher who helps underprivileged children in the area,” Charlotte said. “He’s also a member of the Oracle’s group, so we were going to go and pay him a visit, but I guess we’ve got stronger leads now the boy has been identified.”

  Collins turned to the computer and scrolled through the pages of notes on the database. “The boy’s name is Francis Eze. Twelve years old, and he went to Poplar Comprehensive.”

  Mackinnon nodded. Poplar Comprehensive was the school William Xander taught at, so it would still be worth paying him a visit. The lead may not be such a bust after all.

  “I’m going to go and get myself a coffee,” Mackinnon said. “And then we’ll check in with Tyler.”

  Mackinnon left the office area and headed up to the cafeteria, deep in thought. He climbed the stairs two at a time, and when he reached the second level, he paused. In front of him, a middle-aged black couple was headed in the opposite direction.

  There was no doubt in Mackinnon’s mind that they were the boy’s parents. They seemed to be surrounded by other officers, leading the way, but there was a hush around them, as if everyone was feeling the weight of their grief.

  The mother walked rigidly. Her eyes were wide and unblinking.

  Her husband was the complete opposite. He seemed to have a need to keep moving. He shoved his hands in his pockets, only to move them again, running them through his hair. Then his right hand moved down to cover his mouth. His head whipped one way and then the other, as if he were trying to take it all in.

  Behind them, their family liaison officer followed. It was Rosialie Estes.

  Rosialie was a fantastic FLO. Few officers were suited to the role, but she had a calm, unobtrusive way of dealing with people that made them feel reassured. It was an incredibly difficult task. Not many individuals could enter a family home after a tragedy and ask the most personal questions without appearing intrusive.

  Mackinnon had worked with Rosialie before. He nodded as he caught her eye. It wasn’t much consolation for the parents, but at least, they had some support.

  He didn’t want the parents to feel they were the object of everyone’s interest, so he kept his head down and carried on towards the cafeteria.

  He couldn’t imagine how they were feeling. What kind of a monster would do something like that to a twelve-year-old boy?

  8

  ALFIE WAS SCARED.

  HE hadn’t seen Francis since Friday. He’d tried loads of times to call him on his mobile, but Francis hadn’t answered, and he didn’t dare leave a message.

  He didn’t know what to do. Was this part of some elaborate wind up by Francis?

  He’d tried to convince himself of that at the weekend, but now it was Monday, and Francis hadn’t come to school. There was no way his parents would let him skive off.

  Alfie hunched one shoulder, yanked up his rucksack and walked towards the Maths block. There were only two more lessons until school was finished, then Alfie decided he would go round to Francis’s flat and speak to his mum.

  Francis’s mum had always been nice to Alfie. She gave him cookies and milk whenever he went to call on Francis.

  Maybe Francis was sick? Yes, Alfie tried to convince himself, that’s probably what it was. Francis would be back at school tomorrow.

  A quiet voice in the back of Alfie’s mind said: What if the hooded figure had caught Francis?

  Alfie hadn’t looked back to see if Francis was okay. He’d tried to pull Francis with him, but the idiot wouldn’t move.

  It wasn’t his fault.

  What would the hooded figure have done to Francis if he’d caught him?

  No, he couldn’t have caught him. Francis was a fast runner. He’d won the two-hundred metres on sports day last summer.

  What if the man caught Francis? Did that mean Alfie would be next?

  Alfie rubbed his eyes. No. Francis must be okay. He would have run away, too. Alfie would go and see him after school. Francis would probably be in bed with a bug or something.

  As Alfie rounded the corner and started to walk underneath the covered walkway, outside the Maths block, he saw a group of older students gathered around the entrance, talking excitedly in hushed whispers.

  “I heard he’d been stabbed fifty times.”

  “No, that’s not right. I heard he’d just been stabbed once in the eye.”

  “You’re all wrong,” said an older girl Alfie recognised as Farzana Patani. “He had his throat cut.” She said the words in a matter of fact way.

  Alfie didn’t know who they were talking about, but he felt a light, cold sweat breaking out along his forehead.

  As he got closer, he could hear more of their conversation, and he knew for certain they were talking about Francis.

  “Apparently, he didn’t come home on Friday,” a tall girl said. “Then they found his body all cut up into little pieces.”

  “What? No, that’s not right. You’re making that up,” one of the older boys said.

  “I am not,” the girl said. “What would you know anyway?”

  Just as Alfie passed them he heard one of the children say. “The police are here. They’re gonna want to question all of us.”

  Alfie froze and turned to look at the speaker. It was Farzana Patani.

  “Alfie!” Farzana called out to him. She walked towards him. Her eyes were soft, and she put a hand on his arm.

  Alfie had heard of Farzana. She was captain of the school netball team, but she had never spoken to Alfie before.

  “I’m sorry about Francis,” she said. “Have you spoken to the police?”

  Alfie shook his head vigorously.

  “Well, they’re here. I just saw them going into the headmaster’s office, and they will want to speak to you. You were his best friend, weren’t you?”

  For a moment Alfie couldn’t think straight. This had to be a mistake. He didn’t want to speak to the police. What if Mr. X found out and came after him?

  Alfie shrugged and tried to look as if he wasn’t bothered about the police. He walked on, passing the doors to the Maths block. He didn’t want to go to class now. If he went to Maths, they would know where to find him.

  “Hey, Alfie, where are you going? You need to go to the headmaster’s office.” Farzana Patani called after him.

  Alfie ignored her, walking faster and faster. H
e cut back around the side of the Maths block and jogged over the playing field until he reached the big square building that housed the school’s gym.

  He could hear the squeak of trainers and the slam of balls against the hard surface as he entered.

  The year eights were having a double session of PE. Alfie sneaked by, ducking his head under the small window in the door so he wouldn’t be seen.

  He headed for the stairs. He needed to get somewhere quiet where he could think and decide what to do next. The boys’ changing rooms would be empty.

  He opened the door to the changing room slowly and paused, listening, but there was no one inside.

  Clothes hung on pegs, and the floor was scattered with school shoes that had been hastily removed. Alfie sighed with relief and carried his schoolbag over to the furthest bench, dumping it on the floor. He sat on the smooth wooden bench, leaning back against one of the lockers.

  The gym changing rooms smelt of sweaty socks overlaid with the heavy smell of powdery deodorant, but Alfie didn’t mind. At least he was alone. He was safe for now, and no one would think to look for him here.

  He could still hear the muffled sounds of the year eights playing basketball downstairs. What was he going to do? He couldn’t be seen talking to the police as Mr. X might find out and come after him.

  He wouldn’t be safe at home either. His aunt was always saying that Mr. X was the only one who could sort Alfie out and drive away his evil spirits. If he told them about this, his aunt would probably hand him straight over to Mr. X.

  Alfie pulled his feet up to the bench and hugged his knees against his chest.

  He needed to make a plan. He couldn’t avoid the police forever, especially not when they came to his school.

  Maybe he could leave London. He could go to his grandma’s in Southend. Surely she wouldn’t turn Alfie away if he explained.

  Just when Alfie thought he might have stumbled on the answer to his problems, he realised he had no money.

  He searched the pockets of his school trousers and stared at the small collection of coins. He had enough for a portion of chips but definitely not enough to pay his fare to Southend.

  Maybe he could just avoid the police today. He knew his aunt kept some money in a jar in the kitchen. Alfie could take that and leave tomorrow morning.

  His grandma always promised he would be able to visit, but she’d only rung Alfie once after leaving him with his aunt and uncle, and he hadn’t wanted to ask about visiting with his aunt standing over his shoulder.

  He wondered what his grandma was doing now, and how his little brother Mickey was getting on at his new school. He wished she’d taken him to Southend. He would have liked to have lived by the sea.

  Alfie looked around the changing room at the jackets and bags that were unattended. There was another way… He could take the money.

  Surely with all the bags in here, he’d be able to scrape up enough money for his fare.

  Alfie got to his feet and moved towards the first jacket and then stopped. This would be stealing… and that would be very wrong.

  He put a thumbnail in his mouth and chewed. If he paid the money back later, it wasn’t really stealing.

  And besides, they were probably only going to use this money to buy a chocolate bar or a can of Coke after school. It would mean a packet of sweets to them, but to Alfie, this could mean life or death. Surely that meant it was okay.

  He moved towards a jacket, flung the arm out of the way and fumbled in one of the pockets.

  Then he froze.

  He heard footsteps in the corridor outside the changing room.

  Alfie yanked back his hand as if he’d been burned. Who was that? There wasn’t supposed to be anyone up here now. They were all supposed to be playing in the gym.

  But the footsteps were getting closer. Alfie needed to hide, but where?

  He looked around. There were coats and bags everywhere, but nothing really big enough to hide behind.

  Then Alfie remembered the showers at the end of the changing rooms. He ran to the end of the large communal showers and ducked inside just as he heard the door squeak open.

  Alfie held his breath. Maybe it was someone coming back because they had forgotten something. He mumbled a prayer, promising never to think about stealing again if he could just get out of here unseen.

  He heard rustling. Yes, Alfie told himself. They’re looking for something. When they find it they will leave.

  But they didn’t leave.

  The footsteps stopped, and Alfie could hear a rasping breathing.

  Alfie covered his face with his hands and crouched down. Please let whoever it is go without seeing me. Please. Please. Please.

  For the longest time, there was no movement and no sound. Alfie began to think he was imagining things. Maybe whoever it was had left.

  Alfie edged forward, putting a hand onto the slippery, white tiles. He poked his head around the corner to peer into the changing rooms.

  Too late he realised the changing rooms were not empty.

  Standing by the door, with his arms folded and legs apart, looking murderous, was Mr. Xander.

  Alfie gasped and reeled backwards into the showers again, but it was too late.

  Mr. Xander had seen him and was striding forward. Alfie could hear the sound of his shoes slapping the floor.

  “What are you doing?” Mr. Xander asked. “Out.” He jerked a thumb and looked angrily at the floor of the showers where Alfie’s school shoes had made a muddy mess all over the tiles.

  Alfie stood there staring up at him, eyes wide. He couldn’t find any words.

  “Well, what do you have to say for yourself? What are you doing in here?”

  Alfie just shook his head. “N… n… nothing, sir. I thought I had PE.”

  Mr. Xander’s eyes narrowed.

  “I hope you haven’t taken anything from in here that isn’t yours, Alfie,” Mr. Xander said.

  Alfie shook his head. “I haven’t.”

  “Empty out your pockets.”

  Alfie did as he was told, emptying out a piece of tissue, a pound coin and a twenty pence piece.

  “Hmm,” Mr. Xander said. “Coat pockets.”

  They were empty.

  “And where’s your bag?”

  Alfie dutifully trotted over to get his bag and presented it to Mr. Xander who rifled through it, turfing out various textbooks and pens until he was satisfied Alfie had not stolen anything.

  Alfie thought he looked almost disappointed.

  “I’d better not catch you sneaking around here again, Alfie. What lesson are you really supposed to be in?”

  Alfie looked down at his shoes. “Maths,” he said.

  Mr. Xander loomed over him and then bent over to put his face close to Alfie’s. He had dark, intense eyes, and it felt as if he could see right inside Alfie’s head.

  Alfie winced and moved backwards. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

  He picked up his bag and moved for the door.

  “Wait. Where do you think you’re going?”

  Alfie chewed on his lip. “Back to my Maths class.”

  Mr. Xander shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

  9

  POPLAR COMPREHENSIVE WAS A tatty sixties building. The squat, square of the main block had been added to over the years. Temporary structures were tacked onto the sides of the concrete building. Mackinnon imagined they were only supposed to last five or ten years. They looked like they had been there a lot longer than that.

  As Mackinnon walked with Tyler to the main entrance, they got plenty of gaping looks from the students. He wondered if they’d been pegged for police already. Probably.

  Mackinnon and Tyler were welcomed by a harassed school secretary who let the headmaster know they were there.

  “He won’t be long,” she said. “He’s been taking phone calls from parents all morning. It’s been manic here.”

  She stepped out from
behind her desk, trying to smooth her hair with one hand. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, not really meaning it. The telephone on her desk gave a shrill ring. “Another one,” she said, and her shoulders slumped.

  They waited for a couple of minutes, listening to the school secretary try to reassure parents on the phone.

  After she had put the phone down for the fourth time, she said, “He’ll see you now. Sorry, you had to wait, but I’m sure you understand how busy we are today.”

  “Funny enough, we are pretty busy too,” Tyler mumbled as they entered the headmaster’s office.

  The headmaster was a small man called Scott Hincklin. His suit seemed several sizes too big for him, and his oversized, black faux leather chair had the unfortunate effect of making him appear even smaller.

  “Please take a seat,” he said, and Mackinnon and Tyler sat down.

  Scott Hincklin scratched his jaw. He had a pointed face, and his skin was so pale Mackinnon could see a thin blue vein pulsing at his temple.

  “Of course we’ve had dealings with the police before,” Scott Hincklin said. “During my first year at the school, we had a stabbing outside the school gates. The victim wasn’t actually a student, but anyone reading the newspaper articles wouldn’t have known that. They didn’t tell the whole story.”

  He shuffled a few papers on his desk. “I’m not really sure how I can help, but of course, if there’s anything I can do…” He shrugged.

  Tyler leaned forward. “What can you tell us about Francis Eze?” he asked.

  “Well…” The headmaster scratched his chin, leaving red marks on his pale skin. “Not much I’m afraid. He’d been here for eighteen months, and he was in year eight. Francis wasn’t an outstanding pupil, but then, he wasn’t really a troublemaker either. I’m afraid sometimes middle-of-the-road children go unnoticed.” He gave them a weak smile.

  Mackinnon wasn’t surprised. In a school this size, with at least three thousand students, it was unlikely that any of them would receive individual attention.

  Tyler tried again. “I understand that the headmaster may not come into contact with every pupil individually, but there must be another teacher who spent more time with Francis. They might be able to help us with our enquiries.”