JM05 - Deadly Ritual

by DS Butler

  “I’ve found something,” Charlotte said. “You’d better come and look.”

  31

  BY THE TIME MACKINNON, Charlotte and Collins returned to Wood Street Station, Erika Darago had got herself a solicitor.

  “Great,” Charlotte said. “She might not have been telling us what we wanted to know, but at least, she was talking. Now we won’t get anything out of her.”

  Mackinnon pulled over a chair and sat down beside Charlotte. Collins perched on the edge of her desk. They had just returned from briefing Tyler and the rest of the team on what Collins and Charlotte had discovered at the abandoned office block and the information Mackinnon had learned from Joy Barter’s nanny.

  When things started really moving on a case, it was tempting to delay the briefings and push on. But that was a bad idea. The whole team needed to have the latest developments, otherwise things could easily slip through the gaps.

  “We’re closing in on him,” Collins said. “We know where he has been working, and we’ve got his accomplice, Erika Darago, in custody.”

  Charlotte sighed. “I don’t know, Nick. He left those discs there for us to find. And we still don’t know where Francis Eze and Adam Jonah were killed. There was no evidence of blood at the abandoned building, and there should have been.”

  “When we left, the building was crawling with SOCOs. If there’s any evidence there they will find it,” Collins said, but he didn’t sound very confident.

  “We’ve got a link between Joy Barter and Erika Darago. Lucy Sampson said she waited for Joy outside Erika Darago’s block of flats,” Mackinnon said. “I’m willing to bet that Joy Barter’s five grand in cash went to Mr. X via Erika Darago.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “A payment for killing poor Adam Jonah. Of course, Erika Darago never admitted as much. Instead, she promised Mr. X would make sure the spirits got rid of the obstacles in my life.”

  Mackinnon leaned back in his chair and stared up at the fluorescent ceiling lights. “Five grand is not much for a life is it.”

  “We’ve got loads of links to Mr. X. It keeps coming back to him,” Collins said. “But all of that is useless when we don’t know who he is. I mean, Erika Darago tells us she never met him and only kept in contact through the notes left in the abandoned offices, but do we really believe that?”

  DI Tyler entered the incident room and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

  “All right, listen up,” he said. “I’ve just been on the phone to DI Miller at the Met. They got a prime suspect for the latest victim, Mark Fleming.”

  Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing. Tyler glanced down at his notes.

  “The suspect’s name is Eric Madison. He apparently took his dismissal very seriously. He’s been cautioned for leaving a bag of faeces in Fleming’s car. He’s also left threatening letters for Fleming, pushed under his front door. Madison’s fingerprints are all over them, so we’re not dealing with a master criminal here. DI Miller is sure Madison is going to be our weak link in the chain.

  “I’ve sent DI Miller a headshot of Erika Darago. If he recognises her and is prepared to give evidence to the fact he paid her to organise the Fleming murder, it will be a great leap forward.”

  There were murmurs of excitement around the room, but Tyler raised a hand.

  “It’s progress,” he said. “But it’s not enough. We need to find Mr. X. Erika Darago was just a go-between. We’ve got a serial killer for hire out there, and we need to find him fast.”

  Tyler nodded. “All right, what are you all standing around for? Get back to work.”

  Mackinnon smirked. Typical Tyler.

  “Sir?” Charlotte spoke up just as Tyler was turning to leave the room. “Is there any news on Alfie Adebayo?”

  Tyler shook his head. His grey hair flopped forward over his forehead and he shoved it back with one hand. “Not yet.”

  Charlotte nodded and turned her attention back to her computer monitor, chewing on a thumbnail.

  She was nervous and had good reason to be, Mackinnon thought. There was a good chance Alfie may have seen Joy Barter and Eric Madison coming to the flat to talk to his aunt.

  What Mackinnon couldn’t understand was how all this related to Francis Eze. Who would hire a hit on a twelve-year old boy?

  Mackinnon looked at his watch. He should be knocking off duty in ten minutes, but he didn’t imagine he’d be getting home anytime soon. He smothered a yawn.

  “I’m going to go to the interview suite,” Mackinnon said. “They should be starting to interview Erika Darago again soon.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Charlotte said.

  By the time they got to the interview suite, the interview was already well underway. Charlotte led the way into the dimly lit viewing area and Mackinnon closed the door behind them. They stood behind the one-way glass.

  In the interview room, Erika Darago looked wild. Her hair, which had been so carefully curled earlier, was now in disarray, and her eye makeup was smudged, making her eyes look even bigger.

  “It’s the spirits,” she said. “Not me. It’s not murder if I don’t do it, is it?”

  “Conspiracy to murder at the very least,” DCI Brookbank said. “Especially the boy. Prison is not a very nice experience for child killers.”

  Erika Darago screeched at him and tugged at her hair. “I don’t know anything about a child. I just took down names, but none of them were children.”

  Brookbank shrugged. “We might be more inclined to believe you if you had a list of the names.”

  Erika Darago stared at the DCI. “You want a list?”

  “We want the names,” Brookbank said, almost growling.

  For a long moment, no one said anything. Mackinnon realised he was holding his breath.

  Erika Darago turned to her solicitor, who whispered in her ear.

  The solicitor adjusted his tie and sat up a little straighter in his chair. “My client would like to talk about doing a deal.”

  “I bet she would,” Charlotte said. She stood next to Mackinnon, her hands clenched in fists at her sides. “She’s a nasty piece of work.”

  Mackinnon stared in at Erika Darago. The bright lights of the interview room reflected off the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

  “Do you think she is lying?” Mackinnon asked. “Do you think she really knows who Mr. X is?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “It could be her husband, Remi Darago. She could be protecting him.”

  “Without knowing the identity of Mr. X, we don’t have the most important piece of the puzzle,” Mackinnon said. “We need to know who this Mr. X is.”

  Charlotte shrugged. “Remi Darago didn’t turn up for his afternoon shift at the shop where he works. He’s gone AWOL. We’ve got an APW out on him now.”

  Inside the interview room, Erika Darago was muttering to her solicitor, whispering in his ear.

  “Do you two need some time alone?” Brookbank’s tone was cutting.

  The solicitor swallowed, and his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  “No, thank you,” the solicitor said. “My client is prepared to give you the list.”

  “Where is it?” Brookbank asked.

  Officers and the SOCO team had been through Erika and Remi Darago’s flat with a fine tooth comb, but they hadn’t found a list.

  Erika Darago lifted her index finger to the side of her head and tapped on her temple with a long red fingernail.

  “It’s all up here,” she said. Her eyes narrowed as she smiled.

  That was good. If she’d memorised the list, hopefully that meant it was short. They’d found three bodies, Francis Eze, Adam Jonah and Mark Fleming, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more out there.

  Brookbank pushed a sheet of blank A4 paper across the desk. He uncapped a pen and set it down on top of the paper. “Write down the names.”

  As Erika Darago picked up the pen, Mackinnon felt his mobile vibrate in his jacket pocket. He fished it out.
Tyler’s name flashed on the screen.

  Mackinnon looked back at the one-way mirror regretfully. As interesting as this was, he had work to do, and DI Tyler obviously wanted him to get back to the incident room.

  “It’s Tyler,” Mackinnon said to Charlotte. “We better get back.”

  Mackinnon didn’t answer the call. The viewing area wasn’t completely soundproof. Instead he and Charlotte took the stairs two at a time, and found Tyler in the incident room, standing beside Collins’s desk.

  Mackinnon, Tyler and Charlotte were mulling over the possibility that Remi Darago was their Mr. X, when DCI Brookbank burst into the room.

  He held up a sheet of white paper.

  “We’ve got the list from Erika Darago,” he said, but he didn’t look jubilant or even vaguely pleased.

  He looked nervous.

  Mackinnon felt his chest tighten. What had happened?

  “Francis Eze isn’t on it, but we’ve got Adam Jonah and Mark Fleming.”

  There were celebratory shouts and slaps on the back around the incident room, but Mackinnon stayed still, staring at Brookbank.

  He knew something else was coming.

  Then Brookbank dropped his bombshell.

  “The trouble is,” Brookbank said. “There’s a new name on the end of the list.”

  The incident room fell silent.

  Brookbank paused, and he turned his head, making sure he had the attention of everyone in the room.

  Mackinnon felt the weight of Brookbank’s gaze.

  “It’s a woman. We need to find her fast.”

  32

  ALFIE SAT IN A doorway, opposite the block of flats, bundled up in his coat.

  It was getting dark, but there was still a police car outside Manor Park House, which was good. That meant they were taking it seriously. Hopefully the police would take away his aunt and uncle for good and punish Mr. X for what he did to Francis.

  It was getting cold now. Alfie tightened the coat around him, pulling the zipper up right to his chin, and buried the lower half of his face in the collar so the warmth of his breath warmed his body.

  He’d bought a packet of custard creams for eighty pence, and a carton of chocolate milk from the corner shop, but he’d polished those off an hour ago. He really wanted something warm to eat, but he didn’t have enough money left for chips.

  He knew there must be police inside Manor Park House, but he hadn’t seen the woman he’d spoken to earlier.

  She’d told him her name was Charlotte, but he didn’t know her last name. Alfie looked up at the block of flats, his aunt and uncle’s flat was now dark. Maybe the police had finished in there, but then why was the squad car still outside?

  Alfie was scared. If Charlotte had been there, he might have gone to her and told her everything, but the two officers Alfie had seen leaving the squad car were two big burly men who reminded him of Mr. Xander, and Alfie didn’t want to talk to them.

  He wasn’t even sure if they’d found his uncle yet. Alfie had kept a close watch to see if his Uncle Remi had returned from work, but he hadn’t seen him. He knew the police had Aunt Erika, but what if they didn’t believe Uncle Remi was involved?

  What if the police made him go home with Uncle Remi? Alfie shuddered.

  He’d gone to see the Oracle, hoping the old man could help him get in touch with his grandmother, but the Oracle had been busy with a ritual, and Alfie didn’t want to talk to him with all those people around. Still, he was glad he’d gone. If he hadn’t, he would never have met Charlotte and his aunt would still have been at home.

  Maybe he could ask the police if he could go and live with his grandmother again. If Alfie promised to be on his best behaviour and not get into any more trouble, she might take him back.

  Alfie rummaged through the empty packet of biscuits, scraping his finger along the plastic wrapper to collect the crumbs and then licking them off his fingers.

  He needed someone he could trust. Someone who could help him.

  He still didn’t have any credit on his mobile phone, so he couldn’t phone his grandmother. There had to be someone who could help him within walking distance.

  Alfie thought about the female police officer, Charlotte, but he didn’t even know which station the female officer worked at. She could be anywhere.

  Alfie didn’t have a choice. There was only one other person he could think of.

  Alfie stood up and dusted the biscuit crumbs off the front of his coat. He picked up his empty carton of chocolate milk and stuffed the empty biscuit wrapper inside.

  Carefully peering out to make sure that the police were still inside the building, and they weren’t going to see him, Alfie came out of his little hiding place by the doorway and clambered down the steps.

  He knew exactly where he was going. He walked the same route to school every morning.

  He would go to Mr. Xander’s house. He might be a bit strict, but Mr. Xander was a teacher. It was his job to look after kids.

  Surely, he’d be able to help.

  33

  GERMAINE OKORO GOT UP stiffly from his armchair. He’d been sitting in the same position for hours, trying to decide on the best course of action.

  He’d promised the police officer that as soon as he had any information about the identity of Mr. X, he’d be in touch.

  But at the time he had no idea what he would find. He hadn’t realised how damaging this could be to his family, and the wider community. The information was explosive, and it would send shockwaves through the congregation. That’s why he couldn’t act before he was absolutely certain he had all the facts.

  Germaine Okoro tried to be a good man. Since the death of his wife, ten years ago, he’d brought Kwame up as a single parent. It hadn’t been easy. He missed his wife every day.

  He walked across to the mantelpiece and picked up a framed photograph of his wife.

  “What should I do, Gloria?” he muttered.

  The Oracle was supposed to be a leader. He was meant to be a guide to his followers, but who would help him?

  He had performed a ritual, calling on the spirits for guidance, but for the first time in his life, they had failed him.

  As an Oracle, he wasn’t used to feeling so confused and lost. He was supposed to have confidence in his actions.

  Normally, the spirits were there to guide him and show him the right path. But today they were silent. He had never felt so alone in his life.

  He looked at the photograph of Gloria again. It didn’t get any easier. He wished she was here, so they could talk things through.

  He took a deep breath and asked himself: What would Gloria do?

  And suddenly, he knew.

  He ran a thumb over the silver picture frame and set it back down.

  He knew exactly what he needed to do. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was the right path.

  He walked out into the hallway and stood beside the little telephone table. He opened the drawer of the telephone table and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for: the card he’d been given by DC Charlotte Brown of the City of London Police.

  Germaine’s hand shook slightly as he dialled.

  The phone was answered by a male voice, who told him that DC Brown was otherwise engaged and asked him if he would like to leave a name and a message.

  Germaine Okoro gazed at the ceiling. He could feel his confidence ebbing away. He needed to speak to somebody now, or his courage and conviction would fail completely.

  “I really need to speak to someone,” Germaine said. “It’s quite urgent.”

  The man on the phone took down Germaine’s details and asked him to hold for a moment. He said he was going to try and find someone Germaine could speak to.

  For the longest ninety seconds of his life, Germaine stood in his hallway and listened to the static silence on the other end of the line.

  Perhaps this was a sign from the spirits. Perhaps he shouldn’t speak to the police?

  Germaine’s grip on
the telephone slackened, and he was about to lower the receiver when a male voice spoke up.

  “Mr. Okoro? This is DS Mackinnon. I understand you wanted to speak to Charlotte. I’m afraid she is occupied at the moment. Can I help?”

  Germaine Okoro remembered Mackinnon. He was the tall police officer, who’d come to see him at the start of the investigation. Yes, Germaine thought, he would do.

  “Yes,” Germaine said. “I’d like to speak to you. It’s a bit complicated to explain over the phone, but I think I know who this Mr. X is.”

  “Can you tell me now?”

  Germaine could hear the urgency in Mackinnon’s voice.

  “The thing is,” Germaine Okoro said. “It’s very complicated, and I don’t really have any proof.”

  There was a sharp clunk in the kitchen followed by a rustle.

  Germaine Okoro frowned. What was that? There was nobody else in the house. Kwame was supposed to be at college.

  He put a hand over the lower part of the receiver and took a step towards the kitchen, but he didn’t hear anything else.

  DS Mackinnon was talking at him down the phone, but Germaine was distracted by another rustle.

  “I’m sorry,” Germaine said. “I have to go now, but if you could come round soon, I’ll be happy to tell you what I know.”

  The Oracle didn’t wait for an answer and hung up the phone.

  “Kwame?” he called. “Is that you?”

  He put a hand on the kitchen door and gently eased it open.

  The kitchen was empty. He took another step forward, shaking his head. He was getting jumpy, imagining things, but that was hardly surprising given the circumstances.

  That’s funny, Germaine thought. A red velvet pouch sat on the kitchen counter. How odd.

  Germaine reached out to pick up the pouch, but before he could, he felt a hand grasp a handful of his hair, shoving his head backwards and exposing his throat.

  Germaine Okoro saw the flash of a blade. He noticed the handle—dark wood, with a notch in the side. It was the one he used for sacrificing chickens. It was a ritual knife.