by Helen Fields
‘The Children of the Word,’ Lydia shouted suddenly, bolting for the kitchen. Tripp was texting the information through to the incident room as she rushed back and dropped to her knees, furiously squirting carpet cleaner and rubbing the stain.
‘We hire a chapel from an old private estate, Kirkbancroft. I think technically it was deconsecrated, but we’re allowed to use it at weekends. You won’t say it was me who told you? I don’t want to be asked to leave.’ Lydia sniffed.
‘When did you realise that you were linked to two of the victims?’ Tripp asked.
‘I was never certain. People whispered things, of course, but I’m not in the circle as I’m so new. I’m allowed to attend services and celebrations, and to help with our group’s community work, but I don’t know much about the other members. We’re not allowed to socialise except at agreed functions, to discourage distractions and cliques. All I knew was that Christopher and Elsa Myers hadn’t been arrested. They were still at church every Sunday, so even when I thought it was a bit of a coincidence, it didn’t seem to me that it was relevant.’ She inspected the former tea stain closely, blowing on the damp spot on the carpet then peeling off her rubber gloves.
‘So the link between you and the Myers family is purely coincidental,’ Callanach said. ‘I understand that. But we believe there may be a link between your church group and Lorna Shaw. At the moment you’re the only person with connections to both. Can you explain that?’
‘You can’t believe that someone in my group hurt Lorna. We do unpaid work in the community. We raise money for homeless shelters and orphanages in third world countries. What you’re suggesting is ridiculous. No one I know would hurt young women like that,’ she said, gripping her knees where she knelt, rocking back and forward as she spoke.
‘Lydia, did you talk to anyone at church about Lorna? About her history and her problems?’ Callanach asked. Lydia leaned down over the now non-existent carpet stain, poking the strands with her finger to see if she could find any remnant of the drip of tea. ‘Nurse McMahon, have you discussed Lorna with anyone at all outside the mother and baby unit?’ he persisted.
‘I’ll get fired,’ she whispered.
‘Withholding information from us is much more serious than getting fired,’ Callanach said. ‘Have you ever been inside a prison? Even in women’s prisons, the facilities are all shared. There are toilets in each cell, but you won’t have access to cleaning materials. The shower blocks are used for all sorts of purposes other than actually washing. People secrete drugs in their body cavities, they do trades – usually sex for cigarettes – and the prison food is cooked and served by people you don’t know who probably don’t share your love of good hygiene.’
‘Sir, I don’t think …’ Tripp muttered.
Lydia gagged, clutching her stomach, regaining control just before she was actually sick.
‘I think it’s only fair to let Nurse McMahon know just how serious this is,’ Callanach said. ‘How do you cope working as a nurse when you react this badly to the thought of spreading bacteria?’
‘It’s all right if I can clean it up,’ she whispered. ‘As long as I can scrub my hands with hot water. I didn’t hurt Lorna Shaw. I’d never have done anything to hurt her. I prayed for her just like I said I would.’
‘Who did you talk to?’ Callanach asked again.
‘I dedicated my sinner’s prayer to her in church,’ Lydia said, keeping her face low. ‘Each week, we all talk about someone we’ve encountered who has broken God’s laws. We discuss their transgressions, explain how the devil found his way into their heart and how we think they need to be saved. Then we pray for them, as a group. But we do it to save people, through God’s love. We hold their names in our hearts and we ask God’s forgiveness and for Him to intervene in their life.’
‘I’m afraid someone other than God might have intervened on this occasion. We’ll need the names of everyone in your church group. How many are there?’ Callanach asked.
‘Am I in trouble?’ Lydia asked.
‘You won’t be, as long as you give us all the information we need. Is there anyone called Sam or Samuel in your group?’ Tripp asked.
‘Not that I’ve met or heard of,’ she replied, shaking her head.
‘Who’s the group leader?’ Callanach asked.
‘We call him our shepherd. His name is Vince Ashton. He lives in West Calder, not far from the chapel. I can give you his address. It’s on my mobile. I’ll get it for you.’
‘Tripp will go with you,’ Callanach said, ‘and we’ll have officers remain with you for the rest of the day. You can’t phone anyone from your church about this, Lydia. Whatever rules your group has, whatever duty to your shepherd, this comes first.’ She flushed as Callanach spoke, and looked away from him out of the newly cleaned windows. ‘In case I need to remind you, you don’t want to end up in a prison cell with two or three other women, locked up for twenty hours a day, do you?’
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head in the direction of the pristine carpet.
‘Good,’ Callanach replied. ‘We need that address quickly. Then we’ll let you get back to your cleaning. One last thing.’ He pulled a printout of a still taken from the shopping mall CCTV footage from his pocket. ‘Do you recognise this man?’
Lydia looked closely, shrugged her shoulders. ‘No, not at all,’ she said. ‘Should I?’
The road to West Calder was icy. Callanach messaged Ava as Tripp drove.
‘You were tough on her,’ Tripp said.
‘Do you think so? You might feel differently if you’d been to Durham to speak with Kate Bailey’s parents,’ Callanach said.
‘But Lydia McMahon is just a victim of her own good intentions. Was it necessary to use her own psychological condition against her?’ Tripp asked quietly.
‘Honestly? Yes. For expediency. If we’d had more time, I might have been gentler, but well intentioned or not, her indiscretion might well have made Lorna Shaw a target,’ Callanach said.
‘I think Nurse McMahon might spend the rest of her life coming to terms with that,’ Tripp said. ‘Isn’t that punishment enough?’
‘Lorna Shaw bled to death on a road outside a recycling centre having had two large sections of her skin cut away. If the people who let that happen spend the next few years with sleepless nights, then it seems a small price to pay. Good policing is about using whatever is available to you at the time to move an investigation forward. Would you grab a man by the neck and shove him against a wall if it meant you could save a life?’ Callanach asked.
‘If I believed it was necessary,’ Tripp said.
‘What I did to Nurse McMahon is exactly the same, only without the violence. Good and bad rarely come in conveniently labelled packages. Is Lydia a bad person? No, I don’t think so. But was she judgmental, even with good intentions? Yes. Did she break the rules at work designed to protect those in her care, so she could share a judgment she had already made about someone else’s life? Yes. Does her faith justify that sort of behaviour, irrespective of what happened to Lorna afterwards? I don’t believe so. I haven’t walked a mile in Lydia McMahon’s shoes. I don’t know what in her life has left her so insecure, so desperate for guidance from others, but I do know a lot about what Lorna went through, and I know that no one else had the right to brand her a sinner. Not at any stage of her life. I just can’t get my head round any religion that believes it has the right to judge others.’
They drove on in silence until Callanach’s mobile rang. He glanced at the screen and answered when he saw it was Ben Paulson, the hacker he’d used to break into the SugarPa site.
‘Luc, I’ve got something you might be interested in.’
‘I’m in the middle of something,’ Callanach said. ‘I’m going to text you the number of a colleague. He’ll deal with it immediately, and thanks Ben. That’s twice you’ve helped in the last week. I won’t forget it.’
‘You can tell DCI Turner that I’ll accept payment for this last
job. I am running a business here, after all. We can call it a buy one, get one free arrangement,’ he joked.
‘You’ll have to bill me then,’ Callanach said. ‘Ava Turner has nothing to do with this, and that’s the way I’d prefer to keep it.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Ava was waiting in the driveway for Christopher and Elsa Myers when they drove in from an after-work supermarket trip. She flashed her ID, forsaking any small talk.
‘I need to get the freezer food inside,’ Christopher said. ‘It’ll start to defrost otherwise.’
‘Christopher, it’s about Zoey,’ Elsa said softly.
‘This’ll only take a minute,’ he said. Ava watched him walk inside as she waited with Zoey’s mother on the drive.
‘Has your husband been supportive?’ Ava asked. ‘I can’t imagine how you’ve coped with what Zoey went through.’
‘Christopher thinks it’s better not to dwell on it too much. He didn’t give me all the details. I decided it was better not to know, and I avoid the television and newspapers,’ Elsa said, waiting for her husband to reappear, wringing her hands.
‘But you know there were other victims. Do you know there’s another girl missing at the moment? We’re afraid that if we don’t find her soon, she’ll be murdered too,’ Ava said.
‘Now, DCI Turner, I suppose you’d like to come in,’ Christopher Myers said.
Ava nodded. ‘After you, Mrs Myers,’ she said, motioning for Elsa to move towards the door.
‘That won’t be necessary. My wife can put the dry goods away. Whatever it is you need to tell us can go through me. Elsa’s been through more than enough,’ Christopher said.
‘I need to speak with you both, Mr Myers,’ Ava replied. ‘I need to ask questions rather than giving you information, so we can do this together or I’ll speak with you and your wife separately, whichever you’d prefer.’
‘Are we being accused of some wrongdoing again, Detective Turner, only we provided full alibi information and were told our lives would go back to normal,’ Christopher said.
‘Back to normal? Mrs Myers’ daughter was murdered. Zoey’s body has not yet been released for a funeral. The man who killed her has not yet been apprehended. Your life has gone back to normal, Mr Myers? I find that extremely disturbing,’ Ava responded, taking a step closer to Christopher.
Elsa Myers stepped between the two of them, putting a delicate hand on her husband’s forearm. ‘That’s okay. We’ll talk to you together. I’m strong enough for that. Won’t you come in?’
They sat in the lounge, Ava choosing the central seat on the only sofa to keep the Myers from huddling up together. They took an armchair each, Elsa perching on the edge of hers, hands folded in her lap, Christopher throwing himself backwards in the cushions and folding his legs.
‘The community fete you were at when Zoey was taken, can you explain who organised that?’
‘It was a fundraiser, to send money to an orphanage in Nairobi,’ Christopher Myers said. ‘It’s an annual event. This year we raised more than two thousand pounds.’
‘That’s admirable, but I asked who organised it,’ Ava said, looking at Elsa instead.
‘It’s a church event,’ Elsa replied. ‘We always help. Sometimes we run the barbecue, or maybe the bouncy castle. This year I baked for the cake stall too, and I helped set up the sweet stand.’
‘Which church organised it?’ Ava asked.
‘Forgive me, but I think I’m right in saying that your questions should be relevant. Would you like to explain where this is going?’ Christopher asked.
‘Of course,’ Ava said calmly. ‘We have reason to believe that Zoey’s killer has a link to a religious group. It came to our attention that you are members of a church, and we realised in checking your alibi that we didn’t know very much about the event itself.’
‘Why would you think our church has anything to do with what happened to Zoey?’ Elsa asked.
‘There are religious overtones to the crime itself. In addition, the second victim also knew someone who was present at the community fete. It’s the only link between the victims that we’ve identified so far, so we’re following it up.’
‘Our church is very private,’ Christopher said. ‘Its members value their privacy. As has forever been the case, being outwardly religious can lead to all sorts of persecution. I can assure you, our church has nothing whatsoever to do with what happened to Zoey.’
‘You can’t be sure of that,’ Elsa Myers whispered.
Christopher’s eyes widened briefly, and he sat forward. ‘This is upsetting you, Elsa. I knew it would. DCI Turner, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’
‘Did either of you ask for prayers to be said for Zoey?’ Ava asked. ‘Did you tell the rest of your group that she had sinned? Or did you feel that Zoey telling people you’d been violent to her, was worthy of punishment?’
‘If you don’t leave immediately, I will take matters into my own hands. You are no longer welcome in my home and I regard you as a trespasser,’ Christopher said.
‘You’ll take matters into your own hands how, Mr Myers? The same way you did with Zoey?’
‘Christopher, please don’t,’ Elsa whispered.
‘Elsa, get upstairs to the bedroom,’ he growled.
‘I still have questions for Mrs Myers,’ Ava said. ‘Do I really need to call a backup unit, Mr Myers? I’m just trying to solve the question of who murdered your stepdaughter.’
‘Our church group is the Children of the Word. We’ve worshipped there for a number of years. They’re good people. I don’t believe any of them would be involved in hurting my daughter,’ Elsa said.
Christopher glared at her, but Elsa was looking Ava straight in the eyes.
‘Did you ever believe you would end up living with a man who hit your daughter, and that you’d do absolutely nothing to protect her?’ Ava asked.
‘You little bitch.’ Christopher rammed forward, raising a hand in the air. Elsa jumped backwards, closing her hands over her face, as Ava stepped into Christopher’s chest, making the move she knew he would least expect. She brought her elbow up – hard – into the soft skin beneath his chin, then levelled her arm out to a horizontal position and pinned him against the wall with her forearm crushing his Adam’s apple.
‘That was a mistake,’ Ava said. ‘I advise you not to attempt to assault me again.’
‘I’m going to have you fired,’ he gurgled, his breath a strangulated whisper.
‘Did you talk about Zoey at church? Did you tell the group her name and accuse her of sinning?’
‘Fuck you,’ Christopher Myers said.
‘Mr Myers, you are under arrest for attempted assault of a police officer. I require you to cease resisting, turn around and allow yourself to be handcuffed. Failure to do so will mean that additional charges will be brought against you.’
‘Please don’t,’ Elsa cried. ‘You’ll make it worse …’
‘Who knew about the conflict between you and Zoey within your church?’ Ava asked.
‘Everyone!’ Elsa shouted. ‘We prayed for her regularly. We prayed that she’d come home. We prayed that she would find God.’
‘We prayed that the little cunt would stop spreading filth and lies and learn her place,’ Christopher said.
Ava stepped away from him. ‘Filth and lies? Is that what you told your church group? And you, Mrs Myers, did you stand by and let your husband accuse your daughter of being a sinner? Or did you call him out for the untruths he was telling to the people gathered supposedly in the sight of God?’
Elsa began to cry, one hand over her mouth, sobbing louder as she sank to the floor. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I want to know who killed her. I want to know what happened. It’s all my fault, like everything else that happened to her.’
‘No,’ Ava said, ‘it’s not your fault, Mrs Myers. No one chooses this. I need you to look at a photo for me and tell me if you recognise this man.’ She pulled out the same C
CTV image Callanach had shown to Lydia McMahon. Elsa looked hard at it, peering closer, then shook her head. ‘No … I wish I did … I would help you. Truly. But I’ve never seen that man before in my life.’
Ava sighed. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I believe you. Mr Myers?’ Christopher Myers looked at the photo, frowned and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fine,’ Ava said. ‘Mrs Myers, this is down to you. I can arrest your husband and have him removed from your home, or you can carry on leading the same life you have for the last decade or more. I won’t force change upon you. It doesn’t work like that.’
‘You need to leave now,’ Christopher Myers said grimly. ‘I told you right at the start, this was nothing to do with us.’
‘But it was!’ Elsa Myers screeched. ‘All those things you said about Zoey, the number of times you claimed she was touched by the devil, that you’d been a father above reproach. You stood there in our church and you made all those people feel sorry for you. You said … you said Zoey needed to be taught a lesson. How can this possibly not be our fault?’
‘Don’t you dare speak against me,’ Christopher said. ‘I’ve provided you with a home, with food, put clothes on your back. I’ve been your family when your children deserted you—’
‘Because you beat them! They left because you hit them and belittled them, you called them names and you punished them endlessly. You drove them away from me!’ she screamed.
‘Mrs Myers?’ Ava asked.
‘Take him away,’ she sobbed. ‘I’ll give you a statement. Violence to Zoey and to me … whatever you need. Just get him out of this house. I never want to see him again.’ She turned to the wall, wailing into the flowery wallpaper.
Ava looked at her husband. ‘Christopher Myers, I am arresting you on suspicion of assault. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
‘This won’t go to court,’ he said, smirking. ‘She’ll change her mind. She’s pathetic. And you’ll be out of a job by tomorrow. I have a good lawyer and he knows people—’