by Helen Fields
‘Mr Myers, spare me it,’ Ava said quietly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, this is my last week in the job anyway, and if the last thing I do is to get you out of this house, then it will be my lasting pleasure.’ She turned him round and drew his wrists together, fastening them with handcuffs. ‘We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes, Mrs Myers. My officers will attend and I’m going to need you to give them a statement about everything that happened at your church group. I want a full list of names of other group members, with addresses where you know them. Do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ Elsa Myers whispered. ‘Thank you. I might never have done this otherwise.’
Callanach and Tripp pulled up outside Vince Ashton’s semi-detached house and watched Lydia’s so-called shepherd guffawing at the television through the window of his front room. A yellow car was parked on the driveway and the road was quiet. West Calder was a relatively sleepy outlying town, that had insufficient to offer in terms of night-life for there to ever be any serious trouble. Until now. Caroline Ryan was still alive. Callanach was certain of it. Ava had just called to update them on the Christopher Myers situation. His wife, Elsa, had agreed to remain with uniformed officers to ensure that she had no contact with anyone from the church until every possible witness had been spoken to. The main problem was the length of the list of church members. If they had to go through each one individually, it would take days, and they couldn’t afford to have any of them notifying the others. If the killer got spooked, the most likely course of action was that Caroline would be murdered immediately and her body dumped.
Two other cars pulled up. One parked across the street from Callanach and the other diverted down a side road. Those officers would be covering Vince Ashton’s back door in case he decided he didn’t want Callanach poking around inside the Children of the Word’s business.
Callanach took a deep breath. This was their best chance at finding Caroline Ryan alive. If the trail ran cold again this time, they would simply be waiting for another mutilated young woman to be left at the roadside. It didn’t bear thinking about.
‘Mr Ashton?’ Tripp asked the balding fifty-something who appeared at the door. ‘We’re from Police Scotland’s Major Investigation Team. Could we have a word?’
‘Of course, come on in out of the cold,’ Vince Ashton said. ‘Make yourselves comfortable, gentlemen. Can I fetch you tea or coffee? I think I have hot chocolate if that’s your thing.’
‘No, thank you,’ Tripp said. ‘Is there anyone else at home?’
‘I’m afraid not. It’s just me. I’ve been alone for many years now. The Lord did not see fit to bless me with a second wife after my divorce.’ He motioned towards a greying leather sofa.
‘Mr Ashton …’ Callanach began.
‘Please, call me Vince.’
‘We understand you’re responsible for a church group called the Children of the Word. Is that correct?’
‘I am the shepherd of that flock, yes, though I’m afraid saying that I am responsible for it may be promoting me too high.’ Ashton smiled. ‘Only God is responsible for the souls in our precious group.’
‘Christopher and Elsa Myers have been members of your congregation for some years, is that correct?’ Callanach asked.
‘I don’t deal in names, I’m afraid. Part of our rules is that we protect our privacy. It takes a long time to gain one another’s confidence. You have to rise through each circle of the group in order to get to know one another better.’
‘I’ve heard about the rules, Mr Ashton, but this is a criminal investigation and you providing names is non-negotiable,’ Callanach snapped. ‘Did you know that Christopher Myers’ stepdaughter, Zoey, was the victim of a murder? Her body was found on Torduff Road three weeks ago.’
‘It pained me a great deal,’ Ashton said. ‘We had prayed for the girl many times. Alas, God’s grace cannot enter where there is no willingness to allow him in. I spoke with Christopher and Elsa about their loss. Of course, their daughter had been a stranger to them for some time prior to the tragedy.’
‘And did you know that another of your group members – Lydia McMahon – worked in the mother and baby unit from which the second victim was selected? She also died at a roadside, a week after Zoey. Both young women were mutilated. They bled to death. There is an indication that their perceived sinful behaviour had made them suitable targets for the killer,’ Callanach said.
‘Goodness me, what a terrible job you have. It never struck me until today, the sort of world the police are mired in. Are you weary of it? I’m not sure I could tolerate such a bleak existence. As a church member, I spend my time looking for the good in people.’
‘What about Lydia McMahon? How long has she been a member of your flock?’ Tripp asked.
‘She’s only just out of the probationary period, so to speak. We assess people, to find out how committed and disciplined they are. A group like ours doesn’t work properly unless every member turns up each week without fail, including attending all our community activities. There are Bible study classes also. Too many religions allow their congregation to simply pay lip service to their beliefs once a week for an hour. We are more demanding, but then there is greater fulfilment.’
‘DC Tripp asked you about Lydia McMahon,’ Callanach interrupted.
‘Quite so. She’s been with us a few months. Nice woman. Intent upon bettering herself. Is she implicated in the case you’re investigating?’
‘She asked your church group to pray for a young woman called Lorna Shaw, sharing details of her past life using drugs and falling in with desperate people. Lorna turned out to be the second victim. So you see, both girls were mentioned in your church and, it appears, labelled as sinners. Thereafter both girls ended up dead.’
‘Forgive me, but I was under the impression that there were other victims. Are those women also linked to the activities of my flock?’ Ashton asked, lifting his chin and folding his hands in his lap.
‘We haven’t found a connection yet, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t one,’ Callanach said. ‘More importantly, whoever the killer is, he quoted Bible scripture, so he appears to be someone with heavy religious leanings.’
‘It seems to me that what we have here is a very unfortunate, very sad coincidence. The tragedy suffered by one of our own families is bad enough, but for your case to be linked to another of our worshippers, albeit in a rather obscure manner, is distressing. Do either of you have any particular beliefs? If so, I think this would be an opportune moment to seek comfort from our Lord.’ Ashton bowed his head.
‘I’m more concerned with the earthly safety of a young woman than with the need to seek comfort from a deity right now,’ Callanach said. ‘Do you recognise this man?’ Once again, Callanach presented the printout.
‘I do not,’ Ashton said. ‘Perhaps you are mistaken that the responsible party is a member of our group.’
‘How many members of your group are non-Caucasian?’ Tripp asked as Callanach slid the photograph back in his pocket.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Ashton asked.
‘I’m just curious about the sociological makeup of your worshippers. Are there any racial minorities in your congregation?’ Tripp continued.
‘We’re a relatively small group, so I wouldn’t expect our members to constitute a full cross-section of society,’ Ashton said. ‘Frankly, this is rather offensive.’
‘Why? You’ve not been accused of anything. It’s a simple question,’ Callanach said.
‘One I choose not to answer, thank you very much. There is an unpleasant implication behind it,’ Ashton replied.
‘Not at all, but perhaps you can help us with this passage. I believe it’s from Daniel, chapter two, verse forty-three. “As you saw the iron mixed with soft clay, so they will mix with one another in marriage, but they will not hold together, just as iron does not mix with clay.” I’m not sure I understand the context. What does the passage refer to?’ Callanach asked.
‘Th
ere are a variety of interpretations, like most biblical passages. That verse may reference people marrying from different religions, for example.’
‘Do you discourage your flock from marrying outsiders?’ Tripp asked.
‘Plenty of religions, Constable, feel it is better if their followers marry others of the same belief system. We are not alone in that,’ Ashton said, colour rising in his cheeks.
‘And how do you feel about your followers marrying people of a different culture or race? Is that an issue?’ Callanach asked.
‘I’m not lowering myself to respond to that. We are a Christian body. You plainly do not understand what that means.’
‘But it is one possible interpretation of the passage from Daniel, isn’t it? Other less mainstream churches have adopted it in the past as an excuse to denounce interracial marriage,’ Callanach said.
‘I’ve done my best to help you, officers. I’m afraid, though, your questions have become unacceptable. If you require further information, it will have to be submitted in writing to my solicitor. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s getting late.’ He stood up.
Callanach remained seated in the armchair. ‘Sit down, Mr Ashton. At the moment, your church group, or your flock, however you think of it, is a key factor in this investigation. I have a few more questions, and I’m not done yet. You hire your chapel from a private estate. Does it have a font?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Ashton frowned. ‘It’s a sixteenth-century building, originally. We use it on Saturdays for Bible study and on Sundays for services.’
‘Does the font have water in it all the time?’ Tripp asked.
‘Occasionally. We can’t leave the water sitting for too long. It’s a health hazard.’
‘Are there any other buildings on the estate that you have access to? A garage, for example?’ Tripp asked.
‘None at all. What use would we make of it?’ Ashton looked bemused.
‘Any number of things,’ Callanach muttered. ‘We need to visit the chapel. Tripp, have a forensics team meet us there, and make sure someone from the incident room has notified the landowner in advance. Mr Ashton, I assume you have a key?’
‘I can arrange to pick it up from the estate owner,’ he replied.
It was 10.24 p.m.
Chapter Forty
‘Okay. You go straight to the chapel. I’ve just finished making my statement regarding Christopher Myers, and I’m liaising with the officers with Elsa who are preparing a list of the other church members. Did Vince Ashton appear to be telling the truth when he said he didn’t recognise the man in the photograph?’ Ava asked.
‘I think so,’ Callanach replied. ‘What about Elsa Myers?’
‘Same goes for her. I didn’t see any sign that she was lying and I don’t think her husband was either. He was almost smug when he realised he didn’t recognise the man in the photo.’
‘I hope this isn’t another false lead. How can the killer know what’s being discussed in the church group if he’s not a part of it?’ Callanach asked.
‘I don’t know, but at the moment this is all we have to go on. Keep in touch overnight. See what forensics can get from the scene. I’ll update the officers in the incident room. Tomorrow morning we’ll have to start going through the members of the congregation one by one, and given the number of names on the list, that’s going to take a couple of days, even if we send out multiple teams.’ There was a knock at her door. ‘Luc, I’m wanted. Let’s speak later.’
Pax Graham appeared, his hair long around his face, wearing jeans and a rugby shirt.
‘Are you off duty or undercover?’ she asked.
‘I was at home. Someone put this under my door,’ he said. ‘I thought you should see it.’
Ava took the sheet of paper from his hands. It was a schedule. Dates, times, phone numbers and a series of text messages. At the bottom of the page were notes.
‘All text messages were deleted upon either sending or receipt, but were still within the retrievable time limit,’ Ava read. ‘OD is Oliver Davenport … DS Graham, I shouldn’t be reading this. The police board has removed me from the investigation. You’ll have to take it to Superintendent Overbeck.’
‘I can’t,’ he said, smiling. ‘There’s absolutely no chance this information was obtained legally. If I take it to the super, it’s going to raise questions I don’t have answers to. At best it’ll be ignored. At worst, there’ll be an investigation into how it was acquired.’
‘Damn it,’ Ava muttered, reading on down the page. ‘NAC is Noah Alby-Croft. EP is Elizabeth Prestwick. I haven’t come across her before. So Oliver texted Elizabeth saying he needed to talk. She said she was busy. He texted back saying it was urgent and that he needed help. She asks what’s wrong. He said “we did something” and “I’m scared”. Hold on, is this the same date as …?’
‘It’s the same date as the third assault, when Melanie Long died. Time-wise, the texts would have been sent about an hour later,’ DS Graham said.
‘After Oliver Davenport got home,’ Ava said. ‘Elizabeth asks for more details, he says he can’t talk about it on the mobile. It’s pretty clear from these texts that this girl has no idea what he’s referring to. She can’t have been involved.’ Ava continued skimming down the page. ‘They agree to meet early the next day, before school. Is Elizabeth his girlfriend, do you think?’
‘No kisses or anything suggesting more than just a very close friendship. Either way, they meet, then the texts stop. The other interesting one is from Noah Alby-Croft during the afternoon of the Melanie Long murder. They’re having a normal text chat, then Alby-Croft instructs Davenport to swap to a chat app instead, one where the comments are erased within a minute. You can’t retrieve those messages.’
Ava handed the paper back to the detective sergeant. ‘How did you get this?
‘Some kind person slid it under my door. Must have been a police officer, or they couldn’t have got my home address, given how careful I am during undercover ops. I keep myself to myself. No one knows what I do for a living.’
‘And you brought it to me because?’
‘I can’t involve Lively or Salter even though I know they’re handling the case. It’ll implicate them in what is obviously improperly obtained material. You, on the other hand …’
‘I’m already off the case, quite possibly soon to be off the force, so I don’t matter. Is that it?’
‘I was going to say that the impression I got was of a woman who cares more about getting the right result than doing things by the book. I thought you’d want me to protect your squad, too. DS Lively spoke highly of you. We need to speak with the girl. If she has information and we can get her to give a statement, then we’ll have grounds for a warrant. It’ll be easy to establish that we simply went to talk to a known associate of Oliver Davenport’s. No one would ever need know that an illegal communications hack was undertaken. I can’t do it without you, though. The girl’s not going to open up to someone who looks like me.’
Ava stared at him, not certain she agreed. At seventeen, she was pretty sure she’d have been bowled over by Pax Graham. The rugby player physique, massive shoulders, long hair and chiselled highland jaw were the thing of bedroom posters. More of a problem was likely to be Elizabeth Prestwick’s parents. If DS Graham turned up alone at night to speak with their daughter, they’d have either their lawyer or Superintendent Overbeck on the phone in minutes, and that would be the end of any possible break in the case.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘We’ll go. I can spare an hour, but I’ll need to keep my phone on. We’re in the middle of checking out the church we believe the skin doll killer is linked to. We’ll ask Elizabeth’s parents if we can record the interview. She’s under eighteen. It’ll have to be by the book.’
They travelled together, with Graham driving and Ava huddled into the passenger seat. Edinburgh’s streets were quiet and frost had left a sparkling sheen everywhere. The Christmas decorations hadn’t yet put in an app
earance, and the nights were bitterly cold. Even the year-round roadworks didn’t seem to be causing much of a problem, with the tourists all tucked up in their hotels. A few stragglers were out and about. The homeless were nowhere to be seen, either scared into hiding by the stream of attacks or seeking smaller, warmer places than shop doorways. Ava stared out of the window, wondering if this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back and ended with her being fired. The board’s decision had been unequivocal. There was no wiggle room for Ava to claim she hadn’t understood. Yet here she was, pursuing one last lead. There was little doubt in her mind as to where the information had come from. Only one person she knew could have accessed Oliver Davenport’s phone so quickly, and with complete disregard for legal constraints. Callanach’s friend Ben Paulson had helped them before. No doubt his allegiance with Luc had meant that he’d been happy to help again.
‘What would you do if you weren’t a police officer?’ Ava asked DS Graham.
‘There was a time I’d have joined the military. If I had to choose something else now, I’d probably opt for charity work abroad. But undercover ops has meant that I’ve no ties here, save for the country herself. When I’m not working I travel whenever I can, driving north, camping. I’m not sure I could stay away more than a few months at a time. What about you?’
‘No idea,’ Ava said. ‘Policing is all I’ve ever really been interested in. I don’t care about commerce and I certainly couldn’t ever swap to corporate security or private investigation. Farming maybe? Something where I could escape.’
‘Is it really that bad?’ Graham asked. ‘You don’t think Police Scotland would be stupid enough to let one of their best officers go.’
‘I’m pretty sure they’re thinking about me more as one of their greatest liabilities at the moment,’ Ava said. ‘Here we go. Greenhill Gardens. Nice houses. Here’s hoping Elizabeth Prestwick is a little less prepared for our visit than the boys were.’