by Helen Fields
‘Not yet,’ the man said. ‘I have things I need to do.’
It was 7.12 a.m.
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Down there,’ Ava said. ‘There’s a light through the trees. Let’s check it out.’
Callanach swung his car hard left into woodland, down a small dirt track, well hidden by the stormy night’s leaf fall.
The house was small and neat, with well-groomed, low hedges along the front. A red estate car sat outside the garage. Light shone from one upstairs window and from one downstairs room, although the curtains were still drawn in both. The deep blue front door was recently painted, and the brickwork looked meticulously maintained.
‘Hardly the sort of chaos we expect from a serial killer,’ Callanach said as he turned off the engine.
They climbed out, looking for signs of life around them. It was completely silent. The birds had not yet begun to stir and the foxes were already back in their dens. The surrounding trees shielded the house from the road thanks to a bend in the access-way. It was picturesque and idyllic, if you had decided to forsake the commerciality and hustle of modern life without resorting to a distant island.
Ava rang the doorbell, which chimed in a distant room. No one came. She checked her watch. ‘It’s only quarter past seven. I guess Ms Jerome might still be asleep. Shall we go round the back?’
‘One more try,’ Callanach said, stepping forward and knocking hard instead.
The door opened seconds later. A primly dressed woman, complete with apron, smiled at them, looking surprised but delighted by their appearance.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Can I help you? Are you lost? I don’t get many visitors out here.’
‘Ms Rachel Jerome?’ Ava asked her.
‘That’s me,’ the woman said, a slight frown wrinkling her forehead, conflicting with the smile that remained fixed on her face.
‘I’m DCI Turner and this is DI Callanach. May we come in for a moment?’
‘Of course. Come inside, it’s miserable out there. Has something happened? I think this is the first time in my life I’ve had the police at my door.’
‘We understand you’re on the cleaning rota for the Children of the Word church group. Is that right?’ Ava asked.
‘It is indeed. Come and sit yourselves down in the lounge. I’m afraid I haven’t started my baking yet today – my bread doesn’t go into the oven until 8 a.m. – so I’ve little to offer you. A hot drink might warm you up.’
‘No, thank you. And we’ll stay standing. This won’t take long. There’ll be other officers here shortly, too. I’m afraid we suspect a member of the church group in the deaths of three young women and for the kidnapping of another. We’re talking to anyone who had a key to the chapel during the period in which the crimes were committed.’
Rachel Jerome put her hand to her throat. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s awful,’ she said, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Why would you think such a thing?’
‘A number of circumstances indicated a church group member. Do you mind if we conduct a search of your home, Ms Jerome?’ Callanach asked.
‘Be my guest, please,’ she said. ‘You’re welcome to go wherever you need.’
‘Thank you,’ Ava said, walking past her into the hallway, opening cupboard doors as she went, feeling around the back of the walls for hidden doorways. She went towards the kitchen at the rear of the property as Callanach took the stairs.
It was pristine. A series of baking tins hung on one wall and a variety of copper pans swung above the stove. The sink was free of debris and the floor shone. Ava opened a door to find an orderly pantry full of tins and dried foods, enough that shopping could be avoided for several weeks, if not months, should the necessity arise. Flicking though the drawers, she found that each had been assigned a single task – for cooking spoons, tea towels, knives. Not a speck of dust nor a crumb marred any surface or lurked in any corner.
‘Next to godliness,’ Ava muttered to herself as Luc appeared from the hallway.
‘Where’s Ms Jerome?’ he asked.
‘Lounge,’ Ava said, following as he turned and disappeared.
‘Rachel,’ he said. She set down the book she was reading and inclined her head at him. ‘There are three bedrooms. I assume the main one is yours. There’s also what looks like a girl’s room. Whose is that?’
‘My daughter’s,’ she said quietly. ‘Verity left to live in Australia with her boyfriend several years ago. I miss her a great deal. That’s why I keep her room as it was. Sentimental, I know, but …’
‘And the other bedroom? I found a man’s clothes in the wardrobe and a second toothbrush in the bathroom. Are you married?’
‘That would be my brother’s room. He came to live with me years ago. He’s not much of a cook, you see. If I’d left him to his own devices Lord knows what would have become of him.’
‘His name, Ms Jerome?’ Ava asked.
‘Is there a problem, because I really don’t think he would—’
‘His name?’ Callanach repeated.
‘Samson,’ she said brightly. ‘He’s not part of my church group though, so I don’t think he can be the man you’re searching for.’
‘Samson. Not Samuel,’ Ava muttered quietly, raising her eyebrows at Callanach.
‘Does he drive a car?’ Callanach asked, striding towards the front window and looking out into the garden.
‘Yes, of course. Living out here, you couldn’t get by without driving. He’s driven since he was—’
‘Make and colour?’ Ava demanded.
‘Um, a dark old thing, quite big. I’m no good with makes and models, I’m afraid,’ Rachel said apologetically.
‘A minivan?’ Callanach prompted.
‘I guess you could describe it like that. He’s had it for ages. I keep telling him it’s a death trap.’
‘Where is he now, Ms Jerome?’ Ava asked, moving into the corridor to get a view through the rest of the house.
‘Probably walking in the woods. It’s what he does most mornings. He’s a terribly early riser and he tries not to disturb me by banging around in the kitchen. I usually cook him breakfast when I get up.’
‘Where’s his car?’ Callanach asked, peering down the driveway.
‘He keeps it further down the track past the back of the house. I don’t like that messy old thing sitting on the drive. I’m rather a keen housekeeper, as you can see.’
‘Would you take us to the car, Ms Jerome?’ Ava said.
‘Would you not like to wait until the other officers get here, only there’ll be no one to open the door, is what I’m thinking,’ she replied.
‘They’ll find us,’ Ava said. ‘We need to speak with your brother urgently. Let’s go.’ She stepped back to usher Rachel into the hallway.
They left the kitchen via the back door and stepped into the garden. The side gate took them onto a grass driveway. Closer inspection showed that a vehicle had driven through recently, although the majority of the grass had sprung back up.
‘Gosh, it’s been raining cats and dogs out here, I hadn’t realised how soft the ground had become,’ Rachel babbled.
‘Would you mind being quiet please?’ Callanach asked. ‘I’d like to be able to listen.’
‘Oh, yes, sorry. I hadn’t thought about it,’ she replied sweetly.
The trees’ cover was absolute, the daylight not powerful enough to light the natural tunnel. Ava took a torch from her pocket to check to each side as they walked.
‘It’s a long way through the woods. Why would he park his van all the way back here?’ Ava asked Rachel as they walked.
‘He has greenhouses,’ Rachel explained. ‘He often goes to buy compost, tools or plants so it makes more sense to drive it to the door than carry it, I suppose. To be honest, I don’t come out here. The kitchen is my domain. I leave him to freeze in the outdoors on his own. I think he likes the quiet, too. It’s hard living in the same house as someone else and being under their feet all day. This way, w
e have something to talk to one another about in the evenings.’
The scream pierced the canopy, sending birds up in its wake and startling small rodents in the undergrowth.
‘Go straight back to your house and stay indoors,’ Ava ordered Rachel. ‘When the other officers arrive, direct them towards the greenhouses.’
They began to sprint along the pathway. Ava threw her torch down as the greenhouses came into view.
‘I’ll go to the back,’ Callanach said.
‘Don’t bother. There’ll only be one entrance. We’ll have to go in together,’ Ava said, slowing down as she caught sight of a faint green glow behind one set of moss-obscured glass panes. They crouched, running low towards the noises. A man’s voice rumbled deep as a higher one pleaded and cried. Ava grabbed a garden fork that was resting against the greenhouse, as Callanach picked up a brick from a pile of debris on the ground. ‘On three,’ Ava said, counting slowly in time with the seconds on her watch. They burst through the door at 7.23 a.m.
Chapter Forty-Five
‘Police!’ Ava shouted. ‘Step away from the girl.’
The man swivelled his head. In his right hand he held a pair of secateurs, blades gleaming and open, like a small but lethal metal mouth, ready to snip.
‘She’s not a girl. She’s the beast, the mother of lies …’
‘Move away right now,’ Ava said, moving left to make room for Callanach to get further into the greenhouse next to her.
It stank. A full pot of urine was darkening on the floor next to the exit. The stench of sweat and blood filled the air. Caroline lay frozen, trembling, trying desperately to speak, her eyes rolling wildly from Samson to Ava and back. Her feet and hands were blue from their bindings and the crusts of the cuts beneath were visible under the green garden twine with which she’d been bound. Dead tomato plants shielded the views out into the garden, and the rear panes had been boarded up. The table Caroline was laid out on was vast, an old kitchen table from a hundred years ago, reclaimed for the most hideous of purposes.
‘Caroline,’ Callanach said. ‘It’s all right. We’re here to help you.’
‘She must repent,’ Samson said. ‘Without repentance, her soul will burn in hell.’
‘But you baptised the dolls and purified their souls, isn’t that right?’ Ava asked gently. ‘If you care that much, why hurt the women?’
‘The dolls were still pure. Newly born. Their lives had to be dedicated to God before being sent out into the world to deliver his word,’ Samson droned, looking from Ava to Callanach and back again.
‘Where did you baptise them, Samson?’ Callanach asked, drawing the man’s gaze to allow Ava to move further forward.
‘In the font at the chapel,’ he said. ‘I took Rachel’s key off the hook in the kitchen. I don’t go to the services. Too many people. I can’t hear God’s voice with other people around me.’ He swung back around to face Ava, dropping the secateurs and grabbing a large garden spade instead, turning it over in his hands so that the side of the metal scoop was facing the ground. Raising it above his head, he began to mutter a prayer.
‘Samson,’ Ava said. ‘Put that down. You don’t want to hurt Caroline. You haven’t hurt her so far. There’s no point making it worse now.’
Callanach took two steps forward, edging along the opposite side of the table from Samson, towards Caroline’s head.
‘Stop there,’ Samson shouted at him, swinging the spade over Caroline’s body and angling its blade two feet above her neck.
‘Samson,’ Ava said. ‘Whatever you did to the other girls, we can talk about it. Do the right thing now. If you show mercy now, it will help. It’ll show that you’re capable of change. If you put down the spade and let my colleague untie Caroline, you and I can stay in here and talk this thing through.’
‘I had no choice,’ he said. ‘There were orders, instructions. The girls were bad. All of them. I had to be the instrument. Or I’d have been damned too.’
‘You have a choice now,’ Ava said, lowering the fork she’d had pointed at him and placing it gently on the floor. ‘You have my word we’ll look after you. We’ll get you the help you need. Sometimes people hear things, Samson, voices in their head that make them confused. It may be that none of this was your fault. I want you to tell me all about it. Just give me a little time. All you need to do is put down that spade.’
‘Can’t disobey,’ he muttered, staring at Caroline’s face as he raised the spade up another foot and took a deep breath. ‘Not allowed to disobey …’
As he began to slice the blade of the spade through the air, Callanach lobbed the brick across the table towards Samson’s head. It struck him squarely in his right eye, spinning him clockwise. There was a wet crunch as the spade missed the target of Caroline’s neck, landing a foot higher and smashing into the top of her skull. Samson flew backwards, clutching his face and howling. Ava bent down and grabbed the garden fork, already launching herself towards Samson. Thrusting it hard into his shoulder, she forced him to the floor, one of the fork’s tines piercing his flesh and driving right through to bone. She followed up with her body weight until he was on his back, blood spraying from his face and pooling across his shoulder, with Ava above him leaning on the handle.
‘Is she alive?’ she shouted to Callanach, who had his fingers on Caroline’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
‘Possibly just unconscious,’ he said. ‘She’s so cold. If there’s a pulse, it’s too weak for me to find.’
‘We’ve got to free her,’ Ava said. ‘Get her wrapped up.’
She pulled the fork from Samson’s shoulder with a liquid sucking sound, ignored his injuries and hauled him over, snapping handcuffs onto his wrists behind his back and leaving him face down, crying and bleeding into the dirt. Picking up the secateurs, Ava snipped the bindings on Caroline’s wrists and ankles.
Rachel Jerome burst through the door as they were covering Caroline in the tatty blankets and their own warm coats.
‘Samson?’ Rachel yelled. ‘Oh my Lord, Samson! What have you done? What have you done?’
‘Ms Jerome, I need you to get out of here right now,’ Callanach said. ‘I want you to call an ambulance and tell them there’s a serious head injury. An air ambulance would be best. Go.’ Rachel stood in the doorway sobbing, arms wrapped around herself.
‘You do the right thing, now, Samson. Do you hear me? Put your faith in the Lord.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he sobbed from the ground.
‘Go!’ Ava shouted at her.
Rachel fled.
At 7.44 a.m., backup police units arrived, wrapped Caroline in a silver thermal blanket and waited for the paramedic helicopter to land on the road, which had been closed for half a mile in each direction. Soon after that, the medics took over, declaring the injured woman alive but unconscious and unresponsive. Samson Jerome was handcuffed in spite of his injuries and taken to a police car for secure transfer to the hospital.
By the time the white-clad forensics army arrived to process the scene, the places was awash with police cordoning off the greenhouses, seizing all the contents from Samson’s bedroom, and wrapping the dark-coloured minivan as best they could before loading it onto a vehicle for transfer to the lab. Ava asked to speak with Rachel Jerome who had been sitting with officers in the kitchen. The older woman appeared in a raincoat and wellington boots, her hair wrapped in a headscarf, handkerchief tucked in her hand.
‘Ms Jerome, I need to have your car checked over by our forensics unit. I can take it anyway, but I’d rather have your consent.’
‘Of course, whatever you need. I had no idea …’ She broke down, sniffling into the handkerchief. ‘Samson didn’t borrow it very often. Only when the battery in his minivan was playing up. He said it didn’t drive well in the rain.’
‘I see. When did Samson last borrow it?’
‘Two or three days ago. Is that when …’ Rachel motioned towards the greenhouse. ‘Did he use my car to take that poor girl?’<
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‘I’m afraid that’s a possibility,’ said Ava. ‘Could you show me where you keep the key to the chapel?’
Rachel nodded, and they followed her up the garden path and into the kitchen. The chapel key, neatly labelled, was hanging on a neat row of hooks next to the back door, along with others for the garage and house. Ava transferred it carefully into an evidence bag, handing it to an officer for proper labelling and logging.
‘I feel responsible,’ Rachel said, clutching her stomach. ‘I should have known. He spent so many hours there. I just kept on with my church groups and my reading. If only I’d paid more attention. If there’s anything I can do, anything at all … I want to help.’
‘We’ll need to interview you, Ms Jerome, just to make sure we have all the relevant information. Officers will take you to the station. Thank you for your cooperation,’ Ava said quietly, calling another officer over to escort Rachel to a police car.
Ava and Callanach trudged back towards the greenhouse silently.
‘I should have thrown the brick sooner,’ he said.
‘And I should have killed him with the garden fork while I had the opportunity,’ Ava replied. ‘The difference is, you saved Caroline Ryan’s life.’
‘I’m not convinced she’ll make it as far as the hospital,’ Callanach said.
‘If she lives, at least she’ll have the comfort of knowing that the man who abducted her will spend the rest of his life in prison, quite possibly with only one eye and a right arm that he’ll never be able to use properly again.’
‘What about Rachel? She won’t be able to go back to the house until all the forensics have been completed. That could be a couple of weeks,’ Callanach said.
‘Perhaps the good shepherd Vince Ashton will let her stay at his place,’ Ava said. ‘She’ll need to be seen by a doctor before interview. One of the uniformed officers said she vomited when the air ambulance arrived.’
‘How much do you think she knew?’ Callanach asked.
‘I have no idea, but there’s no evidence to suggest that she was involved. She wouldn’t be the first person to find they were living with a serial killer without a clue. Makes you think, doesn’t it? You look at your partner and see someone inoffensive – boring, even. Perhaps a bit quiet or moody. You don’t look at them and wonder if they’re spending their days stashing young women in the greenhouse. So many couples get complacent over the years. I wonder, if we really knew what the people we live with are capable of, if we wouldn’t all choose to simply lock the door and exist with only the television for company, and delivery food.’