by Paul Gitsham
Finally, the confession came to a halt, the drugs and alcohol finally overwhelming him. The screen cut to black for a few seconds, before returning. Nolan was slumped in the same position as before, his eyes closed, his mouth open. But now his hair was wet, his jacket damp, his trousers soaked. The camera had been moved back a couple of metres. The discarded petrol can was just visible in the edge of the shot.
It was the second time Warren had seen the video, but he still found it hard to watch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Moray Ruskin steeling himself. Everyone could guess what was coming next.
The scrape of the match came from behind the camera, before the flame arced toward the helpless priest. The burning match fell short of the man in the chair, but it didn’t matter. Everyone watching the screen in the briefing room flinched; Warren could almost feel the flash of heat as the petrol fumes ignited with a whoosh.
Tony Sutton’s muttered curses were drowned out by the sudden screams from the newly awakened Father Nolan. The man flapped his arms uselessly, as if unable to decide where to beat himself first. Lurching to his feet, the flaming apparition remained standing for a few more seconds before collapsing back onto the kneeler, which toppled over. Mercifully the video then ended.
* * *
The second video, this time of Father Madden, was similarly graphic. Shot again on mobile phone, the elderly priest was hoisted slowly by the neck, the person pulling the rope maddeningly out of shot.
‘The camera is so steady, it’s almost certainly on some sort of tripod,’ said Warren.
‘So it could all have been done by a single person,’ stated Sutton.
As before, the sound cut out for extended periods, whilst someone off camera presumably prompted Father Madden to make his confession. The priest’s voice became increasingly strangulated and his breathing became more and more ragged, as he told of how he liked young children. Even in the dimness of the escape tunnel the camera phone’s powerful flash picked up the slow darkening of Madden’s face. His final words before his eyes closed one last time sounded like a plea for forgiveness.
‘Christ, no matter what those men did, nobody deserves that,’ said Hutchinson.
Warren agreed. He’d seen some horrendous sights as a police officer, but this one would be part of his dreams for a long time.
‘No video with Father Daugherty,’ noted Sutton.
‘Maybe he died before he confessed?’ said Ruskin.
‘That would explain why the killer had to write the ‘Forgive me Father’ note himself,’ said Richardson.
‘Perhaps,’ said Warren. ‘However, neither of the videos showed the men writing their notes themselves.’
‘Presumably the killer would have been in shot if they had been filmed writing it,’ said Sutton. ‘Father Nolan was so far gone he probably needed help just sitting up and Father Madden probably needed assistance as well, you can see how terrified he is.’
‘It’s also possible that Father Daugherty had nothing to say. If those allegations were false, what would he have to confess?’ said Richardson.
‘That poor, poor, man,’ said Rachel Pymm quietly.
Chapter 87
‘Baines’ car has been found.’ The call had come straight through to Rachel Pymm’s number, which Tony Sutton had rerouted to his own desk, to minimise distractions as she and her team ploughed through the final diaries, desperately looking for more clues to how and where the next killings might take place. The horrifying YouTube videos had left the team feeling shocked; they still didn’t know if Shaw or Baines were innocent or guilty, and the thought that there might be yet more victims had raised the sense of urgency still further.
‘It’s empty, abandoned on the edge of town, doors open. A member of the public called it in, assuming it had been dumped by joy riders,’ he continued.
‘They were probably hoping joy riders would steal it and get rid of the evidence for them,’ said Warren.
‘Forensics are doing a search on site before they take it into the garage for a more thorough screening.’
‘Let’s hope they’re quick about it.’
* * *
It was almost two hours later when Rachel Pymm called Warren over to her desk. She looked exhausted.
‘Rachel, why don’t you go home. You’re no good to us, if you make yourself ill.’
She smiled her thanks but called his attention to the photocopied bundle in front of her.
‘This diary dates back to a year before the attack on Matthias Scrope. It details the death of the abbey’s apprentice blacksmith.’
‘What does that have to do with Simon Scrope’s killings?’
‘The apprentice died during an especially harsh winter. They think he covered up the windows in his workshop against the cold. When he hadn’t been seen for a while, someone went to find him and they found the shed full of smoke and the young man dead on the floor. His face was said to be flushed bright red, as though he was angry.’
‘Carbon monoxide poisoning,’ said Warren.
‘Yes. Suicide by charcoal burning became something of a thing a few years ago, especially in Hong Kong, but I’m sure that experienced blacksmiths of the day probably knew enough to avoid suffocation when working with charcoal.’
‘But the blacksmith died before Mattias Scrope was abused.’
Pymm flicked through the pile.
‘This is a later entry, from a different diary about six months after we believe that Matthias Scrope was attacked. The author states that Brothers Patrick and Eustace had been found in “mysterious circumstance” in the Blacksmith’s workshop, their faces flushed red.’
‘No mention of a suicide note pinned to the abbey gates?’
‘Not this time, but I am beginning to get the feeling that by this point, the first thing Abbot Godwine or one of the other senior priests did as soon as there was a suspicious death, was go and check the abbey gates before anyone could read whatever was pinned there.’
‘The church covering its arse over child abuse allegations is hardly unprecedented,’ noted Sutton, darkly.
‘That’s too big a coincidence,’ said Warren. ‘We need to know where Shaw and Baines are, and if they are safe.’
He forced himself to walk back to his office, leaving his team to do their jobs without him hovering over them. Sometimes it was just a waiting game.
* * *
The wait wasn’t as long as Warren feared.
‘They’ve opened the boot on Baines’ car.’ Tony Sutton had answered Rachel Pymm’s desk phone again. ‘They’ve found a tyre iron with blood and hair on the end of it. No fingerprints.’
‘Get it tested, priority job. If we know who brained who, we can finish writing this story,’ ordered Warren.
‘Harrison also says the boot is covered in a fine black powder. They’ll need to test it in the lab, but Andy Harrison reckons it’s charcoal residue.’
‘Shit. I suppose it’s too much to hope it’s from a barbecue,’ said Warren.
‘No such luck, Andy reckons that the way it’s covering everything suggests that it’s probably fresh, not left over from the summer.’
It was too much of a fluke; charcoal residue turning up in the boot of the Baines’ car, and Rachel Pymm finding evidence of a possible murder by carbon monoxide poisoning.
Warren glanced at his watch again. It was early evening and the two men had been unaccounted for for at least sixteen hours. Weariness, worry and caffeine were combining to make him feel nauseous, but he had a feeling that the night wasn’t over yet. He headed back to the coffee urn.
Chapter 88
‘The preliminary results are back on the blood stains at Baines’ house.’
Warren placed the second mug of coffee he was carrying down on Sutton’s desk.
‘Bloody hell, that was fast.’
‘No DNA yet, but it turns out there are at least two different blood groups represented, both with Y chromosomes,’ reported Sutton.
‘Multiple male vict
ims.’ Warren thought for a moment. ‘Get onto Andy Harrison. Ask him to test the blood on the tyre iron to see if it comes from one or two victims. Do we know Baines and Shaw’s blood groups? That’ll tide us over until we get the DNA back.’
‘I’ll see if I can gain access to their medical records, although if Shaw used to be an intravenous drug user, he won’t have been donating blood, so they might not know it,’ cautioned Sutton.
‘Do your best.’
Warren took a mouthful of coffee, wincing as he scalded his tongue.
‘So let’s think this through logically. If there is one blood type on the tyre iron, but two in the house that suggests that both the person who was hit with the tyre iron and his attacker bled at the scene.’
‘Blood spatter analysis should let us determine the sequence of events,’ said Sutton.
‘It’ll take time with mixed samples,’ cautioned Warren. ‘They’ll have to identify the owner of each spot. It could take days.’
‘We don’t have days,’ said Sutton, in frustration, rubbing his eyes.
‘If there are two different bloods on the tyre iron, and two in the house that leads to multiple possibilities.’ Warren held out a fist and uncurled one finger.
‘First, the same scenario as before, it’s just that the attacker also bled onto the tyre iron.’
He uncurled another finger.
‘Second, that the whole scene was staged. There’s not enough blood at the scene to automatically assume that the wounds were fatal, especially if the blood is divided between two people.’
‘For that matter, the scene could still have been staged if only one person was hit with the tyre iron, just to muddy the waters,’ said Sutton. ‘Of course, there’s another possibility.’
‘There could be a third person and both Shaw and Baines are victims,’ completed Warren
* * *
‘We’ve got the location data for Baines and Shaw’s mobile phones,’ said Sutton, his hand over the telephone receiver. ‘It’s coming through on email now.’
It had been an hour since the last forensics report about Baines’ car and Warren was glad he wasn’t a smoker; he’d have filled an ashtray by now, he was so stressed.
‘Have we got a real-time position?’
‘Yes, but they haven’t moved from their current location since 1.40 a.m.’
‘Where?’
‘The abbey grounds.’
‘That sort of matches the ANPR data for the Baines’ and Shaw’s cars,’ called out Richardson, tapping away at her own computer.
Warren strode over to her desk.
‘What do you mean “sort of”?’
‘Shaw’s car hasn’t moved since Friday night, but Baines’ car was pinged on an ANPR camera at 1.30 a.m., heading towards the abbey. There are no cameras around there, so we don’t see the car again until 2.28 a.m., now travelling away from the direction of the abbey. It then continues out of the town centre along the Cambridge road. The last ANPR record is on the outskirts of town at 2.34 a.m. That would have been the last camera to pick it up before it was abandoned.’
‘So Baines and Shaw – or at least their mobile phones – were dropped off at, or near, the abbey at 1.40 a.m.?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then that’s where we need to be. Tony, start organising a team to search the abbey grounds. We’ll join them in—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—fifteen minutes. We’ve no idea what to expect, so I want paramedics standing by. Give them a heads-up that they may be dealing with one or more casualties suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning. I doubt we’ll get an armed response unit there within an hour, so I want everyone in stab vests with incapacitant spray and batons.’
‘We still aren’t sure what’s happening here,’ said Grayson, who’d appeared unannounced by Warren’s elbow. Richardson gave a start and Warren felt a childish satisfaction that he wasn’t the only one the DSI managed to sneak up on.
‘Has either Baines or Shaw killed the other and left them on site with both mobiles, or is there a third party involved, who’s dumped the bodies and driven off in Baines’ car?’ asked Grayson.
‘That would explain the multiple blood types found in Baines’ house,’ said Warren. ‘Mags, do we have the ANPR movements from earlier in the weekend?’
She scrolled down the document.
‘We have hits on Baines’ car travelling towards Rodney Shaw’s house at 8 p.m. Friday evening. Then it’s picked up again, eleven minutes later, travelling away. There are two more hits consistent with him driving directly to his house.’
‘So what does that mean? He picked up Rodney Shaw and took him to his house?’ asked Grayson.
‘Could be. Does he drive back to Shaw’s house?’ asked Warren
Richardson scrolled further.
‘No, the car doesn’t appear to leave Baines’ house again until it sets out for the abbey at half past one, and it doesn’t travel back in that direction after it leaves the abbey.’
‘So the “Forgive me Father” note was placed in Shaw’s flat during that brief window of time,’ said Grayson. ‘Does that mean that Baines attacked Shaw at home, trashing the place and leaving the note behind, before taking him back to his own house?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Warren. ‘He could still have attacked Shaw at his own home, then travelled by different means back to Shaw’s house to stage the incident.’
‘For that matter,’ said Richardson, ‘Shaw could have trashed his own house, leaving the note, before being picked up by Baines.’
‘Meaning he could have attacked Baines, or the two men could have been working together,’ said Grayson. ‘What worries me most is that their movements are unaccounted for for almost an hour between the car arriving at the abbey and leaving again.’
‘We’d better make certain that everyone else is accounted for,’ said Richardson. ‘We don’t want any surprises. Should we evacuate the site, move the residents somewhere safe?’
Warren turned to Grayson. That was definitely a decision above his paygrade.
Grayson thought for a moment.
‘Not just yet. Let’s get the site locked down and everyone in the same place in the first instance, but I’ll look into a contingency plan.’
‘Of course, if there is a third person involved that has killed both Baines and Shaw or is working with them,’ Warren pointed out, ‘then all bets are off.’
* * *
Warren and Sutton had hitched a lift in a patrol car. This time of evening on a Saturday, the worst of the post-shopping rush hour was over, nevertheless blues and twos cleared what little traffic there was out of the way and they raced towards the abbey far quicker than they could have managed otherwise.
‘The cell-tower coverage just isn’t precise enough to pinpoint them any more accurately,’ groused Sutton as the car swung into the abbey car park. A uniformed constable already had the visitor gate open.
‘They could be in the grounds or in the house,’ continued Sutton, ‘or even in some damn hidey hole that doesn’t appear in the plans that English Heritage have on file and that Rachel and her team haven’t stumbled across yet.’
‘We need to do a complete search, but we have no idea who the killer’s next target is,’ said Warren.
The sergeant in charge of the maintaining the crime scene greeted them as they arrived. Warren made a mental note to ask later how someone had accessed the site without being spotted.
‘We’re gathering all of the residents and staff on site in the main dining hall. They were about to have their evening meal anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Good, I want a team searching the house from top to bottom. We’re looking for Gabriel Baines and Rodney Shaw as suspects or victims, but I want to know about anyone else that’s missing.’ He paused for a moment. ‘On second thoughts, I need to speak to Bishop Fisher. Escort him to his office and keep an eye on him until I’m ready. No visitors and don’t let him near his computer, I don’t want any eviden
ce disappearing.’
* * *
With the search of the house underway, Warren turned his attention to the abbey grounds. Two minibuses of additional officers had arrived from Welwyn, fully kitted for a search of the grounds, including stab vests, batons and incapacitant spray. Nobody was taking any chances, with two ambulances parked further down the road. Warren prayed they wouldn’t be needed.
Mags Richardson had also just arrived, wearing a stab vest and carrying her baton, with photocopies of everything that Rachel Pymm and her team had found so far.
‘The ANPR cameras indicate that Baines’ car was in the vicinity of the abbey for over forty-five minutes. They could have been doing literally anything in that time,’ Warren said.
‘Let’s start with the outbuildings first,’ said Sutton. He had laid a map of the abbey grounds on the bonnet of the car. ‘Presumably, if the killer is planning to suffocate his victims, then he needs an enclosed space, or somewhere that can be easily made airtight.’
‘The chapel and the undercroft would fit the bill, but both of them are still sealed as crime scenes, so we should be able to easily see if they have been tampered with,’ said Richardson. Her finger traced towards the walled gardens. ‘Then there’s the greenhouse, and the tool shed, again both of which should still be sealed.’
‘What about the apiary?’ asked Sutton. ‘Do they seal them to stop the bees getting out?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ confessed Warren. Richardson signalled her ignorance also.
‘Well, we’d better make sure that we have protective equipment before we go poking around in there,’ said Sutton. ‘Health and Safety will do their nut if someone gets stung to death by a gang of pissed-off bees.’
‘That just leaves the visitor centre and the toilet blocks. All the other buildings are little more than ruins,’ finished Warren.
As the sergeant supervising the additional officers started issuing orders, Warren turned to Sutton and Richardson.