The Running of the Deer

by Catriona King

  Mary was satisfied. She always worked hard so she should be all right.

  “Who else is on the squad?”

  Annette smiled, relaxing now that they were off Craig.

  “OK, so, the big characters are Liam, D.C.I. Cullen, who’s a thirty-odd-years long server. He’s ex-RUC and knows everyone in Northern Ireland that there is to know. He’s a bit of a joker, but clever when you get past that.”

  “Why isn’t he a D.C.S. then?”

  And there it was, youth rearing its over-confident and judgemental little head. Hire a millennial now while they know everything. If someone hasn’t reached a certain rank at a certain age then there must be something wrong with them, mustn’t there? Sod the fact that they might have a life outside the job.

  Annette heard herself jumping to Liam’s defence, something that she would deny if ever asked, even under torture.

  “He could be, easily, and it’s not for want of the Super suggesting it, but Liam dances to his own tune. He hates paperwork and he has a very young family, so the D.C.I. role suits him for now.”

  She moved on quickly, thinking about the other personalities within the team.

  “OK, next there’s Nicky, the chief’s PA. She’s very sharp, but as long as you stay on her good side, she’ll treat you well enough. But if you don’t…”

  She left it hanging for long enough to impact and then allowed herself a smile. “You’ve already met Ash Rahman, our junior analyst. He’s a real charmer-”

  Mary cut her off.

  “Yeh, I got that. I wouldn’t be interested, bit too slick for me. He looks like he’d arm wrestle his girlfriend for the mirror, and what’s with the old-fashioned suit? I haven’t seen one of those outside a movie for years.”

  Annette added sarcastic to her earlier assessment of nosy and judgemental and this time jumped to Ash’s defence.

  “He’s sweet, not slick, and you’d do well not to judge people on first appearances, Constable. It’s not a useful skill in a detective. And Ash has a serious girlfriend, so he’s not interested in anyone else.”

  She knew that ‘serious’ was overplaying it. He’d only been seeing Ruby for four months, and she’d heard that the girl’s obsession with dressing him like a character from the Great Gatsby was already starting to wear thin.

  She was deliberately slapping the new recruit down and she knew it, but she didn’t care; Mary was just too big for her boots. Anyway, she should think of it as a service; if she ever repeated what she’d just said in front of Nicky then she would get a hard kick up the ass.

  Annette continued with her staff rundown, bracing herself for more caustic comments.

  “Davy Walsh, the good-looking hipster with the ponytail, is Ash’s boss.”

  Mary made a sulky face. “How come he gets to wear a ponytail and I can’t wear my earrings?”

  “Because he’s a civilian worker and criminals aren’t going to be beating him up.”

  She thought quickly about who was next. “We’ve got another inspector, Kyle Spence. He’s seconded from Intelligence and he can be tricky, but he won’t bother you, you’re too far below his pay grade.”

  She didn’t miss the D.C.’s offended expression and acknowledged that it was exactly what she’d been aiming for. Mary was too cocky, so a little knockback to set her right at the beginning wouldn’t do her any harm.

  “And there are two more D.C.I.s. Andy Angel, who came from one of the other murder teams, and Aidan Hughes from Vice, both as good as gold.”

  “You don’t have many women on the squad.”

  Annette conceded the point with a shrug. “Not the Super’s choice. He would like more but murder doesn’t seem to attract too many of us. We almost got a female D.C.I. a few months ago, Deidre Murray. She was seconded to us for a case and the Super thought she was great, but we had too many at that rank already, so he couldn’t ask her to join.”

  On that she pushed back her chair and stood up. “OK, that’s enough for now. I’ll introduce you to everyone when we get back upstairs. We’re starting a big court case tomorrow, so unless the boss and Liam come back with something urgent there probably won’t be much for you to do today. Just remember to get those earrings out, before Nicky has a word.”

  Annette almost regretted warning the girl to protect her from Nicky’s wrath, she might have learned something from it. But the D.I. needn’t have worried as Mary had no intention of paying her words any heed.

  The constable smirked as they ascended the stairs to the squad-room. She knew that people either loved her or hated her, like Marmite, but she didn’t really care. She was never going to be anyone but herself.

  ****

  Erb’s Clearing, Killeter Forest. County Tyrone. 12.45 p.m.

  The clearing was large and oval, its vertices fading into the trees around its edge, and its subdued twilight, even at midday, gave it an ethereal feel. Tall, slim-trunked conifers rose around its perimeter, their dark green branches outstretched elegantly in greeting, and the few hazy beams of sunlight that broke between them sparkled randomly on the wild flowers that dotted its earth floor, without ever disturbing the overall muted feeling of the display.

  The whole arrangement was so perfect that Craig knew it had to form a landmark from the sky. The perfect forest glade, its other-worldly quiet only broken by the occasional chatter of birds. He shook his head at the whimsical thought. It felt inappropriate to celebrate a location’s beauty when their reason for being there was so grim.

  As he lifted his eyes from the ground they were standing on to look at his deputy, he saw that Liam’s eyes were closed and his large, pale face was turned upwards, illuminated by the sunrays breaking through.

  “Penny for them.”

  The D.C.I. shook his head and turned away.

  He didn’t blame him, the boy’s death had been vile, and it felt all the worse for the sublime place where it had occurred.

  When Liam finally found his voice, it was subdued. There had been little chat in the car on their journey down, but the limited exchanges had been held in a similar tone.

  “We’d better get to it, boss.”

  Subtext: So we can get the hell out of here.

  Craig withdrew the photographs that he’d brought with him from their folder, passing copies to his right-hand man, then he walked to the centre of the clearing, his forensic overshoes already donned. He doubted that they would make much of a difference; the place had probably been tramped through indiscriminately the day before.

  “Photograph one shows that this is where the boy was found.”

  He indicated a point on the ground and then strode six feet out from it, sweeping his hand around in a circle, as if the boy’s body had been a central compass point.

  “And here’s where they left the other bodies we saw in Davy’s text.”

  As he took out his phone to open a duplicate image Liam shook his head.

  “Carcasses. Animals’ bodies are called carcasses.”

  Craig took the correction with a nod, knowing that the distinction was important to the father.

  “Here’s where they left the deer carcasses.”

  The image that Davy had sent through showed the boy’s body encircled at a distance of around six feet by the heads of ten dead deer.

  “But only parts of the deer carcasses were left here, the heads, which raises the question of where the rest of them went. Deer are large animals, so they’d be pretty hard to conceal. And heavy, so difficult to move as well.”

  Liam shook his head disbelievingly, the same way he had when he’d first seen the image that Davy had sent through.

  “Why the heck would anyone behead deer? And where did they come from anyway? I thought deer were rare or endangered or something. Shouldn’t they have been on some sort of a reserve?”

  Craig shook his head. “No idea. I know there are rules about not selling venison illegally, but beyond that we’ll need to check.”

  He made a note of the questions before
he spoke again.

  “I seem to remember a news report about some deer being found dead by the Gardaí last year.”

  The Gardaí, or An Garda Síochána as they were more properly called, are the police force of the Republic of Ireland.

  “Check that out with your contacts there, Liam, will you. As far as I recall it was in Slane in County Meath. They thought that it was poachers. Venison’s valuable meat.”

  Liam nodded. “I remember the story. One of the deer was decapitated there too. There’s been other poaching down south as well, in an area called Dunsany. I’ll check them both out.”

  Craig gestured at his phone image. “I might have said that poaching was an option this time as well, if it wasn’t for the dead boy.”

  “Aye, him and the fact that some of the heads were hollowed out.” Liam tapped the screen. “Look, there. You can see it.”

  Craig peered at the image, realising that he was right. Hollowed out deer heads! The C.C. had been right to use the word strange; this case was proving odd right from the start.

  Liam gave a tut of disgust. “Someone must have been wearing them. What sort of weirdo makes a hat out of something’s head? It must have stunk inside there too.”

  Craig was still looking at the image. “It was more than a hat, Liam, it was a full-face mask. We need to examine them. How many were there again?”

  Liam consulted his notebook, full of scribbled notes from a call he’d made to the local police station thirty minutes before.

  “Ten. One still had all the brains etcetera inside it, but nine had been completely gutted, including having their eyes removed.”

  Craig tried to picture the scene. Nine people had worn deer heads and possibly surrounded the dead teenager, so what had the other head been there for? Food? Some sort of initiation rite? Maybe a form of symbolism, to represent the dead boy?

  He voiced his thoughts aloud and watched Liam’s eyes widen.

  “You realise you’re not ruling out devil worshipping with that list, don’t you?”

  Craig shrugged. “Maybe not, but the lack of a fire or altar being found pretty much does that anyway. And where were the satanic symbols? The pentagram, the upside-down crucifix, the black candles, all that shit? Did they say anything about those when you called the station?”

  As the D.C.I. conceded grudgingly that they hadn’t, Craig shook his head.

  “Whoever did this had a far more down to earth reason than black magic, Liam, and we need to figure out what it was.”

  He turned towards the trees, listening for a moment as a sudden gust of wind through their branches made them sing. When the melody had subsided, he pulled out his phone. It was answered quickly by a bright female voice.

  “Hello. Northern Ireland Pathology Laboratories.”

  “Hello, Marcie. It’s Marc Craig. I’m looking for your bosses.”

  Marcie Devlin was a Boho drama graduate biding her time until her acting career took off by working as the labs’ PA. She collated reports, organised meetings, answered the phones and baked cakes, all while keeping John Winter, the country’s Director of Pathology, and Des Marsham, its Head of Forensic Science, firmly in line.

  The PA took a moment to rearrange her velvet floor-length skirt, a true child of the seventies born two decades too late, and then responded to Craig in her rounded, drama-school tones.

  “Both of them, Chief Superintendent? And separately or together?”

  Craig hadn’t used the labs’ conference-call facility before but decided that now was as good a time as any to try it out.

  “Together, please. If they’re both around.”

  A brisk, “I’ll call you back”, was followed by the phone slamming down. When he’d recovered from his surprise at her abruptness Craig’s gaze turned back to the clearing and he noticed his deputy hunkering at its centre, one hand resting flat on the ground and a solemn expression on his face.

  Craig said nothing. He didn’t adhere to any formal religion, although he believed that there had to be something bigger than them out there, but Liam had been an altar boy and still attended mass with his family when he got time, so if he was saying a prayer to his God then he could easily understand why. Their young victim had suffered a desperate, lonely death and he knew Liam had to be picturing one of his own children dying in a similar, pitiful way.

  The moment was broken by Craig’s phone buzzing loudly, and Liam returned to his feet to join in the loudspeaker-ed call, his face breaking into a smile as the voices of John Winter and Des Marsham came on the line.

  Craig spoke first. “Thanks for joining us, gentlemen. Liam and I are currently standing in what should be a beautiful clearing in Killeter Forest in Tyrone, except that on Sunday it became the site of an unidentified young boy’s death-”

  John cut in. “How old?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Unclear at the moment. I haven’t spoken to the locals yet.” Craig heard the pathologist about to ask another question and cut him off. “Let me lay out the scene before I take your questions, John.” He took the ensuing silence as a yes.

  “Right. First, we were asked to take over this case by the C.C. Not because the locals had failed in their investigation, they haven’t had the time to yet, and not because it’s one of several deaths, it’s the only known murder so far. But I think someone or something prominent could be involved here, so that may be why we’ve been called, although we’ve no confirmation of even that much yet. OK. Questions so far?”

  It was Des who spoke. “What makes you think someone important’s involved, Marc, when you don’t even have a name for the boy yet?”

  “Because when I raised the possibility with the C.C. he got up to leave, that’s why.”

  “Ah…”

  The scientists sighed meaningfully, but there were no further questions, so Craig signalled his deputy to pick up the report.

  “Hello, Docs.”

  There were murmured greetings from the other end.

  “OK, so this poor wee sod was found in a clearing. I’ll send you a picture of it after we’ve finished, but take my word, it’s a stunning spot. Except that he was found surrounded by ten deer heads, arranged in a circle all around him, with nine of them hollowed out like masks.”

  He ignored the sharp intakes of breath and continued. “Now, the boss here says that because there’s no altar or pentagram stuff this isn’t satanic shit, but I’m not convinced. It’s dark-”

  Des cut him off. “Why not, Marc? It could be devil worship. It’s certainly weird enough.”

  Craig wasn’t in the mood for an argument. “It’s not that I don’t believe that these things happen somewhere, I just don’t feel it here. If it’ll make you all happier we’ll keep it on the list, but there are to be no leaks about it to the press. And that means you too, Marcie.”

  A feminine squeak said that his hunch had been right; the PA had been listening in. An immediate sharp click said that she wasn’t any longer and made the detectives smile.

  “So, as I was saying, the press and media…well, we all know this is just the sort of thing they love. Big Sunday tabloid headlines, The C.C. warned us that there would be interest, so he’s going to do his best to stave it off, but they’ll get hold of the story eventually so we’re up against time. That’s if the locals haven’t already leaked it.”

  His heart sank as he realised that it was probably already too late; village police stations were like sieves as far as gossip was concerned. Their only hope was that the local papers were too small-time for the story to have been picked up nationally. After a moment worrying the point Craig shrugged. What would be would be, as Doris Day made a fortune crooning about.

  “Right, so I’ll keep the Hammer Horror stuff on the list to please all of you, but when it turns out to be nothing like that, I am going to say, ‘I told you so’, over several drinks, and I won’t be paying.”

  Liam nodded. “Fair enough.”

 
Des was a similarly uncomplicated creature so that did for him as well. John returned to the deer heads.

  “How old were the deer, Marc? And were they does or bucks?”

  The questions took both detectives aback.

  “Good questions. Liam, add those to the list.”

  The pathologist asked another. “And where are they now? If they were worn by people there could be forensic evidence inside them, and Des will need to gather it before it’s lost.”

  Craig smiled. John had just brought them neatly to the reason that he’d called.

  “I’m glad you’re offering to help, because that’s the reason I phoned. I’ve a hunch there’s another reason we were brought in on this case, not just because it could bring some nasty publicity, something that we don’t know about yet.”

  “What?”

  “Like I said, we don’t know. Right now, it’s just a feeling I have. But it could either mean we’re to be used as whipping boys when everything hits the fan, or there’s something personal to the C.C. here so he wants to make sure it’s worked as well as possible. I’m trusting him that it’s the latter. So…I know it’ll mean coming out to the sticks, but I’d really like you both to get involved.”

  He waited for an answer, but instead heard a mechanical voice say, “You have been placed on hold. You have been placed on hold.”

  Liam grinned.

  “The geeks have gone into a huddle, and we’re not invit-”

  Just then they heard John’s voice again. “Sorry about that. I was asking Marcie to check our diaries. We can both come down now, but I have a meeting in town tomorrow afternoon, and Des is in Glasgow on Friday, lecturing at a conference.”

  Des jumped in. “If that suits you, I’ll come. If not, I could always send Grace.”