Touching the Dead

by Wendy Cartmell

  Jo stormed out of her office leaving Byrd and Judith watching her depart with open mouths.

  She banged through the door of the ladies and shrugged off the worry about what the team would think of her. It was more important that she stop her hands from shaking. She scooped up cold water onto her face in an effort to cool the heat of her emotions.

  Deciding that showing how she was feeling wouldn’t do any harm, Jo slumped against the wall. In fact if the team saw her getting emotional about a case, it could spur them on to do better, faster work.

  And that had to be good. Didn’t it?

  25

  Jo caught Jill Sandy sitting at her desk, out of the corner of her eye. So she headed over there.

  ‘Jill, how’s the background checks coming along on Daniel Tate?’

  ‘Oh, hi, Boss. Hang on,’ Jill went through the files on her desk and Jo was left waiting, tapping her foot in annoyance.

  ‘Here’s a copy of my report for you, Boss,’ Jill said and passed Jo a buff file. ‘I’ve interviewed Tate’s colleagues, present employer and asked around the centre what people think of him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Oh, he seems to do a good job, but he’s not universally well liked. A number of them thought he was a bit weird.’

  ‘Weird?’

  ‘Yes, he comes across as a bit of a loner, quiet, introvert, which is strange for someone who works in a leisure centre and has to deal with the public on a daily basis. The rest of the employees are upbeat, chatty and complimentary to their clients. Daniel is the complete antithesis.’

  ‘Unfortunately being a loner doesn’t automatically make him a killer.’

  ‘Exactly, Boss.’

  ‘Does he have a life outside of work?’

  ‘Not much that I can find out about. People said he seems to stay in a lot and has never joined in on nights out with the rest of the team.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a queer fish, isn’t he?’ Jo mused.

  ‘Rather odd, but not necessarily bad.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Jo flicked through the papers. ‘Is he still at the flat?’

  ‘Yes. I rang and asked him about that, saying that we needed to know if he was moving on and what his new address was going to be.’

  ‘How come he’s still in the flat then?’

  ‘Alison’s parents had been paying the mortgage because they hoped she would come back. Now they know she’s dead, they intend to put it up for sale. They’ve given him a month to find a new home. He said that it sucked.’

  ‘It’s better than being dead,’ said Jo and walked away.

  26

  Later that night was the first chance she’d had to talk to her dad over the last few days. He came up the stairs at Jo’s insistence, dressed in pyjamas with a sweatshirt pulled over the top. Jo had to laugh at the state of him as he grumbled about just having climbed into bed and then having to get out again. Did she not realise that he was an old man these days who needed his sleep? Which made Jo laugh all the louder.

  ‘Right, now we’ve got that out of the way,’ said Mick. ‘How’s things with the case?’

  ‘Pretty bloody awful, Dad, if the truth be known. I’ve got a first suspect that I can’t pin down, and a Professor who rates himself as the font of all knowledge on Anubis, but who isn’t helping in the slightest.’

  ‘What about the dead girls? Anything from them?’

  ‘I got hold of a ring from our latest girl, Charlie.’

  ‘And put it on?’

  Jo nodded.

  ‘Bad?’

  Again she nodded. ‘It was more feelings than anything else. Hate, anger, fear.’ Jo shuddered as she remembered the onslaught. ‘But it was the all-pervading sense of sadness. And then the scream at the end.’

  ‘As she died?’

  ‘I reckon so.’ Jo sat down, hands shaking, tears threatening.

  Mick went into the kitchen and after a short while came back with two glasses of red wine. ‘Here,’ he said handing her one. ‘I think we both need this.’

  Jo nodded and took a couple of mouthfuls, glad for the warming effect of the alcohol and it’s calming influence.

  Ever since Jo’s riding accident, when she was thrown from a horse that bolted during a ride out on the South Downs and which resulted in a fractured skull and a six month coma, she’d had what her father termed as her gift. If she touched someone who had died, or handled a possession that meant something to them, she received vibrations or visions, relating to their death. It had started with a visit to her elderly aunt who had died and was in a viewing room in the undertaker’s premises. She’d held her aunt’s hand, immediately experiencing severe pains in her chest, breathlessness and feeling of panic. Unbeknown to Jo, her aunt had died of a heart attack and Jo had relived it. Realising this might be as a direct result of the accident, she never mentioned it to anyone at the time. Later that night, alone with her father, she’d confessed to touching her aunt and told him everything.

  Together they’d gone to the local spiritualist church and talked to some of the members. At the time Jo was very sceptical, but as the evidence mounted that she did indeed possess an ability to read the dead or occasionally a possession of theirs, she’d tried to use it for good in her job. She found the more she did this the stronger the feelings or visions were. It was a bit like learning a new skill, it got better with practice. It was harder to read another living person. Sometimes she got feelings from a touch or a handshake, but they were never as vivid or reliable as when she was touching the dead.

  But she never talked about it to anyone other than her dad. Ever.

  ‘It’s all very well having this gift, as you call it,’ said Jo. ‘But how does it help? We know how the girls died, but not why and not where. I’m not getting that from the dead.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘What about the first girl? Alison?’

  ‘What about her?’ Jo wasn’t sure where he was going.

  ‘When you touched her didn’t you get a sense of where she was?’

  Jo thought back. Then said, ‘She appeared to be in an underground chamber. Brick walls, dirt floor, no windows. The overall impression was of a crumbling, abandoned space.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Dad do you know where I would find such a place?’

  ‘Well no. But you can start looking.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘There must be some. For God’s sake stop being defeatist.’

  ‘Defeatist!’ Jo shouted. ‘How bloody dare you!’ she jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll get someone on it first thing tomorrow!’

  Mick laughed. ‘There you go, that’s my girl!’

  ‘You bugger,’ she said. ‘For that you can get me another glass of wine.’

  27

  ‘Byrd, come in would you?’ Jo saw Eddie passing her office door and called him in.

  ‘Guv?’

  ‘I’ve got Professor Russell on the line. I thought it would be good to have someone else listening in.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Byrd. ‘Let’s do it,’ and he sat opposite Jo on the other side of her desk.

  Jo picked up her phone and pressing the ‘speaker’ button said, ‘Morning, Professor Russell.’

  ‘Morning, Detective Inspector.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ Jo had no idea why he was calling her.

  ‘I just wanted to give you an alternative view of the God Anubis.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He wasn’t all bad, you know.’

  ‘No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.’

  Jo couldn’t see any way that their killer could justify what he was doing. But hey, she had to admit she knew nothing about Egypt and its Gods. And if their killer was using Anubis as a role model, she guessed she needed to hear what the Prof had to say.

  ‘Well, we know that Anubis was central to every aspect of a person’s death. He took the role of protector and even stood with the soul after death as a just judge an
d guide.’

  ‘A just judge,’ interrupted Byrd. ‘How do you make that out?’

  ‘Who’s that?’ said the Professor. ‘I didn’t know anyone else was with you, DI Wolfe.’

  ‘DS Byrd is in the office with me.’

  ‘Does it make a difference that I’m here?’ asked Byrd.

  ‘No, I guess not.’

  ‘Well then please carry on.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Jo could hear the annoyance in his tone, although she was unsure as to why he’d mind Byrd being in on their conversation.

  The Professor was speaking again, so Jo concentrated on his words.

  ‘Anubis offered people the assurance that their body would be respected at death, that their soul would be protected in the afterlife, and that they would receive fair judgment for their life's work. These are the same assurances sought by people in the present day, and it is easy to understand why.’

  ‘Excuse us for not considering our killer in that light, Professor,’ said Jo. ‘I can’t see any good at all in what he’s done to his victims.’

  ‘If they had been free of sin, then they would have been guided to heaven.’

  ‘Are you trying to justify our murderer’s actions?’ spluttered Jo.

  Byrd shushed her and said, ‘With all this business of cooking and eating the heart, what does that tell you?’ Byrd leaned forward across the desk towards the phone.

  ‘Anubis helped to judge the dead and he and his army of messengers were charged with punishing those who violated tombs or offended the gods. He was especially concerned with controlling the impulses of those who sought to sow disorder or aligned themselves with chaos.’

  ‘So?’ said Byrd.

  ‘So the victims must have offended the gods, by having sinned during their lives. Don’t you see that only those with the purest of souls can hope to ascend?’

  ‘Thank you, Professor, we’ll bear your insight in mind,’ said Jo and cut the call.

  ‘What was that all about?’ asked Byrd. ‘Why was he trying to justify Anubis’ actions?’

  Jo was angry with the Professor. She’d expected helpful insight from him, not tripping out information in defence of murder. Then she realised what his motive might be.

  ‘I suspect he is trying to get more money out of us. He’s paid by the number of consultations. I expect that was what he was after. Money grubbing so and so.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ said Byrd and left the office.

  28

  Imogen Stone was in the back of an Uber trying to get to her friends who were waiting for her outside the club they liked to frequent. She grabbed her mobile as it buzzed in her pocket.

  Imogen where r u?

  Just coming.

  You better be we r waiting in the f **cold 4 u.

  ‘How much longer?’ she asked the driver.

  ‘Maybe 10? Traffic’s bloody awful.’

  Go in. B there soon.

  Imogen sat back and wondered what the hell she was doing, going out in the cold and dark to go to a club she’d been to many times before. The prospect didn’t hold much appeal, but she’d agreed to go because she didn’t want to let her friends down. While she was stuck in the back of the car she might as well check her makeup and brush her long dark hair. She wanted it to look smooth and shiny as it fell down her back.

  The Uber driver was as good as his word and got her to the venue in about 10 minutes. The club was on the outskirts of Chichester, in an industrial estate of all places, but it meant there wasn’t any trouble with noise abatement.

  ‘Hey, doll,’ called one of the bouncers. ‘You sure looking good tonight!’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, Clive,’ Imogen retorted. ‘You gonna let me in or what?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ and Clive lifted the red rope and let her through before all the poor sods in the queue. A perk of being a regular.

  Inside was dark, hot and humid and Imogen made her way to the bar, where she could see one of her friends trying to buy a drink.

  ‘Yeah! You made it,’ Hazel said and flashed those hazel eyes at her friend. A corny name for sure but apparently when she was born and her parents saw those eyes, straight away they chose the name Hazel for their little girl.

  ‘Go on, I’ll get these in. My way of saying sorry. The usual?’

  ‘Yep. Four shots of vodka,’ and her friend sashayed away in time to the music.

  Imogen eventually caught the eye of the barman and shouted, ‘FOUR VODKA SHOTS.’

  He nodded and grabbed four shot glasses from under the counter, before getting the vodka bottle. As he filled each one, he pushed them in her direction. Imogen grabbed one and drank the contents in one gulp before pushing it back at the barman. He obligingly filled it again.

  After paying, Imogen tried to carry the four glasses, but could only manage three. She delivered those to her friends and went to get the last one for herself. Stood next to it and looking like the still, silent type, was a man, dressed to the latest trend. He gave Imogen a lazy smile and said, ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Been in a rush and needed that.’

  Imogen had to lean towards him so he could hear her over the music. The bar was some way from the DJ and the dance floor but was still too loud for normal conversation.

  The man held out his hand and said, ‘James.’

  Imogen nodded but didn’t take the proffered hand. ‘Imogen.’

  ‘Get you another?’

  Imogen drank the vodka in front of her in one gulp. ‘Why not,’ she said and pushed her glass towards James.

  ‘How about something cooling? Vodka and tonic?’

  She smiled. ‘Make it a double.’

  He tipped his head in acquiescence.

  Whilst her drink was being made and paid for, Imogen turned away from James and with her back to the bar watched the dance floor, which was rammed with dancers. James touched her shoulder and as she turned back, he offered her the drink.

  Taking it from him she took a slurp and said, ‘Fancy a dance.’

  He nodded slowly, never taking his eyes from hers. ‘Drink up then,’ he said and she gladly obliged.

  It wasn’t until they were packed like sardines, dancing to the latest Calvin Harris tunes, that Imogen started to feel faint. Putting it down to the heat, she grabbed James’ hand and pulled him back towards the bar.

  ‘You okay?’ he shouted in her ear.

  ‘Yeah, just felt a bit woozy. Perhaps I should have some water.’

  ‘Sure you don’t want another vodka tonic?’

  Imogen smiled at him. ‘Why not. After all life’s too short and all that.’

  What Imogen didn’t know was how prophetic those words would turn out to be.

  29

  Jo’s worst fears were realised a couple of weeks later, when they found another probable victim of their killer, once again found in the water, once again wrapped in bandages. Jo and Byrd stood on the bank at Bosham looking down at the body that had just been retrieved from the water.

  ‘It’s so bloody sad, Byrd,’ said Jo. ‘These beautiful girls, killed, for what? Just to satisfy some psycho’s perversion?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure, Boss, but yes, that’s one way of looking at it.’

  ‘It’s the only one that can make any sort of sense of these senseless murders.’

  ‘If it is Daniel Tate, Guv, then what’s the fascination with Egypt about? Where has it come from?’

  Jo revealed to Byrd what she’d been thinking. ‘What if those books in the flat are his and he tried to hide them in Allison’s room? He could have become interested in Egyptology after watching one of the documentaries that tv stations such as Channel 5 are so fond of. You know, ‘Amazing new evidence from the grave of King Tut’.’

  ‘Or, ‘How the Pyramids were really built’,’ said Byrd.

  Jo caught on, ‘How did Harold Carter really die?’.

  ‘King Tut laid Bare’ is one of my particular favourites,’ said Byrd and then spl
uttered with laughter, before remembering where he was and pulling himself together. ‘Sorry, Boss,’ he said sheepishly.

  Jo smiled and said, ‘For a moment we were enjoying ourselves there. Let’s not beat ourselves up. We can’t become depressed about the case, or we’ll never get anything done. So, what do we know about our victim so far?’

  ‘Judith went into the office as soon as I got the shout. She went through the missing person’s report and the closest fit is a young girl called Imogen Stone.’

  ‘What do we know about her?’

  ‘Student at Chichester Uni studying English. Last seen on a night out in Chichester. That’s all I know at the moment.’

  ‘The university again.’

  ‘I know, Boss.’

  ‘But it might be a red herring.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You know, designed to throw us off the scent. It could be a clue that just leads us down a rabbit hole.’

  ‘Okay, but if that’s the case and we ignore the university connection, where do we go from here?’

  Jo swivelled to look at Byrd. ‘Do you really need to ask that?’

  Byrd groaned. ‘Daniel Tate.’

  ‘Exactly. Come on, there’s not much we can do here. Let’s go and visit our favourite suspect.’

  ‘Yours, you mean.’

  ‘Sorry, Byrd, did you say something?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  Jo’s eyes flashed with anger, until she saw Byrd grinning at her. She grinned back and said, ‘Let’s go, Eddie.’

  It took about half an hour for them to reach Daniel’s flat. They made their way to his floor and Jo was just about to knock on the door when it was flung open, startling all of them.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Tate. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack. What the hell are you two doing here?’

  ‘We’ve come to talk to you, Daniel,’ said Byrd.

  ‘What for now? Look, this is police harassment.’