Death Marks (The Symbolist) (20 page)

The odour of unwashed bodies, stale cigarette breath, overnight pizza and doughnuts swept over Redd as he entered the Incident Room. Jack was already there with Dove, helping DS Price the Office Manager to sort out the latest photos from forensics. Price turned to another white board stacked against the wall, bringing into line with the existing two, full of photos, well-thumbed maps and finger smudged reports. As usual, the Incident room overflowed with officers working twelve-hour shifts, with nonstop scrolling through endless lists of door to door searches, interviews, websites and pagan groups.

'Jack, I've arranged the dig at the Church with Forensics for two PM, could you cover that with Dove?'

Jack grinned. 'Yeah, let's hope we find something.' He was delighted; he would have Dove to himself for a whole afternoon.

Dove fumed, dammit, so Tess would be with him again. Wasn't she supposed to be his partner?

'Boss, I thought we would do that together?'

Seeing her frustration, Redd took to one side. 'What's on your mind detective?'

'I thought I was your partner, but you always seem to be more with her.'

'By her, you mean Dr. Davies?'

Dove flushed, and nodded.

Well, detective, I think you've forgotten that you stand in for Jack as well. He's helping us out here. With the budget cuts, we can't afford the luxury of permanent partners. Besides, I need Dr. Davies's expertise on the search; she'll be able to pick out important areas.'

Dove hung her head. 'I just wanted to be more part of it.'

'You are Dove; the dig is extremely important, and I want you to oversee that with Jack. So get to it, we need to get the officers seated, time's marching on.' His tone was gentle, his eyes sharp.

Knowing she was just about to overstep the mark with him, Dove turned away, ignoring Jack's smile.

Leaving her to get the officers in order, Redd turned to Hugh Price.

'So now, Price, I assume the investigation team has the reports on the latest victim?'

'Yes boss, I've also given out copies of Dr. Davies's report to the primary investigating team, they arrived by special courier this morning.'

'Good, she must have worked all night on that.'

'Yeah, dedicated young woman Sir.'

Redd enthused, 'Brilliant girl, knows her stuff - don't know what we would do without her.'

Price shot him a knowing look. 'I saw her at the site yesterday boss. How'd she take it?'

'Very well - she held her own.'

DS Price smiled quietly; things could get interesting in the love department.

Redd turned to face the assembled officers. 'Attention everyone. As you are all aware, we have yet another victim, the perps surpassed themselves. Significantly, it was one of their own - a young man by the name of Kevin Stewart. They took his face but left his head. Fortunately, the Forensic department reconstructed the face using the F.A.C.E software. We put out another news flash and someone called in within minutes.

Going to his file, he pinned up a crime scene photo of the victim. Tapping it, with a long snooker cue he said, '
This is an example of the Blood Eagle, you will see an explanation of it in your reports. For the sake of the other officers not in the first investigating team, these butchers carved the eagle into the Vic's back, and cut through to the spine and ribcage. They pulled out the ribs, and then the lungs through his back to form blood-stained wings.'

He paused for the officers to get to grips with the horror before them. On studying the photos, one female officer left the room abruptly holding her mouth, whilst a seasoned male sergeant officer didn't make it, projectile vomiting into a waste bucket. Coughing and spluttering he carried it out of the room.

In the ensuing silence, Redd said, 'We're dealing with the devil himself. In addition, it is not over - as you will see in your reports, there is a major festival coming up June twenty-first to twenty-second, the Summer Solstice. The neo-pagans are preparing for it now, building bonfires. These sadists, however, will be dreaming up another horror. We have reason to believe it will be the Wicker Man.'

Watkins stroking a stubbly ginger chin said, '
Wasn't there a film about the Wicker Man? Some years ago now.'

'Yes Watkins - unfortunately, but if we are correct, they are planning to sacrifice more than one victim; we envisage it will be twenty feet high'

Sid Tomkins, the Exhibits Officer asked, 'What was that then?'

'Well, there's a new film of it - takes place on an island village, this policeman goes in search of a missing girl and ends up being sacrificed to their pagan gods, burnt alive in a wooden effigy of a man.'

Bessie Owen frowned. 'Gruesome. But at that height wouldn't it be easy to spot?'

'Not if it's on a private estate
—'

Redd turned back to the board, pointing to a map Price had just pinned up. As you will read in your reports, we now have some intel' that points to the Medbury Estate. Covers thousands of acres as you can see. Not any concrete evidence yet, but something to investigate.'

O'Connell said, 'Need a lot of wood. Where they gonna get that from then?'

Redd nodded. 'There's plenty of forest land around here. They'd use silver birch; it's pliant and also one of the major sacred trees with the druids, besides the Oak and Yew. Study your reports from Dr. Davies. Unlike many reports from academics, her text is concise and easy to read. You'll learn a lot about Druid lore, festivals and purposes of the sacrifices. You need to know this. You need to know your adversary, start getting a few ideas.'

Watkins spoke up, 'Can't ever know a bloody maniac.'

'You can try to anticipate them Watkins - think outside of the box.'

Dove said, 'Wouldn't the land Forestry Commission keep an eye out for people logging them?'

'No, not really, they haven't got the staff resources to cover the vast woodlands we have here in the Downs. However, we are going to do aerial searches as from this afternoon. 'Gonna use your Cessna Boss?' O'Connell smiled; he knew the Inspector was a keen pilot and kept a small plane on Tangmere airfield.

Redd grinned, 'No chance; we'll be using a helicopter.''

Looking over to Amanda Green's partner, he said, 'Crosby, can you give an update on the pagan members, have you made any inroads?'

'Yes boss, there are hundreds of groups, with over forty thousand members in the Pagan Federation and well over ten thousand druids. Amanda and I are in touch with over three-quarters of the group leaders. We hope to have contacted them all by e-mail this evening.'

Green lifting her pointed chin, said, '
They've all been asked to contact us about any members whom they think should be investigated further. So far, we have well over a thousand reports from the pagan groups, and one hundred and fifty from the druids. But, no-one has heard even a hint of the unsubs.'

'Well done. Now the drug websites, Papworth? Any luck?'

Fingering his pony tail, he said, 'I've had a team working on that boss, it's frustrating as we've reported before, so many seem to close down over night, and then new ones appear.'

Redd queried, '
Could be the same ones just changing their addresses. Have you checked their IPS's?'

'Yes and no luck. I think they just go on to new servers.'

Redd nodded. 'Good try. So anything at all?'

'We did trace one to Bucks Row, a tiny hamlet, couple of miles from Tillngton.'

Hearing the gravel stones crackle under numerous feet, the Dowager leant over to peer into darkness; distant voices garbling farewells floated in. They were obviously coming from the East Wing. Freddie her worthless son, as usual, holding one of his late dinner parties. She tutted, squinting at her heavy gold watch - two AM. Disgraceful - didn't they have homes to go to?

Almost an insomniac, she never went to bed before two to three AM. Nurse Phillipa retired hours earlier, as she had to be on call at six AM in case her ladyship required a cup of tea. Julia should've been in bed hours ago, but then Freddie needed her to hostess dinner parties, unless he had yet another fancy woman. After Cecilia's demise, he never married again. He should have, if not for his daughter's sake, motherless at eighteen months. She had tried to help, but she wasn't a baby person. Even with her own children, she always had servants and nannies. She rarely saw Freddie or his sister. She searched in her mind, for her daughter's name; was it Barbara ... no? She bit her lip ... Alfhildr ... no - horrible name. She shook her head at the vision of her infant daughter, playing on the lawns, the sun shining on her pale blond curls. Searching her memory, Freddie drifted into view, a sturdy boy, much too boisterous, much too noisy. She could hear his shouts, as nanny pushed him on the swing. 'Look at me mamma. Look at me.'

Nanny would call over, 'He's a fearless little warrior milady.' She couldn't wait for this stupid woman to take him back to the nursery or wherever they went.

Fragmented memories flitted through her mind, until she visualized a young woman with glorious Titian hair standing in this very room. She'd wanted help - Ju ... God she'd forgotten the name again. Her lip trembled; she really was losing her mind if she could not remember her name, it was her granddaughter, but what was her name? Darling girl, the only child that she ever had any time for. Children existed because the late
earl insisted the Medbury lineage continued. In return for her luxurious life, she bore him his dratted heirs. If the brats existed, then she would endure them, if only for high tea. Then, her granddaughter Julia arrived, and became her life. To her amazement, at the age of sixty-two she adored her granddaughter. Her days revolved around the ginger headed little mite; why she even went shopping at Claridges; picked out the most exquisite little outfits. She would laugh as nanny and the butler; a pompous overbearing man would carry the boxes stacked head high, precariously stepping up the stone steps to the mansion.

But, now - Ju - she wanted help? What was it, she said? Nurse Phillipa had been in the room - hadn't she? She sent her away because Julia - yes that was it Julia, had something secretive to say - something she didn't want the nurse to know. She shouldn't have dismissed the nurse - dammit. Her stomach turned over with a feeling of dread. Julia said something about the cellars. What was she doing in cellars and tunnels? She'd looked frightened. It was about some trouble. Dear God she couldn't remember. She pointed the remote control to the door, crying out for Nurse Phillipa, forgetting she had a night nurse. Pulling her hair in frustration, she guided the chair to the corridor. Nurse Hannah appeared immediately; her starched uniform and permed grey hair immaculate.

'Yes Ma'am?'

'Hah - who are you?'

'I am your night nurse Ma'am.'

'Ma'am? Don't be so insolent. It's milady to you girl. Now go fetch Nurse Phillipa.'

'Milady, she is asleep. I have strict instructions not to awaken her.' The nurse wilted under the hawk like gaze of her employer. She knew there had been a stream of nurses before her. The Dowager would dismiss someone on a whim, or because she could not remember them, she would grow suspicious, suspecting they were there to abduct her for ransom; the paranoia and hallucinations were increasing. She needed to placate the old lady.

'Milady, you interviewed me with the
earl, three weeks ago. You inquired about my home in Dorset. You said you'd had some lovely holidays there, in your cottage.

The Dowager screwed up her lips, what was the stupid woman warbling on about? She needed to find Julia, not talk about holidays. 'For goodness sake, I didn't call for you to twitter on about holidays. Now come, take me to the East Wing - the cellars underground. I want to speak to my granddaughter Julia.' Relieved, she at last remembered her darling's name. 'When we reach the ground floor go east. There is a lift down to the cellars.'

Once on the ground floor, the nurse looked for the lift; being new, she still had to get her bearings. The mansion was huge, with three floors and two wings. Searching the numerous doors, she said, 'Milady, I can't see a lift to the cellars, only some steps.'

Irritated, the Dowager clucked, '
Well take the stairs - take the stairs. Use your commonsense woman.'

'But milady, you can't manage those stairs. I'll call for assistance.'

'You will do no such thing; we don't want to alert them do we?'

Nurse Hannah frowned, 'Alert whom?'

'Just go and get my walking stick quickly.'

As the nurse ran back, the Dowager kept repeating, 'Julia - her name is Julia - she needs me - something about duds - dudies - dud. That bloody Freddie, loathsome boy - pulling the legs of those cockroaches. Ju - Ju - Julia. He's taking off her legs.' As she shuddered, Hannah returned holding the silver crowned walking stick.

The Dowager clenched teeth. 'Ah, just the thing - I'll kill him - I'll bloody kill him.'

Assisted by Hannah, she rose from the wheelchair, hobbling to the cellar door.

Hannah remonstrated, wishing she'd roused Nurse Phillipa; she was indulging the Dowager's fantasy. But, she knew if she did call for help, the old lady would dismiss her instantly. She needed the job; employment was almost non-existent for a sixty-five year-old nurse. 'Milady, you can't possibly cope with the steps.'

'What? Of course, I can, nothing wrong with me. I won the hundred-yard sprint at school.'

'Milady please.'

'I did. I won the err ... err ... silver cup for the hundred yards. I'll show the bloody duds. They won't harm my precious Ju - Ju. Oh God, what's her name?'

To Hannah's amazement, the Dowager rose unaided from the chair and hobbled to the door, finding the light switch; she clicked it on.

'I'll go first ma'am; if you fall I can catch you.'

'Don't be so bloody insulting, you're talking to an Olympic champion. I won eight medals - eight gold medals.'

With her hand groping the wall, Hannah said politely, '
Yes milady.' Treading carefully, she led the way, astonished at the old lady's determination and agility. 'It seems deserted.' Upon her words, they heard someone groaning - sobbing.

'Oh dear, hurry - we must hurry.' Reaching the bottom of the steps, the Dowager tottered along the narrow corridor, her stick tapping rapidly against moist walls. The sobbing rose to a wail, as they flung open the door. The Dowager stood open mouthed, whilst Hannah looked over her sloped shoulder. Shrieking, she flung her arms around the Dowager.

Almost frozen to the spot, the old lady cried out, 'Julia my precious - what is that?'

The young woman shrunk away in a corner, her face streaked with tears, the naked tattooed body shaking uncontrollably. 'Nana - Nana.'

'What? What are those?' The Dowager's frail arm pointed to the middle of the floor. 'Arms?' She raised a trembling arm to a pedestal in the corner. 'Oh dear God, a head - it's staring at me.' The old lady screamed, 'Julia - has Freddie been at it again? Monster - I have a monster for a son. They should crucify him - crucify him. Oh God.' As she went to step forward, her arms opening wide to hold Julia, she stumbled clutching her throat, gurgling vomit. Hannah caught her as she slowly slid to the concrete floor.

Screaming, Julia leapt over to her, as the
earl appeared, his eyes wild. 'Mama - mummy. How did she get here? Mummy?'

Hannah turned to run, only to be blocked by two men, naked except for long cloaks.

The earl looked up. 'Hold her.' He knelt to his mother, tenderly lifting her comatose body in his arms, screeching at the Ovates to ring for help, 'Dial 999 - get an ambulance here now - move it - move it.'

Julia covered herself with her cloak and followed him.

Within minutes, he took the Dowager back to her room, gently lowering her on the bed. He clasped a cold hand, kissing the fingers one by one.