Blood Axe (18 page)

40

While a team
were checking out alibis, Ian spent the next morning scrutinising the connection between Ralph and Oliver. Ted's suggestion that Ralph and Oliver might be working together might seem unlikely, but it was feasible. At least it was something to go on. Of course the two men worked together, but Ian could find no evidence of any special relationship between them. As far as he could ascertain, they had never met before Oliver started his job at Jorvik. The main challenge to the theory came from George, who insisted that a violent killer like the axe man was far more likely to be working alone.

‘The chances of discovery would be doubled for one thing,' he pointed out.

‘That's a good thing, isn't it?' someone said.

‘Not for the killer. What I'm saying is, it doesn't fit the profile. This type of killer typically works alone. He's in it for the thrill and part of that is the secret. Being the only one who knows what's happening gives him a sense of power, and that's an important part of the whole enterprise. Being in the know. He wouldn't want to sit around planning his campaign with an accomplice. You take this night, I'll take that. He wouldn't want to share his knowledge. Alone, he feels all-powerful.'

‘Like God,' someone muttered.

‘Plus,' George went on, ‘if there were two of them committing murders together, they would be unlikely to be working together at the museum as well. It's too risky.'

For once, Ian was inclined to disregard George's reservations. It seemed pointless to apply reason to the actions of this killer. Eileen agreed with Ian.

‘Insanity is unpredictable,' she said. ‘We need to keep an open mind about Ted's idea that Ralph and Oliver might be working together.'

In the meantime, none of the research teams had come up with anything helpful. There was no record of mental illness or violence in either Ralph's or Oliver's history. Jimmy had a similarly anodyne life story. None of the staff at the museum had any recorded trauma or criminal activity, apart from a couple of women working there. Sophie had been arrested once for a drug offence, while in her first year at university. Charges had been dropped. She hadn't even been cautioned. A woman who worked in the gift shop had been accused of stalking her ex-husband about ten years before. An injunction had been served against her and that had been the end of it. Other than that, a few minor traffic offences were the closest any of the museum employees had come to breaking the law. None of that helped the investigation into the recent atrocities. They were really working in the dark.

The papers had been quick to find the connection between the two murders. Ian swore. Andrew Hilton had been talking to the papers. It wasn't clear whether he was complaining or boasting about his stolen axe that had been used to hack two people to death.

‘Cost me over a hundred pounds,' he was quoted as saying. ‘So I hope the police catch this maniac soon.'

Whatever happened, there was no way he was going to recover his stolen axe. It would remain in police possession permanently. Ian would make sure of that. One paper had published a sketch of the missing axe, with a caption, ‘Have you seen this axe?' The papers were intrusive, and frequently inaccurate. They had published a photograph of Angela's grieving mother and stepfather, alongside the image of the axe that had killed their daughter. But at the same time, he had to concede that the papers performed a useful function. There was a slim chance someone might actually have noticed the unusual markings on the blade. In all the phone calls coming through to the switchboard, there might be one that led them to the killer's identity. It was possible. It seemed that Ian's hopes were justified when Sophie came to the station asking to see him.

‘Says she saw something in the paper,' the desk sergeant added.

Ian's heart thumped. She might have noticed someone carrying an axe with the algiz rune engraved on the blade. Working at Jorvik, she was well placed to recognise such symbols. This could be the lead they had been hoping for.

‘If it's dripping with blood, that could be another clue,' Ted called out with a grin as Ian hurried from the office.

Sophie was sitting in an interview room twisting a tissue nervously in her thin fingers. Staring across a table at Ian, her eyes wide with anxiety, she looked more like a frightened rabbit than ever. She crossed her legs and leaned forward slightly in her chair, without taking her eyes off Ian's face.

‘It was in the paper,' she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

‘There's no need to be nervous. Just tell me what you saw.'

‘It was his face.'

‘His face? Whose face do you mean?'

‘I recognised him. The man who was following me. It was that poor girl's stepfather.'

Not for the first time in the investigation, Ian felt sceptical about a witness. He decided on balance it would be best to challenge her statement straight away, before making a formal report of it. He didn't want to gain a reputation for distrusting young women.

‘You stated quite clearly on a previous occasion that you couldn't see what he looked like, because he kept to the shadows,' he reminded her, checking his notes as he spoke. ‘Are you sure you recognised him?'

‘Yes.' She sounded slightly hysterical. ‘When I saw him, I knew it was him. I mean, I'd forgotten... I couldn't remember him very well, so when you asked me last time, I just said I didn't see him because I didn't know what else to say. I panicked. But when I saw him in the paper, I recognised his face straight away. You don't think I'll be the next victim, do you?'

‘Don't worry. We'll catch him soon.'

She smiled gratefully. ‘I hope so. It's so scary, knowing there's a killer on the streets.'

Ian gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Like I said, we'll catch up with him very soon. Now, I'd like you to make a formal statement about the man you recognised in the paper.'

She seemed very nervy and he suspected she might have an overactive imagination. Even so, he had to accept the possibility that she was telling the truth. It was hard to be sure. Somewhere along the line, things had to start to make sense. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

‘She looked very disappointed when I walked in. I think you'd better watch out. She kept asking me where you were,' Naomi teased Ian after he had sent her to take Sophie's statement.

He laughed. This kind of ribbing was fine between colleagues, but it wasn't the first time a vulnerable young woman had thrown herself at him in such an obvious way. With a quip about women who fancied men in authority, he hurried back to his desk. Two young women had come forward to cast suspicion on Angela's stepfather. Ian wondered how significant their claims were.

41

E
ileen summoned Ian
for an informal update on how the case was moving forward. She sat very upright, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on her desk. Her jaw looked even more square than usual, her nose sharper, as though she was trying to sniff out the meaning behind his words. Her impatience was almost palpable.

‘Between you and me,' Ian said, ‘I'm not sure Sophie is a very reliable witness. When I spoke to her at the museum, she was adamant she hadn't seen her alleged stalker's face. Now she's equally positive she recognised Frank Carter in some fuzzy black-and-white image in the paper. It doesn't really stack up.'

‘Help me understand this, Ian. Why would she lie about it?'

Ian hesitated to admit that he thought Sophie might be trying to make him notice her. Apart from the fact that he had no real basis for his impression, he was reluctant to sound narcissistic.

‘Just attention-seeking,' he replied vaguely.

Eileen nodded. It needed no clarification, really. The police were used to cranks, do-gooders, and out-and-out oddballs. Bored and deluded, desperate for an audience, if they weren't responding to every request the police sent out for information, they would be reporting psychic communications from the other side.

‘You think she's a time waster?'

He nodded cautiously. ‘She works at Jorvik, so we'll try to keep her on side, but her claim that Frank has been stalking her is just so much guff, if you ask me. Of course we're looking into it. Naomi's gone to question Frank concerning his whereabouts at four thirty on Monday.'

Remembering Naomi's reaction when he had doubted Zoe's second-hand accusation of attempted rape, he didn't add that he thought Sophie was fabricating her story. He was confident Frank would be able to establish he had been at work on Monday when Sophie was on her way home, not hanging around outside Jorvik museum stalking her.

They talked some more about the case, agreeing that, with no reason to target particular victims, the killer was going to prove difficult to track down.

‘Sooner or later he's going to make a mistake, and then we'll get him,' Eileen reassured Ian with a show of confidence he suspected she didn't feel.

‘Let's hope he messes up sooner, rather than later,' he said.

The longer the case dragged on, the more chance there was that someone else would lose their life to this demented killer. Meanwhile, time was passing. Angela and Tim had been brutally murdered within the space of three days. A week had now gone by without any more attacks. Eileen was hopeful that the killing spree was over. Ian wasn't convinced.

‘It's been a week since the last killing. What's he waiting for?' she asked.

‘Opportunity.'

Remembering that Bev was going to see her parents the next day, he turned down Ted's offer of a quick one for the road and went straight home. Thoroughly disgruntled by the frustrations of the case, he tried to put it out of his mind. He stopped on the way home to buy some flowers. Despite his exhaustion, he decided to take his wife out for dinner.

‘That was a bit daft seeing as I'm going away tomorrow,' she told him when he handed her the flowers, but she looked pleased. ‘They're lovely.'

‘I thought we might go out for a bite,' he suggested.

He wasn't disappointed when she told him she would rather stay in and pack that evening.

‘You don't mind, do you? It's just that I planned to get ready this evening, wash my hair and all that.'

‘No. Of course not. To be honest, I'm pretty shattered.'

She could have spent all day packing for her trip, but he genuinely didn't mind. He was content to phone for a takeaway and slouch in front of the television. He tried not to think about the investigation, but it was impossible to shut it out of his mind. Naomi had easily established that Frank had indeed been at work on Monday until half past five. Sophie was, at best, mistaken in identifying him as the man who had followed her to her bus stop. Alternatively she might be a fantasist, lying in a bid for attention.

Bev seemed to be taking a long time to pack. He flicked through the channels on the television. There was nothing he wanted to watch. He went upstairs and found his wife picking her way through a heap of clothes lying on the bed.

‘Jesus, Bev, you're only going to see your parents for the weekend. You look like you're packing for a month's cruise.'

She looked up with a guilty laugh. ‘You know they always like to take me out.'

‘OK, whatever, I'm only saying.'

‘You go on down and put something on the television. I'll be down soon.'

‘But…'

‘Go on.'

With a shrug, he turned and went back downstairs. He would never understand women. Bev looked so excited about going back to Kent. He wondered if he had been unreasonably selfish in dragging her away from her home and her family. His relations with his own family were civil, but distant. Things might have been different if his mother were still around. As a teenager, Ian and his brother had gone to live with their birth father in Kent. His brother had clashed with their father and had joined their stepfather in America as soon as he could. Ian had stayed in England because by then he had met Bev. She was always a magnet for men, but there had never been any other girl as far as he was concerned.

With a sigh, he resumed flicking through the television channels, waiting for the takeaway to arrive. It was little comfort to know there were many more patrol cars than usual on the streets. While he sat at home waiting for his dinner, and police cars were cruising the streets, the Viking axe man could be at his grisly business. Making a mockery of the police patrol cars, he could slip unseen along the dark alleys and Snickelways of York, hunting for his next victim.

42

As he walked
along St Maurice's Road, skirting the city wall, a car pulled into the kerb beside him. When the driver called out, he was so startled he almost dropped his bag. The strap slipped down over his shoulder, dragging his hood back off his face. Quickly he pulled the strap over his shoulder again. Tensed to run, he registered what the driver was saying. As he dithered, she repeated her question. He turned to look at her. She must have been getting on for sixty. Greying hair was pulled back off her face with a plastic hairband, and she wore red lipstick. Looking down at her tentative smile, his fear faded. At the same time he noticed several sparkling rings on her fingers, and a gold chain around her neck.

He shuffled a little closer. ‘Did you say Leeds?'

‘Yes, I'm on my way there, only I'm afraid I've got myself hopelessly lost. It's this wretched one way system. I've been round it three times. If you could just point me in the right direction?'

He made his mind up. He had come out looking for plunder, and here was a rich woman displaying her treasure to him as she asked for his help. Cunning as well as valiant, he did not walk away from her. The gods might not send him a second opportunity that night.

‘Actually, I'm going to Leeds myself. I'm just on my way to the station. I don't suppose – that is, if I come along I could give you directions…'

She understood his question and her smile broadened. ‘This is a lucky coincidence! Hop in. I've been on the road for two hours. It'll be nice to have some company.'

It wasn't lucky for her. If he had been honest, he would have admitted that he wasn't quite sure of the way, but it didn't matter. The moment he climbed into the car, her fate was decided. She was never going to reach Leeds. The gods had sent her to him. He would not fail. The car bowled along and the driver chattered on, telling him she was visiting her son and daughter-in-law in Leeds.

‘I'm not from round here,' she explained. ‘My son just moved up here last month, with his job, and this is the first time I've been able to make it to see the new house. I had no idea it would be so difficult to find. The sat nav's been playing up, you see. I think it's out of date. And then there are all these road works and diversions. I might just take the train next time.'

There wouldn't be a next time.

‘I was doing so well, and then I took a wrong turning and ended up in York!' she added with a laugh.

At her side the warrior sat still and silent, watching and waiting for his chance. It would be best to carry out his task after they left the busy roads of the city, but he didn't want to travel too far. He would have to make his own way home when it was over. The wolf could run for many miles, but his bag was heavy. All being well, it would weigh a little more soon, with the addition of her gold rings and chains and coins. He was hoping for rich pickings. He couldn't help feeling a tremor of guilt because the woman trusted him, but he had no choice. She had seen his face. The gods had offered him a chance to prove himself. With their help he would return home safely.

It wasn't actually very difficult to find the road to Leeds. As the sky darkened with the setting sun they left the streets of York behind them. Crossing the River Ouse, they drove past a golf club, and Askham Bar Park and Ride, and on towards Tadcaster. Streets of houses gave way to flat farmland. It was almost dark outside. When she turned on her headlights, it was time.

‘Are you all right?' the woman asked, seeming to notice his silence for the first time.

‘To be honest, I feel a bit sick,' he replied, seizing the moment. ‘Do you think we could stop for a bit? I just need some fresh air.'

‘Really?' She sounded surprised. They hadn't gone far. All the same she pulled over. ‘We can't have you feeling ill, not after you've been so kind, helping me on my way.'

He didn't answer. His next challenge was to get her out into the fields. It would be easier there, with space to swing his axe.

‘Do you want to come with me?'

The woman shook her head. ‘No, I'll stay here.'

He hesitated, trying to think how he could persuade her to get out of the vehicle, but it didn't really matter. He clambered out by himself.

‘You can leave your bag here,' she called out.

Ignoring her suggestion, he ran away from the car and into the fields. Passing through a gap in a hedge he crouched down for a few seconds, out of sight, hoping she wouldn't change her mind and drive off. He didn't want to leave her for long, but if he went back too quickly she might become suspicious. He counted to a hundred before hurrying back. She was still there, waiting. He opened the door and reached across. Before she realised what was happening, he grabbed her by both arms and pulled her towards him.

‘What are you doing?'

Within seconds she was lying sideways across the passenger seat, her head almost out of the door. Too late she began to struggle as he flung the weight of his body on top of her to stop her returning to her seat and driving away.

‘Get off me!'

Frantically she scrabbled at his cloak, trying to push him off her. There was no time to lose. No time to think. He had to silence her. One of her hands found the steering wheel and clung to it as he seized her by the hair and yanked her towards the passenger door by her head. Losing her grip on the wheel, her arms flailed wildly. There was very little room to manoeuvre. Holding on to her hair with one hand, he raised his axe. Her eyes widened with terror. Before she could open her mouth, Biter swooped, slicing through flesh and soft tissue, carving a passage through the centre of her chest. She writhed helplessly, blood frothing at her lips as her eyes glazed over.

Swiftly disentangling his fingers from her hair, he wrenched the chain from her bloody neck. Seizing her bag, he ripped her purse open and shook its contents out on the tarmac. Gathering up silver and copper coins, he dropped them into his rucksack along with her gold chain. His breath was coming in gasps. Every time a car zoomed by he thought his heart would burst, it was pounding so fast. The woman had stopped moving. Her eyes were fixed in a terrible glare. Satisfied that she was dead, he pulled at the rings on her fingers. Two came off easily. The third refused to shift. Cursing, he thrust the two he had in his bag and turned away. It wasn't much of a haul after all his effort. Next time he would do better. His clothes were relatively unstained, protected from her spraying blood by the car. He wiped Biter's blade quickly on the grass, then turned and fled. He needed to put as much distance as he could between himself and the dead woman. The body would probably not be found before daylight, but there was always the risk that a police car might drive past and stop to investigate a car parked on the verge of a main road out of town. If that happened, he had to be as far away as possible.

The wolf ran swiftly across the fields, towards York.