Death Marks (The Symbolist) (19 page)

As the car sped through the rolling landscape, Tess watched some sheep munching away in the fields, the lambs now grown. It was an idyllic scene marred by the unspeakable atrocities. The country lanes now gave way to the small village of Tillington, as they drove past terraced stone and Tudor style cottages, their wattle and lime walls leaning over tiny pavements. Passing a modest shopping parade, Tess said, 'Take the next right. You'll see a pig farm, and then the church is about five hundred yards up a small track. We'll have to walk from there.'

Redd nodded. 'It's not that far from Kingley Vale. As you say we've almost done a complete circuit.'

'Makes you wonder if the perps live nearby. It all seems concentrated in this area.'

Parking the car in the layby, they strolled to the Church. Redd picked at some cowslips their white feathered heads lounging over the tiny pebbled path, 'So getting back to it, you don't think it's a psychopath?'

Tess shook her head, 'No - not really; the psychopath doesn't get involved in crimes of a religious nature. They appear charming, intelligent, but, they have an intense inner rage, and they would carve you up with a smile. They kill for the sheer joy of it, and have no remorse. The thing is, they are highly organized though, just like this group, but they have no guilt complex, no remorse. Their motive for killing is pleasure, not for some religious or moral purpose. They get a kick out of seeing people suffer.'

'As you say, vicious - but these crimes have a moral or religious motive.' He laid a hand on Tess's slim waist guiding her through the decaying oak gate with an overhead arch. Overgrown trees and bushes hid the church ahead.

Waiting, as he closed the gate, she said, 'Exactly, now besides the psychopath, you've got the sociopath and this one is a real snake in the grass. Your sociopath is even more dangerous as they appear so normal. They can be anyone, your mother, father, co-worker, even your best friend, and you won't have any idea. Not all are killers though, it depends on their purpose.'

She stumbled, her feet churning on loose pebbles. Redd caught her, his arms slipping around the curvaceous body, her head lifted to his. He gazed at the pearl pink lips, moist, glistening.

Taking a breath she said, 'Now where was I? Yes, sociopaths are expert liars and can even outwit a lie detector. They feel they're entitled to everything and do not feel love or have any time for it; they crave excitement and get bored very easily, shifting from one event to another. They usually have a history of juvenile delinquency. Another telling sign is they will never take the blame for anything.

'So where exactly does this group fit?'

'I think we're looking at a co-morbid personality. There's been a lot of research into combining pathological personalities. I really do think our unsub has schizophrenic, psychopathic and sociopathic tendencies. He had the power to charm his followers, get them to trust him whilst plying them with hallucinogenic drugs.'

'Jesus - how the hell do we recognize someone like that?'

'I believe the only way is through the symbols; these people are on genius level, or at least a couple are.'

As the path wound through overhanging rhododendrons, Redd saw the derelict remains of a Saxon church. The nave soared up with the original stonework and some signs of flint knapping. Two small towers, the nave and main body of the church still stood.'

Tess clutched at his arm, 'Beautiful isn't it? It has an early Christian transept, a rectangular space from the apse to the nave. It also has a south turret - stair to the west turret, plus a small apsidal chancel dating back over one thousand two hundred years. It was almost destroyed in the great storm of 1987. Sadly, there's no sign of it being restored.'

Redd could see most of the windows were missing, giving an eerie look in the deepening twilight. The Saxon square tower with missing stones, reared up like ragged teeth biting the clouds. Redd said, '
So how do we go about finding this individual?'

'Well, you'll have your own methods; mine are just an addition really. However, I should imagine they are wealthy otherwise, they couldn't carry out these practices. They need somewhere obscure within reach of groves. Take the leader now; he may have a country estate in the Downs. His land would have a grove of yews and a circle of oak trees. If he is wealthy enough he will have deer. If he has a white hind in the herd, that is a direct signal - it's absolutely sacred to the druids.

'Really?'

'Yes, they are known as fairy cattle to the Scottish; the story is that many have seen these cattle being milked by the fairy women. There are others, who claim they are fairies, who have the power to shape shift into these animals. It also augers positive change and is an omen of good fortune and great happiness.'

'Are they rare?'

'Oh yes, hence the importance of it to the Druid. But then we also have the salmon.'

'Salmon?'

Tess nodded. 'Yes, it's the oldest animal for the druids, an ancient spiritual tradition in many cultures. It appears in Welsh and Irish mythology, Hindu - the Vedas, Babylonian, Sumerian, to name a few and of course, the Christian faith, and later the Philosopher's Stone.'

'Quite a history - I've heard of the fish in the Christian faith, the fisherman, five fishes.'

'Yes, both Buddha and Christ were referred to as fishermen. Now the druids seek the Salmon of Wisdom, which is deep in the universal consciousness.'

'So, this guy could have a salmon stream or something on this estate? It's going to be difficult without a warrant, and without probable cause, we haven't got a hope in hell of searching these estates.'

Stepping around some stones, Tess said, '
Well - yes. I've looked up the various estates, and yes you can find salmon farms and fishing in the South West. There are other animals the druids held as sacred or helpful in their quest for wisdom and divination, including protection.'

'Such as?'

'I can't recall them all, but they'll be in the report.' There's the Owl, for instance, a guide to the underworld, who will hunt out your enemies, then the Swan - very mystical, the druids used them for ritual feathers in their cloaks. They also help with the interpretation of dream symbols and spiritual evolution.'

'So we should be looking for these on the estates?'

Tess stopped to look at some shattered remains of an ancient gravestone. 'Yes - it is an idea, not only are they symbolic, but druids would keep them as pets, dogs and cats, for instance, are very important, as is the horse.' Stooping, she tried to read the date on the stone. 'You know these are ancient; the dates are in roman numerals.'

Redd bent to look. 'Hmm yes, shame they're broken up, it's a piece of history really. But, coming back to what you're saying, that's one hell of a menagerie. We should be looking for a zoo, not an estate.'

'I know, but the druids looked upon them as their brothers, part of their world, their very being.'

'Yet they'll readily kill them to read their entrails?'

'Yes, but that was a noble death; the animal was honoured as were the humans. They also predicted the future with the calls and flights of birds.'

'Now that would be difficult to trace, unless they're pigeons.'

'Not really, the raven as I said is sacred; they belong to the Corvidae family, that includes crows, rooks, jackdaws, magpies and so on. Now these birds can't be caged as they become neurotic, and you can't tame the wild ones, but you can rear them - that way they become tame and even affectionate. So it's just a suggestion.'

'Titmouse and others scoffed when I talked about getting a symbolist - now they can eat their words.'

Smiling, he turned to see an old man with a bent back and carrying a spade, shuffle around the corner of the tower. Coming to a halt, screwing up his eyes he peered at them. 'Not often we 'ave people 'ere.'

Redd nodded. 'Good to see you, just the person we need.'

'Oh ... and how's that then?'

Pulling out his ID, Redd introduced himself, 'Detective Chief Inspector Redd. We're here on police business.'

'Oh....' the old man scratched a grizzled chin 'We ain't had no trouble 'ere. Just some varmints messin' like.'

'Have you had any graves disturbed?'

'Nah, only the young uns messing, running across the graves they do - no respect these young uns - not like the old days. No one dared to tread on a grave - holy ground, not that they care nowadays.'

Tess spoke up, '
D'you mind if we have a look around?'

'Nah, go ahead, not as you'll find much - the church is dyin' - been years since we had a service here; place is falling to bits. Old Vicar Jenkins would do his head in if he saw the old place now.'

'So you knew the Vicar?'

'Yeah - he be long gone - don't come near now - it's his legs you see.' The old man leant on his spade, as he spat on the grass.

'So he's still alive?'

'Oh yes, he be a strong old git - gets about in his chair, one of those fancy things - electric. I do see him in the village of times. He be in his nineties now. Too far for him to come here though. Good thing he can't - break his bloody heart it would.'

Taking out a notepad, Redd said, 'Have you got his address?'

'Yes, I can't remember the number now, but he lives about four doors down from the Post office, big old white house, needs a lick of paint now, The Manse it be called.'

'Thank you that's great. Now if you wouldn't mind we'd like to have a look around.'

'Alright then - but now I'll be getting on; I'm nearly finished up here. Them louts don't make it easy you know - I'd put a stick to them if I caught them, leave all sorts of things, beer cans, bottles, cigarette packets and things I won't be mentioning in front of the young lady.'

Watching the man limp away, Tess said, 'Dear old man isn't he? Therefore, we had better start looking - you never know we might strike lucky. He could not see very well could he, and his glasses were ancient. He was squinting even when he put them on. So maybe he wouldn't have noticed a disturbed grave.'

Redd nodded. 'Not if they put them back tidily, pressed them down hard enough.'

Tess stooped by one gravestone listing to one side, clear of moss. 'Look at this, a carving of a man with a moon and a skull. The inscriptions almost worn away and the dates are in roman numerals again, so it is quite old. - can you read it; I never studied Latin.'

Redd knelt to the ground, 'I hated learning it, tables after tables, but let's have a look, right ... now it says fifteen hundred and ... the rest has almost disappeared. Anyway, it's fifteen hundred and it says something about a thief and being damned.' Peering across to the next grave he said, '
Look at this one - fourteen hundred.'

'Now that is old. Amazing.'

Redd looked surprised. 'A hobby of yours?'

'No - too morbid. But, I did have to do a lot of research in graveyards, looking for Christian symbols.'

'I must say, most people find graveyards fascinating, if they happen to be walking through. I can't help looking at the names and the year.'

'Yeah, gives you a sense of your own mortality though.'

Redd peered at another, lying in two halves on the ground. 'Look at this, skull and crossbones.'

Tess peered down. 'Yes, but see here.' She picked at a sod of grass lying to one side, the earth fresh. 'This has been moved, if the old man hasn't dug here, then?'

Redd pushed some more of the grass sods to one side. 'No wonder the stone is in two halves, they broke it - look; these are fresh sods of grass pushed down.'

Tess put her hand to her mouth. 'D'you think...?'

Redd nodded. 'We may be in luck. I'd better have word with the old man.' Looking over the churchyard, he espied him tending a grave sheltered by a large yew tree. 'Hang on I'll go and get him.'

The Manse lay back from the road, the garden some eighty feet in length. Flowers straggled a winding flagstone path over-ridden with a profusion of weeds. Honey suckle wound around a rainwater pipe tucked discreetly by the side of an aging white door, buckling inwards.

Redd had to pull sharply on the rusted bell pulley, before it gave way to a mellow ring. Hearing a creaking noise behind the door, they stepped back, as it opened to reveal a man crouched in a smart leather wheelchair. His face, a mass of wrinkles spoke of smiles and laughter, his eyes gleamed with kindness. 'Well hello - now to what do I owe the pleasure?'

Redd almost bowed. 'Good evening; we're sorry to disturb you.' Pulling out his warrant card, he said, 'Detective Chief Inspector Redd, we're here to enquire about St. Stephen's, a worker there informed me that you were the Vicar, the Reverend Jenkins?'

'Ah yes, now that would be Tom Thatcher. 'It's many years since we held a service there -sadly. The storm almost levelled it.'

Redd nodded to Tess. 'May I introduce my assistant, Dr. Davies?'

'Pleased to meet you my dear. Now please, do come in.' The lounge was surprisingly large; furnished with buttoned deep red brocade chairs, covered with lace antimacassars on the backs. The heavy Victorian oak furniture shone with lavender polish scenting the room, along with a faint smell of baked cakes. Heavy maroon curtains of a velvety texture gave a certain somnolence and old worlde charm. Even though it was June, a fire crackled in the large hearth of a carved oak fireplace, the mantelpiece covered with heavy lace that hung in Victorian style.

Tess glanced over to the magnificent marble clock upon which, perched a half-naked mermaid embossed in gold plate, carrying a curved staff. Charmed she said, '
What a beautiful room - lovely house.'

'Ah yes, I am blessed to still have it as my home. St. Stephen's has no need of another Vicar - sadly I may say. The local Baptist Church is thriving though. Do sit down. You've missed high tea, but I'm sure my housekeeper will rustle up some more for us. She fairly dotes on baking.'

The vision of the mutilated young man rose in her mind. 'Umm ... that's kind of you but—'

'Come now, I won't take no for an answer; it's not often we have visitors.'

As the vicar pulled a heavy plaited rope by the curtain, Redd said, 'That's very kind of you Reverend, I'm feeling rather hungry.'

A petite stout woman of some sixty years or more appeared, with grey hair pinned up in a bun, cheeks apple red and twinkling blue eyes submerged in wrinkles, creasing into a smile.

'Hah Mrs. Pretty. I know it's late but could you prepare a tray of tea for our guests?'

Wiping her immaculately clean hands over her immaculately clean apron, boiled and starched to the shade of toothpaste, she said, '
Now that'd be a pleasure Sir. My cakes have just come out the oven. They be cooling now.'

The Reverend smiled. 'We're in for a treat - thank you.'

'Pleasure m'dear - got to fill the young uns up haven't we?' With that, she bustled away.

Beaming, Jenkins turned back to Redd. 'Quite a treasure - motherly lady indeed. Now Sir, how can I help you?'

Aware of the old man's years and frailty, Redd said, 'I'm afraid what I have to say is not pleasant, and I have no wish to offend or upset you.'

Jenkins said, 'There is not much would shock me young man, at ninety-three, having lived through two World Wars and seventy years of tending my flock, so feel free to speak.'

'Reverend, we are investigating a spate of murders; sadly, we have discovered another today. Bones, which appear to be quite old, are left with the bodies. We can only assume that the perpetrators take these from graveyards.'

'Hah, I see - is this about the murders in the newspapers - television?'

'Yes - we are hoping the public will come forward with information.'

'Vicious crimes Inspector - quite vicious.'

Redd nodded. 'Yes, so far we've searched graveyards within a fifty-mile radius of the crime scene, and Dr. Davies mentioned St. Stephen's, although derelict we thought we should search the graveyard. The thing is Reverend; it is evident that some of the graves are disturbed. We shall have to get a team of experts in to investigate further.'

Jenkins grimaced. 'I will help you in any way I can Inspector.' As he spoke, Mrs
. Pretty entered pushing a tea trolley laden with fine china, cups and saucers and plates of food, 'Now m'dears, we have salmon sandwiches, cheese and cucumber and some ham just boiled on the bone today.

Tess felt mortified, even as her mouth watered. Seeing her expression Redd murmured, '
Eat up, we might be working into the night, you'll need this.'

Catching his words the Reverend said, '
Yes dear girl, you have to feed the body as well as the soul. You need your strength to find these sadists. They need to be hung, drawn and quartered.'

Surprised at the strength of his words, Redd looked to see quite a savage expression on the seemingly gentle face.

Jenkins glanced at him. 'Oh yes Inspector; I mean every word. These criminals have reverted to savages, casting aside Our Lord, embracing the darkest pagan rituals; hell is where they belong Sir - hell.'

Redd said nothing, he could imagine this priest standing in the pulpit reigning hell and damnation, fire and brimstone over a cowering congregation. He was far from the gentle old man, he thought him to be.

Tess nodded, 'I agree Reverend.' She felt a rush of horror through her body. Putting her head in her hands, she felt the tears stinging her eyes. 'It's all just so horrible, cruel. And the mutilations - how could anyone....' her voice trailed away as she wept. Through her sobs she muttered, 'I'm sorry, so sorry.'

She felt callused hands take hers, saw the wrinkled face of the Reverend. 'My dear - don't apologi
ze, it's your heart speaking. You're so brave to be doing this. Many couldn't. Think what you are doing for the Lord, in his name; you are saving his children - seeking retribution, making sure no more will feel the terror at the hands of the wicked. Come now let us pray together.'

Albeit an agnostic, Tess closed her eyes, as she listened to the quiet exhortation of the Vicar. Calm seeped through her flesh, quieting her body and her heart. As she raised her head, and opened her eyes, she saw Redd's head still slightly bent. So he still felt it too, the horror.

Seeing Tess recovered somewhat, Mrs. Pretty said, 'Come now, try to eat, as the Reverend said, you have to feed your body to help your soul.'

Giving them a weak smile, Tess picked out a salmon sandwich, her favourite.

Seeing her put one small portion on her plate, Mrs. Pretty said, 'Now try to have some more m'dear - try.'

Redd
said, 'Come on Tess you haven't eaten all day.' He looked over to Jenkins; we got an urgent call, so we had to rush to the crime scene; it's been non-stop.'

Munching through a cucumber and cheese sandwich, Redd said, '
So Reverend, can you tell me a little about the Church and the land?'

Putting down his teacup, Jenkins said, '
It's an ancient building, never out of use until the storm. It's so sad to see it empty, and neglected after all the history, prayers, births, weddings, burials. In the church itself are funerary slabs to the present earl's family. Even he doesn't come near the place.'

'The
earl?'

'Yes the
Earl of Medbury. He owns most of the land around here.'

'Including the Church?'

'Oh yes. His ancestors built it. They managed to survive the scourge of King Henry the Eighth. It was Catholic at one time, but now Anglican. I have remonstrated with the earl about the church being allowed to become a ruin.'

Tess nodded, as she swallowed a piece of her sandwich. 'It's ancient - it should be preserved.'

'I know the dowager is quite bitter about it all. I mean the man even suggested that he perform a natural burial for her when she dies. He's obsessed with some peculiar cult - Druid's - with all this in the papers he must be feeling quite awkward.'

Tess raised her head to look over to Redd. 'Druids?'