Death Marks (The Symbolist) (2 page)

He saw Dove's eyes flutter, her mouth opening. Moving swiftly, Redd caught her, as she fell. Pushing through the tent flap, he carried her outside to a wooden seat.

She caught her breath. ‘Sorry boss, I tried but we're talking about two kids here; dear God; it's sick.'

Redd muttered, '
Bastards - I hope they go to hell.'

'I think that's where they came from. They can't be human.'

'Come on Dove - take a break - get some air. I'll deal with Mahoney.'

'But you've only
—'

'No buts.' Changing the subject, he said, '
Look at Tits over there. They're taking casts of his shoes - see his face?' Redd grinned, watching Titmouse arguing, as the SOCOs placed his shoes in plaster. 'Serve him right for gate-crashing.'

Dove managed a tight smile at the use of the Chief's nickname. Tits suited him. Cartoons of the CS wearing a frilly apron and sporting a pair of enormous boobs floated around the offices, and lockers.

Seeing the public disperse, Redd re-entered the tent, tying the flap open.

Mahoney looked up. 'So how're you doing?'

'Okay.'

'To be sure, tis gruesome after what ye've been through.'

'I can deal with it Quinn - I have to.'

'Aye, but it's hard when it's your own.'

Redd flushed; taking a deep breath, he said, 'Esther ... she wouldn't have wanted me to give up. So, I'm back. I'll find the fucker.'

'That's what I like to hear Dan. Let's concentrate on these poor wee souls. Could ye be telling me if SOCO touched the entrails?'

Mahoney was a good friend, but blunt. Nevertheless, he'd yanked him back to the present. 'I've only just got here—'

'As I said, whoever did this has surgical skill, but the cuts forming the cross are ragged; they've used some kind of serrated knife - I wonder what the significance is in that?'

***

Peering out of the cellar window, his black painted nails raked at wire netting. Turning, the hunched figure looked through the flickering light of a single bulb, casting grotesque shapes on the walls. Falling to his knees, he moaned, '
Speak to me ... speak.'

He waited, his head cocked to one side. Tears gushed over the gaunt lines of his face. Reaching out skeletal thin arms, covered in spiralled tattoos, he cried, '
D'you want me to grovel? Is that it? I have done everything - now you ignore me. Please, speak.'

He stopped, listening. Whimpering, he collapsed on the floor, rolling over onto his back, his mouth opening wide in a grimace of fear. 'They'll torture me. You promised.'

He raised his hands in alarm, as the door flew open, the rusted hinges grinding. A figure in a tailored suit blending with the dark grey stone walls loomed over the wretched figure. 'What have you done? You're bloody hallucinating - fucking addict.'

'She wouldn't leave me alone - begged me.'

'Shut up. Couldn't keep your hands off her, could you? And you expect me to cover up?'

'They don't need to know - come on Paul - it won't make any difference.'

'You miserable piece of shit; you fucked her didn't you? Defiled the Chosen. Tell me.'

'No - no I didn't - I
—'

'Tell me - or I'll slit your bloody throat right now.'

'You can't - we're friends - we go back - you wouldn't.'

'Try me - the Oracle doesn't speak. I'm the one who could pay for this. I put you in charge of them.'

'But why tell them? She was a whore -tempted me Paul - I just—'

'Stop lying. Smell this?' Snarling, he shoved a pair of panties under the man's nose. 'Semen - yours.'

'Can't you just burn them? They won't miss them.'

'Every piece of clothing must be accounted for; you can't fool the Dresser.'

'They won't miss those, for God's sake Paul.'

'Don't be so bloody stupid, of course they will. Tell me.'

Cowering, Alan screamed, as Paul pulled a knife from his belt. 'Don't.'

Slashing at the thin arm, Paul snarled, '
Tell me you miserable devil - stop snivelling - tell me.'

The creature scrabbled away, one thin hand trying to staunch the blood flowing from the cut. As the knife rose again, the creature screamed, 'I didn't - I didn't....'

'Don't tempt me.'

'Alright. I
—'

'You moron. That's why the Oracle doesn't speak. They both died for nothing, all those rites - waste of bloody time.'

'Please - don't tell them. I won't do it again - I promise - please.'

Slowly lowering the knife, Paul's words rang out. 'You signed your own death warrant when you fucked her. You'll die for it - there's nothing I can do.' His voice lowered, as he turned away, '
Enough - because of you, we've lost the Oracle.'

'Look just let me go - I'll disappear - I'll
—'

'It's my head that'll roll. I don't intend that to happen.'

'You can't - you know what they'll do. We've been friends for years, doesn't that mean anything?'

'I've got to save my own skin now, you son of a bitch.' Striding from the room, he closed the door, turning the key on his friend's sobs.

Opening his office window, Redd enjoyed the cool breeze on his face. The view of the sea shimmering, in the distance, always gave him a sense of space and calm. However, what he really needed was coffee, white with brown sugar. The one thing he insisted on was an espresso machine in his office. Coffee served from the canteen looked like burnt liver, and tasted like piss. On booting up his computer, he heard a light tap on his door. His secretary entered, her eyes concerned.

He looked at the perfectly made-up face; Titian hair coiled in braids on the crown of her head. Today, her dress was casual, a lemon top and pale blue jeans, showing off the slim hips. 'Jeez, Michelle, what are you doing here?'

'I had a phone call from Jim, the desk sergeant. I thought I'd come in and help. Have you eaten?'

'Nah, I'd just started lunch when the message got through. Now you're here, would you contact the TV and Press? Send out a bulletin - double homicide, male and female - no names - no details - discovered in Kingley Vale.'

'Will do, but you've got to eat guv.'

'No - wait - I just couldn't
—' She'd gone before he could finish. Wiping his forehead, he tried to quell the bile burning his throat.

On her return, she smiled, putting the plate of sandwiches and crisps in front of him; placing a cream apple turnover to one side. 'I'll be back after you've finished.'

He thought he'd throw up at the mere mention of food, but nature won out. He was just thankful Michelle was sensitive enough to serve salmon paste instead of meat. The sight of a burger would have had him running to the toilet. As he opened the bag of crisps, the phone rang. It was his colleague, DCI Jack Cummings. He said, 'Hi there Jack how was the vacation?'

'Dope man, dope, dope, dope - sun, beach and babes.'

'Dope as in fantastic, or dope in bombed out?'

'Fantastic man. I heard through the grapevine, you've one helluva homicide. How're you taking it?'

'Okay Jack - okay. The crime's a shit. I'm just about to get the team together. We're waiting on Mahoney and forensics.'

'Count me in; I'm on my way over. Any hint of a lead?'

'No - nothing so far, looks like the bastards left a clean site. Kingley Vale isn't the easiest of places to grub up any evidence. I don't envy SOCO; they've taken cartloads of peat from the paths, and they'll be sweeping the grass for some time yet.'

'Kingley Vale?'

'It's an obscure place to pick, few ways in or out. It might make it easier for us.'

Jack's tone changed
. 'So is Titmouse in?'

'No, he and Seaton are up to their necks in the coming gangland trial. They've got most of them in custody now. Although Tits did try to wangle Seaton in - bastard thought I'd seize up, seeing the remains.'

'Why the hell Tits hasn't been booted out, I don't know. Just because he's thick with the Assistant Chief Constable - the wives are sisters.'

'Fucking politics. Gets up my nose.'

'Right I'll be over in a few minutes.'

'Whoever did this is a maniac. It looks like there was more than one unsub - whole thing was planned right down to the last sinew.'

Redd stood up and went to the window, watching cars sweep by on the sea road, the tarmac almost melting in the heat. Strolling half-naked on the promenade, people sipped from cold cans, others licked ice cream cones. He peered at the kids racing on toddler tricycles or scooters, whilst dogs yapped and struggled on leads. His gut wrenched, Harry would have loved it. The child's voice rang in his ears, as he forced his attention back to the crowd, to striped deckchairs, parasols and one-man tents creating a mass of brilliant colours. Squinting, he could see swimmers slicing through the tips of waves glimmering mirror bright, in the torrid light of the sun.

It did not seem possible that amidst this bevy of sun, sea and laughter, a pathologist examined the entrails and skeletal remains of two people, victims to the vicious scythe of death. Sighing, he cleared the desk, taking out a writing pad and pens ready for Jack. He missed having him as his partner. Dressed in the latest fashion, his thick hair in the up-to-the-minute style, Jack passed for a man far younger than his forty-five years. Yet, despite this veneer of slick fashion, he was as hard as nails. Nothing escaped the steel gray eyes.

He showed Redd the ropes, taking him to the best and seediest places in the area. Dining with the Mayor at eight PM, he ate Italian at one AM, with a cockney Don giving orders to his soldiers between mouthfuls of spaghetti. Jack dealt cards with foul-mouthed gangsters, bandied jokes with tattooed ex-cons and laughed with lurching hoodies; their rapping contained a lethal message. Treated with respect in brass bright casinos he declined to roll the dice. In visiting dim cellars, it took a lot of effort to ward off the offerings of luscious lap dancers. However, Jack's twinkling eyes could turn deadbeat in a second. Tragedy struck, just after midnight, whilst they were in a raid, a perp fed Jack two bullets in the stomach. Redd's finger twitched on the trigger, he was within milliseconds of killing the guy. The force of his anger shook him, he'd nearly lost control. A female detective screamed through the red haze swirling before his eyes; she'd snatched the gun. Now eighteen months later, that detective, became his new partner, Felicity Dove, five feet three inches of plump curves, corkscrew curls and a vicious temper, but one she had firmly under wraps.

Redd returned to his desk, as usual it looked a mess, but there was a kind of order known only to him. He searched for his information sheet from SOCO. He'd dared Michelle to move a paper, and as for the office cleaner, she was only allowed to clean the phones and his chair.

Hearing Jack's clipped footsteps down the corridor, he pulled open his desk drawer, lifting out a bottle of Glenlivet and two glasses.

Seated, Jack raised his drink. 'Man; this is one pig of a mess - we're dealing with ghouls - out of their fucking minds.'

'Hmm - at least we have a lead - grisly one though.'

'The head?'

Redd took a deep swallow. 'The remaining one, yeah. We'll have to get the media involved; the public have gotta know - quickest way to get some leads. We'll keep the mutilations under wraps. Bloody shock for the family when they recognize it.'

'You're right, there'd be a full-scale panic if they knew of the decapitations.'

Grimacing, Redd swung the computer around for him to see the screen. 'SOCO has come up with some tracks already - quite glaring; motorbikes - heavy one in there too, judging from the indents. Lucky really, peat smothered the ground, but there were a few muddy patches. It looks like the perp or perps rode right up to the scene.'

'So it suggests the body parts were carried in panniers then?'

'But something stinks here.'

'Too easy?'

Nodding, Redd paused to look at his notes. 'Yeah, I mean the whole thing is planned with such precision. There's got to be more than one. They paid meticulous attention to staging the remains, plus it appears; they arranged bones by the bodies. So, why would they be so naive as to leave blatant tyre tracks, doesn't add up.'

'Could have been kids tearing up the paths before the incident.'

'Yeah -this looks like the work of psychopaths. Cold bloodied bastards, they're intelligent, so these guys wouldn't make such a glaring mistake. We'll check it out when we get the results back from forensics.' Sorting out his photos of the scene, Redd said, 'They have specific orders to leave everything, and get on the case. This is too serious for a waiting list.'

'Yeah, but you know they're like tortoises running. It'll take time.'

'I've got the officers lined up in the incident room. We've gotta act fast. These perps are sick fuckers'.

Nearing the room, Redd murmured, 'I didn't realize you'd be back, so I got together the ones I can rely on. No slacking off - this is a twelve-hour shift job.'

Jack nodded. 'Not much to choose from though, we're short staffed as it is. Titmouse commandeered a couple of bright DCs for the gangland rioters, and parsnip faced Seaton nicked DC Matthews. We could really have done with him.'

Redd grinned. 'I got him back as scene note taker, but Tits will grab him again. Maybe we could cut the DC's loose, if I show the Deputy Chief photos of the entrails, and the decapitated head. No good going to the Assistant Chief, Titmouse is busy licking his arse.'

'You'd think the Chief Constable would be aware of that.'

Redd shrugged his shoulders.
'He is, but there's not much he can do with the present budget cuts.' Opening the door he said, 'Okay, let's get on with it.'