Death Marks (The Symbolist) (4 page)

Redd parked the car in a quiet country lane, just outside the village of Angmering. Looking at Dove he said, '
So, no information - just an identification.'

Looking at the verdant hedgerow, Dove knew they would not tell the parents of the disembowelment. The lane was quiet; scents from honeysuckle, and cowslip wafted from the lush hawthorn and buckthorn bushes. Water trickled over stones, the steam covered with flourishing reeds and ferns. She saw Redd straighten his leather jacket, his face grim.

The flagstone path curved to the front door with dog roses climbing around the gabled porch. Dove frowned, how could violence exist in such serenity?

The woman opened the door, short and plump, with brown hair parted to one side and flicked behind her ears. She looked at Redd expectantly. Hope glimmered in a slight smile, even though she knew her son was dead, from the photo - knew they were coming to confirm it. Yet, hope did not know reason.

'Mrs. Baker?'

'You got here quick.'

'Yes ma'am. Detective Chief Inspector Redd, and Detective Constable Dove. May we come in?'

'Yes, this way.'

She ushered them through to a tiny hallway, five feet by four feet. Dove took note of the old red quarry tiles brightly polished. The lounge small and quaint, boasted an oak beamed ceiling, yellowed by the fire, the lime and wattle walls curving over with age. The woman gestured for them to sit down in shabby, but comfortable chairs covered in chintz.

Dove found the politeness, the quiet of the room unreal. Unnerved, she waited for Redd to speak.

'Mrs. Baker, you say the photo resembles your son. We would like you to come to the Station to identify him.'

'Was it an accident? Is it bad. Is he...?

Redd kept his face composed. 'We have a young man - deceased. I'm sorry. We just need you to have a look—'

'It may not be him. He sometimes goes missing for a week or so - stays with his friends. But he's a good lad - works part-time in a lab, cleaning up and things.'

Producing a photograph from the lab, Redd murmured. 'If you would just look at this.'

The woman's face blanched as she clutched the photo, her hands trembling. 'I - it looks like him, but then it might
—'

So have you seen him recently?'

She pushed the photo back into Redd's hand. 'No, Last time was about ten days ago. But, it's his summer holiday, he's most probably gone off surfing with the lads - Cornwall - not that he'd bother to tell us - that's kids for you. But we don't keep track of him you know. He's a grown man now - twenty-one. Least he hasn't left home. He might if I was to keep on checking up on him - nag him. Our David's a decent lad. Decent lad he is.'

'So you have no idea where he might be now?'

'No.'

Redd looked around the room at the photographs dotted on the windowsill and mantelpiece - pictures of David as a toddler, child, a teenager laughing with groups of girls and boys. 'Did David have a girl friend?'

'He was seeing a girl, but it wasn't serious.'

'I see. How long did they know each other?'

'Oh it was quite recent really. He didn't bring her to the cottage or anything. He did tell me she was dark haired girl - pretty. But he wasn't involved or anything.'

'Did he tell you her name?'

'Ooh no, he was quite secretive. You know how these young men are.'

'Would she have gone to Cornwall?'

'Err, I wouldn't have thought so. It's all the lads you know, surfing, pubbing.'

'So you don't know if he actually went to Cornwall?'

'No, as I said he just comes and goes. Not that I mind - gives me a bit of a rest - just cooking for my other half.'

'Your husband?'

'Yeah - he's out in the back garden - grow our own - much healthier.' Gripping her hands together, she said, 'David does look like the picture on TV. Could be someone else. I phoned just in case - you know?'

'Of course, but it would help if you could view the body.'

Redd saw the woman stiffen, her smile disappear. 'I'll just go and get my husband. He's a moaning old bugger - he's digging up the potatoes.'

Dove felt like Alice in Wonderland. How could she talk about crops and potatoes when it was evident her son was dead?

As the woman left the room, Redd turned to Dove. 'She's in denial. Look, I want you to chase up David's friends okay, see if any of them knew this young woman. Leave it until Mrs. Baker's seen the body.'

'Will do Sir. I'll also scope out his place of work. I wonder how the poor woman will react when she sees the head's decapitated?'

'We'll do it in stages. The pathologist will cover the remains, so it won't be so much of a shock. We'll get DC Barrett to inform her of the state of the body afterwards. God knows how she'll take it. It's enough to send anyone insane.'

Coughing, the husband entered the room, his tee shirt hardly covering the beer belly, tattooed arms grimy with dirt. 'So what's the bugger been up to this time?'

Frowning, Dove remained silent, as the wife said gently, 'Now Bert, that's no way to be talking about our Dave. These police officers have come to take us to the Station.'

Wiping his shaved head, he growled, '
For Christ's sake Hilary, ain't I got enough to do? Time the fucker grew up. I haven't got time to be doing this. Why the fuck you rang the police over a bloody photo I don't know? You—'

'Sir, it won't take long.' Redd interrupted. 'Your wife did inform us that your son resembles the photo in the paper, so we just need you to identify the body. That would be a great help.'

'Bert, the Inspector's got a photo of him - take a look.'

The man wiped his hands on his dirty jeans before taking the photo from Redd. Glowering, he peered at it, his brow creasing. 'Nah - can't be - just looks like him - nah it ain't him.' Looking up, his eyes haunted he gave the photo back to Redd.

Mrs. Brown bit her lip, then said softly, 'Just go and have a quick wash Bert, we don't want to keep the officers waiting.'

'Nope, I told you, it ain't him. You go, I ain't wasting any more time. I've got work to do.'

Redd could see the man was more in denial than his wife. His voice firm, he said, 'Sir, I think it is important that you accompany your wife.'

Bert pursed his lips. 'Seein' as you put it like that, I ain't got a choice, have I?

The ride to the Station seemed interminable. Dove sighed with relief as they parked in the Station car park. On the journey, they'd spoken in monosyllables, with the occasional gravel cough from a truculent Mr. Baker.

Redd's voice was soft, as he spoke to Mrs
. Baker, 'We're going to view the body now.'

She frowned. 'The mortuary?'

'Yes, it's on the Station premises. Come this way.'

Dove walked beside Hilary, whilst Redd followed with Bert.

Opening the door to the viewing room, Redd told the morgue attendant they were ready to view the body.

Dove moved closer to Hilary, as the curtains draw apart. Their son, covered in a soft blue blanket to his chin, lay on the gurney. Thankfully the head appeared attached. She felt the woman's arm jerk, 'Oh no - no - can't - can't be Dave.' Putting her hands on the window, she cried, 'My baby - please -it can't be. Bert.'

Dove turned to see the man's face pale to white, His mouth opened in a cry, Hilary - Hil.' Groping his way towards his wife, he clasped her in his arms, as she buried her head against his chest. Bert gave a terrible cry, 'Can't be him - nah - can't be.'

Surprised at the man's reaction, Redd went to him putting a hand on his shoulder.

'Bert, I'm so sorry.'

The man sobbed, his words almost incoherent, '
That's my boy in there - my boy - what'd he go and do that for?' His sobs turned to a shout, rage now suffusing his face, 'Who did it? Who did it? I'll bloody kill him; I'll tear the fucker's head off.'

Dove winced at the man's words. She heard Hilary sob, '
Don't Bert - don't - not in front of ... he's gone Bert - gone.'

How would he take the truth? It was not Hilary who would go insane.

Flickering lights flaring from brass sconces, gave a soft sheen to mahogany panelled walls. A huge chandelier shimmering with crystal teardrops enhanced the baroque plastered ceiling, the cornices, a cascade of plaster flowers and cherubs. Deep maroon curtains of rich brocade covered arched windows. A centre table stretched the length of the room, the white linen cloth laden with cut crystal glasses, solid silver candlesticks and Georgian cut glass decanters. As the seated men and women helped themselves to brandy and liqueurs, a tall man, his silver hair gleaming under the light, rose to his feet and tapped a decanter.

'Ovates, your attention please. I hope you enjoyed the sumptuous repast cooked by our very own chef Monsieur De Clef.' At that moment, a rotund chef entered, goatee beard immaculate, overalls pristine white; his tall white chef's hat slightly cocked to one side. Bowing, his small teeth shone in a wide smile. The diners clapped heartily, at which point he bowed again, and left the room.

His face composed, the Chief Druid Adakan addressed the assembly. 'I regret to inform you that the first stage of our initiations failed. We will now repair to the Grove to address the matter.'

Silently, the company rose as one, their faces grave, as they walked in single file through huge mahogany doors. In a small anteroom off the great dining hall, they swiftly divested themselves of their formal dining clothes, displaying bodies covered with tattoos of ancient Celtic spirals. Naked, they donned black hooded cloaks, and followed Adakan to the sacred place.

The rough-hewn stone walls of the immense cavern glistened, with the smell of beeswax wafting from candles flickering in wrought-iron scones bracketed to the walls. On divesting their cloaks, the members stood by velvet cushions placed upon the floor, their heads bowed, waiting for the Chief Druid to mount a lectern, carved with oak leaves. Ascending the steps, he stood tall and proud, naked except for a wreath of oak leaves and mistletoe, and a studded leather belt from which hung a sword sheathed in an ornate scabbard. He gestured for them to sit. Bowing they obeyed, those more limber, crossed their legs, hands resting on their knees. In the silence that followed, three men and one woman entered carrying a drum, whistle and reed pipes.

Once assembled, Adakan said, '
Sadly, the first stage of offerings to our Lady of the Earth failed. The Oracle does not speak. Also, as you know, we had difficulty in divining the death throes of our chosen and her mate. Ovate Bleiki apprised us of Ovate Hagnivior's heinous crime. His voice now rose, as he said, 'Bring forth the sinner.'

They watched in silence, as the Ovates dragged in a cowering figure, throwing him down before the Speaker, whose menacing tones filled the chamber, '
Sinner, confess - confess now.'

The figure shuddered. 'I didn't mean to ... it was the Salvia - it didn't...'

Adakan turned toward the man, holding him down. 'Ovate Bleiki, tell us how you learnt of this?'

'When I packed the female Chosen's underwear to give to the Dresser, I found semen. The Ovate Hagnivior was in charge of the Chosen. I went to his house and discovered him in the cellar. He was hallucinating. It was obvious he'd indulged in the drugs.

Adakan's face suffused with rage, the pale skin a shade whiter, his grey eyes as hard as slate. 'You disgust me. You abused the sacred elixir; not only that, you despoiled the maiden chosen to be the Oracle; you insulted our Lady of the Earth. As your Chief Druid, I sentence you—'

The figure raised an arm screeching, '
No, please. I won't—'

'Be silent. I will spare you the Blood Eagle, but you will suffer the penalty for defiling our offering to the Gods. Let this be a warning - no-one - no-one insults the Gods- no-one defiles the Chosen.'

The drums drowned out the cries of the accused, reed pipes piercing the air, as four men, entered, masked and clad in black loincloths, their leather armlets decorated with steel spikes. Carrying knives, with cutlasses lashed to leather waist belts, they bowed to Adakan.

He cleared this throat. 'Everyone rise to witness the fate of, he who insulted the Gods.' As he nodded, the four men gathered around the penitent, now gibbering with terror, scrabbling on all fours away from his executioners.

Two of the men held him down, whilst the other two prepared their weapons. Some members of the group lowered their eyes, as the execution began, screams rent the air, knives and cutlasses sparkling, falling on the flesh and limbs of the accused, the blood arcing, splattering his attackers. The squish of severed limbs filled the cavern, followed by the crunch of bones on steel. Most of the Ovates looked on gravely, knowing this was their fate, if they broke the rules.

Raising his hand, Adakan said, '
Gather round; we shall read the signs of his wicked crime.'

In silence, the Ovates watched the death throes of the sinner. Every jerk, every twitch, even the flow of blood, all contributed to the readings.

Adakan stood right over him. 'You see the signs; the man is guilty of crimes against our Lady. We will not demean the Gods by reading for omens or marking the entrails.' Turning, he said, 'Ovate Fjorn place the mistletoe in the fiend's mouth, and let there be an end to this.'

The reed pipes faded away with the last drum beat, as the four executioners gathered the bloody detritus into a leather bag. Bowing to the Chief Druid, they left the cavern.

His voice silky, Adakan said, 'He will reincarnate as the lowest of the low, a mere slug or fly. I will pass you over to Ovate Bleiki.'

Bleiki walked to the lectern beside the dais. 'Now we must discuss our search for another Chosen. We must find two more worthy. It will be difficult to use the same Grove to place our offerings, but there is another similar near a barrow mound - early Neolithic. It is just below the summit of the Downs, so it will be an auspicious site. It is important we mollify the Gods at the first opportunity.'

He nodded, as another Ovate raised his hand. 'Yes, I have heard of it; the ground is used by pagans and the neo-druids alike.'

'How the neo-druids can even use the name Druid is blasphemy. They follow a different path. Now, we need to decide how we will procure the Chosen. This time we should look for those with more merit. After all, these are sacred offerings.'

A voice rang out from the back of the group. 'You are right. Maybe this is a sign from The Lady, that the offerings were not acceptable.'

Clasping her hands over a rotund belly, a woman said, '
We should keep to those who blaspheme against nature, despoiling the body of Mother Earth with their scientific experiments. They should serve as an example, as well as an offering.'

The Chief Druid smiled, 'Good point Ovate Asleifra.'

Ovate Bleiki spoke up, 'I think we should refine our search for the Chosen among those who live alone, or young couples setting up home together. They are less likely to be missed.'

Adakan pursed his lips, 'So be it. I think a nightclub or bar near the university would be advantageous. Ovate Braddulfr, that is more your scene. See to it.'

He then turned to a tall man stroking a lock of dirty-blond hair over a balding pate. 'Do the police suspect anyone at this time?

'The head of the male has been identified, but forensics have not come up with anything as yet.'