Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (24 page)

Chapter 1

Mal’s flat was clean and sparsely furnished, though dark wooden floors and pastel walls gave it a comforting warmth. It looked like someone stayed there, but not that someone lived there. He’d moved in shortly after the accident that had killed his wife and son and never made it a home, his love for them a ghost that haunted every room.

Anders stood outside the door to the flat. Behind her, Barry and Duncan paused. No one wanted to be the first inside. They knew what they would find. Anders’ hand shook as she inserted a key into the lock. She’d taken it from the janitor and it scraped noisily as the key brushed against the metal. Pushing the door open, she gathered her courage and stepped into the flat. 

The smell of death hung heavy in the air, an iron tang of blood mixed with the fluids released from the body at the time of death. Anders knew Mal was dead before she saw him. Her world stilled as she entered the living room and saw the horror of Buckland’s work. Her own scars tingled and crawled on her back. The Washington Whipper had done the same to her, but she had been lucky to escape.

There’d been no such luck for Mal and she fought back tears as she saw him, his body rent apart, his face a mask of blood and pain. Barry and Duncan followed after her and stopped, unable to speak. Duncan cried freely.

“Everyone out,” whispered Anders. Barry made to protest, but saw the look in her eyes. He gave a curt nod and helped Duncan out. Anders followed, closing the door behind the pair as they stepped outside.

Alone, she put her back to the door and slid down, great tears wracking her body in debilitating convulsions. She sobbed, face in her palms as she grieved for Mal. 

She sat for a long time on the floor, not caring if she contaminated the crime scene. She let the grief pour out and then gathered herself. She built a wall around the pain and composed her will, breathing steadily as she sought to control herself.

It took some time.

Finally ready, she took out her phone and made a call. Getting the answer she wanted, she stood up and opened the door. Helen and Ben had joined Barry and Duncan and she could see that Helen had been crying. Ben looked distraught.

“I’m so sorry love,” said Helen and embraced Anders. She nearly lost control for a second time then, her grief bursting from her mental walls like a dam, but she kept herself in check.

“We can’t go in there,” she said. “Not yet.” Helen gave her a puzzled look, but helped Anders into a coverall and made sure that she had all of the equipment. Just as she finished, Cooper arrived. She’d taken a disliking to him in her job interview but knew that he would provide legitimacy for the investigation.

“Everyone, this is Cooper from Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary. He’s here to make sure we don’t fudge anything and invalidate the scene.” Anders handed him a coverall and, wordlessly, he put it on. As the team made ready to go back into the flat, Anders shook her head.

“Just me and Cooper,” she said. “None of you should have to do this.” They made to protest but acquiesced. Anders was now in charge. At least, until she was replaced. She turned to Cooper, who suddenly looked nervous. He’d read the blog on the way, but reading about something and seeing it were two very different things.

“Ready?” she asked and he nodded, unusually quiet as she passed him bags of equipment. She turned to Barry. “Make sure we’re not disturbed. Start canvasing the rest of the building, get Jesse to check the camera feeds. You all know the drill. Keep busy.”

She turned and stepped back into the flat, not pausing to allow herself a moment of panic and fear. She heard Cooper gag as he saw the horror and told him to take a seat on a bar stool in one corner. Shakily, he turned to find the stool and sit on it, keeping his eyes from the bloody carnage that surrounded him like a nightmare. Anders took out her headphones and put them in, plugging the end into her phone.

Finding the music App, she hesitated, her finger hovering over the keypad. Through her white coverall, the dark purple of her polished nails showed through. She’d had them done especially for Mal. She knew that the moment she played the music and walked the scene, not only would she remember every facet of this room, but she would be forced to replay the barbarism, acting out the killing of Mal over and over again.

In time, her memory of Mal alive would fade, but the memory of his death would linger forever.

Cooper watched Anders as she slowly walked around the room, her face a mask of concentration. She stared at Mal Weathers, taking in every detail. He’d have run screaming if it was him. Standing in a room with your former boss’ corpse, analysing his death, one that should have been her death but for one loose buckle. He wasn’t sure he should be here, but knew Anders had made the right call. He’d be the one to sign off that the evidence was clean and impartial. It wasn’t a precedent he wanted to set, but in light of what was going on, he made an exception. At some point soon, he’d have to make a decision on whether to let what was now her team continue or whether to recommend to McDowell that he find a new team.

Pondering his decision, he absently watched as Anders started taking photographs, each flash highlighting the blood stained walls and sticky flesh that was starting to putrefy. He felt sick to his stomach. Deciding to ignore the scene, and trusting Anders completely, he took out his tablet and started some work, doing his best to block out the chamber of horrors he found himself in, but failing miserably.

Eventually, Anders approached him. She’d done as much as she could and was ready to leave.

“We’re done,” she said. “SCO can do the rest.” He put his tablet away, glad to leave the room. Anders looked tired and worn but he sensed something behind those green eyes that he couldn’t quite read. As he slid from the stool, he dialled a number and waited a few moments until the receiver picked up.

“She’s finished. I’ll bring her over to you now.” Anders gave him a querulous look, getting a reply from over Cooper’s shoulder as he hastily left the flat “We’re seeing McDowell and the Home Secretary as soon as you’ve scrubbed up. We need to decide what we’re going to do with you.”

Chapter 2 

Anders spoke little on the way to the Home Office. Her mind still reeled from Mal’s death and her carefully constructed defences kept threatening to crumble. Cooper parked near the building and they walked the rest of the way in silence. McDowell was waiting for them in the foyer and rushed to greet Anders, holding out both of his hands to take hers.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, grief tearing at his face. “We knew each other for many years. It’s so…so…” He was at a loss for words, so Anders helped him out.

“Senseless Director. Last week, he used a word to describe the Temple Church killings and it keeps playing in my head. Atrocity. What happened to Mal was an atrocity.” McDowell took a deep breath and ushered her into a conference room next to the foyer. The Home Secretary, Justine Barrett, waited for them and she offered her apologies also. Anders found it less sincere. She was saying the words, but was there for one purpose and that wasn’t to grieve some guy she’d met once before.

Taking a seat, Barrett led the discussion. 

“So we’re here to review the case and decide on how we are going to move forward from here. We’ve a press conference in twenty minutes and the world is watching. Personally, you’ve all royally fucked up. What the Hell were you doing faking an entry?” She beat the table with the palm of her hand as she spoke, anger twisting her features. McDowell answered before Anders could.

“Mal came to me with the plan and I ok’d it. We both felt that it was worth a shot if there was chance of contact.”

“He made contact all right. Bits of him are spread all over his living room and the photo is there for everyone to see.”

“Justine, a little sensitivity please.” Cooper had spoken so quietly and softly, that he demanded attention. It was strange for Anders to see him take the opposite approach to the last time she’d been here, but this time he wasn’t playing a role. His words sliced through Justine’s anger and she huffed an apology, pulling her tailored jacket together haughtily.

“You spoke to him last night,” said Anders, using the silence to speak. “Tell me.” McDowell’s eyes narrowed briefly at her tone, but he answered her anyway.

“We’d set up a burner phone. It went off.”

“So why didn’t he tell any of us?” McDowell spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

“He was worried that Buckland would bolt if he saw too many people. Figured it was best to go it alone and call you guys as back up when he needed it.” His words stung, but Anders recalled his look as he hung up on McDowell at the end of their date. She knew that Mal would try and play the hero.

“So where’s the cell phone now?” she asked. McDowell shifted uneasily in his seat.

“Mal took it with him. Buckland sent a text saying he would be in touch.” Anders bit her tongue, curbing the anger that flowed through her. Calming her voice, she still heard the grief in it as she spoke.

“So Mal kept the cell phone and Buckland used it to trace him back to his flat.” She wanted to say more, to berate his and Mal’s stupidity, but McDowell knew it. His face greyed and he slumped back in his seat. Cooper spoke, his voice firm yet gentle.

“We can all decide who shoulders the blame at a later date Miss Anders. You found little of use at the crime scene and we can deduce that the phone has gone if you didn’t spot it there. The question we all need to discuss, is who leads the team and whether the same team carries on.” Justine made her case, almost hissing in anger. The last time they had met, she had been friendly and warm, but Anders could see the pressure Justine was now under and it was breaking her.

“First off, your team lets a suspect escape so he can drive to London and set fire to an historical church filled with almost a hundred guests. Then you fake a crime scene and wind up with your Deputy Chief Constable murdered in a most public way. You know what my answer is.” She sat back and glared at the group, daring them to argue with her. McDowell gazed at his thick, scarred knuckles, reminding Anders that he’d started out on the rough streets of Glasgow and risen to Director General on merit alone. He was a bruiser by nature and stared hard at Anders, weighing her up. Cooper kept his council, happy to let McDowell come to his decision. 

“Assistant Chief Anders is yet to sully her name in this case. We can keep the team going, promote her and present it as a new start. I keep my team.” He turned to Barrett and spoke pointedly. “My very successful team, and you get a new face.” Justine leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Anders.

“You want her to lead the team? The press will have a field day. Not only is she transgender, she’s American. The public will never accept her.” 

“She’s the best option you have. No one else is more qualified,” butted in Cooper. They started bickering among themselves until Anders cut them off. Her voice was filled with steel, the force of her will dominating the trio.

“I don’t care what the public think. You want to find Buckland and put an end to these killings, give me the damn team. You can bitch and moan as much as you want, I don’t care. Put me in front of the press, let them see me. Buckland whipped Mal to death because he knows I’m on this taskforce. Why else would he have done that, other than to destabilise us completely? You won’t find many takers for the job after what happened to him anyway.”

“Aren’t you worried Buckland will come after you?” asked Justine, resignation in her voice. She knew she’d lost the argument. Anders gave her a cool gaze by way of reply.

“Seems not,” said Cooper jovially. “Let’s go meet the press.”

Chapter 3

Anders had always hated this part of the job in the States, but in Britain, the press were more invasive, more aggressive and happier to sell papers using lurid headlines. Camera’s buzzed and lights flashed as she took the stage with the Home Secretary and Director General of the NCA. Justine spoke first. She told of the terrible loss the police had suffered and gave several platitudes to the deceased. Anders watched dispassionately as Barrett spoke, aware of every eye on her. She’d spent a few cursory minutes in the bathroom freshening up, but knew she looked tired and worn out. She tried to keep her emotional turmoil below the surface and focused on her breathing.

They were sat behind a long table covered in a dark blue cloth, microphones pointing towards each of them, a ring of reporters from around the world, faces intent, salacious almost. Written press, TV and internet. The whole world saw them live.

McDowell spoke next and he told of his grief at losing a dear friend. He spoke of his determination to catch Buckland and see justice brought to him. He vowed it would be swift.

“To that end,” he said and gestured to Anders. “Assistant Chief Constable Anders will be promoted to Deputy Chief Constable and take over the dedicated task force. She has had an exemplary career working for the FBI in America and has been their most successful agent for over a decade. We are delighted that she has returned home to her native Britain and can be here to support us in our darkest hour.” The flashing of lights intensified as their focus turned to Anders. She kept her face neutral as McDowell continued to list her achievements. Eventually, he opened the floor up to questions. Several dozen hands shot up and McDowell chose those he knew.

The first to ask was a reedy man with a high pitched nasal voice who worked for The Times. He carried a notepad and pencil in his attempts to resist the tide of technology.

“Why didn’t she lead the team from the beginning?” he asked.

“She has only been in the UK for a few months. We wanted her to acclimatise to the law here and get used to our policing before giving the Deputy Chief Constable her own command. Her work to date has been outstanding.” The reporter gave a sly grin.

“So it’s not because she used to be a man then?” The crowd erupted and McDowell called for order, his thick Scottish accent booming across the room. He scowled at the reporter and made a stout and passionate defence of Anders.

Hours later, Lucy and Anders watched the news on the TV in her room. McDowell was listing Anders’ achievements again and berating the reporter for his narrow mindedness. The YouTube footage of the reporter quailing under his verbal battering had already reached a million views and Anders sighed heavily. She hadn’t wanted this. She came back to the UK to get away from the constant glare of the public. Not because she was transsexual, but because of the Washington Whipper. Her career had become a public fascination, the stories growing ever longer and filled with myth. Each had a kernel of truth, but she wanted to keep Aaron and Cassie away from this. She wondered if she had done the right thing. She had enough money to never work again.

“I could walk away,” she said as Lucy muted the TV. She looked healthier each day and swung her legs from the bed, leaning on Anders as she tried to walk around the room, each step an effort of will. Lucy grimaced at Anders.

“You don’t seem like the walking away type.” Anders gave an irritable sigh.

“It was selfish of me to take this job in the first place. I came here to give Cassie and Aaron a better life.” Lucy paced further, Anders propping her up, helping her if she slipped. They moved in silence for a while, Lucy’s grunts and panting the only sound. Eventually, she made her way to the bed and fell back heavily, exhausted from her efforts and reaching for her tablets. She gave Anders a frank look as she helped herself to some chocolate.

“I’ve always been ridiculed in the Force for my faith,” she said. “Like it doesn’t have a place among the worst that humanity has to offer, but I’ve always felt that, when you see such terrible things, our faith becomes more important than ever.” She lifted some pillows behind herself with her one good arm, clearly practised at the technique now and settled back, content to be more comfortable. She turned back to Anders.

“I look at you and I know you were put here by God to do what you do. To take on the most base and most despicable of us all. Jesse said you were righteous and he has no idea how right he is.” She indicated Anders’ scars. “You pay a heavy price, yet you keep coming back. Why is that? Why do you fight so hard?” Anders gave it some thought, picking idly at her now chipped nail polish.

“I guess because I can’t sit by and let people suffer. I’m a lapsed Catholic, so I have all the guilt, none of the absolution.” Lucy smiled at her, tired eyes drifting shut.

“Footsteps in the sand Anders. There’s always one set when times are toughest,” she said, paraphrasing a well-known parable. Anders gave her a smile, happy to wait for her to drift off to sleep. Lucy continued to speak though, the drugs slurring her words slightly. Anders couldn’t tell if she was lucid or high.

“Do you think Buckland is evil?” she asked.

“I’m not sure I believe in evil as an entity. We’re all capable of both good and evil deeds. What Buckland is doing is most certainly evil. I don’t think evil has a face, just people.” Lucy smiled at Anders’ response.

“Evil is real, I think,” she replied. “It’s beautiful and seductive, drawing every lost soul to it. They say the Devil is terrifying, a huge beast with horns and cloven feet, but I think they’re wrong. A fire is beguiling, filled with light and warmth, but get too close and you’ll burn.”

“I think that most acts of evil aren’t seen as such by those who commit them, so you may well be right,” answered Anders.

“Did you know that Lucifer actually means Light Bearer?” Anders made to reply, but Lucy kept talking, her voice becoming quieter as sleep took her in its gentle embrace. “It’s the Morning Star. Lucifer was the Morning Star that was banished from Heaven along with those Angels who had joined his rebellion. A third of all Angels. They refused to bow to man, to accept God’s son as their ruler and resented Him giving us free will. The Book of Revelation tells of a war in Heaven, where the Archangel Michael defeated Lucifer and threw him to Earth.”

She was quiet for a long time. Anders, thinking she was finished, made to leave, but Lucy spoke again.

“Dead Sea Scrolls,” she said. “There’s a War Scroll and it tells of the Sons of Light who fight the Sons of Darkness here on Earth. The war will never end. It will always need those who fight against the Sons of Darkness.” She gave a deep sigh and rolled to her side. “Alfazon,” she mumbled and drifted off to sleep, leaving Anders to contemplate her words in silence.

Anders stayed with Lucy a while longer to make sure that she was asleep before leaving. Outside the hospital, she took off her jacket to enjoy the sun and held it over her arm as she walked past the London Eye and made her way along the bridge towards parliament, taking a right when she crossed the Thames and heading for Scotland Yard. She ignored the stares and whispers as she passed strangers on the street. They may be unfamiliar to her, but she was front page news to them.

Arriving at the building, she saw Jesse leaning over the rails by the river, smoking a cigarette with a thoughtful look on his face. She reached him just as he saw her and gave her a sad smile.

“Hey boss. How you holding up?” Anders leaned on the rail and faced the water, not looking at Jesse.

“I’m ok,” she said. “It’s been a tough couple of days.” Jesse grimaced and threw his cigarette into the water.

“I know. I saw the news footage.” He sobered up and lay a comforting arm around her. “I’m sorry about Mal. He was a decent guy. I know you two were close.” Anders leaned briefly into his embrace and they shared a moment of friendship together. She gave his hand a squeeze and moved away, suddenly business like.

“Right, let’s go meet the team,” she said and strode towards the building.

“You gonna make me take the stairs again?” called Jesse as he hurried to catch up.