Cold Sacrifice (10 page)

Sitting on the side of the bath Ben felt his arm gingerly, wincing as his fingers reached the bruised area. By kneeling on the toilet seat and craning his head sideways he could see the dark purple area of skin where Eddy had thumped him. Starting on his shoulder, the bruise was already spreading down his upper arm as the blood seeped beneath the surface of his skin. He remembered the same thing happening to his mother who had panicked, thinking she had internal bleeding and was going to die. She had gone to the hospital where a doctor had explained that it was just gravity causing the blood to spread downwards. There had been a bit of a fuss about it at the time because the doctor suspected she was being beaten up. It was a reasonable supposition as she had a black eye as well as a few nasty bruises. She had a hell of a job convincing him she had tripped over. Tripped over Eddy’s fist more like.

Back in his own room he opened his wardrobe and pulled out first his school bag, and then a handful of T-shirts and an old pair of jeans. Rummaging beneath the clothes that were left in there, he took out his knife and ran his finger along the smooth surface of the blade. The cold curve of the metal made him shiver with excitement. He had made a stupid mistake, leaving the knife safely stowed away in his bedroom. From now on, he was going to take it with him wherever he went. He would keep it well hidden. Only a few people would know about it. Eddy would be one of them. He shut his eyes, picturing the fear on his repulsive face.

‘I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget,’ Eddy would snarl, raising his huge fist.

‘No!’ Ben would bellow as he pulled out his knife. ‘This time
I’m
going to teach
you
a lesson!’

He imagined the blade slicing through flesh, leaving a scar so that Eddy would never be able to forget what Ben had done. He would carry the mark of his shame for the rest of his life, bettered in a fight by a scrawny boy. A boy wielding a knife.

‘I
T MUST HAVE BEEN
the husband. He’s the obvious suspect, wouldn’t you say?’

Rob was looking down at his desk. Under the bright ceiling light, shiny patches of scalp showed through his thinning grey hair. He raised his head. For a moment his eyes held Ian’s gaze but his expression didn’t alter. Ian waited.

‘It’s usually the husband, isn’t it?’ Rob said again after a few minutes. ‘Has he got an alibi?’

Ian shrugged. ‘You know we didn’t get that far, sir. We only got as far as informing him of his wife’s death. And he was desperately worried about telling his son,’ he added, feeling he ought to apologise for the omission, even though it was perfectly acceptable not to have questioned the dead woman’s husband straight away.

‘He’s our main suspect, and it makes sense that he did it,’ Rob went on, as though trying to convince himself. ‘It’s logical, isn’t it?’

Ian nodded. Henry not only automatically inherited the house on his wife’s death, but he came in to a considerable fortune as well. In addition, if the neighbour’s account was reliable, the Martins’ marriage had been a miserable affair. Henry could have got rid of his wife and made himself rich, all in a moment.

‘He certainly had an incentive to kill her –’

‘Two strong motives,’ Rob said.

He spoke so slowly, Ian was never sure if he had finished, or was in the middle of a sentence thinking what words to use next.

‘But why would he –’ Ian began.

The detective inspector raised his eyebrows at the interruption, and Ian instantly fell silent. It wouldn’t do to antagonise his senior officer while he was waiting to hear if he had been successful in his bid for promotion. Before long, he hoped to be an inspector himself, holding forth to a less experienced officer who would have to listen respectfully, mindful of his or her own promotion prospects.

‘The trouble is, however convinced we are that Henry Martin’s guilty, there’s no proof,’ Rob said.

Ian nodded. He had no grounds for believing Henry was innocent. There was certainly nothing in the man’s demeanour to exonerate him. Right from the start he had struck Ian as belligerent, and everything they had discovered about him since then suggested a vindictive character, prone to violent rages. On the face of it, Henry was an obvious suspect. But Ian was convinced he had been genuinely surprised to hear about the manner of his wife’s death.

For the time being he decided to keep his impressions to himself. If Henry was guilty, Rob might interpret Ian’s hunch as a case of poor judgement. It was a nuisance having to suck up to Rob while trying to appear intelligent and independent, but hopefully it wouldn’t be for long. He had been doing well and could see no reason why he shouldn’t soon be promoted.

‘We’re moving up the chain of command,’ he had told Bev.

Determined not to let her indifference dampen his spirits when he had completed his training to become an inspector, he had taken her out for an expensive meal to celebrate.

‘Some officers are content to remain sergeants for their whole careers, but I’m going all the way to the top. You’re going to be so proud of me.’

‘You’re drunk,’ she had retorted. ‘And anyway, you’re not an inspector yet. Let’s not count our chickens before they’re hatched.’

Rob leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk.

‘Proof,’ he barked suddenly, sitting upright as though he had thought of something new. ‘We need proof.’

‘Yes, sir. We’ll find it. I’ll go round there straight away and ask him a few questions.’

‘Yes. See if you can put a bit of pressure on him. And let me know how you get on.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Ian hurried off, keen to get to work, and was soon on his way to Herne Bay.

Henry took a while to answer the bell. Ian had just about given up and was on the point of turning away when the door opened.

‘Mr Martin.’

‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want? Have you got any news?’

The widower leaned against the door jamb and adopted a defensive stance with his arms folded across his chest.

‘News?’ Ian repeated.

‘Yes, about who did it, who killed her.’

‘Not yet. Can I come in?’

Henry made no move to let him enter but stared suspiciously at Ian.

‘What for?’ he demanded.

Ian took a step back. He could see the man was frightened and spoke gently.

‘Mr Martin, what were your movements on Friday evening?’

‘My movements? What do you mean?’

‘Where were you on Friday evening?’

Henry chewed his bottom lip and scowled.

Ian repeated his question. This time he allowed a note of impatience to creep in to his voice. He was beginning to suspect the widower was deliberately stalling.

‘I went out for a drive,’ Henry said at last.

‘Where did you go?’

Henry dropped his gaze, an embarrassed expression on his face. He rubbed his shoe against the doorstep as though trying to scrape a piece of chewing gum off the sole.

‘Nowhere particular. I can’t remember. I was just driving.’

‘Were you alone?’

Reluctantly, Henry shook his head.

‘No.’

‘Who else was with you?’

Henry didn’t answer.

‘Who was with you?’

Henry glanced over Ian’s shoulder.

‘You’d better come in.’

Ian perched on the edge of a chair and took out his notebook as Henry gave him the details. The account was rather garbled but Ian gathered that he had been with a woman he called Della on Friday evening.

‘What’s her full name?’

Henry shook his head. He had only known her as Della.

‘Where did you meet her?’

Henry mentioned a lap dancing club in Margate. Ian had never been there but he had heard the name, and knew it had been investigated for under-age prostitution.

‘Where does Della live?’

‘How the hell should I know? She didn’t invite me round for afternoon tea. Look, it wasn’t a regular thing or anything like that. I’ve only seen her the once, and that was on Friday evening from around eight till about ten. I went straight home and then Mark came in just after I’d come in and put the telly on.’

Ian was busy scribbling notes.

‘What time did you leave the club?’

‘We weren’t at the club.’

‘Where did you go?’

Ian was trying to be patient, but it was hard work eliciting a straight response from Henry. He persevered, trying to keep his questions short and simple to answer.

‘We were in the car. We drove out of town.’

Although Ian kept his expression fixed, it wasn’t lost on him that there might be no CCTV evidence to back up Henry’s story. It was unbelievably convenient for the main suspect in a murder investigation. Ian hoped the woman wouldn’t back up Henry’s account of the evening, if she even existed.

‘Where can I find this woman?’

‘Ask for her at the club.’

As Ian left, he passed a surly young man in the hall. As tall as Ian, with untidy black hair, he peered out through his fringe like a bashful girl.

‘You again,’ Mark said, although they hadn’t met before.

When Ian expressed his condolences, Mark turned and scurried away. Ian called after him and he stopped, halfway up the stairs, and looked round.

‘We’ll be coming back to ask you about your movements on Friday evening.’

The young man disappeared up the stairs without a word.

‘I
T IS NEARLY TIME
,’ the leader said. ‘We have been working towards this day, waiting for you to carry out your sacred task. You were chosen to serve us. With Martha out of the way, the house will be in your gift. You will donate it to the cause as a token of your commitment, and your place at my right hand will be assured.’

The knowledge of his actions terrified him.

‘What if someone finds out?’ he stuttered. ‘What if the police discover what I’ve done?’

‘Have faith and you won’t fail,’ the leader interrupted, gazing earnestly into his eyes. ‘There is no need to fear. You have the power to make it happen. This is your chance. Remember, every true disciple strives to prove himself worthy. For some, fulfilment takes years to achieve. Seize this opportunity while you can. It has not been offered to you by chance. It may not come again.’

He understood then that he was being tested.

‘I won’t fail you,’ he assured the leader, but the words were more for himself than anyone else.

It was true he had made it happen. There had been no other choice, if he was to prove himself a worthy disciple of the one true leader. And as the leader had promised, it had been simple in the end. After all his preparations and worries, the sacrifice itself had been simple. The knife had slipped so easily into her flesh, he had almost laughed as he thrust harder, ignoring her cries, her wild staring eyes, her fingers clawing at the air. Her fear was no longer his problem. He had completed his mission and the leader was pleased.

‘Your place in the afterlife is guaranteed,’ the leader had assured him, with a bright smile.

‘So can I come and live with you now?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Why not? I have done what you asked.’

‘You have served the gods well. They see you are ready to leave your earthly drudgery behind and live out your days with us, free of corruption from the outside world. But your task is not yet complete.’

‘What more do they want me to do?’

‘Return to your house and continue as before. Be wary. We are beset all around by dangers. Our enemies are everywhere. If the police suspect you were responsible for her death, everything will come to nothing. See to it they never find out what happened. You can arrange it.’ The leader’s voice was gentle. ‘You have my trust.’

The others were recalled and Warrior sat beside the leader, close enough to reach out and touch him. He was truly a servant of the cause. He understood that anyone who stood in their way had to be removed. It was immaterial that she had been the cause of so much trouble in his own life. She no longer existed. Her soul would perish in eternal fires. After more than fifty years of drudgery, she had left the world with nothing. It could so easily have been his own fate, but he had been enlightened. He had been granted a glorious future of everlasting peace. All that mattered was that he had discovered his calling, and he had found courage to answer the summons. The leader had invited him to follow the path of righteousness, and he had been ready. His whole previous life seemed like a distant dream, before he met the leader. Nothing happened by chance. This was his destiny. He was Warrior. He had found enlightenment.

M
ARTHA
’
S HUSBAND REMAINED THEIR
only suspect so far. It seemed unlikely anyone would invent an alibi that could so easily be disproved, but Henry hadn’t struck Ian as particularly shrewd, and people often behaved stupidly under pressure. He couldn’t find any local record of a girl called Della which didn’t surprise him, seeing as he only had a first name which was probably false. He could have initiated a search, but without a real name that was unlikely to produce a result. It would be far quicker to simply pay the club a visit and ask around. As soon as it opened in the evening, he would be there. In the meantime, all he could do was wait. With luck no one at the club would have heard of Della, and it would be obvious Henry had invented his alibi. Or if she did exist, Ian hoped she would deny having spent time with Henry on Friday evening. He imagined her shaking her head and frowning.

‘Who the hell’s Henry Martin? I don’t know anyone called Henry. Someone’s taking the piss, mate.’

The day passed slowly, livened up only by joshing from some of Ian’s colleagues who had got wind of his visit to the strip club.

‘How come Ian gets all the good gigs?’ a constable called out.

‘Don’t forget to take protection, Sarge, and I’m not talking stab vests.’

‘You sure you should be going there, now you’re a married man?’

Behind the laughter and ribbing, they were all curious about Henry’s alibi.

At last the conventional working day came to an end. At a time when most people were heading home, Ian drove in the opposite direction towards Margate. He tried not to think about his wife arriving home to an empty house where she would spend the evening alone, while he was nearly an hour’s drive away, occupied with a job he loved. He frowned. Bev had known what she was letting herself in for. It wasn’t as though he had joined the police after they were married. She had no grounds for complaint. She would just have to make the best of her life as the wife of a detective.