Fifty Two Weeks of Murder (26 page)

Chapter 6

Buckland strode confidently down the hospital corridor. He smiled at those he passed and walked with purpose. He gathered a few strange looks, but most ignored him. Reaching his destination, Buckland turned to the group of people he walked with and told them to wait. Used to his command, they obeyed as he counted off the room numbers until he found the one he wanted. 

She was asleep as he entered, so he closed the door behind him quietly. He saw her gaunt features, her ruined arm and her pale complexion.
She’s a fighter
, he thought. She had died several times but had fought back. In his new world, she would have done well. Now, however, ravaged as she was, she would only drag others down with her.

Natural selection in action, he mused as he lay a felt pouch on the table beside her. Opening it, he took out a syringe and a small, glass vial. The label identified the clear solution as insulin and he jabbed his needle through the foil cover and filled the syringe.

She was supposed to be dead. Someone, anyone, from NCA was meant to die that day. The fact that she had survived galled him. It was an affront that he could not allow to stand.

She stirred as he lifted the sheets but did not wake, the morphine dulling her senses and rendering her close to unconscious as she slept. He lifted the bottom of her top, exposing the belly button. In the womb, the umbilical cord had joined mother and child, giving sustenance and removing waste. It was the first connection to life, the ultimate symbol of our nature.

Buckland pushed the needle in, slowly but with assurance. The needle mark would be difficult to find if they thought to look for it. He filled Lucy with insulin, the hormone diffusing into the subcutaneous fat below the skin and leaching into her blood, the high dose causing hypoglycaemia within minutes. She had battled so hard against her injuries that her blood glucose levels were already dangerously low.

Her signals weakened and Buckland allowed himself a moment to saviour the feeling.

Seconds later, he left the room, closing the door behind him and whistling a jaunty tune as he re-joined his team.

He left the hospital with a skip in his step. People would analyse his words and dissect his deeds, but the all missed the simple truth when they looked for meaning in his actions. He just enjoyed killing. Inciting others to the same thrilled him just as much. As chaos ruled and his website was flooded with entrants his heart soared with real emotion and meaning.

Life’s good
, he thought as the sun shone on his face and he was absorbed by the crowd, invisible as always.

Chapter 7

Anders drove to Scotland Yard in her rusty pick-up truck and parked next to the gleaming patrol cars in the underground car park. She had debated going on the train, but her jog along the street had made her feel uncomfortable with the stares she was receiving. She felt like she did at the beginning of her transition. She was too used to walking through the world as a woman, but she could see people looking for tell-tale signs of her previous gender. She pushed her doubts aside as she parked. She had more important things to deal with. 

She didn’t bother to lock her truck and walked along the concrete corridor to the Hub. She was met with the sound of bustling activity and frantic work. It had become a default state at the Yard and each week the number of killings grew. They had to manage that as well as follow every lead on where Buckland might be.

Anders enjoyed the thrum of activity, feeding off its energy and vibrancy. Since Mal had been killed, she sensed an urgency and resolve in the group that she hadn’t before. Calling a meeting, she stood next to the projector and waited for everyone to assemble. She’d even invited the Met Commissioner, Dawkins, down and he slunk at the back, happy for Anders to take the lead but pleased to be kept in the loop.

“Good morning,” said Anders when everyone was gathered. “Let’s start with the open cases linked to the website, move to any new ones that opened last night and then get to Buckland.”

It took a while. She’d set up individual teams to chase any new entries and each one now had three separate cases. She had half reporting to Duncan and the other half to Barry. Abi was running profiles on each case and Anders thought she’d have to help her out, such was her workload. Eventually, they moved on to new cases in Britain and she assigned them to new teams, Dawkins happy to use his men for the London ones.

After that, Jesse collated the data for Europol and Interpol and laid the markers on the map, the projector showing hundreds of red dots on the wall. It shocked the group into a contemplative silence. Anders assigned several more to liaising with the local departments worldwide and made a mental note to ask McDowell for some more support there.

“Last item is Buckland. Jesse, you collated all the registries yet?” He gave her a big grin.

“All done as of this morning! We’ve done the most up to date consensus going and deserve a reward from some government department somewhere for doing their damn job!” A ripple of laughter sounded in the room. They’d all had to help at some time or other and it was a tedious, labour intensive job. It would also free up hundreds of man hours to Anders. She led the round of applause as Jesse stood to take a mock bow.

“Three more buildings to check,” he said. “One in Brixton, near here, one in a council estate in Leeds and the other in Bath.” They had checked dozens of buildings and holdings where the paper didn’t match the IT records and it was often a case of poor paper work or an empty shell of a building that gave no evidence.

“Where in Bath,” asked Anders, intrigued. Jesse looked at the screen briefly.

“Royal Circle,” he replied. Anders paused for a moment, planning her next move as the group looked on in silence.

“Ok,” she said. “Duncan, you take point here. Contact Leeds and have them search the estate there then get to the one in London. Barry and I will get to Bath and check that one out.”

She dismissed the team and was joined by Barry as she made her way to the parking lot. He was dressed in his usual combats and a tight fitting black t-shirt that served to emphasise the enormity of his bulk and paucity of body fat.

“You want me to sign out a vehicle,” he asked as he caught up, hooking a rucksack over his shoulder.

“No, it’s ok. We’ll take my car.” A horrified look crossed his broad face.

“You want to drive down the motorway in that heap of rust?” Anders gave him an evil grin.

“No, I want
you
to drive down the freeway in that heap of rust, while I sit in the passenger seat and do some work.” He grimaced at her as they neared the truck and she tossed him the keys. The car groaned and creaked as he forced his bulk into it and spent several minutes coaxing the vehicle to life. Leaving the parking lot, the suspension complaining about the speed bumps, Barry gave Anders a pointed look.

“That’s a very pretty Versace watch you have there, all buckled up on the inside of your wrist like you’re still back in the army. How much did that cost you?” She gave him an unimpressed look, doing well to hide her smile.

“Enough,” she replied haughtily.

“Damn right enough. Enough to buy a brand new car that’s how much that watch cost, several new cars actually. This piece of scrap metal pass its MOT? You bribe someone to sign the certificate, or just show your gun?” Anders reached behind and lifted a tablet from Barry’s bag, refusing to take the bait. 

“I like this truck,” she said. “It has character.” She swiped the tablet to unlock it and started going through her emails as Barry crunched through the gears.

“You mean temperamental, stubborn and a pain in the arse? They’re not good characteristics.”

“Eyes on the road soldier,” replied Anders and settled in her seat, shoes off and feet on the dashboard as Barry grumbled his way out of the city and headed for Bath.

It didn’t take long for Anders to sort her admin out and she closed the tablet and tossed it on the back seat, leaning forward and switching on the radio. It looked new and expensive and cost more than the truck did. Which didn’t say much. She tuned it to a news station in time to hear Francis Buckland conducting an interview.

“…that’s why the House of Lords has agreed, in principle, to suspend Habeas Corpus for any individual attempting to enter the competition should Parliament vote in favour of this legislation tonight.” He was interrupted by the interviewer.

“The competition your brother set up.” Anders could hear the exasperated tone in Buckland’s voice as he replied.

“I’ve been through this in a dozen interviews. I’ve worked closely with the home office and NCA to do everything in my power to bring him to justice. I’ve been instrumental in suspending Habeas Corpus and also in ensuring the Royal Decree rescinding my brother’s Lordship. I’m as horrified by his actions as any rational individual and renounce him and his deeds strongly, without reservation and without compunction. The sooner he is brought to justice…”

Anders switched off the radio and sighed heavily. She hated politics and police work. They were often poor bedfellows.

“He’s on dangerous ground suspending Habeas Corpus,” said Barry. Fundamentally, it was the right of the individual to a trial.

“There’s still judicial review,” replied Anders absently as she watched the countryside speed past. Green pastures and fields greeted her and she felt a weight lifted as they left London in the rear view mirror. “Besides, it’s been suspended many times before. Seventeen ninety three after the French Revolution, Eighteen Seventeen, even the First World War. The last time was back in seventy one to try and tackle the IRA. The anti-terror bill pretty much does that anyway. It’s just an attempt by the government to put people off entering the competition.”

Barry gave her a sidelong look.

“I thought you only came back here a few months ago. You go and learn the British Judicial system just like that?” He clicked his fingers to make his point. “You’re a scary woman Anders.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

“That’s why you like me so,” she said and he gave her a pitiful look.

“In your dreams little one, in your dreams.”

“In that case, keep your eyes off my butt then.”

“It is kinda huge. Must be all that chocolate I see you stuffing your face with.”

They bantered good naturedly as they made the journey to Bath. The journey should have taken a couple of hours, but the traffic held them up by another two. The conversation naturally turned to more sober topics and, as they stopped for a refill, Barry gave Anders a sly look as he chewed on a sausage roll.

“Don’t think I’ve not see you sneaking into most of the empty buildings we’ve found. My cameras have caught you poking around in the dark.” Anders gave him a guilty look.

“Just doing everything I can,” she said. He nodded in agreement.

“Had a Captain just like you back in the forces. Wanted to do everything, be the best at everything, lead by example. Burnt out before his time. Pushed too hard.” He looked at Anders pointedly. She looked tired and worn, but he could see the fire in her. She wasn’t going to give up. She gave him a sad smile and finished her sandwich, washing it down with a bar of chocolate and mineral water. Barry turned on the CD player and, to his surprise, found Disney songs playing through the speakers. He turned to Anders with a delighted grin.

“It’s for Aaron!” argued Anders, failing miserably to justify her CD collection. “Besides, nothing wrong with a bit of Disney.” Barry shook his head.

“I worry about you, I really do.”

“So what do you listen to then?” Barry muttered something under his breath, Anders teasing and prodding until he spoke clearly.

“Opera. Maybe some West End.” Before Anders could rib him further, her phone rang. She picked it up, had a short conversation and hung up. Sighing heavily, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she spoke quietly to the night

“Lucy passed away this morning. No autopsy yet, but doctors think it’s most likely a clot from the surgery or something from the explosion they missed.” 

“Shit,” said Barry, his tone giving more meaning than a thousand words. They drove in silence for almost an hour, each contemplating losing yet another member of the team. She’d been sour and sullen with Anders, but was opening up and they were becoming friends. Barry had also spent some time with her, and though they had only known her for a few weeks, their friendship had been forged in fire. It was strong and they felt her loss deeply. Eventually, Anders spoke, her voice quiet in the cab.

“Alfazon. That’s what she called me the last time I saw her. The last thing she said.” Barry gave her a puzzled look.

“Alfazon was an Angel who sided with Satan and was cast out of Heaven when they lost. After he fell, he renounced Satan and now walks the Earth, atoning for his sins.” Barry chuckled.

“Pegged you for a fallen Angel did she?”

“Something like that.” As they drove on in silence, Anders reflected on Lucy’s last words. Whether they were spoken through a drug addled haze or with lucidity, Anders felt that she should be upset with the comparison, but knew that there was a kernel of truth in what Lucy had said. Barry, sensing her mood, kept his counsel and pushed on through the traffic laden motorway in silence.

Eventually, they arrived at their destination. Some of the places Jesse had identified turned out to be normal households with families or couples that had simply slipped through the system. Others had been more promising. Abandoned farmhouses or small holdings, but none had yielded anything of use.

Barry pulled up near the Royal Circle in Bath, the battered truck looking out of place among the regal splendour. The Circle was a ring of Victorian houses facing inwards to a grassy knoll and ringed by a road that branched off at each compass point. In the centre of the knoll were some large and ancient trees, proudly defying the advances of the city. Anders loved Bath, steeped in history as it was. Everywhere she turned, there would be an old Roman construct or Tudor dwelling. She vowed to bring Aaron to the city and show him the Roman baths.

They were here for a different purpose though and walked up the hill to the Royal circle in silence as the sun meandered below the horizon and a soft dusk took a gentle grip on the city. Turning round, Anders could see the twinkling city below them, great swathes of green pebbling the city centre. She gave a satisfied sigh at the view and took Barry’s hand in hers, his massive paw dwarfing hers.

As they approached the knoll, they were just another couple, out enjoying a walk along the cobbled streets and alleyways, come to view the famous Royal Circle. Barry sat and leaned against a tree while Anders cuddled up to him.

“Number twelve,” said Jesse in Anders’ earpiece. She scanned the buildings, noting that most of them were now flats. They’d been bought many years ago and turned into apartments for more profit. Number twelve hadn’t, the usual tell-tale sign of several buzzers on the side of the door absent. They chatted away amicably for half an hour as the sky darkened and the street lamps came on. The night was hot, a stifling, muggy heat, so Anders took off her jacket and lay it beneath her, now sitting opposite Barry and taking out a pack of cards. Just an ordinary couple enjoying the night. Barry was engaging company and the pretence wasn’t hard.

Eventually, they agreed that the house was empty and, under a gibbous moon, sauntered over to the building. A large oak door barred their entry into the house and Barry pulled out his lock picking equipment. Anders scanned the now quiet street as he worked and, within moments, he had secured entry. Opening the door quietly, he slunk into the house, Anders following him in. She pulled out a pencil light and they found themselves in a large kitchen. It looked like it hadn’t been occupied for some time, dust collecting in a faint burr over the units.

The rest of the house was abandoned and they did a thorough search before switching on the lights.

“Empty,” said Barry in frustration. He called the Hub and spoke to Duncan as Anders walked slowly through the house. It was decorated with exquisite and expensive furniture. Each hallway and room was filled with carvings, paintings and artefacts from all over the world. One room held wooden sculptures from Africa and she traced a finger along a frightening mask from the Chokwe people of the Congo. In another room, an oriental theme prevailed with a large terracotta man encased in a glass cage. She whistled in admiration. The house may be unlisted anywhere, but someone clearly cared about it.