Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) (13 page)

Chapter 16

Rebecca staggered back in surprise, a few of the folders on the top of the pile in her arms falling to the floor.  ‘Jesus, you shocked me there young man.’ she blustered as she bent over and started scooping up the strewn papers. ‘A little help here.  Who is this guy?’ she whispered into the microphone as she rummaged around the floor.

‘Don’t panic.  Munro is a jobbing copper.  There’s nothing that we can’t handle here.  I’m just putting your details onto the Northumbria police system.  Just mention that you are the psychiatric liaison working with Darrie.  He’s our Medical Examiner.’  Saul instructed quickly.

Munro bent over and started helping Rebecca collect the folders together.  ‘Sorry for startling you Ma’am.  I wasn’t expecting anyone else from the investigation here today, certainly not someone I haven’t met before.’

‘It’s okay Mick.  I wasn’t expecting anyone on site today either, so we are both at a disadvantage.  Could I see your ID badge, do you think?’  Rebecca asked curtly as she stood, shuffling the folders back into an orderly pile in her arms, the action hiding her shaking hands.

‘Fair point.’  Munro conceded.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID badge and flashed it in front of Rebecca, who nodded acceptingly. ‘Could I see yours?’ he added.

‘Certainly.’ Rebecca responded, shuffling from side to side, looking from the desk, to a bookcase and eventually towards Munro –stalling tactics-, before she thrust the pile of files into his arms.  ‘Here, hold these for a second while I get it out.  You couldn’t carry them to the car for me could you, they are rather heavy.’  Rebecca added cheekily as she rifled in her pocket for her badge, pulling it out as she walked past Munro into the corridor, flashing it in his face quickly.

‘So which station are you working out of?’  Munro questioned, grumbling under his breath as he steadied the files in his arms, resting them under his chin for stability, and followed Rebecca back towards reception.

‘Bedlington.’  Saul said, simply into her ear.

‘I’m working out of Bedlington.  I’m part of the psychiatric team there.  I’ve been helping dear Darrie decipher some of the more technical parts of the notes for those patients who were allegedly abused by Ennis.  He asked me to pick another pile up to review.’  Rebecca confidently and nonchalantly informed him, tottering up to the reception desk where Henry was supping his tea.

‘Did you find everything you were after Dr Evans?’  Henry asked her with a broad smile, before looking beyond her and smirking as he saw Munro labouring under the weight of the files.

‘Enough to be getting on with.  Thank you so much for the tea and biscuits Henry, they were divine.  I may be back later in the week and I am also partial to a Jaffa Cake, just if you happen to have them.’  Rebecca mouthed conspiratorially while flashing him a cheeky wink, before turning and heading off for the entrance.

‘So what do you think of Darrie going on a diet?  Can you believe that?’  Munro asked, his question tinged with an undercurrent of suspicion.

‘He’s testing you Becca.  Darrie is the campest queen you will ever meet.  He loves his food, but more importantly he loves his wine and would rather turn straight than diet.  First name is George, and he was ridiculed at school with it because of his size.  People called him Georgy Porgy, from the nursery rhyme.’  Saul fed Rebecca.

Rebecca stopped dead, Munro, a few feet behind doing likewise.  She slowly turned and levelled a stern glare at Munro’s quizzical face.

‘That really disappoints me Mick. Are you testing me?  It’s not something I appreciate if you are.  I’ve spent forty seven years in psychiatric policing, and in that time, I don’t think anyone has ever questioned who I am.  Georgie would never go on a diet, he likes his food and wine far too much.  The rambunctious queen would rather go straight than do that.  Now, do I have to answer any more of your asinine questions, or can I leave and carry on with my job?’  Rebecca answered brusquely, her whole body brimming with indignation.

‘Sorry Ma’am.’  Munro answered sheepishly. ‘That was uncalled for and highly unprofessional.  I apologise, and please, don’t mention the diet thing to Darrie: he’ll kill me.’

‘I can’t promise that Munro.  I can’t promise that I won’t be having a word with DCI Strange either.  He’s a good friend of mine is Jerry.’ she responded curtly, then turned about quickly and headed out of the reception and to her car.  She opened the boot and stood aside to let Munro drop the files inside, before slamming it shut.

‘They say you can tell a lot from first impressions Mick.’  Rebecca started as she walked around the car and opened the driver’s door, jumped in and slammed it shut, winding the window down.  ‘You do a lousy impression of a police officer.  You need to show your colleagues a little more respect, especially those of us with the experience and wisdom of years.  Thank you though for carrying the files, it saved my old back and for that I am grateful.  Goodbye.’ she finished, winding the window back up and starting the engine.    

Her hands started to shake furiously on the steering wheel as the adrenaline began to wane and the nerves kicked in.  ‘Jesus John, that was tense.  I can’t believe he believed me.  I wouldn’t believe me.  I want to get out of here, now.’ she said, the red flashing light and caterwauling klaxon ringing out as the large metal gate opened in front of her.

‘From what I heard, you were superb.  Munro is a bit slow on the uptake and confronting him directly about questioning you was just sublime.  Just breathe deep now and try to relax, tension will be gripping you right about now.  Only a few minutes and you will be out of there and home free.’  Saul reassured.

Rebecca eased the car into the holding area between gates, waiting for the one behind her to start closing.  It stayed stubbornly open.

‘The gate isn’t closing John.  Munro mustn’t be as slow as you thought. Shit, he’s running back to the car.  What do I do?’ Rebecca asked, the merest tinge of panic in her tone as she watched Munro quickly approaching in her rear view mirror.

‘You don’t panic.  If he starts questioning again, lose your rag with him and threaten to call Strange.’  Saul offered.

‘What if he calls my bluff on that?’  Rebecca asked as Munro approached the car door.

‘He’s not that smart, but if he does, we’ll worry about it then.’  Saul suggested reassuringly, his tone exuding calmness.

Munro knocked on the window and Rebecca wound it down.  ‘What is it man, you might have time to lounge around drinking coffee, but I have a lot of work to get through this afternoon.’ Rebecca jumped in and spurted before Munro had a chance to speak.

‘Sorry Ma’am, I won’t keep you long, it’s just you missed a folder when you dropped them in the office.  I thought it might be important.’  Munro answered subserviently, holding the manila binder through the open window. 

‘Oh.’  Rebecca said, as surprise tinged with a glimmer of guilt spread across her features.  ‘Sorry for being so brusque Mick, and thank you for bringing it, that was very kind of you.’

‘No problem Ma’am.  Don’t work too hard.’ he responded, then walked back to the Institute.  The rear gate started to close as he passed through it, shutting with a loud thud just as the one in front of Rebecca’s car started to open.

‘I can hear my heart thumping in my ears it is beating so hard.’ Rebecca stated as she slowly manoeuvred the car out of the second gate and onto the main road.

‘You are home and dry now.  Get back to the apartment as quick as you can and let’s start looking through those files.  Hopefully we will find something which will help us figure out what the hell is going on.’  Saul answered. 

‘I hope so.  That was worse than pretending to be a Madame.  So much worse.’  Rebecca responded. 

The car rounded a bend in the road and passed by six foot tall metal barriers surrounding the old St George’s Mental hospital, which had originally been the county Lunatic Asylum.  The redbrick buildings brooded silently behind the fences, weed strewn cracked concrete pathways, covered in an accumulation of rubbish, surrounding them.  Most of the windows were boarded up, the few that still had glass in filthy and dull, reflecting nothing of the midday sun.  Apart from one.  On the top floor of the main building, looking out over the Institute opposite was a window that had been cleaned.  Behind it stood a woman and a man, both watching the car as it sped by and headed off down the hill on the road back into Morpeth.

‘Interesting.’  Gabriel proffered as he watched the car until it was out of sight, then looked back towards the Institute.  ‘Her hands were shaking as the car went by and she was talking to someone, yet there was no one in the car.’

‘Hands free phone perhaps?’  Eve suggested, standing next to him dressed casual in jeans, pumps and a white t-shirt.

‘No.  I watched her all the way from the carpark.  She was talking as soon as she got into the car.  She looked anxious when the gates didn’t open straight away and a little panicked when the man returned with the folder.  At no time did I see her make a call.  She was talking into a microphone and I would wager also had an earpiece in.  I would also wager that we have just seen Rebecca Angus in disguise and the person she was talking to was Saul.’  Gabriel mused.  He was wearing a silver Dolce and Gabana suit which was two shades darker than his slicked back silver hair.

‘What makes you think that?  Should we follow her then?’  Eve asked in surprise, turning to face Gabriel.

‘No, we don’t need to follow her.  They will come looking for us soon enough.  What makes me think it?  I know the Fallen Angels.  With them, things are never simple.  I can imagine Adam has Saul on a quest to find out about his past and his family history, as well as on a mission to kill us.  It would be much simpler to just tell him where he comes from, but that’s not how they work.  Everything is about the experience.  Everything is about living the experience in order to learn.  Saul will now know that he and Rebecca are in some way connected to the Seymour Family.  He also knows, as he is a good Detective, that the Fielding Institute was funded by the Seymour’s and that our friend Ennis was researching the Seymour family madness.  He will be looking for Ennis’s files.  Files like those the old lady has in the boot of her car.  A nervous old lady who flipped between being calm when talking to the Detective, then anxious when out of his sight.  A nervous old lady seemingly talking to herself.  I have no doubt that it was Rebecca Angus.  I wonder though?’ he paused, turning to face Eve.

‘What are you wondering?’

‘I am wondering if we can use them, to find out about the Angels plans.  Perhaps there’s a way they can get you in.  They don’t know about you, yet.  At the minute, it is only me they are looking for.  I think they need to meet Madame Evangeline but then experience innocent Eve.  It’s time for the three of you to become friends.’

Chapter 17

The gun metal grey Ford Fiesta came to a juddering halt in the middle of the main road, tyres squealing and brakes spewing out plumes of acrid smoke as a result of the emergency stop Cruickshank had involuntarily carried out.  A stream of bright brake lights and blaring horns emanated from the cars behind as irritated drivers had to stop quickly to avoid the Fiesta.

‘What!’ screamed Cruickshank, looking over vehemently at Strange in the passenger seat, who was holding a small brown bear tightly in his shaking hands.

‘Jesus Gaynor, you scared the life out of me there.  Pull over to the side, you are blocking traffic.’  Strange suggested anxiously, making apologetic hand gestures to the drivers behind.

‘Not until you tell me how long you have known this?’ she demanded, her furious gaze not leaving his surprised face.

‘Just as soon as you pull into the side.’ Strange firmly reiterated.

Cruickshank glared at him, seething through gritted teeth, staring out his resolute demeanour.  She broke first, as the booming of the horns from the irate drivers behind became louder. ‘Fine, but you better have a bloody good explanation.’ she conceded, steering the car into the kerbside and parking up.  She opened her window and waved the cars behind to move on, her body language not apologetic in the slightest.

‘Well?’ she demanded, turning back to Strange. 

‘I saw him at the apartment opposite the one we thought they were in yesterday.  He was in disguise.  Dressed as an older man.  He whispered that they hadn’t done it, then pointed to this, leaving it on a chair by the window.’  Strange answered, holding up Ian Bear again.  ‘I went back there a little later and got it.  There was a message inside.  It said that they hadn’t killed the Bentley’s, nor McFetrich and that the man in the photograph used to be a Fallen Angel, but had turned extreme.  He also told me to trust no one, not even my closest colleagues.  Why would he risk that Gaynor?  Why would he stand there, looking directly at me and leave this.  I didn’t tell you yesterday not because I don’t trust you, but because I needed time to think through what this could mean.  Sorry.’

‘You do realise that technically you were withholding evidence and I could come down on you like the proverbial ton of bricks.  Give me one good reason why I don’t, and what the hell is the significance of the bear.’ she fumed, still not satisfied with his apology.

Strange looked down from her angry features to the soft toy in his hands, a slight smile breaking through his anxious face.  ‘He’s called Ian.  It’s Jacob’s favourite bear.  One good reason why you shouldn’t come down hard on me is the other piece of information in the note.’

‘Which was?’ she queried, irritation simmering in each syllable.

‘That Jacob is alive.’ he answered, quietly.

Cruickshank opened her mouth to speak, shock weaving through the irritation, replacing it with confusion, then closed it again, shaking her head, lost for words.

‘I felt exactly the same Gaynor.  He can’t be alive.  I was there when Featherstone Hall blew up.  I saw Jacob on a TV screen, inside that crate in the middle of the drawing room in the Hall.  I know he was in there when it exploded.  How can he be alive? But then John told me to trust no one.  His exact words were ‘Even your closest friends, family and colleagues could be playing you, just as they have been us.’  Why would he mention family, given he doesn’t have a family?  I think he told me about Jacob and left Ian because he has an inkling about this family connection as well.  It only slipped into place when we were talking to the Professors.  John found out that Gordon Ennis was studying the Seymour family, to try and help understand why there was so much mental illness in their history.  It’s the one thing the Professors called out might still be an issue with selective breeding.  The internet logs we have from GCHQ show that they were researching the Seymour family.  If John knows what we know, I think he will be after any information Ennis had about the Seymour Family.  I also think it was his twin that Professor Auld thinks she recognised, because I know John never studied at the university.  I think he will be trying to figure out a way to get into The Fielding Institute.’

Cruickshank looked away from Strange and out of the car window, still not speaking, the fury totally ebbed from her demeanour, replaced with sombre reflection.

Strange smiled towards her ruefully, running a hand affectionately along the pristinely straight line of the tweed skirt covering her thigh. ‘I must be a bad influence.  I didn’t think they taught you to take a moment to distil information in this force?’ 

‘You are definitely an influence.  I just haven’t decided what kind yet.  Thank you for trusting me.  That means a lot in the current circumstances.  I understand why you didn’t tell me.  After all, at least two people in my own team were playing me.  I understand a little more about why you think Saul and Angus are being played as well, especially given Professor Auld identified someone who looks like John.   I still don’t fully subscribe to that theory, but there are more facts that are starting to support it.  What do you think we need to do Jerry?’ Cruickshank answered, looking down at his hand, avoiding his gaze, and placing one of hers on top of it, squeezing it tight.

Strange looked at the side of her downturned head with a tinge of surprise in his eyes.  ‘What we need to do is not lose sight of the facts, but recognise that there are people out there –Fallen Angels, The Unknown Man, even Saul and Angus- who are trying to manipulate them.  Let’s get Ennis’s files before Saul manages to and see if we can get one step ahead in figuring this out.  I’ll call Mick and ask him to search the archives for anything that could help us, he’s due at the Institute today anyway.  John and Rebecca are still prime suspects in my mind too, but we have to fully investigate every other avenue.  Come on, let’s get off to Ettrick’s place while I do that, we might find some more facts that can sort the wheat from the chaff.’

‘Okay.  Take it as read that my mind is open.  Take it as read that if you touch my thigh like that in front of anyone else, I will have you up for sexual assault.’  Cruickshank answered, manoeuvring the car back into traffic.

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ Strange responded playfully, before continuing. ‘Right, let’s give Mick a call.’  He extricated his mobile from the inside jacket pocket and found Munro’s details, dialled and held the phone up to his ear as it was answered on the first ring.

‘Mick, you were quick in answering, is it quiet there at the institute?’  Strange started, putting the phone on speaker so Cruickshank could hear as well.

‘I was just going to give you a call Sir, I had my phone out ready.  How well do you know Dr Marsha Evans?’ Munro questioned with a slight tinge of nervousness in his voice.

‘Can’t say I have ever heard of anyone by that name.  Why?  Should I have?’  Strange responded, looking over to Cruickshank quizzically.

‘Shit, I knew it. I fucking knew it.’  Munro blasphemed loudly.

‘Watch the language Mick, you are on speakerphone with DCI Gaynor Cruickshank as well.  Let me guess Mick,’ Strange started, his brow furrowing as he ran a thumb over the sculpted ridges, throwing Cruickshank an exasperatedly resigned stare, ‘She’s a woman claiming to work on the Ennis case and was just picking some files up from the Institute.  Close?’

‘Spot on.  I thought you didn’t know her?’  Munro responded, confusion in his voice.

‘What did she look like?’  Strange asked, ignoring Munro’s question.

‘Old lady, I’d say mid sixties, English.  Very thin with a pronounced stoop.  Grey haired, wearing a tweed jacket and skirt.  Strong willed and confident.  She had me dancing to her tune.’  Munro responded sheepishly.

‘Same description as the woman who rented the apartment on St Giles.  It’s Rebecca.  It looks like they are still one step ahead.’  Cruickshank offered, her tone filling with frustration once more.  She pulled the car off the main road and headed down a narrow cobbled street towards Dean Village, a tranquil oasis of older redeveloped mill buildings sitting on the banks of the Water Of Leith.

‘Mick, don’t be too hard on yourself.  We think the woman was Rebecca Angus in disguise.  We think she is working with John Saul.  The two of them seem to be leading all of us on a merry dance.    Could you ring in a description of the old woman to the station, get that circulated and, presuming she drove up there, get a PNC check done on the vehicle and check CCTV footage around the roads in Morpeth to see where it came from and has gone.   It may be too late, but could you also check the archives there at the Institute for any files to do with the Seymour family.’ Strange asked.

‘I will do Sir.  You might be right about the files.  I carried them to the car for her and some of them did have the name Seymour on them.  I’ll check for any others though and let you know.’

‘Thanks Mick, give me a buzz back with an update in an hour.’  Strange finished, ending the call with an irritated stab.

‘She had him carry the files to her car?  And he didn’t question that?’ Cruickshank asked, her words wearing sarcastic incredulity.  She pulled the car through a narrow opening between buildings into a small courtyard and parked it behind a liveried police car with its blue lights flashing.  It was sitting next to two white police vans in the centre of Well Court Hall, right on the riverbank.

‘No more than you questioned Tait or Le Fenwick.  Look, he’s not the most gifted detective, but we are all being played, even you and I.  There’s a confidence that you need to convince people you are someone else.  It’s not just about how you look or how you act: more importantly, it’s about knowing what makes the people you are trying to convince tick.  They have us all at a disadvantage.  Let’s see if this crime scene can offer us any advantages.’  Strange rebuffed with a quiet dignity as he climbed out of the car and took in the three storey sandstone buildings surrounding him.

‘Let’s go see then.’  Cruickshank responded curtly as she climbed out of the car and headed off to an open ground floor door where a uniformed police officer stood guard.  ‘Afternoon Gifford.  Who’s on site?’  Cruickshank asked the tall, rugged, slightly flustered officer.

‘Trentor is here Ma’am, and Laurent.  Still waiting on the Medical Examiner arriving, but I think there’s no question he is dead.’  Gifford offered, a timidity to his words.

Cruickshank wafted past him, ignoring the obvious signs of distress he was displaying and started ascending the staircase just inside the door. Strange approached the officer and reached out a hand, gently cusping his elbow as he spoke.  ‘Are you okay son?  You look a little flustered?’

‘Sorry Sir, it’s just I have never seen anything like that in my life.  It’s inhuman Sir, inhuman.’ Gifford apologised profusely, his words shaking in time with his body. 

‘Take deep breaths son, start thinking of calming images: water, fields, clouds.  Every time the horrendous image pops into your mind, counter it with one of those.  It’s hard, but keep doing it, keep distracting your mind.  Could you also make sure that there’s a cordon put up around the square.  I noticed a few people starting to pay attention to the police vans as we drove in.’  Strange suggested reassuringly, letting his hand move from Gifford’s elbow to circle his shoulder in a comforting embrace.

‘Will do Sir, thank you.’ Gifford answered gratefully before heading off to one of the police vans. 

Strange entered the building and followed the booming footfalls of Cruickshank up the solid oak stairs.  He looked up and saw her reach the landing above, where she shouted on Trentor.  He reached the landing just as Trentor emerged from the entrance of another set of stairs leading up to the third floor.

‘What have we got Trentor?’  Cruickshank asked, her gaze scanning the wide hallway, dipping into the rooms behind the open doors.  ‘I can’t see any signs of a disturbance.’ 

‘In the living room Ma’am, second door on the right.  You’ll need to look up and trust me, you will definitely need to brace yourself.’   Trentor responded.  Cruickshank strode off in the direction indicated with a gruff harrumph and a condescending glare.  Strange followed her, falling in alongside Trentor as he flashed the detective a reassuring smile.

Cruickshank abruptly stopped in the doorway, her body rocking back slightly as she raised her eye line to the tall ceiling in the room.  ‘Jesus Trentor, you weren’t bloody kidding.  What the hell is that?’ she asked with shock in her voice as she gingerly stepped into the room and slowly started to circle its perimeter, eyes transfixed on the ceiling.