Murder Path (Fallen Angels Book 3) (24 page)

‘McFetrich was impaled through the genitals on some sort of hook and had nails through his hands.  This could be where that happened.’  Strange offered, flicking a piece of loose wood from one of the holes.

Munro’s phone rang and he answered it, stepping to the door to take the call.

‘You could be right.’  Cruickshank replied as she passed the window and looked out over the main road three storeys below.  ‘The walls have been scrubbed.  You can see the abrasions in the paintwork.  Same with the floor.’

‘Sir!’  Munro shouted eagerly, turning back into the room.  ‘We’ve had a sighting of the car Eve was driving.  Number plate recognition picked it up entering a car park about an hour ago.  The car park was down in Morpeth, just off the main street.  There’s no record of it leaving.’

Chapter 34

Rapture is how he described it.  Orgasm and agony.  Joy, bliss and ecstasy is what the word conjures up in my mind.  His sentiment is the same as Ennis’s, when he nailed me to a chair in the asylum and wanked me off with a vampire glove.  It was hell, but I couldn’t stop getting aroused.  I couldn’t stop feeling the ecstasy, no matter how hard I tried.  Then there is the other context of rapture, where believers will be caught up and carried into the clouds to meet their maker, with the second coming of Christ.  Is that their belief, is that the mantra the Fallen Angels preach?  Is that why they do this, to open up the mind, ready for the rapture?     

I edge into the dungeon, the Nagant pistol held firmly and steadily in the hands of my outstretched arms, pointing directly at Adam’s head.  I am still in my old man disguise, the Jesus sandles I am wearing making sucking sounds on the black marble floor tiles, which are littered with discarded clothes.  Rebecca, in her old lady garb, is directly beside me, her features a contortion of confusion and desolate disappointment.

‘What the fuck are you doing Doc?’ she asks incredulously while stooping down and picking up a cream blouse from the floor and heading off towards Eve.  She reaches the pillory and starts to dab the pouring blood off her face.

‘Nothing that she didn’t want me to.  Nothing that she didn’t enjoy.’  Adam answers, standing tall, bare skinned and brazen, his erection throbbing, slapping paddle in hand, looking between me and Rebecca with a tinge of humour in his green eyes.  It is disconcerting seeing yourself standing so openly like that, looking at a body and a face that is exactly the same as your own.  I keep the gun levelled and walk slowly towards him, kicking a pair of jeans on the floor in his direction.

‘Get dressed, this isn’t time for fucking foreplay.  You’ve got some hellish explaining to do.’ I rumble, anger bubbling up inside.

‘You do realise, if I hadn’t put her in the pillory, she would have killed me.’  Adam states calmly, while he bends down and slides on the jeans.

‘Only after torturing your worthless body intolerably.  Nothing less than you deserve for the atrocities you have performed on women and on your own family.  Do you know what a monster this man is?’  Eve interjects.  Rebecca finishes cleaning the blood off her face, then gathers her skirt and underwear and starts to clothe her.

‘I’m starting to.  Is that why you led us here?’  I ask Eve, sidling up against a cage between myself and Adam, watching every twitch his body makes.

‘Yes.  There’s only one reason I’m in this pillory, and that’s because I let him put me here.  You need to see who the real monsters are John.’ 

‘From where I’m standing, I’m surrounded by them.  I’ve seen first hand what you did to Darrie.  I’ve seen the pictures of Ettrick and McFetrich.  Don’t even begin to pretend you are any kind of Angel.’  I retort, my voice grumbling with an undercurrent of anger.

‘I think you’ll find its Adam who pretends he’s an Angel.  I killed killers.  Nothing more.  I would kill every one of them again.  I never pretended to be anything other than that.  Get him to show you what he has done.’ she answers demandingly.  Rebecca finishes clothing her bottom half, not able to put her top on due to the pillory.  She steps back to my side.

‘Show us then Doc.  Take off this one last mask and show us who you really are.  Because this isn’t the enigmatic Ben Hanlon I knew, or the thoughtful, professional Rob Adams that looked after Jacob, or the slightly pompous yet friendly Harry Massah that helped us find Bentley.’  Rebecca demands, staring at Adam defiantly.

Adam says nothing, simply nods and slowly walks to the far mirrored wall.  He pushes a hand against one of the mirror tiles, the low hum of an electric motor kicking in as the wall slides back, revealing a room beyond.  Adam steps back and reaches out a hand, waving for us to enter.  I reach to the nearest stand and grab a pair of handcuffs, throwing them over to Adam.  He catches them, smirks and then fastens them on his wrists.

‘What you need to understand is that each and every one of us is looking for the same thing.  Every individual, every religion, every cult, every faith, every belief.  You also need to understand that religion is a human construct, a control mechanism that preys on an individual’s instinctive fears, that makes us do extraordinary things in its God’s name, in our pursuit of immortality.  When you walk into this room that is what you will see.’  Adam relays as he steps off the black marble tiles and onto brown sandstone slabs, covered in hieroglyphics.

‘What you will see in there is barbarity and the sick, twisted depravity of a psychopathic mind.’  Eve interjects vehemently from the pillory as Rebecca and I follow Adam into the room.

Every surface is sandstone slabs, every one of those slabs filled with hieroglyphics.  A long sandstone bench runs down the left on the room.  On top of it wide, circular glass tubes.  Inside each tube is the limbless and headless torso of a woman, floating in a thick, viscose liquid.  Some torso’s have holes in the chest, where the heart cavity is located.  All have a hole in their stomach.  Still pointing the gun at Adam’s head, with a morbid terror eating away at my stomach, I approach the tubes and read the names on the small plaques in front of them, following the line to the one at the end.  It reads ‘Sheila Warren’, and as well as the torso, her dismembered legs and arms are also floating in the tube. 

‘I tend to agree with Eve.  What the fuck is religious about this.  This is just a psychopath’s abattoir, a trophy cabinet of the deranged.  What the hell is that for?’  Rebecca asks, her voice dripping is disgust as she looks to the wall opposite the grotesque torsos.  There is a large circular stone leaning at a thirty degree angle against the wall, carved into it, hollows in the shape of human limbs, torso and head, the hollows combined in the shape of a body, the arms outstretched and the legs wide apart.  Between the leg hollows a slice of the stone has been removed, on the ground beneath it a small plinth.  I look over to the tubes filled with torso’s, at the dismembered limbs, remembering the instrument cases, and the collections at the other killers homes.  I stare at Adam in fascinated disgust.

‘You put body parts into that contraption?  Different body parts from different women?  What is it, a mix and match my perfect dead partner device?  Why the hell is there a gap between the legs?’ I ask with a maelstrom of despair screaming in my stomach, already knowing the answer.

‘Pharaohs were living Gods John.  They believed in the afterlife where they would rule for an eternity.  Every single pyramid verse in Unas’s pyramid is replicated in this room.  Verses that his funerary cult over the centuries have kept alive.  Verses that his funerary cult recite when they give their life force, through the channels of the dead, to keep his spirit eternal, so that they will one day join him and feast at the table of immortality.  That is what the cult of Unas believe.  That is their faith.  That is their religion.’  Adam relays calmly, walking up to the funerary wheel.

‘That’s the excuse they use to fuck dismembered human remains you mean, and you were part of it, part of a cult that could do that to women.  Monster doesn’t even come close to describing what you are.’  Rebecca rages, picking up, as I did, on what he meant by ‘giving their life force through the channels of the dead’.

‘I did what I needed to do, in order to find Gabriel and protect the Fallen Angels.’  Adam responds calmly.

‘So who are the Fallen Angels and what do they believe.  How do they aspire to immortality?  We know that you’ve been selectively breeding for centuries.  We know that you’ve recently been genetically modifying and cloning us.  We know that somehow, Jacob seems to be the key.  But why Adam?  What does rapture mean for the Angels?’  I ask, every sinew in my body wanting to rip his emotionless face to bits.

‘We believe in achieving mental and physical purity John.  We believe that will open up our body and minds to receive the rapture.  Our rapture is immortality too.  The ability for our spirit to pass from body to body and remember what it has lived before.  To recall every single experience that has shaped it.  Cotton Mather set off down that path centuries ago simply believing that if we made the blood line pure, back to that of the first children of this earth, then it would open up the mind.  But we found the mind couldn’t cope, and madness would inevitably take over.  So we started to experiment with the body and mind, to make them stronger.  There isn’t a single thing you can’t remember about your life John.  Right the way back to when you were a single cell and that single cell split, igniting your consciousness.  You are the first of us that have been able to do that.  Rebecca, you are a mental masterpiece.  Your ability to absorb and cope with every single thing we have thrown at you is just astounding.  I took me less than two weeks to bring you back from insanity up at the Asylum, and we threw everything we could think of to make you insane.  Directly, Jacob is your son.  Indirectly, he is the result of four hundred years of belief.  A belief that in him, we have the first Fallen Angel ready to receive the rapture, ready to receive and cope with the eternity of his spirit.  We don’t fear death John, because in Jacob, we have created a body that can transcend it.’ Adam recites, his voice tinged with a lilt of fervour.

That’s all we are to him, an experiment.  A means to an end.  Still a pawn in their creation game.  I don’t know what I had expected.  Some kind of consuming, loving family: a place to eventually feel at home.  Nothing about me is me.  Nothing about Rebecca is Rebecca.  We have been moulded and manipulated for a fucking crazy, tin pot bloody religion.  Our little boy is the way he is because of how they have messed with our lives: no, played God with our lives.

‘That might be a noble aspiration, if not for the death, destruction, torture, agony and horror you have inflicted on all of these women, on us, on everyone you have used, in the name of your religion, all along wearing a mask of sadistic pleasure.  You are no better than any of the men you exposed, no better than any of the murders Gabriel made.  In fact, just as I said, you are worse than a monster, because there isn’t an ounce of compassion in any single thing that you have done.  I can understand why Gabriel went extreme, if this is what you asked him to believe.’  Rebecca seethes, her fists clenching and her whole body shaking with fury.

I take one hand off the gun and reach down into my pocket, tapping the screen on my phone.  Just as I do, I feel my arm vibrate again, six sharp blasts from the place where the tracker is implanted.  ‘Why is the tracker vibrating Adam?’

For the first time in all of his warped revelations, his face changes, filling with furrows of concern.  ‘How many vibrations!’ he demands agitatedly, feeling his own arm.

‘Six blasts.  It’s the second time today.  What is it?’  I ask, watching the panic rise through his features.

‘Six blasts is a catastrophic emergency.  A call for all Angels to return to base, to be briefed.  A call that only I can instigate, and I haven’t instigated it?’ he answers, his words filled with a panicked urgency.

From the other room, Eve laughs, the noise echoing around the dungeon ominously.

‘I told you earlier Adam, you didn’t need to murder anyone to find Gabriel.  All you had to do was go home.  Now he has Jacob, all the remaining Fallen Angels, and now he knows exactly what your plans are.’

Chapter 35

Cruickshank’s Fiesta swerved around the tight corner at the junction of Main Street and New Market, heading down the road at speed, three police cars, their lights flashing and sirens blaring, following her.  She turned the car quickly into the large, full car park to the right, opposite the Swimming Baths, and jumped out of the car, her eyes scanning the parked vehicles around her.

Strange was at her side a second later, the two of them walking up the first row of the car park, eyes darting from side to side.  ‘Over there.’  Strange shouted, pointing to a red Land Rover Evoque in the back row.

Cruickshank broke into a controlled trot, darting between the cars until she was beside the vehicle, Strange arriving a second later.  The three other police cars were now parked up and a gaggle of officers had jumped out and were approaching the car as well.

‘Right gentlemen.’  Strange started as the officers arrived.  ‘We have reason to believe that our suspects, Gabriel and Eve, were using this car.  It parked up here about an hour ago so what I would like you to do is fan out from here and visit every shop, restaurant, building, house and flat in the immediate vicinity and see if you can find them.  They are extremely dangerous, so do not try and be heroes.  If you see them, call for backup immediately.  Now, go!’ he instructed firmly.  The officers paired up, turned, and headed off in a drilled, organised arc away from the car park.

‘Impressive co-ordination Strange.  The troops certainly have more about them than the detectives in your team.’ she dug, scathingly, before raising an elbow and banging it straight into the driver’s window of the Evoque, smashing it instantly, setting off the alarm.

‘Well, we can do methodical efficiency just like the best of them, when it’s required.  The trick is knowing when it’s required.’ Strange baited back as he opened the passenger door and started searching around in the storage compartments in the car.  Cruickshank did likewise from the driver’s side, avoiding the broken glass on the seat. 

‘Any beeps yet?’ she queried enigmatically as she looked up at Strange.

‘Nothing yet.’ he responded, just as Mr Boombastic started ringing from his jacket pocket.  He took the phone out and tapped the answer button.  ‘Jeremiah Strange.’ he introduced.

Cruickshank looked over at him expectantly, his features intently listening.

‘When did it come up?  Five minutes ago.  Repeat that please.  Robert Caldwell, house name is ‘Gihon’, on Waterside Road.  Got it.  Thanks.’  Strange relayed, hanging up the call.  He looked over to Cruickshank’s inquisitively expectant gaze.  ‘A hit has just come up on PNC for Robert Caldwell.  An address, as you heard.  It’s just around the corner from here.  If that’s what John has put onto PNC, then Adam is the sixth member of the cult.’  Strange finished with a tinge of trepidation in his tone.

‘And here we are in a car driven by the woman we expect to try and kill him.  How convenient.  As we said, who is trying to play us Jerry?  Regardless, let’s get around there sharpish.’  Cruickshank answered cynically, then stood up out of the car. 

Strange did the same, grabbing a walkie-talkie from his pocket and speaking into it as the two of them set off towards the river.  ‘ARO team one, make your way down to Waterside Road immediately, wait next to the Chantry Footbridge and await my instructions.  Door to door Officers, set up a fifty yard perimeter around a building called ‘Gihon’ on Waterside Road.  Don’t let anyone in or out.’ he ordered as they reached to bottom of the car park and headed left down the road next to the river.

‘Worse case here, we have another murderer murdered, John and Rebecca are dead and Eve and Gabriel have flown the coop.  Best case, John has somehow managed to capture them in the act and has them restrained rather than killed.’  Strange mused as they trotted together along the side of the river, Cruickshank scanning the windows of the buildings lining the road to their left.

‘Best doesn’t come into this, we are working on degrees of worse now.’  Cruickshank answered dryly, observing a handful of uniformed officers sprinting onto the road in front of them, forming a cordon.  They both ran past them, Strange shouting out orders.  ‘Remember, no one in and if anyone tries to get out, detain them.’  They slowed slightly on approach to a large sandstone building up ahead, noting the name sign on the wall.  Strange grabbed Cruickshank’s arm gently and angled her to the side of the road, behind a bush in front of the last house before ‘Gihon’.

‘ARO’s.  We are at the building now.  It’s about fifty yards from where you are.  Head down Chantry Place, then past the old boathouse and it’s the next building.  Four around the back, two each side and six at the front.  We are just past the front of the building in front of the next house along.  Stay in position until you here from me.  Go.’  Strange ordered, then looked down the road, expectantly.  A few seconds later, the sound of hobnail boots echoed off the black tarmac, a stream of ARO’s angling down the road, some heading directly towards them, others peeling off around the back of the building.

‘Right, let’s get in there.’  Strange said, stepping out from behind the bush, Cruickshank following, both approaching the six ARO’s coming the other way.  They convened outside the entrance.

‘Right gents.  We expect our suspects to be in there, but we don’t know where or doing what, so caution is the byword.  It’s a big building with three stories.  I want one left and right first floor, the same second and third floors.  Sound off if you find anything at all.  You have permission to shoot, but no kill shots, just injure, unless your life is in danger.  Is that clear?’  Strange ordered efficiently, looking anxiously into their masked faces, which all nodded.  ‘Right, ram that door in now!’

Two of the ARO’s peeled off and the first hoisted a battering ram off the second ones back, lined it up between them in one stealthy movement, ran straight at the door, thumping the ram with force into the blue painted wood.  The door burst open, splinters of wood flying off the frame, the loud bang shaking the timber.  All six ARO’s streamed into the building, the first two splitting to the left and right on the ground floor, immediately dipping into open rooms.  The other four bounded up the stairwell in the middle of the hallway directly ahead of the busted in door.

Cruickshank and Strange stepped through the damaged frame, Cruickshank stepping to the left, staying close to the wall as she slowly started to survey the hallway, watching the ARO up ahead dart in and out of rooms, shouting ‘Clear’ as he did.  Echoes of ‘Clear’ rang out from the upper floors.

Strange walked past Cruickshank and into the first room on the left, a dining room, noting the laid out table with half eaten meals and empty wine glasses.  ‘Someone was entertaining.  Just two people.  There’s a stiletto kicked off under the table and lipstick on one of the wine glasses, so one of them was definitely a woman.’ he relayed, stepping back out into the hallway, his attention caught by a second stiletto at the far end of the hallway, beside a door slightly ajar, the ARO just about to open it.  ‘Stop!’  Strange shouted toward him, sprinting down the passage.  Cruickshank strode sternly behind him and reached down to pick the shoe up.

Strange looked into the ARO’s masked face.  ‘Right, there’s at least two people in here.  One woman.  Probably behind that door, so go careful.’ he relayed as the other ARO’s jogged down the hallway from the upper floors and the right of the ground floor.  ‘All clear’, they sounded off as they arrived.

The first ARO nodded, then poked the barrel of his rifle around the open door, pulling it open to reveal a stairway downwards, light emanating from the foot of the stairwell.  He entered through the door and stealthily stepped down to the bottom of the stairs, furtively, yet precisely angling his gun through the opening into the room beyond.  He looked back up the stairs, signalling an ‘OK’ with his fingers.  Strange and Cruickshank descended quickly and followed the ARO into a large BDSM dungeon, the walls and ceiling mirrored, the floor tiled in black marble and covered in the accoutrements and instruments of sexual torture.

‘More clothes.’  Strange stated as they walked over the room, stepping over a pair of underpants strewn on the floor.  Cruickshank walked past him, following the ARO to an open panel in the far wall.  The ARO thrust his rifle into the opening and arced it around the perimeter of the room, shouting ‘Clear’ in a hoarse, gagging voice, before he turned back out of the space, thrusting a hand over his mouth.  Cruickshank shook her head at him dismally, walking past him into the sandstone room. 

Strange cocked an ear, catching a slight squeaking above the noise they were making.  His gaze focused on the source, a pair of manacles dangling on the crossbar of a metal pillory that were moving slightly.  He approached the pillory, looking at the head hoop, seeing the sheen of blood on its edge, his gaze drawn to the floor and a small pool of glistening redness.  He bent down, dipping a finger into the viscose substance. ‘Still warm.’ he whispered to himself, lifting a finger to his mouth and tasting the liquid.  ‘Blood.’ he said, before standing and walking toward the sandstone room to join Cruickshank.

‘There’s warm blood out here and a swinging manacle.  Whoever they are, they haven’t been gone long, minutes at the most.  To be honest, I don’t know…’  Strange started, words stopped in his throat as he entered the sandstone room and saw the hieroglyphics, the tubes and the floating torsos within them. 

‘What don’t you know Strange?  Which degree of worse this could possibly be.  We have another room full of dead women.  We have no Saul, no Angus, no Eve and no Gabriel.  More innocent people killed and their murderers having us running around like bloody amateurs.’  Cruickshank seethed, standing in front of a tube containing the dismembered remains of Sheila Warren.

Strange looked around the room incredulously, his jaw dropped in disbelief.  ‘I don’t know how they got out.  I don’t know how they got past us.  Someone was in that pillory not a minute ago, so if they didn’t go past us, how on earth did they manage to get out of this room.’