Sacrifice (27 page)

‘We also need to consider that it’s two days to Beltane,’ she added. ‘When Eric first drew up his list, he reckoned that was the most likely date this month to be marked with a … sacrifice, desecration, whatever you want to call it.’

‘Could they really mount another so soon after the last one?’ Charlie Finnegan asked.

Gemma shrugged. ‘We don’t know. We don’t know anything. But think about it, people … April 30. Beltane, or Walpurgis Night as it’s known in parts of Europe, is one of the biggest festivals in the occult calendar. We’re talking witches, druids, demonology.’

‘It’s tailor-made for something bad to happen,’ Gary Quinnell said.

‘Agreed … but as we don’t know where or even what form this bad thing will take, there isn’t much we can do to prepare.’ Gemma shrugged again. ‘All I can say is be aware of it. Keep your eyes to the ground, and your ears open. That’s it for now.’

The team jolted back into life; Heck continued to watch Gemma, concerned at how lost she looked in the midst of the bustle. It only lasted for seconds and then she was back to her efficient self – raising her voice to issue commands, berating everyone for their tardiness – but Heck hadn’t liked what he’d just seen. Gemma had always been the cool head, the pillar of strength, the supreme organiser – but perhaps for the first time the weight of an operation that was expanding unmanageably in almost every direction was getting too much.

Ten minutes later, she called him into her office and had him close the door. She sat behind her desk, from where she appraised him carefully. ‘It’s probably a bit late in the day to ask you this, but I don’t suppose you’ve ever encountered anything similar to this?’

Heck shook his head. ‘I’ve never even heard of anything similar to this.’

She knuckled at her brow. ‘Of course, it’s just a murder enquiry like any other. We mustn’t let the ghoulish elements distract us. It needs to be dealt with in the same time-honoured fashion.’

But the tone with which she said this alarmed him, because he could tell she wasn’t attempting to instruct him as much as herself. She looked tired, stressed and – though he wouldn’t exactly have said ‘vulnerable’; ‘Gemma’ and ‘vulnerable’ were two words that could never appear in the same sentence – there was an unguarded weariness about her, as if she was briefly off her game and didn’t mind people knowing about it. Or at least didn’t mind
him
knowing about it. He wondered in what capacity she’d asked him in here: underling, colleague, friend … or something else?

‘So we’ve got to focus, Heck. You especially. Not that you haven’t been so far …’ She gave him a look that was almost a plea. ‘But I need my best fighters in absolute peak form … or I’m worried these bastards are going to beat us.’

‘They won’t,’ he said. ‘I guarantee it.’

‘They’ll have beaten us if they do it one more time. Never mind a hundred more, and at present they seem to be going for the record.’

‘We’ll get them.’

She stood up and pulled on her suit jacket. ‘Well hold that thought. We’re off to Strangeways Prison.’

‘Strangeways?’

‘The remand wing. Apparently Cameron Boyd would like a chat. Don’t worry … I’m not asking you along to hold my hand. He specifically requested to speak to
both
of us.’

When they headed out into the MIR, it felt more cramped, crowded and noisy than ever. Despite the expense, Gold Command had been in no position to ignore Gemma’s requests for increased manpower. This meant that extra desks had needed to be crammed into minuscule spaces, and more computer terminals and phones added, all of which contributed to the general clamour. In the heart of all this, Heck came face to face with Claire, who was rooted in front of a display board plastered with images from the crime scene at the zoo.

For once she hadn’t bothered to do anything with her hair or make-up. Her cheeks were pale as ash. Even her peppermint eyes had lost their lustre.

‘You look terrible,’ he said, startled.

She nodded at the images in front of her. ‘I could be worse.’

‘Why don’t you go out and get some air?’

‘Yeah, and be mauled to death by the press pack. Again.’

‘Claire …’

‘There used to be a phrase, didn’t there? The banality of evil.’ Her voice was almost tearful, and yet she remained distracted by the crime scene photographs, fixated on the grotesque imagery as if trying to find some sense in it. ‘It means the most wicked deeds are often committed by little people who otherwise don’t matter. But the people who’ve done this matter, don’t they, Heck? There is nothing banal about this!’

‘Claire, listen …’

She shook her head. ‘This is beyond anything I ever imagined. I’m not naïve, I knew I’d be seeing gory, upsetting stuff. I was nervous, but I thought I could deal with it. But I’ll be absolutely honest with you … I’m not sure I can. I really don’t think I’m up to
this
.’

Heck glanced towards the door. Gemma had already gone outside to the car.

‘Claire, we’re all affected by …’

‘Don’t give me that, Mark. You’re not. Not
you
.’ It was a tone of near-accusation. ‘You’re in your element here. You might say you hate it, and on the surface you probably do. But this is what you’re good at. It’s what you live for. Some people would be impressed by that, but I … I can’t even comprehend it.’

She turned and headed back to her own office, in which the telephone, yet again, was insistently ringing.

‘We’ll talk later,’ he said after her.

She waved without looking back.

Outside, Heck volunteered to drive and Gemma accepted, which was a rare event. However, once they were on the road, she seemed to get herself together, glancing into her compact mirror and cringing at what she saw. She took a brush from her handbag, combing out her unruly ash-blonde locks, and then applied some fresh lipstick and eye-liner. Gemma was not the sort to over-emphasise her looks, but she knew that she was handsome and never hesitated to put this front forward – anything that added strength was to be embraced.

‘Good idea,’ Heck said.

‘What is?’

‘Licking yourself into shape. The troops’ll appreciate it.’

‘Yeah, because we can’t have them taking orders from some bird who isn’t hot to trot.’

‘You know what I mean. If they see
you’re
cracking up, they’ll go the same way.’

‘I know.’ She snapped her compact closed. ‘But … Christ, Heck, I’m dreading what may happen in two days. I mean … Beltane. Used to mean nothing. Was a word I heard occasionally on devil-worshipper movies. Now …?’ She shook her head.

‘If it was that simple, all we’d have to do is stake out the nearest deconsecrated church,’ he replied.

‘Tell me again about this theory of yours … that some twisted intellectual is behind these killings.’

‘Well …’ he began. ‘There’s an educated mind at work here, even if it is pretty warped … but I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t admit that things have got so weird that even I’m not sure what’s going on. Someone’s either trying to mock these ancient festivals, or draw attention to them … and at the same time take vengeance on a world that doesn’t appreciate him. That’s the usual motivation for these self-obsessed psychopaths.’

Gemma considered. ‘The general consensus is that ignorance and disadvantage breed hate. Those who’ve managed to better themselves by education rarely have issues they need to work out of their systems through violence.’

‘There are always aberrations,’ he replied. ‘Look at Harold Shipman. Whatever’s going on here, someone is playing a massive, elaborate game – and is hugely enjoying the distress that it’s causing. Either way, we’re not dealing with everyday criminality. This whole thing is too artful.’

‘Like you said … a circus show of the macabre.’

He nodded. ‘And guess who the bloody clowns are.’

Cameron Boyd sauntered into the prison interview room with the air of a man who knew he had the upper hand. The steel door slammed closed, and he slumped into the seat on the opposite side of the table from Gemma and Heck.

‘Smashing to see you again.’ He displayed his orange bib. ‘How do you like my new gear?’

‘Suits you,’ Heck replied.

‘It’s not very stylish.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

Boyd grinned his brown-toothed grin. ‘I’m not so sure, actually.’

‘Cut the bollocks, Boyd,’ Gemma said. ‘You’ve dragged us off an important investigation so please don’t waste any more of our time than is necessary.’

Boyd eyed her as though amused. ‘You like to go at stuff fast, don’t you, Miss Piper? I thought you’d have learned to be a bit more cautious after last time – when you nabbed the wrong bloke.’

‘You know, Cameron,’ Gemma said, ‘this “what a clever villain am I” act would be more convincing if you weren’t facing a long stretch inside.’

‘Funny you should mention that. Because that’s what I want to talk to you both about.’ He leaned forward, still grinning. ‘You two think you’ve taken me off the streets for quite some time, don’t you? But I’m not the one you really want.’

‘You’re right,’ Heck said. ‘You’ve been a distraction, nothing more.’

‘In that case, you can put in a good word for me.’

‘Excuse me?’ Gemma said.

Still Boyd grinned. ‘The last time we spoke, you asked if I could remember when someone might have grabbed a handful of my hair. Well guess what … I now have.’

‘Who?’

‘Ah-ah …’ He wagged a finger. ‘There’s no such thing in life as a free lunch. Well, there is in here, I suppose. It’s fucking shit, but it always tastes better when the taxpayer’s footing the bill. Anyway … I can tell you exactly who pulled my hair out, and exactly when it happened. But you’re going to have to do me a favour.’

‘Go on,’ Gemma said.

‘As you know, me and Tezza Mullany are going to stand trial for three aggravated burglaries. We haven’t got a cat in hell’s chance. We’ll get fifteen years each, easy.’

‘That’ll be a shame,’ Heck chuckled.

‘Be a shame for you too, you pig bastard!’ Boyd snapped.

‘Keep this friendly, Cameron,’ Gemma warned him. ‘Or we’ll walk and you’ll get no kind of deal.’

‘I want the charges reduced. Knock ’em down to ordinary everyday burglaries – take out the “aggravated” bit – and I’ll tell you what you want to know.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding.’

‘Do I look like I am?’

‘You tied people up in their own homes,’ Gemma said. ‘You held sharpened objects to their throats, to their eyeballs.’

‘They’ll get over it. Look, I’ll still go down … only difference is it’ll be three or four years, tops.’

‘Some kind of justice, that,’ Heck said.

Boyd sat back. ‘That’s the price of my intel.’

‘It’s too high,’ Gemma said. ‘I dealt with the paperwork for those home-invasions you and Terry Mullany committed. I liaised with the Manchester detectives who were investigating them. They were among the worst I’ve ever seen. As far as I’m concerned, fifteen years would be too short. You and Mullany should be going down for life.’

‘In which case this interview is finished.’ Boyd stood up. ‘You sure you don’t want to think this over first?’

‘There’s nothing to think about,’ she said firmly.

He grinned again, and banged on the door. ‘Your loss.’

The rain had stopped outside, but it was still cloudy and cold. Gemma didn’t immediately climb into Heck’s Volkswagen, but stood thinking. She glanced back at the soulless mountain of brick that was Strangeways Prison.

‘Boyd’s a major bullshit artist, you realise that?’ Heck said.

‘Well … now I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.’

‘Have you considered giving him what he wants?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Just because he’s charged with burglary doesn’t mean the judge won’t be made conversant with the facts. He’ll hand down a stiff sentence.’

‘It’ll still go a lot easier for him than it should.’

‘Agreed, but it seems pretty simple to me.’ Heck loosened his tie. ‘Whoever obtained Boyd’s DNA is a link to the Desecrator. They could lead us straight to him.’

Gemma shook her head. ‘I don’t think I could get those charges reduced even if I wanted to. I wasn’t kidding in there … those aggravated burglaries were bloody serious. GMP would be all over us like a rash if we tried. And they’d be right to. Sorry Heck, but there’s got to be such a thing in this job as principle. Boyd and Mullany need to be kept off the streets for as long as possible. I’m not going to prevent that happening, whatever I stand to gain from it.’

‘Even if it means other lives may be saved?’

She gave him a haggard stare, but before she could reply her mobile began bleeping. Her face fell even more when she spied the number of the caller. ‘Hello, sir,’ she said.

Heck waited patiently while Gemma nodded repeatedly, occasionally getting a word or two in: ‘Yes sir … of course … tomorrow, yes.’

‘Tomorrow then, eh?’ Heck said when she’d hung up.

‘First thing in the afternoon … Joe’s office.’

‘You’re at the Old Bailey later this week, aren’t you?’

‘I am, as it happens. Cooper v Regina. Joe says come down a day early. We can kill two birds with one stone.’ Gemma gave him a wan smile. ‘Was nice knowing you.’

‘It’ll just be a progress report.’

‘And look how much I’ve got to show him.’

‘Going to mention Boyd’s offer?’

‘Am I bloody hell! I know what his response would be – I’m a high-ranking, highly trusted police officer. I should be catching criminals, not bribing them. And if I can’t do that, someone else will.’

‘There’s no harm in telling him that Boyd made the offer. Least that’ll take the burden off your shoulders.’

She gave him another frank stare. ‘Do I look like I need the burden taking off?’

‘Do you want the truth?’

‘Just get in the car.’

They drove the twenty-five miles back to Merseyside in almost complete silence, not even commenting on the heavy early-evening traffic. Halfway there the rain returned, grey pulses of it sweeping the bleak, post-industrial landscape. Still Gemma said nothing, just sat there, gazing past the thudding windscreen wipers.

They pulled into the car park of their motel, and gazed up at the unimposing structure. It looked faceless, functional. Little wonder, on the first day, they’d christened it the ‘Motel-With-No-Name’.