Death Rites Page 6

  “It took quite a while to get ready, mind,” he continued. “I guess I’m out of practice and this stupid leg didn’t help.”

  “Have you taken your tablets?”

  He nodded his agreement as he handed Daniel a toasted soldier to stick into his boiled egg, mindful of his crisp white shirt as Daniel moved it to and fro, spraying himself with egg yolk.

  At the ring of the doorbell, Crane shrugged on his suit jacket and Tina handed him his stick.

  “Have a good one,” she grinned.

  “I’ll try,” he replied, smiling in return, as he made his cautious way out of the house and down the front steps.

  “Well look at you!” Anderson said, opening the car door for Crane.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Derek, just because I’ve put a suit on.”

  “Well at least it still fits you after sitting on your arse for months.”

  Anderson got a swipe from Crane’s stick for that remark.

  Even though they’d had to crawl through the rush hour traffic, both men where in an upbeat mood when they finally arrived at Frimley Park Hospital.

  Crane said, “It’s a bit early for the child psychologist to be visiting Hope, isn’t it?”

  “She wanted to fit a session in before she started her clinic today. Anyway, everyone is woken up so early on the wards that she decided it wouldn’t make any difference to Hope, who’d be wide awake.”

  As they walked by the hospital gift shop, Derek paused. “Hang on a minute,” he said and disappeared inside.

  Crane waited patiently, supporting himself with his stick, determined not to focus on the gremlins that were themselves waking up, ready for their morning assault on his hip.

  As Anderson re-appeared by his side holding a paper bag, Crane said, “What’s that?”

  “I just thought I’d bring Hope a treat,” Anderson said as they made their way to the ward.

  Arriving at Hope’s room, Dr McAllister saw them through the window and left Hope’s bedside to join them outside. She was clutching a picture.

  After Anderson introduced her to Crane she said, “Look at this, DI Anderson. Hope drew a van this morning.”

  “Did she say anything about it?”

  “No, she still won’t talk. But when I asked if she’d had a ride in a van recently she nodded. I feel its great progress. She’s really taken to the drawing therapy.”

  “Maybe she was bundled into a van when she was abducted,” Crane said.

  “It’s a possibility,” agreed Anderson. “But we’ll have to wait and see if the Doc here can get any more out of her.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can, you can count on that.”

  Anderson smiled and said, “Well in that case, Hope really deserves this treat,” and he held out his paper bag. “I got her an ice cream. We passed the shop on the ground floor when we arrived and I suddenly thought she might like one. My kids love them. Would you take it to her?”

  “With pleasure,” the Doctor said and disappeared inside the room.

  Crane said, “Can I see the-” but that was as far as he got, as a scream emerged from Hope’s room. It was rather muted, heard through the window and the closed door, but it was a scream all the same.

  A stunned Crane and Anderson watched helplessly, as Hope appeared to be throwing a tantrum. She was screaming and crying and trying to get away from the ice cream cone that Anderson had bought her and which now lay abandoned on her bed. Suddenly she grabbed it and threw it across the room before collapsing, engulfed by sobs. As Dr McAllister comforted her, Hope became calmer, while the ice cream slowly melted, pooling across the floor.

  19

  “And she went loopy you say? Just because you gave her an ice cream?”

  “Well, loopy is not the best term to use, DC Douglas,” Anderson said at the team briefing he’d called after arriving back at Aldershot Police Station. “But yes, that’s what she did.”

  Crane said, “It seems that the ice cream was definitely the trigger.”

  Crane had already been introduced to the team, Anderson using Crane’s old rank of Sgt Major. He was already known to most of the CID members because of his involvement in previous joint military and civilian police cases. Even though the structure of the police investigative teams changed from time to time, what with the introduction of the Major Crimes squad and such like, most of the team still worked out of Aldershot. The only new faces he didn’t know were DC Douglas who had just been promoted out of uniform into CID and DS Bullock who had recently transferred to Aldershot from a town somewhere in the Midlands.

  “But what does it mean?” Douglas asked. “Why would she get so upset at the sight of an ice cream?”

  “That’s for you lot to try and work out,” said Anderson.

  “What about the van that she drew?” Crane asked.

  “Good point, Crane. DS Bullock can you work on that one? See if you can pinpoint what sort of van it could be from her drawing.”

  “Sorry, guv? You really think that her drawing is accurate? We are talking about a picture drawn by a kid.”

  “How about an ice cream van?” DC Douglas blurted.

  “What?”

  “Well, Hope had a bad reaction to the ice cream and she’d already drawn a van so…”

  “What rubbish,” said Bullock.

  “We don’t know if it is or not, do we Bullock?” Anderson snapped. “But we’ve precious little else to work on, so you and DC Douglas better get started. See what you can find out about ice cream vans in the area.”

  “Yes, guv,” Bullock mumbled, flushing red with embarrassment.

  Crane realised that blushing was an unfortunate trait in those who had pale skin and ginger hair; when even the smallest of slight or uncomfortable situation caused the rush of blood to their skin to be immediately visible… Bloody hell. Ginger hair, pale skin and freckles. Crane had heard that description before. It had been from Blake at the tattoo shop. No surely not, it could just be co-incidence. Couldn’t it? There must be ginger-haired men all over the place. It didn’t mean that DS Bullock was the man who’d got the strange tattoo.

  But once Crane’s thinking was drawn to Bullock, he couldn’t stop dwelling on it and he began to wonder if the man had any tattoos. Crane looked closely, but Bullock had his suit jacket on.

  As Anderson finished handing out the assignments, he drew the meeting to a close and Crane followed him into his office.

  “I’m not sure that I’m going to get much out of that lot,” Anderson sighed, throwing a file on his desk to join the other half dozen already there. “They’re pretty bloody useless.”

  “I was thinking while you were spouting away,” Crane said lowering himself into the chair opposite Anderson’s desk with the aid of his stick.

  “Oh yes, thinking about what?” Anderson seemed more interested in finding something to eat from his bottom draw than listening to Crane.

  “About ginger haired men with pale skin, freckles and a tattoo.”

  Anderson froze with a packet of fig biscuits in his hand.

  “Bullock?”

  Crane nodded.

  Anderson said, “No surely not. He’s been in the force for years. It must just be pure co-incidence. Here, have a biscuit it’ll help take your mind off your fantasies.”

  Crane took the biscuit but not the advice that came with it.

  20

  As Crane walked into the house, exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time from his day with Anderson, Tina and Daniel were already at home and once he’d deposited his keys on the table and taken off his coat, he walked through the house to the kitchen to meet them.

  “Hey, stranger,” Tina said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I was wondering where you were. Did you have physiotherapy at the hospital this afternoon? Only you hadn’t said.”

  “No, I didn’t, I um…”

  Tina scrutinised his face. “Tom, where have you been? Are you alright? I was becoming afraid that you’d had an accident - again.”
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  “Stop worrying, Tina,” he said moving over to give her a hug and a kiss on her cheek to dispel her worries, although he was secretly pleased that she was so concerned about him. “Actually, yes I am alright, more alright than I have been in quite a while. Any tea on the go?”

  “You don’t get off that lightly,” she said. “Although I might make you a cup once you’ve told me what’s going on,” she teased. “Could it have anything to do with Derek Anderson?”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned to the sink and filled the kettle with water. “So he’s finally got you sufficiently interested in his case has he?” she called. Clicking on the kettle she turned back to him. “Is that where you’ve been all day? I thought you were just going for an hour or so to meet that woman psychologist before you went to your appointment at the pain management clinic in the same hospital. Wasn’t Derek just giving you a lift?”

  “Oh shit, I forgot all about that,” grinned Crane and bent to pick up a toy that Daniel had dropped out of his high chair.

  “Oh, Tom!”

  “Don’t ‘oh Tom’ me. It’s not a problem. I’ll just carry on as I am. All the tablets are on repeat prescription, so it’s no bother.”

  “So, what it is that you were you doing that was more important than managing your pain?” Tina finished making his tea and sat down at the table, pushing the mug towards him.

  He sat down opposite her. “Well, as it happens,” he began, “Hope drew a van and then threw a wobbly when Derek brought her an ice-cream. So the theory is…” and Crane outlined what had happened at the team briefing earlier.

  Much to his surprise, instead of berating him for being at ‘work’ for so long, she grinned and said, “Well I’m really pleased.”

  “What, that I forgot my appointment?”

  “Ha ha. I mean I’m pleased that you found something interesting to do. Well done Derek is what I say. It seems his plan is working.”

  Crane looked closely at his wife his face, frowning. “What do you mean?” And then the penny dropped. “You mean you know all about it? What’s he been saying? Are you in on this as well?”

  But Tina just smiled enigmatically and getting up from the table, turned away to get Daniel’s tea ready.

  21

  “And so, in the name of Satan, we set your feet upon the left-hand path...Dawn we baptize you with earth and air, with brine and burning flame. And so we dedicate your life to love, to passion, to indulgence, and to Satan, and the way of darkness. Hail Dawn! Hail Satan!”

  As the ritual drew to a close and he heard the nine rings of the bell, he relaxed, safe in the knowledge that it was over at last. They’d completed a successful Satanic baptism and his first major success. He looked around at the members gathered in the dilapidated ruin, squinting through the candle smoke, trying to decide which of the women to favour when it was time for the fun to begin. But he pulled himself together, as first of all he needed to speak to the couple who were to bring the child up as their own. He must make sure that they understood that she must be convinced that her new adoptive parents were offering her the best chance of a good life. She had to be persuaded that as her mother was now dead, theirs was to be her new home. Okay so that was a bit of a lie, he’d no idea if her mother was dead or not, but it would do as a suitable story.

  He suddenly realised that Clay was still standing by the altar and that he was looking at the girl with something akin to horror in his eyes.

  “Clay,” he shouted. “Get the girl ready to go off with her new parents.”

  But Clay didn’t move, not even a fraction. He could have been frozen by Medusa’s head.

  Grumbling he strode over to the altar. “Clay,” he shouted in the man’s ear to get his attention. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m alright, it’s her, boss!”

  “What are you talking about, what about her?”

  “Um, I think she’s dead. I can’t wake her up.”

  Clay looked up at him with terror in his eyes, but if it was because something had happened to the girl, or because Clay was afraid of him, he wasn’t sure which.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, get out of the way,” and he pushed Clay to one side.

  Pulling off his hood so he could see properly, he looked down at the motionless girl. She should be stirring by now. Waking up. And she wasn’t. He put his finger on the girl’s neck, but couldn’t feel anything. There was no re-assuring thump of a pulse. Next he tried her wrist. Again nothing. Finally he put his head on her chest, but could hear no heartbeat.

  “What the fuck have you done?” he hissed at Clay still leaning over Dawn’s now very much dead body.

  “I don’t know. I must have given her too much sedative or taken too much blood. Something like that anyway. I didn’t mean to, boss, honest.” Clay was jabbering, his eyes wild and panicky.

  “Fucking hell, this is bloody stupid. This isn’t supposed to happen. We’re not supposed to harm children. We simply give them a Satanic baptism and then bring them up in our world, keeping them happy and safe from all that Christian mumbo jumbo.”

  What a fuck up. But what to do now? He’d have to take charge of the situation, issue his instructions and then deal with Clay later on.

  “You’ll have to get rid of the body, Clay. Maybe you can do that properly without messing it up. Quick, take her away before anyone notices. What the hell am I supposed to say to Brian and Dot who should have taken her home with them?”

  Clay didn’t reply, just grabbed the girl, slung her over his shoulder like a carcass of meat and pushed his way out of the ruin.

  He was absolutely fuming. Why couldn’t he find reliable people to join them? Clay had turned out to be a big disappointment to him. It had been Clay who’d let the first girl escape and now he’d killed the second one. He mustn’t let the other members of the organisation know; the other chapters that were scattered around the world. If it got out, he’d be seen as nothing more than a bumbling idiot who wasn’t even professional enough to get a ritual right.

  If Clay couldn’t even manage to find and then keep alive a girl for a simple baptism, what might happen when they got on to the bigger rituals, the ones meant to evoke chaos and destruction? The way things stood at the moment, they were managing to evoke chaos and destruction all on their own, without the help of any rituals.

  He was beginning to regret his decision to put himself forward as a leader of a new grotto of the Satanic Church when he’d moved into the area. If he’d have known the quality of the membership before he’d opened his big mouth, he wouldn’t have bloody bothered. He wasn’t sure he could take much more of the pressures of leadership.

  It had all seemed so easy back in Birmingham. There the workings of the Satanic Church had run so smoothly, that his assumption was that it would be easy enough for him to run a grotto of his own. Moving to Aldershot had meant that he no longer had the outlet for his sexual fantasies that he’d previously enjoyed through the Church. His wife wasn’t into sexual fantasies. In fact she wasn’t into sex full stop.

  Satan, by one name or another, haunted mankind, tempting him with sweet delights and enlightening him with blinding secrets intended only for gods. He was the one who could be petitioned for powers of retribution and who gave deserved rewards. Instead of creating sins to insure guilty compliance, Satan encouraged indulgence. He was the single deity who could really understand us.

  It was a down-to-earth, rational, bedrock philosophy that emphasized the carnal, lustful, natural instincts of man, without imposing guilt for manufactured sins; a philosophy that he fully agreed with. And so it had occurred to him that the best way forward would be to create a new branch of the Satanic Church, with him at the head of it.

  But then he found he had to make so many decisions; organise Clay, recruit new members, find suitable premises, order the robes, get copies of the Satanic Bible - the list of things to do seemed endless. Add to that starting a new job and moving house, it wasn’t surprisi
ng that he was on a short fuse. Buckling under the weight of the latest disaster, he made his way over to Brian and Dot to break the bad news.

  22

  Anderson had been mulling over an idea for some time now and after the success of the past couple of days, had decided that the time was right to approach Superintendent Grimes. He was just about to go upstairs to see him, when the man himself passed Anderson’s door, resplendent in full uniform.

  “Guv,” Derek called, standing up from where he’d been sitting behind his desk. “Have you got a minute?”

  Grimes stopped at the door, pulled down his immaculate uniform jacket and looked at his watch. “I’ve got five minutes actually; I’m just on my way to a presentation so you’re lucky to have caught me. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, sir, I’ve had Sgt Major Crane come out with me a couple of times on this mystery child enquiry.”

  “Oh how is he? Wasn’t he the one who had that bad accident?” Grimes said, leaning up against the door frame as there was nowhere to sit in Anderson’s office. There rarely was. “Sit down, Derek, do, you look stupid standing there squashed between your desk and the chair.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Anderson, making himself comfortable once more. “Yes, he fell out of a lorry, but the thing is, I could really do with him on the team.”

  “Why?” Grimes looked sceptical and Anderson hoped he’d not made the wrong call. Whilst his boss always said he was approachable and not to hesitate to talk problems through with him, it was well known that Grimes was a career policeman who was going to go far. So good results were because of his leadership and bad ones… Well, those officers who were unfortunate enough to be perceived as having made a mistake were quickly transferred to another department, or even another police station. Anywhere as long as it was out of Grimes’ sight.