DI Lorraine Hunt glared at her partner Detective Luke Daniels. “I swear I will kill him,” she mouthed. “Any minute now.”
Luke, tall, handsome and black, with a presence about him that turned heads, tried not to laugh out loud. Unaware that his boss was reaching meltdown, Carter was droning on and on about the history of St Michael and All Angels church.
Two minutes later Lorraine had had enough. She stood up. “Yeah, OK, Carter, that’s all very interesting, but old bones and stones that may or may not be four thousand years old can’t very well help us with today’s problems, can they?”
Luke smiled. Carter actually got away with more than anyone in the station. Luke knew that Lorraine genuinely liked the young, naive officer, who had somehow got it into his head that Lorraine shared his love of the area’s history. But at the moment Luke was as concerned as Lorraine about the news that had come over the wires less than an hour ago.
“So what’s up?” Carter asked.
“Fill him in, Luke. I’m in need of some liquid refreshment; back in a mo.” She left them, her long blonde ponytail swishing from side to side as she strode out of the office.
Five minutes later she was back, a can of Diet Coke in her hand. From the look of horror on Carter’s face she guessed Luke had told him most of what there was to know about Kirill Tarasov.
“So.” She sat down at her desk, eyebrows raised.
Carter swallowed hard, then felt sick. “A... a cannibal?”
“Yes. A cannibal who collects antiques.”
“There’s no accounting for tastes, is there?” Luke said, shaking his head.
Carter and Lorraine groaned in unison, and Lorraine went on, “He’s been wanted all over the world for years, nearly caught twice. Believe me this guy makes Dracula look like a pussy cat. He skins his victims, eats them, then decorates his house with their skin.”
“Oh, gross,” Carter shivered. “But why haven’t I heard about him before now?”
“Classified information. There’s enough fear in the world today without adding to it. Besides, why give him glory? There’s plenty of weirdos out there that would worship him... Actually Kirill, if that’s even his real name, if he’s even really Russian, is a variant of an old Greek word which means lord.”
“Yeah, in his case lord of darkness,” Luke put in. “No one’s safe when this guy’s around.”
“Please don’t tell me he’s in Houghton, please.” Carter was thinking of his mother, all alone until he got in from work, and it was getting dark out there already. The hairs stood out on the back of his neck when he thought of the gruesome things Luke had told him.
“Get a grip, Carter,” Lorraine said. “He was followed from Germany to France, where they lost him for the second time this year. But then luck struck and he was recognized getting off a plane in Newcastle. He was followed, but the agent’s car died on him. Tarasov was last seen heading for Durham.”
As Carter opened his mouth to ask more questions the phone rang. Lorraine quickly snatched it up.
The two officers watched her face go from dismay to outright disbelief. She muttered a few words, put the phone down and stared at Luke and Carter.
“Well?” Luke urged.
Lorraine slowly shook her head, blew air out of her cheeks before saying, “There’s been a prison break at Durham, one man dead, two escaped... Both escapees were doing life for murder... Vicious murder.” She stood up. “Come on, guys, we’re all out on patrol.”
It was a dark night, no stars and hardly any moon. Danny, Len and Adam met up outside the church. They had each taken a different route up from the Seahills; some of the gossips on the estate hardly slept, and if the three of them were seen together after midnight, they’d have put two and two together and come out with an odd number.
“So where we gonna dig first?” Len whispered.
“I reckon up the front, near the altar,” Danny replied.
Adam nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
They made their way quietly to the door. Danny pulled out a crowbar and set to work on the heavy locks. “Once upon a time churches used to be open all the time,” he grunted as he struggled with the lock.
“Aye, but that was before thieving bastards started to rob them,” Adam said with conviction.
Len looked at him, “So what the hell are we, then?”
Adam shrugged. “That’s different. We’re not robbing the church. I reckon coins and ancient stuff belong to the people, it’s our... our birthright.” He nodded at Len then at Danny.
“Will the pair of yers shut the fuck up and give me a hand, for Christ’s sake?”
“OK, OK, keep yer hair on.” Adam lent his weight to Danny’s and the lock snapped with a sudden crack like a gunshot.
“Shit.” Len ducked and quickly looked around.
They all held their breath as Danny slowly pushed the door, expecting it to start creaking at any moment. But the hinges were well oiled and it opened silently. “Remember,” he hissed, “keep the torches pointed at the ground; we don’t want any lights showing through the windows.”
They crept quietly along to the altar. They were three feet away from their target when Len squealed.
“What the...?” Danny glared at him.
“Yer nearly frightened the life outta me, yer great prat.” Adam gave Len a push.
“Something ran over me foot,” Len muttered.
“I’ll run over yer fucking foot in a minute.” Danny thrust a spade at Len. “Here, this is as good a place as any.”
“It was probably a rat,” Adam whispered. “Or maybes a ghost.” He grinned.
Len glared at him, and started digging. Danny pulled a lantern and another spade out of the holdall. He handed the spade to Adam and lit the lantern. The light spread over a six-foot radius, enough for them to see what they were doing. All three of them started digging in a yard-wide square.
Twenty minutes later Len’s spade hit something solid.
“Oh my God.” He dropped to his knees, quickly followed by the others. Adam held the torches as Len and Danny began to scrape away at the soil. In moments they uncovered a large metal box.
“That doesn’t look really old,” Len observed, though he had to keep his feet solid on the ground to stop himself dancing with excitement. He gave a deep sigh; the others knew how he felt. Rich at last, was the one thought running through their heads.
“It’s bloody heavy though.” Danny lifted the box and carried it to the altar.
Practically slavering, Adam rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Bet it’s full of gold coins. We should have had Jacko here.”
“He’s got the flu. He could hardly get out of bed this morning.” Len stared at the box as Danny stepped back. “But we’ll see he’s all right, won’t we, Danny?”
Kirill Tarasov watched as the two he’d been waiting for ran from behind the trees to the car. One of them was limping badly. He frowned; a weakling. When they had climbed into the back of the Mercedes he turned to face them.
“Everything went to plan, then?” He eyed them up and instantly dismissed the smaller man who had limped and was less than skin and bone. To register on Tarasov’s radar you needed some meat on your bones.
“Yeah,” Simon Dupri, alias the Slasher, a nickname he’d been given by the press, answered quickly. “He definitely buried the box in the church, in front of the altar. He swore to it as he begged for his life.”
The smaller man sniggered. He was Vinnie Grey, doing life for murdering his whole family then starting on his neighbours one dark winter night. He was cut short by a look from Tarasov.
“OK.” Tarasov pulled into the road, “We go to the church now, and you tell me all about how he died on the way.”