She starts to piece together the missing parts of the night before. They stripped her of her clothes. Showered her in blood. Dressed her in their robes. Words come back too. There weren’t many to analyse. But one was enough.
Ceremony.
That’s what someone had said. ‘The ceremony goes ahead.’
But what kind of ceremony? And what in God’s name are they going to do to her?
61
DCS John Rowlands already feels like he’s gone a week without sleep. The clock is ticking fast and the leads are coming slower than he hoped. The pressure is relentless. The Chief Constable, the Home Office, the Deputy Chief Constable and the Vice President’s private secretary are all on his back.
Teams of DCIs and DIs shuttle in and out of his office, tossing what bits of information they have on to his wrecked desk. Jude Tompkins and Megan Baker are the latest to take their turn. He greets them with what’s left of his charm. ‘Ladies, welcome to the pleasure dome. What have you got for me?’
‘Some good news.’ Tompkins clears a plate and a crust of pizza from a seat. ‘DI Baker has a positive on the vehicle. And the boyfriend.’
His blue eyes widen. ‘Tell me.’
Megan puts a ripped DVD on his desk. ‘A compilation of CCTV footage, sir. The first clip is from the petrol pumps at Fleet. It’s in colour and you can clearly see Lock and Jake Timberland, the man who paid for the Campervan rental.’
Rowlands doesn’t need his notes. ‘Son of Lord Joseph Timberland.’
‘That’s right.’
He picks up the disk and slides it into a player on a shelf beneath a TV behind him. Megan talks as he fiddles with a remote control to find the channel. ‘The vehicle you are about to see, sir, is an imported right-hand-drive Type 2 Vintage in cornflower blue with chrome wheel hubs and refurbished interior.’ A picture of the van comes up on screen. The Camper pulls up at the pump. Two figures get out. And then they become clear. Jake shows Caitlyn the pump and starts her off. Leaves her to fill up and walks towards the shop to pay.
‘Freeze it please, sir.’
Rowlands stops the picture with the remote.
‘Look in his right hand.’ Megan smiles. ‘A gold credit card. Amex. It’s the one he used to pay for the rental.’
Rowlands nods and turns off the DVD and TV. ‘Good enough for me. Jude, get someone to make copies of the footage for the investigation teams and the press. Talk to the communications office and call a conference for eight in the morning.’ He turns to Megan. ‘Well done. Make sure your team know we think they’re doing a first-class job.’
‘I will. Thank you, sir.’ She gets up to leave but pauses.
Rowlands glances at her. ‘Is there something else?’
‘Sir, if there is a press conference in the morning, I’d like to be part of it. I’d like the experience, sir.’
He smiles and turns to the DCI. ‘My, you have got an ambitious DI here.’
Tompkins nods. ‘She’s aching with it.’
He looks back to Megan. ‘No, Detective Inspector, you may not.’
‘Why not, sir?’
It’s Tompkins’ turn to smile now. ‘Two reasons, Megan,’ she says. ‘Firstly, you’re doing too good a job on the inquiry to be wasted posing about in front of cameras. Secondly, you’re too inexperienced to be put in front of those dogs. Not enough gravitas for the press pack, do you see? It’s late, so why don’t you go home, get some well-earned rest and see your kid.’
Megan has to fight not to show her anger at the put-down. ‘Thank you ma’am — for your kindness and concern — but my daughter is being well looked after by her father, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll go back to my team and resume the job. The one the Detective Chief Super says I’m very good at.’
Point made, she wheels around and walks away before they can get in the final word.
62
Serpens checks his watch. Midnight. The time has come.
He stands and waits outside the old barn, his thoughts as black as the night sky. Psychologically things are piling up. Crushing him. Pressing him down. Not giving him a moment’s relief.
The disposal of the sacrifice earlier in the month had got to him. He’d been involved in selections before but never afterwards. Never the bloody carnage of it all. And now he’s crossed the line even further. He’s taken someone’s life.
The realisation that he’d killed the man in the Camper is eating him. He’s a tough guy, been involved in plenty of fights in his time, even got a criminal record, but not for anything like murder.
Maybe if he went to the police he’d get away with a charge of ‘accidental murder’. If he came clean now and told them everything he knew, there’d be some deal to be done. Possibly even immunity from prosecution. But the Craft would get to him. They’d find him and they’d kill him. He knows they would. They have brothers in the police — in the courts — in the prisons. They’d get to him all right.
Serpens hangs his head. It’s a crisis of faith. That’s all it is. Everyone has one. He’s sure they do. Musca appears out of the clouded moonlight, a white plastic carrier bag in his right hand. ‘All right?’ he says and puts an arm around Serpens’ shoulder as they head inside. ‘Don’t worry, all this will be over in half an hour. We’ll go straight to Octans’ afterwards. He’ll alibi us. Say we’ve been there all night playing cards. Everything’s going to be fine.’
Musca always says everything will be fine. Draco too. And for them it always is. Fine lives with fine consciences, not a guilty thought in their fine heads.
The barn is lit by a paraffin lamp on an overturned wooden crate a couple of metres from the Camper. It casts a yellow delta of light into the cobwebbed rafters. The two men disturb a colony of bats as they walk to the Camper. Musca laughs and points to the fluttering creatures. ‘Creepy little fuckers. I wish I had something to shoot them with.’
Serpens pulls back the sliding door on the VW. A small interior light flickers on and reveals the fly-covered corpse. He steels himself for the task ahead. ‘What do you want to do with him?’
‘Wait. Put these on.’ Musca hands him a pair of thin latex gloves. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
Serpens stretches them and awkwardly squeezes his hands in.
‘Okay, watch and learn,’ says Musca. From the tiny kitchen he takes the complimentary food hamper left as a gift by the van hire company and smiles. ‘Just what we need.’ From cupboards he collects a plate, knife, fork, saucepan and toaster. He opens a can of beans from the hamper, tips them into the pan and places it on the cooking ring. He puts two slices of bread into the toaster and then produces a bottle of vodka from the carrier bag he brought with him. He unscrews it and pours some into a tumbler. ‘Almost there, my friend. Almost there.’
Serpens watches in a trance as Musca opens the cupboard beneath the cooker and turns on the gas. He strikes a match, lights a ring on the small hob and then turns it off and smiles contentedly. ‘So, that’s all our preparation done.’ He points to the corpse. ‘The scene is set. We have our man left on his own in the Camper after a row with his girlfriend.’ He points to the vodka. ‘Man gets blind drunk — a reasonable reaction to being ditched part-way through a romantic break, right?’ He points to the hamper. ‘Then, because he’s wasted he gets hungry and tries to make himself something to eat.’ Musca picks up the vodka bottle and splashes it around. ‘Unfortunately, because our heartbroken friend is on his way to being pissed he gets clumsy and spills his drink. On himself. On the floor. On the cooker.’ Musca raises his arms violently. ‘Voom! Suddenly he’s a fireball. He panics. Falls over and knocks himself out. Within seconds the Camper is on fire, even the barn and he tragically burns to death.’ Musca pulls down the corners of his lips to create a sad face. ‘Sometimes unrequited love ends badly.’