Part 15 (2/2)

Gerry Heffernan had just telephoned Steve Carstairs, to tell him to be at his desk first thing the next morning. He'd delayed making the call, saying he wanted to make Steve sweat for as long as possible. Wesley, however, doubted if this tactic would do any good. Steve, as far as he could tell, was as thick skinned as your average elephant and any attempt at subtlety would be wasted on him.

As he finished his call, Gerry sensed that the news hadn't come as a surprise to Steve. But then he'd always been c.o.c.ky and over-confident. Perhaps that's why Gerry always had to fight the urge to slap him down.

When Wesley wandered into his cluttered inner sanctum, he looked up and smiled. 'Come in, Wes, sit yourself down. Let's go over what we've got, shall we?'

Wesley said down with a sigh. They seemed to have a lot especially about Charles Marrick but, as yet, nothing seemed to make much sense.

'I really can't see any link between Simon Tench and Marrick,' Wesley began. 'Do you think Tench's could be a copycat killing? If one of our local nutters discovered the details of Marrick's death and ...'

'We've not released the details. It's hardly public knowledge. And why target Tench?'

'Some people don't need a reason.'

'Tench must have let his killer in. Same with Marrick. It was someone they trusted.'

'Maybe.' Wesley shuffled his feet, at a loss for something else to say.

'We're just waiting for Tench's toxicology report from Colin. By the looks of it he didn't put up a fight, exactly the same as Marrick. If he was given hemlock to paralyse him it means that whoever's doing this has it all planned out carefully.'

But the DCI's thoughts were interrupted by a perfunctory knock on the door. When the door burst open DC Paul Johnson was standing there, his eyes bright with untold news. Paul was a tall, lanky young man, fond of athletics, and he almost bounded towards Heffernan's desk.

'Sir, I've just had a call from Ches.h.i.+re police.'

Heffernan leaned forward. 'And?'

'I did a check like DI Peterson asked me, to see if there had been any similar deaths anywhere else in the country and there was a case in Chester a few weeks ago ... bloke with neck wounds in a flat above a shop. Traces of hemlock found in the body. The coroner gave a verdict of suicide but ...'

Wesley and Heffernan looked at each other.

'I called them and asked them to send the reports and photographs.'

'Good,' said Wesley. 'Are they still satisfied with the suicide verdict or ... ?'

'They were but since they've been alerted to our two murders, they're looking at the case again. They're e-mailing me the details.'

Wesley thanked Paul. He'd done well. He looked at his watch. It was six thirty already but he didn't want to make for home until they'd seen what Ches.h.i.+re were about to send. It might be nothing to do with their case, of course. Just a coincidence. But Wesley had an uncomfortable feeling that they were about to learn something important.

And half an hour later when Paul brought them the e-mail from Ches.h.i.+re police headquarters in Chester, Wesley knew that their case had just become more complex.

It looked as though their killer had struck before.

CHAPTER 8.

The writer rose early that morning and switched on the computer. It was time to continue the tale. It helped so much to put it all into words. That way, things made more sense.

There was corruption in the Abbey of Veland as there is in every place human beings gather together. What is it about our species that makes it fall prey to wickedness?

I think Brother William was a pure young man, an innocent. He didn't expect to encounter evil in the abbey that should have been his refuge from the world. The corruption must have begun in a small way. A touch here and a look there. But for some the lure of sin is too tempting to resist.

What happened to Brother William wasn't his fault. But all victims blame themselves. I should know that more than anyone.

Perhaps it would be wise to strike the last sentence out. It gave too much away. Another day or so and the letter would be finished. Another move in the blood game.

Gerry Heffernan had found it hard to get to sleep and when he did finally drop off, he'd been awoken by Sam leaving the house an early morning call to a calving just outside Whiteley. Eventually he decided to cut his losses and get up, creeping around to avoid waking Rosie who'd rolled in late the night before.

For the past few days he'd been too busy to see Joyce and he was missing her company and her down-to-earth common sense. They'd been seeing each other for almost a year now but Rosie still didn't know of her existence and he saw no reason to upset the delicate balance of household relations by telling her. It was Gerry's secret and he told himself that he was just waiting for the right moment to reveal it a moment which never seemed to arrive. Rosie had been close to her late mother, Kathy and he didn't want to risk upsetting her. Sam, however, knew all about his dad's lady friend and wished him luck. But then Sam had always been easygoing and pragmatic. A chip off the old block.

He arrived at the police station early to find the details of the Chester case waiting for him on his desk, in the small s.p.a.ce in the centre that he left clear for anything he considered to be urgent. He'd glanced at them the previous night, just to get the gist of what was what, but now he intended to examine them in detail to see if there was indeed a link to the two murders that had happened on his patch.

As soon as he picked up the papers, his office door opened and Wesley Peterson stepped into the room, looking annoyingly awake for first thing in the morning.

'You read it yet?' Wesley asked eagerly.

'Just about to, Wes. Come in, will you. Anything new?'

Wesley shook his head. Then he hesitated for a few moments. 'Steve's due back this morning,' he said, his expression giving nothing away.

Heffernan raised his eyebrows.

'At least it's another pair of hands. I've just heard through the office grapevine that Trish paid him a visit last night gave him the good news.'

'Did she indeed? I wanted to prolong the agony so I didn't ring him till late. He never let on that Trish had already told him.' He rolled his eyes. 'I would have thought she'd have more sense.'

'Apparently he's got himself a new girlfriend someone who works with his dad so if Trish has any hopes in that direction ...'

'You seem to know all the gossip, Wes.'

'We aim to please.' He sat down on the chair by the DCI's desk, collecting his thoughts. 'I had a quick read through the stuff from Ches.h.i.+re before I went home last night.'

'And?'

'Sounds identical to our murders but the local force interpreted it as suicide. Victim tried to poison himself then, when that wasn't working fast enough, he stabbed himself a couple of times in the neck struck lucky with the jugular vein. There was no sign of a break-in or a disturbance and the knife was on the floor as though the victim had dropped it.'

'Unlike our two cases. Wonder why the killer took the knives away when Marrick and Tench were killed.'

Wesley shrugged. 'The weapon that killed Simon Tench hasn't turned up yet. I've got uniform searching for it but it's a question of where to start. If Carl Pinney was telling the truth and the first one ended up in a carrier bag on the Winterham Estate, the second could be anywhere.' Wesley paused. 'Look, Gerry, I've been thinking. What do the victims have in common Marrick, Tench and this new one up in Chester?'

'Dunno. What?'

'Well, they're all male. And they're all exactly the same age. Thirty-one.'

Gerry Heffernan scratched his head. Why hadn't he noticed something so obvious? But, as far as he knew, n.o.body had ever been murdered for being a certain age before. There must be more to it than that. 'What are you saying, Wes?'

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