A CLEAN KILL
by
Graeme Hague
First published in 2010 (Paperback: German Language)
Copyright for all editions in English language is owned by G.M.Hague. German language paperback and German language Ebook rights are held by Weltbild publishers.
Copyright for all above editions is owned by G.M.Hague.
This edition published by Graeme Hague at Smashwords.
Copyright 2011 Graeme Hague
Also by Graeme Hague at Smashwords
GHOST BEYOND EARTH
A PLACE TO FEAR
VOICES OF EVIL
THE DEVIL’S NUMBERS
MISSING PIECES
AND IN THE MORNING
GHOST TALES: FOUR STORIES OF THE DEAD AMONG US
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
If you’d like any information or want to get in touch my website is at http://www.graemehague.com.au and my email address is mailto:mail@graemehague.com.au . My Facebook page is under the name Graeme Hague.
Some components of the EBook cover were sourced from the website www.freepixel.com. Freepixel is highly recommended for free high quality images.
Acknowledgements & Notes
This novel isn’t a sequel as such. My earlier John Maiden novel called Missing Pieces, which was supposed to be a once-only exercise in writing thriller/crime fiction, became very popular in Germany and my publisher there, Weltbild Publishers, asked me for another book along the same lines. Suddenly, when I was in the middle of writing horror fiction, I became a crime novelist! Beware, there are a few “spoilers” in this book in regards to Missing Pieces, so if you haven’t read it…
However, A Clean Kill hasn’t been released in Australia in any print form. This is an Ebook virtual first print-run in English language. That’s kind of cool.
So my thanks and acknowledgements for this novel go to all those German crime readers who unexpectedly elevated me to at least a modest, best-seller status. I can only hope that A Clean Kill will live up to their expectations.
I guess time will tell.
If you’d like to know more about my other novels, all of which have been released as Ebooks as well, check out my website at www.graemehague.com.au Feel free to drop me an email while you’re there. It’s always great to hear from readers what they think and I try my best to answer them all.
Graeme Hague, June 2011.
Chapter 1
It was the instinct for survival that brought him conscious again, dragging him back from a deep abyss filled with pain, voices in his head screaming for his attention, warning of worse to come, trying to wake him. He vaguely understood this, but couldn’t do anything about it. His vision was misted and blotched by blinding flashes that came with throbbing waves inside his skull.
A succession of shocking details came to him. He lay on his back, the chill of the polished wooden floor pressing on his lower body and sharply uncomfortable against his shoulder blades. Warm sticky blood that had run down from his scalp was congealing on his neck.
Someone grabbed his left arm and pulled it straight out from his body, placing the back of his hand on the timber. For an instant he was glad— it meant somebody was there to help him. Then a weight dropped cruelly onto his body, punching out his breath and pinning him down to subdue him. A pricking sensation in his palm made him turn his head that way towards it and, though his vision was still blurred and swimming, he saw what was happening.
Suddenly the reason for his position was instantly, terrifyingly obvious.
A voice said in a harsh, laboured whisper, ‘It’s so disappointing. You’ve let everyone down. We all believe, but it’s a lie and you’re letting everybody down.’
The nail drove through his flesh and into the floor with just two blows of the hammer. It was like the steel head was striking his very bones, smashing them. He twisted and bucked against his attacker, thrusting upwards, but he was already too weak. A second nail went into the same hand, quickly and efficiently. That didn’t lessen the agony. The desperate, animal screeching he wanted to make came out as muted croaks, his empty lungs lacking the strength.
Neither could he fight against his right arm being forced out like the other. The trauma of the nails going in connected his damaged hands across his chest like a shock of electricity. He felt his heart falter, but he wasn’t allowed to escape yet.
He still had to endure his feet being pinned, two nails each.
Finally a knife was thrust inexpertly under his ribs.
As death closed in, that made sense.
Chapter 2
The squad room was filled with the normal morning bustle of over a dozen detectives changing shift. People scratched through the litter of paperwork on desks that they shared with the night crew, trying to sort out what was what. The air smelled of cheap instant coffee from the machine and fast food breakfasts. Mobile phones rang with quirky, annoying tunes. Conversations were shouted across the room, irritating those who were on calls.
‘I would have thought you’d deserve better than this.’
John Maiden looked up from reading a newspaper to see an attractive woman sitting on the corner of his desk. He knew her name, Peta Spencer, and that she was a new Detective Constable. Over the last week she had drawn the kind of attention a pretty woman does. The tailored suits hid nothing and her auburn hair cut in a short, boyish style wasn’t discouraging anyone. The alpha males in the division had been preening themselves from the moment she walked in, even the married ones. There were rumours of a sweepstake being run on who had sex with her first.
Maiden hadn’t spoken to Spencer apart from a few words of greeting when they came close. He didn’t join in water-cooler gossip and he normally didn’t take part in sweepstakes— with Spencer perched in front of him, he thought briefly about changing his mind on that. Maiden treated women well until they divorced him, which had happened twice.
But he figured Spencer got more than her fair share of attention and was out of his league, so he couldn’t be bothered.
He leaned back and said carefully, ‘I’m sorry?’
She smiled, appraising his mood. ‘Well, you’re a famous detective and a senior one, too. You solved a case involving a vicious serial killer practically by yourself. Shouldn’t you have an office of your own?’
‘I slept with the same vicious serial killer. It kind of spoiled the fairytale ending for the commissioner.’ Maiden gestured at his surroundings. ‘No promotion, so no office.’
‘Not even a desk with a view?’
‘I’ve got a view and my own desk, no one shares it. I couldn’t be happier. Is there something I can help you with?’
She sniffed at the grey glass window beside him. ‘I mean on the other side of the building where you can see the harbour.’
Maiden had lived in Sydney all his life and the sight of the Harbour Bridge had long since lost its appeal. ‘We’re not in the Water Police, that’s our beat.’ He nodded at the stream of commuters passing on the footpath.
Most of passers-by were hunched over and clutching clothing against a chill, autumn breeze. Winter was coming.
‘Why don’t they clean it?’
‘The window? It rains instead.’
‘You know, they warned me that you’re not very cheerful.’
He looked at her moment and decided to bite back. ‘Did you know almost every man in this room wants to sleep with you?’
‘Which ones?’
‘I’m not allowed to say. You’re supposed to be able to work it out for yourself.’
She said, ‘Well, I doubt that I would have made detective grade, if I couldn’t figure out something that easy. It’ll be the ones that won’t leave me alone for a second. Hey, are you really eating that?’ Spencer frowned at a bread roll thick with greasy ham and melted cheese oozing onto a plastic plate.
‘I made it myself,’ Maiden said defensively. ‘I’m actually a good cook.’
‘The chain of evidence I’m looking at suggests otherwise.’
‘You think so?’
Maiden was waiting to see if she knew when to draw a line. The squad room was a free-for-all zone where rank was largely ignored and everybody swapped jokes and banter, all within unwritten rules that shouldn’t be broken. She was coming close to breaking one or two.
Spencer said, ‘So I’m told that you get all the whacko cases?’
‘Almost a new one every week.’ It wasn’t quite right, but Maiden knew what she meant. ‘Is that why we’re having this chat?’
‘Sort of, because I’ve been assigned to you so I can learn something outside of the everyday crap.’
He took a moment to answer. ‘Okay, I’ll yell for you when I catch the next one.’
‘I guess you weren’t listening. That would be now— today, actually. We’re partners and we have a case.’
‘I guess you weren’t listening, sir,’ he told her.
‘Sorry… sir.’
Annoyed, he looked across the room at a glass cubicle from where Longman, his supervisor, ruled the department. There had been bad blood between him and Longman for years, and Longman never did him any favours, not that Maiden considered for a moment this was a favour anyway. It felt more like trouble. Maiden was at least ten years older than Spencer and he was hardly in good shape. His tall and solid physique used to impress women and scare the hell out of most men, but now it just worried his doctor and made his knees ache when he stood for too long. A thickening waist refused to go away no matter how much he scowled at it in the mirror. Like a prize-fighter who stayed in the game too long, Maiden was starting to feel all of his forty-one years after abusing his body for over twenty of those in the name of police work. He knew it showed, too.
Keeping up with someone like Peta Spencer might just about kill him. Maybe that’s what Longman wants? he thought sourly. Or the sadistic prick wants me to embarrass myself to death trying to screw her. At least that wouldn’t happen. Maiden figured she would probably laugh for a week if he tried.
Unfortunately, in the meantime, he would become everyone else’s best buddy as an entire division of horny policeman tried to zero in on his attractive partner. Maiden hated that idea. He wasn’t a very sociable person and had few friends. He particularly didn’t want any new friends whose only real interest was looking up Spencer’s skirt.
‘I don’t suppose I’m allowed to have any say in this?’ he asked.
‘Longman said I was to learn from the best.’
‘Of course, he did. What else would he say?’
‘I’m sorry, am I missing something?’
He deliberately folded the newspaper and sighed briefly in regret at the half-eaten roll. ‘Why don’t you just tell me about this case, Detective Constable Spencer?’
She took the hint and stood up. It wasn’t much and a look in her eye said she wanted him to know it, but it was something. ‘The leader of a religious… —cult, for want of a better word, has been killed. Murdered, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Maiden said. ‘Does the fact he’s a religious cult leader make it a whacko case? Maybe his wife killed him? That would make it a bog-standard domestic dispute.’
‘He was crucified. Nailed to the floor, not a cross, but it’s definitely supposed to be a crucifixion.’
Maiden shrugged and was pleased to see he was getting under her skin. ‘So? My first wife was pretty handy with a screwdriver and she could get really pissed off…’
Spencer leaned forward, putting her face close to his, and lowered her voice. Her brown eyes flickered angrily. ‘Sir, tell me. Are we expected to stay super-cool and calm all the time? Doesn’t anyone ever go wide-eyed and say “Fuck me, that’s amazing”? Exactly what is the appropriate response when you’re told somebody has been nailed to a floor?’
Maiden noticed she was still attractive even when she was mad— or near enough to feel her breath on his cheek. He thought, It’s ridiculous that she’s a policewoman. A bloody detective, for that matter. Who’s going to take her seriously?
He told her blandly, ‘You can only say “Fuck me, that’s amazing” in the bar after work, when we’re all having drinks. And it’s only allowed to refer to a football score or the tits on the barmaid. Everywhere else you’re expected to be cool, calm and collected at all times.’
Spencer pulled back and laughed surprising him. ‘See? I’ve learned something already. I’ll bet no one else would have told me that.’
Maiden stood up slowly, his bones creaking. He habitually patted himself for his gun, wallet and phone. He sighed again. ‘All right, are you ready to go? I guess you know where to go?’
‘Sure, I’ll just get my jacket, John.’ Spencer turned away, then paused and swung back. ‘Am I allowed to call you John?’
‘That’s my name,’ he said gruffly. ‘What do you prefer to be called?’
‘What’s everyone else here calling me?’ she asked with a mock innocence.
Maiden glanced around the squad room. She’s not stupid, that’s a start. It was getting noticed that Spencer was teaming up with him and they were about to leave together. Some jealous looks were quickly averted.
He said, ‘We’ll stick with Peta for the moment.’
Chapter 3
Spencer was taken aback when Maiden told her to drive. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, juggling to catch the keys.
‘It’s not a test. Just don’t hit anything. The insurance form is a bloody nightmare.’
Maiden couldn’t be bothered getting behind the wheel most days. It was better to be driven around and he could do what he wanted. Once they were clear of the station he wound down his window, ignoring the cold blast of air, and lit a cigarette.
‘Ah…’ Spencer began, and decided against it.
‘Good choice,’ Maiden murmured, but it encouraged her.
‘Technically, it’s illegal to smoke in a police car, sir,’ she reminded him.
‘It’s an unmarked car.’
‘There’s no such thing. It’s got “police” written all over it even if there are no signs. What if someone sees you?’
‘You can arrest me.’
She clicked her tongue in a tiny noise of disapproval and concentrated on the road. Maiden couldn’t decide if Spencer was too cocky, which was bad, or just refusing to be intimidated by him, which might be good. She drove expertly, weaving through the traffic and making up time. Maiden only flinched once, when she squeezed between a truck and an on-coming bus.
Despite the cold day the city looked dirty and dry at the end of a long summer. Like Maiden’s window at the office, it needed a good fall of rain to wash away months of grime and dust.
They chatted carefully about events back at the station, then as they got closer to their destination she said, ‘We’re well out of our patch. Your expertise was specifically requested, Longman said.’
‘Yeah, well like you said, apparently I specialise in whacko cases.’
‘I would have thought everyone wanted to work on high-profile crimes? Why invite someone from the outside to steal the glory?’
‘It’s only good for your career, if you solve the crime.’
‘Good point.’
‘Okay, now listen closely, Peta. I’ve got rules and I expect you to follow them.’
‘Sure,’ she shrugged.
He ticked them off his fingers. ‘One, never interrupt me unless you absolutely have to and never, ever correct me in front of anyone. Two, remember we work together, so ask questions of your own, too. Put the person off-balance by forcing them to worry about the two of us. Three, keep your eyes open to everything. Don’t just focus on who we’re interviewing. And four, always take written notes.’
‘I’ve got a digital recorder, sir.’
‘Digital recorders can’t spell and besides, most people get a little edgy when they see you writing stuff down.’
‘I can see this is going to be really old-school, Dick Tracy shit,’ she said.
‘Damn right.’ He flicked the butt of his second cigarette out the window.
‘That’s littering— again.’
‘Don’t blame me. We’re not allowed to use the ashtrays.’
‘Tell me, sir. How long do partners usually stay together?’
‘Until we get back to the office and I have a chat with my friend Inspector Longman.’
She was silent a moment. ‘I was only kidding. Are you really that unhappy to be working with me?’
Silently Maiden admitted that of all the reasons why he didn’t want to be partnered with Peta Spencer, none of them had anything to do with her professionalism or skills as a detective. ‘Let’s just say I’m not convinced us being together is a good idea. I’ve got lots of bad habits for a start. Things you don’t want to learn.’
‘On the contrary, they’re exactly the kinds of things I want to learn. Who else is going to teach me?’
‘See? You argued the point and ignored the fact that I know better.’
‘I’m trying to discuss it— and I didn’t. If you don’t get rid of me, how long do partners stay together?’
‘Until one of them gets shot or retires.’
‘Really? What happened to your last partner?’
‘Or you get promoted,’ Maiden added belatedly.
‘I see, because he didn’t sleep with the serial—’
‘Are we nearly there yet, Detective Constable Spencer?’
She smiled to herself. ‘It’s just around this intersection, sir.’
‘Thank Christ for that.’
Maiden wondered if he’d be so tolerant of her cheek, if Spencer were male and ugly.
No, which makes me as bad as fucking Longman and the rest of them.
Chapter 4
A uniformed constable stopped their car outside a wide wrought iron gate. A high stone wall took up most of that side of the street.
Maiden wound down his window and asked him, ‘What the hell is this place? I thought it was supposed to be a church?’
The policeman leaned over to reply. ‘I believe it used to be a private school back in the fifties, sir. These days it’s called the Sanctuary. It’s been that for the last three or four years.’
‘The Sanctuary? So it’s not a church?’
The constable kept a neutral face. ‘I can tell you there are plenty of folks in there who are more than happy to explain everything and they’ll give you bloody pamphlets.’ He pointed between the bars of the gate. ‘From what I’ve seen, there’s accommodation, a meeting hall, dining room and classrooms— and there’s a church, which is where you want to go, sir. Turn left inside the wall, you can’t miss it.’
‘You’re keeping everyone else out? From here on your own?’
‘Best place for it, sir. The only other gate is locked. Place is like Fort Knox.’
The constable bent further to look beyond Maiden and he noticed Spencer. His expression changed and he searched for something to say.
‘So, what are we waiting for? Open this gate then,’ Maiden said curtly.
‘Yes, sorry, sir.’ He stepped back and waved to someone unseen. There was a click and the gates began to move.
As they drove through Maiden gave Spencer a slightly disgusted look. She said, ‘What did I do?’
‘Nothing, that’s the problem. You don’t have to do anything.’
They headed slowly towards a collection of police vehicles, a white contractor’s van and an ambulance. Maiden kept his window down and took in the surroundings. It was like discovering a traditional English village in the middle of Sydney. The buildings had steep, tiled roofs and wooden-framed windows. Neat paths ran between lawns and flowering garden beds that were well tended. Large trees that provided shady havens, complete with bench seats, seemed to be dropping their leaves neatly on the grass below. It was as if the imposing wall that surrounded the property had kept out more than just uninvited guests. It had held back decades of modern progress and all the untidiness that had come with it.
‘I wonder how easy it is to get out?’ Maiden muttered.
‘Sorry?’ Spencer asked, busy parking the car close to a loose line of crime tape. She turned off the engine.
‘Just a thought. Where the hell is everybody?’
‘Inside, I suppose. Where the crime scene is.’
‘No, I mean everyone else. There are no sight-seers, the usual idiots gawking at us and trying to catch a glimpse of the body or something.’
She twisted around in her seat, searching. ‘You’re right. The place does look deserted. But that constable at the gate said there were plenty of people around.’
They got out and Maiden stared about. ‘This place feels all fucked up already. I don’t like it.’
Spencer said over the roof of the car, ‘That might be because someone has been nailed to the floor of their church, sir.’
Maiden didn’t answer.
From the outside the church had appeared like the rest of the Sanctuary’s buildings, but inside Maiden and Spencer were surprised by a transformation. Gone were the expected cramped, timber pews with a narrow aisle. The seating was modern, modular plastic rows with plenty of comfort and legroom. At the head of the room was a large stage, more like a town hall’s stage with hidden wings and curtains, but with a pulpit in the centre. At the moment it was crowded with police personnel gathered around a shape on the floor.
‘Notice anything missing?’ Spencer whispered as they walked down an aisle.
‘You tell me,’ Maiden said. He was trying to pick out familiar faces.
‘God.’
‘What?’
‘God. Look around. Do you see any of the usual church stuff anywhere?’
Spencer was right. The interior was missing all the usual Christian symbolism. There were plenty of murals depicting shining lights and wondrous scenes, but when Maiden looked closer they had nothing to do with God, Jesus or anything Biblical at all.
Maiden said, ‘Okay, you win. This is definitely a whacko cult.’ He heard Spencer stifle a snort.
Curious faces turned their way. One detective, dressed in a neat suit, broke free and smiled as he stretched a hand towards Maiden. ‘John, thanks for coming down. We certainly appreciate it.’
Maiden said cheerfully, ‘Cut it out, Paul. Now I’m really suspicious. If you’re on the case, what the hell do you need me for?’
Paul LeBlanc was a policeman of Maiden’s era and, likewise, a detective who was on the cusp of moving upwards or, depending on which way the cards fell, being left behind to fade away into retirement. His hair was prematurely silver and crow’s feet were etched in the corners of his eyes.
‘We want you for your advice and sharp, perceptive mind, John.’
Maiden gave him a look. ‘Yeah, right.’
LeBlanc added smugly, ‘Also, I’m on a plane for New York tomorrow morning and I’m not going to miss it for anything. I put your name up before the boss made a rash choice between a couple of young blokes who might make a mess of it. We’re short on experienced people here.’
‘How about I go to New York and you stay here?’
LeBlanc laughed. ‘Not a chance.’
‘This is Detective Constable Peta Spencer. We’ll be working together— or maybe not. We are today, at least.’
‘What the hell did you do wrong to get him?’ LeBlanc asked Spencer, shaking her hand.
Spencer said carefully, ‘I’m looking forward to learning a lot, sir. It will be a privilege to work with John, if he lets me.’
LeBlanc pulled a face and Maiden rolled his eyes at him. Maiden said, ‘Yes, she’s sharp.’
‘Glad to hear it. All right, come and have a look at this, see what you make of it.’
As they got to the stage LeBlanc announced to everyone to spread out further and continue processing the rest of the chapel for evidence. The crowd moved away and revealed the corpse.
Spencer sucked in her breath with a hiss. Maiden swore, ‘Jesus,’ even though he had promised himself not to.
LeBlanc whispered, ‘Don’t bother, unless you can come up with something good. We’ve already covered all the obvious jokes.’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘And some of the members are waiting to be interviewed down the back there. They can hear you.’
Maiden had crouched down beside the body. He looked up towards shadows at the back of the stage to see a group of people huddled against the rear curtains and watching anxiously. One man caught his attention. He appeared more calm and in control, and he had striking eyes.
Spencer walked around to squat down on the other side of the victim. ‘Okay, maybe we shouldn’t blaspheme, but that’s the point, isn’t it?’ she asked softly. ‘To mock Christ’s crucifixion? To mimic it?’
‘Hard to imagine anything else,’ LeBlanc said. ‘What we don’t know is if it’s a deliberate, planned act or just a spur of the moment thing that struck the killer as an idea. Inspired by his surroundings, if you know what I mean.’
‘He’s been stabbed as well,’ Maiden noted, hovering his finger about the wound. ‘And what’s this? He got bashed on the head? Maybe nailing him down was an afterthought to the actual killing?’
Spencer said, ‘Stabbing is part of the folklore, too.’
‘Folklore?’ Maiden looked at her.
She shrugged. ‘Myth, folklore, the facts… whatever you want to call it. I mean the story of Christ’s crucifixion on the Cross. A Roman soldier is supposed to have stabbed him under the ribs with his spear either to finish him off or make sure he was dead.’
‘So, you’re a Sunday school scholar?’ Maiden went back to examining the body.
‘No, there’s nothing else on television over Easter. Every damned year.’
‘Who is this guy?’ Maiden asked LeBlanc.
LeBlanc kept his voice low to exclude the onlookers. ‘His name is Chris Vitale. He’s the founder of this group and the head honcho, or he was. Their spiritual leader, if you like. That also makes him the proprietor and owner of this entire property, a fairly sizeable chunk of real estate worth a lot of money even if the area isn’t quite five star.’
‘How do you spell his name, sir?’ Spencer asked. She had a notebook and pen poised ready. Maiden was about to remind her they were speaking with another detective, not interviewing a suspect, but he let it go. He had told her to take notes.
LeBlanc gave her the spelling and went on, ‘This place is a combination of a religious sect, a spiritual what-have-you and somewhere just to get away from it all, like a retreat. No doubt, even if you only came here for a bit of peace and quiet, the brethren would be shoving literature under your door.’
‘They’re big on pamphlets, we’ve been told,’ Maiden said.
‘Christ alive,’ Spencer interrupted them again. ‘Pretty obvious, really.’ She was reading her notes.
They looked at her. ‘What?’ Maiden asked first.
‘Christ alive— Chris Vitale. His name is an anagram of “Christ alive”, so it’s probably an assumed one. Like I said, it’s pretty obvious when you see “Chris” and just take the “t” from Vitale and mix the other letters around a bit…’ She scribbled something and frowned at it.
‘It sticks out like dog’s balls,’ Maiden said. ‘Had you figured that out, Paul?’
‘Not yet, but it wouldn’t have been far away,’ LeBlanc murmured.
‘Now it’s my turn to be clever. Have a look at the nails in his hands.’
LeBlanc and Spencer peered closer.
Maiden told them, ‘See the way they’ve been driven in? The opposing angles to make a V shape? That’s not by accident, the killer gave it some thought. If the nails were hammered straight in, it wouldn’t be hard to pull your hand off them leaving the nails behind still in the wood bloody painful, but you know what I mean. By putting them at angles like these they’ve made sure that can’t be done. It’s the same with the feet. The killer knew what they were doing, not just madly fixing this poor bastard to the floor.’
They stared in silence for a moment. Wincing at a pain in his knee Maiden got to his feet. ‘So, how many prime suspects do we have?’
‘There’s a congregation of about two hundred people. Most of those live here in the Sanctuary,’ LeBlanc told him.
‘I said prime suspects.’
‘I know.’
‘Bloody hell, can’t we narrow it down a bit?’
‘Soon, but not right now. Anybody who is a card-carrying member of the sect can come into the Sanctuary any time they want and there’s no record of signing in or a personalised PIN system at the gate. So we can’t even discount those who don’t live here just yet.’
‘Great, so where are they all now?’
‘The residents have all been sent back to their quarters with instructions to stay put. The outsiders that are here now are locked down in the mess hall. That’s another thirty or so.’
Spencer said, surprised, ‘That’s very co-operative of them. Didn’t they start screaming about their rights?’
‘It wasn’t my idea, it was his,’ LeBlanc inclined his head again towards the members at the rear of the stage and the man that Maiden noticed before.
Maiden asked, ‘And who is he?’
‘His name is Brent Sirroch and it seems he’s already keen to step up to the throne. He was some kind of second in charge anyway. They’re certainly doing what he tells them. He found the body.’
Nodding down at the corpse, Spencer said, ‘You know, I have to say that if he is supposed to be Jesus on the Cross, then you’d have to agree Sirroch looks like everyone’s idea of Judas. Look at him! The long black hair, the goatee beard… it’s all there, really. Maybe it’s deliberate. He’s groomed himself that way.’
‘Judas?’ Maiden said. ‘You think we should just arrest him now because he looks like the bad guy?’
‘Judas was one of Jesus’s closest disciples before he swapped teams, you know.’
‘Well, I can see what she means,’ LeBlanc said, looking at Sirroch.
Maiden stepped close to him and said loud enough for Spencer to hear, ‘Look, everyone already falls at her feet and agrees with everything she says. Don’t you start.’
Spencer said icily, ‘You’re lucky I have a good sense of humour, sir.’
‘You’re going to need it,’ LeBlanc told her.
She glanced at the members again. ‘He’s kind of good-looking and creepy at the same time.’
Maiden said, ‘Let’s go and see what he’s got to say for himself. Paul, I’ve seen enough of the victim, if you have. We can get him out of here. Do you want to put some lads onto it?’
LeBlanc turned away and called for some help.
About a dozen of the cult members were in the group that was warily watching Maiden and Spencer approach. He knew they would have been questioned earlier, probably several times over, but Maiden was a more menacing figure and he wasn’t showing a trace of sympathy. He introduced himself and Spencer.
Before anyone else could speak Sirroch stepped forward slightly and said, ‘My name is Brent Sirroch. I can save you a lot of trouble by speaking for everyone here.’ He was soft-spoken and articulate.
Maiden made a point of scanning all the faces slowly and saw mute agreement of Sirroch’s taking control, but he wasn’t convinced the deal was permanent. Some expressions were stoical, as if it was an arrangement that would suffice for the moment and this wasn’t the time or place to complain.
‘It doesn’t work like that, Mr Sirroch,’ Maiden told him flatly. ‘If we ask anyone a question, we expect that person to answer or we want to know why they won’t. You’re offering full co-operation, aren’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Sirroch wasn’t concerned. ‘Why wouldn’t we? We’re just as intent on finding out answers as you are.’
‘You discovered the body?’ Spencer asked him.
Sirroch turned his attention to her. His manner changed, a subtle shift that brought some charm into his eyes and the smallest hint of a smile. He said, ‘That’s right, Peta. It hasn’t been one of my best mornings.’
Spencer didn’t protest that he used her first name, but her tone made it plain she didn’t welcome it. Her demeanour altered slightly too. Body language that answered Sirroch’s charm with the message, Don’t bother. Maiden watched the silent exchange with interest.
He thought, It’s a battle between the beautiful people.
Spencer said, ‘Can you tell us what happened? I realise you’ve already told other officers.’
‘And I’m sure it’s something I’ll have to repeat several times over again,’ Sirroch nodded gently. ‘It’s quite straightforward. I came into the chapel at eight o’clock this morning looking for Chris and… discovered him. I expected he might be here. We have a prayer service at nine every day and he should have been preparing for that. Obviously, I didn’t expect to find him the way I did.’ He broke off and blinked away a sudden tear.
‘Should have been preparing?’ Maiden said. ‘Is there any reason he wouldn’t have been?’
‘Chris has a small office behind the curtains there. Sometimes he gets too absorbed in his work and needs reminding of the time, that’s all.’
Puzzled, Spencer went to the rear drapes and searched for a gap. She found one, pulled the curtain aside and saw a closed door. Spencer called out, ‘Detective LeBlanc, were you aware of this?’
LeBlanc was supervising lifting Vitale’s body from the floor. Several officers were debating how to remove the nails without further damaging the victim’s hands. Someone had gone for a pair of pliers. LeBlanc regarded the door, stared at Sirroch for a moment, and said, ‘No, nobody’s bothered to mention it before now. A hidden room?’
‘It’s just an office and we’re not hiding it,’ Sirroch replied calmly. ‘The curtains cover the entrance, that’s’ all. I’m sorry, I thought you knew of it. We don’t give it a second thought,’ he added as an excuse.
Spencer opened the door, but didn’t go inside. Instead she gestured for one of the forensics people to take a look. They could see it was a small room cluttered with bookshelves and an old school desk with a computer on it. She came back to the group and joined Maiden in giving Sirroch a disapproving look.
She asked Sirroch, ‘There’s nothing in there you were hoping to keep to yourself?’
‘No, we have nothing to fear from anybody. Like I said, it’s a simple oversight on my account that you wouldn’t have known about the office.’ Sirroch shrugged, ‘With so many trained police searching the room I took it for granted it was already found.’
Spencer gave Sirroch a thin smile. ‘I guess we’ll soon find out.’
Maiden said, ‘Mr Sirroch, it would help me to know exactly what you do here. I’m not quite sure what this place is.’
Sirroch replied easily, ‘It’s a chapel, a place of worship.’
Maiden had meant the entire Sanctuary, but decided this was a good start. ‘Okay, and who exactly do you worship?’
‘Does it matter? Is it relevant to this morning’s events?’
‘It matters to us whether we’re dealing with the Dalai Lama or the Klu Klux Klan, yes. Some background on your beliefs will be helpful.’
After a second of hesitation Sirroch conceded this with a flick of his fingers. As he explained he spoke simply. There was no hint of reverence. He was matter-of-fact and utterly sure of himself and his words.
‘We worshipped Chris Vitale, obviously.’
‘He was your god?’ Maiden only just stopped himself from raising his eyebrows.
‘No, we believe Chris was very close to the one true god. He spoke with him and could listen to his will. I suppose “worship” is the wrong word. It’s more correct to say we recognised Chris’s spiritual connection with God and gave him the respect he was due.’
‘Chris Vitale was your priest then?’
‘Not just a priest. Someone who can communicate with God directly is more than a priest.’ Sirroch smiled tolerantly at Maiden’s ignorance.
‘Okay, so which god did Chris speak to? Christian, Muslim— Buddhist? Which one?’
‘God is none of those, John.’ It was Maiden’s turn to be irritated at the use of his first name. Sirroch went on, ‘Many millions of people on the earth choose to label themselves as one or the other, but God doesn’t claim to be anything other than God. Spirituality can be stifled by a need to identify with a particular religion. One of our aspirations here is to promote an acceptance of God without burdening yourself with all the misconceptions passed down through the ages. This is fundamental in Chris’s teachings.’
Maiden said, ‘Please don’t say “fundamental”. It makes policemen nervous and we call for the bomb squads.’
Spencer asked Sirroch, ‘Do you follow the Bible?’
‘In parts, along with the Koran and the Talmud. They all have something to offer.’
‘You’re kind of hedging your bets then?’ Maiden said.
‘Skeptics are welcome here too, John.’
‘I think I get it now,’ Spencer said. ‘You all basically worshipped Chris Vitale and you’re happy to leave it up to him to worry about the larger picture? He’ll clear up any of your misunderstandings with God?’
‘At least you’re starting to understand, Peta although it is more complex than that. Each person’s relationship with Chris is a measure of their closeness to God—’
‘All right, so it’s all love, light and John Lennon songs,’ Maiden cut him off. ‘What happens now? Do you all pack up and go home? Who gets to benefit from that?’
Sirroch looked surprised. ‘Quite the opposite, John. Chris’s death is a terrible tragedy, but we take comfort and even some joy that he is now at god’s side. If anything, we have a stronger connection. We may not be able to speak with Chris directly anymore, but we know he’ll hear our prayers and perhaps whisper them in God’s very ear. We’ll be continuing his work down here with a new energy.’
‘But didn’t he actually run everything? Without him, who takes over? Is it you?’
Sirroch took in the rest of the group behind him with a small wave. ‘These people are the Sanctuary’s Greater Council which includes an inner Executive. We have already been running everything, as you say, and left Chris to pursue his calling unencumbered by the mundane day-to-day matters. As for someone taking over, a figurehead ultimately responsible for everything, I’m willing to assume that role for the moment. But later… well, we have some long discussions to have and hard decisions to make. It’s too soon to worry about it.’
Maiden looked at the rest of them with a different appreciation. He’d assumed these were just members who had been inadvertently caught up in the crime scene net, people that LeBlanc didn’t want leaving the chapel until he was satisfied with their stories. Now Maiden saw they were deliberately keeping close to action, not wanting to be missing out on anything important. It explained why he’d sensed earlier that not everyone agreed with Sirroch being the spokesman. Chris Vitale’s blood on the floor hadn’t even dried and there was a silent power struggle developing between his closest followers.
Maiden said, ‘I’m sure you do. By the way, how much does it cost to be a member?’
‘You can join us for free, John. This isn’t a club. Like I said, you’d be very welcome.’
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass. So, who pays for all this?’
‘Members are encouraged to donate whatever amount they see fit. We’ve been fortunate to have some very generous benefactors.’
‘I see. Will you excuse me a moment?’
Maiden drew Spencer out of earshot. He told her, ‘I don’t think any of these others are going to say a word while this clown is in the way. We need to split them up somehow.’
She said, ‘I’ve been thinking the other way. You might never get any of the normal members to open their mouths without one of these council people saying they can. Face it, they’ve all happily locked themselves away, because they were told to. Unless one of these Greater Council people is present when we interview the others…’
‘They’re mindless bloody sheep?’
‘Let’s say they’re spiritual sheep who’ll do as they’re told. What do you want to do?’
He quickly counted heads. ‘There’s a dozen of them including Sirroch.’
Spencer had made a noise.
‘What?” he asked.
‘Jesus had twelve disciples. The parallels keep popping up.’
‘And yet they’ll deny that. Look, let’s find out who is in this executive thing and get Paul to—’ Maiden stopped, his eye caught by the way a forensic officer was hurrying towards LeBlanc. Something had happened. ‘Hang on a second.’
The officer gave LeBlanc a sheet of printer paper. He handled it carefully like evidence, with his fingertips. LeBlanc scanned it and looked up, searching for Maiden and Spencer. They went over.
‘A note from the killer,’ LeBlanc said grimly. ‘It was jammed in the printer.’
The forensic officer said, ‘The printer was jammed and I noticed the blinking light. When I freed up the paper feed this came out. It would have been in the printer’s buffer memory.’
Maiden had to call on his limited computer skills. ‘You’re saying it’s not on screen anymore? The file was closed?’
‘That’s right, sir. I haven’t tried to access any programs yet. I came straight out to see you.’
‘Go back and start looking at software.’
The forensic officer left them. Spencer read the printout over Maiden’s shoulder.
The miracle will never happen.
It’s all a lie and I will die.
Tomorrow.
‘And I will die tomorrow?’ she said. ‘Whoever murdered Vitale is going to kill themselves tomorrow?’
‘Apparently,’ Maiden said. ‘What else do you make of this?’
Spencer stared at it. ‘Okay, it’s a standard font and normal size. They didn’t bother dressing the note up— no large letters or bold colours to get our attention. They just typed it out and hit the print button. As if they couldn’t care less if we got it.’
‘They also didn’t care that the printer jammed? They didn’t bother fooling around trying to get it to work?’
‘Maybe they didn’t know? Heaps of people press “print” and walk away without waiting for the result. Also, if nothing has been printed for a while it can take some time for a printer to come on line. Possibly this person is simply impatient?’
‘Or they just wanted to get away fast, which is more likely with their victim nailed to floor?’ Maiden was wry.
‘What if they were writing the note first? Vitale arrived and disturbed them, so they quickly printed it out as is, before they had a chance to be creative? Whatever happened next culminated in the killing.’
‘That’s a lot of maybe’s for just a few words on a blank piece of paper,’ Maiden said and added reluctantly, ‘But not bad. I don’t know if we’ll get much of a chance to test your theories out, before our killer suicides and joins Chris Vitale at God’s side— whichever god it turns out to be.’
Maiden gave LeBlanc the note and went back to the members. Sirroch looked at him as if expecting Maiden would reveal the contents, but Maiden asked, ‘Is that Vitale’s private office? No one else uses it?’
Someone replied, ‘No, everyone uses it. It’s handy for everybody.’
‘Who are you?’
The man turned nervous at Maiden’s direct attention. He was small, almost bald and wore glasses, and dressed in a neat suit. An accountant, Maiden thought and he almost laughed at the man’s reply.
‘I’m Walter Harris. I look after all the finances for the Sanctuary and I often come here to work. It’s quiet and out of the way from the main administration building. All you have to do is logon onto the network.’
‘Brilliant,’ Maiden said. He got annoyed when any kind of technology complicated things. ‘Anyone else use it?’
‘We all do,’ a woman at the back said.
‘And you are?’
‘Leanne Dorsett. I do the Sanctuary’s newsletter and I come here a lot to work, too. It can be very peaceful.’
‘So you all keep saying. Not for everyone it seems, though.’
Behind Maiden they had removed the nails from Vitale’s corpse and were noisily zipping him into a body bag.
Leanne Dorsett struck Maiden as too young and good-looking to be so deeply involved in such an organisation. In her thirties with a good figure and pleasant face, he figured that surely she had better things to do with her time. Perhaps the Sanctuary had more to offer than he could see.
Sirroch asked with a bare hint of impatience, ‘Can I ask what was on the note you just read?’
‘Something the murderer left in the office,’ Maiden said. It caused a collective intake of breath from his audience.
‘And what did it say?’
‘For the moment, we’re going to keep that to ourselves. Wait here another moment, please.’
A shadow touched Sirroch’s face.
Spencer and LeBlanc had overheard and she met Maiden’s return by saying, ‘Basically that office will be covered with the forensic traces of just about everyone here?’
Maiden nodded. ‘It’ll probably be a big waste of time, but we still have to search it thoroughly anyway. That can be your job,’ he grinned humorlessly at LeBlanc. ‘I’ll tell our pseudo-Judas to help your search and that’ll keep him out of my way for a while. You can have the bean-counter, too. Between the two them it should give you access to the entire computer network.’
‘Wonderful,’ LeBlanc said. He’d been irritated by Sirroch as well.
Maiden went back to the members and told them loudly, ‘This is what I want to do. Detective LeBlanc here is going to begin a thorough search of the office and I would like Mr Sirroch and Mr Harris to assist him. The rest of you will be split into two groups. One of them will take myself on an inspection of the other facilities while the second group will help Detective Spencer organise the main…’ he looked for a word.
‘Congregation,’ Spencer offered.
‘Right, the main congregation for their interviews.’
‘All of them?’ Sirroch asked.
‘The first task is to quickly eliminate as many as we can,’ Maiden said. ‘But we start with all of them. Is that a problem?’
Sirroch looked about to politely argue, then he raised his hands in resignation. ‘We must do whatever you think is best in the circumstances, John. Here, let me help you.’ He turned to face his council members to choose how they were divided.
Maiden stepped in front of him and split the group by pushing a path through them. ‘Like this will do,’ he said.
With a slight shrug Sirroch agreed.
Maiden thought, He wanted to keep control, make sure there were people who he trusts watching over those he doesn’t.
Someone gestured for Maiden’s attention. ‘Perhaps I should be in the office, too? My name’s Stirling Moss and I handle the Sanctuary’s legal affairs.’
‘Stirling Moss? Like the racing car driver?’
Moss replied through tight lips, ‘Yes, like the racing car driver. You can thank my parents.’
Moss was another person who Maiden instantly thought out of place at the Sanctuary. He wouldn’t have been more than thirty years old too and he was fit, tanned and had a boyish, appealing face.
Maiden said, ‘You’re concerned there is something in the office that needs your presence, Mr Moss?’
‘Well… no, I’m suggesting— just in case, I suppose.’
‘Just in case of what?’
Moss spread his hands helplessly. ‘I’m sure you understand.’
Deciding that even the worst lawyer could keep their mouth shut and so having Moss along on his tour was pointless, Maiden said, ‘If you like. I can talk to you later.’
*****
Spencer first took five of the members across to one of the shady trees. Outside the fresh air was a relief from the chapel with its sombre atmosphere and the smell of Vitale’s blood.
‘Before we go any further, who’s who?’ she asked, flipping out her notebook and discreetly pressing the start button on the digital recorder in her pocket. One by one the members introduced themselves. Ian Panner was the choir master for the congregation. Short and middle-aged he was uncomfortable with Spencer’s questioning. In contrast the Sanctuary’s head of security was a hulking, overbearing man called Andrew Mackay. His shaved head and trimmed goatee fitted the stereotype. Mackay treated Spencer almost with disdain. The Volunteer Co-ordinator was Eileen Bower, a younger woman who was overweight and came across to Spencer as unpleasant, a trait Bower tried to disguise behind a thin veneer of courtesy. Last were the two caretakers, Evan and Muriel Grant. The Grants were in their sixties and plainly both were frightened and badly shaken by the day’s events. They whispered answers to Spencer’s queries and darted looks at the others for reassurance.
‘We would have found him first… we could have,’ Muriel said in a low voice. Like her husband she had the remains of a soft English accent. Yorkshire, Spencer guessed. ‘We always go in early to make sure the chapel’s nice and clean for the service. If Brent hadn’t gone in earlier…’
Her husband put an arm around her and said, ‘Let’s be thankful for small mercies.’
Eileen told them, ‘Any one of us could have been the first through the door this morning and been subjected to that… horrible sight. You’re not the only ones in shock, Evan and Muriel. We’re all very upset.’ She might have added, it’s not about you, but there was no need. It was in Eileen’s tone.
Mackay growled, ‘It should never have happened in the first place. How do you think I feel? Keeping everyone safe is my job.’
Spencer asked the Grants, ‘Why were you running late? You were late, yes?’
Muriel answered, ‘The gas bottle ran out for the kitchen. Evan had quite a time finding a big enough spanner and it was stuck tight.’
‘Left-hand thread,’ Evan said ruefully. ‘I always forget.’
‘Everything ran over time,’ Muriel went on seamlessly. The couple shared their conversations. ‘We didn’t finish breakfast until, oh—’
‘Seven-thirty at least,’ Evan said.
‘And there were the dishes to do.’ Muriel let out a long breath as she recalled the drama. ‘Nothing has gone right today. It’s been dreadful.’
‘Really, Muriel?’ Eileen said in a drawl. Muriel blinked at her.
Spencer said, before anyone could go on, ‘All right, we’ll start with who’s in the mess hall.’ In the distance she saw Maiden being led towards the opposite end of the grounds.
They took her to a large, square building with a kitchen at one end, obvious from the outside with a clutch of chimneys and large refuse bins at door. Inside neat lines of long tables and chairs would have filled the room, except in one section they had been pushed aside to create a space. Against a wall a battered piano was open, a wooden chair in place for a pianist. A sheet of music was on the stand.
At first, Spencer thought there was nobody there and she turned to ask someone what had happened. Panner touched her arm, keeping her quiet.
‘They’re praying,’ he said quietly. ‘It will finish in a moment, I’m sure.’
Half-obscured by the furniture Spencer hadn’t seen a gathering of more than thirty people sitting very still and close together on the floor. Their hands were clasped and their heads bowed in silence. She noticed there were no children.
‘Where are the kids?’ she asked.
Eileen said softly, ‘We don’t allow members under the age of sixteen in the Sanctuary.’
‘Why not?’
Some of them swapped looks and Eileen explained, ‘We’re aware that people on the outside may not view our lives as normal. That makes them nervous and sometimes they feel a need to interfere, to judge us. Chris believed that restricting his followers to consenting adults would cause less problems. The authorities can be over-reactive, if children are involved.’
‘Involved in what? What are you doing that they might react to?’
Eileen gave her a helpless gesture. ‘Nothing. It’s all about perception, isn’t it?’
Spencer thought that Eileen got that right. Her perception of the Sanctuary just gained a few more question marks.
‘How long will they be?’ she asked Panner, raising her voice. To reply, he put a finger to his lips, so she told him even louder, ‘I’ll remind you this is a murder inquiry. They’ve got another thirty seconds, before I lose my patience.’
Some of the members praying stole glances at Spencer. A few came to life, prompting others to do the same.
‘There you go, that’s the kind of co-operation we want,’ Spencer told them, pleased.
*****
Maiden had a woman called Faye Morecombe walking at his side, almost touching him. When he tried to make some space, she moved over too. She seemed intent on making a good impression, not just of herself, but for the entire Sanctuary. After saying she was responsible for dispensing charity on behalf of the organisation she prattled on about how many of the members were “good people” who only wanted to make the world a better place. Maiden judged she had seen forty come and go, perhaps only recently, and it took a lot of time these days to maintain the trim figure and apply her make-up just right. She would have been pretty in her youth. She still was, but her age was beginning to show in ways that Maiden guessed Faye didn’t welcome.
‘This is our latest pride and joy,’ she said, steering him towards a low set, long building. It was new, but the exterior had been decorated to make it blend with the older structures around it.
‘What is it?’
To answer, Faye opened a door and gestured him through. A waft of warm, chlorine-laden air hit him. The others came in behind him and waited to hear his approval.
It was a heated swimming pool, half-Olympic sized. A lone swimmer was free-styling smoothly in a centre lane. Maiden wondered why they weren’t obediently in their quarters or in the mess hall like everyone else.
‘Impressive,’ he said, although he didn’t really think so.
The Sanctuary’s resident doctor, Richard Chore, said over Maiden’s shoulder, ‘There’s a fully equipped gym through those doors. My surgery and dispensary are there, too.’ The doctor was a smooth, well-groomed man in his fifties. Maiden had so far resisted asking the obvious questions when he discovered there was a doctor in the group.
Now he said, ‘I suppose you were called immediately, when Brent Sirroch found the body. Did you examine Mr Vitale?’
‘Of course, they came and got me straight away. At a glance I realised I was looking at a crime scene and I stayed well clear. Chris was dead and there was nothing I could do.’
Maiden didn’t comment. The swimmer had seen them and cut across to a ladder on the far side. Rising lithely from the water he saw it was a teenage girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She kept her back to them and made no attempt to acknowledge their presence. The bikini was revealing, but she didn’t hurry to wrap a towel around her. It was a casual, I-don’t-give-a-damn-if-you’re-looking movement. Pulling off a cap released a cascade of dark hair down to her waist. Still without looking their way she strode towards the change rooms.
‘That’s Carol Geyer. You’ll want to speak with her,’ Faye said disapprovingly.
‘What does she do here?’ Maid asked. Apart from swim attractively up and down the pool and piss all the other women off.
‘She doesn’t do anything. Carol has sought refuge here. I don’t know what from.’
‘And why would I want to speak with her?’
‘She’s been spending a lot of time with Chris lately.’
‘What sort of time?’
‘Let’s say, private time.’ This was Ralph Shackleton, who claimed to manage the Sanctuary’s marketing and he looked after their IT as well. He sounded either jealous, resentful or just keen to spend some time alone with Carol Geyer himself, Maiden wasn’t sure.
‘How private?’ he asked.
‘Closed doors private, so who knows for sure?’
Leanne Dorsett murmured, ‘You’ve been divorced twice after you were caught being unfaithful both times, Ralph. Use your imagination.’
Shackleton bristled. ‘Is that sort of unkindness necessary, given the circumstances we’re in today?’
Leanne wilted, took one of Shackleton’s hands in hers and said, ‘You’re absolutely right and I was wrong. Please forgive me, brother.’
They embraced quickly. Maiden watched on curiously. Leanne’s words and actions were like a ritual, a formally approved apology.
Chore said easily, breaking the tension, ‘Detective Maiden, let us show you the gym.’
‘Sure, lead the way.’ Maiden felt this had turned into a guided tour rather than an investigation. While they were still willingly opening doors he wouldn’t complain.
The deserted gymnasium was well equipped with gleaming, modern machines and neat stacks of gear on the walls. It smelled of new carpet.
Maiden couldn’t help saying, ‘This must have been quite an investment.’
Chore said pleased, ‘Healthy bodies mean healthy minds, detective.’
‘And healthy spirits,’ Eileen Bower added, pointedly.