Sacrifice Page 21

  Its usual occupant, a twenty-foot-long male crocodile, had been removed to a containment area in a different part of the building, while two medical examiners, wearing waders as well as the usual Tyvek coveralls, made investigations around what remained of its last meal.

  ‘St George’s Day,’ Eric Fisher said, somewhat unnecessarily. ‘We should have seen this one coming.’

  ‘No one could have seen this coming,’ Garrickson replied. Even he had been jarred by what he was now viewing.

  That the victim had once been human was evident, but only because it still had a torso, and four partial limbs, all of which were gruesomely mutilated, the skin entirely torn away, the flesh and musculature pulled from the bones. Its internal organs had been rent out in a mass of glistening, slimy ravels, and though a head was still attached to the neck, it had been crushed into something non-identifiable, shards of white bone glinting through the flaps of ravaged flesh and tufts of thick, blood-sticky hair. The face no longer existed. The single length of chain with which the victim had been bound was still in evidence, still padlocked in place in fact, while rags of gore-soaked clothing were scattered in the vegetation. One pink high-heeled sandal, containing a severed foot complete with green toenail polish, lay on a mud-bank at the edge of the pool, revealing that the victim had been female.

  ‘Apparently Congo just worried at her,’ Inspector Perkins said in a dull voice. ‘Or else there’d be nothing left at all.’

  Garrickson glanced sidelong at him. ‘Congo?’

  ‘The croc that did it.’

  ‘What do you mean “worried at her”?’ Gemma asked.

  Perkins shrugged. ‘The animals here are well fed. So he wasn’t hungry.’

  It was Heck who eventually gave voice to the numbing horror they all felt. ‘You mean he just … played with her.’

  Perkins nodded and swallowed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the butchered horror lying below; his face was white as a bowl of curdled milk. ‘All night, they reckon. He was still at it at six this morning, when the security lads arrived.’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Shawna breathed.

  She hadn’t intended it as a prayer, but Gary Quinnell continued it in that vein: ‘Have mercy on us all … and this poor soul, who died here alone and in such pain.’

  None of the others held religious beliefs, but none of them objected.

  Chapter 27

  Overnight, Horwich Zoo became the biggest crime scene in British history, but as Charlie Finnegan had said, it was a nightmare gleaning any useful information from it. Despite the preponderance of cameras at the site, there was surprisingly little security footage that they were able to use, which appeared to reinforce Heck’s suspicion that the perpetrators had been on familiar ground.

  In an observational report, he wrote:

  The intruders at the zoo either had an accurate floor-plan, or already knew the procedures in minute detail. Evidence of this can be found in their highly efficient assault on the zoo’s security staff – which, owing to the complete lack of physical evidence in the security cabin’s kitchen area, was most likely achieved by a single infiltrator – and the speed with which the rest of the team moved so unerringly from their point of entry, the wall at the zoo’s northeast corner (only 8ft high and overlooking a stretch of unoccupied wasteland known locally as Red Moss), to the Reptile House, a journey of nearly 500 yards. In both cases these separate journeys were made in complete darkness and without use of electric torches.

  It is also noteworthy that, in both cases, the intruders managed to avoid all the zoo’s main CCTV points. We know this because the route they chose to the Reptile House was not the most direct one. They circled south around the lion and tiger enclosures, but could have halved their journey time by cutting these out altogether. Of course, if they had done that it would have taken them past the Nocturnal Forest attraction, where there are two camera stanchions facing east and west. They also circled around the rhino and camel enclosures instead of taking a shorter route past Lemur Island. In both cases they would have been forced to pass a camera, but the camera next to Lemur Island, which they avoided, is functional, while the camera at the junction of the camel and rhino pens, which they chanced, is not.

  Another clue can be found in the camera overlooking the southern approach to the Reptile House. This one was also operational, and the intruders would have had no choice but to pass directly beneath it in order to enter. Thus, the target arrow that shattered its lens and put it out of action, does not just indicate that the archer responsible is highly skilled and proficient (as also proven in the two deaths on the West Pennine Moors in February), it also proves that the perpetrators were fully conversant with the threat posed by this particular camera, and had made plans beforehand to deal with it.

  All of this suggests knowledge of the zoo’s security arrangements, which goes far beyond the norm. It is my strong recommendation that every member of staff at Horwich Zoo be assessed and interviewed rigorously.

  For all this, the killers hadn’t completely avoided visual detection. From some distance away, a camera perched on the roof of the aviary had captured a snippet of them proceeding along the walkway past the rhino enclosure just after two o’clock in the morning. There were five or six of them – the exact number wasn’t totally clear. All were clad in dark clothing, including hoods and masks, and were bundled with rucksacks. Chillingly, two of the figures had carried a struggling shape between them, which looked as if it had been swathed in a bed-sheet. They had clearly entered the complex from its northeast corner because, though the ladders they’d used to scale the wall had been removed, there were imprints in the ground next to the wall’s footing, plus a strand of barbed wire at the top had been freshly cut away.

  As with the other murders, it seemed to take a painfully long time just for these meagre details to come to light. The team flogged through hours and hours of footage before finding what they wanted. Forensic examination of the route the killers had taken would drag on for another day at least, and so far had uncovered nothing.

  Meanwhile, the world outside the besieged sanctuary that was the MIR at Manor Hill appeared to be falling apart. On every news channel there was uproar; the dailies were going crazy. Claire’s face was constantly on TV, looking ever more tired, ever more harassed. The other morning, her first reaction on seeing photographs of the obliterated corpse had been to stagger to the toilet and vomit. To be fair, she wasn’t the only one.

  Thanks to the mangled state of the as-yet-unidentified victim, it was the best part of a very stressful week before a full pathology report was available. Gemma assembled everyone she could in the MIR when she finally received the information.

  ‘The victim is a white female, aged somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties,’ she announced. ‘You’ll be relieved to know … possibly you’ll be relieved to know, that most of the damage inflicted on her body was post-mortem. The actual cause of death was cardiac aneurysm. The AP, whoever she was, already had a damaged heart, probably as a result of alcohol or substance abuse. In this weakened state, it was unable to withstand the extreme anxiety she suffered when she was lowered …’ Briefly, Gemma had trouble forming the relevant words; for an alarming second, Heck thought she was going to burst into tears. ‘When … she was lowered into the crocodile pool. In other words, ladies and gentlemen, she died of fright.’

  No one replied as the awfulness of such a thing washed over them. Certainly no one felt in any way relieved. Okay, it was perhaps marginally preferable to being systematically dismembered by a giant bull-crocodile over a period of several hours, but just trying to imagine the extent of terror that must have struck the poor woman was almost impossible. Just how frightened did you have to be to self-induce death?

  Heck met Claire’s gaze from across the room. Her face was grey, her eyes tearful.

  Gemma placed the document on a table, where everyone could read it for themselves. ‘There are firsts in everyone’s career,’ she said i
n an oddly conversational fashion. ‘But I don’t think I’ve ever experienced quite so many in one particular enquiry.’

  ‘And we’ve absolutely no idea who she was?’ Shawna McCluskey asked.

  ‘We’re running her DNA obviously,’ Gemma replied. ‘No hits as yet.’

  ‘Alcoholic?’ Eric Fisher said. ‘Druggie? Surely we’ll have her on file.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not … we don’t round toms up like we used to.’

  ‘We sure she was a prozzie, ma’am?’ someone else asked.

  ‘What’s left of her clothing would seem to indicate that.’

  Visuals of the AP’s clothing – ribbons of black nylon stocking, ripped fragments of black string vest and of course that pink high-heeled sandal – were already up on screen behind her. Heck observed them carefully. Sometimes in modern Britain, it was difficult to tell girls on the game from girls out binge-drinking – both from their behaviour and their scanty clothing – but there was something tawdry and lived-in about these shredded articles, suggesting that they weren’t just Saturday night attire.

  ‘In which case we need to start looking at missing persons reports,’ he said. ‘Focusing on prostitutes and drug addicts.’

  Gemma nodded vaguely. It would take forever of course. Britain’s sex-workers were a transient population at the best of times. That said, any lead was a lead, and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t picked up other leads from the zoo as well. The chain that had bound the victim was being meticulously examined. Polished metal was always a good bet with the forensics boys. It preserved prints nicely, and in addition, if it was hinged, jointed or articulated, like a chain, there was a good chance that body traces would be retained: skin might have been pinched or hair snagged. Officers had also been dispatched to collate footage from the speed and traffic cameras in the area, and there were plenty of those.

  This was all good stuff, and yet Gemma didn’t respond positively, at least not immediately. Heck watched her body-language; he’d never seen her look so dispirited.

  ‘We also need to consider that it’s two days to Beltane,’ she added. ‘When Eric first drew up his list, he reckoned that was the most likely date this month to be marked with a … sacrifice, desecration, whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘Could they really mount another so soon after the last one?’ Charlie Finnegan asked.

  Gemma shrugged. ‘We don’t know. We don’t know anything. But think about it, people … April 30. Beltane, or Walpurgis Night as it’s known in parts of Europe, is one of the biggest festivals in the occult calendar. We’re talking witches, druids, demonology.’

  ‘It’s tailor-made for something bad to happen,’ Gary Quinnell said.

  ‘Agreed … but as we don’t know where or even what form this bad thing will take, there isn’t much we can do to prepare.’ Gemma shrugged again. ‘All I can say is be aware of it. Keep your eyes to the ground, and your ears open. That’s it for now.’

  The team jolted back into life; Heck continued to watch Gemma, concerned at how lost she looked in the midst of the bustle. It only lasted for seconds and then she was back to her efficient self – raising her voice to issue commands, berating everyone for their tardiness – but Heck hadn’t liked what he’d just seen. Gemma had always been the cool head, the pillar of strength, the supreme organiser – but perhaps for the first time the weight of an operation that was expanding unmanageably in almost every direction was getting too much.

  Ten minutes later, she called him into her office and had him close the door. She sat behind her desk, from where she appraised him carefully. ‘It’s probably a bit late in the day to ask you this, but I don’t suppose you’ve ever encountered anything similar to this?’

  Heck shook his head. ‘I’ve never even heard of anything similar to this.’

  She knuckled at her brow. ‘Of course, it’s just a murder enquiry like any other. We mustn’t let the ghoulish elements distract us. It needs to be dealt with in the same time-honoured fashion.’

  But the tone with which she said this alarmed him, because he could tell she wasn’t attempting to instruct him as much as herself. She looked tired, stressed and – though he wouldn’t exactly have said ‘vulnerable’; ‘Gemma’ and ‘vulnerable’ were two words that could never appear in the same sentence – there was an unguarded weariness about her, as if she was briefly off her game and didn’t mind people knowing about it. Or at least didn’t mind him knowing about it. He wondered in what capacity she’d asked him in here: underling, colleague, friend … or something else?

  ‘So we’ve got to focus, Heck. You especially. Not that you haven’t been so far …’ She gave him a look that was almost a plea. ‘But I need my best fighters in absolute peak form … or I’m worried these bastards are going to beat us.’

  ‘They won’t,’ he said. ‘I guarantee it.’

  ‘They’ll have beaten us if they do it one more time. Never mind a hundred more, and at present they seem to be going for the record.’

  ‘We’ll get them.’

  She stood up and pulled on her suit jacket. ‘Well hold that thought. We’re off to Strangeways Prison.’

  ‘Strangeways?’

  ‘The remand wing. Apparently Cameron Boyd would like a chat. Don’t worry … I’m not asking you along to hold my hand. He specifically requested to speak to both of us.’

  When they headed out into the MIR, it felt more cramped, crowded and noisy than ever. Despite the expense, Gold Command had been in no position to ignore Gemma’s requests for increased manpower. This meant that extra desks had needed to be crammed into minuscule spaces, and more computer terminals and phones added, all of which contributed to the general clamour. In the heart of all this, Heck came face to face with Claire, who was rooted in front of a display board plastered with images from the crime scene at the zoo.

  For once she hadn’t bothered to do anything with her hair or make-up. Her cheeks were pale as ash. Even her peppermint eyes had lost their lustre.

  ‘You look terrible,’ he said, startled.

  She nodded at the images in front of her. ‘I could be worse.’

  ‘Why don’t you go out and get some air?’

  ‘Yeah, and be mauled to death by the press pack. Again.’

  ‘Claire …’

  ‘There used to be a phrase, didn’t there? The banality of evil.’ Her voice was almost tearful, and yet she remained distracted by the crime scene photographs, fixated on the grotesque imagery as if trying to find some sense in it. ‘It means the most wicked deeds are often committed by little people who otherwise don’t matter. But the people who’ve done this matter, don’t they, Heck? There is nothing banal about this!’

  ‘Claire, listen …’

  She shook her head. ‘This is beyond anything I ever imagined. I’m not naïve, I knew I’d be seeing gory, upsetting stuff. I was nervous, but I thought I could deal with it. But I’ll be absolutely honest with you … I’m not sure I can. I really don’t think I’m up to this.’

  Heck glanced towards the door. Gemma had already gone outside to the car.

  ‘Claire, we’re all affected by …’

  ‘Don’t give me that, Mark. You’re not. Not you.’ It was a tone of near-accusation. ‘You’re in your element here. You might say you hate it, and on the surface you probably do. But this is what you’re good at. It’s what you live for. Some people would be impressed by that, but I … I can’t even comprehend it.’

  She turned and headed back to her own office, in which the telephone, yet again, was insistently ringing.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ he said after her.

  She waved without looking back.

  Outside, Heck volunteered to drive and Gemma accepted, which was a rare event. However, once they were on the road, she seemed to get herself together, glancing into her compact mirror and cringing at what she saw. She took a brush from her handbag, combing out her unruly ash-blonde locks, and then applied some fresh lipstick and eye-liner. Gemma was not the
sort to over-emphasise her looks, but she knew that she was handsome and never hesitated to put this front forward – anything that added strength was to be embraced.

  ‘Good idea,’ Heck said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Licking yourself into shape. The troops’ll appreciate it.’

  ‘Yeah, because we can’t have them taking orders from some bird who isn’t hot to trot.’

  ‘You know what I mean. If they see you’re cracking up, they’ll go the same way.’

  ‘I know.’ She snapped her compact closed. ‘But … Christ, Heck, I’m dreading what may happen in two days. I mean … Beltane. Used to mean nothing. Was a word I heard occasionally on devil-worshipper movies. Now …?’ She shook her head.

  ‘If it was that simple, all we’d have to do is stake out the nearest deconsecrated church,’ he replied.

  ‘Tell me again about this theory of yours … that some twisted intellectual is behind these killings.’

  ‘Well …’ he began. ‘There’s an educated mind at work here, even if it is pretty warped … but I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t admit that things have got so weird that even I’m not sure what’s going on. Someone’s either trying to mock these ancient festivals, or draw attention to them … and at the same time take vengeance on a world that doesn’t appreciate him. That’s the usual motivation for these self-obsessed psychopaths.’

  Gemma considered. ‘The general consensus is that ignorance and disadvantage breed hate. Those who’ve managed to better themselves by education rarely have issues they need to work out of their systems through violence.’

  ‘There are always aberrations,’ he replied. ‘Look at Harold Shipman. Whatever’s going on here, someone is playing a massive, elaborate game – and is hugely enjoying the distress that it’s causing. Either way, we’re not dealing with everyday criminality. This whole thing is too artful.’

  ‘Like you said … a circus show of the macabre.’