Blood Atonement (25 page)

‘That doesn’t fit with these wounds, this sort of ritualistic aspect.’

‘This was three years ago. Perhaps he’s become more ambitious since then.’

‘There is a hierarchy at work here. It’s not enough for the direct descendants to simply die. There is another punishment for them.’

‘Do you think he expected the daughter to be there?’

You see, that’s where it gets interesting. Gut feeling, I think he knew she wouldn’t be. He didn’t want her to be.

She’s eleven?’

Yes.’

‘Naomi is fourteen. The other missing girl you told me about, Leonie, she was fourteen, too. They went missing on their birthday. That age has great significance for him. This girl isn’t of age yet. If you don’t catch him, he’ll be back for her. The girls serve some purpose. Purity, virginity perhaps.

The women, they have to die. The men, too. That elevenyear-old boy in your care, he’s a target for certain. But the killer needs the girls. He can use them.’ She brushed some imaginary dust from her lap. ‘I’d hate to think what for.

One other thing: he has a plan he’s working to.’

‘A family tree, I suppose.’

Yes, obviously. He has a list of victims. But there’s more to it than that.’

Foster nodded. He produced the print found in Sarah Rowley’s grave. He told Susie about its origin.

She pulled a face but said nothing.

‘Do you think this has any relevance?’ he asked.

‘Maybe. The bodies are laid out, but for burial. There could be something in that. This could be his motivation.

What is it?’

‘That’s it; we don’t know.’ He placed it on the table.

What do you think about our killer now; personal characteristics, that sort of thing?’

‘If all this is linked, then he’s stronger than I thought.

Fitter. He’s determined. I stick to what I said earlier about him being charming, able to mix. Even more so if he managed to lure Leonie away. He has charisma, a compelling and persuasive nature. I take away what I said about him having previous with young girls. This is about much more than having his wicked way with the girl of his choosing.’

It confirmed all Foster suspected.

‘I would say one other thing.’

What?’

‘I don’t think he’s working alone.’

‘He has a sidekick?’

‘I didn’t say that. Given how prolific he is, how he’s working, I think he’s receiving support in some way’

Who?’

‘That’s for you lot to find out.’

Will you come with me and say all this to Harris?’ he asked plaintively.

She checked her watch.’ I’m supposed to be somewhere twenty minutes ago. Can’t you make your own case? I’ll submit a report.’

We don’t have time. It might have greater power if you came with me.’

Why?’ She didn’t wait for his answer, but saw a brief flash of amusement spread across his face. ‘Because we’re seeing each other?’

Until she said that last sentence in the present and not past tense, part of him had hoped Friday had been their one and only date and it had been an absolute disaster.

Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m not flavour of the month.’

‘I heard. You need to look after yourself. You went through a hell of an ordeal and you need to take things slowly, anathema though that might be.’

‘Harris pillow-talking, is he?’

‘Grow up, Grant,’ she snapped back.

He held his hand up. ‘Sorry. That was uncalled for. The fact still stands that I need you to help persuade him that there is more to this case than he thinks. That Naomi may well still be alive but that unspeakable things could be happening to her right now. That another young girl might have been kidnapped and abused. That another is under police protection and could be in danger. That an elevenyear-old boy is in very real danger of being killed.’

She looked at him, brow furrowed, for a few seconds then sighed. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Take me to him.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ She started to collect the papers, then looked at him with a wide grin, blue eyes dancing.

‘So. You’re jealous?’

As Foster was leaving his office with Susie his phone rang.

Barnes. Despite the background sound of traffic and the wind that distorted the call, Foster listened as Nigel told him about the missing newspapers, the vault and its restricted access. He knew that even if the answer wasn’t in those reports, it remained their best hope. He told Barnes to go home and stand by the phone. He ended the call and made his way to Harris, Susie at his side, with even greater purpose.

DS Harris oozed frustration. Even the presence of Susie failed to act as any sort of balm. He kept taking deep breaths and rubbing his hand across the back of his neck, kinking it back as if seeking relief. Foster could see the lack of sleep, as well as the lack of progress in finding Naomi, was taking tangible toll. Blokes like Harris were expected to get results — and they had nothing.

‘Tell me you have a breakthrough, Grant,’ he sighed.

‘God knows we need one.’

I’ve got him at exactly the right time, Foster thought. He told him about the Mormon link. Through his weariness, Harris still managed to contort his features into a look of incredulity.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said slowly. ‘Katie Drake, together with some family in Essex, are being killed because they — or, more likely, one of their ancestors - broke some Mormon covenant?’

‘Pretty much so, yes,’ Foster replied.

‘And you think that this might have something to do with the fact that if these people are dead then they can be turned into Mormons?’

He nodded. ‘Baptized by proxy’

Harris ran his hands down his face, stretching the skin.

‘And an elevenyear-old boy who has been sleeping at your house might be the next victim?’

Foster nodded his agreement.

‘But what about Naomi? If the killer is exacting some sort of ecclesiastical revenge, then why wasn’t she killed, too? Don’t they want to convert her? Why kidnap her and not just kill her there and then? The same goes for this other girl you say’s missing. If she’s been writing letters to her brother then that would indicate she hasn’t been killed.’

Susie offered her theory of the girls serving a purpose.

It might just have been Foster’s jaundiced eye, but he appeared to take what she said more seriously. Harris listened intently. When she finished, Foster spoke again.

We know that the victims shared two ancestors who turned up from the States in 1890, who seemed to have run away from something in America. Some kind of atrocity. We found a picture that belonged to Sarah Rowley showing a row of charred bodies, killed in a fire. We don’t know what it means but it might be linked to the fact that eighteen of Sarah Rowley’s ancestors died on the same day in 1890. We need to find out more. Maybe those two people who fled had something to do with that and their descendants are being made to pay’ He paused. ‘And the answer to it could be lying in the vault of the main family history library in Salt Lake City.’

Harris’s face creased. ‘Fat lot of good it is to us there.’

He caught the intensity of Foster’s stare and knew immediately what he was thinking. You’re proposing I send you out there?’

Foster shook his head. ‘No, not me. Nigel Barnes. We send him with an official request from ourselves to access this information. It may lead to more research. He’s better placed to do that than I am.’

‘I don’t feel happy sending a civilian out on his own,

Grant.’

‘Send a copper who can go with him.’

Harris took another deep gasp of air. He remained silent for a minute, scratching at the back his neck, staring at the wall. He looked back at Foster. ‘OK,’ he said, nodding. We send them tonight. I need something, anything, to kick start this, to help us find her. Dare I say it, even if she’s dead then we’ll have a body for evidence and a starting point. Who do you propose we send to accompany Barnes?’

‘I have someone in mind.’ He turned to leave.

‘Grant?’

What?’

Another deep breath. ‘Forget the return to work plan.

Work as late and as long as it takes.’

Gary was brought back to Foster’s office by a young male detective who wore a look of boredom and distaste. The pair had spent the previous couple of hours in the canteen, or in front of a television, and it was clear it had not been a bonding experience for either. The young cop almost bundled Gary into the office in his eagerness to get away and return to proper work, but not before Foster asked him to wait outside for them. He’d be needed in a second. Gary appeared sullen. But then he mostly did.

What a muppet he was,’ he said.

Foster ignored him. ‘Look, I’m going to be really busy.

I’ve sorted out some temporary accommodation for you where you’ll be well looked after. More importantly, you’ll be safe. You’ll have a policeman living with you 24/7.

You won’t be able to get out much, which is a shame, but you’ll have satellite TV, computers, game consoles, so there’ll be ample compensation. It won’t be for long.’

‘I ain’t going,’ he said, his jaw sticking out perceptibly.

Foster sighed. Why?’

Gary said nothing.

‘Look, you have my word. It’s safe. Safer than anywhere else you could be. Safer than my place. Safer than the streets. I wouldn’t suggest you go there unless it was absolutely cast-iron certain you won’t come to any harm.’

Gary was looking out of the window, at the trees that were bowing obsequiously to the gusting wind. Foster thought he might cry.

‘Look, there’s an Xbox, a Wii, there’s a desktop computer hooked up to the Internet, there’s a DVD library with every film you can think of, takeaways on tap. In fact the more I think about it, the more I’d like to be there.’

The boy turned his large, mournful brown eyes on him.

‘So why ain’t you gonna be there?’

It was only then that Foster understood the kid’s reluctance.

For a few seconds, he was lost for words; no pithy comeback or retort. Nothing. A new experience. Instead he stroked his chin.

‘I’m not going to be there, Gary, because I need to find the man who kidnapped your sister, kidnapped the girl who went missing last week, the killer of your aunt, your uncle and your cousin, the man who has been following you,’ he replied eventually. ‘And to do that while having you around is not that easy.’ The kid’s face grew more mournful. ‘Not because I don’t want you around, but because of having to ferry you around. Plus it’s not safe for you to be with me. Trust me.’

Gary continued to stare at him, barely blinking, but his resistance appeared to be waning.

‘In fact, if I know you’re not in danger then that will make my job of trying to catch this psycho much easier.

You understand?’

Gary nodded, even tried to force a smile

‘Easy, now. You don’t want your face to crack.’ He went over and ruffled his hair. Gary let him.

Less than a week ago he’d have sunk his teeth into my hand, Foster thought. He smiled. Then he picked up the phone and told Barnes to pack his toothbrush.

The main floor was crowded with people — men and

women of various shapes and sizes, backgrounds and ages — but Nigel immediately recognized the kind. Amateur family historians. There was something about their quiet, unfussy air, the atmosphere of eager expectation as they chatted among themselves, hushed yet excited. Many of them had crossed states, travelled many thousands of miles to be here, either waiting to be collected by a guide or tour organizer or having made their own, independent pilgrimage to the Church of Latter-day Saints’ vast central library in downtown Salt Lake City. All of them were seeking insights into their pasts and origins. He envied them in a way. The American experience was an essentially immigrant one. Many would find stories of ancestors who had crossed oceans and risked life and limb in search of a new life, fleeing persecution or hardship, starting afresh in the new world, stories that were less common in the UK.

He stood to one side, watching, detached in more ways than one. He had never travelled further than mainland Europe, so the ravages of jetlag were new to him. He was running on adrenaline, the sense of being close to discovering something of import his only spur after a night of sleep had evaded him entirely. They had left Heathrow the night before, arriving in Chicago at midnight. The only seats were in economy, and at O’Hare airport they had a six-hour wait until catching a dawn flight over the Rocky Mountains to the Mormon capital, swooping in over snow-capped peaks that glistened in the eye-popping winter sun.

His dehydrated skin was stretched taut like a drum and his head felt as if it was half-filled with water. He felt dislocated, as if an actor had taken over his part and he was watching from afar. Little more than sixteen hours before he’d been sitting on a tube rattling across rush-hour London. Now here he was six time zones west, breakfast time in America, in a city about which he knew nothing, other than its importance as the centre of the Mormon Church.

Heather emerged from the crisp, cold air where she’d been making a call back to the UK. Her hair was still wet from the shower she’d grabbed at the unspectacular business hotel where they’d dropped their bags.

‘I need more of that fresh air,’ she said. ‘It’s a balm to the lungs compared to London. It’s like breathing for the first time.’ She checked her watch. ‘The fax has been sent.

What time are we meeting your girlfriend?’

Nigel had suggested Donna Faugenot meet them. She

was well connected and knew the source material better than he did. She might come in handy. He ignored the teasing.

‘Ten. In the snack area.’ He pulled a map from his pocket. ‘It’s on this floor. Somewhere.’

Five floors, almost 2,000 visitors daily, more than 600

million names on its database, and 2.5 million rolls of microfilm — Nigel had to admit the LDS library dwarfed the National Archives in Kew. It was Tuesday — it took

both of them a while to remember that through the fog of travel — and so the library was open until nine in the evening, but even that early in the morning it was crammed full. They headed through the throng to the snack area, a small airless cubby hole that made the old canteen at the Family Records Centre look like the dining room of the Dorchester.