Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1) (5 page)

Chapter 11

They had chatted a little longer before Ash had made his excuses to hurry back to the station.
Part of her was looking forward to the prospect of working full time for Ash Fielding. Another part of her wasn’t so sure. She knew she mustn’t let him down but there was a much more important issue at stake: she knew she mustn’t let herself down either. This job was the biggest set of V signs to her father she could think of. An achievement she could be proud of but a job with the very people who, in his eyes, had failed to bring back the daughter he’d lost. Conversation to the dark side.

She’d pop over and see him this morning before the meeting. There was plenty of time and breaking up with Gavin would only take a few minutes.

“Whatever you do, don’t be late,” Ash had warned her. “Harker doesn’t deal well with – you know – people who are late.”

Alix had packed a bag of papers and pens to make notes and gone over the report she was going to deliver about
Innsmouth a thousand times before she made her way out towards the centre. A quick visit to Gavin and then a quick visit to see Dad. Two sets of bad news to deliver.

Alix had once read that certain busy Macdonald’s restaurants contaminate
their air conditioning with a tiny trace of an unpleasant odour to encourage you to eat your meal and go because they didn’t want you to hang around and take up space. Why, she thought, was that necessary when the plastic seats were so damn uncomfortable anyway?

“Al
ix!” An arrogant smile beamed at her from across the restaurant. Jesus, she thought. He’s actually wearing a bow tie.

“Hi Gavin,” she said, taking the seat opposite him and forcing the smile to carve itself across her face. Gums, she was showing too much gum for this
not
to be feigned. But he wouldn’t notice it even if she was wearing a tee-shirt that said
I am only here because I enjoy disliking you
.

“Wow,” he said, his odd beam broadening as he took her in. “You look
great
.”

“Thanks. You do to.”

“You know I was just telling a colleague of mine at the bank how hot... I mean how great you are, Alix. Here, I got you a tea.”

“I only drink coffee.”

“Oh,” he pulled the cup away, disappointed. “Well, anyway, I was thinking we could have dinner tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, at a hotel in town.”

“A hotel?” She put her hand to her mouth in what
she thought might be interpreted as an appreciative surprise but which entirely passed him by. “The Marriott?”

He faulted s
lightly. “Best Western. I’ve, er, I’ve got shares in Best Western.”

“Shares. Wow.”

“Uh-hu. So, what, eight o’clock? Great, great. Jees’,” he leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head. “Yeah, we closed last night on a wicked deal, anyway; so I’ve got something to celebrate.”

“Wow.”

“Damn right
wow
. Another fat bonus at the end of the month but, you know, it’s not about the money, is it? It’s about the rush. Watching those numbers fly across the screen. Jesus.” He shook his head, as if he could hardly believe it. Alix stared at him blankly as she had done on their previous three encounters.

“Fuck, the market is so unpredictable right now, babe.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if it were all too much for him. “My job is getting more demanding everyday and they want me to run the whole goddamn department now and I was like,
hang on, bro, that’s a pretty big responsibility
. But they think I can handle it and they’re the ones that should know, right? So I took the offer and, Bam! I’m in the hot seat!” He clapped his hands together for effect and looked at her for a reaction.

“
I spoke to your wife at the weekend,” she said casually, taking a handful of his chips and eating them.

The colour drained from his face
. For a moment, he looked as though he might be sick. She looked back indifferently.

“I... I don’t...”

“Don’t have a wife? Sure you do. Her name’s Jenna. I spoke to her over the weekend. Told her everything and, fuck me, Gavin, it turns out you’re not a banker at all. You’re an administrative assistant at a local estate agent’s. And a compulsive liar, which is easy to spot because every time you bullshit, you bite your nails to cover your mouth.”

“How did...”

“How did I know? Well apart from the strange times you insisted on meeting there’s a tan mark on your ring finger that doesn’t fade and when you paid for lunch last time you handed over a card for a joint account so it wasn’t difficult. Plus you know nothing about banking yet you claim to be a stock broker. And your hair is greasy. This is from Jenna.” She pushed an envelope across the table. He looked at it, dumbfounded. “Well, it’s from Jenna’s solicitor anyway. Listen, I gotta’ go, but it’s been swell seeing you.”

“You... you weren’t interested in me?” He sounded hurt and confused. A small part of her felt sorry for him but the feeling past quickly.

“No, I realised from the moment we first met you were a fraud so I played along for a few weeks to exploit you. It’s just a thing I like doing.”

She got up and
threw a five pound note on the table. “For lunch last week. I think you used a voucher so that’s what I actually owe. Catch you later.”

She walked out of McDonalds and into the busy street, aware that all the while Gavin was staring at her with a look of utter mystification and revulsion.

Chapter 12

Having put Gavin out of his misery, Alix walked back down towards her Clifton flat where she then drove east through Redla
nd to the Governess Retirement Home. As she pulled into the little car park she checked her watch. She had about an hour before the meeting starts. It was fifteen minutes to the station through the traffic and she had missed rush hour. Plenty of time.

As she sign
ed in, Alix couldn’t help but wonder what it was that actually made retirement homes smell the way they did, even the ones that you had to pay for privately. But this wasn’t too bad. The staff were ok, most of them anyway. Gail, the large black lady that mainly looked after Dad, was lovely. Some of the others were a bit odd, though.

Vaughn Franchot was in the residential part of the home, which was nicer than the nursing side. Less dribbling and shouting here. There were only about fifteen residents, mostly women, and most of them had a decent use of most faculties. She didn’t feel guilty about Dad being in a home. He didn’t have to be here at all. He
chose
to be here. The facilities were good and there were people around to keep him entertained. Better than getting in a nurse to attend the old family home. Vaughn could have chosen to spend his retirement anywhere he wanted but the Governess had a certain charm to it that he obviously saw and she didn’t. Maybe it had a lot to do with Gail.

She knocked although the door was open. Vaughn was sat in his chair
as always absorbed in a book.
A Matter of Honour
. Jeffrey Archer. Again. He didn’t look up but turned the page very deliberately. He knew damned well who it was.

Alix stepped in and stood by the window, gazed for a moment at the little courtyard around which the housing block was built. It was nice, especially in the winter. They put chemicals in the water
features so they didn’t freeze and there was the permanent sound of trickling water. A robin fluttered momentarily to a standstill on a bird bath caked in snow before taking flight again.

Maybe she could see some of the attraction in this place.

“You need to trim your beard,” she told him. “It’s getting wiry.”

Vaughn still didn’t look up but tu
rned another page. It was obvious he was no longer reading. He knew very well of course that she could tell that. It was all part of the game he played.

“What would you know of beards?” he asked.

She nodded slowly, acknowledging the point. Her father was one of the few people in the world who intimidated her. He had an unrivalled ability to make her feel small and stupid. He had been, before his premature retirement, a leading psychiatrist. One of the best. Not like her. Book deal or no book deal, she was still a dropout in his eyes.

“Are you getting out much in the snow?” she asked. This did at least bring him to raise half a bushy eyebrow at her.

“What the Hell sort of question is that?”

She shrugged.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I’ve come to see my father.”

“Huh! What a privilege. So you’ve seen him. What next?”

“A game of chess perhaps.”

Another curt glance at her. “You’ve no time. You checked your watch when you entered the room although you must have known the time because you drove here and the clock in the car was staring at you the whole time. You’re dressed for, I’d say, a job interview but I think even
you
would wear more makeup for an interview so it’s something you need to make an effort for but not so much of an effort so it’s probably already a done deal. The crematorium isn’t open for two hours so I’d say this is the first day of a new job. You’ve no reason to come and tell me about it right now so I’d say you’re going to derive some pleasure from telling me either because you think I’ll disapprove and this will please you or because of some misguided view I’ll be impressed.”

She moved her lips but emitte
d no sound and to her absolute horror she felt the beginning of tears forming underneath her eyes. She blinked them back quickly and looked away.

“I’m right of course,” he said. “You took the profiler job the MCU were advertising about a month back. You’re working for the police.”

She left without saying another word.

Chapter 13

DSI John Baron was a stocky man in his late fifties. He had dark hair, cut to an almost military-short length, and thick, bushy eyebrows that contorted downwards in the middle to make it appear as though he wore a permanent frown. His grim disposition was exacerbated by the creases on his face, all of which seemed to pull his features down into his chin making it appear as though he may be incapable of smiling.

For ten years, Baron had run the Bristol Major Incident Unit
. During that time, he’d been offered Detective Chief Superintendant on more than one occasion. He’d turned it down each time. The promotion would take him away from hands-on policing, maybe even away from Bristol. To the best of everyone’s knowledge, he had no family, hardly any friends and no mortgage. He spent his Sundays in the office doing paperwork. He knew every case under his jurisdiction backwards. No one took a shit without him knowing about it. John Baron was the light bulb around which every moth fluttered.

And in the corridors they’d whisper
his name. Not his real name. But the name the new recruits were told about when they joined. The name they would – if they were very lucky – one day find themselves whispering in the same corridors.

John Baron. The Reaper.

The meeting room comprised a long table which seated twelve comfortably, and which Baron sat at the head of. The heating system comprised one pitiful radiator which hadn’t been bled in years and which fell woefully short of what was required to bring the room above freezing level. Nonetheless, Baron had removed his jacket and seemed completely immune from the cold. Alix and Ash sat in thick coats next to each other, their breath condensing into fog with every exhalation.

Harker was late.

“Guv, did you know if the temperature drops below three degrees we can legally go home?” said Ash, catching Alix’s eye with a wink.

Baron looked up from the papers he was reading and grunted. No one got away with something like that with Baron. Excep
t maybe for Ash.

“How was your first day, Doctor Franchot?” Baron asked, looking back down to the papers as if the answer didn’t interest him in the slightest.

“Er... not quite what I was expecting. Turns out that there’s a government sponsored asylum near here which would put Guantanamo Bay to shame.”

Baron looked up again and this time directly at Alix.
She felt her cheeks start to burn instantly.

“Amanda Harker Q.C. is one of the most respected counsel in this country. There isn’t a murder case worth talking about that she hasn’t prosecuted. She is also humourless and a personal friend of mine. These things will tell you, doctor Franchot, that, in her presence, you will
both
,” (and here he looked meaningfully at his young lieutenant), “think carefully about how you present yourselves. And, particularly, your views about the Innsmouth Institute are to remain just that:
your
views. Do I make myself unambiguously pellucid?”

Alix opened her mouth and then shut it again, feeling the gentle touch of Ash’s hand on her arm.
Shut up, now
, said the touch. She found something interesting to examine on the back of her hand for a few minutes while they waited for Harker.

When
she arrived she surpassed Alix’s expectations. Harker strode into the room and threw her bag down over the nearest chair before plonking herself down heavily and pouring herself a glass of water from the carafe waiting for her. Only when she had finished the whole glass did she look up to the other occupants of the room.

“It’s bloody cold in here, John,” she said sternly before pouring herself another glass of water.
Her voice was gruff and manly, the words rasped from her mouth like running a knife along the side of a car.

“I am afraid my office is too small to accommodate us all and the heating is hopelessly inadequate, Amanda.
You have my apologies. Can I arrange for coffee for you?”

“
No. I despise caffeine, as you well know. Now, Detective Fielding, I trust.”

She got up and offered her hand, which Ash took courteously.
She was extraordinarily tall, a good foot and a few inches above Ash, who was just under six foot himself. Her hair was a brilliant white, swept back and wound up into a bee hive. Not too dissimilar from a Mr Whippy ice cream, Alix noted. Her skin was as white as her hair, heavy on the foundation with quite an overpowering red lipstick. She was encased in a purple coat, buttoned right to the top.

Too many bangles, thought Alix. Like a gypsy.

“I shan’t remove my coat,” she said indignantly. “I would almost certainly freeze to death.” Her coat was too purple, thought Alix.

“And I must assume you to be Doctor Franchot?”

“Yes. Pleased to meet you, Mrs Harker.” Harker didn’t offer her hand but instead regarded Alix sceptically from over her thin framed glasses.

“
Yes, quite. I asked for someone with experience, John.” She turned to Baron. “Not a child.”

Baron opened his mouth but Alix had already jumped in.

“I’m thirty-two.”

This time it was Ash’s turn to suppress a smile.
Harker ignored her and proceeded to delve into her bag, which matched her coat, and pulled out a couple of lever arch files. She placed these on the table in front of her next to a blue notepad, similar to the one Anwick’s lawyer had used. Finally, she produced a very expensive looking fountain pen.

“John, you’re up to speed,” she said. “You two aren’t. Not completely.”

“Yeah, all the files are restricted,” said Ash.

“As they should be.
So how was your trip, Doctor Franchot?” Alix didn’t like her tone. She felt she was being patronised.

“I have some concerns about the conditions that Professor Anwick is being held in,” she said.
Beside her, she heard Ash grind his teeth. Baron shuffled in his chair, the displeasure he took at her apparent disregard for his warning exuded from every pore.

Harker
just nodded and went back into her bag. She picked out a photograph and put it in front of Alix. It showed a picture of a little girl lying naked on a table, her body gaunt and yellowing, her neck bent at an impossible angle. It made Alix’s stomach churn.

“You have concerns about the conditions that a monster capable of murdering a child of
nine years old is being kept it?”

“Well, it’s for me to determine whether he
’s capable of murdering a child, isn’t it?”

“And is he?”

Alix thought about it. She had already decided not to give Harker the satisfaction of knowing that, in reality, her first visit to see Anwick was a complete disaster. But she didn’t really have a very good answer to the question at this stage.

“
Too early to tell,” she said. “Eugene Anwick has multiple personalities. His psychological condition is complex. It’ll take time to break down.”

“That’s not very helpful, doctor Franchot and time is not something that you have the benefit of in this instance.”

Ash glanced momentarily at Alix’s legs, crossed under the table. Still as slender and perfect as the last time he’d stolen a look at them.

“What about the media?”
Ash asked, hoping to break the tension. He looked at Baron but Harker answered.

“There is no public knowledge of Katelyn
Laicey’s murder or the events that preceded it. We have a small window of opportunity to get our house in order before the witch-hunt starts. Which is why it’s critical, Doctor Franchot, that I have a completed report on Anwick’s capacity by the end of this week.”

Alix laughed, half genuinely and half for effect.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Harker, but that’s just not realistic. What you want, with respect, isn’t just a view on capacity – it’s a complete psychological breakdown. Let’s face it, you want to establish whether or not Eugene Anwick was capable of child killing, well that’s fine but it’s not going to happen overnight.”

“I agree with Alix, Mrs Harker,”
Ash said, hoping she’d later appreciate his efforts to support her although in reality he knew that was unlikely. He was cut short by Harker’s glare in any event and, caught between a rock and a hard place, settled for tailing off lamely before looking at the table top vacantly for a while.

“I think the issue,” said Baron, “is that there is more to this story than the killing of Katelyn Laicey, Amanda, and I wonder whether Doctor Franchot would benefit from the
full
version before you set out what is expected of us. It is the least that they deserve.”