Spirit Animals (Ritual Crime Unit Book 3) (31 page)

“Ah, Claire,” Tomb said, with a dip of the head. “What can I do for you?” He seemed to have recovered his poise after the shock of the altercation at the park.

“Your book,” Pierce said without preamble. “You mentioned being taken to a farmhouse off the A1 by a member of the cult. Thanks to some new information that’s come up, that site is now of interest in our current investigation. Do you still have the address?”

“New information?” he asked, with an ingratiating smile.

She’d only said it to cut off the smug finger-waving about having disregarded his evidence for so long, and now she immediately regretted it. “The details are confidential, I’m afraid.” Like some earlier details she could mention, but the lecture on loose lips was probably best left until after she’d got the information that she needed. “The address?”

“I’m afraid I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he said, a glib apology she didn’t trust for a minute. “It was a long time ago, and Jonathan insisted on doing the driving himself so that I could stay hidden until he was sure that none of the others were there. He never told me the name of the place we would be visiting.”

That was plausible, but Pierce was certain he was holding something back, probably envisaging making some grand discovery himself—and cocking up the police investigation in the process. “Any details you can remember would be helpful,” she said evenly. It probably wouldn’t have hurt to butter him up and imply he’d get some credit for the assistance, but she didn’t think she had it in her. Not after how many lives had been lost already.

“Oh, I can do better than that,” Tomb said, smile widening. “I may not be able to give you the address, but I’m certain I could guide you there from the road if I was to accompany you.”

She should have predicted that. “All right, well, I’m sure you can do that just as easily from some street-view pictures on the internet,” she said. The last thing she wanted was Tomb along to interfere in the investigation—worse, waiting for him to confirm the location in person would mean a delay in getting forensics to the scene; she couldn’t very well drag an entire team along on a wild goose chase waiting to see if he came up with the goods.

“I’m afraid not,” Tomb told her, all contrived regret. “You see, the aura of a place is very important to my mental vision of it. I remember that the farm had a sense of foreboding evil about it that I would certainly know again if I visited it in person, no matter how much it might have outwardly changed. I can’t guarantee you I’d be able to do the same from a photograph.”

Pierce didn’t believe a word of it, but really, what could she do?

“All right, Mr Tomb,” she said, pressing her lips together. “It seems we’re going to have to take a road trip. But be warned, if you’re wasting police time in the middle of an extremely urgent murder investigation, there
will
be consequences.”

Possibly for her as well as him. Time was running out entirely too fast.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A
FTER AN HOUR
in the car with Christopher Tomb, Pierce was beginning to think the trip was more likely to trigger a murder investigation than solve one. Not only did he seem to be incapable of leaving any moment of silence unbroken, but what he was rambling on about was her field of expertise, and most of what he said was utter bollocks. She had to bite her tongue repeatedly to avoid snapping at him or giving away details of the case. She still needed his cooperation to find this place.

Assuming he wasn’t just leading her up the garden path, something she became steadily less sure of as the drive went on. Maybe she should have assigned this duty to one of the constables, but she was sure Tomb would have been even more difficult if he didn’t think he was getting the high-level attention he deserved.

And even being stuck in a car with a complete prat at least offered some illusion of accomplishing something, making some kind of progress. Being back at the office doing the paperwork while others pursued potential leads would only have driven her potty.

Having tuned Tomb out some time ago in sheer self-defence, Pierce was caught off-guard when he finally offered something relevant. “I think we need to come off at the next exit,” he said, sitting up in his seat as they passed a Little Chef. “This looks familiar—in fact, yes, I think I’m starting to sense the aura now...”

Pierce let that pass, busy pulling in front of a lorry with rather less warning than she would have liked in the light rain. She raised a hand in an apology at the foghorn blast from the driver, guiltily glad she wasn’t driving a marked car.

She only got a brief glimpse of the road sign, a list of village names she didn’t know. Tomb seemed to be fairly confident, though, directing her left at the end of the slip road to pass back under the dual carriageway. The road they’d pulled off onto was much narrower, hedged in by steep slopes covered in spindly saplings and bushes, and they’d left most of the traffic behind on the main road.

The road surface along here was cracked and potholed, and Pierce had to slow down further and nudge the windscreen wipers up a notch as the rain began to ramp up in earnest. The slope of the land gradually evened out, but the hedgerows only drew in closer to the road, joined now by high firs that closed off even more of the surrounding view. The few turnoffs they passed were mostly unmarked gravel tracks leading away through the fields.

They’d driven past several that all looked much the same when Tomb said abruptly, “This is it.”

Above the ragged hedgerows Pierce could just make out the mossy corrugated roofs of farm buildings. The site was closer to the road and coming up faster than she’d anticipated; she’d hoped for the chance to approach more stealthily and poke around, but it didn’t look like there was anywhere she could park without being spotted from miles away.

Nothing for it but the front door approach. Pierce drove between the open gates to park up on the gravel beside the two buildings. There was no sign of any other vehicles, and she couldn’t help but be aware of how long a shot this was. Even if this
was
the place that Jonathan had brought Tomb before, there was no guarantee the cult had used it in the last seven years, or that Violet would have chosen to come here now. Hell, for all she knew Tomb could have made the incident up entirely and just brought her to the first likely looking abandoned barn in the region rather than admit it.

If so, he was committed to putting on a performance regardless. “This is the barn that Jonathan showed me,” he said. “He told me this was where the disciples brought him when he was first recruited. They drank the blood of farm animals together and promised him eternal life if he would swear himself over to the service of their leader.”

“Uh-huh,” she said neutrally. She supposed it sounded plausible enough: a few less murderous blood rituals to gauge new recruits’ responses, see how many lines they could be persuaded to cross after they’d seen a few demonstrations of supposed vampiric powers and been promised they could have them for themselves—though from what had happened to the two cultists that they’d arrested, she doubted Violet was the sharing type. “All right. Stay in the car, and keep your phone ready. If anyone but me approaches, lock the door and call the police.”

The place seemed to be completely abandoned, but she was taking no chances.

Pierce opened the door and stepped out into the driving rain, half wishing that she’d brought some backup with her, half glad she hadn’t been able to bring a full team to what looked to be yet another dead end. She’d probably used most of the year’s budget for joint operations in this week alone.

And they still didn’t have the Valentine Vampire in their custody to show for it.

The rain was hammering off the metal roofs of the buildings, splashing back from the puddles gathering in the ruts of the gravel drive and plastering her hair to her head. The lee of the main barn to her right would have provided a little shelter, but she moved away from it at first, towards the smaller shed ahead of her. It stood open to the weather, seemingly unoccupied but too dark to be sure. This time she’d come prepared with a proper full-sized torch; as she clicked it on, she drew her phone with her other hand to give Deepan the details of her location.

“Doesn’t look like this place has been used in a while,” she told him, shining the torch around the inside of the shed. It seemed empty, but there were a few big old rusty metal drums that had once held who-knew-what. She rounded them to peer into the rear corners: nothing but some old sacks and impressive spider’s webs. “But still, see what you can dig up about the ownership, now and over the last thirty years. I don’t know what the road is, but there’s a sign here says the place is called Manor Farm.”

“Will do,” he said.

“Any progress on forensics?” she asked, hunching against the rain as she moved back out towards the much bigger main barn. It looked like a once-larger entrance had been bricked in, a small metal door set in the middle of the mismatched brickwork. She tugged at the handle, but was unsurprised to find it locked. A quick glance back at Tomb to make sure he was staying put in the car as ordered, then she moved around the side of the building.

“Nothing from yesterday’s scene,” Deepan told her. She had to press the phone right to her ear to hear him over the sound of the rain on the roof, the corrugated metal sheets rattling uneasily in the wind as if debating whether to choose today to rip free. “But they managed to ID the second victim as a university student called Alex Wagner. I sent DC Freeman to speak with the parents, but I doubt that they’re going to know much. He was living in halls.”

“Younger than our previous victims?” she asked as she picked her way through the waterlogged mud.

“Nineteen,” Deepan confirmed. “Youngest before that was twenty-one.”

Hmm. Hard to say if that was significant or sheer chance, though it might be another point in favour of the hypothesis that Violet had been getting wary, changing up patterns and preying on easier meat. Whatever good it did them to know that this late in the game.

She reached another door around the side of the barn, this one seemingly original to the building. She doubted the rotten old wood could stand up to a tap from an Enforcer ram, but a search warrant could be tricky to arrange just on Tomb’s claims. It was looking like he’d dragged her out here in person on a massive waste of time.

All the same, she gave the cast iron ring pull a tug. The door shifted in its frame, but didn’t open. She gave it a second, harder yank, on the theory that if it just happened to come open in her hand it would surely be her duty to check inside and secure the scene. Sadly, whatever bolt or latch held it closed was made of sterner stuff than the wood, and though it gave a strained creak it didn’t seem as if was likely to give. She sighed and let it go. “Looks like I’m not going to be able to—” She broke off as a dull banging noise reached her ears. “Was that at your end?”

“Was what?” Deepan asked. Rather than answer, she took the phone away from her ear so she could listen. More muffled thumps, like something—someone—knocking on a distant door, or kicking at something solid.

It sounded as if it was coming from inside the barn.

Pierce stepped back to check that Tomb hadn’t left the parked car, but couldn’t see into the passenger seat from this angle. It couldn’t be him making that noise; she’d most likely have seen him get out.

She thumped on the barn door herself, raising her voice. “Hello? Is anyone inside? This is the police.” If Violet was here, she’d probably heard the car approaching anyway, and besides—Violet would have no reason to be banging and kicking.

A flurry of more urgent thumps. Her pulse quickened, and she raised the phone back to her ear. “We could have a live victim here,” she told Deepan. Or it could be a trapped animal, or a particularly deceptive breeze... She shouted through the door again. “If you’re able to speak, please respond. This is the police!”

Was that a muffled cry from within? She couldn’t hear anything clearly over the clatter of the rain against the metal roof. She hammered on the door once more, and was rewarded by more distant thumping.

Shit. It could be someone trapped inside, perhaps gagged and restrained or in too much of a bad way to call out. If Violet was now working alone, she might have left her victim temporarily unguarded while she retrieved supplies for the ritual. Or she might be in there even now, unable to interrupt the magic in full flow to deal with police interlopers.