Angels Bleed (Fallen Angels Book 1) (19 page)

‘She seems to be a very sincere person John.  It’s obvious that she cares a lot about you.  I can see that the feeling is mutual.  I need to ask your view on something though.  If you didn’t know her, and had the evidence we have, would you think she was involved in this?  Strange asked, watching Saul as his hunched spine straightened up and his head raised from the nothing it was looking at on the floor.  Saul stood up and took the chair he had been sitting in, and walked around the table, looking at Strange as he passed. 

‘I’m a suspect now Sir, let’s do this by the book.’ he said, placing the chair and sitting down in it.  He pressed the start button on the tape and said into it. ‘3:15 pm.  DCI Strange interviewing DI Saul.  Would you like to ask that question again Sir?’  Saul said, looking up towards his superior in a calm and open manner.

Strange nodded, impressed.  ‘Good focus John, good focus.’ he started, leaving the door and sitting down in the chair Jessica had vacated, pulling it under the table and facing Saul.

‘If you didn’t know Mrs Seymour, but knowing the evidence we have about her in this case, would you think she was involved?’  Strange asked again.

‘Yes Sir, I would.’  Saul simply stated.

Strange took a photograph off the file in front of him and placed it in front of Saul.  ‘For the tape, I am showing DI Saul a CCTV image of a limousine, with the driver of the vehicle highlighted.  DI Saul, do you recognise the driver?’

‘The person has a passing resemblance to me.’ 

‘And where were you at the time identified on the image.’  Strange asked, pointing to the bottom corner of the picture. 

Saul looked down at where Strange was pointing.  ‘At that time, I would have been in the Old Waverley Hotel, in room number 389 with Jessica Seymour.’

‘What was the last time you can recall being with anyone other than Mrs Seymour on that evening?’ 

‘We ordered room service, Champagne and Ice Cream just before midnight.  I called home and talked to Sarah for about ten minutes, just after midnight from the hotel telephone.  Room Service was delivered at around 12:10 am.  I signed for it.  That was the last time I saw anyone else other than Jessica until we went down for breakfast at 8:30am.  I would guess we fell asleep around 12:40 am.  We were awake a few times after that but I have no idea what the times would have been.’

Strange was looking at his notes from Jessica’s interview as Saul relayed his version of events.  He looked up as Saul finished.  ‘For clarity, between 12:10 am and 8:30 am on the 1
st
January 2012 you and Jessica Seymour were alone in your hotel room and did not see another person during that time?’

‘That is correct Sir.’

‘Do you feel that Mrs Seymour could have left the room without your knowledge during that time?’

‘That is a possibility Sir.  However, on the couple of occasions I did wake during that period, she was there.  She also woke me on one occasion.  I have no reason to believe that she wasn’t sleeping next to me the whole time.’

‘Right,’ Strange started. ‘Interview terminated at 3:25 pm.’ he finished, stopping the tape recorder as he did.

Saul looked up at him quizzically.  ‘Is that it Sir.  Don’t you want to corroborate my movements with Jessica for the rest of the day?’ 

‘There’s no need John.  My focus is on that evening and what happened.  Your version of events ties in exactly with Mrs Seymour’s and I am sure when we check with the hotel, they will confirm the timings that you both state.  However, I am sure that in the next few hours, more evidence will come to light which will implicate either one or both of you.  I have exactly the same feeling as you John, I think you are being played.  What I don’t know, is if that is because you are really guilty and someone is exposing the evidence to prove that, or because you are being setup.’

‘My thoughts exactly Sir, although knowing what I know, it’s the latter.’

‘I can’t and won’t assume that John.  The two of you are still my Prime Suspects.  The only reason you aren’t under caution at this point is because all of the evidence so far is circumstantial.  The second any concrete evidence is unearthed, I will arrest you.’

‘I know Sir and that is absolutely the right thing to do.  Sir, I know I am off the case now, but could I offer a thought?’

Strange smirked sardonically and leant back in his seat.  ‘Do I have a choice John?’

‘No Sir, not really.  You need to get Ennis in and question him.  There are too many things that tie him to this case.  I keep mulling over why someone would want Rebecca Angus out of the way.  Surely if you wanted to clear her name, you would want her around to prove any new evidence.  She would be able to say if Jessica were Madame Evangeline in a second, or if I was driving the limousine.  She would be able to confirm this is the place they visited that night at the drop of a hat.  I think Ennis has set this all up and hid her away so that he can play his sick game.’

‘I appreciate where your theory is coming from John and I think you are right, we do need to question him further.  In return, could I ask you to consider something for me?’

‘Certainly Sir.’ answered Saul, looking intently at Strange, who had a pensive look on his face.

‘Just remember the old adage, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.  I know how you feel about Jessica but bear in mind the relationship she has had with Ennis in the past and how much evidence, albeit circumstantial, that we have on her.  There may be more than one person playing you John.’

3:30 pm

Strange leant against the frame of the open door to the MIU, hands pushed deep into his trouser pockets.  He watched the intimate and tactile body language of Saul and Jessica as they embraced each other goodbye just at the side of the Mercedes, before Saul climbed in and drove off,  more sedately than when he had arrived.  Jessica folder her coat and arms around herself and stood for a moment longingly watching the receding vehicle, before turning and casting an aporetic gaze over Featherstone Hall,  taking in the tired, lifeless orifices of each boarded up window in turn.  She visibly shivered, then turned and started walking back towards the Visitor Unit, casting a nervous smile in Strange’s direction as she passed.     

Strange returned the smile, his eyes not leaving her otherwise elegant, composed stance, until she walked out of his line of vision.  He leaned up from the door frame and turned back into the main MIU room, coming up behind the still sitting Munro.

‘How’s the stomach now Mick?’  Strange enquired, placing an arm around his shoulder and kneeling down on his haunches beside him. 

Munro looked up at him and snarled with a grimace of pain and anger.  ‘I want that bastard charged with GBH.’

‘I understand that Mick, and you should.  What I need to understand from you now is, can you hold off on that until tomorrow and are you in a fit state to continue with this investigation?’  Strange asked, politely but firmly.

Munro grumbled under his breath, imperceptible profanities an undercurrent to the audible, ‘Yes, Sir, I can wait and I am okay to continue.’

‘Spot on Mick.  Really appreciate your commitment.’  Strange answered, without a hint of condescension, every single word genuinely meant as he tightened his embrace around Munro’s shoulders.

‘Right everyone.’ Strange stated, standing up and walking towards the whiteboards.  ‘We have a lot of new evidence, one less detective, who now happens to be a suspect, one more new suspect and less than nine hours to figure this conundrum out.  We need to focus on two lines of enquiry.  Is Jessica Seymour really Madame Evangeline and was John Saul complicit in assisting her during the murder of Michael Angus.  Secondly, is Dr Ennis involved in the setup of this scenario to either A:  uncover the truth about Jessica and John’s involvement or B:  frame them.’

‘Sir, do you think Saul is really involved in this?’  DI Saxon asked.

‘The evidence suggests he might very well be Leigh, yes.  So what we need to do is chase down the evidence.  Jessica Seymour and John Saul are our Prime Suspects.  Leigh, I need you to dig into the stories of their whereabouts that night, check the hotel, the bills, the room service.  Can you also talk to Mrs Seymour’s chauffeur about his movements that day and get Forensics to search his vehicle, see if there are any prints, any hairs, anything that can give us proof of who was in the limousine.’  Strange asked, noting actions under the names ‘Seymour’ and ‘Saul’ on the whiteboard.

‘No problem Sir, I will start checking straight away, but I can’t believe Saul is involved.  Most of the things we have found out, such as the limousine, were down to things Saul suggested we check.  Why would he incriminate himself like that Sir?’ Saxon asked, still puzzled.

‘Leigh, I appreciate that you are finding it difficult to fathom his motives, but as Detectives, what do we do?  We look for facts, we look for evidence.  At this point in time, the evidence suggests he is involved.  That is what we need to focus on.’  Strange answered firmly.  Saxon lifted a thumb in acknowledgement.

‘We also need to start figuring out how Dr Ennis is involved in this.  Mick I need you to bring him in for questioning.  We need to delve deeper into what he has found out from Rebecca Angus during the time she was incarcerated.  See if we can discover if he knew anything about John being in the limousine.  It still stinks to high heaven that Rebecca has gone missing and he knew nothing about it.  Mick, get yourself straight away.’  Strange directed Munro.

‘Will do Sir.’  Munro answered, tentatively rising from his seat and gingerly supporting his stomach as he left the MIU.

‘Sir.’ Strange directed to the plasma screen with the head of the Chief Superintendent on, who was looking down at paperwork on his desk.  He looked up as Strange addressed him.  ‘Have the press been in touch about this at all?’ 

‘No.  At the moment this is going completely under the radar and I would like to keep it that way.  We don’t have a lot of time and we don’t want your team distracted.’ he replied.

‘Good news.  Now, Phyllis, have you found out anything from exotic pet dealers in the area at all.’

‘Sir, I am about fifty percent through a list of three hundred.  So far, not one of them knows of any individual deals the size we are looking for.  The general consensus from the ones I have talked to so far is that the snakes haven’t come in through a dealer.  These shops tend to be working on a few dozen a year.  They think it may be black market activity.’ she relayed back to Strange.

Strange ruminated for a moment, then said.  ‘Stop calling around Phyllis.  I don’t think we are going to get any further on that track.  Could you take over looking at the evidence coming out of the warehouse from Leigh please?’  Phyllis gave a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement.

‘Now, Steven, how are you getting on?  Have we heard anything back from the local forensics regarding the real Dr Hanlon’s e-mail and telephone calls?’  Strange asked.

‘We have Sir.  Any e-mail or phone c…call being made to the real Dr Hanlon from Dr Ennis was being redirected.  Someone hacked into the Broadmoor e-mail system and the mobile network provider.  That’s not an easy thing to do.  Especially to a mobile network provider.  It’s similar to what we are seeing with the feeds from the Hall.  We have decrypted about twenty percent of them now.  Most are from bots on systems that have been hacked.  Whoever this person is, they have a level of technical skills I haven’t come across before.  They are hacking into systems with the strongest defence in depth perimeter c…countermeasures in place anywhere in the world.  They c…could be taking anything from these systems.  Or leaving anything.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Strange.

‘False Identities.  The fake Dr Hanlon being the c…case in point.  This person has access to the systems which would let you make a new identity.  A new NI Number.  A new NHS Number.  A new Passport.  With the access they have, they c…could make themselves become anyone they wanted to be.’

‘Jesus.’  Strange exclaimed, is astonishment, a sudden thought breaking through immediately.  ‘Does that mean they could potentially change things, such as CCTV images?’ he questioned.

‘It means they c…could do anything Sir.  Absolutely anything.’

4:15 pm

Saul pushed a button on the dashboard of his SLK and the black wrought iron gate to the entrance of his property slid to one side, allowing him passage into the mature landscaped bushes, trees and shrubs that lined the long driveway up to the front of the house.  He pulled the car up in front of a large, separate garage block, next to a deep red Range Rover Evoque, Sarah’s car, and then walked the short distance to the front door.

One of the double doors was open slightly, just off the latch.  He pushed it open and stepped through into the oak floored, wide entrance hallway.  Just to the left of the door were a number of designer shopping bags dropped untidily on the floor, their contents –various colourful tops and trousers- spilling from them.  He threw his car keys into a bowl on top a long telephone table as he passed it, heading towards the living room.

‘Sarah.’ he called, walking into the room.  There was no answer and there was no one in the room.  His attention was attracted to the sketch above the fire and he slowly walked towards it.  He ran a finger down the blotted, watermarked parchment where it now contorted Sarah’s face into a blur of deformity. 

‘What have I done to you?’ he whispered quietly to himself, as he took in the drawing, lips becoming pensive as his head slowly turned to see the other water spattered photographs and pictures on the walls.  He turned around and saw an empty wine bottle and glass on the table in front of the sofa, next to them, ripped up pieces of photographs festooning the table surface, spilling over onto the floor.  He picked a few of the remnants up and looked at them, eyes widening in disbelief as he did.  There were fragments of his face, fragments of Jessica’s face: fragments of the two of them in an illicit embrace.         

‘Oh god, Sarah.’ he murmured, the words full of concern.  ‘Sarah.’ he then repeated, louder, as holding the scraps of photo in his hand, he walked purposefully from the living room.  He was about to go over to the other side of the hallway, into the dining room, when he noticed further scraps of photograph on the hall floor and on the first few steps of the ornate circular stairway to the first floor.  He changed direction and climbed the stairs quickly, noting the occasional feature of his face glaring back at him from the ripped photographs discarded on the steps. 

‘Sarah.’ he repeated when at the top, listening intently for a reply.  There wasn’t one.  Only silence.  But in the silence, in the overwhelming silence of his large, empty house, he heard the most delicate of whimpers coming from Jacob’s room.  He approached it and slowly pushed the door that was ajar fully open.

Sarah was sitting on the floor in front of Jacob’s cot, wearing her old tatty dressing gown and Uggs.  There was an open bottle of wine next to her, the contents half drunk.  No glass.  Surrounding her was the confetti of adultery: a dispersed collage of torn eyes, ripped noses, riven lips and shredded encounters.  The taggie was in place over the fingers of one hand while the other hand held another photograph that was being decimated.  There was only one false nail left, on the little finger of her left hand.  She looked up at Saul as he entered the room, the dark shadows around her eyes glistening with the tears of her torment, snot dribbling from her nose to join the salty flows from her eyes and moisten her quivering lips.    

Saul didn’t say a thing, he just held her anguished gaze as he sat down on the floor next to her and wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her close into his chest.  The second he touched her, the timorous whimpers coming from her quivering lips turned into deep, shaking sobs emanating from the pit of her stomach, wracking her body as she willingly sank into his embrace, consumed by the wails of her lamentation.

They sat in that position for more than ten minutes, the only movement the stuttering of Sarah’s body as she cried and Saul rhythmically running a hand through her hair, over and over again.  Eventually, her sobs began to subside.

‘You stink of piss.’  Sarah said, her words quivering and phlegmy.

‘Run in with a dog.  It chewed my trousers.’  Saul replied, moving the offending leg slightly to show her.

‘Should have chewed your fucking cock off.’ she answered, a slight bit of bite in her delivery.

‘I’m sorry.’ Saul answered, simply.  Sarah stiffened as he said the words, and lifted her head out of his chest, pulling back from their embrace.  She sat up next to him, grabbed the bottle of wine and took a long deep swig.

‘Sorry for what, exactly John.’ she asked, wiping her sodden mouth with the arm of her dressing gown.  She didn’t let him answer.

‘Sorry for missing out wedding anniversary.  Happy Anniversary by the way, dear!’ she spat the last word sarcastically.

‘Sorry for fucking another woman.  Sorry for having an affair.  No, scratch that.  Sorry for having an affair for more than two years!  Sorry for wanting to kill our son!’ she shouted, leaning forward right into his face, glaring ferociously into his eyes.

His glistening eyes didn’t flinch, not even when the spittle from her screams peppered them, just forlornly returned her glare.  ‘I’m sorry I broke our promise, and didn’t have the guts to be honest with you.’ he replied quietly, his words resonating with remorse.

Sarah sagged back, the fury that had quickly built up being knocked out of her by what he said.  ‘Now, you can read me again.’ she said with an ironic laugh.  ‘When we are broken beyond repair, that promise of honesty betrayed, you start to read me again.’

Saul reached over and tenderly placed a hand on each of Sarah’s tear stained cheeks, gently rubbing their salty coarseness with his thumb, holding her head steady and looking deep into her eyes.  ‘I never stopped reading you Sarah.  I just couldn’t cope with what I saw and I didn’t know what to do.’

‘What did you see John, what did you see that was so hard to cope with.’ she asked, wide eyed, challenging.

‘Guilt.  All I ever saw, from the day Jacob was born, was guilt.  It’s there now.’ he answered, holding his gaze steady as she quickly looked away and pulled his hands off her face, startled. 

‘Well,’ she started, taking another swig of wine as she did. ‘Perhaps I had lot to feel guilty about.  But what I feel now, well, to be honest, that just isn’t your concern any more.  I think on the guilt stakes, lately, you have been racking up a crime or two more than me.  Do you feel guilty at all about having an affair?  Do you feel even the slightest amount of remorse over wanting to kill our son?’ she vehemently asked, fire in her movement once again.

Saul returned her glare for a moment, anger rising through his previously solemn façade.  He stood up abruptly and grabbed one of Sarah’s arms, yanking her up too.  ‘Come with me.’ he instructed, striding out of Jacob’s room and across the corridor, opening the door to his studio, Sarah sidling behind him, taking another gulp of wine.

There were paintings and sketches all around the walls, of every type of scene, some still life, some landscape, some portrait, all done with skill, craft and dexterity.  There were a number of easels in the room, none of them with pictures on.  Underneath a window on the far wall was a set of deep drawers on top of which were dozens of paints, brushes, charcoals, pencils, crayons and chalks.  Saul headed for the drawers, opened the top one, and pulled out an A2 size portfolio binder.  He unzipped it and took a large pile of papers from within, placing one on the nearest empty easel and then circling the room to fill each easel with a picture.  He threw the remainder on the floor and stomped back to the first one he had placed. 

‘What do you see Sarah?’ he asked her, his tone frustrated, his actions animated as he poked a finger at the picture. 

She looked at the picture, then to Saul, bemused.  ‘Nothing John, it’s just black.’

‘Exactly.’ he pronounced, moving on to the next easel, stabbing the picture.  ‘And this one, what do you see?’

‘It’s the same.  Nothing.’  Sarah said, confused.

‘Nothing, precisely nothing.’  Saul replayed, moving around to the next and poking it.  ‘And on this one there’s nothing.’  Before moving onto the next.  ‘Just as this one, is of nothing.’ he continued, walking to the middle of the room and scuffing his shoes over the ones he had dropped on the floor.  ‘Just like all of these.  Nothing, nothing, nothing!’ he screamed, eyes bulging from his head as stared at a terrified Sarah.

‘And do you know what all this nothing is, Sarah? Do you?’ he whispered angrily, coming close and standing by hear ear. 

Sarah was quivering again, this time in obvious fear.  ‘No.’ she replied, timidly.

‘It’s what I read, when I look into Jacob’s eyes.  It’s what I fear, every single moment of the day, his life is like.  It’s what I feel is his suffering: utter, absolute, nothing.’