Blood Axe (6 page)

11

Naomi was petite
and blonde with a sparkle in her eyes that made her look younger than her twenty-five years, while her ready smile seemed to suggest that life was fun. She wore heavy eye make-up and Ian had overheard Eileen commenting on her skirt being too short for a detective constable on duty. Always careful to look smart and professional himself, he had been embarrassed for Naomi, yet somehow the young constable had succeeded in placating Eileen without conceding the point. The two women seemed to get on well, despite Eileen's didactic comments. With her quietly assertive manner Naomi looked set to do well, a capable young woman who would probably climb through the ranks in any sizeable organisation. She just happened to have joined the police force. She could equally well have forged a career in the civil service, or any large corporation. There seemed to be increasing numbers of young officers who regarded detective work as a career, rather than a vocation. Ian was concerned that they didn't share his passion for their work.

For years he had thrown himself into his job with little purpose other than a dedicated pursuit of justice. Now that his promotion had given him a taste for some measure of independence, he was beginning to resent taking orders from officers who were his superiors only in rank. He could foresee a time when his detective chief inspector would be an officer younger than he was, and the prospect made him restless. He was a skilled detective but he was beginning to wonder if that was enough, both for himself and for his future. He had nothing against Naomi as an individual, but she seemed to epitomise everything he begrudged in such slick youngsters.

‘It all points to Gary,' Naomi said, with a confidence Ian resented. ‘If he assaulted Angela once he might quite well have done so again, only this time with fatal consequences.'

‘That certainly appears to be the case,' Eileen agreed.

‘We only have Zoe's word for it that any previous attempted assault actually took place.' Ignoring Naomi's surprised expression, Ian continued. ‘I'm not sure we can treat her as a reliable witness. Don't forget, she's only sixteen. She told us Gary's really sweet, and that he wouldn't hurt anyone, and at first she said nothing had happened between Angela and Gary. It was only when her mother came in the room that she came up with this allegation of attempted rape.'

Eileen glanced at Naomi, as though expecting a sharp retort. Ian waited, unsure why he felt the need to defend his position. With a sickening feeling that he might be losing his grip on the situation, he added, ‘The pathologist found no evidence of any sexual activity.'

‘Now the girl he allegedly assaulted is dead, don't you think it matters any more if he tried to rape her or not?' Naomi asked. ‘Is that what you're saying?'

Ian merely shrugged. The question was stupid.

‘Well, we may never know if he attempted to rape her, or fell over on the stairs, or if the whole story's a fabrication. Only now he's suspected of murdering her so let's focus on that,' Eileen said.

‘We can't just ignore Zoe's statement,' Naomi objected. ‘The guy could be a potential rapist.'

‘Of course we'll investigate the allegation of rape as best we can, but we may have to accept that there's nothing we can do about it anyway,' Ian pointed out.

‘Just because we can't prove anything, it doesn't mean we should just ignore it,' Naomi insisted. She was beginning to sound petulant. ‘You seem to think it doesn't matter.'

‘It does matter,' Ian replied. ‘It matters for several reasons, not least of which is that, even if we can't prove anything, an allegation of rape is bound to influence the jury once they've heard it. And of course it will come out. The prosecution will have that girl up as a witness, crying and accusing the suspect of trying to rape her friend, knowing full well the judge will instruct the jury to disregard the allegation, but it's bound to influence their opinion of the suspect. No smoke without fire and all that. They won't necessarily be swayed by the fact that a teenage girl might be an unreliable witness...'

‘That's a very sweeping statement!' Naomi objected.

‘I'm not saying all teenage girls are unreliable, but I happen to believe this one is.'

‘So now you're setting yourself up as jury, are you?'

Ian deliberated. It seemed that challenging a young girl's allegation of rape was too sensitive a topic to be considered dispassionately by other young women.

‘I'm not going to argue with you,' he said. ‘But if the suspect is innocent, I don't fancy his chances in court, that's all I'm saying.' He turned to Eileen who had been listening to their exchange in silence. ‘It's not clear cut that Gary's responsible. We have another suspect, ma'am. There's Frank.'

Eileen gave him a searching look. ‘What's your gut feeling, Ian? You've spoken to all the key witnesses so far. Could either Gary or Frank be guilty, do you think?'

Having worried that Eileen was unimpressed by his spat with Naomi, Ian wasn't prepared for her direct question. On the point of naming Gary, he dropped his eyes from the detective chief inspector's intense gaze. She was shrewd enough to know when he was feeling uncertain. Gauche young Gary was a strong possibility, but two calls to Angela's phone from her home on the night she died raised a worrying question over her stepfather.

‘Well,' he replied cautiously, ‘I'm kind of guessing here.'

‘There's a killer out there somewhere, so I suggest we stop guessing and find enough evidence to make an arrest before the papers go to town about an axe-wielding maniac.'

Eileen asked Ian to stay behind when Naomi left the room. Anticipating a roasting for his brusque dismissal of the constable's concerns, he was relieved when Eileen's face relaxed into a smile.

‘Naomi's a capable officer but she's young, and needs firm guidance. You were right to consider both sides of the situation. Hang on to that sense of balance. In our anxiety to get a result, we must never lose sight of the principle that a man is innocent until proven guilty. Our job is as much about protecting the innocent as it is about nailing the guilty.'

‘Thank you, ma'am.'

Not everyone seemed to share Ian's high regard for the detective chief inspector.

‘We shouldn't be worrying so much about the papers,' Ted grumbled when he met Ian in the incident room later. ‘We all know they print unhelpful garbage. The way Eileen bangs on about them, you'd think we were just looking into this murder as a PR exercise when the only thing we should be doing is finding this demented killer and making sure he's put away for good.'

The media was hardly top of Ian's agenda when he was conducting a murder investigation. Nevertheless, he understood the reason for his superior officer's fear of negative publicity.

‘The point is, the less confidence the public have in us, the less likely they are to come forward and volunteer information that could result in an arrest.'

Ted gave a dismissive grunt. ‘If we focussed more on the case, and less on the media, we might actually catch this killer, and that really would help our public image.'

Ian sympathised with Ted. Immersed in the investigation, at the same time he was observing Eileen's concerns, considering how he might behave if he were to be promoted to detective chief inspector. He wondered if he would be as efficient as she appeared so far. As a young constable, or even a sergeant, he might well have been irritated by Eileen, as Ted was. Now Ian appreciated her concern with public perception. The investigation could be turned around by one witness coming forward. And right now they could do with some help.

12

Once again the
warrior sprang on to dry land. His bulging shoulder muscles strained with the effort of lugging his long, narrow boat out of the water. He dragged it up the steps and lowered it down behind the wall, until it lay concealed in a ditch. There was little risk that anyone would spot it there. The moon god had left the skies to Freyr with his rain clouds. Before the night was over, the thunder god himself might arrive to hammer out his drum roll across the night sky. Meanwhile the night was dry and dark, fair conditions for a raid.

Silently he stole along the path towards the settlement. Ahead of him, in the distance, a steady stream of cars glided smoothly across the bridge, glowing in the torchlight. Many people were out travelling, even at that late hour, but they were too far away to notice him on the shadowy footway at the water's edge. He smiled grimly and pressed on towards the town.

Turning off the narrow path on to the broader roads of the settlement, he sensed a liveliness in the atmosphere. The night breeze carried warm smells of food and smoke, and the sound of many voices and laughter. Cautiously he concealed his axe beneath his cloak. His powerful hands were ready to seize his weapon if the opportunity arose, or the need. On his previous raid, the outlying streets of the settlement had been disturbed only by a faint hum of cars rattling along nearby roads. Tonight they were alive with the sounds of many people. He frowned. It might be difficult to find a suitable target, preferably a rich old woman adorned with precious jewellery. Even better would be a hoard like the one he had seen on his previous raid. Silently he made his way forwards.

It would be easy for a warrior of his skill and valour to withstand a group of men and women, but he was no fool. There was no point in running towards unnecessary danger. He hadn't come here to prove his worth in battle. Tonight he was seeking treasure, not glory, and only two nights ago he had discovered exactly where to find it. His mind raced ahead of his legs, remembering the hoard he had seen. It was just round the next corner. He had only to wait for the right moment. When the street was deserted he would smash his way in, seize as much loot as he could carry, and vanish into the night. This time, he had brought three large bags with him. The haul would be worth the wait. It was going to make him rich.

He turned the corner and made his way along the street, hardly noticing the shops he passed. His eyes were fixed on the prize on the opposite side of the street. This time lights were on in the shop, illuminating shiny metal and bright jewels. A couple jostled him as they passed by. He gazed around in frustration. The streets were too busy, the pavements too crowded. He would have to return another time when people were indoors seeking shelter, not outside wandering the streets. A group of young women passed him, laughing and shrieking. One of them brushed his arm as she went by. With an involuntary movement his hand gripped the handle of his axe, but the time was not right. Tonight the gods were not smiling on his quest.

He could be patient.

13

Dana had been
working for her uncle for over three years. It wasn't exactly her dream job, standing behind the counter hour after hour, waiting for customers, but what really worried her was that the stock was so valuable. She was terrified when her uncle went out and left her alone. If anything, she was even more nervous now than when he had first left her in sole charge of the shop. She had been younger then, and hadn't known what some of the pricier items were worth.

‘Don't look so worried,' her uncle told her as he prepared to go out. ‘Nothing's going to happen. I've been here for sixteen years and I've had no disasters yet. I don't intend to start now.'

She mumbled about being afraid someone would come in and steal some of the jewellery on display.

‘That's what the alarm's for. But I've never had to use it yet.'

The emergency alarm went straight to the police station, only by the time they arrived, any thief with legs would have scarpered.

Her uncle laughed off her fears. ‘Everything's insured,' he said.

‘But what if they turn violent?'

‘You don't have to let anyone in if you're not happy about them,' her uncle replied.

But how was she supposed to know who was a genuine customer, and who was a brutal robber? Criminals didn't turn up in balaclavas brandishing guns. At least, she didn't think they did. Being left on her own was definitely the worst aspect of the job, but, as her father pointed out when Uncle Tim offered her the job, beggars couldn't be choosers. She hadn't exactly covered herself in glory at school, leaving with no qualifications. Her uncle's offer had been a godsend. It was that, or scrabbling around with everyone else after jobs at Tesco or Sainsbury's, and those were hard enough to come by these days.

‘It was different for you,' she had whined to her mother. ‘There were jobs around when you were my age.'

‘You just have to try harder.'

As it turned out, she hadn't needed to try at all, because Uncle Tim had been looking to recruit an assistant. She had agreed to take the job readily enough, not that her parents had given her much choice in the matter. Tim had taken her on for a probationary period, and that was three years ago.

‘At least I know I can trust you, if nothing else,' he had told her when she had accepted his offer. Her mother had snapped at him for being rude, but Dana wasn't insulted. She knew she wasn't exactly Brain of Britain.

For the most part it wasn't a bad job. At least it was a job. Some of her friends weren't earning anything or, worse luck for them, were still at college, and here she was with cash of her own to spend and lovely jewellery to look at all day. Her uncle had given her a gorgeous ring for Christmas.

‘They're not real diamonds,' he had told her.

‘Who cares? It's beautiful! Are you sure I can have it? Really?'

Tim had winked at her as he removed the price tag. ‘I've told you before, Dana, what it's worth and what it can fetch aren't the same thing. But that's between us.'

She wasn't sure she understood what he meant, but she didn't care. She had a lovely new ring to show off to her mates. Life was good. Some of the gems in her uncle's shop were so sparkly she could hardly keep her eyes off them. When he was out, she could try on anything she wanted. One day she was going to have a big real diamond ring of her very own. She had already picked one out. It had tiny little diamonds along the shoulders, and a big princess-cut solitaire in the middle. It was the most beautiful ring in the shop, and one of the most expensive.

‘One day I'm going to have one like that,' she had told her uncle, pointing to it.

He had laughed. ‘You'll have to find yourself a rich boyfriend first.'

‘I'll find a sugar daddy,' she had promised him, and they both laughed.

Uncle Tim was all right, if you caught him in a good mood. Today he was going to visit a client. He packed a selection of rings into a little black bag and tucked it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

‘How can you go out with those in your pocket like that?' It wasn't the first time Dana had asked him that.

Tim gave his tolerant smile. ‘They're all insured.'

‘But what if you get mugged? They could beat you up. A girl was attacked a few days ago and killed just round the corner. They still haven't caught whoever did it. He could be out there now...'

Tim burst out laughing. ‘For goodness sake, stop fussing. No one's going to beat me up. No one knows what's in my pocket. Unless you tell them, of course. Now come on, you know you're worse than your mother. I never knew a person to be such a fusser. Don't forget to put the alarm on and lock up properly if I'm not back in time to close up.'

‘Now who's fussing?'

As soon as Tim left she checked the door was locked. Her uncle was probably going to be gone for most of the day. She went back behind the counter and stood near the alarm button. After a few minutes, she went over and checked the door again, even though she could see it was properly closed. Then she went and stood behind the counter again. To take her mind off the worry of being there alone, she opened the drawer and pulled out a tray of rings. Enchanted, she tried them on, one by one. Absorbed in studying how lovely they looked on her slim fingers, she didn't notice someone entering the shop. Startled by a noise, she looked up and screamed.