Her Moons Denouement (Fallen Angels Book 2) (14 page)

Chapter 22

Bentley stared intently at the dust devils riding on the sliver of light shining through the crack of the under stair cupboard door.  The sliver came as the morning sun shone through the dirty Fanlight above the front door, affording his dark prison a first glimpse of the new day. 

He didn’t move, just continued to follow the dancing dust.  He listened to the heating pipes of the old house groaning, the main pipes running down the wall behind him on their way back into the cellar.  They carried tales from the rooms in the house, tales of people moving, tales of people chatting, tales of people living.  This morning they were lifeless apart from the natural creaking of the house as it stretched in the dawn light.

His father thought that locking him under the stairs was a punishment.  Bentley had accustomed his mind early in his childhood that it wasn’t.  The dark confined space with its slat of a bed covered in a worn candlewick blanket was a world of possibility, his imagination using the blackness as a blank canvas to paint out the life tunes that the pipes played to him.  He would hear his sister playing with her dolls, his father reciting sermons, his mother…forgetting that he was in here when ‘Uncles’ called around.

Still no sound.  He knew that Dessie was still away but thought that his father would be around.  Then he heard a low growl from just outside the door.  It was Jackson in his kennel.  The growl turned into a series of broken, timid barks and Bentley raised his head off the blanketed slat, listening for a knock on the front door.  Jacksons bark turned menacing just as a loud bang echoed down the hallway, followed by the front door slamming off the wall and urgent voices shouting instructions.

‘First two, rooms to the left, second two, the right, third two upper left, fourth two upper right.  GO, GO, GO!’

Bentley sat upright and put his ear to the door, listening intently, his face a mask of sheer panic.

‘It’s his sister we are after, but when you find Bentley, bring the waste of space directly to me.  Tait, take that yapping mutt and put it in the back of the car for the moment.’  Cruickshank ordered as she walked into the hallway after the main body of police officers. 

‘This is a throwback to the seventies. My granny’s house used to be decorated like this.’ Cruickshank continued as she walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, looking into each room as she passed them, watching the officers searching.  She turned as she reached the kitchen entrance and paced back towards the front door.  ‘Too quiet gentlemen, I can’t hear you sounding off!’ she shouted up the stairs as she passed.

Tait came running back from the car and joined her in the hall. 

‘Upper left clear!’, ‘Upper right clear!’ came the blaring retorts from upstairs, followed by the same from downstairs, the officers done with searching returning to the hallway. 

‘No one at all, not even Bentley?’ Cruickshank asked, surprised.

‘No one Ma’am.’ reiterated Sergeant Calvey.

‘Take the guys and search the outhouses.  Check any basements and double check any cupboards.  They shouldn’t have been expecting us, but you never can tell.  Tait, let forensics know they can come in and begin processing.  Get them to start in her bedroom.’ she ordered, walking towards the under stairs cupboard as everyone dispersed.  She pulled the door open and took a step back in surprise as she saw the cowering, terrified form of Bentley staring back at her from the corner of the cupboard.

‘Jesus Bentley, what are you doing in there!  Get yourself out now.  Were you hiding?’ she shouted, her voice raised, more in shock than anger.  She took in the small bench and the blanket as Bentley unfurled to his full height and girth as he stepped out of the cupboard, his generally brusque demeanour trying hard to tame the terror in his eyes as he stood and faced Cruickshank.

‘I was just changing my boots Ma’am, had Jackson out for a walk and I was getting ready for work when I heard the commotion and didn’t know what it was.  Thought someone might be breaking in, so I pulled the door shut.’

He didn’t look her in the eyes, just stared straight ahead at the wall, pulling his creased, filthy coat into some semblance of straightness on his body.

Tait re-entered the hallway, followed by Laurent, the Forensic Examiner.  He shot Bentley a dismissive snarl and shoulder pushed him as he walked by.  Tait looked at Bentley in surprise.  ‘Where did you come from?’

‘I was just putting my boots on.’ he answered, almost apologetically as he leant and grabbed Laurent by the scruff of his jacket neck just as he was nearly past, a shot of fire flashing through his otherwise still terrified eyes.

‘Sorry Ma’am, I can’t let any of you do anything else in this house until I’ve seen a warrant.  I don’t even know what you are doing here so I’ll be buggered if I’m letting this French twat anywhere near my sister’s bedroom.’

‘That’s a fair point Bentley, but let Laurent go.  Laurent, you just stay there for a minute and bite your tongue.’  She reached inside her long black raincoat, pulled out a tri folded piece of paper and handed it over to Bentley.

He opened it and read the text, his face falling into obvious worry once more.  He handed Cruickshank the letter back. ‘Did he examine the evidence?’  Bentley asked, nodding towards Laurent.

‘No, one of his colleagues did, and I was there watching, just to ensure that no mistakes were made this time.  It is conclusive.’

‘Go on, go and process the room, but don’t make a fucking mess!’ he snarled at Laurent.

‘Come on Bentley, let’s sit down and talk, I’ll make us a cup of coffee.’  Tait said, taking his shaking arm and leading him off towards the kitchen.

Cruickshank stood back aghast, a look of fury on her face.  ‘What the hell do you think you are doing Tait!  He is a suspect, he doesn’t get bloody tea and sympathy!’

Tait was equally as forthright as she stood up to her superior. ‘Yes Ma’am he is, but just a suspect.  We have no evidence linking him to what we have found and he is still a colleague, albeit one you do not have the time of day for.  We have just raided his house and if I were him, I would be shocked and wanting to know what the hell is going on.  In the circumstances, I don’t think a cup of coffee and an explanation is beyond the realms of decency and it is certainly not something that will jeopardise the investigation.’ she finished, staring out Cruickshank, who cracked first.

‘Go on then, make him a bloody cup of coffee. Mine’s tea, milk with two sugars while you are at it.’ she replied, exasperated, flinging her arms in the air as she followed them into the kitchen.

‘Where’s the tea and coffee Bentley?’ Tait asked as she guided him into the booth. 

‘First wall cupboard to the left of the sink.’ he answered, shuffling up the bench.

Cruickshank sat down opposite him, using her hands to navigate her body along the cushioned bench as her feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

‘So what did you find?’ Bentley asked, playing with his fingers on the table nervously.

‘Imam Mann had keepsakes of all his murders.  Little pouches made of the clitoral foreskin that he ripped from his victims.  Inside the pouches he kept the severed, dried up clitoris.  They were in a floor safe we found in the location Perdip directed us to.  There wasn’t a little pouch for Sunni Bhalla.  Instead there was just a small plastic bag with her name on it.  Strange, I grant you and certainly something that was planted there.  But there were two sets of DNA inside the bag, one Sunni Bhalla’s, the other….’  She paused as Tait returned to the table and handed out the drinks, sitting down deliberately beside Bentley as she passed him a chipped and stained Celtic Mug.

‘See you have one of those at home too.’ she said, smiling at him encouragingly.

Cruickshank shook her head disconsolately at the overt support Tait was showing and carried on.  ‘The other was a fifty percent match to your DNA Bentley.  Which tells us it’s not your DNA, but one of your siblings.  As far as I am aware, you only have one sister, Desiderata Bentley.  So that’s why we are here, early in the morning, to question her about the disappearance of Sunni Bhalla in 2004.  If it were just that, we wouldn’t be this heavy handed, but there is also the matter of Heather Scott and your dog’s DNA being found as part of that investigation.  Where is she Bentley?’

‘She’s away on a trip.  She went over to Ireland for a few days with a friend.  She will be back later on today.’

‘Dates and times Bentley, we will check it out. Make a note Tait.’

‘I don’t know exactly, it was an afternoon flight yesterday, about 14:00 from Edinburgh, I think she gets back on the return flight today.  It should get in at around16:00.’

‘And the friend?’

‘Buggered if I know, someone called Carly I think.’

‘What about your Dad, where is he?’

‘I’m not sure; he went out before I got up.  He could have an early service at the church.’

‘Which church would that be?’

‘It’s over on Pennywell Road, other side of the Forth.  Okay, so the evidence might not have been contaminated, but it was most definitely planted.  Has it not crossed your mind that someone is out to get me and they are using my family to do that?  I am telling you, this has Rebecca Angus stamped all over it.  She is a nut job, she is loose, and she is after me.’

‘That might very well be true Bentley, and I hope for your sake it is, because the other alternative is that in some way shape or form your family are implicated in the murder of one woman, Heather Scott and the disappearance of another, Sunni Bhalla.  Given the other crimes these women are being connected to, I have to wonder, in what macabre way could your family be implicated?’

The back door from the garage opened and Sergeant Calvey came into the kitchen, approaching the table. 

‘The house is clear Ma’am, definitely no one here but Bentley and the dog.  One thing you do need to be aware of though Ma’am.’

‘What’s that?’

‘In the garage Ma’am, at the back there is a hidden door that leads down a ladder to a stone room.  There is a made up bed and a single chair in there.  It was only the disturbed dust on the floor that alerted us to the fact the door was there, it’s not easy to see otherwise.’

Cruickshank looked back towards Bentley’s haggard features, watching them grimace even more as she took in the news, her face full of questions and disappointment.  ‘I think you’ve got some explaining to do my lad, don’t you?’

Chapter 23

‘He was never in the crate John, never in danger.  Hanlon had him at an apartment on the Quayside in Newcastle the whole time.  When Featherstone Hall blew up, he was sixty miles away, blissfully sleeping.’

How do you describe a feeling that is at the same time euphoria and desolation?  If it were a colour, it would have to be red, vivacious and vibrant, but with hidden menace.  If it were a sound, the squeal of a baby pig, loud, raucous and full of excited anticipation, but painful, grating and bone curdling.  Euphoria that Jacob is alive, desolation that Sarah died needlessly.  All the time knowing it was my choice that killed her.  But the euphoria is not just because he is alive.  His eyes are no longer the emptiness of forever.  They are the eternity of hope as I watch them dilate.  As I watch my beautiful son make them dilate.

We are in an apartment on the Royal Mile, in one of the older tall sandstone buildings overlooking Waverley Station and across to Princess Street, to the hotel where I am staying.  The second Rebecca told me he was alive last night, I had wanted to come and see him.  But she dissuaded me.  We had a lot to talk through other than Jacob and we needed to get a plan of action worked out.  I think what she really wanted to know was:  do I want to live.  The Russian roulette had been intense and had opened up old rooms and deep emotions.  I was hyper, my mind buzzing with a million thoughts spurred on by the revelations of the day.  She was quite right to keep me away for a while longer.  Surprisingly I fell asleep at around five in the morning and woke up at around nine with Rebecca cuddled in, her head resting on my chest  It’s the most sleep I have had in two weeks.

She has changed out of the black leather cat suit and is now wearing pale blue jeans and a white long sleeved vest with a round neck.  She has toned down the makeup and is wearing a short blonde wig.  Every time I look at her, I see a glimpse of Jess.

‘It is incredible, absolutely incredible.’ I say to her as I watch his eyes dilate again.

‘I think he is excited to see you.  Jacob, are you pleased to see Daddy?’ Rebecca asks.

His eyes move just once and I smile the broadest smile ever, the corners of my mouth wanting to rip.

‘More importantly, were you pleased to see Ian?’ I ask, lifting the small tan bear up in front of his eyes.  They move just once and I snuggle Ian into the crick of his neck.  Then they flick three times quickly.

‘There were three flicks there.  What does that mean?’

‘That means up.  I think he wants to sit up a little more.  He likes looking out of the window, watching the world.  Four flicks means down.  That is as far as we have gone: Yes, No, Up and Down.  But that is amazing for someone who two weeks ago had never voluntarily moved a single muscle in his body.’

‘Sarah would just be so ecstatic, knowing he can do this.’ I turn away from Jacob as the words fill me with emotion.  I don’t want him to see my tears and my anguish as guilt once again overwhelms me.

‘John, you need to be stronger than that, not just for Jacob but for yourself.  Caving in under a single thought, letting the guilt overwhelm you like that is not going to get anyone anywhere.  I know you had a nail rammed through them, but you do still have a pair of bollocks, don’t you?’

I haven’t known her that long and most of what I do know about her is from the Hanlon tapes, but Rebecca is real and straight to the point.  Always.  Is that something Madame Evangeline taught her?

‘Point taken.  Practically, how the hell has a mental patient on the run from the law managed to get a disabled young child up here in a day?’

‘Easier than you think when we both have brand new identities and a shit load of money.  No one is looking for a middle aged woman trying to get help with her disabled child.  It’s not out of the ordinary and practically, the ordinary is easy to achieve.  However, if anyone sees you here with a disabled child, then that’s a different matter.  Your face has been all over the news.  So practically, we meet at your hotel room and occasionally, when Anka is having time off, you can come and see him.  Agreed?’

I answer, grudgingly, knowing she is right.  ‘Agreed.’

I turn back and watch Jacob as he looks out of the window.  ‘Why do you think Hanlon left him with you?’

‘He kept saying, ‘We have let you down.’ and I couldn’t quite understand why at the time.  Looking back, I think he was referring to Gordon Ennis and what he did to Michael.  I don’t think that was part of their plan.  I don’t think they expected me to end up in a mental asylum being abused.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he felt guilty, I think he just wanted to give me something back that I had lost: my baby boy.’

‘That reminds me, can we have a look at the DVD you have of Michael with Eve?’

She nods and walks towards the TV at the other end of the open plan apartment, switching it on.  A still image blurs into life from the black of the screen, an image of Eve, of Jess, of Madame Evangeline: one in the same, another unholy trinity.

‘You had it ready?’

‘I put it on when you went to the loo.  I knew you would want to see it, just to make sure.’

She’s right again.  I walk up to the screen and stand beside Rebecca, taking in the image.

‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, I just don’t trust my own judgement.’

‘Bollocks, you were never going to believe it until you saw her with your own eyes.  Now, I know you will want to play the video too.  I am going to pop to the loo for a minute while you do.  Not because I need a piss but because seeing Michael is still raw and quite frankly, I am struggling to grow a pair where he is concerned.’

She squeezes my hand as she slips the remote control into it and then leaves the room.

I press play and watch as the image starts to move and the woman I know as Jessica Seymour starts to speak.

‘Hi Mrs Angus, pleased to meet you.  I’m Eve.  I would like to have met you in the flesh but Michael is a little shy about introducing me, so here I am in the pixels instead.  I hope we can meet personally really soon.’

The clip ends.  No doubt.  The way she slinked up that bed.  The way her voice sounded, deep and resonant, going deeper on the ‘p’s.  The features, exactly the same.  Not nearly the same, like Rebecca’s, but exactly the same.  Eve is Jessica.  Now we just have to work out how to find them:  Adam and Eve.

Rebecca comes back into the room and walks up to me and, taking the remote control, she switches the TV off.

‘Well?’

‘Not a single doubt in my mind.’

‘Good, now what are we going to do?’

‘We need to find out where they are.  I know you never knew where Madame Evangeline lived, but could you mark up on a map of Edinburgh every place the two of you ever met?  We might be able to cross reference those locations and narrow down an area to search in.’

‘Yep, I can start that now. Anka won’t be back for a few hours yet.  What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to chase up Harry Massah and visit the two Fallen Angel suicide crime scenes.  I want to visualise what happened there, try and see if I can get any inkling as to where they are going reveal their next killer.’

‘You think there will be a next?’

‘I’m expecting four.  She wiped the paint off a quarter of her face.  I’m expecting the police will get another video today and I don’t think they are going to be able to stop the press running with it for much longer so keep the news channels on.  Expect to see a lot about the arrests last night too.’  

I walk over to the window and kneel in front of Jacob, looking him directly in the eyes.  ‘Daddy is going for a while but I will be back.  Do you understand?’  One flick.  ‘I love you little man.’ One flick.  I kiss him on the forehead as I stand, walking back towards Rebecca, who I cuddle tightly.

‘Keep in touch anyway, but if you think of anything or find anything when you are jotting down your rendezvous, just call.’

‘I will.’ she answers and with that, I leave the apartment.

Before the events at Featherstone Hall, if anyone had told me that I would be colluding with an escaped murderer, withholding evidence from the police and to be blunt about it, perverting the course of justice, I would have requested they be sectioned.  It’s interesting how experience changes your perspective.  It’s amazing how the smallest thing, the simple dilation of a pupil, can change it all again.  Last night, Rebecca made me want to live for myself, to gain back control.  Today, that little man has made my heart feel again.  I have a purpose now and that is to find out what all of this is about, not just what Jess did to me.  I seem to be just a piece in their overall game.  Not sure if I’m a pawn, a knight or a king.  But I’m going to find out.

I turn out of a narrow cobbled alley onto The Royal Mile, a little restaurant called ‘Angels with Bagpipes’ directly to my right.  Ironic that it is named after a statue of an Angel in the Thistle Chapel over the road.  A chapel that is part of St Giles Cathedral.  I turn left and look down towards the crown like dome of St Giles Cathedral that rises in the skyline about five hundred metres further down the road.  It’s only ten o’clock but the Mile is bustling already with tourists of every conceivable nationality heading either past me towards the Castle, or in my direction towards the main Fringe area.  I overhear lots of conversations, many people talking about the suicides of the past few days, many people speculating on who the Fallen Angels are.  Many more thrust flyers into my hands. A comedian cracking banal one liners, a Shakespeare look-alike spouting sonnets, a Hare Krishna singing ‘My Sweet Lord’, a Goth just looking mean and moody.  I thrust the flyers into my jeans pocket, my mobile ringing at the same time. I pull the phone out and look at the screen.  Number withheld.  Not Rebecca then.   

‘Hello, John Saul.’

‘DI Saul, it’s Harry Massah.  Is it convenient to talk?’

‘Harry, yes.  Have you got some good news for me?’

‘Getting to be good, most definitely.  I have very good CCTV images of Jessica and the other man getting off a train at Waverley and some not so good footage of them leaving the station.’

‘That’s excellent.  Were they picked up, did they catch a taxi, a bus?’

‘That’s why it’s just good and not excellent.  From what I can see they walked.  I have them on one of the street camera’s going onto Princess Street, but then lose them going into a shop.’

‘What shop was it?  They will probably have cameras.  I can go and find out.’

‘Already on it, I’ll be seeing them in half an hour.  How about we catch up for a coffee after that, say about half twelve and I’ll show you what I have.’

‘You’re in Edinburgh!’

‘Well, they weren’t going to give the CCTV footage to me just because I asked nicely.  Sometimes it’s only the personal touch that gets you what you need.  Twelve thirty?  There’s a café on the ground floor in Jenners.’

‘I’m impressed.  Twelve thirty it is.’ I answer, hanging up.

I am impressed.  It’s not often that I’ve come across a Private Detective who has made me feel like that.  The crowd gets thicker approaching St Giles, street performers out in force, encouraging crowd participation.  Most of the noise I hear is jovial banter, rising above the general hubbub of conversation and the occasional blast of bagpipes.  But in amongst that I hear some more urgent, aggressive shouting.

My feet and groin are tender from yesterday’s exertions, but I gently jump up in the air, trying to see over the dense crowds in front of me.  Just outside St Giles I can see a melee of police officers.  I see arms being raised, truncheons being wielded, bottles being thrown, vulgarities being screamed.  I push through the crowd, apologising as I do, trying to get closer.  Words reach me before I arrive, startling my mind.

‘Not all like him!  What about the bloody paedophiles, what about the fucking Magdalene Nuns.  It’s one atrocity after the next with you catholic scum and all the Pope and his cronies ever do is cover it up!’

I reach the edge of a line being pushed back by police officers and see through their cordon, to a crowd of Catholics outside the entrance to St Giles holding banners proclaiming ‘Jesus Forgives’, ‘In God we Trust’, ‘Faith Is Not Fear’, ‘Suicide is for Sinners’ amongst many others.  A further line of police officers is attempting to hold back a smaller crowd of….they just look like tourists, yes, they are tourists.  They hurl Starbucks Coffee cups, plastic Coke bottles, in fact anything they have to hand over the barrier they are trying to breach, the officers wrestling them to the ground as they rush their line.