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Among the other villagers James had met were Charlie and Sonia Jenkins, landlords of The White Hart pub, and Giles Keegan, a former member of the Cumbria Constabulary who used to work in the same office where James was now based.
‘They’ve all been really welcoming,’ Annie said. ‘But you ought to ask Giles what he thinks. I’m sure that not much happens in Kirkby Abbey that he isn’t aware of.’
Among those James hadn’t met was Keith Patel and it was Patel’s name that James scrawled in his notebook, along with the fact that Annie had seen him walking towards their house pulling a shopping trolley shortly before the parcel was left on their doorstep. Was it just a coincidence? Probably. But that did not mean it wasn’t a credible line of inquiry, along with Andrew Sullivan’s possible involvement.
Obviously, Annie knew only a very small number of the seven hundred or so people who resided in Kirkby Abbey, and many of those she’d known when she’d lived here with her parents had since left the village. The shrinking population was the main reason that things had changed and were continuing to change. The only church was due to close for good early in the new year because of a dramatic fall in the number of worshippers, and it was thought unlikely that the campaign to save the primary school would succeed.
These were issues that James had raised with Annie in recent months – though they hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm for the move – and he had got her to agree not to sell the house in Tottenham or rent it out for at least six months, until they had a better idea of what would happen in Kirkby Abbey. They also needed the time to find out if life in rural England would suit them both.
As well as talking to Annie about the villagers, James sent an email to one of his colleagues in the Met asking for a status report on Andrew Sullivan. He wanted to know where he was and what he’d been up to.
He then went online and pulled up photos of partridges. It didn’t take him long to establish that the poor thing in the box was a grey partridge that was pretty common in Cumbria. It was easily recognisable from its orange face and the dark horseshoe-shaped patch on its chest.
Of course, partridges were immortalized in the carol The Twelve Days of Christmas, but James reminded himself of the fact that the real ‘twelve days of Christmas’ is a period in Christian theology that marks the span between the birth of Christ and the coming of the three wise men. It begins on Christmas Day and runs to January 6th.
So why had the person or persons who delivered the parcel alluded to it in the message? Was it part of a prank aimed at seizing his attention in the most dramatic fashion? Or was it a genuine warning that a killing spree would take place in Kirkby Abbey over the Christmas period?
Both James and Annie had a restless night, unable to sleep properly with so much on their minds. It didn’t help that a blustery wind caused the bedroom window to rattle noisily for much of the time.
James awoke at seven on Saturday morning and saw that a layer of snow had settled over the village. Chimneys sprouted through marshmallow rooftops and the street out front was devoid of tyre tracks and footprints. Their two cars, and those belonging to the neighbours, were little more than strange white shapes that looked bulky and out of place in the tranquil setting.
When he switched on the TV in the kitchen, the weather forecaster was saying that there was much worse to come. She used words such as blizzards and disruption to describe what to expect.
‘My advice is to be prepared and don’t get caught out,’ she said.
James had been looking forward to spending the first day of the weekend relaxing with Annie. The plan had been to see what was on offer at the farmers’ market in the village square and then to have a leisurely lunch at The White Hart.
But the parcel had created an unwanted distraction and was bound to occupy their thoughts throughout the day.
He made Annie a cup of tea and took it to her in the bedroom. She asked him what he was going to do about the parcel and he told her that he wasn’t sure.
‘I’ll give it another hour or so and call the lab,’ he said. ‘They promised to prioritise the tests. Then I’ll check with the boss to see what he thinks the next step should be.’
The hour passed quickly enough. By eight thirty, they were both showered and dressed and having a cereal breakfast at the kitchen table. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall, but it seemed like the wind had dropped.
In the end, James didn’t have to put in a call to the lab because one of the technicians phoned him. But the news was disappointing. The only prints found on the box, the wrapping paper, clingfilm and card belonged to him. And the initial examination indicated that there was no DNA trace evidence on any of the objects.
‘As for the partridge, I can confirm that it was a hen,’ the technician said. ‘And it had been stabbed it the stomach. We estimate that it was killed at some point in the past twenty-four to thirty-six hours.’
After hanging up with the lab, James phoned DCI Tanner at home to tell him the results.
‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ Tanner said. ‘Whoever did it would have made sure to cover their tracks.’
James told him how Annie had spotted one of the villagers heading towards their house around the time the parcel was dumped on the doorstep.
‘It’s a tenuous link at best,’ Tanner said. ‘I’m sure there would have been other people she didn’t see. But I suppose it’s worth having a chat with him. And you could try to find out if the type of wrapping paper and card that was used can be purchased locally.’
‘Leave it with me, guv,’ James said. ‘Meanwhile, I’m not ruling out Andrew Sullivan. I’ve asked a former colleague in the Met to check what he’s up to for me.’
Tanner was one of the few officers in the Cumbria Constabulary who knew about the brick incident and the threats James had received from Sullivan in the past.
‘At this stage let’s keep everything low key,’ the DCI said. ‘My money is on it being a reckless hoax and if I’m right I don’t want us to assign people to it who would be more usefully deployed elsewhere. Severe weather is now being predicted for the week ahead and that could mean massive pressure on our resources.’
James came off the phone and told Annie what Tanner had said. She was about to respond when her own phone rang. Annie answered it and smiled when she heard the caller’s voice. But it was quickly replaced by a frown. She mumbled a couple of times to whoever was on the line, then looked across the table at James.
‘He’s with me now,’ she said into the phone. ‘Of course. Bear with me and I’ll put him on.’
As Annie handed her phone to her husband, she said, ‘It’s Father Silver at St John’s. He’s called me because I gave him my number a few weeks ago. But it’s you he wants to speak to. He says he thinks it’s a police matter.’
James took the phone from Annie. He didn’t know the priest as well as she did, but he’d met him several times.
‘Hi there, Father,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m really sorry to bother you at the weekend, Detective Walker,’ the priest said. ‘But I’m concerned about an odd message I’ve received from someone who hasn’t provided a name but suggests I talk to you.’
‘Really? What kind of message?’
‘Well, it’s written inside a card depicting The Twelve Days of Christmas.’
James felt a shudder ripple through him.
‘Exactly what does it say, Father?’ he asked.
The priest cleared his throat and read out the message, which caused the heat to rise in James’s chest.
‘I’ll be right there, Father,’ he said. ‘And can I ask you to please not show it to anyone else?’
CHAPTER SIX
St John’s Church was a distinctive building set back from the road and close to the centre of the village. It was surrounded by dozens of weathered gravestones and a few impressive yew trees, and had an attractive bell tower.
James thought it a great shame that it was being forced to close, but it was the same story in villages, towns and cities across the country as people sought answers outside religion. He’d read somewhere that since the sixties, church attendance in Cumbria had more than halved as society was becoming more secular and religion more diverse.
The snow had stopped falling by the time he arrived at St John’s, but the sky remained heavy and grey, and the air felt raw. James wondered if this was the calm before the storm.
Father Thomas Silver was placing bibles on the pews when he entered the church, but as soon as he saw James, he stopped what he was doing and hurried over.
The priest was a tall man in his mid-sixties, thin and wiry, with a few strands of grey hair, a heavily lined pale face, and a large nose.
James had first met him at Annie’s mum’s funeral, but back then he’d been quite large. The loss of weight had followed a diagnosis of prostate cancer six months ago. He’d made no secret of the fact that it was terminal and that this would in all likelihood be his last Christmas.
Today he was wearing a black suit and clerical shirt with a tunic collar.
‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Detective Walker,’ he said, shaking James’s hand. ‘I’m not afraid to admit that the message in the card concerns as well as baffles me. I’m hoping you can shed some light on it.’
James shook his head. ‘I wish I could. But I’m as confused as you are, Father. All I can tell you is that I received a similar card yesterday. These things usually turn out to be silly pranks, though.’
‘Then let us hope that is the case here.’
‘Where is the card now?’
‘In the office.’
‘Then please lead the way. Has anyone else touched it?’
‘No, they haven’t. Are you going to have it checked for fingerprints?’
‘Yes.’
He followed Father Silver into his office, which was quite compact, with a single window that looked out on some of the headstones at the back of the church. There was a cluttered desk, a small leather sofa, and the walls were adorned with framed prints of scenes from the bible.
The card had been placed on top of a grey metal filing cabinet along with the envelope it had come in. James saw straight away that it matched exactly the one that had been delivered to him.
He’d come prepared and took a pair of latex gloves and an evidence bag from his overcoat pocket. He slipped the gloves on before picking up the card.
The message inside was scrawled in black marker and the handwriting appeared to be a match as well.
You need to prepare for a spate of post-Christmas funerals, Father Silver. If you want to know why then ask Detective James Walker.
‘How was this delivered to you, Father?’ he asked.
‘It was left on the bench inside the front porch,’ Father Silver said. ‘I saw it when I arrived here this morning from my home in the rectory.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Just across the road.’
‘So it could have been placed there during the night or early today.’
He nodded. ‘I left here and closed up about five yesterday evening so that I could go along to the nativity play at the school. It wasn’t in the porch then.’
‘Was there anyone outside at that time?’
‘No. The churchyard was empty. I’m sure of it. I don’t recall seeing anyone until I got to the school. After the play I went straight back to the rectory and got an early night. I rarely stay up beyond nine o’clock these days as a result of my condition.’
‘Yes, Annie mentioned you had spoken to her about it, Father. I was sorry to hear it.’
‘Thank you, my son. But it’s God’s will so I accept it with good grace.’
‘Nevertheless, it can’t be easy.’
He smiled. ‘It isn’t, but it would be much harder if I didn’t know that I was going to a better place.’
James didn’t want to get involved in a theological discussion at this time so he just nodded, then quickly turned his attention to the envelope. On it was written:
To the priest of St John’s
‘Do you believe that this card and the one that was sent to you are from the same person?’ Father Silver asked.
‘I don’t think there’s any doubt about that,’ James said.
‘Then perhaps they were sent to other people as well.’
James shrugged. ‘If so then I suspect we’ll know soon enough.’
James sealed the evidence bag and placed it in his pocket. His head was spinning now with more questions and a lead weight had started to form in his chest.
He just couldn’t fathom what was going on. What was the aim of the creep who was behind it? Was it to stir up panic in the village before Christmas just to indulge a warped sense of humour? Or had Andrew Sullivan launched a vicious vendetta against him after learning that he was now enjoying a quiet life in the Yorkshire Dales?
James felt sure that in both these scenarios the threat to kill people was an empty one. He was less certain about the worst-case scenario Annie had put forward – that a crazed serial killer might have decided to target people in Kirkby Abbey. It seemed highly unlikely, but James knew that it wasn’t unknown for serial killers to taunt the police with letters and phone calls and to issue warnings about crimes they were planning to commit.
It made him think about the first message:
Twelve days. Twelve murders. Twelve victims. And they all deserve what’s coming to them.
Could it really be that a group of people in this quiet village had incurred the wrath of a genuine psychopath, someone who was living amongst them? And now he or she was determined to exact revenge?
A piercing cry from outside broke his contemplation, causing the hairs to stir on the back of his neck.
The priest heard it too and reacted by rushing over to the window behind the desk.
‘What’s happening?’ James asked. ‘It sounds like someone is angry or upset.’
‘I think you’re right on both counts, Detective. The poor man appears to be in a terrible state.’
James stepped up behind him and peered through the window. He saw a rough-looking man waving his fists in the air and yelling at the sky. He was wearing a green parka and black woollen hat.
‘Do you know him, Father?’
‘Indeed, I do. And I also know what has brought on this reaction.’
‘Oh?’
The priest gave a slow nod. ‘The headstone on his mother’s grave has been defaced again. I saw it yesterday afternoon and had planned to do something about it this morning, but it slipped my mind after I opened the card.’
‘So it’s happened before then?’
‘I’m afraid so. Sadly, Mr Patel is considered fair game for the vandals who get their kicks from damaging and destroying things that don’t belong to them.’
James snapped his head towards the priest. ‘I’m sorry, Father, but what did you say his name was?’
‘It’s Patel. Keith Patel. His mother Nadia died in tragic circumstances a year ago this very week. And he still hasn’t come to terms with losing her.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
James followed the priest as he hurried into the churchyard. By the time they reached Keith Patel he’d stopped wailing and was just standing there, staring down at his mother’s grave.
He turned when he heard them approach, and anger and distress were evident in his expression. His eyes were slits, teeth clenched, and his voice cracked with emotion when he said, ‘It’s the third time the fuckers have done this. Everyone knows who they are but they get away with it because nobody but me gives a toss.’
‘That’s not true, Keith,’ Father Silver said. ‘I care and so do most other people. This is the work of mindless vandals. But rest assured, it won’t take me long to clear it up just as I’ve done before.’
‘That’s not the point and you know it,’ Patel spat back. ‘The people in this village ignored my mother when she was alive, partly because she was Indian and they felt she didn’t fit in. That’s why she died sooner than she should have. And now that she’s in her grave they still treat her with total disrespect.’
When James saw why the man was so upset, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Red paint had been sprayed on the white granite headstone, obliterating the epitaph that was inscribed on it. The paint also stained the marble chippings within the grave’s kerb surround, and a memorial vase was on its side. The flowers that had been in it were scattered across the ground and most of them had been damaged.
Patel suddenly seemed to notice James standing behind the priest, and the lines around his watery eyes deepened into a frown.
‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘You’re the copper who married Annie Kellerman. Are you here because of this?’
James shook his head. ‘I just happened to be with Father Silver in his office, Mr Patel. But I’ll certainly put the wheels in motion so that it can be investigated.’
‘A fat lot of good that’ll do. The police got involved before, but could never prove who was responsible. Not that they spent much time trying. So, I don’t expect it to be any different this time.’
Patel turned his back on them, knelt down and began picking up the flowers.
‘You’re in no fit state to do that, Keith,’ Father Silver said. ‘I insist you go home and leave it to me. It’s my responsibility. I’ve got a bottle of white spirit in the office and some fresh flowers to replace those.’
It seemed at first as if Patel was going to ignore the priest, but after a few seconds he heaved himself to his feet, which seemed to require a great deal of effort.
‘I’ll come back later this afternoon then,’ he said, after taking a shivering breath. ‘And by then I expect you to have it sorted.’
The priest nodded. ‘I will, Keith. I promise. And I’m so sorry. This is simply not acceptable.’
Patel then turned to James. ‘I heard on the grapevine that your wife persuaded you to move here from London. She probably told you that this is a quiet place where everyone is pleasant and friendly. Well, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s a shithole, and most of the people are heartless scumbags and racists. But I reckon you’ll soon find that out for yourself. Meanwhile, give my regards to Annie. Her mother was one of the very few people who gave my mum the time of day.’
‘Annie told me that you bumped into each other early yesterday evening,’ James said. ‘You were pulling a shopping trolley and heading towards your house.’
Patel frowned. ‘I don’t remember that.’
‘She said hi to you.’
‘Did she? I obviously didn’t hear. I’d been to stock up at the store and was in a hurry to get home.’
James didn’t want to put him on the spot by challenging his rather unconvincing explanation in front of the priest. He’d do it later, when there was no one else around. Instead, he watched as Patel turned and headed towards the churchyard exit.
‘Why is he limping?’ James asked Father Silver.
‘He suffers from a serious case of rheumatoid arthritis in his knee joints,’ the priest said. ‘It’s getting progressively worse with age.’
‘Does he work?’
‘No. He manages on benefits and a cash sum his mother left him.’
‘Annie told me what happened to her and why he holds a grudge against some of the villagers. But where was he when his mother fell down the stairs?’
‘At the time he was working as a shop assistant in Manchester and living in a rented flat. By all accounts he was barely managing to pay the bills, but he came to see his mum, Nadia, as often as possible.’
‘So do you know much about him, Father?’ James asked.
‘Well, I know that his father Floyd passed away some years ago. The man followed the Catholic faith and so did Nadia. She joined our congregation soon after she moved here. A delightful, God-fearing woman who died before her time. She left the house to Keith, who has never married, and he settled here. But in my opinion that was a mistake because he’s full of resentment for the villagers. He should have sold up and moved elsewhere.’
‘Why didn’t he?’
The priest gestured at the grave in front of them. ‘He told me he wanted to stay close to her. Couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her alone.’
Father Silver then offered to make James a cup of tea.
‘That’s very kind of you, Father. But before you make it I wonder if you could provide me with a fingerprint sample so that we can distinguish it from any others we might find on the card and envelope.’
‘Of course, Detective. That’s not a problem.’
Back inside the church, the priest stuck his right thumb and fingers against a small, clear handheld mirror that James placed in another evidence bag.
They had a brief conversation then, during which Father Silver was at pains to point out that Patel’s negative comments about the village and its residents were far from true.
‘They’re good people, with a few exceptions,’ he said. ‘But I have to acknowledge that the community itself has become quite dispirited. Too many young families have moved away, partly because there’s so little work. And things are set to get worse with the closure of this church and the school. It’s desperately troubling for me that I won’t be around to offer hope and counselling during the tough times that lie ahead, especially if the person responsible for those cards is not a prankster, but is intent on bringing death and destruction to Kirkby Abbey.’
‘Try not to lose sleep over it, Father,’ James said. ‘The odds are that it’s a hoax.’
The priest compressed his lips tightly together and nodded.
‘I will pray that you’re right about that, Detective Walker. But if you’re not then I just hope you are able to apprehend this person before he harms anyone.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Annie was waiting for James to call her after his visit to the church. They were hoping to meet up so they could have a drink and some lunch together, and she was eager to hear if Father Silver knew or suspected who had sent him the threatening card.
She was still reeling from the shock of it. James, typically, had tried to play it down, his face remaining firm and stoic as he’d relayed what the priest had told him over the phone.
But Annie could tell from the look in his eyes that it had rattled him. It was the same look that had been there after the brick was hurled through the window of their home in Tottenham.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. They had moved to Cumbria so that they could feel safe and secure. But suddenly a nagging sense of dread had been planted in her stomach, and she found it hard to think about anything other than the dead partridge and those ominous messages.
She did her best to try to take her mind off it by keeping busy. After tidying the kitchen, she finished off putting up the decorations ready for when James’s family arrived en masse on Christmas Eve.
But she was already starting to wonder if they should even come now. God only knew what was going to happen during the next seven days.
She found herself looking at the framed photos on the mantlepiece. There was one of her and James on their wedding day, which took place at a fancy hotel in Kent. Dozens of pictures were taken that day, but this one of them standing either side of the cake was her favourite. They were smiling at each other, and it was clear for all to see that they were so happy and very much in love.
James was a fine figure of a man at the best of times, tall and lean with thick brown hair, but on that day he’d looked really scrumptious in his black Moss Bros. morning suit and waistcoat.
The photo next to it was the last one taken of her parents together. It was at the start of a charity hike on Wild Boar Fell which raised £3,000 for Save The Children. Two months later her dad collapsed and died of a heart attack and her mum never went hiking again.