The Principle of Evil

CHAPTER 7

Elias looked out of the window and sighed as Stefan drove his car towards Rachel Larson’s flat. The tired-looking buildings that ran through the heart of the industrial area did little to enhance an already rundown part of Haverbridge. As they headed towards Haverbridge North, Stefan squinted at the bright shafts of light penetrating through random gaps in the gunmetal grey clouds above.

He hadn’t offered Elias any conversation and he felt uncomfortable. Racking his brains for something to chat about, he couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound contrived or insincere.

‘Ice Maiden gave you permission to take me out with you, did she?’

Stefan’s face shot around to look at him, feeling Elias had somehow read his mind. He returned Stefan’s gaze. ‘I mean Claire, of course.’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Stefan was never really any good at lying, not even telling little white ones.

‘Sure you don’t. Why would you? It’s all in my head, I get it,’ Elias said. Stefan remained quiet, concentrating on the traffic. ‘Is she like this with everyone she first meets?’

Stefan felt his face flush a little as he drew near a roundabout. ‘It’s the third exit here, isn’t it?’

Elias laughed. ‘Don’t change the subject.’

Stefan sighed as he followed the road away from the roundabout and slowed the car as he approached some local shops, pulling into one of three parking spaces outside a chip shop.

‘Larson’s flat is one of them over the shops,’ he said, looking Elias hard in the face. ‘And with Claire, just cut her some slack. You’re new to a tight-knit team, she’s naturally wary.’

Elias looked incredulous. ‘Everyone’s so far up her arse and I just don’t get it.’

Stefan had heard enough and as Elias got out of the car, Stefan followed after him. ‘Word of advice. Just drop it.’

‘Drop what?’

‘Your petty vendetta against Claire. She’s got the respect of those in high places, not to mention from those who work directly with her, me included. My advice to you is to make the most of the time you’ve got left at Haverbridge.’

Stefan started towards the stairs which led to the flats above the shops, when he felt Elias pull at his shoulder.

‘You’re threatening me?’

‘I don’t need to. Your attitude alone is gonna get you the push.’ Elias was silent but his eyes bore into Stefan’s. ‘Why are you starting something with Claire? That’s what I don’t get.’

‘I’m not. I just can’t seem to find any common ground with her. I don’t know what I’ve got to do or who I have to become to get her to say, “You know what, Crest? You’ve done a good job today.”’

Stefan’s eyes widened with amusement. ‘You’re expecting a pat on the back every time you do something good?’

‘What, you think I don’t deserve her thanks?’

‘Wow, your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?’

Elias dismissed him with a gesture of his hands and started up the stairs. ‘You may like being pussy-whipped by a woman but I don’t.’ Stefan stared at him, face blank. ‘Let’s just see the Larson girl, shall we?’

CHAPTER 8

Daryl Thomas watched from the window of his old beat-up BMW, parked across the road, eyes narrowing as the two men, dressed in suits, moved towards her.

Rachel was sitting in the bus shelter on her usual daytime patch, looking at her mobile phone when the two men approached her. She seemed nervous and he saw her eyes flash across the street in his direction.

It meant one thing.

Trouble.

The black eye he’d given her for lying to him about Nola had started to fade but he could still see it from the car. He’d cursed himself inwardly for damaging her where people could see. This wasn’t out of some new-found sense of sympathy for her, but purely from a business point of view. It might put the punters off.

One of the men stood in front of her, blocking his view.

Daryl lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled, revealing his stale-yellow teeth, and got out of the car. He walked a short way up the road and leaned up against the wall of a house on the edge of the turning towards the main street. He could now see Rachel’s face clearly and she appeared on edge. Her eyes kept darting back and forth towards him and, after a short while, he crushed the cigarette under his foot and crossed the road.

*

‘We could go back to your flat, if that’d make you more comfortable,’ Stefan said, more than aware of the fear in her eyes. ‘We could talk more openly then.’ Rachel shook her head, and when she saw Daryl closing in on them, she sprang from her seat.

‘You need to leave. Now.’

Stefan and Elias exchanged glances. They saw the panic in her eyes. They knew what they needed from her and the sooner she ID’d the body, the better.

‘Look,’ Elias said, ‘I don’t think you understand. We need to talk to you about your friend. It’d be better if we went back to your flat.’

‘No, you don’t understand,’ she said, edging closer. ‘Please, leave now. I’ll call the station later, I promise.’ She gently pushed Elias out of her way, but it was too late.

‘You two paying or not?’ Elias turned to look behind him. ‘If you’re not, just fuck off, yeah? You understand me, boys?’

Elias sneered at the sight of the shabby, dirty-looking man and reached inside his pocket. He showed the man his warrant card.

‘DS Crest, meet Daryl Thomas,’ said Stefan. Daryl’s face turned sour and his eyes narrowed at Elias’s credentials.

‘She’s done nothing wrong, sitting ’ere minding her own business. You got nothing.’ He folded his arms in defiance.

‘Miss Larson isn’t in trouble, Daryl. An associate told us she was here after we got no answer at her flat. We’re here about Nola Grant,’ Stefan said.

Daryl swaggered around Elias to stand beside Rachel. ‘You tell that silly slag to get her skinny arse back round ’ere ’n see me.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Elias said. He saw Stefan shake his head and his jaw set firm as Rachel began to cry.

Daryl saw their faces and edged closer. ‘What you two hiding?’ he said, raising his finger, pointing at both of them. ‘Where is she?’

Stefan ignored him and focused on Rachel. ‘We’d like to talk to you back at your flat. We’ll give you a lift.’

‘Stay out of the fucking car,’ Daryl said, grabbing her roughly by the arm. ‘Whatever you say to her, you can say in front of me.’

‘Careful, Thomas. You don’t want another assault charge under your belt.’

‘Fuck off. I’m just looking out for the lady, aren’t I, Rach?’

‘Shall I add using offensive language to an officer as well?’ Elias asked Stefan. Daryl puffed out his chest and pushed strands of his thinning brown hair out of his eyes.

‘What’s your name again?’ Daryl let go of Rachel’s arm and she rubbed it instinctively through her thick coat. Daryl squared his tall wiry frame up to Elias. Stefan took the opportunity to move Rachel, and helped her into his car.

‘Hey!’ Daryl called out and Stefan used his key fob to lock the automatic doors as Daryl reached for the passenger-door handle.

‘She’ll be fine, Daryl, settle down.’

Elias reached out and gently pushed Daryl back when he tried to round on Stefan.

‘Get your fucking dirty hands off me.’

‘You want to get a new profession, Thomas. Real men don’t beat women.’

‘You wanna fucking have a go, pig?’ He shoved his hand hard into Elias’s chest. ‘What does it matter to you? Plenty of your lot are serviced by my girls.’

Elias’s face dropped. He reached out and grabbed Daryl by the front of his jacket, pulling him forward, until his face was just inches from his own.

‘She’s dead.’

He watched Daryl’s eyes now searching his own. He went to speak, but Elias stopped him, tightening his grip. ‘Nola. Is. Dead.’

Daryl’s face grew serious. ‘You’re lying.’

‘She’s laid out on the slab in the morgue. She’s been murdered, Daryl, and I’ll be coming back to speak with you about it personally. I’ll make sure of it.’

PART TWO

02:58 a.m.

A deep pounding echo. A rush of blood through the ears. Breathing is hard and rapid.

She can see her own feet when looking down with eyes that don’t quite feel like her own. The ground is drenched in melting ice and snow. There are trees, so many trees, skeletal branches and trunks like twisted figures in the grey. Her surroundings are void of colour, entwined in a thickening mist.

Running.

She runs across the woodland floor. She has no shoes, and her feet are turning numb. Her legs are heavy. They can’t keep up with the will of her heart, the pull of her soul.

Her eyes scan the surroundings and everything whips past in a blur. A panoramic view of no way out, no place to hide. Her heart slams harder against her ribcage, fear driving her on.

All she can hear now is the sound of her own breathing, a fearful rush through the depths of her body.

A body too tired to run for much longer.

She sees the path ahead.

A path dense with trees, their roots stretching far and wide. She doesn’t see the twisting, dark root, snaking its way above the earth, and crossing her path. It’s too late now to stop herself.

Her foot is hooked. Her legs pull from under her. She is no more than a rag doll, cast aside. She panics as the ground rushes up to meet her. She can hear a voice as she falls.

She knows she can’t fight any more.

Still the ground rushes towards her. She feels like she is endlessly falling in slow motion, the wind pulling through a mass of blonde tangled hair.

CHAPTER 9

7th November

The first November snow started to fall at exactly 5:31 a.m. Claire knew the time, having been up since 3:00 a.m., unable to sleep after yet another night terror. It was her third that week.

This time she was sure the man with no eyes that haunted her, who she ran from, was some twisted version of her father – Peter.

How long had it been now since they’d spoken?

She couldn’t remember and part of her felt guilty for not caring. Everything that had happened last year he’d brought upon himself, Claire knew that.

I did all I could, she reasoned with herself. Then why do I see the two of them – Father and the Other, whose name I can’t bring myself to speak – in every nightmare?

Sweat cooled against her skin, and she felt the shiver travel up her spine.

It was the morning of Nola Grant’s PM. She’d concentrate on that. It was all that mattered right now, not her broken inner self.

After she wiped the sweat from her face and chest, she headed downstairs. She then sat curled up in the window seat of the bay window in the living room, swathed in a blanket, nose buried in a book.

There was a small lamp dimly lit beside her and the curtains were open, despite it still being dark outside. A cup of coffee that rested beside her had long gone cold and she’d pushed it aside. When the first snowflake had settled on the window, she set aside her book in favour of watching the snow cover her garden in a blanket of white.

She could hear her mother, Iris, get up and start down the stairs, then her feet shuffling in her slippers against the hardwood floor as she entered the kitchen. When she heard the coffee machine whir into life, she sighed to herself, her solitude soon to be broken. She snapped her book shut and stood just as Iris entered the room.

Iris had invited herself to stay with Claire, forcing herself away from her home in Spain. Claire had never been to her mother’s house on the Costa Brava, and didn’t intend to if she could help it.

Since Iris had been divorced, she rarely made the effort to see her only child, and even when Claire had gone through her own messy divorce, Iris practically left her to go it alone.

Knowing how her mother felt about England nowadays meant Claire could relax, safe in the knowledge her mother only made an effort to visit once a year, at a time of her own choosing.

She insisted Claire never take days off to spend time with her while she was here, and was quite content to amuse herself. As long as she stayed in Claire’s house, she’d be happy left to her own devices.

Claire’s father, Peter, had moved to Aberdeen in Scotland, into a warden-controlled complex. It saddened Claire immensely but her decision to sever all ties had been for the best.

The last time they’d spoken had ended with cross words after he’d said some rather nasty things about Iris. Despite knowing her mother had been difficult to live with, Claire was having none of it, and had defended her.

‘It’s snowing,’ Iris said, with some irritation, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her small frame.

‘It’s been forecast for over a week now.’

‘You seem to get snow earlier each year. Bloody global warming.’ She raised her finger at her daughter. ‘You should move out to Spain, love, much warmer climate. Not like England’s changeable weather. It’s bloody tedious.’ Claire rolled her eyes and turned on the television.

Iris paused, watching her closely. ‘You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?’

‘No. I had a nightmare… Silly really.’

‘Weren’t you supposed to be seeing some doctor about all this?’

Claire shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold. ‘I’m fine.’

Iris’s face softened a little. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault, you know. Everything that went on with that man and that thing, that woman, what she did–’

‘I said I was fine, Mum, really. You talking about it doesn’t help me, it takes me back there, and it’s not somewhere I want to go.’

‘I just think–’

‘Anyway,’ Claire cut in, ‘I’ve got to attend the post mortem of Nola Grant and it’s an early one. I didn’t see much point in staying in bed when I couldn’t sleep.’

She flicked through the channels until she found Sky News. ‘Are you going to be able to amuse yourself today, Mum? I’ll be away until late this evening.’

Iris looked up, frowned but backed down. She sat in a nearby chair and nodded. ‘I’ll be all right. I may pop into town, do some early Christmas shopping.’ She paused to listen to the headlines, then said, ‘Who’s Nola Grant?’

Claire’s eyes narrowed. ‘Since when do you take an interest in my work? Thought it depressed you?’

‘Oh, it does,’ she said, now more animated. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t ask, does it?’ Claire looked at the television screen ahead.

She knew her mother was just making idle small talk, pissed off Claire wouldn’t talk to her about last year. Iris needn’t have felt offended. Claire made it a habit never to discuss it with anyone. It was officially off limits.

The only part of Claire’s life Iris usually showed interest in was either her love life (or lack of) or the house. When her eyes crossed back to her mother’s, she noticed Iris genuinely looked intrigued.

‘Grant was a prostitute. Her body was found dumped in Haverbridge Lon Bonfire Night.’

Iris held up her hands, and shook her head. ‘OK, sorry I asked. It’s far too early for gore. Nasty business.’ There was a long pause. ‘I take it she was murdered?’

Claire stopped and stared at her from the living room door. ‘Some things never change with you, do they, Mum?’

CHAPTER 10

Stefan Fletcher hated standing in on autopsies. It wasn’t because watching the whole process unfold was unpleasant – nobody liked doing it, not even the ones with an iron stomach – but because it made him think about his own life and regrets. Life was fragile. Death could take anyone of any age at any time.

Death didn’t discriminate.

He thought about Nola’s life, cut short having never achieved much. She had no second chances, no time to say her goodbyes. It wasn’t as if death had claimed her after a battle with illness, when she had time to prepare for the inevitable. Death had struck quickly and indiscriminately. There was no coming back. She had no time to lay to rest any past grievances, or right any wrongs.

Life was cruel and the motto “live each day as if it were your last” felt evermore poignant. Today would be no different, and as soon as he saw the naked body of Nola Grant laid out on the slab in Haverbridge Hospital’s morgue he suppressed the urge to walk out.

He stood alongside Claire, dressed in protective clothing, masks over their mouths. Danika had come to escort them from reception and down to the mortuary. She was one of the good guys: respected, intelligent and one of the best Claire had ever worked with by a long shot.

She didn’t hold grudges and Claire sometimes wished she could be more like her in that respect. Claire could take a grudge and bury it deep inside her, but it never went away. If you wronged her, she’d take the hurt it caused her to the grave.

Danika appeared as normal: hair tied back, face and body clear of make-up and jewellery. The mortuary technician, Paul Farringdon, had already helped her photograph and swab the body in the external examination and now stood patiently beside the body, hands clasped loosely in front of him.

‘While we waited for you,’ Danika said, turning to address Claire and Stefan head on, ‘the body was photographed, samples taken from under the fingernails, and surface traces of debris collected from her body and hair. Despite being in the water, we still managed to collect some samples.

‘We also used the ultraviolet light. Mainly to check for any signs of sexual activity, which came up negative for any traces of semen externally, but since she was in the water, this could have easily washed away or been contaminated. I will check internally for any signs of trauma, but so far, I’m not convinced she was raped. I know some people have already been speculating,’ she said, casting a sly look at Paul before continuing. ‘She does have some minimal bruising around the groin, but given her choice of job, it’s to be expected.’

‘Some men like it rough,’ Paul said.

Stefan smirked.

Claire’s face was stony.

Danika visibly shuddered. ‘Yes, thank you for that.’

‘OK,’ Claire cut in, ‘let’s assume the bruising is old until you check internally.’

‘It’s not old,’ Danika said. ‘It’s recent, but could have been caused before she was taken off the street by the killer.’

Claire wrinkled her nose. She hated cases involving rape even more than murder, no matter how vicious it was. She moved Danika’s attention on.

‘Anything else?’

Danika nodded and pointed to Nola’s body. ‘External examination shows she put up some resistance, but she was restrained by the wrists. Handcuffs maybe,’ she said, pointing to the bruising around each wrist.

‘This obviously restricted her ability to effectively fend off whoever did this. You already know she was found weighted down by that heavy chain, and there are marks around her ankles which are consistent with her being bound, but not by the chain.’ She pointed to the dark-coloured bruises around Nola’s ankles. ‘I believe the chain was added afterwards.’

Claire lowered her head for a closer look. ‘How’d you know that?’

‘The width of the chain. The links themselves are much thicker than the marks around her ankles, which means it was added afterwards.’

‘To make sure she stayed at the bottom of the water,’ Stefan said.

Danika nodded again. ‘Yes, and for a while, she would have done. But whatever was used to bind her before death was much thinner.’

Claire’s eyes wandered back to Nola’s skin and her eyes narrowed. ‘These ligature marks,’ she said, pointing so Stefan could have a look, but directing her question to Danika. ‘The surface is uneven.’

‘Yes, well spotted. I think her ankles supported her weight at some point, when she was tied up. It looks as though she was suspended.’

Stefan looked at her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

‘Ready for the kill?’ Claire offered.

Danika nodded. ‘Yes, it’s a reasonable assumption.’

‘But she could’ve been dragged by her feet, couldn’t she? That would also leave the same uneven marks.’

‘You’re right, but then I would expect to see scratch marks up her body: back, legs, hips, arms,’ she said, trailing off. ‘Although her skin had begun to deteriorate in the water, I can still see there’s nothing consistent with her being dragged. The only other cuts and bruises that she does have are on the face, along with the defence wounds.

‘I also inspected her mouth and found some abrasions to the tongue, not to dissimilar to razor blade cuts, small little nicks in the flesh.’

‘Did she do it herself inadvertently with her teeth? Maybe when she struggled?’ Stefan asked.

‘These cuts are too perfect. I’m guessing someone else inflicted those wounds. The cuts are neat and identical. The cut on the right side of the tongue is an exact mirror-image to the cut on the left. They are the same length and depth.’

‘The cuts were inflicted at the same time,’ Claire said.

‘Yes, with something sharp, placed either side of the tongue.’ Danika paused for breath. ‘Cause of death was through exsanguination, I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it. Once I’ve performed the internal and had a toxicology report I’ll be…’ She cut her sentence short and paused, staring at the wound at the side of Nola’s neck. She shook her head.

Claire exchanged a look with Stefan. ‘Something wrong?’

Danika looked up. ‘I don’t know really. I mean, the killer could have got lucky, I suppose.’

‘Lucky?’

Danika pointed to the wound. ‘The killer only made one incision, cutting in just behind the point of the jaw. This severed a jugular, carotid artery, and trachea, in one fluid, forward motion.’

She looked up at them to emphasise her point. ‘There are no other attempts made, no hesitation marks. This person got it right first time and with a very sharp instrument.’