“Look in each cabinet and tell me what you see,” one of the CSI said, her voice challenging the detective to match her observations.

  He took a moment to study each cabinet and then he retraced his steps without taking his eyes off the challenge. His hand moved to the glass on the second one. “There’s a figure missing,” he said, a little uncertainly. He looked again.

  “Out of all these, and we’re talking bloody hundreds, there’s one missing. You can see where it sat from the lack of dust.”

  “And there are no others?”

  “Nothing else. Why that one? And what figure was it?”

  “Looking at the dust mark it’s clearly larger than the rest. Anyone who’s as meticulous as this may well have photographs of each cabinet and if so, let’s hope they’re either somewhere in here, on his phone or in the cloud.”

  “Maybe on camera?” Massiah said hoping he was not stating the bleeding obvious.

  “Or on the camera,” came back the reply.

  ***

  Harry knocked on Cyril’s office door. “A minute, sir?”

  “Come in, Harry. All okay?”

  “I need to run something past you.”

  Cyril pointed to the chair.

  “Called on Jim West last night, the guy who’s into games. Immaculate flat but bloody hell, sir, these people take their passion for this kind of thing to a different level.”

  Cyril just sat back before adjusting his tie.

  “It’s not just games as we know them but ones using a shed full of figures, zombies… even Nazi zombies sporting swastika emblems. I thought that was illegal but he assures me that they are popular the world over. Anyway they paint them and keep them in display cabinets. That’s what takes their time, painting the things.”

  “Do they use them?”

  “Yes, and they’re proud of them too.”

  Cyril made a note to check the Nazi legality before also noting the word zombie in block capitals and the word Caribbean after it.

  “Anyway, they buy into ideas for new games using a website and this is mutually beneficial helping the designer and the gamer as they get the new games at a reduced rate.”

  This information did not appear to be exciting his boss. He could see him bouncing his pencil on his lower lip and so he waited.

  “Rodcliff Massiah.” He looked at Harry.

  “Come again, sir.”

  “We have a DC Rodcliff Massiah working with the CSI people at Carruthers’s garage and we’ve received these initial reports and images.” Cyril swung the computer screen around.

  “That’s bloody spooky. That’s just like West’s place but he doesn’t have all those skulls and the gothic-like chairs. West’s isn’t painted black either… that’s as dark as the bloody grave if you ask me.”

  “It certainly was as neat as a grave. For a bloke, it was immaculate. Apparently, the place was perfect apart from one missing piece, some type of figure it’s believed, taken from one of the cabinets. We’re checking a simple camera found behind one of the skulls. When we get the footage we might have an answer. I want Massiah to pop down to Harrogate. I need to chat with him about the garage. Please arrange it, Harry. And Harry, find out all you can about zombies.”

  “Escape rooms, games and now zombies. To think I used to nick folk for speeding. How times have changed.”

  Just as he was about to leave, the reason he had come to see Cyril in the first place came back to him. “Might be something and nothing but the deeper I’m looking into this the more concerned I am that we’re doing just that, we’re looking too deeply… zombies! For Christ sake! What if the deaths have nothing to do with games or the convention or Harrogate even? What if they’re all to do with the hotel and the specific rooms where the murders took place? The similarities there are credible.”

  “Bring your ideas to the briefing tomorrow morning. All ideas can be good ideas, Harry.”

  “Did you get any further info about Van de Meer’s medical condition? Did it affect his family or personal relationships?”

  “We should know more tomorrow when all the findings will be discussed at the briefing.”

  ***

  Jim West checked his watch before crossing Parliament Street in front of Betty’s Tea Room. He neither heard the crossing’s constant beeping nor saw the flashing man, he simply focused on his thoughts. He walked briskly past the Cenotaph and down Cambridge Street; since becoming pedestrianised, the area was usually busy with shoppers and the occasional busker. Jim smiled to himself as he recalled Harrogate’s famous busker, Rudy, the Jamaican, who often stood wrapped in a duffle coat and who sang the words of Bob Marley so enthusiastically. Jim paused at the spot where Rudy would often sing bringing a hint of the Caribbean to the wet and wintery Harrogate street. This spot was his world stage and how welcome he had been. However, within an instant, Jim’s mood changed at the sight of a young man huddled near the same spot simply sitting with a paper cup in front of him ready to take, but appearing to have nothing to give. “How times change,” he mumbled to himself.

  Checking his watch again he realised that he was early. He had hoped to see Valerie but he had forgotten it was her day off. However, it was of little consequence, he had much to do.

  ***

  Cyril watched the section of captured footage taken from the camera set in Carruthers’s garage. It recorded the date and the time and considering the quality of the equipment the images were remarkably clear.

  Carruthers could be seen checking the garage before bending away from the lens and although the sound was evidence that he was still moving, his hands were out of shot. After a few seconds, however, he was back in view. “Bingo!” Cyril quickly paused the shot. It was there in his hand, the object that was missing from the cabinet. He restarted the film and watched as the figure came to his lips and he saw him kiss it. The sound too was clear.

  “We shall work together, and we shall be the victors.”

  Cyril paused and rewound to hear the words again. “We shall work together, and we shall be the victors.”

  He started it again and watched as Carruthers popped the figure into a soft bag.

  “We shall,” Cyril said slowly, “and not we will work or we will be victors?” The formality of the language confused him. Looking again at the screen he focused on the figure in Carruthers’s hand. He enlarged the shot before reaching for the phone and dialling an internal extension. Harry Nixon answered.

  “Harry, just look at the footage from Carruthers’s camera. Two things come to mind. It’s clear what his most prized possessions were. He didn’t have a camera in the apartment but he did in the garage but not where you’d think… it wasn’t positioned where the most valuable items were stored. I’m assured the cycles were worth a good deal of money. Secondly, it shows him kissing what is believed to be the only missing figure from the cabinets. What do you know about it?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  The two men looked at the printed images Cyril had produced from the screen and set them next to the report from Massiah and the forensic results.

  “The place is more like an inner sanctum, a shrine to the games. The full results aren’t in as one or two of the games and a selection of what appear to be the most used figures are being checked for prints and DNA. He didn’t play on his own in there. There’s no one else on the camera disc history other than Carruthers who appears always to enter alone before turning the camera off. We then see him switch it back on. If you check, the chairs show that they have been moved during that period, so we can presume others were in the room. That though is not a crime. What do you know of that figure? Looking at the photographs of the cabinets, Harry, I can see many that appear to be identical or at least similar, let’s say more of a human form. But that one?”

  “That one’s very special, it’s Cthulhu, created by a guy in the 20s. The story featuring the figure was published within pulp fiction. It’s a gigantic entity worshipped by cultists. Others have extended the mythology and tried to link it with Satanism… there’s even a Cthulhu bible created around it. Some also believe it to have racist overtones.”

  “Racism?” Cyril frowned. “There’s little evidence to date but we’ll note that. However, Satanism? So what about the skulls? Linked in some way to his profession? Where’s this leading?” Cyril did not give time for responses, it was like a verbal thought process.

  “In my opinion, sir, it’s leading nowhere to be honest. We’re seeing all of this paraphernalia and are reading too much into it. Let’s look at it from a different perspective. Let’s imagine if we’d believed Carruthers to be a killer and we’d stumbled on this lot then… it would make some kind of sense but he was the first victim. Let’s wait until we get the full forensic results back.”

  “So, do you think this Cthulhu model could just be a good luck charm collected to take with him during his participation at the Harrogate Games Convention?”

  “Simply that, yes.”

  Cyril agreed to wait. Caution regarding judgements was probably the best course of action at this stage.

  Shakti appeared at the door. “Latest from forensics. DNA of both men found within the garage.”

  “On what?” Cyril knew he needed the DNA to be located on a static source.

  “Found on a number of the figures and two games but also on the table.”

  “So he was in the room. They knew each other. What about the apartment?”

  “Clear evidence Van de Meer was there, even if it were only to use the bathroom. However, you remember Duffers reported that there’d been a house warming. Who knows?”

  “Thanks Shakti. Written up?”

  “ASAP.” She left as quickly as she had arrived.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The appearance of both amputated ears could best be described as resembling two seashells. Neither was now pink but had taken on a grey-brown tone not dissimilar to that of tanned flesh. The exposed area where they had been separated from the body was now darker, possibly best described as maroon, almost the colour of a bruise.

  “Concha… concha, a perfect description. How like shells you look.”

  A gloved hand picked up the first and allowed it to rest on the palm. “No weight at all and still so flexible.”

  The hand closed folding the body part within its grasp. Most of the ear is cartilage combined with some muscle and therefore yields with ease. As the hand opened, the ear began to unfurl.

  “Listening is one of man’s greatest gifts... it’s a real skill. Empathy… It’s so true what they say, that wise words often fall on deaf ears. You’re not listening now!”

  On closer inspection, the scarring on the lobule showed evidence of past piercings in more than one place but it was obvious that an earring had not been inserted for some time. This would now change. Carefully, the small silver point punctured the healed wound before exiting the rear of the lobe. The retaining clip was firmly locked at the back tight against the dead skin. The ear was held at arm’s length.

  “That looks perfect.”

  He collected both ears and popped them into a transparent freezer bag before slipping it into a pocket. He needed one more piece of equipment and all would be ready.

  ***

  The room was full as Cyril tapped his electronic cigarette against his now empty china cup. It rang with an expected clarity and the room fell silent.

  “Morning everyone. Thank you for your time and attention.”

  A few greetings came back but they sounded more like groans.

  “We’ve a good deal on our plate and a number of avenues we need to consider and place into some kind of perspective. You should all be up to speed if you’ve read the boards and the reports. The system has also thrown up a number of connections which require further analysis.”

  There was an immediate shuffling of paper from all areas of the room and faces turned to the boards.

  “Shakti, you’ve been looking at Van de Meer’s medical condition. What do we have?”

  “Condition from birth and the parents decided from the outset that no medical intervention should take place. What will be will be was their attitude and after a degree of legal wrangling that is what happened. From our meetings with the parents it appears John showed all the traits of being a boy. Whether this was because of biased parenting we’ll never know. No serious problems at school, the odd bullying but I guess that’s normal and no reports of psychological issues. The pathologist has seen his medical records and there has been no medical intervention other than the standard childhood illnesses. What’s clear from the research we’ve managed to conduct is that John Van de Meer kept himself to himself. We’ve learned from interviews with family members and neighbours he was academic and a loner, not many relationships and few real friends. The ones he did have were, other than those within the clubs where he played games, predominantly female. However, it’s clear from this information he’s only had a couple of what might be classed as steady girlfriends. No problems at work, well liked, good class discipline. Everything on the surface seemed fine.”

  “Post-mortem?”

  “As with the first, clear evidence from toxicology that the same drug was administered resulting in a deep sleep. Owing to the quantity taken, Van de Meer was probably in a comatose state and therefore unable to defend himself. Like the first victim, the body parts were removed post mortem. Cuts to the neck are consistent with the first murder. Considering the similarity of the incisions, the depth, the angles and direction of cut, it’s more than likely the injuries were carried out by the same person. You can also see in the report that the glass used is a perfect match for that used against victim one; similar minute fragments were found. The photographs showing the damage to the side of the head give a clear idea of the amount of the ear that was amputated. Note that neither is the same. It’s apparent the person doing this was not concerned with removing all of the ear.”

  Cyril waved a finger. “Or deliberately performed the cutting this way for reasons only known to themselves. Surely with a scalpel and a corpse there was no need to rush things. I’ve seen ears removed in fights, bitten off and they look a little like that.” He looked round the room hoping others would support his point of view but he seemed to be alone in his belief. “Any signs of sexual activity?”

  “As in case one, no. No other injuries either.”

  April’s phone signalled a message. She checked it, stood, went to the nearest computer and began typing. Cyril watched as Shakti continued with her report.

  “Sir?” She paused distracted by April.

  “Sorry, Shak. A minute.”

  Shakti nodded resting her notes on the table.

  April continued to read as all eyes turned to her. “Forensics have found identical Low Copy Number DNA traces of a person unknown on the clothes of both victims. It’s been run through the system but there’s no reference; we don’t hold that person’s DNA identity on file.”

  There appeared to be a collective sigh of disappointment in the room. Shakti sat down instinctively.

  “However, there is a positive match from that collected in both B&B rooms. There’s also a suggestion that the samples taken there were from a different time period owing to where they were collected and the degradation.” She pulled a face to suggest it was beyond her. “Can you believe that one match identified was taken from a small toenail clipping found in the corner of the bathroom at The Grey House and the second was a piece of dried nasal mucus discovered within the carpet at Victorian Guest House. I doubt anyone committing a murder would then break off to give themselves a pedicure.”

  Laughter brought a little light relief allowing Owen to add to it.

  “The dear old bogey,” announced Owen with a degree of relish. “Sticky, picky, rolly, flicky!” His grin said it all.

  Cyril quickly broke in before any other person in the room who wanted to become a comedian could add their own joke.

  “The bastard’s been in those rooms before and a tenner says he took away the bloody keys.” There was a sudden enthusiasm within each word. “He’s a past bloody resident. Went off with the keys and either took a copy before returning them or didn’t even bother to do that.”

  Brian Smirthwaite spoke for the first time. “He must have had a crystal ball, sir, if he knew his victims were going to be in the same room as him at some time in the future, or does it mean he or she just killed for the sake of it and they were indiscriminate victims who’d been given that room? Fate can be a bugger.”

  Cyril mused, “So it might have nothing to do with the convention, nothing to do with chance just to do with the single occupancy of those rooms.”

  “And if he did this in two venues what’s to say he hasn’t done it in more B&Bs and hotels and we’re simply waiting for the next victim,” suggested Brian.

  “The rooms are both doubles. How did our killer know they were occupied by singles?”

  Cyril scanned the room and it was clear from what he saw that this scenario could well have traction.

  “By invitation?” a relatively new detective within the group whispered to a colleague sitting close by.

  “Keys. Who was asking the owners about keys that had gone missing, taken by mistake and either been returned or not?”

  An officer near the back of the room stood. “Quinn, sir. Harry instructed me to make enquiries. Neither did, I mean they didn’t and still don’t keep a record. It happens, the loss of keys, but not as frequently as to make an issue of it. They always keep spare keys, and in most cases, once the guest has realised the error the keys are usually returned. The Grey House once had keys returned from Russia.”

  “Thoughts please.” Cyril tapped his pencil against his hand as he spoke. He was eager to pursue this new information.

  “We know that the two deceased were acquainted with each other. DNA found at the garage bears that out. I take it we’ve checked with Van de Meer’s parents to see if they have ever met or were acquainted with Carruthers? You just never know, all this might be a family issue. I take it we have alibis for his parents on the night of the murder?”

 

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