Angel of Death Read online

  The DI saw the clenched fists and realised a fiery temper lurked within the young man in front of her.

  Her voice was soft. "I still need to do my job. Krysta deserves nothing less."

  "Did she suffer?" Ed searched her face.

  Yvonne took a deep breath, unsure of what to say. If he was innocent, she did not want to cause him further pain.

  "She did, didn't she? Your silence says it all."

  "I can't give you specific details at this stage, Ed."

  "Right."

  "We will need your finger prints and all of your pairs of boots, I'm afraid. A forensics team will want to go through your place and carry out tests."

  “For blood?”

  “Among other things.”

  "So, I am a suspect."

  "Anything else to tell me?"

  He shook his head.

  The DI pursed her lips. "I am sorry for your loss. I won't rest until we catch Krysta's killer, Ed."

  He nodded, his eyes on the floor between them. "She deserves justice."

  "I know."

  4

  Broken

  The lights in the morgue were blinding after the shadowy streets outside.

  Roger Hanson pulled on a clean pair of latex gloves, his forehead furrowed in concentration, his glasses half-way down his nose.

  Yvonne shifted her weight between her feet and glanced at Dewi as he leaned against the wall near the entrance, notebook at the ready.

  The pathologist manoeuvred the victim, his motion, matter-of-fact. "The killer attacked her from behind, she had no chance to react. He severed her spinal cord with the first blow. It landed between the 9th and 10th thoracic vertebrae." He pointed to the spot. "She wouldn't have seen it coming. The injury pattern suggests the instrument was most likely a long-handled mallet. Heavy."

  "Ouch." Dewi grimaced.

  "Quite... She would have collapsed, at which point the killer smashed the mallet down on her upper arms. I can't say what order, but he broke both humorous bones consistent with him hitting her whilst she lay against a firm surface, in this case the ground. He had rendered her immobile and she would likely have been unconscious, by that time, due to severe pain and the trauma of the assault.”

  "Broken whilst she lay helpless." Yvonne's gaze locked onto the bruised and misshapen arms and the holes in Krysta's hands, punctured and torn by the large masonry nail the killer used.

  "Her killer likely enjoyed what he was doing. He wasn't squeamish."

  Yvonne's eyes travelled to Krysta's head. Hair had fallen loose from Krysta's plait. It stuck to her head and neck with the sweat, exuded whilst she was nailed to the tree. Besides her wide-open eyes, it had been the only indicator of the pain and fear in her last moments alive. Her mouth lay open. Above her lop-sided jaw, a trickle of blood from her nose had dried on her upper lip. Yvonne was sure Krysta battled to live until the very last second.

  The DI gritted her teeth, even more determined to catch whoever had stolen that life. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "How long was she alive on the tree?"

  "An hour or two, but no longer than that. It fell below freezing again last night. In the height of summer, she might have survived until we found her."

  "So, shock didn't kill her?"

  "No. A contributing factor, perhaps, but it was the cold that got to her. Early results show there were no drugs or alcohol in her system."

  "It's odd." Yvonne grimaced. "I swear I can still smell citronella. I guess it is psychosomatic."

  "No, it is citronella." Hanson confirmed. "There were traces on her clothing, suggesting she spilled some on herself either in the preparation, or when spraying in the forest. There was enough that it penetrated through to her abdomen. That is what your keen nose is detecting, Yvonne."

  “What about the feather, Roger? Did you hear from the lab about the substance on the shaft?”

  “I did.” Hanson rubbed his ear. “And it is a very interesting result. The substance is rabbit glue and, from its constituents, they think it is likely homemade. Few people make it at home, these days. It takes a lot of boiling of animal tissue and takes several hours and a lot of patience. It’s not something someone would do lightly.”

  “Good result.” Yvonne pursed her lips.

  “I thought it might help you narrow down your killer.”

  The DI nodded, turning to gather her things. "If you find anything else which you think I should know, prior to the full report coming out, can you give me a bell?"

  "I will, Yvonne." Hanson nodded, before turning his attention back to the victim on his table.

  Callum took the A4-size photos of the scene from under his arm. The file's absence revealed a damp patch in his shirt. He had left after everyone else the previous night.

  "Thanks, Callum. How is the little one?"

  "Caleb? Growing fast. He's doing well in the nursery, now that Sian has gone back to work for three days a week. Doesn't stop chattering. He's got his own little language."

  Yvonne smiled. "It's a lovely age. My niece and nephew left that stage behind, but I remember it well."

  "Do you think you might, one day...?" His voice trailed away.

  The DI shook her head, a wistful smile on her face. "The likelihood of that is slim-to-none, now I've hit my forties."

  Callum pursed his lips. "Women in their forties get pregnant, don't they?"

  The DI turned her attention back to the photos.

  Callum cleared his throat. "We found boot prints close to the body with a thick tread and we should name a manufacturer, later today. We didn't get specific tyre tracks, I'm afraid, ma'am. Too many vehicles coming and going. We have photographs of all the tracks we found. Might prove useful."

  Yvonne spread the photos around the desk, pausing at the more graphic. "This was going further than killing her. This was some sort of punishment. Revenge, perhaps. Maybe, a warning to others? Come here causing trouble and this will happen to you."

  She pointed to the close-up of Krysta's body with its head lolling to the side. "I can imagine the hopelessness she must have felt, Callum."

  "Doesn't do to dwell, ma'am. We can't help her like that."

  Yvonne sighed. "I know."

  Callum tilted his head to study her face as she leaned over the desk. "Are you okay?"

  "Yes." She straightened and placed her hands on her hips. "And, what's with the swan feather? It seems to be a calling card, but what is the significance?"

  The DC tapped his pen against his chin. "I saw a thing on Facebook. Well, actually, my wife pointed it out to me. It was talking about feathers symbolising a visit from a guardian angel." He shrugged, and the colour deepened in his cheeks as though the revelation embarrassed him.

  "Well, whoever left this was as far from a guardian angel as you could possibly get.”

  Callum nodded. "More like an angel of death."

  "Mm. Angel of Death. I think you might just have named our killer, Callum. It could stick."

  5

  Heart-to-heart

  "He may have been having an affair." Callum tossed his notes down onto Yvonne's desk and tucked a crumpled piece of his shirt back into his trousers.

  "Who was having an affair?" The DI picked up the paperwork.

  "Oh, sorry, Ed Lawton. An anonymous female gave us the tip. Claimed she is a fellow sab, but doesn't want to go on the record and wouldn't give us her name."

  "I see..."

  "She said she wasn't certain whether Krysta knew anything about the affair, but said that Ed had been seeing someone called Eva Wilde, from Shrewsbury, for about a year."

  "A year? Wow. Do we know anything about Eva Wilde? We’ll need a little more before we go asking Lawton about her.”

  "Got a few bits from PNC and from the desk sergeant, downstairs." Callum nodded towards the paperwork. "It's in there. Wilde is an environmental campaigner. She annoyed the council planning department a few years ago, campaigning against the bypass. Got herself arrested on three occasions for public
order offences. She's also campaigned against the siting of wind turbines near the village of Abermule and has gotten her teeth into the proposed giant recycling plant near Welshpool."

  "You say the affair was going on for a year?" Yvonne ran her hand through her fair hair, which had grown two inches past her shoulders. She regretted not having worn it up that morning, as it fell into her face again. "If it was going on that long, I'll bet Krysta found out about it."

  Callum shrugged. "I agree, it would be hard to hide it for that length of time."

  "And the anonymous caller refused to give her name?"

  "She did, which seems odd, unless she thinks Ed killed his girlfriend and will kill her as well if he finds out she talked?"

  "Or, perhaps, the caller was Eva, herself?"

  "Hmm. Shall we go speak to Ed?"

  "Not yet. Put a tail on him. If we talk to him now, he could deny it and tip Eva off. If we can evidence the affair, we'll have more leverage when we speak to him again."

  "Right you are, ma'am."

  "Someone we need speak to, ASAP, is the landowner near Block Wood. Emmanuel Tunicliffe. Krysta was convicted twice for harassing him and there was an injunction forbidding her from going onto his property. There was a great deal of bad blood between them. If she was hanging about on his land again, he may have lost his temper with her. Someone broke her back with a mallet. He could have done that in a fit of rage and then staged the crucifixion to throw us off the scent."

  Callum nodded. "I'll arrange the interview, ma'am. I take it this will be a formal interview?"

  Yvonne nodded. "Here, at the station and under oath."

  "Understood."

  The sea rolled in, crashing into the rocks and breaking into a fine foam which fizzed up and down the beach, turning it to a mass of froth as it receded.

  It was the weekend, and Yvonne had met Tasha for lunch and shopping at the retail park in Aberystwyth. She had not been clothes shopping for some time and was badly in need of shoes, in particular. They finished the day with a stroll along the sea.

  She stood atop a rocky outcrop, watching the water in silence, shirtsleeves rolled up in the early April sunshine.

  "What are you thinking?" Tasha asked, reaching out a hand to steady the DI as she wobbled and appeared about to fall off.

  "That days like these are precious in a world gone mad."

  The psychologist frowned, her hand still on Yvonne's arm. "I try not to watch the news some days. It's depressing."

  "Perhaps, there is something in the water." The DI gave a wry smile.

  "Don't joke about it, lady. You could be right. We are all being poisoned with madness." Tasha took a step back. "Anyway, I hear you've been dating the DCI..."

  "Wow." Yvonne grimaced. "News travels fast."

  "It does in police circles." Tasha shifted her gaze to the ocean.

  "Well, it wasn't dating. It was one time. One date. Not even a date. He invited me around for dinner."

  "And?" The psychologist turned to face her, her head tilted, eyes narrow.

  Yvonne's own eyes settled on Tasha's pale-blue cotton shirt. "He's a nice man."

  "Nice..."

  "Yeah, well, he's polite, charming and warm and he has a sense of humour."

  Tasha stared at her.

  The DI continued. "He has a beautiful home, well-kept. He's a good catch."

  "I see..." The psychologist made semi circles in the sand with the bottoms of her walking boots.

  Yvonne pursed her lips. "Aside from nerves at having dinner with a superior officer, I felt nothing."

  Tasha's eyes flicked up to meet hers. "At all?"

  The DI thought she detected a breathlessness in her friend's voice. "Nothing, at all," she affirmed. "I guess I should have done, shouldn't I? I mean, with all that going on for him." She jumped down from the rock. "But I didn't."

  The two of them strolled along the beach in silence for several minutes, until Tasha interjected.

  "So, is that it? Or will you see him again, to decide whether you feel any differently?"

  Yvonne jutted out her chin, eyes blazing. “I won't."

  The psychologist tried analysing the DI's expression, but Yvonne looked away and Tasha nodded, the muscles in her face stiffening as she suppressed the urge to smile.

  The DI took a deep breath. "Anyway, heads back in the case, what might we be dealing with? I mean, on the surface, we've got an arrogant landowner with good reason to want Krysta off his case as our main suspect. But who nails a girl to a tree, whilst she is still alive and in considerable pain. That's more than silencing, isn't it? Perhaps, even more than revenge? It's psychopathic."

  Tasha pursed her lips. "Unless your suspect wanted to throw you off the scent and direct suspicion away from himself by persuading you to look elsewhere."

  "Hmm... Are you telling me that a non-psychopathic personality could commit a crime like this?"

  "If they were desperate enough, it's possible. You shouldn't rule it out."

  "Understood. Hey, shall we move further around?" Yvonne referred to the bottom of constitution Hill, the famous promontory at the seaside town of Aberystwyth. They were on the stony beach at its base.

  "We should be careful." Tasha pulled a face. "The tide is coming in. We don't want to get caught. People get cut off here."

  "Yeah, you're right."

  6

  Emmanuel Tunicliffe

  "Dewi, grab your jacket." Yvonne called from the office doorway.

  "Where we off to? And in such a hurry?" Dewi frowned.

  "We're going to Ryde Hall. Home of Emmanuel Tunicliffe."

  "Wait, isn't he-?"

  "The landowner who was at loggerheads with Krysta Whyte? The one who requested an injunction against her? Yes."

  "Got you." Dewi pulled a face. "Can we grab a sandwich? It's been ages since breakfast."

  Yvonne grinned. "You and your stomach. Yes, Sergeant, we can pick up food on the way."

  "Great. I'll get my tablet and catch up with what we have on him."

  "No need, I have mine. He's thirty-seven, unmarried, and was an only child. He inherited his property and wealth from his father, Declan Tunicliffe, now deceased. Krysta Whyte harassed him over illegal fox hunting and the court sentenced her to an exclusion order with a five-mile radius around his home. She had been to his house many times to argue with him about the hunts."

  "Tunicliffe denied illegal hunting, and was never prosecuted for it."

  "Wait, wasn't Krysta's body found within that five-mile exclusion zone?"

  "It was, Dewi, and Tunicliffe has been out of the country for a week, holidaying on the Southern coast of France. He caught a flight back last night. I want to speak to him before he gets the chance to settle down. Rattle him and see what falls out."

  "Right. Let's do it."

  As they passed through reception, the DI leaned on the desk. "Hey, Mike, can we have the keys to the shiny new four-by-four? We may need to go cross-country."

  Mike narrowed his eyes. "It's pristine. Unscathed..."

  "What? What do you think we will do with it?" Yvonne grinned. "Anyway, its not going to stay pristine forever."

  Mike pursed his lips, a broad smile creeping across his face. "You can have it, Yvonne, but only because it's you." He looked across at Dewi. "Don't give the keys to him."

  "Nice..." Dewi feigned a look of hurt. "That's the last time I buy you a pint, Mike Griffiths. And you're off my Christmas list."

  "Christmas list? I was never on it." Mike laughed.

  "Enough banter, boys, we've got a job to do." Yvonne grinned as she pushed open the station door.

  Yvonne rang the door bell next to the heavy oak doors of the porticoed Ryde Hall. A stocky man in his forties opened the door, wearing a wax jacket and looking as though he was about to leave.

  "Can I help you?" He asked, placing a hand on his hip.

  "Hello, I'm DI Yvonne Giles and this is DS Dewi Hughes. We are here to speak to Mr Tunicliffe. Is he about?"

/>   The gentleman frowned and said, in a strong North-Wales accent, "I'm Trevor Tindall, Ryde Hall's gamekeeper. Mr Tunicliffe is out driving around the estate checking for fallen trees. The winds gusted at eighty miles per hour in last night’s storm. He's out looking for any damage.”

  "What, he's doing that himself?" Yvonne tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.

  "He's hands on, DI Giles. Likes to get stuck in." Tindall adjusted the tweed cap on his greying, dark hair. "I've got birds to check on. We've got a problem with our pheasants getting killed on the roads around here."

  "I see. Well, I hope you round them all up safely. Do you know where on the estate we could find Mr Tunicliffe?" She stepped back from the door to allow Tindall to pass.

  "He's probably close to Kerry village by now. He left over an hour ago. If I were you, I'd head over that way. He's driving a blue Land Rover.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were half a mile from Kerry, and could see a blue Land Rover in a field below the road they were navigating.

  "Want to go cross-country?"

  Yvonne grinned at her sergeant's wicked expression. "Griffiths won't be happy about it."

  "I know."

  "Let's do it."

  They turned into the field of rough pasture, dotted with cowpats and orange-brown puddles of urine.

  Tunicliffe's vehicle was already heading into the next field.

  "What's he doing?" Dewi pressed harder on the accelerator. "There aren't any trees here."

  "Perhaps, he's checking on the animals? Or, maybe, looking for something?" Yvonne's gaze moved from the Land Rover to the surroundings. "I'm amazed, he hasn't seen us yet."

  "Or, if he has seen us, he doesn't want to talk." Dewi sighed. "We might have to give him a quick burst of the siren."