The Running of the Deer Read online

  He speed-read his way to the bottom of the hand-out, where he finally found the thing that he’d been looking for.

  “This says they were probably shot and then stabbed. How was that conclusion reached without seeing the carcasses?”

  He ignored Liam’s smug nod of approval at his correct use of the term.

  The director stared at him, confused for a moment, but to her credit she declined to bluff, instead lifting a wall-phone that Craig hadn’t noticed and requesting someone else to join the group. Minutes later an androgynous shape in a white suit appeared and it only was when the person had removed their mask that they realised it was a young woman.

  “This is one of our veterinary pathologists, Erica. Erica, could you explain how you concluded that the deer had been shot and stabbed without seeing their bodies.”

  The girl responded with a dead-pan look and a voice that matched.

  “We can’t be one hundred percent certain, but when we examined the eyes of the only deer not to have been hollowed out, it was clear from the chemical changes in the vitreous humor that it had suffered an extremely slow death. Such a death is on the balance of research only found when caused by either a non-fatal shot, wound or blow, or possibly starvation, although the levels of nutrients present mitigate against the latter. We estimated the size of the animal to have been approximately four-feet-six to the shoulder and weighing up to one-ninety kilograms, so it could easily have killed any human that came close enough to stab or hit it, so on balance a shot was more likely, but not a fatal one, so not to the heart and we know that it wasn’t to the brain.”

  Craig had waited patiently during the analysis, but now he had to interrupt. “Couldn’t it have been stabbed non-fatally from a distance, with something like a harpoon gun? Your report says that they were stabbed as well as shot.”

  As the pathologist turned to face him the effect was very odd, and Craig realised that she hadn’t simply turned her head towards him but her whole body as well, both in perfect alignment. The fact that Liam’s eyebrows had shot up said that he’d noticed the movement too, and the eye-white revealing stare that followed signalled, “this place is weird. Get me the hell out!”

  Instead Craig focused on the pathologist’s next words. “A harpoon would be possible, but unusual on land I think. The full head, e.g. the one that hadn’t been emptied of organs…”

  Miranda thought she might just throw up.

  “…and in fact, all the heads, had been severed from their carcasses by both sawing and stabbing motions, erratically, and the marks left suggested a large knife. The animals were alive when their heads were removed with the knife.”

  It was the exact mode of death that Raymond O’Boyle had suggested.

  “And that’s what you meant by stabbed.”

  “Correct.”

  “How large a knife?”

  Underwood had asked the question and Craig could see her anthropologist’s mind beginning to whirr, picturing ceremonial weapons.

  “Around the size of a machete. We’ll know more when we’ve matched the striations. As for the empty heads, the way the blood vessels…”

  Craig tuned out as she repeated the analysis that they’d already heard from O’Boyle. He listened back in on,

  “The cause of death in all ten was slow exsanguination from non-fatal wounds, probably from shooting, and the cuts severing all the heads from their carcasses were made by similar large knives. Possibly the same knife each time, but it would take further examination to determine that.”

  Liam decided to break the tension with a diversion.

  “What type of deer are they?”

  Good thinking; they should confirm that O’Boyle was right.

  Erica obliged him with a lecture.

  “The wild deer population in Ireland consists of Red, Fallow, Sika, Muntjac and hybrid deer, depending upon the area. These were Red Deer, the commonest kind. They are found in abundance in the west and north-west of Ireland.”

  “What’s a hybrid?”

  “Deer sometimes breed across, typically Red Deer and Sika. It’s not desirable really, but hard to prevent.”

  Liam was about to query its undesirability when Craig cut back in.

  “One more question. Have you taken forensic swabs from the inside of the heads and the available corneas?”

  The pathologist looked confused until Jeannie Underwood took her to one side and whispered something. When they turned back Erica shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, no, we haven’t, but we can easily do it now. You believe someone has been wearing these heads, I take it?”

  Liam answered the question. “Why else hollow them out?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, indeed… I have to say that hadn’t occurred to me, but then police work isn’t my field.” She turned towards the door. “If you’ll remain on site for thirty minutes I’ll get you all of the swabs you need.”

  Craig halted her with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, but that won’t do. Our forensic people have techniques to preserve evidence, and we need a chain of custody established for all specimens, in the event that this death goes to court. I’ll need our Head of Forensics to come here and take samples, under your supervision of course. He can be here in a few hours. He’s already on his way down from Belfast.”

  Another huddle later saw the pathologist gave a reluctant nod. “I’ll be expecting him.”

  “Good. He’s Doctor Desmond Marsham.” He turned to Underwood. “And he’ll be arranging for the heads to be removed to Belfast afterwards, so please facilitate that.”

  The only response was a frosty glance.

  Craig could see Liam in his peripheral vision looking so pleased that he was almost doing a jig. As they said their goodbyes and walked towards the carpark he asked why.

  “’Cos of Des going in there. He’s a nosy bugger and partial to the odd conspiracy theory, so if he can’t find out what this place is for then I’ll eat his beard.”

  Just when they’d thought the day couldn’t get any more revolting.

  ****

  The Oaks Care Home.

  Shift working can be a nuisance, disturbing as it does the run of a person’s day. It can necessitate them leaving lunches if their shift starts at two, dinners when it commences at nine, or worst of all, waving goodbye to a soft, warm bed when their work begins at midnight. While the world around them is sleeping, apart from a few party-goers or market traders, the shift worker will be pacing the silent corridors alone.

  A skeleton night staff can mean no communal coffees or banter with mates, and no impromptu football matches in the yard in summer, and the midnight shift workers in particular, or night-walkers as they are known, live a solitary life.

  An unhealthy one too, with screwed up melatonin and out of sync body clocks increasing their chances of disease. And all for what? No more money and far less kudos, day-walkers often calling them lazy and rendering them invisible, reaping all the praise.

  But there are some pluses to being invisible, despite the lack of cred, pluses that make some people actually choose the night shift as a way of life.

  No, the man wasn’t thinking of the quiet hours available to him to study or do sudoku, without meals to be prepared and fights to be broken up, but of the dark hours free to whisper in small ears and bend people to his will. Techniques that he would use gainfully that very night.

  ****

  County Tyrone.

  “You drive, Liam, I need to make some calls.”

  Craig threw his car keys overhand through the air, to see them caught deftly by Liam in a palm extended behind his back. It made Miranda Hunter sigh enviously.

  “I can’t do that. I’ve tried loads of times, but I always drop them.”

  The D.C.I. opened the car doors and climbed in. “Practice.”

  “Huh, that’s what my brothers used to say, but I still couldn’t do it, no matter how many times I tried.”

  Liam waited until the others were in
and then he swung the Audi into reverse, swinging it to face in the other direction before responding again.

  “Eye-hand coordination. It’s a boy thing.”

  Miranda considered his words. She was a fifth wave feminist and believed in equality in all things for women, but that didn’t mean that she thought that men and women, or in fact anyone possessed the same skill in everything. On average women seemed to be more dextrous, just as on average men had the eye-hand thing, and as far as she was concerned to deny those average differences wasn’t feminism, but to seek to have them equally valued by society was. As long as nobody told her that she couldn’t do anything that she wanted, or was worth less just because of her sex, she was good with Liam boasting about catching his keys. He could catch the things all day long for all she cared.

  The inspector decided therefore that the comment didn’t require an outraged feminist rebuttal and focused instead on what Craig was saying on the phone. He had caught Des just five miles north of where they were now, so he signalled to Liam to stop the car again.

  “Let’s wait here for Des to arrive, Liam. He’s only ten minutes away. I’m going to call Davy now, so you two just occupy yourselves.”

  They did, by listening as he added Voodoo, Santería and any other known animal sacrifice rituals to the analyst’s list of things to check.

  “Also, I need to know about a Professor Jean Underwood, physicist, Davy, and what if any are her connections to the British and Irish governments.”

  The analyst’s curiosity was piqued. “W…What are you thinking of?”

  Craig gazed out the window at the almost full carpark as he considered the question, and it gave him an idea.

  “Hang on a minute.”

  He turned towards the back seat.

  “Miranda, take photos of all those car number plates, please.” As she clambered out, smart-phone in hand, he returned to his call. “We’ve just been in a building at the following coordinates, Davy.” He tapped Liam on the shoulder and held out the handset. “Read off those GPS numbers so Davy can hear.”

  When he’d obliged Craig picked up his thread.

  “It’s only a few miles from the clearing and it’s where the heads were removed to. Some sort of research facility, possibly animal. There are microbiologists and animal pathologists inside, but there are chemists, biohazard, infectious disease specialists and a physicist as well. That’s Underwood, and she’s the overall Director. She said the place was jointly funded by the two governments, and I’m getting a nasty Porton Down feeling about it. I may be wrong but just check and see, please. And see if there are any aerial photos as well. Commander Sheridan in the Aerial Support Unit can help you with those.”

  Davy could feel excitement bubbling up in his chest. He loved anything covert and this was beginning to feel like it was.

  He made a suggestion. “Sounds like something a s…spook would know about too. Should I ask Kyle to see what he can find out?”

  Even though Kyle was seconded to the squad, he still kept up his contacts with the Intelligence community that he’d been embedded in for the previous twenty years.

  Craig thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yes, good thinking. This is right up his street. Ask Aidan to work with him. No, hang on, scrap that, I may need him down here. Ask Andy to liaise with Kyle on whatever this place is instead.”

  Just then Des’ Volvo appeared, prompting Craig to start to end his call until Liam jogged his memory.

  “Type of deer, boss.”

  “Oh, yes, thanks. Sorry, Davy, there’s another thing. Apparently, there’s Red Deer, Fallow, Sika, Muntjac and hybrid deer in Ireland, but they vary with the area. We’ve been told all the dead ones were Red Deer, so find out what you can about them, please, where they roam, what they eat, etcetera. We have a bit on them, but I’d like anything more you can find.”

  He remembered something else. “Final thing, I promise. There was a call made to Prof Underwood’s office yesterday morning, sometime after the boy’s murder was reported, and I need to know where it came from. It’s a government facility so you may have trouble accessing the-”

  Davy cut him off. “I might, but Ash won’t. He’ll find out for you. He’ll just-”

  Craig cut him off hastily. “Whoa. Stop right there. I don’t want to know the details, just the result. And I don’t want a paper trail on his work.”

  Hacking was Ash Rahman’s hobby and obsession, and he was so expert at it that some might even have called him a White Hat. White Hat was slang for an ethical computer hacker or security expert, whereas their opposite numbers, Black Hats, violated computer security for little reason beyond maliciousness or for personal gain.

  Some government database was about to get the full benefit of Ash’s expertise, but if the whys and wherefores ever got put in writing then there’d be more fallout than someone merely losing their job.

  Davy understood instantly and signed off, passing Ash his task verbally and then going in search of Kyle, who as usual was up on the roof having a cig.

  Meanwhile Craig had climbed out of the car to say hello to Des.

  “Hi, Des. Sorry to divert you, or have you already been to the clearing?”

  The forensic scientist snorted. “Give me a break! Did you see the congestion on the M1? I’ve just arrived.”

  Craig perched on the Audi’s bonnet. “No problem.”

  He gestured back at the building they’d just left. “OK, here’s the S.P. The place is a high-tech research facility with a maze of corridors that runs for miles. I’ve got Davy investigating, but my guess is it has a large footprint…” He indicated the rock outcrop behind it. “…most of it running beneath those hills. The director is a physicist, a Professor Jeannie Underwood-”

  Des’ immediate gasp took him aback.

  “You’ve heard of her?”

  “Heard of her? She’s a serious spook! MI6 and then five for years.”

  The detective shook his head glumly, his worst suspicions confirmed. “Damn. What are they doing here?”

  Des sighed. “It’s worse than that. She was high up at Porton Down a few years back.”

  His hunch had been correct.

  Liam had just joined them, and he nudged Craig’s arm. “See. What did I tell you? Serious conspiracy nut. He thinks The National Enquirer’s the gospel.”

  “Him and Davy both, judging by how excited he sounded when I mentioned Porton.”

  Craig dragged a hand down his face. “OK, look, Des, don’t mention any of that when you get inside. Don’t even hint at it, just get in and out as fast as you can.”

  “What exactly am I looking for?”

  “They have the deer heads. All ten of them.”

  Des looked shocked. “How the hell did they manage that? I thought the local vet had them.”

  “He went to the scene and had a quick look, but he was asked to stand down because the government was sending people to collect them.” Craig indicated the building again. “This apparently is the government.”

  “And they wanted old deer heads? OK…I see…”

  He really didn’t, but neither did any of them.

  “But… what would a high-tech facility want them for?”

  “Beats the hell out of me, but again, I don’t want you asking them. I want you in and out of there in one piece. And arrange to have the heads transported back to Belfast, please. The Chief Constable’s cleared it.”

  He removed some folded paper from his jacket pocket and handed it across.

  “They gave us this report. Basically, it says all the deer bled out slowly, most likely from a non-fatal shot somewhere on their torsos, then the heads were hacked off by a knife like a machete while they were still alive. It’s gruesome stuff. Take a look and tell us what you think, but don’t discuss it with them.”

  Des read the handout in silence for a moment and then went to hand it back. Craig demurred.

  “Keep it. The reason that you’re here is that if the hollow heads were w
orn by someone there could be forensic traces of their wearers inside, so we need swabs. They offered to do it, but I don’t trust them, so if you could get those, plus anything else you fancy swabbing or sampling-”

  Des cut him off with a sharp nod. “The eyes of head number ten, the neck cuts on all of them, and I’ll also need to print their pelts and the eyes, just on the off chance that something shows. I’ll print just inside the empty necks as well. That’s where they’ll have touched them to pull them on.”

  “Great. I knew you’d know what to do. Look, I’d better warn you, it’s a bit like the Moonies in there. Very weird vibe.”

  Liam scoffed at him. “Weird vibe? You sound like something off the Old Grey Whistle Test.” He adopted what he thought was a moody jazz voice. “And now we have Ronnie who plays the sax with a serious vibe… Cool, man.”

  Craig tried not to laugh but failed. “I’ll update my vocabulary later, thanks. But you get the point, Des, don’t you?”

  “I do. Two monkeys all the way.”

  Just then Miranda reappeared, photographs taken. “Just two? What does that mean?”

  “See nothing, say nothing, but hear everything when I’m inside.” He moved to the boot of his car and withdrew his bag and a new forensic suit. “I’ll go to the clearing when I’ve finished here, Marc.”

  It prompted Craig to look at his watch. It was well after five o’clock.

  “You might want to leave that till tomorrow, Des. I’ll raid my budget for a hotel room if you want to stay down overnight. I’m going to.” He turned to the others. “Liam?”

  Liam considered for a moment. It was Monday, and on Mondays Danni insisted on serving spaghetti to please the kids, sometimes the stuff was even in the shape of letters! He shuddered. Pasta was soft food and he couldn’t abide mush: mushy peas, potato mush, mush of any sort. And imagine a grown man eating something that spelt out ‘cat’; the ignominy of it! If anyone at work ever found out he would be mortified.