The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) Read online

  It was a question that he couldn’t and wouldn’t answer. He closed his notebook and stood up, fudging his answer with “I’m not sure yet but I’ll be back when I am.”

  It wasn’t a lie; he wasn’t sure yet. But even when he was, something suddenly told him that the lovely professor wasn’t someone that he should tell.

  ****

  The C.C.U. 1 p.m.

  Craig scanned the squad-room, waiting until everyone was seated before beginning. His eye fell on the vending machine cup Liam was holding and he shook his head in disgust.

  “Seriously? You’re so lazy you couldn’t make some real coffee?”

  Before anyone could answer he strode into his office and re-emerged with a full percolator, pouring himself a cup before passing it on to Ken.

  Liam shrugged defensively. “Machine coffee means no effort making it and no washing up.”

  Craig rolled his eyes. “Nicky will be so proud when she gets back.” As Liam had spoken first he gestured him to start. He did, with a grin on his face.

  “Who wants to know what the tattoo’s about, then?”

  Davy had been adding milk from his drawer stash to his mug but his hand froze mid-air at Liam’s words. Deciphering puzzles was his job and he didn’t like being beaten.

  “I was w…working on that!”

  “And I solved it. Life’s tough.” He withdrew his school notebook from its resting place, opening it at the relevant page and settling back to spin his tale.

  “OK, I thought I recognised the words from something I’d heard at school, so, long story short, I chased up my old teacher, a Christian Brother called Aloysius McGovern. He taught us Latin, religion and history.” He threw Davy a bone. “As Davy said, the tattoo’s written in Vulgar Latin; a spoken version used on the streets of Ancient Rome and as different from Classical Latin as how teenagers nowadays speak is from the Oxford English Dictionary.”

  Craig halted him. “They didn’t teach us Vulgar Latin at school.”

  “Aye, well, Aloysius was pretty cool. He used to tell us stories in it behind the headmaster’s back.” He gestured at his notebook. “I wrote some of the exciting ones down and I remembered a few words.” He preened himself. “I was quite the wee swot back in the day.”

  He ignored the simultaneous snorts from Davy and Jake and carried on.

  “Anyhow… Aloysius translated the Vulgar stuff into Classical Latin and then into English for me. ‘Gentum est confessio illa veritate’ in Vulgar Latin translates to ‘a persona est confessio veri’ in Classical Latin, and they both mean ‘a person's or a people’s confession is the truth or true.’”

  Craig nodded admiringly, to be joined by almost everyone in the room. In fact the only person who didn’t nod was Davy. He was feeling put out so he cut in childishly.

  “Latin is a dead language, as dead as dead can be. It killed the ancient Romans and now it’s killing me.”

  Liam guffawed at the old rhyme, neutering the attempt at bitchiness. “We used to say that at school.”

  Craig motioned him to hurry up.

  “OK, so then Aloysius recognised the reference as a phrase associated with the Spanish Inquisition. ‘Confessionem esse veram, non factam vi tormentorum’. It means a person's or a people’s confession is the truth or true, not made by way of torture. It sometimes followed a description of how, after torture had ended, the subject freely confessed to their offenses––”

  Ken interrupted. “So confessions following torture were deemed to be made from free will and valid?”

  Liam nodded. “Basically yes. Apparently the Romans took it even further. Unless it was made under torture a confession was never considered true.”

  “ISIS would love that.”

  Craig let the group chat for a moment; he was busy thinking. After a minute he smiled at Liam. “Excellent work.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not all. I went back to see that professor, Theodora Rustin, early this morning.”

  Davy objected. “That’s a woman’s name!”

  “That’s because she is one. She’s basically an historian who specialises in religion and she did her thesis on the Spanish Inquisition. The way she talked about them you’d think they were just nice guys who were misunderstood. Basically warriors for Christ.”

  He made a face and Craig picked up on it.

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure but I think she might know more.”

  “Any idea what?”

  He shrugged and Craig understood. Right now it was just an instinct; he would share it when he had something.

  Liam continued. “Aloysius said a few other things about the tattoo.”

  “For instance?”

  “For instance, that the killer’s not young. A kid would have panicked and grabbed the nearest Stanley knife, not gone to the trouble of buying a tattoo kit. Then there’s the language itself. It’s complex so that means they’re educated…”

  Craig nodded. They were good points. He turned towards Davy, only to find him seemingly pouring milk out of his drawer. He decided not to ask.

  “Davy, see if there’s any way you can find out who bought a tattoo kit––” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. “No, scrap that. They could have bought it online or had it for years.”

  Davy said nothing, just smiled in gratitude. He was good but not that good; it would have taken him all week to generate a list.

  Liam carried on as if Craig hadn’t spoken. “Anyway, I’m not sure the tattoo moves us forward much. We’d already guessed that the poor sods were being judged; maybe it means they confessed but it still didn’t save them?”

  Craig nodded. “Perhaps; it’s too soon to say. But it’s all information, so well done.”

  He leapt to his feet and grabbed a marker, writing the phrase and it’s translation on the board. Beneath it he wrote Spanish Inquisition, then a bullet pointed list. When he’d finished it read: educated men – possibilities: 1, Religious: clerics and theologians. 2, Academics: historians, archaeologists, classics scholars, linguists. He retook his seat with a gesture that said ‘discuss’.

  Ken’s response was to add something else to the list; intelligence agencies. Craig looked at him quizzically.

  “Explain.”

  “Well, think about it, sir. We have a medieval instrument of torture used on one victim.”

  Jake interjected. “Bobby McDonagh. We’ve got his name now.”

  “On Bobby McDonagh. And we also have another reference to torture by the Spanish Inquisition, if Liam’s translator is correct. I hate to say it but the modern day equivalent of an inquisition would be an intelligence agency of some kind.”

  Davy leaned forward excitedly, warming to the theme. “What about judges? Like that movie ‘The Star Chamber’ where a bunch of vigilante judges right miscarriages of justice.”

  Ken shook his head. “The real Star Chamber was much more than that. It was a court that sat in Westminster from the fifteenth to seventeenth centuries, to try rich and powerful people that ordinary courts would have hesitated to convict.”

  “W…Well, that leaves out our victims.”

  Craig dragged a hand down his face. What if they were dealing with some sort of high level moral vigilantism? He gazed at the board. Any attempt to narrow their suspect pool based on the quotation would cast a net over half the educated people in Northern Ireland. He wiped off the list and retook his seat.

  “OK, let’s start again. Let’s not look at what the words mean for a moment, let’s just look at the language they were written in.” He turned to Liam. “How many people know Vulgar Latin?”

  Liam shrugged. “Very few, I’d say.” He gestured at the board. “A lot fewer than were on your list. Some religious orders, Theologists maybe, people specialising in ancient languages and maybe a few classic scholars.”

  Craig scanned the group. “Anyone else?” He was answered by shaking heads. “OK, so our first clue is the phrase being written in Vulgar Latin. There’s likely to be a p
retty small group of people that even know the language exists, never mind how to construct a sentence in it.”

  He jotted the words religious and ancient languages on the board and turned back to the group.

  “What else?”

  Liam drained his coffee and reached for the percolator to top up. “Tattooing says that they’re older.”

  Craig scribed ‘older’ and waited for someone else to speak. It was Jake.

  “Self-righteous. They think they have the moral right to stand in judgement and administer the death sentence. It’s biblical justice.”

  “Christian?”

  Jake shook his head. “Not necessarily. Look at Sharia law.”

  Davy disagreed. “No, it has to be some sort of Christianity. Because of the link to the Inquisition’s w…words.”

  Craig nodded. “I agree. And because Vulgar Latin began around the same time as Christianity. Sorry, Jake, but it’s definitely Christian self-righteousness that we’re dealing with here.”

  Liam rolled his eyes. “Great, just what we need. Pin the tail on the religious fanatic; that puts half of Northern Ireland in the dock.”

  Craig shook his head. “Let’s be clear about this. What these people are doing has nothing to do with real Christianity or Christians; they’re just distorting the doctrines to suit their own ends. And on that point, everyone be diplomatic on enquiries, please. I don’t want a stream of complaints from people whose faith you’ve offended.”

  There was silence while everyone thought of their respective religious upbringings. Whether you were Catholic or Protestant, hell fire and brimstone had been the order of the day in Northern Ireland at one time. Liam decided to stick his neck out.

  “OK, I know someone will shoot me for saying this and I know that I’m going to hell, but I think we’re dealing with old school Roman Catholicism here, in all its confess and repent glory.”

  He was dismayed when no-one disagreed.

  “Here, isn’t anyone going to say I’m being sectarian? Gone are the good old days when I was able to shock.”

  Craig laughed. “It’s pretty hard to be sectarian when you’re blaming your own side, Liam. Besides, you’re not insulting anyone’s religion; whoever is doing this is. These fanatics left God behind a long time ago.”

  He scanned the team looking for disagreement. There was none, so Roman Catholic was added to the list on the board. He tapped the word ‘religious’ with his pen. “This isn’t necessarily limited to practicing clergy; we could be talking lay preachers, Theologists…”

  “Latin teachers at religious s…schools.”

  “Good point.”

  After a moment when no more comments came, Craig nodded and returned to the routine briefing. Ten minutes later they had three names on the board: Bobby McDonagh, Sam Beech and Elena Boraks, with their ages and what they knew so far. The only common themes were their youth and that they’d been drowned, tattooed, bleached, wrapped and dumped soon after death. Liam raised a finger.

  “Point of order. Does anyone know what religions the victims were?”

  He was answered by silence.

  “If we think religion’s part of this I suggest we check.”

  Craig turned to Davy. “Do that please, Davy and let me know ASAP. OK, anything more on CCTV?”

  Davy reached under his T-shirt and scratched at something on his upper back as he talked. “Nothing.” He gestured at the board hopefully. “But now that I’ve got the Vics’ names I can s…start looking for things in common. I’ll compile a list of people who fit the religious and language links as well.”

  He scratched again and Craig rolled his eyes. If Davy had a new piercing he could live very happily without seeing it; if it was something worse he definitely didn’t want to know.

  “OK, good. Ken. Anything more on the girl?”

  Ken shook his head. “The father was too upset to answer many questions yesterday. I’ll go back today with whoever’s free.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow curiously; Ken normally worked with Carmen. Come to think of it, where was she? There was only one answer. Something had happened and the boss had kicked her into touch. Craig was speaking again so he tuned back in.

  “Jake, did you get much from Bobby McDonagh’s brother?”

  “A bit, but I’ll get more today. It seems Bobby acted out for a while before he came out as gay. Confusion probably. I’ll flesh it out further and report back. There’s one other thing I think you should know.”

  “Go on.”

  “The snout who suggested T.J. as a possible source is someone that I’ve been using for five years; Rick Grundy. T.J. being suggested seemed like too much of a coincidence when it turned out to be his brother who was dead so I called Rick last night. He’s adamant that he only suggested T.J. because he knows everyone on the scene.”

  “You think he might know something about Bobby’s death?”

  “Not specifically, but I think he might have heard something about abductions on the grape vine. He’s not a killer, I’m sure of that. If I find out anything more I’ll report it.”

  “OK. Keep digging and call Andy if you need any help.” He gestured at the board. “Annette and Nicky are in London on the Greer case, so we’ll need someone working Sam Beech on the ground.” He turned to where Andy was seated, only to find a gap. He’d gone to brew more coffee and returned just as Craig was tasking Liam.

  “OK, Liam, you and Andy work Sam Beech, please. Of them all he’s the strangest. There’s no sign of injury to his body and his lifestyle seemed low risk, apart from some possible past abuse by the mother’s partner. But there’s a reason he was chosen and I need you to find out what it is.”

  He paused and a puzzled look crossed his face. Liam saw it first.

  “You’ve just thought of something, haven’t you?”

  Craig made a face that said he wasn’t sure. He stood up, signalling that the briefing was over, and beckoned Davy to follow him into his room, giving him something to chase that made the scratching analyst smile.

  ****

  St Mary’s Healthcare Trust. The canteen.

  Natalie Winter pushed her plate to one side and made a face. “We’re stuck here all weekend and look at the slop we get to eat! I’m ordering a takeaway tonight.” She nodded at Katy’s food. “For instance, what’s that stuff you’re eating? It’s not anything I recognise.”

  Katy ignored her and put another forkful of cottage cheese into her mouth. She didn’t share Natalie’s obsession with food, in fact the only other person she knew who did was Liam. Come to think of it, in the right light and with Natalie on stilts they were more alike than either would ever admit. She took a sip of tea and turned to more important matters, retrieving an A4 pad from her bag.

  “OK, how many men do we have for the party so far?”

  Natalie perked up immediately and tapped the pad’s top page.

  “Have you got all the sports teams down?”

  Katy’s eyes lit up; she’d completely forgotten about the Trust’s rugby and football teams. Natalie hastily added a caveat.

  “But no tennis players. They’re mostly women and we don’t need any competition when we’re trying to find Lucia a man.”

  Katy rolled her eyes. “We’ll have to invite some women or it’ll look too obvious. Lucia and sixty men might give away what we’re up to, don’t you think.”

  Natalie folded her arms and gave a grudging nod. “OK then, but just ugly ones.”

  It was on the tip of Katy’s tongue to say ‘how the heck can we judge?’ when suddenly a chair was scraped back and a dark-haired woman joined them at the table. Katy gazed at her in surprise; Natalie glared at her preparing to say ‘take a hike’.

  The woman brushed past both their reactions by extending a hand towards Katy, bumping Natalie’s elbow on the way.

  “Sofia Emiliani, psychiatry. Pleased to meet you.”

  Natalie opened her mouth to say what she was thinking but Katy cut her short by shaking the prof
fered hand. It was lightly tanned with perfectly manicured nails and Natalie instantly went on high alert. She wasn’t sure why but she knew that this woman was trouble.

  “I’m Katy Stevens and this is Natalie Winter; medicine and surgery. Are you a new consultant?”

  “Yes.”

  As Katy made small talk Natalie scrutinised the woman from head to toe and she didn’t like what she saw. Everything was too perfect, from the thick black hair on her dainty head to the pale blue Jimmy Choos on her feet; even her teeth looked like they’d been cut from a magazine. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. This Sofia was after something and she wanted to know what it was.

  “What do you want?”

  It was out before Natalie had realised that it was more than a thought. The look on Katy’s face said that it had sounded just as sharp as it had in her head. Sofia Emiliani turned her dark gaze slowly towards Natalie and then turned it away again without a word, continuing her conversation with Katy as if she wasn’t there.

  “I am seconded from the Maudsley Hospital in London for six months and…”

  Six months too long in Natalie’s book. She didn’t even know the woman and she hated everything about her, including the languid, breathy way she spoke. Save it for the men, love, ’cos it’s wasted on us.

  “…I have expertise working with the Metropolitan Police in cults and ritual murders...”

  Nice for you. Hopefully one of them will finish you off.

  “…I am told you know the Head of the Murder Squad here, Marc Craig. I think he may find my skills of use…”

  It was all Natalie could do not to yell ‘Yes, she knows him, and in the biblical sense as well. Hands off, you tart!’ She signalled Katy frantically with her eyes but the helpful physician appeared not to notice and replied cheerfully.

  “I’m sure Marc would value your opinion. John Winter, Natalie’s husband, is the lead pathologist and he’s trained in profiling as well. I’ll contact them both for you if you give me your number.”