Death Marks (The Symbolist) (16 page)

Redd saw the anguish once again in Tess's eyes; it seemed she too had her dark secrets. Looking at Lugh, he said, 'I hope you can help us. As you know, it's just over two weeks since we found the first two victims. The count is mounting. It points to a group of Druids who follow the ancient rituals. We wondered if you have heard of any new group starting up here. Tess has explained the meaning of the mutilations and markings, and the positioning of the limbs to form a Triskelion.'

Her voice now stronger, Tess added, 'The last one was definitely an execution; the entrails were not taken out to read. And the note
read, "No one defies the Oracle".'

Lugh closed his eyes, his face tightening. 'By the Gods, this can't be allowed to go on. People are dying, suffering in the name of Druidism. What I hear, smacks of the shamanic rites used by the old Druids. However, many of the ancient shamans and the ones of today, use imagery, they enter the trance state and imagine or dream of being dismembered. In order for them to become fully-fledged shamans, they must die in the dream state, in order to be reborn in the pure state. The trainee shaman goes back a fully-fledged shaman; he becomes a healer and mediator between the tribe and the Gods. The druids however carried out the mutilations in reality, even after the birth of Christ.'

Frowning Redd countered, 'It's almost like the resurrection of Christ.'

Lugh nodded. 'The Romans embraced many of the shamanic practices and rituals when spreading the word of Christ. They built their churches on the old pagan sites. Church festivals, like Easter are based on the druidic and Wicca festivals, Easter being one of them. However, for the Christian, they use the symbolic Eucharist where the bread and wine are transubstantiated into the body and blood of Jesus Christ, which the supplicant eats and drinks.'

'Smacks of cannibalism.'

'Yes, it goes back through the mists of time, but now symbolized. Through the Mass of Communion, a Christian is flooded with the spirit of God's Son on earth'

'So why do we still take part in it?'

'Because it is symbolic, it talks to people's soul, their longing to be like Christ, to have his Spirit, his immortality. But, the ancient druids' mind-set then was different to our own consciousness now. They lived in the world of dreams, legends, myth. They truly believed the Gods lived and walked among them. The worst punishment for someone of that time was to be banished from being sacrificed to the Gods. To be chosen for sacrifice and to represent the tribe in the Otherworld and the Gods, was the highest honour. Their lives were based on reincarnation, of dying and living with the ancestors, or returning to earth in a new body.'

Redd nodded, his eyes thoughtful. 'But you never read of this in modern Druidry. I have surfed the Internet and books, and as Tess explained, it is only in the texts of Tacitus and the Caesars that are difficult to find, that you hear of these sacrifices. The modern druids skim over it. They try to hide the ancient history.

Lugh looked at Redd, his eyes penetrating. 'Wouldn't you?'

Tess said, 'Yes, look at the hundreds of thousands, millions even, tortured and murdered in the name of Christianity.'

Lugh
nodded, 'It was a different time; the ancient druids did not see it as a crime, it was an honour. But, modern Druidry embraces the ultimate philosophy of unity with nature, of being one with the earth, the heavens and humanity. They can hardly do this if they keep on harping about the ancient sacrificial beliefs. They have evolved, as have all religions. However, it is important to realize Druidry is not a religion; it is a philosophy.

Redd pursed his lips. 'I suppose you're right. '

His face tense, Lugh said, 'Hence we must find these killers; they are cold and callous, slaking their perverted thirst on the agony of innocents. They also blacken our name. Thousands of people benefit from our lores. They experience peace of mind and fulfillment. Many go on to develop in the arts, or science or philosophy, whilst others go onto the path of healing, psychotherapy, medicine, - social work, so much more. This is what we must fight for.'

'I hear you still believe in magic - time travelling, shape shifting.'

'Those are deep areas; in time physicists will be able to explain them in material terms. So, think of magic as the quest for the soul, time travelling as a different state of consciousness - even now, scientists claim that time travel is possible through the mind. However, why we have to rely on the word of science is saddening. We must listen to our own minds, the soul'

Redd nodded. 'It just doesn't seem possible it could happen here and now.'

Tess interrupted, 'I think the killers might be following the festivals as well as their sacrifices. Up to now, they are re-enacting the sacrifices used for the birth of a new grove. But, the next big festival is the Summer Solstice June 21
st.'

Lugh
said. 'When the sun stops still. Yes, that is a big one - even though Beltane is usually for fire, the druids also use it to celebrate the Summer Solstice.

Redd straightened up. 'Fire?'

Adakan looked at the diners, some already high on drugs, their bodies bloated with the seven course meal. Tapping the crystal wine glass, he rose to his feet, his aquiline features lifted in a beaming smile, the thin lips twitching. He waved to one of the chief members sated with wine. 'Ondujor, what news have you?'

'They have an advisor, a neo-druid, she is feeding them information on the ancient sacred symbols and rituals.'

'Hmm, maybe she should join us. We shall see. But, we must act soon. Thank you Ondujor.'

The man smiled, stroking a lock of dirty blond hair across his bald pate.

Adakan tapped his glass again, addressed the group. 'Now after such a brilliant repast, it is time for us to honour the Goddess with our bodies, our hearts; our souls.'

Turning, he strode to the door, his dark blue robe emblazoned with silver stars, swept the floor. The Ovates rose almost as one, scraping back chairs over the parquet flooring. A couple of the females giggled, faces bright with anticipation. Hustling bodies cast huge shadows on the mahogany panelled walls, as they hurried from the room. In the dressing room, they divested themselves of their clothes, putting on robes of woad blue or rose madder red.

Rounded columns held up a ceiling soaring some thirty feet above an underground chamber, well over sixty feet long by forty feet wide. Flares glittering from wrought-iron sconces welcomed the Ovates, the stone walls scattered with embedded semi-precious gems. Above, cornices held naked nymphs coupling with long tailed demons, whilst along the walls, male and female statues made love in every conceivable pose. At the far end, carved women, men and beasts cavorted in sexual stances that belied the wildest imagination.

Adakan stood at the altar over five feet high, and six feet in breadth covered with a deep red cloth glowing with swirls of gold embroidery. Raising his staff, music with a deep drumbeat filtered through, echoing against the walls. The two lines of Ovates began to sway beneath their robes, as a woman appeared from the side door, naked, oiled and glistening, her skin painted red. Long hair glittered gold, rippling to her hips. Moving her curves sinuously, she climbed onto the altar, her body moving to the slow drumbeat. Rising to her knees, her breasts prominent with purple paint, she lifted her heavy hair above her head, her hips writhing leisurely. As the drumbeat quickened, a second woman appeared, her skin the colour of moss, the body slick with oil, her hair, ebony black. In a serpentine pose, she climbed onto the altar, her tongue, bright red, flicking between her lips. Standing tall, she lifted her large breasts, her legs apart, swivelling her hips to the drumbeat. The blonde moved towards her, swinging her pelvis, arms outstretched, wrapping them around the other woman, lifting the ebony locks, pulling her close, breast to breast, hips bucking in rhythm with the beat.

The drumbeat quickened, the men as one, threw off their robes, moving forward, roaring, hips bucking in unison with the two dancers, whilst the two women raised their arms moving in sinuous curves.

Just for two seconds the drumbeat slowed, as Adakan climbed upon the altar, his member long and hard. The men roared, as he stepped between the two women who in turn brushed their breasts against him. The music rose, the drum beat fast; laughter, screams and shouts echoed through the hall, as figures rolled on the floor, or went into the shadows and the corners, lips kissing, arms stroking, hips gyrating - copulating. All through, rock music pounded from the walls heightening the tension, filling the air with sex.

As the light flares burnt down, so the movement became lax, the figures now moving slowly, others relaxing, drinking. Lazily, they raised their heads to the gong of a brass drum. Adakan now covered in the blue robe, the silver stars sparkling, stepped behind a stone lectern.

'Ovates, you have well and truly honoured the Goddess. She is pleased with your endeavours, your loyalty to the Wheel of Life. So now, let us eat, and rest for we shall meet again this evening to offer our gifts to the Gods. Let them hear us, let them speak through the Oracle.

The Ovates roared, raising fists in the air. As one, they shouted 'The Oracle.'

Deep in the dungeon, Jeannette raised her head. 'Neil ... Neil ... did you hear that? They're screaming up there.'

'Yeah ... God knows what they're doing. I just hope Julia can persuade Kevin to help us.'

'She must Neil. They'll kill us. Oh God. I've heard they do terrible things. One of the servants went to tell me, and Julia stopped her. But, I got the gist of it. They mean to sacrifice us. Why? What have we done? Why us?' Neil raised himself on his elbow; I just hope Julia can persuade Kevin ... they're our only hope.'

'Trouble is, he is petrified of them.'

'Yeah, but Julia said she just couldn't go through with it. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't help us.'

'D'you think they'd really kill us?'

'Yeah I do.'

'But why? They tattooed us - the pain - it was horrendous.'

As she rose to her feet, the door opened. Julia entered, her eyes huge, fingers to her lips. 'Ssh, we're going to help you.'

Jeannette almost cried, 'Oh thank God - thank God.'

'Just keep very quiet, do everything we say.'

As she spoke, Kevin appeared. 'I couldn't let them .... I would never live with myself. Come on - they're all sleeping it off. But keep quiet.'

Jeannette tried to wrap a sheet around her to cover her nakedness, but Kevin stopped her. 'Don't, just come as you are, we haven't got time. We must move now. The servants are clearing up the hall, and the others are cooking.'

In single file, they followed Julia with Kevin leading. But, for the light of the single candle, it was pitch black. Jeannette knew the tunnels were over-run with rats; she'd heard them squeaking; a couple found their way into the cell. Now she mustn't think about them, mustn't scream out if one went over her foot. Scarcely daring to breathe, they moved swiftly through the first tunnel. In single file, they turned right into another tunnel slightly higher than the one they'd left. Jeannette straightened up, watching the flickering light shining on Kevin's sloping shoulders, still hunched under the low roof.

He stopped, turning around, as he whispered, 'Steps ahead. They're wet, be careful, but hurry.'

At that moment, Jeannette felt the clawed feet of rats running around her legs; she pushed her fist against her teeth, to stifle a scream. Behind her, Neil saw her stop, her body shuddering.'

'It's okay love, just keep moving, ignore them.'

Sobbing deep in her chest, she moved forward. With the steps rising before her, her only supports were the slimy walls slipping beneath her hands. Quenching her horror, she started up only to feel webbed feet scrabble up to her knee. Flicking her leg, trying to strangle a scream, she slipped, tumbling back into Neil. Julia stopped; her face twisted in terror, as Jeannette and Neil fell back to the dirt floor. Jeannette clutched her knee, her cries resounding through the tunnel.

Neil tried to lift her, but Jeannette sagged in his arms, her breath now ragged. 'Don't - don't it's broken - oh God my leg's broken.'

She looked up to see Kevin hurrying towards her, felt him lift her in his arms. 'We can't stop now; we're nearly there, nearly there. Staggering, he made his way up the steps, his toes gripping the edges of stone as the others followed in silence. He muttered, 'Only one more....'

As he reached the top, the door swung open....

Grabbing a few precious minutes, before the meeting, Jack waded through the reports; He looked up to the white boards pushed to the far end of the Incident Room. They did not scream evidence, despite hundreds of door-to-door interviews, web searches and dozens of calls from the public. It seemed their only lead would be from the drug Salvia Divinorum, but the Web was a mire of sites disappearing, others mushrooming overnight to take their place.

Vitriolic reprimands poured in from the Head Office of the Sussex Police. Both he and Redd felt the heat of their frustration - the public wanted heads, the media now with red tooth and claw, pouncing on any miserly bit of news, running with headlines that scorned the lamentable efforts of the police; the photos of Jeannette and Neil on the TV News every hour. The press accused the police of lethargy, giving unbridled exposure to the horrific fate of Delle and David, the terror of mutilations, dismemberment and decapitation. Panic set in
, and there was nothing he or Redd could do. Why the fuck didn't the media publicize the gut slogging work of the police? They grafted non-stop day and night, from uniforms on the beat to the chief detectives, baggy eyed, with stubbly chins, sleeping in their clothes, only a quick shower saving the stench of human sweat from overpowering the Incident Room. Food was on the hoof - the local burger takeaway, doing a roaring trade, with a supermarket almost bought out of ready meals. Many of those who commuted had not seen their families for days, some sleeping only a few hours at a time, in the cot unit provided for major crime.

He hated to think it, but time was running out fast for Jeannette and Neil. Their only solace was, abductors could hold their victims for months, so hope still glimmered. Apart from this case, The Major Crimes Department also dealt with crimes on the edge of homicide; the list was growing. Officers were sparse after the recent cuts. This didn't stop the assaults, robbery, domestics, paedophilia rings, drug wars, major accidents, missing people. Something had to break - soon. He looked towards the officers, heads bent over flickering screens, the constant ringing of phones, others scribbling notes, whilst still others, combed the streets, the derelict sites, abandoned warehouses, right now they were dragging isolated parts of the Arun, a tidal river sweeping down to the sea.

There had to be a break soon, it was definitely a Druidic theme, but they needed something more concrete. Forensics had come up with nothing but a fingerprint on the bark from a Yew tree that it didn't compare to anything on HOLMES or Interpol. How the hell were they to gain a foothold? The killings were macabre, the perps bloody clever. The killers used some place where they could mop up the blood, dispose of bone fragments and clothes. So far, the only clues lay in the poor sketch of the crime artist and the surmised occupations of the perps.

In front of him, he had a list of Universities in the area; Chichester looked promising with a professor of mysticism and religion. Now he would surely have some knowledge of Druidry and of the different Groves in the surrounding districts. Picking up the phone, he got through to Michelle, asking her to put him through to the professor.

He heard the plumy tones of an older man, 'Professor Edmondson here - you are? I can't quite remember the name your secretary gave me.'

'Detective Inspector Cummings; I hope you can give us some of your professional advice about a case we're investigating?'

'Oh dear - oh dear. Of course - of course. I would be pleased to help. Is it to do with the latest murders?'

'Yes Sir. We need some background information, which may help.'

'Oh dear - oh dear. I'm looking through my diary, and I think tomorrow would be convenient.'

'Sir we need your help now; every hour counts in this investigation. '

'I do appreciate that Inspector, but we are inundated this year with foreign students taking the summer courses. I literally have classes all day every day. Like you Sir, we have to take what we can - what with these government cuts and the high fees it is—'

'Sir, forgive me interrupting, but we do need your help as of now. People's lives are at stake.'

'Oh dear - oh dear. I'm sorry Inspector - forgive me - of course - of course. Say six PM this evening? Err ... what did you say your name was?'

Jack frowned, that was still too late, but then he did have other things to clear up. 'Thank you Professor. Detective Chief Inspector Jack Cummings; could you give me your address and directions as to where I can find you?

'Err; we are Block five, second floor, room eighteen. A dastardly case - dastardly case. I hope I can help you, oh dear oh dear.'

Jack couldn't help smiling; the man was from another era, but his repetitions must get quite irritating over time.

Rising from his desk, he went over to where Amanda Green sat, her normally straight shoulders bowed over her PC, the erect spine now slumped in exhaustion as she concentrated on a web site. 'Got anything yet Green?'

She looked up at him, green eyes glinting, purple shadows showing her lack of sleep. 'No Sir, another dead-end. Like I reported, the sites are just disappearing and new ones appearing. It's so bloody frustrating.'

'Anything else?'

'Yes Sir, I'm still trawling through the lists of tattooists, for the Sussex area. There were over eight hundred and ninety results in one hit. I pushed it over to Papworth as he can tune it right down picking out the proper tag words.'

Jack grinned, knowing that Papworth wojuld be over the moon she'd even deigned to talk to him. 'So what about tattoo parlours?'

'I've got a couple of uniforms hitting all of them within a sixty-mile radius. As you said, the person who did those tattoos on the bodies must be an expert. So far, no luck.'

As he bent to look at her screen, his cell vibrated. DS Price, the Office Manager shouted from across the room, 'For you Sir - Desk Sergeant.'

Jack went over picking up the phone, 'Cummings here?'

As he held the phone to his ear, his face tightened. 'Okay, got it. The two officers are staying there? ... Fine.' Putting down the phone, he realized all conversations had stopped; the room was deathly silent, haggard faces turned to him wrought with anxiety, eyes questioning. He looked at Price, his voice quiet, intense. 'We've got another one. Devil's Punch Bowl, Gibbet's Hill - Celtic Cross. Get SOCO out there pronto, the Divisional Surgeon and Mahoney - we're gonna need him. Get the Investigating team together. Prepare yourselves, from what I've been told it's another fucking nightmare.

As he walked from the room, Price rose to his feet. 'Okay folks let's get moving, On the site Green, Crosby, O'Connell and Owen. Matthews - you're the note taker, Tomkins - evidence, Williams - triangulation sketches and statements. I'll get uniforms to protect the perimeter and entrance to the crime scene. Let's move it.'

In his office, Jack bundled papers, notepads and pens into his briefcase and then picked up the phone. Tapping in the numbers he tried to get through to Redd, the number was unobtainable.