Something Evil Comes Read online

  ‘He also said that several of his parishioners and others in the area have contacted the church website to express upset at police focus on the church and its members.’

  She looked at him in disbelief. The chief pointed his forefinger at her. ‘The other complaint is about you.’ She waited, open-mouthed. ‘The complainant is here, he’s angry and he’s demanded a meeting with all three of you. I agreed because if I didn’t he’d probably go to the newspapers. I’ve insisted that in that meeting I do the talking, paraphrasing what has upset him to keep things civil.’ He picked up the desk phone, hit a button and waited. ‘Show them in.’

  They sat in uncomfortable silence, Hanson’s head scrambling over what this was about, the chief forcing his face into a semblance of calm reasonableness. There was a peremptory knock on the door. It was opened by a uniformed officer. Brad Flynn walked inside followed by Dominic Flynn, neither of them looking at anyone. The chief nodded to them. ‘Have seats, please.’ Once they were seated he spoke, his voice a steady monotone, his eyes on Hanson. ‘Mr Flynn believes that you exerted undue pressure on his wife by demanding to see her at a time she was emotionally vulnerable. Mr Flynn also says that the nature of the questions you asked her has put strain on their relationship and exposed them to social media scrutiny and comment.’ Brad Flynn did not look at her. Dominic Flynn was staring out of the window. The chief continued. ‘The essence of Mr Flynn’s complaint is that you released information about his wife having an association with a Zach Addison which has resulted in a flood of derogatory comments about her to their social media accounts.’

  ‘I did not,’ said Hanson, matching the chief’s monotone, her face expressionless. Inside, she was furious. She gazed across at Brad Flynn who kept his eyes averted. Dominic Flynn was looking uncomfortable, his arms folded, his gaze on the floor, the expression on his face suggesting that he could think of several places he’d rather be right now.

  The chief turned to Brad Flynn. ‘Professor Hanson has heard your complaint and she’s denied it. Leave the matter with me, Mr Flynn. I’ll investigate it fully and get back to you on any action this force proposes to take.’ The chief turned his attention to Dominic Flynn. ‘Is there anything specific you’d like to say or add?’

  Dominic looked at his watch then out of the window. ‘No. Nothing.’

  Brad Flynn stood, nodded to the chief and headed for the door, Dominic following him. The door closed and the chief turned to Hanson. ‘Dominic Flynn looked like he was here under protest but you’ve made an enemy in his father.’

  ‘We know Brad Flynn likes to control situations,’ said Hanson. ‘I’ve got serious doubts that his wife told him anything. I think he somehow found out about her affair and he wants to try some damage limitation of his reputation and his ego by switching the focus onto me. Make me look bad at my job.’

  Looking marginally more relaxed, the chief gave a thin smile. ‘This whole mess is looking better by the minute. You’re saying you didn’t speak to his wife?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  The smile disappeared. ‘But you didn’t accuse her of having an affair, like Flynn is saying?’

  ‘I didn’t “accuse”. I raised it indirectly …’

  ‘Oh, for …’ The chief was back to irate. ‘Delaney. Brad Flynn. Two separate individuals who want you three off this case and I’m the one who has to smooth them down.’

  ‘We don’t bow to that kind of pressure,’ said Watts.

  Hanson watched the chief’s rage climb. ‘You don’t have to! It’s me that has to do the bowing, the smoothing, the negotiating.’ He rummaged in a drawer of his desk. ‘Only nine thirty and my head’s splitting. Just … go. Keep your contacts with Delaney and Flynn to a minimum unless you’ve got a specific reason to justify it to me first!’

  They came into UCU. Hanson broke the silence. ‘It was my idea to focus on the church.’

  ‘We agreed. Our leads were pointing to it,’ said Corrigan.

  Watts sat heavily, eyes on Hanson. ‘I know we’ve discussed it but that time you saw Delaney with the kid from the choir, do you think he realised you’d seen what he did?’

  Hanson raised her shoulders. ‘I try to keep a professional face, whatever I see or hear, but … I just don’t know. Why?’

  ‘Because a complaint by Delaney could be his way of diverting attention from himself. I’m not so bothered about Flynn. You were right about his wife and Zach Addison. What’s upsetting Flynn is that it’s out there for all to see.’ He loosened his tie. ‘I don’t hold with all this Twittering and Twattering but it looks like it’s something he and his wife go in for. In which case, somebody ought to tell both of them: if they don’t like the comebacks they shouldn’t be on it.’

  There was a short silence. ‘So, what do we do now?’ asked Hanson.

  ‘Get onto this mate of yours. The one with the drone. Tell him we’re ready when he is.’

  ‘What about the chief?’ She watched him go to the board and point at various items of information.

  ‘What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Matthew Flynn’s remains were left inside the church’s locked crypt. He’d attended a drug group run by the church. So did Callum Foley. Spencer Albright has form for church theft and before he dropped off the planet he told Chivers that St Bartholomew’s security was poor.’ He came back to the table. ‘We need to find both Foley and Albright. We need to know whether they’re dead. I want that drone.’

  Hanson was inside the Geoscience department, looking down at the black metal contraption, each of its outstretched ‘arms’ surmounted by propellers. ‘Small, isn’t it?’ she offered, looking at what was probably UCU’s only hope.

  Jake gazed down at it, a father exhibiting his first-born. ‘Also light and very easily controlled.’ He pointed out features. ‘That’s the camera. There’s a couple of other bits and bobs, the ground-reading technology which communicates results direct to this.’ He went to the small laptop sitting on the workbench, opened it up. ‘Have a look.’ He pointed. ‘I’ve checked out this map of the land around the church. We’re in luck. There are only the two buildings: the church itself and this place.’ He pointed to what Hanson knew to be Church House. ‘We don’t need to fly over either of them, which means we don’t have any trespass violations to worry about.’

  Hanson nodded. Unless Father Delaney or members of his committee see it operating.

  He pointed to a small area on the map some distance from the extensive piece of land on which the church, the churchyard and Delaney’s house were situated. ‘We’ll start there. It’s separate from the church and given we’re talking clandestine burial it looks like a good place, screened by trees from anybody who might be coming and going to the church.’

  ‘We’re ready to go with it, Jake. How are you fixed?’

  ‘Ready when you are. Any time in the next two days is good for me.’

  ‘Hang on.’ She got out her phone, tapped it, spoke and turned back to Jake. ‘DS Watts says this evening.’

  Jake grinned. ‘Cool.’

  They came onto the land Jake had selected for the drone’s task, Hanson’s eyes on the church and Church House some distance to the right of where they were, both in darkness. She scanned the area for signs of Delaney or anyone else associated with the church. There was no one. The whole place was deserted. Jake strode ahead of them carrying his equipment, a graduate student in tow, Hanson and her colleagues following, getting occasional glimpses of the leaning stones of the churchyard. They were here to locate an illicit burial if one existed, one which might yield the remains of either Callum Foley or Spencer Albright. Maybe both, if we’re lucky. She bit her lip. Jake set down the equipment and his student unpacked it and set it up with practiced ease.

  He looked around. ‘This area is nice and open for Oscar to roam. Do his thing.’

  They watched as he got busy with the laptop, Corrigan looking beguiled by the technology, Watts suspicious. Jake gazed upwards at gathering cloud, frowned at a qu
ick fierce gust making nearby tree limbs wave, scattering crisp leaves around their feet.

  ‘That wind could be a problem if it sticks around. Oscar likes calm conditions.’

  Over the next few minutes the wind died. Hanson’s attention remained on the trees and undergrowth, uneasy now. She wanted Jake to complete his survey quickly so they could leave. Hearing sudden enthusiasm in her colleagues’ voices she looked to where the drone was sitting, several of its propellers now spinning, Jake’s attention fixed on the laptop. At a single key-tap command they watched the spindly, black, mosquito-like object rise into the air, emitting a low buzzing sound, dipping slightly to one side then the other. Faces raised, they watched it climb, hover and suddenly accelerate towards the edge of the open area of land and begin moving steadily along its perimeter. Intrigued, Hanson stared at it then went to where Jake was standing with the laptop, his student pointing to the screen, their eyes fixed on it. Hanson looked upwards, searching for the drone. She couldn’t see it. A quick movement among the screen of trees separating them from the church and Delaney’s house sent tension surging through her. She glanced at her colleagues, fully occupied with the drone’s activities and back, scanning the trees. They hadn’t seen it but she had. Someone was here. Someone on the move. There it was again! A quick flash of white among the branches. Too small for Delaney. Hanson broke into a run, heading for the tree cover. She had to talk to whoever it was. Explain what they were doing and why.

  ‘Wait!’ It ran like the wind then stopped, still obscured by trees. Hanson also stopped, uncertain. It turned quickly and ran noiselessly away, leaving her staring helplessly after it. That was no obese priest, no elderly parishioner.

  She returned to her colleagues who were still gathered around the apparatus. Corrigan looked up at her. ‘That you who shouted, Red?’

  ‘Yes. I thought I saw something. Someone.’

  Watts frowned. ‘And?’

  ‘It ran.’

  ‘Blimey. Let’s hope it was nobody connected with the church. We don’t need more trouble.’

  ‘How long will it take to survey the area?’ she asked Jake.

  Watts looked across at him. ‘The Doc’s of an impatient disposition but we’ll all feel easier once it’s finished and we’re away from here.’

  ‘I’d say around fifteen more minutes, then it’s back to Geoscience with the data, examine the results and try interpreting them.’

  Watts’s brows met. ‘Try? Let’s get something straight here: we need this and soon.’ Hanson sent him a look. ‘I’m not the only one in UCU who’s impatient.’

  Jake’s eyes were on the screen. ‘This survey is experimental for me and my department so I want to get it right. When we get back, we’ll work on it until we think we’ve got a conclusive picture of what lies beneath, if anything.’

  Seeing Watts’s doubtful look, Hanson recalled her own early weeks as part of UCU, and his jibes about “ivory-tower academics”. ‘They want to try working in the real world for a change!’ he’d railed.

  After several more minutes the drone appeared above them and lowered itself elegantly to the ground. Taking leave of Jake and his student, with his promise to get back to them as soon as he could, they returned to UCU.

  ‘I did see something, you know,’ said Hanson.

  ‘Let’s hope it wasn’t Delaney or his deacons on the prowl.’

  ‘It wasn’t. It was quick-moving. Wraithlike.’

  Watts looked at her, clearly edgy. ‘Let’s hope your mate Jake gets back to us with a result before the chief catches on to what we’ve been up to.’

  Hanson was overcome by tiredness. ‘I’m going home.’ She stopped as she reached the door. ‘I just remembered. Those tiny bits of vegetation that Chong collected from Matthew Flynn’s clothing. Has she said anything about them?’

  Watts shook his head. ‘Only that they were too small and not enough to identify but she confirmed what she said originally: vegetable matter of some kind, which tells me—’

  She gave him a weary look. ‘Yes, drugs. We know.’

  ‘I’m definitely being railroaded here,’ murmured Hanson a couple of hours later as she threw down a card, her mind on bed and sleep.

  Maisie rolled her eyes. ‘That’s because you’re not keeping the rules in your head, Mom. You’re not concentrating.’ She turned to Charlie. ‘What have you got, Grandpa?’ Charlie laid down his cards with the air of a magician at a final reveal.

  ‘Wow,’ breathed Maisie. She looked at him. ‘You were wasted in the law. You should have been a cardsharp.’

  Hanson began gathering the cards, listening to Charlie’s laugh. ‘Time you were in bed, Maisie.’

  Against the usual backdrop of protests, she glanced at Maisie and Charlie. Her family. All that really mattered was that they were healthy and happy. And safe. Earlier in the day she’d informed the vice chancellor that she wanted to reduce Maisie’s attendance at maths lectures to the original two days. She hadn’t given a reason. She’d also told Kevin of the change. He hadn’t been impressed. She gave a mental shrug. The decision wasn’t set in stone. If Maisie decided at some point in the future that she was ready to increase her lectures they’d talk about it.

  Four hours of disturbed sleep and Hanson was being pursued by something faceless, white, grasping arms extended. She was dragged to full consciousness by her phone on the bedside table.

  4.00 a.m. and rain was falling out of blackness, bowing branches, turning their few remaining leaves glossy. Watts gulped hot tea from a plastic cup, watching Petrie working beneath a hastily erected cover, cagoule shiny, rain dripping from its hood as he talked to Chong and the SOCOs, pointing out features from the data he’d printed off, his face animated. Watts took another gulp of tea, wondering if this particular academic ever slept. If he did, it had to be in the daytime. Probably had a sideline as a vampire. He was savouring the action as SOCOs carrying portable lights and a folded gazebo canopy, another two with shovels, dispersed to a small area a few metres away at the edge of the clearing and stood. A thumbs-up from Petrie and the gazebo rose, the lights came on and the shovels drove downwards. Watching rectangles of sodden grass being sliced from their moorings and dropped to one side, Watts ruminated on the hours he’d spent waiting, watching, as experts dug into earth or disappeared beneath water to lift out whatever was there, then stepped back to allow for other, different expertise. He glanced over at Chong now, close to the excavation, pointing and talking, Petrie alongside her, his hand movements cautioning. It would be Chong’s turn soon. She would allow Watts a brief look at whatever was there, after which she would take charge of it if it was human, and he’d wait some more for the post-mortem results. Over thirty or so years, it added up to a lot of waiting.

  He turned as Hanson approached in response to his call, face intent, damp springs of hair escaping from her hood. She arrived at his side, scanning their surroundings. Given her attention to detail and her reluctance to let anything go, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she was still looking for whoever she said she’d seen here earlier.

  ‘What do we know?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing beyond the drone identifying what looks to be an illicit burial according to your mate, Petrie, who can’t be sure right now if it’s human. Or a large dog. Or a small horse.’

  She looked across at the excavation in progress then up at him. ‘Is that your sarcastic streak talking?’

  He grinned, drank tea. ‘Petrie is cautious but he’s also your confident type. He’s saying it could be human.’

  She waited. ‘And you’re sufficiently confident to blow the secrecy of what we’ve done by bringing Chong and the SOCOs out here?’

  He didn’t reply. Her words had brought the scene with the chief the previous day into his head.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m asking myself what sort of job it is where you hope you’re digging somebody up.’

  She shivered. He poured more tea. ‘Here, grab hold.
Excuse the mug.’

  She took it from him, placed her hands around it and drank. ‘Where’s Corrigan?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s busy.’ He glanced at her in profile, getting nothing but he guessed she was thinking plenty, wondering what Corrigan was busy doing. He gave a mental shrug. Nothing to do with him how the two of them organised their lives. Or didn’t. They couldn’t seem to get it together. Right now, apart from Armed Response, Corrigan was busy doing one of the other things that he did well. ‘He’s at headquarters, going through the paperwork Gus’s team removed from Alfred Best’s property.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He glanced at her again, wondering whether Delaney’s complaint to the chief was aimed at deflecting attention from what Hanson had seen inside the church. Watts had never known her show what she was thinking to people involved in their cases. A closed book, was what she normally was. One of the things about her which had taken him a while to get used to. He straightened, eyes narrowing on the excavation. Chong was on her knees beneath the plastic awning, a wide swathe of raw earth now visible, the SOCOs and their shovels at rest.

  ‘Look lively, doc.’ He murmured. ‘I think we’re in business.’

  They walked the few metres of soaked grass, went under the gazebo and stood looking down at the indistinct shape around which Chong was carefully loosening damp, red-brown earth. They watched her work steadily, an outline slowly emerging. One side of a head. One shoulder. The beginnings of an upper arm?

  ‘What are you hoping for, Watts?’ asked Chong without moving her attention from her task.

  ‘That we’ve got either Spencer Albright or Callum Foley.’

  She continued the deft scraping. ‘Care to tell me something about them?’

  ‘Both young, say eighteen to twenty-four. Albright was last seen around six weeks ago. It’s a can’t-say for Foley.’

  Eyes on the remains she said, ‘I’ve got male, possibly youthful. Beyond that, you’ll have to wait.’

  ‘Ta for that,’ he said, moving away, Hanson following.