The Soul Collector Read Free Page B

fresh-faced young man in a crumpled suit and white overshoes stood there, looking at Oaten and Turner in confusion.
    “DC Lineham,” Neville said unenthusiastically. “Two weeks on the job and thinks he knows it all,” he said to Oaten, not bothering to lower his voice. “What is it then? You can talk in front of our colleagues from the Violent Crimes Coordination Team.”
    “I thought I recognized DCI Oaten from the TV,”
    Lineham said, stepping forward.
    “Not inside!” yelled Neville. “You need a coverall and a change of overshoes, idiot.”
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    Paul Johnston
    The young constable’s cheeks reddened. “Sorry, guv,”
    he said. He was well-spoken, probably a graduate on the fast-track scheme. “Perhaps you’d like to come out here then.”
    “What have you found?” Neville said wearily. “Don’t tell me there’s another headless moggy in the garden.”
    “No, sir. It’s a bit more…em, sinister than that.”
    Oaten and Turner exchanged glances and went to the back door. They took off their bootees. Steps led down to a garden that was lit by lamps set into the side of a paved path. A CSI was on his knees on the grass next to one of the stone slabs, examining it close up.
    As they got closer, Karen Oaten’s heart began to sink. This was the last thing she needed.
    The investigator looked up at them. “White chalk, drawn with a steady hand, I’d say. It’s a—”
    “Pentagram,” Oaten and Turner said in unison. They’d worked more than one case involving the paraphernalia of Satanism.
    “What’s that writing in the middle?” Neville asked, peering forward from the closest stepping plates that had been put down to protect any footprints.
    “It’s Latin,” put in DC Lineham eagerly. “‘FECIT
    DIABOLUS.’” He looked around the blank faces excitedly.
    “Meaning?” Oaten prompted.
    “Meaning ‘The devil did it.’”
    Inspector Neville groaned and slapped his forehead.
    “This and the bloody Stones track. We’ve only gone and got ourselves a sodding Satanist murder.”
    Oaten looked at John Turner, then they both concentrated on the pentagram.
    “Black cat cut up like that,” Turner said, “and the victim’s The Soul Collector
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    ear removed…” He broke off. “I presume it hasn’t been found in or near the house.”
    “You presume right,” Neville said, squatting down by the pentagram. “What is this shit? Why can’t people just kill each other and leave it at that? The press are going to have a field day.”
    “Well, you’d better not encourage them, Inspector,”
    Oaten said firmly. “At this point, we don’t know if the pentagram has any connection to the killing. The victim herself might have had an interest in devil worship.”
    “Excuse me, Chief Inspector,” Lineham said. He looked like a boy bursting for the toilet. “Don’t you think—”
    “Don’t interrupt me when I’m thinking,” Oaten ordered.
    DC Lineham stared at the pentagram, looking aggrieved.
    “Is there something I’m missing here?” Inspector Neville said suspiciously. Then he made the connection.
    “Oh, Jesus. You’re the ones who investigated that other devil case, the one with the heavy-duty killings.”
    “That was the White Devil,” Taff Turner said. “And he’s dead.” He glanced at his boss. They both knew that wasn’t the whole story.
    Neville was looking at Oaten. “Are you taking over the case then, ma’am?”
    Oaten was sure that he was deliberately using the traditional mode of address for female superiors, despite Redrose’s warning to the other officer. To her, it was sexist, old-fashioned and demeaning. Not only that, it made her feel like the queen. None of those things were acceptable, but she decided against correcting Neville. He would imagine he’d put one over her. “Not yet, Inspec-26 Paul Johnston
    tor. Please make sure that I receive a copy of the full case file and daily updates. And give me your contact numbers.”
    They exchanged cards, and