Scarlet Women

Chapter 42

Annie gave Tony his orders and told him to be quick about it.

‘Hey, you getting religion, Boss?’ he joshed.

‘Not at this late stage,’ said Annie grimly.

The church was quiet today. No choir practice in progress. She got out of the car and put her umbrella up and stood there in the humidity of a summer downpour for a moment, wondering if Hunter had already trodden the same path, wondering too if the church would be locked up and if she was going to have to schlep over to the vicarage to see the little squirt.

Little was the operative word, but it took very little strength to garrotte someone, she knew that. Blackout in seconds, death shortly afterwards. For fuck’s sake, even a woman could do it. Certainly the vicar could, maybe thinking in his twisted, crusading mind that he was liberating these girls from their life of vice.

Bastard.

‘You want me to come in with you, Boss?’ asked Tony from inside the car.

‘No, Tone.’ She didn’t want the vicar spotting Tony and running for the hills before she could collar him. And she wasn’t about to turn her back on the noxious little ferret, not for one second. She had a martial arts weapon, the lethal kiyoga, in her raincoat pocket. She was confident that she could handle this, was almost looking forward to it.

She went down the path to the church doors and tried one of the big circular iron handles. To her surprise, she found that the door opened. Inside, the lights were burning. Either the vicar or the verger had put them on, so she was in luck. Putting down her umbrella, she stepped into the silent church and stood at the bottom of the aisle looking up towards the altar. Rows of empty pews stretched away in front of her.

She couldn’t hear a sound. Not a murmur.

‘Hello?’ she said, and stepped forward, putting the umbrella down on the nearest pew. She slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the cold comforting steel of the kiyoga. She felt uneasy. All the hairs on the back of her neck were erect.

No answer came. Maybe there was no one here. Or maybe they’re just waiting for you to walk up the aisle so they can jump you, she thought.

The door crashed back on its hinges. Annie spun round like a cat.

‘What the fuck are you doing here, Carter?’ asked Hunter, coming in with his dark hair plastered flat from the rain, droplets catching the church lights on the sodden shoulders of his raincoat. He really was a good-looking bloke; it was just a pity he was such a pain in the rear. She got her racketing heart rate back under control.

‘I’m doing your bloody job, by the looks of it,’ she hissed, angry because she’d been getting spooked.

He came towards her, shaking himself like a dog. ‘I’m doing my bloody job, for your information,’ he returned. ‘We’ve checked out the vicar. And on the surface, he looks spotless.’

‘Bollocks!’

Hunter winced. ‘We’re in a place of worship,’ he reminded her.

‘Double bollocks,’ said Annie. ‘Look—if this little shit’s been doing these girls, I want him nailed.’

‘He’s a boozer. And when he gets drunk, yes, he gets abusive, granted.’ Hunter ran a hand through his soaking hair, leaving it stuck up all over the place. He looked at her. He was obviously itching to say something.

‘Come on, spit it out,’ said Annie.

‘There are other people involved in running the church and its charitable concerns beside the vicar,’ he whispered. It echoed. Everything echoed like crazy in here.

‘Like who?’

‘The verger, two lay preachers, the choirmaster, plus several female volunteers who make tea and clean the church and arrange the flowers for Sunday service.’

‘And you’ve checked them all out?’ Her voice echoed eerily: out, out, out…

‘Yeah—and they’re all clean except for one.’

‘Like who?’

‘Like who?’ He stuck his hands on his hips and stared at her. ‘Back off, Mrs Carter. This is police business. I’ve told you before.’

‘It’s my business too,’ said Annie.

‘Is it fuck,’ he snapped.

‘We’re in a place of worship,’ Annie reminded him with a grim smile.

‘Look.’ He was back to the finger-pointing again, jabbing away at the air in front of her face. Christ, he was irritating. ‘Look, Carter…’

‘No, you look,’ Annie cut in. ‘My friend’s been done. Those other girls, too. I don’t want to see any more of this. I want it cut dead now.’

‘We’re in agreement about that,’ he said tersely.

‘So bloody well talk to me. Tell me what the fuck’s going on. You say there are other people running the show? Tell me who.’

He let out a heavy sigh and walked away a couple of paces. He seemed to count to ten. Then he walked back. ‘Okay. But this is a two-way thing, agreed? I tell you, you tell me. Clear?’

‘Clear,’ said Annie, thinking: Dream on my friend. Become a fucking grass? I don’t think so.

‘All right then. One of them’s got previous. I’ve just had it confirmed.’

‘Previous? What for?’

‘Statutory rape.’

Oh fucking hell.

‘Served four years, been out for two. And listen—I’m not telling you any of this.’

‘Okay. Understood.’

He looked at her. ‘And anything else you know, you tell me. Yes?’

‘Yeah, right.’ Yeah, right.

‘He’s a loner. The people who do this type of thing usually are. He was employed at his local parish church in Lincolnshire and was caught saying suggestive things to the ladies who cleaned the church. But they let it pass, thought it was just eccentricity. He befriended and finally raped the daughter of one of them. He’d encouraged her to get a flame tattoo done on her inner thigh beforehand. You know these teenage girls—susceptible to flattery, new to male attention and not sure how to handle it. She fell for it, anyway. Pretty nasty business. He got violent during the rape and nearly choked her with a scarf around her neck.’

Oh fuck me, thought Annie.

‘Called the poor kid a whore. She was severely traumatized. When the case came to light, a couple of prostitutes in the area came forward and said that they’d been raped and nearly throttled by the man; that he’d paid them extra if they got a tattoo done on their upper inner thigh, a flame tattoo, so they had, but then he’d turned aggressive and raped them and called them whores and said the flame was a sign they were going to burn in hell. Nice man, uh? They hadn’t bothered to report it because would the police think it possible for a prostitute to be raped? You can see they had a point.’

Annie nodded, feeling slightly sick.

‘He got a prison sentence for the rape of the girl,’ went on DI Hunter, ‘then he came out and moved to London. That’s always a problem with these people. They move, they fade into the background, and re-emerge somewhere else. Sometimes with a new name, a new identity. Hard to keep track.’

‘Wait up,’ said Annie. ‘So…you’re not talking about the vicar?’

‘No. I’m talking about Cyrus Regan.’

‘Who?’

‘Cyrus Regan. He moved to London. His family had disowned him anyway. He signed up for a charitable