We were still making idle chit-chat an hour later. Whenever you’re working with someone new, it’s important to establish what sort of person they are. By this, I mean whether you can trust them, if they’re an utter psycho that will need careful handling, if they’ll have your back when it comes to it, and what sort of experience they have.
Ragnhild ticked all of the boxes. Her scars testified to the fact that she’d faced some very serious situations indeed, and that she had survived them; the implication being that whoever or whatever had inflicted those injuries hadn’t.
She also had a great sense of humour and was soon joining in the with the banter as if we’d all known each other for years. Which was surprising, as we bantered hard. Even Marcus on the odd occasion.
‘… and so, once we realised what was happening, we approached the Hammers and laid all of the evidence our Investigators could get in front of them. Fortunately, your Merlins were more than willing to accept our help and sent all the existing files over.’
‘What made you think that this case resembled your cold case?’ asked Marcus.
‘The displays … the way that the bodies are left. It’s a poor attempt at trying to look like a serial killer is doing this. Back home, even when the bodies were occasionally left in a similar manner, there was too much that was different. Different knots used for binding, different masking tape, even different bite and claw markings.’
‘Why do you think that is?’ said Dawn.
‘My gut says that they’re leaving these people to be found this way because doing so makes more sense than having them just disappear.’
‘Like a message?’ I asked, leaning forward. It finally seemed like things were making sense.
‘Exactly that. But we were never able to work out what the message was before the killings stopped.’
‘And there was nothing similar in any other jurisdictions? And no idea who the message was for?’ said Marcus.
‘Nothing. The killings lasted for a while, and then they stopped. We assumed that the killer had either been caught for some other crime or had killed everyone that they were going to and stopped. That or they left the country for whatever reason. we were just too relieved to do much more than monitor the news for a few months afterwards. Nothing ever came about. And now we know they left the country to continue their work.’
We sat in silence for a moment. Each of us was lost in their own thoughts. My thoughts were, unfortunately, taken up with Ragnhild and the issue of the killings. I hadn’t been this distracted for ages. Well, not since Dawn first started with me.
‘I need to get a car,’ said Ragnhild. ‘The rental they gave me is crimped.
‘Cramped,’ I laughed.
Ragnhild smiled back, ‘Cramped.’
‘What sort?‘ said Dawn.
‘I rather like the Land Rover Defender. The old one, not the new one.‘
‘Well aren’t you a classy lady?‘ Laughed Dawn. ’Jane used to love her Land Rover.’
‘Why she’d get rid of it? ‘
‘Unfortunately, some Wererats took a dislike to both me and her,’ I said, ‘and launched a number of fireballs at it. We decided then that we’d get something slightly nippier. Hence the motorcycles. ‘
‘Any dealers nearby? ‘
‘Yeah, we’ll take you to Whitehorse. They have a good selection of second handers. Real Defenders as you say, not those new fancy ones. Any budget? ‘
She laughed, her teeth were impeccable. ‘Not really, I have a gold card and I doubt I’ll ever be able to max it out in one go. ‘
‘Lovely jubbly’, said Dawn rubbing her hands together. ‘I do love a bit of car shopping. ‘
*
Ragnhild had had gone for a classic, a Land Rover defender 90. It was in perfect condition and had been sprayed matte black by the previous owner. It had a snorkel, extra chunky tyres, a tow rope, trailer bar, chequer plates, spare wheel, and even had a shovel, crowbar and pickaxe attached. How she had managed to find one of the few tactical Land Rovers in the county I don’t know, but it was a good sign.
I had to admit to myself that our convoy of vehicles looked pretty bad arse. Although the poncy TVR at the rear kind of spoiled it.
Parking up in Crediton town square, we headed to the Baobab, a cafe overlooking the main square. They did a lovely Lebanese chicken with yellow dhal and millet salad and a mean Arab mud coffee.
I'd decided to go there because I starting to feel that the house was too small. I also needed a break from the case. So, we sat amongst the Mundanes and chatted about things it didn't really matter. I pointed out places of interest, including the Three Pigs pub, which did a fabulous burger and was full of the most amazing bric-a-brac I'd ever seen. Sometimes whilst we waited for our food to come, we just sat in companionable silence listening to what the Mundanes were talking about and smiling at how ordinary their lives were.
I don't mean to come across as arrogant when I refer to Mundanes in their ordinary lives. Because there are times when I'm jealous of their lives. Jealous of their worries that they might lose their job, or that they might not make enough money to buy the car that they want. Those were worries that numbers of the Magical community had, everyone did.
However, they didn't have to worry about the constant threat that members of the magical community faced on a daily basis. When I say members of the Magical community, I don't mean the normal ones. If being Magical can be referred to as being normal. There are more Mundanes than there are Magicians, and Witches, so if we were to take normal as being the majority of the population, then Mundanes are normal, and the members of the Magical community are the exception. Quite often we were referred to as being paranormal but thinking about it I realised that a better word was extra normal.
Note that when I refer to people as being part of the Magical community, and not having worry about normal things, I suppose I was really referring to myself, Dawn, and Ragnhild.
Sometimes it felt as if we were magnets for all the bad things in life. Granted we took on Marks and actually hunted down the baddy, but then things would also happen, would just come along, like these killings.
Yes, the members of the magical community were worried about these things happening and people had died. However, beyond the odd ‘will this happen to me?’ They didn’t have to worry about going out and finding who was doing this. Rather like Mundanes when they hear that someone's done something bad and the police are hunting them, they might hug their loved ones a little bit tighter that night, but it doesn't really affect them beyond that.
I didn't know many old Agents. And by old I’m talking about what we would consider old in the Magical sense, over 100 years. That was the equivalent of 60 or 70 the mundane world. Not many of us managed to get to retirement age, and as I stared at Dawn I worried about her prospects. Why I was having such thoughts now, I had no clue. Two sets of recently broken ribs probably.
We were just about starting to run out of pleasant but boring things to say, when the food arrived. Due to the bright colours and myriad of flavours of the salad and the succulent taste of the chicken we spent the next 10 minutes in companionable silence as we ate and drank. Just as I was scooping up the last morsel from my plate all our phones chimed.
'Ah for fuck's sake,' muttered Dawn as she looked at her phone. 'There's been another.'
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*
'I know this one, 'said Marcus quietly as we stared down at yet another body. 'I'm certain he's got a record.’
‘Nothing too serious,’ I said, 'otherwise you be jumping up and down with glee. How do you know?’
'I can't for the life of me remember what. Something technical. Definitely not a Magical crime.’ He placed a finger on his lips, and gently tapped as he continued to stare down at what was left of the latest victim.
‘Scammer? Hacker? Did he clone cards?’ Asked Dawn. Just like Mundanes, we had common criminals committing blue- and white-collar crime. And when the crimes weren’t Magical, we didn’t get involved. Not unless they ripped off a Merlin, of course.
‘Something like that,’ said Marcus brow wrinkling into a frown, ‘pretty much got off. Avoided a life sentence. Let out for good behaviour. I can't for the life of me remember what.’
‘Well, won't your Mundane police have records?’ Asked Ragnhild.
‘Most definitely,’ said Marcus grimly. ‘That's one thing they're especially good at. And if they can't find enough teeth for proper dental records, or fingerprints, still enough of the poor sod for a DNA test.’
From the way the victims face had been utterly smashed in, I doubted there would be any dental records which would match to them. Alongside all the killing and violence, and the way the victims were made to suffer, someone had gone out of their way to make sure that the victim was totally unrecognisable to anyone who cared for them.
Was that the message, or was the killing the message? Or are they trying to stop us from identifying them?
Ragnhild knelt down by the body, carefully looked around, then lifted her forensic mask and took a sniff. She was made of far sterner stuff than me. I was seriously regretting the chicken at that moment.
‘Notice anything?’ I asked.
‘Well, apart from the stench all the blood, not much else.’
‘Just how do you know this one?’ asked Dawn, ‘not as if there's anything left of his face.’
‘He's got an Infinity tattoo on his left hand in the web of his thumb,’ Marcus said as he pointed to the hand in question.
The three of us immediately stared at the victim’s hand. It was a crappy tattoo, looked like someone had done it with a compass needle at school. Not really the sort of tattoo you'd expect a techy type to have. Most likely he'd used the time in prison for a previous crime to good use. Probably worked his way through the computer studies courses that were on offer, spoken to other criminals, and learned the trade.
It was a good spot. I didn’t think I’d have seen it amongst everything else.
‘I’ve got it. Something web-based. Crypto-currency and the dark web.’
My metaphysical tiger ears perked up at that. ‘Dark web, like secret documents, bomb making and pervs?’ I asked.
He snapped his fingers making all of us jump. ‘Well done, Jane. Exactly that. He was responsible for hosting a service which allowed people to secretly pay for illegal porn. You name it, he helped them see it.’
‘Why the hell isn’t he in prison then?’ asked Ragnhild.
‘He was, but like the shit he is he made a deal and decrypted his records. Sent a lot of other people to prison.’
‘Well, could be that someone bore a grudge and killed him for it,’ said Dawn. It was a slim possibility given the number of people killed recently, and I could hear the doubt in her voice.
‘I don’t think so,’ Ragnhild said. ‘But there’s obviously a link between him and the other victims.’
‘I agree,’ said Marcus, standing up straightening his jacket. ‘I’ll make some calls, see what I can find out about this toad, try to find a link beyond death by evisceration.’
‘See if he’s ever had dealings with a Were as well. We should have something on our systems,’ I suggested. Our criminal systems mirrored those of the Mundane police forces with the addition of all Magical criminals and crimes.
Marcus nodded, said his goodbyes, and left.
‘Not much else for us to do until he drops us a message,’ I said, staring at what remained of the victim’s face despite the fact I knew I was going to have the odd nightmare. ‘How about we go for a pint?’
‘Buller’s?’ asked Dawn.
‘Good shout. They’ve got a cider festival on. Good way of showing Ragnhild some good drinks. Wash the taste of this bloody case away,’ I said.
I didn’t feel the need to add that it would let me get to know her more. Call me fickle, but I was well and truly, head over heels in lust with her. And unless my personal detector was screwy, she was definitely interested in me. Still, professionalism meant that I couldn’t just sit there and gush over her. No matter how much I wanted to.
At least Dawn doesn’t have to worry about me loving her anymore, I thought. It almost felt as if a weight had been lifted, but at the same time I was sad. Unrequited love. Funny how life takes a turn.
*
I’d never seen a person able to open their gullet and throw a pint down in one go before slamming the glass down onto the table and let out one of the loudest belches in human history. I swear she made the family next to us jump out of their skins.
Damn, she’s amazing, I thought. I had a momentary panic that I’d spoken out loud.
‘Passable. I’m not usually one for fruit ciders. Let’s try a proper one. What do you recommend?’ Asked Ragnhild.
‘Devon Red,’ Dawn and I said in perfect union before laughing.
‘It’s locally made by Sandford Orchards just over in the industrial estate here. You won’t taste a better cider, unless it’s Devon Mist. Which is also by Sandford. Although Shaky Bridge is also bloody good’
‘I take it you like Sandford Cider?’ she smiled, perfect teeth the perfect shade of white. I smiled back whilst inwardly cringing at how badly I was fangirling.
‘We like supporting local businesses, and it helps that they’re actually bloody quality.’
‘For a hick town, it certainly has its attractions,’ said Ragnhild reaching out to hold both our hands and give them a gentle squeeze. Mouth suddenly dry I could only nod. Rapidly.
Get yourself under bloody control, I thought, trying to give myself a mental kick. It didn’t work. It was like watching Charlie Brown trying to kick a football whilst Lucy was holding it.
‘Well, aside from the issues with the past. And the fact that our house is set in two different time periods to make sure nothing like the Crediton Fire ever happens again,’ said Dawn, knocking my knee with hers. I didn’t dare meet her eyes.
‘Oh, do tell!’ said Ragnhild, letting go of our hands.
‘Tell you what, I’ll let Jane tell you whilst I go get our drinks,’ Dawn said as she rose giving both of us a massive smile, and me a salacious wink.
I’ll bloody kill you, I thought, hoping that she had somehow managed to learn to read my thoughts. Well, that thought specifically, anything else would leave me utterly mortified. And she’d never let me live anything like that down.
‘You probably don’t know, but Crediton used to be called Kirton and was a town that suffered a tragedy huge tragedy in the 18th century. 1743 to be exact. All the houses in those days were mostly made of timber and thatch, a lot of them from even older times and a firestorm swept through the town and made nearly 2000 people homeless.’
I jerked a thumb over my shoulder, ‘You can see a plaque that marks where the fire was thought to have started. Local legend puts it down to the fact that spirits stored in many houses and pubs made from imported molasses somehow ignited and then kept the fire going. Bit like storing petrol in your house nowadays.’
Telling the story always made me feel sad. Kirton had been a very affluent town. The Bishopric of Exeter had built a massive church there, and men from Exeter used to make raids to steal the high-quality cloth that the Kirtonians would hang out to dry after dying it. The fire changed everything.
‘The truth is a lot sadder,’ I continued. ‘And darker. It always seems to be that way. Probably why the fairy stories we have are so awful. Like any good romance story, it started with a stolen kiss between the daughter of the baker, and the son of a prominent merchant who was also a Magician. Not that many people knew he was. He was just one of the richest and most powerful men in the area.’
‘In my country, although we have now integrated better with the Mundanes, we used to keep our communities very separate. Although our Berserkers were always happy to help our people,’ said Ragnhild.
‘Wait, Berserkers weren’t just really powerful warriors with anger management issues?’
‘No!’ she laughed, placing her hand on mine again. I was glad that Dawn wasn’t around as I gave her hand a quick squeeze, meeting her eyes as she gave it a squeeze back. We both smiled, enjoying the moment before I continued.
‘Unrequited love,’ I continued, ‘a ban on them seeing each other and the daughter speaking to a Hag about revenge led to a Minor Fire Djinn being summoned.’
By minor, I don’t mean small, just not as powerful as it could have been. There were levels of Demon starting with Minor and going all the way up to God.
‘Typically, the Hag lost control. Probably didn’t get the Runes of Control right or somehow didn’t make a Ward strong enough. After that it was all the local community could do to survive. By the time anyone with Magical abilities was aware that it was a Demon and not a natural fire, it was too late. Flames were leaping over 100 feet across the road, buildings were blowing up as the spirits stored in them went up, and the fact that the buildings were mostly terraced and thatched meant that the fire could just race along the entire High Street.’
I paused as Dawn arrived, carefully balancing a tray with three pints and some packets of crisps and pork scratchings. It was only when she arched an eyebrow that I realised I was still holding Ragnhild’s hand. As subtly as I could I let go and grabbed a pint, taking a long pull to cover my embarrassment.
‘A number of Magicians,’ I said having wet my palette and recovered my composure sufficiently to continue, ‘including the merchant, lost their lives battling the Djinn. There wasn't a chance anyone would believe the stories of man-like flames consuming the heart of the town, and the hearts of the townsfolk. Nor of a prominent merchant doing battle with it. Add to that the fact that all of the Mundanes who saw the battle were too busy trying not to die due to all the other excitement, and there was no need to Charm the population into thinking anything other than a tragic fire had happened. It was common enough in those times anyway.’
‘So why do you live in a house in two times?’ asked Ragnhild, sipping from her pint rather than just tipping it down her throat like last time.
‘Because all that tragedy, the love, the hate, the loss of life caused a small gate to open to Elsewhere, where the Djinn came from. Dawn and I are tasked with making sure that the Wards placed on it are kept strong. The community’s still recovering from the fire, and most of the Magical community in that time have buggered off.’
‘Things seem to have changed though, lots of Magical people around here,’ said Ragnhild.
‘Time heals as they say. Memories fade. And Crediton now is a damned good place to live.’
‘I’ll raise my glass to that,’ she said.