Sebastian McPhee stood on his platform, his white robes flowing in the light breeze as he spoke to the crowd.
“Behold the rising sun. Let us pay homage to this life force.”
Sebastian McPhee was a member of the Druid Grade that dealt with rituals, judgments and ceremonies. He was in his element. However, his fifteen minutes of fame came to a sudden halt.
Just south of the main circle of Stonehenge is a small area known as the South Barrow. The attention of McPhee and many of the crowd was suddenly drawn towards screaming that was coming from there. Christine Jones and Sean Masters raced over to the source of this noise. They found two teenage girls crying and yelling at the top of their voices, hugging each other. The two young officers were soon joined by some of their colleagues, and together they did their best to keep the crowd back.
On the edge of the South Barrow was the body of a man. He was about thirty, was badly overweight, had a thick dark beard and his hair was in serious need of some shampoo. However, the condition of his hair was no longer of any importance. His throat had been neatly slit from one side to another.
“Bloody hell, what is this, a human sacrifice?” Sean Masters was not joking this time.
Late November
Monday morning. Almost a week since the murder of Roger Davidson and Spence was beginning to feel concerned. By this stage he expected his gut to be telling him something, pointing him to certain lines of inquiry. But his gut was telling him nothing.
Spence liked to work in a collegiate manner. He was in charge, and he knew he would get the kudos from a result, and he knew he would earn the opprobrium of failure. However, he encouraged what might be called an esprit de corps. On this Monday morning he had his key team sitting around a large circular table that he used for such meetings.
“Right, let’s bring everything together. I’m sure that you don’t need me to tell you that we are not getting anywhere. I don’t mind telling you I do not have any idea what is behind Roger Davidson’s murder. So, this morning we are going over everything. And remember, you know the drill, speak up, argue, speculate, and disagree with each other. In this room this morning I expect your honest answers. If you think I am talking crap, I want to hear it. Let’s start with you Traynor, fill us in again Constable on the Davidsons’ financial affairs.”
“As you know Spence, Felicity Davidson’s father is loaded. Stockbroking, going a long way back, and he came out of the GFC rather well.”
Ferguson piped in.
“You should see his place outside Marlborough. Massive. Two four-wheel drives, a Porsche, horses. You get the picture.”
Traynor continued:
“So there’s no real mystery about where the money came from. The father bought them the Merton Ave house and little Rebecca is already signed up for the Badminton School near Westbury.”
“So no money problems, no debts, no gambling issues,” said Spence.
“That’s right Spence. Though I did discover one thing. There were obviously lots of deposits and withdrawals over time, but I noticed a pattern. There were regular withdrawals of £150 or £200 from a separate account Roger Davidson had in his own name, not jointly.
Spence asked, “How far back does this go?”
“Almost two years. It was £150 for almost a year, and then over the past few months it was £200.”
Spence paused for a second and then asked, “Okay everyone, what do we make of that?”
Ferguson spoke up, “Do you think he was being blackmailed? Paying someone off to keep quiet about his affair with Patricia Patel perhaps?”
Traynor agreed.
“He had a lot to lose Spence: his father-in-law’s favours, the house – which was in Felicity’s name incidentally – not to mention his career move.”
“Maybe, but I think no. Anyone blackmailing Roger Davidson would know how high the stakes were and they would know that they could get a hell of a lot more. And as far as we know, Patricia Patel has only been on the scene about six months. Have another look at that Traynor, see if there are any direct transfers, that sort of thing. WPC Grant, what are you making of Felicity Davidson?”
Joanne Grant enjoyed these sessions. Spence might tease her a lot of the time, but she knew Spence was sincere when he said he valued everyone’s contribution. Including hers.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t say this sir, but I don’t think I like Felicity Davidson very much?”
Spence stood suddenly.
“WPC Grant, that is a totally unacceptable attitude. If you cannot approach this case with objectivity I shall have you placed back on traffic duty.”
He paused for a second.
“Yes, seems as cold as ice doesn’t she? So WPC Grant, what’s your problem with the delightful Mrs Davidson?”
“As I told you the other day, I am pretty sure she was putting on the distraught wife act for our benefit on the night of the murder. When we talked to her on Friday, she seemed totally without emotion. She also seemed… uninterested. She didn’t ask us about the actual murder, how we were progressing. And when she said that she would now have to cancel the trip to Spain over Christmas, well….”
DI Ferguson then spoke up.
“I guess to be fair to her, she had good reason to be cool to her husband. She is pregnant, and her husband has been having an affair with Patricia Patel. And maybe this was not the first one.”
Spence now steered the discussion towards Patricia Patel.
“Ah yes, Miss Patel. I do not think that Patricia Patel is used to being rejected. Now when we were at the school, we learned that she and Roger Davidson had been having a torrid affair but it was also clear that he had ended things. So, could Miss Patel have done it? Motive is clear: rejection, humiliation. Means? He would have let her in last Tuesday. She could easily have drugged him and then let hell break lose. So people, am I right?”
Ferguson spoke up.
“No Spence, it doesn’t fit. Motive, entry to the house yes. The drugging? Quite possible. But what about the violent nature of the murder. It wasn’t just the slitting of the throat. What about the other injury? Is that the behaviour of a rejected lover?”
Spence looked at his DS with severely raised eyebrows and a look that said “you bet it is”.
WPC Grant now intervened. “And there’s something else sir we have not been thinking about. What about the caning marks on his buttocks? Who did that to him? Is it relevant?”
“Well done WPC Grant. Did Roger and Felicity have a domme-slave relationship? Not impossible from what we know of Mrs Davidson. Did he and Miss Patel enjoy a bit of kinky stuff? I want Patricia Patel down here this afternoon. Ferguson, you and WPC Grant can interview her. I’ll watch. I’ll tee things up with Bob Hamsby. Which of course brings us to the staff. Any thoughts people? Give me something interesting. Did anyone seem odd? Did you pick up any feelings about the guy? Any gut feelings?”
Traynor spoke up first.
“I’d hate to be the boss in that place Spence. There are some pretty strong personalities in the staff room. Lots of rivalries, petty disagreements, resentments, and a few odd characters hanging around.”
Spence smiled.
“Sounds like the Swindon nick Constable Traynor. But okay, seriously, what stood out for you?”
Traynor continued.
“There were obviously people who liked him a lot. The humanities teachers seemed to think he was doing a good job. But there were people like Charlie