Shadow of the Redeemer

By Anthony Hulse

Suspected serial killer Daniel Sugrue is found hanged by DCI Virgil Dodd. The case is closed and Sugrue’s wife, three sons and daughter are secretly relocated in Cornwall.
DCI Dodd retires, but a series of sadistic murders identical to the ones in Cleveland follow. Suspicion falls on the three sons, and with the help of journalist Sean Foy, who plans to write a book about the notorious murders, the two men decide to investigate.
DC Sadie Dunlop goes undercover in order to befriend one of the sons, Jacob, who is the prime suspect. They become romantically involved and Sadie doubts his guilt.
More suspects are introduced, including a senior detective who had a homosexual affair with Daniel Sugrue, and DCI Dodd, who it transpires is obsessed with the murders.
A complex, frightening book with an ingenious scenario. This story will leave you guessing the identity of the serial killer until the conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781291884807

Book preview

Shadow of the Redeemer

Shadow of the Redeemer

Anthony Hulse

Copyright@Anthony Hulse 2015

ISBN: 978-1-291-88480-7

Cover image by: logoff @ iStock

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the author, except for the quotations in a review.

Prologue

North East England, 2003.

Detective Chief Inspector Virgil Dodd had given specific orders that nobody was to enter the premises until he arrived. Several police cars parked outside the semi-detached house, awaiting the seasoned detective.

After leaving his car, Dodd buttoned up his trademark long, black, leather coat. The driving rain and gale force winds prompted his action. He battled against the elements to light his cigar, before he approached Detective Sergeant Hillier. Well? he asked, wiping his spectacles.

The young sergeant held a newspaper above his head. Doesn’t seem to be any movement, guv. Are you certain you don’t want me to call up the Armed Response team?

The Chief Inspector’s bulging eyes, reflecting the blue lights of the vehicles answered his question. DCI Dodd ordered four of his team to accompany him to the house. The front door gave way easily and the team scrambled inside.

After rummaging through all the rooms downstairs, Chief Inspector Dodd ascended the staircase. The main bedroom door was slightly ajar and the detective beckoned his minions to wait. He took a deep breath before he pushed open the door.

Fuck! yelled one of the detectives.

The team gazed up at the limp hanging body, as it swayed gently from an oak beam. DCI Dodd ignored the mutilated girl that lay spread-eagled on the bloody bed, and instead approached the hanging man. He studied the familiar face. Danny Sugrue. Danny fucking Sugrue.

The Chief Inspector felt the presence of DS Hillier on his shoulder.

You interviewed him, didn’t you, guv?

The senior detective ran his fingers through his wavy, grey, sodden hair. The bastard’s cheated me. I would have collared him eventually.

So, why did he call us, shortly before topping himself? asked DS Hiller.

Who knows, son? Who knows?

The Chief Inspector watched the forensic team cut down the body of the serial killer, before he approached the waif-like corpse of the naked girl. Slut appeared etched across the torso, a sight that the aggrieved detective had seen three times before. More unsettling, was the mutilation of the face. The area around the mouth had been viciously hacked at several times with a sharp weapon; probably the long screwdriver that one of the forensic men bagged.

You finally got your man, Virg, sighed a short, obese man in white overalls.

Did I, Henry? The bastard gave himself to us. Why?

Henry shrugged his shoulders. Who knows what goes through the minds of these wackos? Congratulations all the same. See you in The Crown tonight, eh? 

DCI Dodd nodded. He studied the blood-splattered walls, trying to feel elation at the demise of Daniel Sugrue, but he could not. Never before had he failed to apprehend a murderer, but after two long years, Sugrue had cheated him.

True, Daniel Sugrue had been interviewed more than once, but was later released. Why? Dodd wrestled with his conscious when attempting to recall the interview. His eyes averted to the teenage corpse before him, and he thanked God that his own daughter was alive and well.     

Chapter One

Cornwall, 2005.

Though Sarah Lonsdale had a child-like figure, her black, dyed hair and prominent bags around her eyes revealed her real age. Sarah entered the premises and gazed contently at her new home. Behind her stood one of her sons and a daughter, each of them old enough to have a home of their own. Not that Sarah minded. On the contrary. She had been through such a lot these last few years and craved company; especially that of her family.

Danny Lonsdale, the youngest of three sons at twenty-one, stood on the doorstep and took in the picturesque view of the harbour. The unimpressed youth, kitted out in full Nike clothing, removed his baseball cap to reveal his jet-black, spiky hair. Bloody St Ives. Where the fuck’s St Ives?

Hey, moaner, said his mother. This is a wonderful part of Cornwall…and cut out the swearing, will you?  

Danny had a prominent turned-up nose, just like his mother. He adjusted his MP3 player before he settled on the staircase.

When’s the furniture coming, mother? asked Rachel, a pretty girl with straight, raven locks.

Sometime this afternoon. Are you wearing a bra, Madam? Sarah quizzed, gazing at her daughter’s large breasts. Her voice suggested a hint of jealousy, an ample cleavage evidently not her finest asset.

Mother, I’m twenty-two, not twelve.

I want to move back to Preston, moaned Danny.

Sarah embraced her son, who squirmed away. You know that’s not possible, after...well, you know.

Sarah and her daughter decided on a tour of the house, leaving Danny to listen to his beloved ‘Green Day’. The local council had provided the Lonsdale family with a four-bedroom cottage; a home she would not have been able to afford out of her own pocket. The boys would have to find work to help pay for their keep.

Rachel marked her territory by planting herself in the box bedroom that overlooked the quaint harbour. This is wonderful.

Sarah lit one of her habitual cigarettes. Jacob can have his own room, but Mark and Danny are going to have to share a bedroom again. I don’t suppose they’ll mind. She had taken to chain smoking to ease her burden; a habit that Rachel constantly nagged her about.

When’s Jacob and Mark arriving, mother? asked Rachel.

Oh, I don’t know. You know those two; they’re probably propping up the bar in some boozer.

Danny joined his mother and sister. Lend’s a tab, mam.

Sarah reluctantly handed over a cigarette, much to the disgust of her daughter. You shouldn’t be smoking at your age, young man. These things will kill you.

Rachel disapprovingly wafted away the smoke. Out of my bedroom you two. I’ll not have you polluting it.

Sarah descended the staircase and stood on the doorstep, hands on hips. She smiled, at ease with herself; something she had not done for some time. She looked up to the sky. This is our new home, God, if you really do exist. We’re going to be happy here and you’d better believe it. The Lonsdale’s are due some happiness, so sprinkle some of it on us, okay?

Little did she know, their troubles were far from over.

******

Whitby, North Yorkshire.

Virgil Dodd sliced yet another golf ball into the dense shrubbery and cursed. Frigging irritating game, he snarled at his partners. Though Dodd tried to play at his beloved Whitby course at least twice a week, he was no nearer to mastering the infuriating game. After eventually locating his ball, the fifty-four year old man kicked it into the clearing. His two companions ignored his devious action.

The scorching June sun reddened the leathery face of Dodd, and his arid throat needed liquid refreshment. After swallowing a mouthful of tepid water, the ex-detective selected a pitching wedge and addressed his ball. He shielded the sun from his eyes and watched the approach of a golf buggy, meandering its way down the fairway.

Dodd aborted his swing. Bloody buffoon. What’s he playing at?

The golf buggy came to a standstill and Dodd recognised the tall, balding man who now ambled towards him. Bob. Hell, I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you out of uniform. Gentlemen, meet Superintendent Bob Lyle.

Chief Superintendent Lyle now, Virgil, he smirked, as he pumped the hand of his old friend. How’s retirement?

Boring. Bloody boring.

Two years since you retired and you haven’t topped yourself. A lot of bets went down at the station, Virg, chuckled the police officer.

Charming. Anyway, it’s been two years, four months and seventeen days... What brings you to this part of the world? 

The Chief Superintendent glanced at Dodd’s playing partners. Can we speak alone, Virg?

Sure. You two play on. I’ll catch you up in the clubhouse. A cold pint of beer will be nice.

Bah. Anything to dodge out of paying a round eh, Virg? joked one of his playing partners.

After they departed, the Chief Superintendent’s face adopted a more solemn expression. Virg, there’s been a murder in Lancashire that may interest you.

Dodd swigged brandy from his hip flask before he offered it to his one-time associate, whom politely refused.

Lancashire? quizzed Dodd.

Blackburn to be exact.

And why would it interest me? I’m retired, remember.

The lanky police officer changed his mind and confiscated the hip flask from the hands of Dodd. He swallowed a mouthful of the liquid. Shit, is this moonshine?

Dodd grinned and the Chief Superintendent continued. Listen; I know you have every right to tell me to piss off, but I want you to examine the corpse of the girl who was murdered.

Any particular reason?

Lyle nodded. Mandy Sullivan, seventeen years old with numerous punctures to her lower face, especially her mouth.

That’s it? asked Dodd.

No. Etched across her breasts was the word slut.

Dodd dropped his pitching wedge to the ground. Daniel Sugrue hanged himself over two years ago, as well you know.

Exactly, enthused the policeman.

A copycat?

Perhaps, but the details of the mutilations were never released to the press for obvious reasons.

So, a coincidence? quizzed the ex-Chief Inspector.

I bloody hope so. If it isn’t, then there’s the possibility the killer is a detective or one of the forensic team who worked on the case.

Dodd pondered. Every copper in the country could have accessed the details on the police network. Perhaps it’s me, Bob. My mind has become warped during my retirement, after missing seeing all those dead bodies.

The Chief Superintendent’s face remained serious. No, Virg, we checked you out. You were on a fishing trip at the time the murder was committed.

Dodd scowled. You’re serious?

No answer was forthcoming.

The senior policeman continued. Listen, all I want you to do is to view the body. Of course, we’ll pay for your expenses.

And what authority will I assume?

Chief Superintendent Lyle shook his head. Christ, it’s only for a few hours. Simon Keller, your old pathologist pal will accompany you.

Dodd persisted. I want paying the rate of a Chief Inspector, my old rank.

You haven’t changed, have you, Virgil?

The pair trundled along the fairway towards the clubhouse. I’ll see what I can do.

The absence of a breeze ensured the humid, summer conditions.

You retired too early, you old sod, said Lyle.

You know why I retired.

You still blame yourself, don’t you? Sugrue had alibis. Besides, your record is impeccable. Virg the Scourge is a legend at the station. 

Dodd came to a halt. Bob, do you realise what it means if I do verify the murder identical to those in Cleveland?

It would mean that Sugrue might have been innocent.

Dodd disagreed. Highly unlikely. What I mean is there’s a possibility he had an accomplice. That would explain why some of his alibis checked out.

That’s why I came to you. You headed the investigation into the murders, and Virg the Scourge always delivered.

Dodd recalled Sugrue’s hanging body. Do I, Bob? Do I?  

Chapter Two

Jacob and Mark Lonsdale indeed propped up the bar in the Badger Inn and downed their seventh pint of real ale. Their physical appearance belied the fact they were brothers. Jacob, the elder of the Lonsdale brothers at thirty-two, stood six-feet-two inches in his stocking feet. Mark was four inches shorter, an inconvenience that did not prevent females in all shapes and sizes from throwing themselves at him.

Jacob, with his close-cropped hair, goatee beard and rugged features, exuded all the characteristics of a hard man. The out of work mechanic sported an earring in his left ear, and had a fire-breathing dragon tattooed on his right arm. His black tee shirt and jeans emphasized his bulging biceps.

Mark, at twenty-five, appeared easier on the eye, even with his crooked nose, courtesy of a jealous boyfriend. The handsome womaniser had long, shoulder-length, black hair and wore several gold rings on his fingers. The scar beneath his eye failed to mar his good looks. A black leather waistcoat and denim shirt with tight jeans was his choice of attire. 

Hey, Jacob, that chick’s giving me the eye, boasted Mark, winking at a trio of giggling girls.

Jacob turned his head. Chick went out in the sixties, little bruv. Can’t you keep your dick in your pants, just for one day?

Mark did not hear his brother and paced towards the girls. He crouched down to whisper into the ear of a petite blonde girl.

Jacob gave up on his brother.

Owaree? 

Jacob turned and regarded the plump, bald barman. What?

Owaree? Avee finished?

Jacob pushed his empty glass towards the barman.

Don’t want to be messing with yonder girls, friend, smirked the barman.

I’ve no intention of messing with yonder girls. It’s that sex mad brother of mine.

Well, you best be going all the same. Could be trouble.

Jacob ignored the irritable barman and watched as Mark and the girl walked briskly towards the lady’s toilets. The two other girls smiled at the deserted brother, but he turned back towards the bar, disinterested in their advances.

Might as well have a double vodka and red bull while I’m waiting, pal.

The barman reluctantly served the strapping customer. You be on holiday, then?

Jacob swallowed a mouthful of his vodka. No, unfortunately I now live in this shithole.

The barman looked less than happy with the news. There’s many a pub around here for your sort.

Your sort? Meaning what?

This place not be for you. I mean, there’s hundreds of pubs around here with live music and those darn karaokes. 

With the opening of the bar door came the odour of cooked fish, wafting in from the nearby chippy. The cocky-looking newcomer walked with a swagger towards the girls, his brawny companion at his heels. Both wore white vests to show off their muscular arms.

Where’s our Tricia? asked the one who donned a white baseball cap."

Jacob noticed the uneasiness in the girls as they tried to avoid eye contact with him.

Tricia? She left about ten minutes ago, Andy, lied one of the girls. If you hurry, you’ll catch her up.

Andy turned his bull neck towards Jacob and scowled. What you be looking at, fuck face?

Jacob turned away and sipped his vodka.

Very sensible too, whispered the barman.

Jacob felt the presence of the two troublemakers stood behind him.

Avee got a problem, chum? asked Andy, his fists clenched.

Jacob swivelled on his barstool to face the pair. I don’t want trouble. I just want a quiet drink.

Fuck, he be a Geordie. I hate Geordies, stated Andy’s companion, his face resembling that of an irate bulldog.

Actually, I’m from Cleveland.

Where the fuck’s that? queried Andy. You sound like a Geordie, shit for brains.

Jacob stepped down from his barstool and towered over the two Cornishmen. What exactly is your problem? I’ve already told you, I’m not looking for trouble.

Andy nodded towards the two girls. They say you’ve been trying to get in their knickers.

They’re lying.

Bulldog turned to the girls. The Geordie says he wouldn’t touch you with mine, girls. What do you say to that?

Leave him be, Andy and grow up, insisted one of the girls.

The toilet door slammed shut and Mark returned, along with a red-faced Tricia.

What the fuck’s going on? asked Andy, incensed, and snatching up a bottle from off the bar.

Mark backed off and held his hands up in defence. What gives? Calm down, man.

What fucking gives? You’ve been shagging my girl and you say what gives? Andy pointed towards Tricia. I’ll deal with you later, whore.

Fucking do him, Andy, urged Bulldog.

Wait, pleaded Mark. She encouraged me. She was all over me. What was I supposed to do?  

Andy smashed the bottle onto the pool table, sending sharp shards onto the surface. Another fucking Geordie. Are you with him? he asked, pointing towards Jacob.

Jacob stepped forward. Put the bottle down.

Andy now turned his attention to the big man. I’m gonna do you, and then I’m gonna cut his fucking balls off.

Jacob advanced and Bulldog tried to intervene, a pool cue his weapon of choice. Jacob evaded the powerful swing of the cue and slugged his assailant forcefully in the midriff. Bulldog fell to his knees and Jacob administered a dynamic kick to his face, which dislodged his front teeth.

The enraged Andy charged forward and thrust the bottle towards Jacob’s face, but the northerner reacted swiftly. He sidestepped the assault and seized Andy’s arm, slamming it against the wall and forcing him to drop the jagged bottle. Jacob gripped his attacker by the hair and slammed his head down on the bar, time and time again, until Andy slumped to the ground, his face badly bleeding.   

Jacob regarded the other bar-dwellers, and satisfied he was in no danger, he strolled towards his grinning brother. How many fucking times, Mark? How many fucking times am I going to have to bail you out? He confronted the girls. Are you going to be okay?

Tricia spoke up. He’s already knocked out my front teeth, what more can he do? Don’t worry, fella; I’m used to being used as a punchbag.

Jacob joined his brother outside and welcomed the refreshing air. No more, Mark. Learn to keep your dick in your pants, will you?

She was gagging for it, Jacob.

The elder brother had heard it all before. Come on. Let’s find this new home of ours. I think I’d better drive.   

******

The stunning blonde girl ignored the lecherous stares of her male admirers and looked repulsively at her fiancé, as he wrestled with a thick, rare steak. Sadie Dunlop, at the age of twenty-five was a vegetarian, fitness fanatic, and a member of the anti-smoking brigade. Her short hair and alluring blue eyes complimented her petite face, but appearances were deceptive.

Sadie celebrated her promotion to CID, and in her slightly intoxicated state of mind, she had earlier cut to ribbons her uniform, thus terminating her career as a plod. How she would explain the mutilated uniform remained uppermost in her mind.

What? quizzed her fiancé.

You know what, Alan. Don’t you feel any shame at all in eating a slaughtered creature?

Listen, Sadie, if I devoured the rabbit food you do, I wouldn’t be so attractive with my macho body, now would I?

Dream on, Rambo. Of course, you realise all this will have to change once we’re married?

Meaning? asked Alan, as he fed another generous forkful of steak to his mouth.

There’ll be no dead meat in my household.

The hungry man had heard it all before. Yeah, yeah.

Sadie assumed a cross-eyed look at a middle-aged man, who ogled her seductively.

Alan pushed away his plate and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. Are you sure you’re ready for CID, Sadie? I mean, in four years you’ve arrested a couple of teenage shoplifters and dealt with a few traffic offences.   

She glared at her bearded fiancé. Bloody hell. You know how much I want to be a detective.

Yes, but it’s hardly Chicago, is it? It’s Cornwall CID for heaven’s sake.

Sadie sipped her claret. And an estate agent’s life is stupendously exciting, is it?

Alan threw down his napkin. Perhaps not, but the money is... Listen, Sadie, I’m not criticising you, but...

Don’t. We’ve been over this time and time again. I’m not ready to be the obedient housewife who is expected to have your beef Wellington ready for you coming home. I’m going to be a detective, and no matter how this sounds, Alan, like it or lump it.

On the way out of the restaurant, Sadie intentionally knocked over her middle-aged admirer’s glass, ensuring that the wine seeped into his lap. Yes, tonight she was content indeed.  

Chapter Three

Blackburn.

Virgil Dodd showed no emotion when he viewed the ravaged corpse. The mutilated girl looked much younger than her seventeen years. With her painted fingernails and heavily made up face, she had certainly made the effort to appear older.

Dodd dismissed the attendant and remained in the mortuary with Simon Keller. Keller, a chief pathologist from Cleveland had travelled to Blackburn with his ex-colleague. They exchanged the odd word, but no full-length conversation had taken place. Though both men covertly respected one another, bad blood had been spilt in the past. Dodd and Keller were often in conflict, both parties guilty of stubbornness.  

Dodd mulled over the corpse, an unlit cigar clenched between his teeth. Identical in every way. What do you think, Simon?

Number five, no doubt about it. Though she was killed approximately two weeks ago, her body is in remarkable condition… Where was she found, Virg?

At a local tip… This points to Sugrue having an accomplice; something we never even considered.

You’re so sure Sugrue was the murderer?

Dodd scowled at his companion. You were on the bloody case. His dabs were all over the murder weapon. He calls us and we find him hanging in the same room as one of his victims. It doesn’t take ‘Columbo’ to work out who the killer is.

Keller, again examined the etching across the dead girl’s breasts. What if he did have an accomplice who wanted out? He calls you and then hangs Sugrue. Easy way out, eh?

Dodd removed the cigar from his mouth. Leave the detective work to me, Doctor. It was definitely Sugrue who made that call.

A copycat killer? chipped in the pathologist.

But, who knew about his method of killing? Only a handful of officials. Of course, the details of the murders would be stored on the nationwide network, but who would be privy to the data? Why Blackburn?

Like you said, you’re the detective.

Ex-detective. Ex-detective.   

******

Cornwall

May the Lord make us truly thankful, amen. Sarah Lonsdale concluded the saying of grace and proceeded to serve Sunday lunch.

Jacob, as the older of the boys, carved up the joint of beef. Mealtime with the Lonsdale family as always is a religious occasion, the mother especially grateful for God’s providence.

Jacob, Mark, Danny, and Rachel feigned the ceremonial ritual, something they would never consider if their strict father had been alive. Being a lay preacher, he had installed a regimental style practise into religion, and woe betide anyone who slandered the Lord.

As children, the Lonsdales were forced to recite passages of the bible after they had finished school. Caning their behinds had proved to be a practical deterrent, often used by their authoritarian father.

Other youngsters mocked the children, calling them such names as bible bashers and the God squad. Gradually, the Lonsdale children deviously rebelled, smoking the odd cigarette or joint, and eventually experiencing the taboo subject…sex. The abuse directed towards the children actually enhanced their self-reliant qualities, and many a scuffle transpired, offering their obsessive father another reason to yield his beloved cane.

Though the Lonsdale children were indeed proficient scholars of the bible, each of them secretly loathed religion. After the death of their father, Sarah had relaxed the religious practises somewhat, but the saying of grace continued.

The Lonsdales, once a devout protestant family, now rarely attended church. The death of their father had released their shackles and relieved each of them of their strict religious upbringing, and for obvious reasons, they rarely mentioned him. A more relaxed atmosphere now existed in the Lonsdale household.

Sarah held up her hands. Now, before you feed your faces, I’d like to say a few words. Today is our first Sabbath lunch in our new home, and God willing, the first of many. The Lonsdales were persecuted in Preston, and eventually bullied into leaving, but this is our new home and we’re here to stay. I want no trouble, and I mean it okay, Danny?  

Me? What have I done?