A Clamour of Rooks (The Birdwatcher Series Book 4) Read online

  A Clamour of Rooks

  The Birdwatcher Series, Volume 4

  European P. Douglas

  Published by European P. Douglas, 2020.

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  A CLAMOUR OF ROOKS

  First edition. December 16, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 European P. Douglas.

  Written by European P. Douglas.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 1

  The door had to be broken open from the outside and when the police, led by Detective Jed Freeman, entered the mansion house they found three people- two men and a woman- seated at the bottom of the stairs huddled together. The woman held a blood-stained knife in her hand and all three had blood on their clothes.

  “Search the house,” Freeman said to his team as he walked towards the three people. They looked up at him with scared eyes, their faces pale with fright and tiredness. “How many people were in the house?” he asked after looking them over for a moment.

  “Ten, I think,” one of the men answered, looking to the others for either agreement or contradiction.

  “I think so,” the other man said shrugging. The woman said nothing, but she did rest the knife down on the bottom marble step. It clinked in the cavernous hall and all three of them and Freeman looked at it.

  “Whose blood is on the knife?” Freeman asked. He heard the call from various rooms in the house as rooms were either declared clear or body. They were getting through them quickly but there must be a lot of rooms in this house.

  “It’s mine,” the first man spoke again, he smiled sheepishly and looked at the ground. “We didn’t know who was doing it and she thought I was coming for her.” He lifted his shirt and showed a gash that had been poorly bandaged, the towel that had been used was streaked with blood.

  “I’m sorry,” the woman's croaking voice said as tears began to fall from her eyes. Both men comforted her simultaneously,

  “It’s alright,” said the one who had been stabbed.

  “We were all crazy with fear,” the other man said, “I would have done the same thing.” Freeman looked at the bleeding man to see his reaction to this, but he hadn’t seemed to even hear it.

  Freeman turned to the EMT people waiting at the door.

  “Look these three over,” he said and then started to walk in the direction the shouting’s of the word ‘Body’ had come from.

  The mansion was vast indeed and it took Freeman over half an hour before he’d seen all of the bodies in the house. There were nine dead in all, seven women and two men, all looked to be in their mid to late forties, like those down on the stairs. His first thought was that they were all of the same social group, but he was already starting to dismiss the idea though why he couldn’t say yet.

  Each body was in a different room and blood covered the floor around them from gaping wounds in their throats. All had been killed in the same way. Freeman pictured the killer coming up behind them, grabbing them and quickly slashing their throats. No time to scream or struggle, that was why none of the others had been alerted to what was going on. Why everyone was in a different room however, that was puzzling. It wasn’t like they had all retired for bed. One was in the kitchen, another in a library and another a games room. Why was everyone alone like that?

  “Make sure every door and window to the outside is checked and taped,” Freeman said to one of the officers by him. “Including any access to the roofs, or basements.'' As the officer walked away to get his men to start on this task, Freeman radioed to the guard on the door. “Get forensics and photographers in,” he said.

  He was in the games room alone now, just him and the dead woman on the floor. As he looked around, he noticed there were two different blood pooling’s, one smaller than the other. He went to where the smaller was and saw a low table with a telephone on it beside a sofa. Looking more closely he saw that the handle of the phone had some blood smeared on it. Had this one survived long enough to try make a call, or was this the place the call to raise the alarm had come from? He would make sure forensics made a note of it.

  “Nine?” a voice came from the doorway and Freeman looked to see his colleague Darwin in the doorway. Freeman nodded and looked back at the phone and then the woman on the ground. “Qualifies for the FBI report for the State then?” Darwin asked. He hadn’t entered the room yet and Freeman could see he wanted his hands off this case right away. There would be too much work in this one, too much paperwork. He didn’t know why Darwin had become a cop at all.

  “I guess so,” Freeman said, “I’ll call them in to assist.”

  “Assist?” Darwin asked. Freeman looked at him and nodded,

  “You heard me,” and then added, “Have forensics look over this phone, there’s blood on it.” Darwin didn’t say anything and disappeared out of sight. Freeman shook his head, he could only hope Darwin wasn’t representative of the next wave of law enforcement, otherwise it would be a golden age for the bad guys.

  A uniformed officer came in then,

  “All doors and windows were locked, Detective, but from the outside.” Freeman could hear the nervousness in the young man's voice. He probably thought he was saying something stupid that Freeman would chew him out for. But Freeman had been in this game a long time and had seen many stranger things than windows that locked from the wrong side.

  “All of them?” he asked, looking bemused.

  “That’s the report Sir.”

  “Have it checked again to be sure,” Freeman said.

  Alone again, he went to the window and looked out, noting the reversed locks, and ran through the shape of the house in his head. ‘What are we looking at here?’ he thought, ‘Everyone locked in by the killer when he was done? If so, why didn’t he kill them all? He shook his head. One of the three in the lobby was the killer, that was what his gut was telling him. Which one though?

  Freeman had received the note from HQ that all multiple murders, whether in one scene or not, were to be reported to the FBI at once in Maryland and it’s bordering States. He wanted this one, however, wanted to get some work done on it before they took it away from him.

  A slamming of car doors and then sliding van side doors came on the air, too many to be more of his
own people or forensics. The press were here.

  He walked to the front of the house and looked down and sure enough, a couple of hundred yards away down at the entrance to the driveway, three news vans from two different networks were a hive of activity as the staff set up for their reports. A couple more men and women stood to either side of the gates, notepads in hand. Looked like the newspaper and internet guys got here first. People were going to go nuts over this one, he thought.

  Freeman stepped back from the window and started slowly for the stairs. He listened to the clicking cameras of the photographers in the house and thought about what he should do. He felt the weight of his phone in his inside jacket pocket and knew soon enough he would have to use it to call the FBI. Not yet, though. A few questions to the three survivors wouldn't do anyone any harm. The scene was preserved, and everything would be gift wrapped soon enough for the handover. Who knew, he might get to keep the case. Reporting to the FBI and handing over the case were two very different things.

  Chapter 2

  Sarah always hated being in Bobrick’s office. There was a time when she felt being in it made her someone important, that she was at the big boys table and key part of the machinery of things here at the FBI Academy. Once upon a time she had also considered being here like being guided by a father, something cancer had stolen from her life at home. Bobrick had believed in her, had encouraged and tested her, but now all of that was gone. Sarah was rarely in here in recent years unless she was in trouble. She didn’t know what she’d done but she felt this was the reason she was here now, and Bobrick’s first words after she’d closed the door and sat down at his behest didn’t do anything to change her mind.

  “How much have you been able to find out about the Spalding case on your own?”

  “I don’t have access to any information on that case, Sir,” she replied. She hated being ambushed like this, what did he know? She imagined he was a great poker player; his face never gave him away.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly. Sarah felt it best to stay silent. He regarded her a moment and then went on. “You’ll be glad to hear we feel there has been some progress- nothing like the progress we’d like but some.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what counts as progress?” Sarah asked. He nodded and pursed his lips like he was weighing up how much he could tell her.

  “You know I’ve been with the Bureau for almost thirty years?” he said shaking his head like he didn’t believe it himself; as though it were something he’d just found out today.

  “That’s a long time,” Sarah said, trying not to derail what they’d been talking about too much.

  “It is,” he agreed, “And in that time I’ve worked a lot of cases and seen a lot of agents come and go.”

  “I can only imagine,” Sarah said, doing her best not to sound annoyed or bored.

  “Yes. I’ve seen plenty,” he said again. Then he looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I’ve seen agents who didn’t have what it takes, and I’ve seen agents who didn’t get what they were due.” Sarah’s heart jumped a beat, she didn't know where he was going with this. Was he berating her about something, did he not think she was up to her job?

  “I...;” she started but he held up a hand and smiled at her.

  “I’ve always admired your ability to know when to keep your mouth shut- when you decide to use that ability, that is- and now is one of those times.” She nodded, confused. Bobrick stood up and went to the window and looked out at the trainees in the field in the near distance. He was still trim and in great shape for an older guy. His face had changed over the years since she knew him, but not his physique, not so much as a pound that she'd ever noticed. “I’m retiring in a couple of months,” he said without looking her way.

  “Oh, really?” she said, she wasn’t expecting this. He didn’t look like he was ready to go anywhere yet.

  “Yeah, I think it’s time I had some life of my own before it gets to be too late,” he said wistfully as he walked back over and sat down at his desk.

  “You deserve it, sir, you’ve done a wonderful job here for the FBI.”

  “Thank you,” he said, “But, I didn’t bring you in here to tell you all this stuff.” Sarah swallowed not knowing what to expect. “Sarah, you’ve been a fantastic agent since coming here.”

  “Thank you,” Sarah said.

  “I can see you are no longer happy, and I expect your work to reflect that very soon,” he said. Sarah felt the blood drain from her face and pins and needles pricked her hands.

  “No, no, sir, I’m fine, really!” Was she getting canned?

  “Take it easy, Agent Brightwater,” Bobrick said with his hands raised in a ‘slow down’ motion. “I have good news for you.” Sarah made herself sit up straight and drew in some long deep breaths through her lips hoping he wouldn't notice too much.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It’s my fault you’ve not been happy, and you are one of the people I was talking about who didn’t get their due. I can’t imagine anyone being able to work soundly with what you have hanging over your head with the Spalding case going on and inaccessible to you all the time. So, for that reason I’m assigning you to the case.”

  “The Spalding case?” Sarah stammered, incredulous.

  “We don’t call it that, but yes. You will be part of a very small team working on it.”

  “Oh, Sir, thank you,” Sarah said, fighting the urge to jump up and give him a kiss.

  “Don’t get too excited, Brightwater, you'll still have your usual caseload to deal with. I’m actually giving you more work to do here.”

  “I won’t let you down, Sir,” Sarah said.

  “I know,” Bobrick replied, smiling at her joy. “Now go on out of here and do some work, I’ll have the lead on the case get in touch with you in the next couple of weeks to get you up to speed.”

  Sarah was euphoric as she left the Academy after her meeting with the Special Agent in Charge. She finally had what she’d wanted for years, since her first day on the job as a beat cop writing traffic tickets all those years ago. She was well and truly on Spalding’s case now, and with what she’d learned off the radar as it were to add to whatever ‘progress’ the current case had made she felt sure she would be able to start putting the jigsaw together.

  What she felt like doing was going out for a beer and celebrating, but there was something else she had to do today, and it was odd the way things happened sometimes. On the same day she was put on the Spalding case, she was also finally going to get to see and talk to Malick. At least that was the plan. This was the closest she’d gotten to the appointed time to date when he hadn’t cancelled on her. In one hour she would be face to face with her former partner, former friend. A man who turned out to be a killer and was going to kill her too had she not found out who he was just in time.

  Had Tyler not told her who Malick really was just in time.

  She shook her head. She didn’t have the headspace to think about Tyler just now, too much was happening.

  A sick feeling twisted in her gut at the thought of seeing Malick, but she took some comfort in the idea of what his face would look like when she told him of her getting on the Spalding case.

  Chapter 3

  Tyler Ford, unrecognizable even to himself, crept through the wooded area close to the river by the tiny town of Tempus, South Carolina. He’d donned some padding under workman’s clothes that were not his own. His hair was home dyed jet black like he was trying badly to cover up some gray, and he wore a baseball cap and clear lensed horn-rimmed glasses. This was the second town he’d surveilled today, the seventh this week and he felt pretty soon there were going to be police reports about a possible cat burglar if there hadn’t been already.

  This town was very small, had access to a wide section of the river and was close to where Tyler wanted to be, but not too close. He’d never searched for a victim like this before and he had to admit he liked it. It reminded him of his first e
ver kill back in the forests around Lake Michigan.

  He’d driven through the town at a crawl about half an hour ago and had parked his rented car- in a fake name of course- just off the road and had hiked back along the river to look more closely. He had a good feeling about this place.

  Tyler climbed a tree, a task made much more difficult with his attire and new bulk, until he could see the near end of the town better. Town was being generous to describe the place. It was a fifty-yard street with a gas station with store, barbers and hairdressers, butchers, an animal feed store and, most interesting to Tyler, a car mechanic’s garage just past the end of the road.

  He looked at this barn-like building with three pickup trucks and five cars arrayed outside the open doors. The noise of metal ringing on metal ran out, but it was bright enough outside that it made it look dark inside and Tyler couldn't see who was in there. He thought at least two people by the sounds he was hearing but no one was talking loudly for him to be any more confident of the number.

  An older man, probably late sixties, came out and wiped his forehead with an old rag and shoved it back into his pocket. He took some air and looked around. His breathing was a little labored and Tyler felt he couldn’t be far off a forced retirement.

  “I’m going inside to take some water, Lou, you want some?” he called back into the shed.

  “Nah, I’m good boss,” a louder voice came from within. The boss nodded to himself and walked towards the house next door and went inside.

  Tyler watched the barn door with interest, hoping the other man would come out. He waited and in a couple of minutes his patience was rewarded.

  A huge man of about six feet six came out with his head bowed through the doorway and then straightened out and stretched his back. His face looked scarred and he had a long dirty blonde ponytail at the back of his head despite the fact the top of his head was a dome of baldness. He wiped his own forehead and scalp with a cloth. The man wore jeans, a black tee shirt with a skull or some band emblem on it and over this a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off. He looked for all the world like any greasy biker you'd see anywhere in America, but Tyler knew at once this was the man he wanted. A future victim of ‘The Birdwatcher’. Tyler waited until both men were back inside the garage and then made his way covertly back to the car. His work was done, and he could go back home to his own secluded house now and make his plan.