The Ghost in the Grove, Marcia [ebook pc reader txt] 📗

This is for Divesh, Shala, Darian and Shanks, thank you.

Picture courtesy of Tim Green aka atoach


Prologue
Have you ever wondered what happens in those last few minutes before death claims you? In that absolute moment of knowing you are going to die, is it like standing at the edge of a cliff and just giving the world the finger before jumping off? Or is it like being dragged through a blazing light and suffering an agony that only death can offer?
Death is, after all, the ultimate master. All who bow to her irresistible will know to follow her rules implicitly; the dead keep their secrets well and never bother with the living. However it is said that the spirits of those who die violent deaths linger in this world. Is it because they don’t know that they are no longer apart of this world or is it to ensure that they were not in vain?


CHAPTER 1
Meenrall’s Hill – 17 March 1980
Detective inspector David LaRain walked through the cemetery gates and turned the collar of his coat up against the wet weather. The earlier thunderstorm had settled into a light rain that had the consistency of a mist that was trying really hard to have some substance. The flashing lights from the surrounding squad cars bounced off the old grave stones and were reminiscent of an eerie discotheque. Detective chief inspector, Samuel Ramose was already on the scene and he was in a really bad mood.
“LaRain!” Ramose barked, “We are knee deep in the shit and before the night is over we are going to be in it up to our eye balls!”
“The Lover…?” David asked, already knowing the answer. This was a call he dreaded and anticipated at the same time. For almost two years the police department of Meenrall’s Hill had worked tirelessly to apprehend one of the most cunning serial killers and still they were no closer to solving the cases.
“Yes the Lover! That damn lunatic has waltzed through this town right under our God damned noses and done it all over again. It’s a damn slap in the face it is!” Ramose raged.

“Who is it Sam?” David asked wearily.

Ramose turned to look at him and all 56 of years and then some showed on his face. “Its Vincent’s kid.”

David’s heart sank, “No it can’t be, not Aaron.”

“Yeah it’s Aaron. Don’t be getting all soft on me LaRain. We have a job to do tonight and can’t let sentiment get in our way,” Ramose heaved out.

“Roger that Chief. Did anyone let Vince know his kid’s life was snuffed out by some asshole?” David bit more sharply than he had intended.

“We dispatched an officer ten minutes ago. There is no formal ID on the kid but I think given the circumstances he would prefer being on the scene as opposed to being summoned to the coroner’s office.”

David looked long and hard at his superior, emotions flying through his mind. Vincent Lawder was the local mechanic and a well liked man. He was a widow who had moved to Meenrall’s Hill ten years ago with a small son in tow, through hard work and strong business ethic he had succeeded in earning the towns respect and made a decent living to support his family.
Though large and imposing his gentle yet firm approach to raising his son had earned him the nickname of papa bear in the town. He doted on Aaron, he was his only reason for living and now Aaron was ripped away from him in the cruellest way.

As these turbulent thoughts raged through David’s head a squad car pulled up to the cemetery gates and he vaguely heard the slamming of car doors. An inhuman wailing pierced the early morning darkness. Instinctively he reached for his gun, he then heard Ramose yell “Shit!” and watched him run off to the cemetery gates. David sucked in a deep breath, of all the death messages he had delivered in the last two years, this one was going to be the hardest to witness.
Vincent Lawder was hunched over the hood of the squad car. Sam put a hand to his shoulder and the face that looked upon the two police officers was that of a man who had died a thousand, tortured deaths.

“Sam, the officer said it was Aaron! He said I had to get over here to ID the body! That’s impossible Sam!” Vincent’s pleading voice had carried over the suddenly silent cemetery.
Sam clapped a hand to Vincent’s shoulder and said, “I am sorry Vince.”
“Keep your damn pity. Who do you think you are summoning me here on a fool’s errand? Whoever that poor boy is in there is not my Aaron. It’s not him, it can’t be him!”
Vincent collapsed beside the wheel of the car.
David kneeled beside Vincent and hauled to him his feet, “I am so sorry Papa bear, but we need you now, your boy needs you now.”

The two police officers, supporting Vincent Lawder between them, walked towards the crypt with slow and heavy steps. The entrance was dark and foreboding and seemed to taunt them with the horrors it held. Inside, at the scene that greeted their eyes, Vincent crumpled once more the floor, his sobs overcoming him. David stared sadly at him and marvelled at how one of the town’s bravest men was brought to heel by death.
The crypt had been decorated with exactly one hundred vanilla scented candles. That was the killer’s trade mark, along with the sumptuous silk blanket and pillows dominating the crypt centre. The scent from the lit candles mingled with the stale dead air and left a sick, cloying smell permeating he atmosphere. A bottle of unopened champagne lay chilling in an ice bucket and a lavish basket of berries lay next to it. Aaron lay sprawled in the centre of the sheet, his head resting on a silken pillow and his shirt unbuttoned. It looked for all the world that he was waiting for his lover to perhaps return from the bathroom.

Only his throat had been slit from ear to ear and his blood had pooled around him, soaking through the silken blanket beneath. His grey, lifeless eyes stared unseeing at crypt ceiling. Something about seeing his son lying there helped Vincent regain his composure. He walked up to the young man on the floor and kneeled by his side. Taking his time and ever so gently, he lovingly looked into his sons face, kissed his forehead and closed his eyes with his hand.
Wearily Vincent stood up and approached Sam and David, “That’s my boy gentlemen and I hope that you will go out of your way to find his killer, because if you don’t and I get my hands on that son of a bitch first, I will kill whoever it is with my bare hands.”
With that he turned and walked out of the crypt.
“You heard the man,” Sam sighed, “let’s get cracking.


CHAPTER 2

It was a crisp May morning. Almost the entire town of Meenrall’s Hill had gathered at the new cemetery to say goodbye to one of its favourite citizens, Papa bear, formally known as Vincent Lawder. As the coffin was lowered into the ground Father Evans walked up to David and shook his hand.
“I believe today is your birthday David, congratulations. 28 years old today right? Father Evans said to him in his low baritone.”
“Yes it is thank you Father.”
“I don’t think you are much in the mood for celebrating. This really is a tragic business, David,” said the priest, “according to the doctor it was a heart attack.”
Something about his tone made David respond in surprise “You don’t believe him?”
“I know you are an officer of the law David and as such wont set much stock in emotions, but believe me, that man died of a broken heart.
David stared at the old priest and said quietly “I know father, I believe you.”
Father Evans stared mournfully over the graveyard, across the valley, his eyes settling on the old graveyard.

“David,” he started slowly, “my work often leaves me burdened with the many thoughts and sins of the members of my congregation. So many nights I lay awake until the early hours of the morning, this weight is so great in my mind.”
Detective LaRain narrowed his eyes at the priest.
“Father has the killer been to see you to confess? If so you must say something......”
The priest held up his hand and David fell silent.
“That demon will never cross the threshold into God’s house,” father Evans said with venom causing the police officer to raise an eyebrow.
“Yes I know,” the priest replied, “as a servant of the Lord I am not allowed to voice such biased opinions. However I sincerely hope I will be forgiven for having those thoughts, all things considered”
The two men watched the townspeople leave the cemetery in silence.

Father Evans turned to David and said, “Walk with me to the rectory David, there is something I need to discuss with you.
“Father you know I can’t discuss details of the case with you,” the police officer said uncomfortably.
“Yes I am aware of the protocol; however I don’t want to discuss the case with you. What I have is a request from Vincent Lawder. Perhaps what I have to say might shed some light, however little it may be, on your case?”
“Yes father, certainly, I never meant any disrespect, it’s just that this case is consuming us.” David finished tiredly.
“I know my son; this tragedy has consumed us all.”
The two men covered the distance to the rectory in silence.
David whistled quietly as he entered through the doorway. “Nice place you have here, Father.”
Father Evans grimaced, “A little ostentatious isn’t it? All this lavish attention to detail. I was quite
comfortable in the old place. But this is the will of the town fathers,” he sighed heavily.

Father Evans led the way to his office. It was a tastefully decorated room, wood panelled and fitted
with floor to ceiling book shelves which contained books on a variety of subjects.
The priest motioned to the chair, “please have a seat.”
“Thank you father.” David said once he had been seated comfortably. “Okay what did papa bear have to say sir?”
“Well, about 3 weeks ago, Vincent walked into Denny’s bakery and he overheard Marla and Sandy talking about the murders. Now before you say anything,” the old man said noticing that David had every inclination to stop him, “I know they are the biggest gossips in town, but the thing is they were saying that Aaron had been a mistake. That the killer got it all wrong, considering the boys who had been murdered so far.”
David leaned back in the chair looking at the priest and weighing up his words.

All the murder victims so far were male and between the ages of 20 and 25. They were the pride of the town. Sons of doctors, lawyers, politicians and the like, there was every hope that they would go on to be national figures who would put Meenrall’s Hill on the map; all mown down in the prime of their lives. Of the victims’ only Aaron had stood out because his circumstances as it were was so unlike those