Moral Compass (The Samuel Beasley Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  After a few minutes, Seb had draped his dinner jacket around the icy arms of his companion.

  'So Miss Legard, how is the second year treating you? Any more plays on the horizon?'

  Before answering, Caitlin took a moment to admire the moon. Seb also took the opportunity to admire something, but it wasn't anything remotely lunar. The image he saw was one of beauty. Like a solitary star amidst a desolate night sky.

  'Not at the moment, but the course is going well,' She paused as if gathering her thoughts and the moonlight cast a soft glow across her face. 'You should take it up again yourself. Jean-Luc mentioned you only last week.’

  Seb remembered his last performance well. He also knew of the driving force behind his participation. It

  was standing in front of him, blue eyes glistening in anticipation.

  'If only I could Cait, but now I have graduated I doubt the university will let me appear in one of the drama group's shows.’

  She smiled, 'Maybe I could pull a few strings.’

  'I'll leave that up to you,' he said, reaching for the handle of the exterior door, 'I suppose this is where I bid you goodnight?’

  Caitlin's expression betrayed her words. Seb could only imagine that she was in two minds as she spoke.

  'You won't come in for a drink?' she questioned abruptly.

  'I don't drink... you know that,' he teased.

  'Everyone drinks, Seb. I'll make some tea.’

  On hearing this Seb smirked and gave his answer by moving towards the door.

  'A quick one then. I'm to meet my mother at 11pm and accompany her to the hotel.’

  It wasn't the first time Seb had been in Caitlin's room. The pair had often studied together or simply shot the breeze until the early hours of the morning. It was strange, but whenever he found himself in her company tiredness never came.

  They could talk about anything and everything until the cows came home and still have things left to say.

  The majority of Ed's family lived in Ireland and he would frequently return on visits. Similarly Caitlin's family hailed from the small island of Jersey in the English Channel. She did not return home as often as

  her partner did, but still made trips across the 'big canal' for holidays and special occasions.

  Being in the company of Cait always pleased Seb. She did not judge him and his quiet demeanour, and in return he did his utmost not to interfere in her private life.

  This did, however, prove difficult on occasion.

  Caitlin reached for a newspaper strewn across a solitary chair.

  'Take a seat. I'll just get some water from the kitchen.’ Seb obliged, but suddenly realised that his friend had stopped in her tracks, the newspaper held out in front of her.

  'What's wrong?' he ventured curiously.

  'Another murder. Looks like the same M.O. as the others.’

  'M.O.?'

  Her concerns lifted momentarily and she smiled.

  'Modus Operandi. I pick up the occasional term from Ed and his studies.’

  'Mode of operation...' Seb mused.

  'That's right. I forget you study English Literature. I'm sure Latin crept up somewhere along the line. Yes: the reasoning behind one's actions... I won't be a minute.’

  With that she gave the paper to Seb and headed in the general direction of the communal kitchen.

  In the yellow light of the lamp he forced himself to read the report. The newspaper was not one belonging to his family's publishing company, but he was familiar with the name. A respectable rag nonetheless.

  "Police baffled as death toll rises"

  He was half way down the page when Caitlin returned with a kettle full of water.

  'Scary stuff, isn't it?'

  'I wouldn't worry about it if I were you.’

  'And why is that?' she asked, measuring out some tea at the other side of the room.

  'You don't fit the killer's pattern.’

  'All male victims, you mean?'

  'Exactly.’

  After a few moments Seb gratefully accepted the cup of tea as Caitlin sat on the edge of the bed opposite the chair. There was a brief silence before she spoke out unexpectedly.

  'You're a good friend, Seb.’

  At first he did not know how to react to this declaration.

  'I try my best,' he replied humbly.

  'I don't know anyone else who would show me the kindness and respect that you have these past two years..’

  'Because I treat you as an equal and don't try any funny business?'

  'You're not like other men.’

  'I should hope not,' he said with a shake of the head.

  Slowly she placed the cup on the bedside table and moved closer to him.

  Seb ignored his impulse to move away. She reached for his hand.

  'Did it ever occur to you that I may want us to be more than friends?'

  'You're with Edward... I.’

  'Even I tire of Eddie and his behaviour sometimes.’

  With that Caitlin began to lean in towards him. There was very little light, but Seb didn't need any. He'd had two years to memorise the delicate contours of her face. The way her dark brown hair fell. Her scent...

  Suddenly the room was flooded with light.

  'That was some party!'

  Ed had returned sooner than expected.

  In somewhat of a fluster, the pair regained an appropriate distance and turned on the act; Seb grasping for the newspaper and Caitlin turning towards the window.

  Ed had clearly had one too many.

  'Oh, Seb! You're here.’

  'I elected to walk Caitlin home on your behalf old chap. I hope you don't mind.’

  Belching crudely, he responded in his light Irish accent.

  'Not at all. Oh...' Seb recognised the expression. 'I'm feeling a bit sick.’

  With that the tall Irishman turned and made a dash for the toilet block, giving Seb and Caitlin another moment alone.

  'That was close,' Seb exclaimed under his breath.

  'It was. But wasn't it exciting?'

  She giggled like a schoolgirl at the remark and Seb stifled a snigger.

  'It was, but I'd better be going.’

  'I'll take care of Ed. I dare say he'll not be fit to move again tonight. He can stay here until morning.’

  'And where will you sleep? You've only a single bed.’

  A look of devilment crept across her face.

  'Which hotel did you say you were staying at?'

  Chapter Three:

  Grizzly Business ~ Winter 1938

  Talk about a baptism of fire. The five months Ed had under his belt felt closer to five minutes. Now more than ever, he questioned his abilities and began to feel the heat from the aforementioned flames.

  If any more of these mysterious deaths materialised, some serious questions would be posed. As much as it pained him, Detective Inspector Irwin had begun to accept the ever-increasing possibility that there was a serial killer in Dublin. Quite possibly the same man whom had previously stalked the streets of London.

  The driver's seat creaked as the young lawman reclined. He needed a drink. How many days was it now, since he last slept in his own bed? How many nights had he been away from his wife?

  There was no sense in painting a rose-tinted scene. Ed didn’t need a degree in psychology to see the cracks appearing in his marriage. Many had said it wouldn’t last; that they were too young and too different. God knows he couldn’t take another, “I told you so.”

  He was not a bad man. He never meant to hurt her, but life seemed to be one vast and vicious circle at present. No matter how much he drank, the view through the bottom of the glass didn’t become any clearer.

  In the beginning he drank to relax, but slowly his medicinal tipple had taken over his life. Ed did not like the man he became under the influence. Just like the story he was intrigued by as a boy, he believed himself to become Edward Hyde.

  It was not surprising that he had lost count. Edward wished
he could undo all the hurtful things he had said in the heat of the moment, to take back all the times he had lashed out while liquored up.

  How can a psychology graduate struggle to comprehend his own behaviour? Perhaps it is like the case of Vincent Van Gogh; a man capable of such great things, flawed and ultimately floored by the ravings of his own mind.

  Upon clambering out of the car, the detective trudged his way up the gravel path and towards another house of misery. Despite their differences, these recent crime scenes had something familiar about them. Ed just couldn’t place what it was.

  ‘Inspector… try the living room.’ It was Connor, one of the officers first on the scene. ‘Looks the same as the others.’

  Without looking up from the notebook in his hand, Ed grunted and strode into the hallway.

  He couldn’t help thinking what a dump the place was. The peeling wallpaper and the smell of damp engulfed

  the cold air. A thought about the two going hand—in- hand entered his head, just as Seb crossed the threshold.

  ‘Mornin’ Ed,’ he proffered with an over-enthusiastic Irish intonation.

  The third murder in as many weeks and he wants a cheery hello?

  ‘Is it?’ Ed ventured, raising a sodden eyebrow. ‘Can’t say that I’d noticed.’

  The rain hadn’t eased up in the slightest and considering it was November the general consensus had pencilled in yet another cold, wet Christmas.

  If Seb was taken aback by Ed’s short shrift he didn’t show it. He surveyed the scene as they spoke.

  ‘So, what do we have this time?'

  ‘Not been in yet, but I hear it’s similar to the others,’ he replied with a grimace.

  Ed had known Samuel for a good few years now and the pair had developed a kind of sixth sense. It was no secret the odd couple had spent time together at University, but the employ of a ‘consultant’ in an investigative capacity had definitely turned a few heads.

  The best way to describe their working relationship would be the ability to acknowledge the other person’s thoughts. Despite their differentiated backgrounds and personality traits, to those around them Edward and Samuel appeared to have a gift.

  ‘Nice how someone always discovers the unpleasant ones before I’ve had a chance to eat,’ smirked Ed.

  ‘You’re telling me you haven’t already had a liquid lunch?' retorted Seb.

  Ed gave out a telling laugh, to the disapproval of a rather stressed looking medical examiner.

  As it happened Ed knew the man well and his furrowed brow was instantly forgiven.

  ‘Seamus,’ he called in the direction of the medic, as he hunched over the body.

  Without turning the doctor acknowledged his colleague’s remark.

  ‘Detective Irwin, somewhat unfortunate the way we always meet, wouldn’t you agree?'

  Striding over a fallen bookcase, Ed answered the question.

  ‘Goes with the territory I’m afraid.’

  ‘What can you tell us Seamus?' Seb interrupted.

  The doctor seemed perturbed.

  ‘I could inform you of a few common courtesies, young man.’

  This sharp response was obviously aimed at Seb and his impromptu interjection.

  ‘Apologies doctor, I merely wished to address the problem at hand..’

  ‘Gentlemen, please. Can we leave our differences at the door?'

  That said the feuding ceased and with some reluctance the Doctor returned to examining the victim.

  Ed’s gaze swept around the room, without so much as a twitch from his head.

  ‘Nice place,’ Seb mumbled before his partner interrupted him.

  ‘I’m loving the décor. Red is so the new black.’

  chuckled the senior officer.

  The scene lay out before them and it was not one for the weak of stomach. The victim – a forty-something male – was positioned in the centre of the room, a fountain pen protruding from his eye.

  The blood that had been spilled at the scene was done so in a particularly orderly fashion and served to highlight the resting place. Aside from the expected pool the body lay in, there was a neatly constructed circle around the deceased.

  ‘Quite the message,’ Ed exclaimed whilst holding a handkerchief to his mouth.

  Seb agreed silently before proffering his own train of thought.

  ‘Indeed, but what does it mean?'

  The silence was eventually broken by the voice of Dr Seamus Doyle.

  ‘Perhaps this is of significance.’

  Slowly the aging physician pointed a gnarled index finger in the direction of the mantelpiece.

  What they witnessed next, confirmed their previous inclination; this was undoubtedly the act of the same killer. Standing proudly aloft on the mantle and pierced with a letter opener, was a bloodied organ.

  ‘My god,’ proclaimed Seb, as he turned away from the scene.

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Ed, ‘We’ve seen three of these now and I have to agree, they don’t get any easier.’

  ‘That can't be the victim’s heart.’ Doyle shook his head vehemently.

  ‘No. Just like the others, it is the heart of an animal,.’ he said, blinking. ‘At a guess I would say it belonged to a pig.’

  There was an uneasy pause.

  ‘Go on, Doyle,’ Ed encouraged.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to speak out of turn inspector, but there is something different about this crime scene.’

  Ed could not hide his enthusiasm.

  ‘How so?' he questioned, his eyes ablaze with intrigue.

  It was a moment before the medical man replied and the anticipation hung in the air like a film of smoke.

  ‘I do believe our killer is losing patience with you inspector.’

  Ed looked outwardly perplexed.

  ‘And what do you mean by that?' The venom in the words was both clear and bitter.

  Seb spoke solemnly on behalf of the physician.

  ‘You said it yourself Eddie; we’ve witnessed three of these atrocities now and yet we are no closer to uncovering the identity of the perpetrator. Perhaps for him, it has become a game. A battle of wits.’

  Seb could see the muscles in Ed’s shoulders tightening and from past experiences he knew what was coming. Quickly he changed tact and smoothed out any metaphorical creases.