The raven took his thoughts as it swooped down. Bert gasped as the bird opened its long black claws and expertly grasped the branch. He had never seen his friend of the night so close in the daylight before. ‘Auugh! Auugh!’ the raven said, his beady black eyes swivelling towards the blood and back to Bert again.
Bert embraced the moment; the smell of the wind, the coldness slapping his cheeks. The creaking branches fighting to stay in position as the wind tried to bend them to its will. The feel of the cold earth beneath his feet and the heady desire to touch the blood. His brother was dead. It was time to reclaim what was his. Shaking its long sleek feathers, the raven opened his beak and gave a hearty cry. ‘Augh! Augh Augh!’ he screamed as his magnificent throat feathers expanded in a flurry.
‘Caw! Caw!’ Bert replied, and smiled as the bird hopped closer. Bert lay down. Stretching out his arms as far as they would go he moved them up, then down, flapping against the cold hard earth.
The raven cawed overhead as if to say, ‘That’s right! That’s how you do it!’
‘Caw caw,’ Bert said loudly, ‘caw! I’m a raven!’ Bert closed his eyes and imagined soaring through the skies, slicing through the wind and the rain, tearing up his prey without a moment’s thought. Spots of rain landing on his nose and eyes halted the exhilaration.
Sitting up, he turned to stare at the blood-soaked ground behind him. The length of his body patterned the cold earth, with dark wings either side. A beautiful blood angel. Sober thoughts returned in aid of self-preservation. He would take himself home and hide his clothes. He would have a bath and wait for his parents to return. He would cry all night if he had to, so he didn’t get the blame. None of that mattered right now because he had passed his initiation. Dark grey clouds rolled overhead, laden with rain. The downpour would wash the blood away, but he was an honorary raven, bold and wild and free, with no need to answer to anyone.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was a common occurrence to be called into work on your days off, have them cancelled, or sometimes, be forcibly ordered to work overtime. Members of the police were not allowed to join a union for a reason, but spending more time at work than at home didn’t bother Jennifer, because for her, work was her home, and her colleagues were her family. She would lay her life on the line to protect them, and the people of Haven, whom she served. She always maintained a professional distance with her cases, and never came close to compromising an investigation. So why was she holding onto a dead girl’s phone? The high tech crime unit could examine the handset at an advanced level, tracking phone calls, texts, pictures, emails, and even maps and GPS location. In the case of a murder investigation, they could even recover deleted items. Jennifer consoled herself that all she was doing was looking through the evidence bag and pressing a few buttons. She already knew the password, having watched Emily type in four zeros to access her texts the last time they spoke.
With one percent of battery left, Jennifer accessed Emily’s call history. It did not turn up the treasure trove of evidence she had hoped for. Emily appeared to have been deleting her texts and pictures as she went along. Jennifer chewed the inside of her lip as she trawled through the phone. No internet history, no call history, and no pictures … she threw her head back in exasperation.
‘Everything all right?’ Zoe said, bobbing her head up over her computer screen.
Jennifer’s palm clasped her chest. ‘Oh! You frightened the life out of me.’
Zoe stood, looking a lot more comfortable in her casual clothes of baggy jeans and vest top. ‘I left my phone charger in my desk. You look guilty, whatcha up to?’
Jennifer trusted her new colleague enough to confess, and Zoe’s eyes lit up with interest as she relayed the series of events.
‘Flipping hell, girl, if delaying booking in evidence is the most dishonest thing you’ve done in your career then you’ve nothing to worry about. Now give it here.’
Jennifer handed the phone over. ‘The battery’s almost dead. I may as well book it in for the tech team.’
Zoe checked the bottom of the phone and gave Jennifer a knowing smile. ‘This …’ she said, walking over to a plug ‘… may just be your lucky day.’
Jennifer was about to point out that it was unlikely, given a young girl had been murdered, but silenced her words as Zoe plugged in her charger and pierced the other end through the bottom of the bag. It clicked neatly into the phone socket. ‘Look at that, fits perfectly. Now, let’s have a little lookie …’
‘I didn’t know you were a technical whizz,’ Jennifer said, watching Zoe’s fingers run nimbly through the various apps on the phone. ‘What department did you work on before you came here?’
‘I was a TP for six years for another force. Great job.’
‘Oh I see,’ Jennifer said. Suddenly it all made sense. Zoe’s discomfort in formal wear, her habit of swearing, and her discomfort at being in the limelight; test purchasers were used to go deep undercover, integrating themselves in communities of drug users and pushers. Chameleons of sorts, they had to think on their feet and have the ability to reinvent themselves to suit any situation. Invaluable to the drug squad, their covert cameras delivered damning footage at court, which secured major convictions. Jennifer was about to ask why she had left, when Zoe exclaimed.
‘Bingo! We’re in.’
Jennifer looked over her shoulder to see Zoe trawling Facebook, scrolling through the pictures of Emily during various nights out with what looked like a string of random men. None of them matched the description of the Raven, but she hadn’t expected to see him there anyway. She flicked to the side setting, finding the groups. They consisted of the usual free ads groups such as Things For Sale in Haven and Second Hand Goods. Then she caught sight of it, nestled among the other titles. Second Chance Group. Jennifer’s gasp caught in her throat. No wonder her internet searches had drawn a blank. She had been searching for every variation of The Reborners online. Unlike the other groups, access to the Second Chance Group was by invitation only.
Jennifer stood with her hands on her hips, painfully conscious of the time. ‘What do we do now? I have to go to Lexton for briefing. What will I tell them?’
Zoe tapped a black polished nail against her teeth. ‘Say nothing. We’ll book it in later.’
‘But what value is keeping it if you can’t get into the group?’ Jennifer said.
‘There’s always a way. I have a fake Facebook account from my old TP days. I’ll friend Emily through her account, then she’ll invite me in. I’m not saying they’ll give it up straight away, but leave it with me.’
‘But won’t the time of the request show up? Word will soon get around that she’s dead.’
Zoe’s eyes flicked up from the screen, alight with devilry. ‘Ways and means, babe … ways and means.’
Jennifer mulled it over. The Facebook account would have been authorised by the police and been above board, and if anything, their involvement may speed things along. ‘I’ll book it in as seized property and tell them I’ll drop it over to the tech team when briefing is over. Will that give you enough time?’