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  Sacrifice

  A DI Scott Baker Novel

  Jay Nadal

  Published by Jay Nadal @ 282publishing.com

  Copyright @ Jay Nadal 2017

  All rights reserved.

  Jay Nadal has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction, names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Sacrifice

  Prologue

  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

  Zulu Translations

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Hi there, it’s Jay Nadal here. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my writing with you. My books are set in the coastal resort of Brighton on the south coast. For the Brightonians amongst you, you’ll recognise many familiar locations in my scenes.

  Brighton offers such a vivid and diverse landscape that it makes it a pleasure to incorporate lots of well-known settings that bring my writing alive.

  Sacrifice

  “Wherever you are, death will find you.

  The ancient ways are still alive.”

  Prologue

  “Amandla avela empilweni entsha,” he whispered, watching as another life slipped away.

  The sacred words had been passed down through generations of his family as old and treasured as verbal heirlooms. A final blessing given to the gods that meant power comes from new life. Many in the Western world could never understand or accept his traditions. But for those who believed, he carried magical and mystical powers that delivered wonders far beyond human comprehension.

  As they cast their haunting shadow on the walls, the circle of yellow flames flickered and danced with no thought of the oxygen or fuel they consumed. Their orange glow reflected in the whites of his eyes. He knelt waiting for the throbbing in his temples to subside. A solitary bead of sweat traced a path down the side of his face. Evidence of the effort it had taken to sever the head from the rest of the body.

  One sharp, clean cut and then the pounding satisfaction of success surged through him. The blood-curdling, deafening, and ear-splitting screams made the spell more powerful. The only part he missed was cradling the beating heart in his hands, savouring the passing of energy from one being to another. On this occasion, he had stared in rapt fascination, watching the life drain away and missed the opportunity.

  His mood matched the darkness of the night as he glanced around the room. His actions neither excited nor saddened him. Rituals had become an integral part of his life for as long as he remembered. His mind floated back to a time as a young boy. He squeezed through the small crowd of people that had gathered in his village to witness a special occasion.

  He was not much taller than knee height, pushing through the masses of limbs, curious to get a peek. The soles of his feet were hot and rough, impervious to the earth and stones. He watched the mysterious man crouch and stalk in a circle around a child not much older than him. The man appeared different from the others. His eyes were large, scary-looking and red, like the night sky before the sun went down.

  The hollering and high-pitched howls from those watching served to only incite and fuel him. In one hand, he held the largest of knives, in the other a funny-looking object with a smile on its face. Later in his life, he learnt the funny-looking object had been a human skull.

  The noise of those gathered frightened him. Had they all lost their minds? The women’s high-pitched screams hurt his ears, and he brought his tiny hands up to drown out the terrifying sounds. His heart raced, threatening to explode from his chest as the crescendo of noise reverberated and spun around him. He looked away and buried his head behind the leg of another as the funny-looking man swung his knife at the child’s neck and silenced the crowd.

  The circle of flickering candle flames startled him back to reality. He waited until the final twitches of the body signalled the ending of a life. The gods would be happy with this offering.

  He completed the last of his prayers as he worked on the rest of the body. The gods had been kind in finding the perfect offering for him. No one would dare to question him. In the eyes of his believers, his powers inspired complete supplication. He moved in the shadows and worked in the darkness of night.

  He cleaned his instruments and placed them back in his briefcase. Like a skilful surgeon, each knife had a purpose. The shiny steel flickered in the dark.

  He wrapped the body in a blanket, and then wrapped his package in plastic sheeting, securing it with brown parcel tape. He would dispose of the other body parts later.

  The journey across town passed quickly in the dead of night. With few cars on the road and even fewer pedestrians, the car sped through a network of back streets. He preferred darkness so he could move unnoticed. The night brought with it a shroud of fear where the ghosts, the devil, the witches, and the spirits of those betrayed and hurt rose to seek retribution and pain. At least his followers believed they did.

  The car pulled up on the furthest outskirts of town. The road served as a divide between the urbanised sprawl and the scrublands that surrounded the estate. He opened the door and stepped out. For a moment, he paused and scanned his surroundings for any sign of life. Feral cats screamed, the occasional bark from a dog, and the faint sound of a police siren raced to an unknown emergency in the distance.

  As he walked round to the boot of the car, a warm cloud of moist air blew out with each breath. The chill of the night stung his lungs. He would never get used to these extremes of temperature.

  He took a sharp intake of air, and lifted the package before crossing the road. Sharp brambles scratched at him as he burrowed his way into the dense undergrowth. The sharp incline of the small hill laboured his breathing. As the ground levelled off, the lactic acid burnt his thighs. He paused for a short moment to catch his breath and glance around, to make sure that his arrival had gone undetected. He proceeded further to the second short hill, which offered a denser covering of tall bushes and trees.

  In the oppressive darkness, his eyes could only recognise shapes. He relied on the visual map he’d created, having been here several times on reco
nnaissance trips, to find a suitable location.

  He backed his thin body into an impossible gap in the tall, dense bushes, careful not to snag the plastic sheeting on the branches. The tightness of the space left little room to manoeuvre as he laid the package on the ground and pulled loose foliage over it. Kneeling, he muttered a final prayer and bowed his head before leaving.

  He glanced around one last time. Confident no one lingered in the shadows, he turned to the man who had been with him for the last few hours. “Now it’s your turn.”

  1

  Scott may have been in work mode, but his body clung on to holiday mode, as he made his way along the seafront. Christ, it’s only been forty-eight hours since we landed. Getting up had been a struggle for them both. Cara had pushed him out of bed after Scott had pressed the snooze button for the third time. “You’ll be late,” she’d said. His reply of, “No shit, Sherlock,” earned him an uncompromising thump.

  I should have listened to Cara, he mused as he crawled in traffic. The roundabout near Palace Pier often came to a grinding halt at peak times. He smiled as he thought back to their time in Spain. It had been a while since he’d been away. The last time had been with Tina. He’d been apprehensive about going away with Cara. As they sat in departures, guilt played on his mind. A battle of wills raged inside him. His past haunted him, but his future wanted this beautiful woman.

  They had enjoyed being away and having one-on-one time together. He thought about the fun they had shared. He must have looked weird to fellow motorists as he rocked back and laughed at the memories that flooded his mind.

  He missed the warm, soothing rays of the Spanish sun. Scott had noticed a slight change in the weather since his return. The rays of the sun didn’t feel as warm on his face, the nights darkened earlier, and the wind had picked up, whipping the clouds around in the sky.

  His mind turned to work and what lay ahead. The job was intense, the hours long, the praise short, and the support inadequate. He knew that by the end of today, the holiday would be a distant memory.

  The smell of bacon hit Scott’s nostrils as he walked into CID. Some things never change, he thought as he glanced around to see some of Sussex’s finest filling their faces. A mixture of smiles and puffed-out cheeks greeted him. Mike, Raj, and Helen tried to swallow their mouthfuls, leaving Abby, as usual, to speak on their behalf.

  “Aw, Guv, good to see you back.” She looked puzzled. “I thought you would be more tanned?”

  Mike interrupted, a pathetic grin on his face. “The guv spent too much time in the bedroom…”

  “Trust you to drop the conversation to the lowest common denominator at the earliest opportunity,” Scott replied.

  A mixture of half-eaten bacon rolls, half a Madeira cake, an empty box of Mr Kipling’s Victoria slices, chocolate croissants, and pain au chocolat, littered the space between the desks. Helen had moved on to her healthy pot of chopped fruit she picked up on her way in to work.

  “We’ve missed you, Guv.”

  “Well, I missed you too, Abby. As to the others, I’m not so sure,” Scott quipped, smirking as he glanced over towards the rest of the team who feigned shock expressions. “I brought you back a few treats. Although I’m not sure you need them, judging by that lot over there.” Scott placed three large jumbo sized Toblerones, some Spanish boiled sweets, and Valor chocolate to make hot chocolate on a table close by.

  “There’s always room for holiday treats, Guv,” Raj reassured him.

  “Get back to work you lazy sods,” Scott remarked as he strode off towards his office, with Abby in tow. Part of him felt good to be back. He was surrounded by a good team, and they enjoyed having a laugh.

  “Have I missed much?” Scott asked as he fired up his PC and settled back into the comfort of his well-worn chair. Abby sat herself down in one of the two remaining chairs on the other side of the desk.

  “Nothing major, Guv. Besides, I want to know more about the holiday?” Excitement tinged her voice, desperate to get all the gossip.

  Scott waved away the question saying, “As I said, Miss Nosey Parker, what did I miss?”

  Abby scowled at being batted off, and crossed her arms like a disgruntled child. “We are still following up on some minor cases, still making all the usual inquiries. Our main case has been following up on two homophobic attacks near some of the gay pubs in town, near the Bulldog and the Marlborough.”

  “Any developments?”

  “Not much, Guv. Some grainy CCTV images. We’ve got one attack on film, but we’ve not had much joy in identifying the perps. I’ll grab the case file and all the other files too. We can go over them when you have a free moment?”

  Scott stared at his screen and groaned before throwing his head back. “That might be much later. I’ve got seven hundred and sixteen emails in my inbox in just ten days. Email overload and half of these emails are crap.”

  Abby raised a brow commenting, “Welcome back. Anyway, tell me about your holiday, or…I must get all the juicy gossip from Cara.”

  Scott imagined the conversation if Cara and Abby got together. They were like two old grannies at a bingo night. Anyone would think they had broken a vow of silence and suffered an extreme case of verbal diarrhoea. He thought it wise if he gave Abby a quick rundown of his holiday, hoping it would satisfy her curiosity. “It was lovely. Great food, lovely weather, and perfect company.”

  Abby’s eyes widened, expecting to hear more. She pushed her hands forward palms up. “Is that it? Is that all you can say after ten days away? Mr Enthusiastic you’re not. Where’s my phone?” she asked, patting down her jacket as if determined to phone Cara herself.

  “Okay, okay,” Scott said, holding his hands out by his sides in surrender. “We stayed in a lovely apartment. A Spanish urbanisation called El Faro, a twenty-five-minute drive from Malaga airport. It’s a nice quiet place, no tourists, which is a blessing. We drove through Torremolinos and Fuengirola, and they were like concrete jungles, catering for the mass tourist market. El Faro, on the other hand, had Spanish residents and a few expats from the UK and Europe who had retired out there, so very peaceful and relaxing.”

  Scott pulled up a photo album on his phone and handed it to Abby for her to flick through as he continued.

  “I could get used to it out there. It’s such a relaxed pace of life. On a Friday night, we would fall asleep around nine. The Spaniards were firing up their barbecues for big family meals. You’d get this waft of Spanish cooked meat just drifting across the neighbourhood. You could see these small pockets of light in the darkness from the barbecues, scattered around us.”

  Abby scrunched up her eyes and smiled. “Hmm, sounds perfect.”

  “It was. I know where I’ll be spending more of my retirement. And then about a five-minute drive down the road is a gorgeous little town called La Cala. We ate freshly caught fish in restaurants right on the beach. In the sand!” Scott added.

  “I wish you could see it, since it’s such an amazing setting. And then one evening we went into the hills, to a small town called Mijas Pueblo. We sat in a restaurant on a hillside overlooking the coast. Spectacular at night. The lights from the traffic and the towns glittered in the darkness like jewels scattered over the land.”

  “Sounds romantic.”

  Scott’s mind drifted back to Restaurante La Alcazaba where he held Cara’s hand over dinner and gazed into her eyes. In that moment, everyone around them melted into the background. The unique sound of Spanish guitar music and the clip-clop of horseshoes from tourist carts echoed around them. He caressed her hand as they savoured the silent moment between them. Scott couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so happy and in love.

  He cleared his throat saying, “Moving along, how has the boss been?”

  “Same as. Moaning, hovering, and giving us regular pep talks about what a great team we are.” Abby rolled her eyes.

  Scott correctly interpreted the rolling of the eyes as he extracted himself from his chair and strai
ghtened his jacket. “I better pop in and see him before he sends out a search party looking for me.”

  Scott had another reason for seeing Meadows that couldn’t wait any longer.

  Detective Superintendent Meadows waved Scott in and pointed his pen towards a chair, whilst rustling through a document and adding his signature in a few places. From Scott’s position, he couldn’t see what the paperwork related to. Whatever it was, Meadows offered the occasional nod of his head and a curl of his lip as he glanced through the paperwork.

  “First things first, how was your holiday?” he asked without lifting his head.

  “Fantastic, Sir. I enjoyed it.”

  “Relaxed?” he asked as he fiddled with his tie.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Meadows interlocked his fingers and rested his hands on the table saying, “Good to hear it. I’ve been keeping a close eye on your team whilst you’ve been away, and they’ve been doing a sterling job.”

  “Glad to hear it, Sir. Any news on a replacement DCI?”

  Meadows pursed his lips and scrunched his face as if he had eaten a slice of lemon. “I wish I could say that I had some good news for you, Scott, but it comes down to a question of finances. As you know, we’re spending over one million pounds on refurbishing the station. So it’s a matter of costs versus refurbishment. We have to find the money from somewhere, and bearing in mind the constabulary needs to save over fifty million pounds over a four-year period, money is tight.”