Page 102 of Eternal Obsession

“Hello sir, this is Jansen.” She greeted her boss Detective Chief Inspector Vanderbilt.

“Jansen, I apologize for bothering you on your weekend off, but we have a situation. We have a double homicide. Initially, I assigned Bradford to the case, but his health has taken a turn. I need you back in the field.”

That familiar rush of adrenaline, that spark of intrigue that had drawn her to this profession. “I’m on my way. I’m in Cornwall, but I’ll leave now and should be with you in four hours or so.”

She let out a silent moan of regret, knowing she had no choice but to leave. After the intimacy she’d shared with Jadeon, it might seem strange, but she'd always been independent. He had invited her down, only to vanish.

Work came first.

“I’ll send a car,” he said.

“Sounds perfect. The victims?”

“So far, two single females. It appears they didn’t know each other from what we can tell, but we’re still following up leads. It’s nasty, Ingrid. Their bodies were discovered one night apart. One at Avebury, the other at Stonehenge, both tied to the stones.”

“The Stonehenge?” Ingrid asked.

“There’s only one Stonehenge, Ingrid.”

Ingrid thought it uncanny she had just been speaking to Jadeon about rituals performed at the site.

“You still there?” Vanderbilt said.

Chapter Forty-Two

ORPHEUS

Ingrid bolted out of the castle and hurried to the water’s edge.

The causeway stretched out below, slick with seaweed and shadow. Ingrid was going to have to brave it, and hope the tide stayed out long enough for her to make it across. There was no other way now, short of finding a boat.

She had to get back to Salisbury.

Fast.

Ingrid sprinted along the causeway, heart pounding, adrenaline blazing through her veins, the mainland drawing her forward. As thoughts of what had unfolded in the castle swept through her, she was filled with exquisite drama, and a dizzying, irresistible thrill at having met that striking unforgettable man.

She was finally picked up by a police car waiting on the far side of the causeway.

Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, whether from cold, fear, or the sheer thrill of what she'd just done, she couldn’t tell. She was breathless, a little shaken, but buzzing with the exhilaration of her recklessness.

As the car pulled away, she twisted in her seat to take one last look.

The police car sped along, blue light flashing. With little or no Sunday traffic at such an hour, it easily reached the heady speed of over 110 mph on the clear motorway. Ingrid focused upon the first murder case, perusing the file intently.

Vanderbilt had emailed the case details to the squad car’s on-board computer which he had arranged for her. The first victim, no older than twenty, had been tied to one of the stones and stripped completely naked. The girl’s arms had been artfully restrained with what appeared to be white silk.

Such positioning reminded Ingrid of a painting by the old masters, one where females were portrayed as saints. Ingrid noted that the corpse was particularly pale. Opening the other file, she recalled her conversation with Jadeon in reference to the witch’s persecution. She was sure he had stated the women had been murdered in a sacrificial ceremony. Perhaps, she pondered, someone who believed in something similar caused these murders.

What a dreadful coincidence that they had talked of this, even if in the context of history.

The second girl, whose photographs had been taken not twenty minutes ago, had been scanned by her boss directly from the crime scene. The victim had been strewn upon the large sandstone altar at the center of the tall pillars of Stonehenge. She, like the first girl, was bound as if in sacrifice and was similar in age and pallor.

Ingrid considered calling Jadeon but realized she had forgotten to take his phone number and wondered how she could contact him and apologize for her rapid exit. It would have to wait.

Ingrid arrived at Stonehenge in the late morning.

With Inspector Bradford off the case, the weight of it now rested squarely on her shoulders. There was no time to dwell, she had to step in and pick up where he’d left off. Her team was already assembled when she arrived, their faces tight with tension. The briefing was quick and clinical. Rain was imminent, they warned her. They’d been forced to move the body before she got there. Too risky to leave it exposed any longer. That meant no firsthand look at the scene. She’d have to rely on the photographs. Not ideal. But she'd worked with less. The ancient site was sealed off. The circle of stones was flanked by police tape. Floodlights cut through the early mist, casting shadows across the monoliths. The forensic team moved methodically among them, all of them wearing white suits, cataloging, measuring, preserving. A stark white tent had been erected over the central altar stone. Ingrid greeted the team as she zipped up her coveralls at the edge of the cordon. Then she slipped plastic over her shoes. She tied her hair back with practiced precision. Then, after taking a deep breath of focus, she stepped inside the tent. The air held that familiar tang of nitrile gloves, trace chemicals, and anticipation. There were several staff within who motioned to where the body had lain. A reverent hush of those familiar with murder, even if the body had already been removed.