Chapter Forty-Two

Jennifer found Ethan at the entrance to a disused warehouse at the south-facing end of the old chalk quarry. It had been closed off to the public several years ago, situated at the back of the industrial site, miles away from town. Barbed-wire fences and signs threatening prosecution were usually enough to see people off, but it was a desolate enough location to provide shelter for The Reborners group without being found. Police had searched it when the investigation began, and Jennifer wondered if the group was relying on lightning not striking twice in the same place. The warehouse was large and draughty, and someone had covered the chalky floor with numerous blankets and cushions, all laid in a circular pattern. The centre culminated in a collection of bungs, lighters, and pipes. Jennifer scanned the room for Bert Bishop, the man who called himself the Raven. It was obvious she was the last one to arrive, as the dregs of the occupants were questioned, some being led out in handcuffs. Ethan gave the scene a murderous glare as he waited to confront the head of the operation. Jennifer was not surprised to hear it was a fresh-out-of-the-box DCI. Underhand dealings went a long way to winning promotion, but would award him little respect from his colleagues.

‘Why was the location messaged at such late notice?’ Jennifer said, peering into the scene.

Ethan pulled an electronic cigarette from his inside jacket pocket and inhaled the vapour. He seemed too clean-cut to use them, but all coppers had their coping mechanisms, much like Jennifer with her swearing and office banter. He blew out the smoke, before turning to answer. ‘That’s how the group works. New members aren’t trusted. They only receive notification once the sessions are in progress. Sometimes they get there for the tail end. The message came in just as Zoe was in interview with her domestic suspect. She knew something was up when she checked Facebook, because someone had replied on her behalf.’

‘Sneaky bastards. How did they do that?’

‘It’s a police-authorised social media account. It wouldn’t have been difficult to get the password, with the right authorisation.’

‘I take it they haven’t found him … the Raven,’ Jennifer said; she had thought not, judging by her DI’s disgruntled expression.

‘Of course they haven’t. We’d planned for Zoe to infiltrate the group slowly and put her undercover experience to good use, but they just went bowling in there.’

‘So what now?’ Jennifer said.

‘You head back to the nick with Zoe while I speak to the DCI here. Zoe’s waiting in the car, there’s no point in compromising her identity,’ Ethan said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

‘But what about the interviews, boss? Shouldn’t we head back to Lexton to get the ball rolling?’

‘No. Take Zoe back to Haven and await further instruction,’ Ethan said firmly.

Jennifer sighed. There was no reasoning with him when he was like this. He was too busy gearing up for turf wars, police style.

Zoe’s black baseball hat sat low on her forehead during the drive back to the station, reminding Jennifer of a sullen teen. She was relieved she turned down Zoe’s offer to drive. She seemed to be in a worse mood than Ethan, and that was saying something.

‘They’ve made some drug arrests, and seized some DMT,’ Jennifer said. ‘Hopefully they’ll be able to get some decent intel in interview.’

‘Not with those bunch of clowns interviewing them,’ Zoe said. ‘They don’t know what they’re dealing with.’

‘I don’t get how people have kept quiet about it for so long. It’s been going on for months now, I would have thought someone would have given their location away.’

Zoe slouched in her seat. ‘There’s no chance of that. They know what happens to people who squeal.’

‘If they’re so scared, why are so many people desperate to join? Is it for the drugs or the promise of redemption? DMT’s not addictive, is it?’

‘It’s not about addiction. The people who join The Reborners have lived very troubled lives. The cult makes big promises, and it delivers. DMT is mindblowing. It can literally help people become born again.’

‘Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.’

Zoe lifted her cap, giving Jennifer a sly grin. ‘If I had, I wouldn’t admit it to a fellow copper. I like my job too much.’

Jennifer smiled. The more she talked to Zoe, the more intriguing she became. ‘But the effects are hallucinatory. Aren’t all drugs are like that?’

‘They’re not random trips, lots of people report visiting the same spiritual dimension. It’s a process. Each time you do it, you progress further, receiving messages, communicating with higher realms. The drug doesn’t stay in your system like others do, but the psychological effects are long term.’

‘Why are people killing themselves, if it’s so great?’

‘DMT fucks up your head for one, and can give you flashbacks. Long-term users can disassociate themselves from reality, although it’s beyond me how anyone can do DMT for very long. It’s not like recreational drugs, it’s heavy shit – and if you have a bad trip …’ Zoe whistled. ‘It’s enough to make you lose your mind.’

‘Hence the suicides. So what happened when you did it?’ Jennifer asked.

Zoe smiled knowingly. ‘Cheeky. We’d have to be on intimate terms for me to tell you that.’

Jennifer smiled as she pulled into the station car park, feeling very much like she was being flirted with. ‘You know, I’d never take drugs, but if I was held at gunpoint and forced to choose one …’

‘Then choose weed,’ Zoe said. ‘DMT’s not for you. Believe me, babe, you don’t want to go there.’

[#]

The first thing Jennifer did when she got back to the station was log on to the custody system to read the updates on the arrests. The updates were disappointing, with five people nicked, out of a group of over fifty members. Five people, in a drug-fuelled oblivion, who spoke of meeting mother earth and beings from another dimension. None of them stood out as having any prior dealings with the police, and one was actually a vicar. Jennifer swivelled her chair around as Claire exited her office.

‘Sarge, check this out. One of the suspects is a vicar! Hopefully he’ll have an attack of conscience and give us some names.’

‘From what I’ve heard so far, not many people were privy to names,’ Claire said, flatly. ‘Their so-called leader wore a mask.’

Zoe piped up. ‘Interesting, reminds me a bit of the Wizard of Oz. I wonder if Bert Bishop was the one behind the curtain?’

Claire folded her arms and sat on the edge of her desk. ‘We’ll be the last ones to know if he is. Ethan’s just called in. He doesn’t want us helping Lexton with the interviews.’

Jennifer frowned, her voice rising in her throat. ‘What? He can’t do that!’

‘He has,’ Claire said. ‘He’s had a bust-up with the DCI and threatened to cut all ties. He’s told me to inform you that from now on we keep our own cases.’

‘But what about this case?’ Jennifer said. ‘We need to speak to the suspects in custody.’

Claire emitted a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. This is my fault. I should have insisted we kept ownership from the start. Ethan will be back later. He’ll explain things then.’

Jennifer decided not to impart the response resting on her tongue, instead nodding in mock understanding. Lexton had been using them all along. She lowered her eyes to the floor, too annoyed to speak. She would go it alone if she had to. She had a connection with the Raven, something Lexton MIT couldn’t comprehend. He would be hers, even if it meant risking her job.