Vigilante of Shadows (Chapter Five)

Aodhan sat up, breathing heavily, in a cold sweat. Realising he had been dreaming, he sighed, and put a hand to his head, closing his eyes. The bright chinks of sunlight peeping through his window speared into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. 1

Yawning, he pulled the twisted covers from around his legs, still trying to shake off the cold chill of his dream. He must have been moving about a lot during the night, which was why he was so tangled up in the fabrics. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, sitting there for a second, resting his hands on the mattress, to either side of him.2

He stood up and stretched, the mattress squeaking as he stood up. Shivering, Aodhan reached over for his jeans, having slept naked last night. 3

The house was always dark and cold on a morning, as there was no real heating until Aodhan stoked up the generator. Obviously, he couldn't pay for electric, as he was squatting, but the house, being so old, had its own generator in the attic. The only problem was that it didn't last as long as paid electricity would have lasted, so he had to make do with no heating on a night.4

Rubbing his eyes, he walked out into the dusty landing, reaching up for the cord that pulled down the attic hatch. Pulling it gently, it fell open, the small folded steps slid out, creating a stairway to the attic. Aodhan ran a hand through his hair, climbing up the steps into the dark space above. 5

He strode over to the generator, crouching down to check it. It still looked okay, but he had no idea when it was suddenly going to break down on him. Cranking it up again, he listened to its welcoming humming and clanking as it began to warm up. 6

He walked back out of the attic, pushing the hatch back into its place. He began to walk back downstairs, the old stairs creaking beneath his weight. The stairs looked much the same as the hallway, the same patterned wallpaper continuing up the stairs. The stairs themselves were made of aged oak, the vanish peeling off them. 7

Padding across the floor in his bare feet, Aodhan walked over to the front door, stooping to pick up the local paper that had been pushed through his letterbox. 8

He then turned and walked through into his kitchen, the early morning sunlight streaming in through the 1930's style French doors, glinting off the brass handles. The dirty laminate tops were even worse in the bright light. 9

Clicking the kettle on, Aodhan walked over to his kitchen table, and scraped a chair out, sitting down on it heavily.  Sighing, he unfolded the paper, shaking it to even out the creases.10

His eyes widened as he scanned the headline on the front page.11

‘BRUTAL KILLINGS IN YORK BACKSTREETS'12

Groaning, he sank his head into his hands, closing his eyes. He thought he had been careful. He didn't think anyone would come across it, at least for a while. They hadn't found his last two ‘cases', so he didn't think they would find this one. Obviously he was being watched.13

That meant he hadn't finished the case.14

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16

DCI Harris swept her red fringe out of her eyes; the rest pulled back in a low ponytail. Her striking grey eyes inspected the evidence before her. Her head was hurting from peering over it all night.17

None of this added up. 18

At first glance, the killing seemed like a brutal gang killing, angry for whatever reason, probably because he had killed one of theirs. But then there was the battle-axe. They had no idea what it looked like, but they knew that it was old, and rare.19

So at least that narrowed the killer down. And the way that Robert Goverly had been killed...it was not only the most elaborate way of killing they had ever seen here, but it was also the oldest. They had found the techniques to corroborate with an ancient torture technique, designed to inflict utmost pain before death. The only problem was that this technique, other than been ancient, was a speciality of a clan from Scotland.20

Arianwen Harris couldn't believe her ears when she heard it. Shaking her head, she laughed, dryly. "Wait, so we're looking for a man or woman from an ancient clan of Scotland, who knew a Viking, who made them an axe?"21

Sighing, Peter, one of the forensics team who had been aligned to the case, nodded. "I know it sounds weird, but yeah. That's pretty much what we're looking for."22

Sucking in a deep breath, Harris thought for a second, and then looked back up at Peter again, her eyes searching. "Okay. Perhaps what we need to be looking for is someone with a good knowledge of ancient fighting techniques, and access to ancient weaponry. That could narrow it down to any museum owners in the area, and even private collectors. Could it have been a woman?"23

Peter shook his head, glancing down at the notes he had written up on his computer. "Not possible. The strength needed to swing an axe of that size and weight would be immense. No woman could lift it. It also narrows it down to very tall men, and it is unlikely that it would be an old man."24

Arianwen raised her eyebrows. "Real Celtic warrior then, eh?"25

Peter laughed, a smile stretching across his face broadly. "Yep, that's right. Kilt and everything."26

Arianwen chuckled, and shook her head. "Right. I'm going to go up and discuss this with the rest of my department, get the evidence and the notes from the evidence up as soon as you can."27

Peter nodded, turning back to his vivid computer screen, his white coat making a crinkling sound as he sat down. The computer beeped a few times, loud in the quiet lab room with its clean white walls.28

Her head whirling, Harris tapped up the corridors to her department. The pallid green walls and grey laminate flooring did nothing to brighten her mood. As she pushed through each of the swing doors between the passages, she passed several of her colleagues, nodding politely at them, barely noticing them.29

They hadn't seen anything like this before-not in York, at least. But Harris was an avid reader, and she remembered reading in the paper about something similar down in Manchester. There had been over one-hundred killings, all preformed in the same way. But the police had been stumped. They had arrested suspects, and let every single one of them go. The killing went on for over two years, without anything stopping them.30

Then suddenly...they stopped.31

Until now, it would seem. The killer had obviously moved to York. Her turf.32

Well, he wouldn't get away with it here.33

She held her hand out in front of her, swinging the door to her department open. Inside, the Detectives and Sergeants all glanced up as she strode in, and then bowed their heads again, looking down at their work, muttering to one another. 34

DC Michael Shiner, her partner, was perched on the edge of one of the desks, talking to DC Mattely, one of the youngest, but brightest young detectives on her team. The young woman he was talking to had brunette hair in a sharp pixie cut, her dark blue eyes taking in everything around herself. Harris noticed that she very rarely spoke, but when she did speak, it was worth listening to. Shiner was holding a paper in a plastic wallet, showing it to Mattely.35

As Arianwen Harris came closer, they looked up, and Shiner cleared his throat, sliding off the desk. He handed the paper to Arianwen, smiling. 36

"What's this?" she asked calmly, taking the paper from him.37

He grinned. "That, believe it or not, is the battle-axe they think ‘ee would ‘av used."38

Arianwen's eyes widened, as she looked down at the printout of the axe. She looked back up at Shiner, who nodded back, still grinning. "Ah' know. It's pretty fancy, in'it?"39

‘Pretty fancy' was an understatement. Arianwen couldn't remember ever having seen anything this incredible looking in a museum. Most collector's pieces were at least a little rusty, even pieces missing. This one was perfect.40

It had an ebony coloured-steel crescent blade, the inside of the blade inlaid with small silver shapes. As Arianwen leaned in, peering, she could see that the shapes were suns and moons, small plants, and wicked looking vines. They were so beautifully carved, they didn't look real. The handle was made of warm looking rose-wood, shaped at the bottom, as though to fit someone's grip.41

"It's stunning." she breathed. 42

"Aye, it is." Michael Shiner agreed, loudly. "An' we've narrowed it down to where ‘ee would av' got it from, an' all."43

"Oh?" Arianwen looked up at Shiner and Mattely, looked curious. Mattely spoke up, quietly.44

"Well, we've found out that the way of making battle-axes was very unique. Each blacksmith had their own way of making them. This one was made by a blacksmith in the middle ages, probably descended from the Vikings, that's why we thought the axe was Viking. He only made six axes like this in his lifetime, so they are incredibly rare."45

"So we're looking for someone with money to burn?"46

"Yes. Unless he happens to be over eight-hundred years old." Arianwen chuckled gently at Mattely's joke.47

Taking a deep breath, she handed the printout back to Michael, who placed it down on his desk. She cleared her throat, and walked around to look at Mattely's screen. "So, do we have any fingerprints yet?"48

Mattely shook her head, slowly. "Unfortunately not. Forensics managed to get some partial prints off the skin that was left, and we've run it through the database. Nothing."49

Arianwen nodded, pursing her lips. "Okay, then. So we're looking for someone who hasn't had any previous convictions, and may be very good at slipping through people's fingers." There was an icy ring to her voice as she said this, a determined tone.50

Standing up straight, she walked over to the white board in the centre of the room, and called loudly, so the whole room could hear her, "Could everyone please look this way?"51

The murmurs and quiet talking suddenly ceasing, all the heads in the room turned, focusing their gaze on DCI Harris. She wiped the board clean of marks, picked up a board pen, and then began to write, talking as she wrote.52

"Okay, here's who we're looking for. We're looking for a man, probably in his early twenties to his late thirties. He will be tall, possibly over six-feet, and be muscular, as we've found from the forensic report." Her pen squeaked as she hurriedly scribbled it down.53

"He will be wealthy, with a definite interest in ancient techniques of torture and killing, and weaponry. He may or may not have a connection with Scotland, as this is where the techniques originally came from."54

She paused, ceasing her writing to turn and look round at everyone, her grey eyes scanning them all. She sighed, heavily. "Unfortunately, we haven't got any prints, so far. Although we do have reason to believe these may be connected to killings a few years ago, in Manchester."55

A few of her team exchanged looks. They had all heard about the killings. It had been plastered all over the news; the Chief Constable of the Manchester police had been fired over the farce they made of the investigation. They had never found the killer.56

One of the Sergeants spoke up. "Is it a copy-cat killer, or the same one?"57

Arianwen nodded at the Sergeant. "Good question. As of yet, we're unsure. It could be either, but seeing as the original killer was never found, we can safely assume it is probably the original killer."58

DC Shiner walked over to the board, pinning the printout of the axe up on the board with a magnet. "This is the axe that was used at the crime scene. We should start lookin' at private collectors ‘oo may av' this in their possession."59

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62

Aodhan gently wiped his axe blade with a soft, clean cloth. Getting the blood off the next day was always the hardest part. Dipping the cloth into the watery solution next to him again, he wiped the cold, hard steel again, almost lovingly. 63

He thought about this morning when he had seen the headline in the paper. He had panicked. And he wasn't even sure why. When he had been in Manchester, the police had never caught him there.64

Although a man had been fired from his job for that. Aodhan was actually sorry for that. He hadn't wanted anyone to lose their jobs over him. He hadn't wanted them to know at all, but they found out about one of his ‘cases', and then looked for more.65

He didn't want it to happen here. 66

Another soft wipe of the blade. Its silver moons and suns sparkled up at him, reminding him of when it was first made. Closing his eyes, he thought back to when he first had the axe made...67

...It was a cold morning. Of course, it felt even colder to Aodhan, as he thought of the one he had lost. No day would ever feel warm again. He would never feel warm again.68

And he was angry. Where were the shadows when he had needed them most! They had always helped him before-why had they not been there when his loved one was dying the cruellest death he knew?69

A determined look on his face, his green eyes as cold as the frosty wind that blew around him, he walked purposefully over to the small shop. It was built with dried mud and twigs, as many of the poorer houses were. Frowning, Aodhan stopped, and stared at the hut. This couldn't be the place, could it?70

Looking around him, he walked over to an old beggar woman who was mumbling to herself, walking up the dirty street. He tapped her on the arm, gently, until she looked up at him. Looking up, she started a little in shock.71

Aside from being six-foot, he was dressed in the traditional style of his clan, still wearing his tartan kilt. He had the long edge of it swung up over his shoulder, a brooch made many years ago by the one he loved holding it in place. Beneath this, he was wearing a simple leather top, scratched in places. His long black hair was wild, and he had red smeared over his eyes, as though he were going into battle. His sword swung by his side, gleaming in the morning sunlight.72

"Nae, dun'nae fret." He said, soothingly, to the old woman. She didn't change her expression, but she didn't move, either. "I'm looking for a blacksmith, goes by tha' name o' Doyle?"73

The old lady nodded, furiously, and pointed towards the mud hut Aodhan had been looking at earlier. Oh, well... Turning to the old woman, he smiled, and said, kindly, "Thank ye', lass." He pressed a gold coin into her palm. The poor woman stared at it as if she had never seen such a coin before. Probably never has... Aodhan considered, striding over to the meagre looking house.74

Banging on the door loudly, the wood shaking beneath his pounding blows, he listened for any sound inside the hut. He heard clanking, and then shuffling. The shuffling suddenly stopped, and then there was silence. Two seconds later, the door was flung open to reveal a stocky man, fair blonde hair in straggly lengths around his face. Two piercing blue eyes stared angrily up at Aodhan. The man was scowling, a sword held in his right hand.75

"What d'ya want?" He asked, in a low Irish accent. Aodhan frowned. 76

"I thought ye' would be Viking?"77

The man sighed, and rolled his eyes. "By the gods...I am. Me forefathers were Vikings, an' they settle'd in Eire. Now here I am." 78

Aodhan cleared his throat, not expecting to see such an angry man as a blacksmith. "I'm...looking for a blacksmith. Would ye' ken of such a man?"79

The man, strangely, poked his head out the door, looking first left, and then right. Confused, Aodhan also looked to either side, still frowning. After a few seconds, the man moved back, and ushered Aodhan in. "Come in then, come in...an' hurry up!"80

Moving swiftly, Aodhan walked inside the man's hut, looking around himself. The house was fairly plainly furnished; a simple bed in the corner with tattered cloth blankets, a small fire crackled in the clay fireplace, and a few stools were dotted about. There was nothing here to suggest that the man was a blacksmith.81

The man cleared his throat, pulling Aodhan away from the viewing of his small house. "So...what are'ya here for?"82

Aodhan looked up at him, with heavy eyes. He looked down at the floor, stopping the red-hot tear that was forming in the corner of his eyes. "I...need an axe. No' any old axe, that will nae' dae. I need it tae be...one o' a kind."83

The blonde haired man raised his eyebrows, pulling on his scruffy beard thoughtfully with rough fingers. "Aye...I might be able to do something for ya'...but it'll cost ya'."84

Aodhan reached into his sporran, pulling out a small bag, jingling. He threw it to the blacksmith, who caught it, deftly. Opening the bag up, the blacksmith whistled, looking up at Aodhan with wide eyes.85

Aodhan nodded, calmly. "An' there's plenty moore where that came from."86

The blacksmith raised his eyebrows, and grinned, dazedly. "Well, I've got no problem wi' that. I'll start on it today. Follow me."87

He paced over to the side of his house, bending down. Curious, Aodhan followed him, craning his neck to see what he was bending down to. Two seconds later, the blacksmith lifted a section of the floor, revealing a secret door to his cellar. Stepping down into the darkness, Aodhan blindly followed him, not knowing what he would find.88

The cellar below was brightly lit with torches, flickering over all the objects below. Aodhan gasped, the sound echoing in the breezy room. 89

The room was lined with two table, both covered in a varying selection of weaponry. There were swords, axes, bows, daggers, knives...the list was endless. All of them gleamed wickedly in the warm torch light. Aodhan grinned manically. 90

"So when will ye' be dun, then? I need it very soon." Aodhan said, in a low voice.91

The blacksmith glanced at him, frowning. "I should have it done for ya' n a few days. What d'ya need it for? Or shouldn't I ask?"92

Looking blankly at the smith, Aodhan answered. "Nae, ye' should'nae ask."...93

94

...Aodhan was broken from his reverie by a loud banging noise. Jumping, he laid his axe down on the floorboards, and crept over to his boarded up window. Peering through the crack, he squinted towards his front door.95

Police!96

They were both in plain clothes, but he could still recognise them a mile off. The same arrogant stance, the same inquisitive stares at his house. Swearing under his breath, he quickly moved back to his axe, bundling it up in its white cloth, quickly throwing it back under the floorboards with his Desert Eagle. He pushed the floorboard back into place, sliding the armchairs back over it. The banging sounded again, louder this time, shaking the front door.97

"Alright, ye' impatient bastards." he muttered under his breath, standing up. 98

Striding over into his hallway, he brushed his hair back, making sure that his horns were still covered. He cleared his throat, and took a deep breath, unlocking the door noisily.99

He threw the door open, leaning against the doorframe, squinting in the bright sunlight shining in. Smiling languidly, he asked, "What seems ta' be the problem, officers?"