Jarrod and the Demon's Knight Page 2

  'You know he wouldn't do that!' Jarrod protested.

  'Well, I agree old boy, but the police don't, and the insurance people were quite insistent,' Johnathan apologised. 'There's more, watch.'

  Jarrod watched as the gang followed Barry's route, always a couple of minutes behind him. At the stairway security door, they bypassed the lock with ease and once on the second floor disappeared off camera.

  Johnathan held up his hand to prevent Jarrod's question. 'That door has a smart lock, a key with an embedded chip is required to access it. All the keys have different ID numbers. Once opened, the ID number is sent to the security system so we can track who opened and closed what.'

  'Are you saying Barry left the door unlocked?'

  'No. The system logs show the door was locked after Barry passed through. You can even see him checking it locks as he always does. Detective Widcombe took great delight informing me how useless our security is and even showed me a video on YouTube on how to open that particular lock. They knew what locks we use and they brought a tool to circumvent them.'

  'And so do any number of clients and delivery personnel, myself included,' Jarrod snapped. 'Why have they disappeared?' he asked, gesturing at the screen.

  'We only have cameras at strategic locations; the building is too large for full coverage. They're hiding off camera at the moment and reappear on the next security sweep. They knew there would be no one in the office watching the cameras.'

  Fast-forwarding, Jarrod watched as Barry and Martin exited the office once more, the timestamp on the recording showed ten minutes past six. A few minutes later the youths re-appeared on screen; it was here that Jarrod saw a youth dart back and pluck a figurine from one of Jarrod's boxes.

  'That's Selgroch's idol!' Jarrod blurted out.

  'Who?'

  'But it's still in the box, I saw it in the police photo. The woman with a snake.'

  'I'm sorry old chap, I think there was a mistake regarding that fertility statue.' Johnathan sat forwards in his office chair and offered Jarrod a copy of the auction listing. 'I called Mario in Malaysia to see if there had been a misprint in the catalogue. Mario's our buyer out there, he purchased the statue on your behalf. Maybe it was part of a set and that's why one is still here? It was during the call that I heard the bad news, the thing I mentioned earlier.' Taking hold of a now cold cup of tea he continued, 'Mario was a dear friend of mine, I got him the job in Malaysia. We went to Cambridge together.'

  'Was a good friend?' Jarrod questioned as Johnathan paused to drink his tea.

  'They found him dead a couple of days ago. A gardening accident. Apparently, he was clearing a patch of bamboo when his digger overturned. He'd managed to cut the damned stuff down and was about to use the digger to remove the roots when it tipped over, pinning him to the ground. He was there for four days before they found him. He would have lived if it had been any other plant. It was the height of the bamboo that indicated how long Mario had been trapped. The embassy told me it was over seven feet when they cut it down to release him — it had grown right through his body. A terrible way to die.' Johnathan's voice broke as he spoke.

  'I'm sorry Johnathan. I never met Mario myself. We'd emailed a few times.'

  'So, I don't know,' Johnathan said, pulling himself together. 'There could have been a mix-up. I’ve sent another man out there to deal with things, hopefully he'll get time to look into it for you.'

  'There was only one idol of Selgroch. I have been after her for a long time.'

  'I'll go and see if I can rustle up another pot of tea,' Johnathan said, not listening to Jarrod. 'Hell of a way for Mario to die, poor blighter,' he muttered as he left the room.

  Jarrod watched the rest of the heist unfold on the monitor. The guard called Martin reacted to something offscreen — a noise perhaps — and ventured off his predetermined route. On the periphery of a camera, a hand appeared from the shadows and Martin crumpled onto the floor. A figure stood over the fallen guard. Jarrod replayed the footage again and studied the man's gestures... he was sure a conversation had occurred. Man, not youth, Jarrod thought to himself. It was hard to be sure at this distance, but the figure emanated confidence and his stance suggested an experienced fighter. Jarrod played the rest of the footage. He saw an arm gesture reminiscent of extending a collapsible baton, the weapon itself was too thin to show up properly on the long-distance footage. This motion was quickly followed by a vicious downward strike. Jarrod realised this was the cause of the head wound Barry had told him about. The youths, on the other hand, quickly made their way to the display counters in the shopping area, ransacked the place and left via the front door, only then setting the alarms off. Martin's assailant did not — in Jarrod's opinion — exit with the group, the body language was incorrect. The hooded figures were hurried and less confident.

  Jarrod sat back perplexed as he waited for Johnathan to return with a fresh pot of tea. He left the CCTV system playing in grid mode so he could watch the rest of the scene unfold. Upon hearing the sirens, Barry had rushed to the control room, walkie talkie held to his face, presumably calling for Martin. The security office itself was not displayed on the screens and Jarrod assumed that Barry saw the ransacked shop and called the police. Soon after entering the office, Barry ran downstairs and secured the shop front. Upon the police arriving, Barry and the police searched the warehouse for Martin. Amid the turmoil, the calm shadow of a man appeared at Jarrod's shelf. After a moment of riffling through Jarrod's items, the man's composure changed to one of anger. Placing an identical looking figure to the one that was recently taken into Jarrod's box, the man then moved out of the camera's field of view. Jarrod was still searching for further footage of him when a more perky Johnathan reappeared holding a tray of tea.

  'Good news Jarrod. You can collect your items,' he beamed.

  Jarrod filled the screen with the image of the man placing a replica statue back into his box and declared, 'You had two break-ins that night. Only, this chap's a professional.'

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  'She doesn't look Malaysian,' Johnathan commented as Jarrod lifted the figurine out of a shipping crate.

  'She isn’t,' Jarrod answered as he examined the exquisite piece. 'She was also wrongly identified by the seller as a fertility idol.' Jarrod carefully held the foot-tall statue with one hand along her back and the other supporting the head and neck, as if she were a new-born baby. With reverence, Jarrod carried the statue to a nearby examination table.

  'She's beautiful,' Jonathan said, in awe of the craftsmanship. ‘Don’t let her body fool you, she’s as evil as they come.’ Jarrod switched on the table lights and stood back to admire the idol. Carved from stone, the ancient twelve-inch high figurine somehow epitomised the trending standard of modern beauty.

  'Voluptuous breasts, childbearing hips and leggy. Tastes haven't changed much over the centuries. She is stunning,' Detective Widcombe said as she approached from the shadows.

  'You would not like her, Detective. Her worshipers were cannibalistic by nature. They would suck out and eat the eyes of their victims before forcing them to walk back to the coven for sacrifice.'

  'What does the snake symbolise?' the detective asked, regarding the large serpent clinging to the figurine's left leg and shoulder, its head held firm in the idol’s hand.

  'A snake is often used throughout history as a symbol of fertility,' Johnathan informed the detective as he walked around the table to examine the rear of the statue.

  'And you bought this for...?' The detective asked, her notepad out already.

  'Research, Detective. It's what historians do.'

  'What I don't understand is why did the man put her back...?' Johnathan commented, to ease the tension between Jarrod and the Detective.

  'He didn't,' the detective interrupted, 'he was here to swap this for the original.' She stared at Jarrod, defying him to argue with her.

  'Oh, I don't think so, Detective. She's genuine, I'd stake my reputation on it.' Johnathan smiled at the detective.

  'How much do you have this insured for, Mr Wentworth?'

  'Detective, you are relentless.' Jarrod beamed his most disarming smile at the woman. 'Caster and Randle paid one hundred and thirty thousand pounds, on my behalf. Plus expenses, which I might add are sometimes excessive,' Jarrod smiled at Johnathan. 'Until the item is cleared, it remains the property of Johnathan here.'

  'You are free to use other companies, Jarrod,' Johnathan replied, quite used to Jarrod's banter over the company's fees. 'We are not the only importers of historical artefacts, you know,' he retorted, defending the company.

  'You are the only one I trust Johnathan, as you well know.' Jarrod turned to the detective. 'I vet the people I deal with, Detective. You might say I have trust issues. Caster and Randle are the reason I am in Manchester and not London, Paris or New York,' Jarrod lied.

  'Really?' Johnathan smiled.

  'Besides your taphophilia, Johnathan, you are as straight as they come.'

  'Steady on old boy! No need for name calling, you know.' Johnathan's cheeks flushed as he spoke. 'Gravestone rubbing,' he explained to the detective. 'I collect rubbings from the graves of heroes and people who changed history.'

  'If you two have finished,' the detective huffed, 'is this or is this not your statue?'

  'She matches the description, old boy.' Johnathan fetched the inventory sheet from Jarrod's shelf.

  'This is over two thousand years old and is as authentic as Johnathan expressed earlier. Certainly worth every penny that I and he paid for her. She matches the description except for one vital flaw: she is not the figurine from the auction.'

  'I don't understand,' Detective Widcombe said a
s Jarrod riffled through nearby shelves for something.

  'Jarrod, do be careful,' Johnathan fumed at the man's rudeness.

  'This is perfect,' Jarrod explained, flourishing a bronze mirror, sending packaging nuggets tumbling to the floor.

  Before placing the mirror behind the statue, Jarrod drew in the ambient energy left over from the creation of the universe. It permeated everywhere, ebbed and flowed like water. As a wizard, Jarrod had trained for decades to enable him to convert the universe’s energy into other forms, such as light, heat, force, movement and more. Silently casting a small cleansing spell, minute vibrations displaced the grime and a swirl of air movement scoured the metal polishing, enhancing the reflective properties of the bronze surface.

  The detective shivered visibly as he did so.

  'A chill,' she gasped, pulling the front of her jacket together.

  Jarrod smiled at her. Interesting, she felt my use of magic. In another time and place, Detective Widcombe, you'd control a modicum of power yourself, Jarrod thought.

  'Jarrod, I saw her posterior when I walked around the table,' Johnathan complained, as the bronze mirror was placed behind the statue. 'Please can you put the mirror back? You know as well as anyone how valuable it is.'

  'Watch,' Jarrod instructed, as he turned the statue around.

  'My God!' Johnathan gasped, bending closer to inspect the reflected image.

  'What?' Detective Widcombe enquired, leaning closer, bewildered at the man's response.

  'Certain cultures throughout history burned, killed and even tortured those who dared worship any deity that wasn't in vogue at the time,' Jarrod said. 'This provocative statue was designed to blend into any ancient household as a trinket or fertility idol. Look at the reflection, Detective, and tell me what you see?'

  'The mirror image of what I saw a minute ago,' she snapped, irked at his question.

  'The snake is now wrapped around the right-hand side of her body, it's now held in her right hand. The woman's face looks menacing in the reflection. Who is she?' Johnathan spoke in a hushed tone, totally in awe of the statue.

  'This statue is no one, the reflection is an evil deity called Selgroch.'

  'Who?' both Detective Widcombe and Johnathan asked, almost in unison.

  'Selgroch. She is evil incarnate. In all my research, this alluring creature is the most heinous. In her heyday on Earth, long before Christianity, she slew and devoured thousands of humans.'

  'So did Christianity,' the Detective humphed.

  'Selgroch is a demon, Detective. She is far worse than any human could ever be. Humans do not have true power over life and death. They do not wield magic to heal a body, only to torture it to death, again and again and again,' Jarrod said.

  'Myths and legends,' the detective sighed, only partially interested by the history lesson.

  Jarrod picked up the statue and cradled her once more. 'The owner of this would worship the reflection, not the statue, of course. Only in the sacred temples would the true idol be on show. It was one of those idols that I bought.'

  'Jarrod, how did you find her?' Johnathan’s head swivelled from Jarrod's craggy face to the voluptuous figurine and back again.

  'Research Johnathan. This should have been one of the Selgroch's original figurines. Her sect has persisted throughout history. This is a mirror replica, as I have said; the statue I bought should have been from one of the original covens. It was a devil of a job finding information about them.'

  'The pattern on the snake, the spaces in between, is that writing?' Johnathan enquired.

  'I don't see anything,' the detective answered.

  'It is.' Jarrod smiled, happy that his friend had recognised the pattern in the reflected swirls.

  'I can only make out a few words, do you know what it says?' Johnathan’s face flushed with excitement.

  'It's an incantation to call forth Selgroch,' Jarrod explained. 'A sacrifice must be offered, with the blood spilling over the idol. Not this reverse replica, but the original from the temple.'

  'Watch,' Jarrod instructed, as he turned the statue around.

  'She is beautiful,' Johnathan mewed over the figurine.

  'She's evidence in an ongoing investigation, Mr Caster. Please wrap her to go.'

  'Detective!'

  'It’s okay, Johnathan, the statue is useless to me. But if she can aid the police in their investigations...' Jarrod shrugged, indicating for his friend to drop the matter.

  'I will require a receipt and confirmation that your insurers have been made aware of the valuation before I relinquish it to you,' Johnathan demanded.

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  From the protective shadows of an alleyway, a hooded man watched Detective Widcombe leave Caster and Randle. Inhaling the last of his Turkish tobacco, he flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground by his feet. Slowly exhaling, filling the surrounding air with the rich fragrance of aromatic smoke, his thoughts were disturbed by an annoying voice.

  'I'm gonna have to give you a ticket for that, fella,' a pathetic looking man dressed in a city uniform announced. 'Fixed penalty notice for littering is fifty quid, more if you don't pay up on time.' The man took great delight at informing the stranger of this. As if this modicum of power was the only thing in the man's life that gave him purpose. 'Right, I'll need your name and address.'

  'Yes, of course.' The stranger opened his jacket as if to retrieve his identification. Instead, he whipped his hand out to reveal a long ice-pick-like instrument. With a precise and controlled motion, the stranger pushed the weapon through the warden's left tear duct, leaving the eye undamaged. The thin shaft slid deep into the man's head, stopping only when the stranger's knuckles touched the warden's face. The needle-like instrument transferred a cocktail of chemicals into the brain tissue: anaesthetics to mask the immediate pain, Rohypnol, to induce amnesia and necrotising fasciitis to ensure a prolonged and painful death. Whispering something into the man's ear, the stranger extracted the weapon and replaced it back into his jacket carefully. A single droplet of blood seeped out of the tiny wound and rested in the corner of the warden's eye. Steadying his half-lobotomised victim, the stranger forced the man to stumble further into the alley. Sitting him on the ground, the stranger removed the warden's body camera and once again whispered into the dying man's ear, before quietly walking away.

  Chapter 3

  'I'm sorry about your statue Jarrod, from what Johnathan tells me, that was some find,' Archie Randle said as he shook Jarrod's hand. 'An idol from some sort of satanic cult. Well I never.'

  'Selgroch is an entity of her own Archie, nothing to do with Satan. She had — and I now believe still has — a very small and select following.'

  'Has?'

  'Who else would want to steal her? Another collector would have driven the bidding up at the auction, far higher than what we paid for her.'

  'Well, I hold judgement on that.' Archie chewed at the end of his pipe, annoyed that UK laws and regulations prevented him from smoking in his own office.

  'I've come to ask if there have been any developments in the investigation. It's been a week and the delightful Detective Widcombe is refusing to discuss the case with me.'

  Laughing, Archie replied, 'Yes, I heard she had egg on her face about the CCTV footage. By finding the second burglar on our system, you made her look bad, Jarrod. Neither she nor the police will let that pass lightly.' Archie returned the end of the pipe to his mouth and gave it a puff. Annoyed at the lack of smoke, Archie tossed the unlit implement on the desk. 'There has been no development as far as I am aware. You know how it is old bean, the constabulary are merely a token gesture at enforcement. They're stretched so thin as to be useless. Unless a criminal stumbles at the scene and knocks himself out, they don't have the manpower to solve it,' he ranted.

  'I see Barry's name on the roster. Has he been cleared for duty?' Jarrod nodded at the white board on the far wall.

  'Tomorrow. He was never a concern, you know that. He's upset, but he got a week's paid leave out of it.' Archie huffed, 'I'd be so lucky. Mind you that female detective was on his heels from what Barry was telling Johnathan. Seems Barry has a second income and he's spent a fortune in the last couple of years. The police were onto that straight away. But it turns out our Barry is quite the hobbyist in his spare time, producing metal and wood craft items. All legit, pays his taxes, has receipts and everything.' Archie picked up his pipe and started filling it with tobacco. 'I must warn you: she didn't like it when she found out how much money you've been sending to Barry.' There was an unspoken question in Archie's voice.