56. Cold Case Closed

He smiled slyly. “I wondered if you would understand about the ladies who went before. Catrina was special. I let her stay in my cottage rent-free. She was like a child of nature, she loved to be naked and free. So beautiful. We were in love.” He said it defiantly, as if he was trying to convince himself.

His eyes closed as he took himself back to the moment. When he opened them, they were clear and bright. “Catrina knew all about the ceremony. She knew the words, and when I started to say them she was fascinated, transfixed. She stood there in all her beauty. I handed her the dagger and she smiled and took it. She knew what it meant, she knew how I felt. She should have known what she was doing. Catrina committed herself to death. She’d studied the ceremony, it was part of the paper she was writing with the others.” He sounded petulant now. He stopped talking. The silence stretched until Kathy thought he was not going to finish his confession, but just as she was about to speak, he shook himself and carried on.

“She handed it back.” He spat out the words. “She handed back the dagger. She said she didn’t love me and that she could never marry me. She touched my cheek and turned away, but I stepped up beside her and put my gloved hand behind her neck. She looked me in the eyes and said, ‘you’re going to kill me because of a legend?’ I told her the legend demands it, she knew that.” He rubbed his leg again, rested his hands on his knees and said calmly, “Catrina knew what would happen if she rejected me. She knew she would die. At first she struggled, but then she grew calm and resigned to her fate.”

Kathy felt a flush of anger and fought down a sharp reply. She hoped Sandy would arrive soon. Her fear was fading but her contempt for Dr. Ken Rivers was growing. Luckily, he was oblivious.

“I stabbed her quickly and held her as she fell. I held her until she passed to a better place.” He seemed to be savouring the memory, the confession, the re-telling of what he thought of as a glorious ritual. To him it was his birthright, not a brutal murder.

“After she passed, I washed her body. I picked her up and put her on the bed and covered her. She was so peaceful, so beautiful.” He sighed.

There was no point talking to him about the murder, because to him it was not murder. Unless he was a very good actor, he honestly believed he was following his fate, honouring his heritage, playing his part in a bizarre ceremony that had been followed for hundreds of years.

As they sat silently, she wondered what was going through his mind but decided not to ask. She would retrieve the dagger instead.

“I’m going to go and find the dagger,” she said gently. “It needs to be returned to Gordon Stormont. When I find it, do you want to hold it until the others come?”

“The others?” He looked bewildered. “Oh the police. Yes please. Yes, I would like that very much,” he shivered. “I hope they come soon, I’m growing cold.”

Kathy searched the area where she’d seen the dagger fly. It took her a few moments but, once again, the sun found the green stone as if to draw her to it. Maybe she was part of the legend. She picked up the ornamental dagger and carried it with two hands back to Rivers. She handed it to him handle first and he cradled it in his lap.

She had recorded their entire conversation on her iPhone tucked in her pants pocket. But she had the feeling Dr. Ken Rivers was going to repeat the story to anyone who would listen. He seemed proud of what he had accomplished, proud of his devotion to the legend, unconcerned about the death of two women.

As Kathy was handing him the dagger, Brampton and four police offers came over the ridge of the hill. He broke into a run when he saw her with the knife, but she looked up and waved, and he relaxed. He holstered his gun but the others remained on alert, weapons pointed at the man sitting on the big Stormont bench.

Brampton put his arm around her shoulders and she moved into his hug. He held her tight and she turned her face to his, but instead of the kiss he had suddenly and wildly hoped for, she put her lips to his ear and said, “He confessed to killing Catrina Somers and Shaye Anderson. I have it recorded on my iPhone. Let me take the dagger back from him and the gloves. I think he’ll let me. If you or your people try, he might turn ugly. He truly believes I can save him from the curse.”

He held her tighter, then pulled away. “Good work, Kathy,” he whispered and let her go, slowly drawing his gun from its holster and holding it beside his leg.

Kathy moved closer to Rivers, who was sitting with his head tipped to the sun, eyes closed, ignoring the police. “My friend, I need the dagger and the gloves so I can give them back to Gordon Stormont. They’ll be needed for the next ceremony.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her sadly, then raised the dagger between them and, holding the blade, offered her the green bejewelled handle. She took it in her right hand and cradled the blade on her left arm, performing the ceremony as he would expect. He took off the deer gloves and handed them to her, then buried his face in his hands, like a tortured soul. “What have I done? What have I done to those wonderful women?”

Kathy wrapped the gloves around the wicked blade and handed them to Brampton. She knew the story was far from over. The legend of the dagger would live on. How many other women would have their palms gently pricked or their hearts cruelly stopped by this terrible thing? She hoped Gordon Stormont would put an end to the ridiculous bloody legend. His son was just 11 years old. Would they risk ending the tradition? Remembering Gordon’s childlike enthusiasm for family stories, she rather doubted it.