The Candy Man: One of the most extreme serial killer novels you'll ever read... (DCI Mac McGreavy Book 4)

by Gavin Graham

  “All eyes turned to Mac expectantly.”

  “There’s a woman who I suspect was in the killer’s clutches and somehow managed to escape.”

  “Who is she?” Colin perked up.

  “Where is she?” Rose seemed to be alarmed by this rather important nugget of information that McGreavy had been keeping close to his chest.

  “Come on, Boss,” Jimmy coaxed Mac. “Spill the beans, the full story, all the dirt.”

  “Very well, if you want dirt, then dirt you shall have…”

  Chapter 25

  Mad magicians & serial killers

  “Once upon a time, there was a highly sought-after prostitute in Glasgow, a woman named Mistress Elina.”

  “This sounds kinky, Boss, was she another one of your controversial romances?” Jimmy retorted with a mocking scathe; it was just the crudeness of his way.

  Mac didn’t care, that kind of jab didn’t bother him, so he barely creased the thin line that ran between his taut lips. “She claims to have been lured to his house for kinky sex, by a man who could very well be The Candy Man serial killer, says she was taken down to a dungeon that was designed as a BDSM torture chamber. She says that she wasn’t alone, that she heard another woman being tortured, not for any kind of pleasure either. She believes that the woman was murdered whilst she was there.”

  “If she’s a Mistress then wouldn’t she be the one doing the domination in her own little dungeon?”

  “Every Mistress has her place as a Slave apparently, depending on the man, his power, his ability to dominate her and her willingness to submit to him. Anyway, a whore does anything for money, cash is always King for a prostitute.”

  “How did you come by this information?”

  “The Russian.”

  “Gangster, numero uno?”

  “Aye.”

  “I thought you’d be over all that nonsense.”

  “I met him at the funeral, that’s all, he wanted to chat so we did.”

  “Fair enough. So, what, she just got up and walked out of this prison of sodomy and death? How on earth did she manage it and how come she’s just appearing on the scene out of nowhere?” Colin asked with a screwed-up face of bewilderment.

  “She worked at the circus, did the circuits down in London, as a magician’s sidekick.”

  “A prostitute juggler? Fascinating…” Colin smirked.

  “She was well-versed and practised in escaping from what she calls ‘bondage rigs’ apparently.”

  “You couldn’t make that up, could you, she learned to escape from a serial killer’s basement in the bloody circus,” Colin was still in a state of genuine bemusement like he was relishing a good old-fashioned mystery story with awe and gusto.

  “She carried out her apprenticeship with a man who went by the stage name – The Great Chandler – a Romanian performer who learned his trade on the streets of Bucharest where his side-kicks would pick the pockets of spectators.”

  “Charming.”

  “Aye, he went out of business after sawing a woman’s leg off by accident, the crowds absolutely loved it apparently, on their feet they were. The Romanian lapped it up until he realised he was standing in a pool of human blood, it flowed like red wine, only then did he realise that he’d fucked something up grandiose-style.”

  “That would have been her time to call a taxi then?”

  “Aye, she picked up her coat and did a runner, and the Great Chandler did his greatest act of all time and disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

  “Puff!” Colin restated the gesture with a theatrical enactment of magical drama. “So, he disappears and what about the girl, she comes back to Glasgow and tries her luck as a sex-worker? Seems like she’s dodged a few bullets in her time, eh? Mad magicians and serial killers? She should really pick her career paths more wisely. Is she still in the sex-trade full-time?”

  “She had mental problems and ended up with a nasty drug habit. After escaping from the basement of death she lost her marbles completely and was on heavy antidepressants.”

  “All this time, she could have had information about an active serial killer, why on earth didn’t she go to the police? I mean, she actually heard another woman being killed down there, and she was there in the house?” Colin’s tone had dropped a notch and was altogether sombre and contemplative. “This mad woman has blood on her hands, for the God sake, the blood of innocent women who were killed in cold-blood by a brutal psychopath.”

  “Nobody believed her, she was a known story-teller, considered not to be taken seriously. She’s now in a mental institution.”

  “Can we talk to her?”

  “No. But we can go back and look at the reports to see if we can dig up anything useful. Some of it is a bit random. She says things like an angel came down from heaven and helped her to escape from The Devil’s Playroom.”

  “Angel and demons, just another day in a cop’s life, eh? So, Boss, what’s the next step?” Colin was ready to get deep into the investigation.

  “We interview those who were closest to the victims and dig up all their dirtiest little secrets…”

  They were all on-board.

  Yes.

  The team was back on-track and ready to bring this evil motherfucker down.

  Chapter 26

  The offering of a life of slavery

  They were in dark-chat mode.

  All messages would disappear after twenty-seconds and be totally vanished, privacy guaranteed, hence why he was bold enough in this case to show here a photograph of both himself and the dungeon that he was offering to hold her in should she accept the contract and give up her life to live with him as a slave.

  What he offered was, indeed, a unique opportunity.

  The whole thing for Casandra had become much more than a phase or a mere fetish.

  No.

  It had gone far beyond that now, had become a part of her being, something that had to be nourished deep within.

  She found him to be handsome, like a young version of the actor Michael Douglas, with entrancing eyes that were smoky blue and fused with knowledge. The strange thing was that his hair was totally white. It gave him the aura of a man who’d lived a long life and had perhaps been granted the gift of eternal youth. She knew that her life could never be the same again after all that she had done and all that she craved. The rooms he had prepared were better-equipped than any BDSM club she had ever seen and the possibilities for her own personal growth seemed limitless to the point that it aroused her immensely. She had already decided, she didn’t just want this, she needed it.

  … … …

  He was typing.

  WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF?

  AFRAID? she responded. IN WHAT SENSE?

  WE BOTH KNOW WHAT THIS IS – WHAT I OFFER – IT’S THE THING THAT YOU HAVE ALWAYS WISHED FOR AND HOPED FOR IN YOUR FANTASIES AND IN YOUR DREAMS – SO WHY HESITATE?

  IT IS – YES – IT FEELS RIGHT – YOU FEEL RIGHT – I SUPPOSE THAT IS WHAT I’M SCARED OF – THAT IT IS SO PERFECT THAT IT CAN’T BE REAL.

  YOU ARE SUGGESTING THAT I AM JUST PLAYING GAMES? I DON’T PLAY GAMES.

  NO – I KNOW THAT – BUT THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE TO TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION – OTHER PEOPLE THAT WILL GET BADLY HURT.

  I KNOW THAT YOU ARE WILLING TO HURT OTHER PEOPLE TO HAVE WHAT YOU TRULY NEED – HIS WOUNDS WILL HEAL – WILL YOURS? ARE YOU WILLING TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE FRUSTRATED AND DEPRESSED AND JUST DIE IN A WASH OF PATHETIC MEDIOCRITY? IS THAT IT? SEEMS TO ME THAT YOU SHOULD BE MORE FEARFUL OF THAT PROSPECT THAN DOING SOMETHING BOLD AND COURAGEOUS. I OFFER YOU A PATH TO THE MOST ADVANCED LEVEL OF PERSONAL DEVELOPMENT – MIND, BODY AND SPIRIT.

  HOW CAN YOU BE SO SURE?

  YOU HAVE MY WORD THAT I WILL ALWAYS HAVE THAT SOLITARY NOTION IN MIND UNTIL THE DAY THAT YOU DIE.

  He didn’t say until the day that I die, no, until the day that you die.

  ALL I WANT IN RETURN IS YOUR TOTAL OBEDIENCE AND YOUR SERVITUDE AS A LOYAL SLAVE. YOU WILL SEE HOW STRONG Y
OU REALLY ARE, STRONGER THAN YOU COULD EVER IMAGINE, YOU SHOW ME THAT AND I WILL SHOW YOU WHAT REAL PLEASURE IS.

  Shit.

  He was saying all the right things, the words and promises that she wanted to hear, it was all too much and her head started to spin. Her mottled nipples prickled to a dry hardness beneath her nightdress as she drowned in the words on the computer screen. She squeezed her thighs tightly together to temper a sudden need that burned like a blue-flame deep in her sex. It was like he instinctively knew her, he was so in-tune, it just had to be real. She wanted role-play with a man who could enact the most hideous embodiments of evil.

  This was it.

  It was a one-off opportunity.

  This guy could really be the one.

  TELL ME MORE. WHO ARE YOU?

  I’M A KILLER – I MUTILATE WOMEN AND HAVE SEX WITH THEIR CORPSES – DOES THAT EXCITE YOU?

  YES. I’M INTO THAT. I LOVE THAT KIND OF TALK. I’M A TRUE HORROR JUNKIE AND A STRAIGHT-UP NYMPHO.

  THEN, YOU ARE A FREAK, AND YOU DESERVE TO BE PUNISHED FOR IT.

  YES – I GUESS I’M A FREAK – BUT SO ARE YOU.

  I WANT TO TERRIFY YOU.

  WHY?

  IF YOU CAN REVEL IN FEAR AS YOU CAN REVEL IN MY COMBINED ACTS OF PAIN & PLEASURE THEN YOU WILL REACH THE GRANDEST HEIGHTS ATTAINABLE BY ANY EXTREME BDSM PRACTITIONER.

  WHAT KIND OF FEAR?

  YOU KNOW.

  I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT – SO THAT I CAN BE SURE.

  THE FEAR OF DEATH – THE FEAR OF DYING IN AN ACT OF BONDAGE – PSYCHOLOGICAL FEAR – FEAR THAT I CAN MUTILATE AND DISMEMBER YOU IN HUMILIATING FASHION WHILST MAKING A SNUFF FILM OF YOUR MURDER FOR OTHERS IN OUR COMMUNITY TO WATCH.

  WHY DO YOU THINK I LIKE THAT?

  IT IS THAT SAME DESIRE THAT MADE YOU PARTAKE IN SHOWS AT THE X CLUB WHEN YOU ARE BOUND IN ROPES AND SLASHED TO DEATH BY A PRETEND JAPANESE KILLER.

  YOU SAW ME THERE?

  YES, I WAS IN THE AUDIENCE.

  I CAN GIVE YOU MUCH MORE EXTREME ACTION THAN THAT – BELIEVE ME – I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT TURNS YOU ON – MORE THAN ANY MAN – I WILL PUSH YOU TO THE UTMOST LIMITS – THINK ABOUT IT – UP UNTIL WHAT POINT WILL YOU STOP TRUSTING ME? HUH? ISN’T THAT THE JUICE? THE REAL THRILL & EXCITEMENT OF OUR GAMES?

  There was no response.

  ARE YOU OK?

  YES.

  HOW DO YOU FEEL? DO I PUT THE FEAR OF GOD INTO YOU?

  YES. I’M VERY ARAID OF YOU.

  GOOD. THAT MEANS WE’RE HAVING FUN.

  YOU ARE CRAZY! YOU KNOW THAT?

  I KNOW I AM – THE QUESTION IS – ARE YOU CRAZY ENOUGH TO BE WITH ME? LOOK – FEAR IS THE ULTIMATE KINK – NOT PAIN – THAT IS THE SECRET TO EXTREME BDSM. YOU ARE EITHER SERIOUSLY INTO THIS, OR, YOU’RE NOT…

  ARE YOU REALLY THE DEATH CANDY GUY?

  YES. COME AND LIVE IN MY BASEMENT FOR SOME TIME. I WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

  OK – BUT…

  I WILL SEND THE CONTRACT NOW – IT WILL DISAPPEAR IN 10 SECONDS – PRINT IT – READ IT – YOU WILL LEAVE IT BEHIND FOR YOUR PRECIOUS ONE TO FIND AND HE WILL KNOW AND UNDERSTAND AND IN HIS HEART OF HEARTS HE WILL RESPECT AND ACCEPT YOUR DECISION AND HONOUR IT.

  GOD – MY HEART IS POUNDING – I’M SO WET – I WANT YOU TO FUCK ME RIGHT NOW.

  SHUT UP YOU STUPID GIRL – DON’T EVER TALK LIKE THAT TO ME – LEARN TO CONTROL YOUR EMOTIONS AND IF YOU DESERVE THAT THEN IT SHALL BE GRANTED TO YOU ACCORDINGLY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? WE HAVE TO WORK ON THESE THINGS BUT SUCH A LEVEL OF IMMATURITY IS SADLY TO BE EXPECTED.

  He was already talking to her like he owned her.

  SORRY, she replied. I AM SORRY.

  FROM NOW ON, YOU ADDRESS ME AS SIR, AND YOU CONTROL THAT TONGUE OR I MIGHT JUST CUT IT OUT. UNDERSTOOD?

  YES, SIR. YES, MASTER. She felt so stupid, she shouldn’t have blurted the words out like that, it was so childish of her. But, the thought of him using such violent threats against her as she was bound in ropes, naked and bare, and him exploring her flesh with the tip of a blade, the notion of it turned her on to the point where she had to exercise the strength of will not to slip into a deep haze of franticly touching and fingering herself right there and then. What on earth would it be like when she actually met him again? “This is what I need,” she thought to herself. “I need this badly, so, so badly…”

  IS IT PERFECTLY UNDERSTOOD, SLAVE GIRL?

  YES, SIR, I AM SORRY. The document was received and she had sent it to the printer.

  DO YOU HAVE THE CONTRACT?

  YES. I HAVE PRINTED IT OUT.

  GOOD – VERY WELL – SO YOU WILL ACCEPT?

  YES – I AM YOUR SLAVE – I ALREADY BELONG TO YOU.

  THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO HEAR – YOU SHALL NOT REGRET IT, SLAVE – I SEE GREAT POTENTIAL IN YOU.

  SO, WHAT NOW?

  YOU HAVE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. AT 9PM MEET ME AT THE CARPARK BY THE RENFREW GREEN WOODS AND STAND BY THE TREE WHERE THE WOODEN BENCH IS. YOU WON’T NEED TO BRING ANYTHING – FROM NOW ON I AM YOUR PROVIDER AND ALL THAT YOU NEED SHALL BE GIVEN BY ME. I WILL COLLECT YOU BY CAR – A BLACK BMW. DON’T TRY ANYTHING STUPID. IF YOU ARE NOT THERE I WILL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY.

  Her blood ran cold.

  She felt a wild mixture of emotions running through her body – fear, danger, excitement, arousal…

  OK, SIR, I WILL WAIT FOR YOU TO MEET ME.

  REMEMBER THE RULE – DON’T TELL A SINGLE LIVING SOUL ABOUT THIS ARRANGEMENT OF OURS – THIS NEW LIFE WILL BE ROOTED IN ABSOLUTE SECRECY AND YOU SHALL LIVE NOW FOR ME AND FOR ME ALONE.

  YES, SIR, I UNDERSTAND THAT AND I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT MY DISCONNECTION FROM THIS LIFE AS I CURRENTLY KNOW IT WILL BE TOTALLY DISCREET.

  I WANT YOU TO VANISH INTO THIN AIR.

  YES, I WILL VANISH, I PROMISE.

  Chapter 27

  Dreams, streams & uncouth abhorrence

  My name is Spector Gladwell, I’m a sexually sadistic homicide offender, and the serial killer known as The Candy Man.

  Am I crazy?

  I sometimes wonder.

  There was this one time and it makes my hands shake when I think about it. I was in a quiet, dimly-lit room, sat on this sofa with a knife at my feet. I had no shirt on, shivering in my own skin, a human head in my hands. It was the head of a girl and I’d just taken it off with a meat cleaver. It was a sultry female who’d gone by the name of Alexandra, her face just as beautiful in death as it had been in life, such remarkable beauty. She’d been a real sensual type and had been crazily into pain and torture; from a young age, see, I’d gravitated sexually to the masochistic sorts of women. Why? Well, I knew that I was a sadist, and that hurting women thrilled me. When I discovered that there were women out there who actually wanted to be hurt, it was like the dawning of day, and I saw a world of dark possibilities before me.

  I cradled the beautiful cranium between my knees and stroked the silky, dead hair. I felt the thick-flowing blood as it churned from the stump and seeped into my jeans, kissing warmly against the flesh of my thighs, so viscous is the blood from a freshly chopped head.

  I found myself talking to her.

  I was having a conversation with her head like she was still alive.

  I don’t even recall what the little chat was about but, suddenly, I was left thinking to myself that I must have completely lost my mind.

  I was immersed in another world like it was an alien dimension of the psyche; it still gives me the creeps when I think about it.

  I don’t know what I am, what made me this way, or, why I ultimately do the things I do.

  Yet, there are some things that I do know, with unsettling certainty.

  I know that I’m evil, for example, and I know with total assurance that I’m every woman’s worst nightmare.

  Chapter 28

  The lucid brilliance of death

  I’m awoken again from dreams of murder.

  Thrashing.

  Slashing.

  Images in my head.

  The chaos is recurring.

  V
iolent screams.

  Frenzied attacks.

  I’m drenched in a hot, clammy sweat. Gushing blood was coagulated and thick in my fingers, hot like treacle, a red glaze; erotic.

  I enticed the wetness of her sin.

  A probing touch.

  She died in my clutch.

  I ended her life amidst a ferocious climax, slitting her throat, her life essence flowing like a river.

  I’m hot, burning inside right now, and as I cut her I melt; it’s incredible.

  Vital blood spurts like in slow-motion, so lucid, so real.

  It’s like my torso levitates as my eyes open wide, limbs trembling, a tepid wetness against my skin. I quiver in my bed without even registering the sounds that come from the room next door. This dark and powerful thing has fused inside me once again. I feel a glue-like assembly against my hot flesh, cooling warmth, wicked sweats of vile fantasies and the ingenuity of autonomous climax.

  The spasm is violent and intense.

  I clench my muscles in the clammy confines of tainted bedsheets.

  Spoiled.

  I kick off the covers.

  Ectoplasm is viscous and potent.

  Visions of murder roused me to an extreme pinnacle. I still see the woman’s half-severed head. I cut her throat and sliced her with a machete as she was tied to a frame in one of my BDSM sex-therapy/torture cells.

  Death cells.

  Murder rooms.

  Her ankles and wrists were bound, left partly headless, my blade glazed in her blood and it dripped freely from the edge with a silken density. I still see her cherry red spill as it flows like a river from the stump and her decapitated cranium veers down to her right shoulder. I recall her cleft, tainted and taut, a ripe yet spoiled fruit. The darkness and evil of the dream is making me climax uncontrollably.

  It feels so real.

  Her eyes are wide and I’m looking right into them as she dies. Her mute-screaming mouth even wider on the video-screen of my warped mind’s eye.