by Jade Winters
He’d removed his hoodie in preparation for the fun and games. His tee-shirt was already drenched in sweat from the excitement he felt. Warren pushed the door open a fraction wider to get a better look, just as she happened to looked in his direction.
Shit! She glanced at the door in alarm, and he quickly shuffled back a few steps, stumbling over a discarded shoe.
Justine turned off the shower tap. “Jimmy, is that you? I thought I told you not to come back tonight.” Justine’s voice was full of trepidation.
When she sees me, she’ll be wishing Jimmy had come back from his sister’s birthday party. He stood dead still, contemplating his next move
Warren had to make a decision, and fast. Should he stay and do what he came here to do? Or leave and regret it for the rest of his life? Who was he kidding? Leaving wasn’t even an option. He’d come this far, and there was no way he was going to let this delicious little opportunity slip through his fingers. He pushed the door open wide and struck a casual pose, bracing himself against the doorframe.
Terror flashed across Justine’s face. “Who the hell are you?” She backed away from him, pressing herself against the wall of the shower, one arm across her chest and her other hand over her privates in a vain attempt to cover herself.
Warren gave her a menacing smile. “Your worst nightmare, darlin’.”
Justine stood there, frozen, her eyes desperate and wild. She had nowhere to run. She opened her mouth and began to scream. Bad move on her part. He couldn’t allow that. She’d alert her neighbours and his fun would be over before it had even begun. He moved towards the shower with the agility of a panther. The scent of tea-tree oil teased his nostrils as he lunged towards her, dragging her out of the shower stall by her hair. Warren wrapped his other hand around her mouth and tightened his grip on her hair as she twisted and squirmed, trying to break free.
She prised his fingers from her mouth. “Please don’t hurt me, please. I’ll do anything you want,” she whimpered.
Warren brought his face to within two inches of hers, staring into her eyes. His heartbeat pounded against his ribcage, adrenaline coursed through his body. “I’m not going to hurt you, Justine.” He saw relief in her eyes which fast faded into panic as he said, “First I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to kill you.”
Her squirming began anew and he had to tighten his hand over her mouth as she screamed in earnest against it.
Much later, Warren crouched over Justine Lockhart’s body sprawled on her bed. He dispassionately looked down at her, lying on what used to be white bedding. Her eyes stared back at him, fear still showed in them, even in death. He hoped she’d enjoyed the last moments of her life as much as he had. He looked over the room as he surveyed his handiwork. Impressive. He felt no remorse. Remorse was for people who regretted what they did, and he had no regrets, not one.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ashley was having a much needed nap when her ringing phone woke her. Checking the time, she was surprised to see it was only 8 pm. She had slept so deeply she thought it was way past midnight. She groaned when she saw who the caller was.
“Yes, what can I do for you, DCS Ripley,” she said sleepily.
“There’s been a murder, DS McCoy. I’ve been appointed the Senior Investigating Officer on this case and I’d like you to handle it. It appears to be a domestic, so nothing too taxing for you, but I need you on the scene right away.”
Ashley didn’t respond. Her head had fallen back on the cushion and she’d dozed off again.
“DS McCoy? Did you hear me?”
His voice startled her awake. Ashley forced her eyes open and tried to push away the cloying sleep that beckoned so invitingly. “Yes, yes, I heard you. Text me the address please.” That puts an end to my leave then.
She cut the call and stood up, stretching and yawning. Damn, she needed a good night’s sleep, and soon! No time for that now though, she thought as she picked up her jacket and headed out into the night.
Ashley saw the flashing blue lights as soon as she turned onto the street. Curious passers-by were huddled in a group outside the flats where the crime had taken place. They were held back by blue-and-white police tape and several uniformed officers. The crowd was loud, talking and calling out to each other and to the various officers wandering around; everyone was hoping that a titbit of sensational information would be thrown their way. Not unlike a pack of hungry dogs looking for a scrap of meat. Ashley tried unsuccessfully to push her car gently through the crowd so that she would not have to walk through them. The onlookers were easily thirty or forty deep, and Ashley realised she wouldn’t be able to drive any closer.
She sighed and pulled up to a kerb between a press van and a silver BMW whose nose was pushed into a space not big enough for the body of the car, leaving it stuck out into the road. This seemed good enough for the driver who was nowhere to be seen. Its occupant had obviously been in a hurry to get a good viewing spot. “Not dogs – vultures,” Ashley muttered to herself, the corner of her mouth twisting up in disgust. She grabbed her ID from the glove compartment before climbing out of her car. She was surprised the press were present already. They weren’t normally at the scene this quickly.
She was only a few steps from her car when she was surrounded by reporters, bumping and jostling as they fired question after question at her.
“Detective, do you know the cause of Ms. Lockhart’s death?” “Do you have any suspects for the murder of Justine Lockhart?” “Has the family been informed?” “Is the scene gruesome?” Ashley shot the last enquirer a look she hoped showed all of the contempt she felt. This was a crime scene, someone had died, and all they wanted were the lurid details. She shook her head and walked on, ignoring them all.
Justine Lockhart? She rolled the name around in her head, trying to locate the bell it was ringing in her memory. The name sounded familiar, but at that moment she couldn’t place it. She looked past the throng of press dogging her and saw several cars pull up and stop fifty yards away. They were late-comers, reporters from smaller TV stations and newspapers that had probably found out about the murder through social media or had heard through their contacts at the larger press outlets. Once they noticed whom their competitors were focused on, they rushed towards Ashley, but she strode decisively through the crowd, keeping her head down and pushing people gently aside so she wouldn’t have to stop. The closer she got to the police tape, the more she had to shout. Her gentle pushing got harder, as people elbowed their way forward to get a better look. Not even the flash of her ID or the sight of handcuffs at her waist was enough to create a corridor within the mass of bodies. All around her were flashing lights, crying voices, and question after question being fired at her. It was a chaotic mess of humanity and, for a moment, she was totally overwhelmed by it all.
Eventually, she reached the perimeter tape and flashed her ID to the officer standing guard, who in turn lifted the tape for her to duck under. Dale was already waiting for her by the forensics van, pulling on a pair of white overalls over his rumpled-looking suit. Ashley was exhausted, and she had no idea what was waiting for her inside the flat and why it had caused this chaos. She rubbed a hand over her eyes, wishing she was anywhere else but here.
“What’s caused all this?” she said, stowing her things in the back of the van and reaching for a pair of overalls of her own.
“Uniforms were called to the scene and found the TV reality show star, Justine Lockhart, dead. Sounds like a domestic.”
Ashley finished putting on her overalls and they headed towards the small block of flats. She could finally put a face to the name. She vaguely remembered Justine Lockhart causing an uproar for sleeping her way through a premier-league football team, which was reportedly how she got her own TV show.
“That’s too bad. She’s only a young girl.”
They made their way up to the first floor and stepped through the front door. Slipping on their white booties, the door shut behind them, cutting ou
t most of the street noise and plunging them into near silence. This was a relief after the clamour of the street outside.
The place was brightly lit. Their colleagues wandered around with cameras, bags, and cases of forensic equipment. Nobody spoke much as they went about their business, and those who did so, in hushed voices.
An officer approached. “It’s this way,” he said, taking the lead. Ashley took out her notepad and started making notes of everything she saw, not wanting to miss anything at this crucial time of the investigation. The officer updated them as they headed towards the crime scene. “Victim is a white female in her late teens, known as Justine Lockhart. Her family’s already been notified. She was found dead in her bed by uniforms approximately an hour ago. The neighbours phoned in a complaint about a domestic being so loud they couldn’t hear their TV, so two uniforms were sent to settle the argument. You know how we love those!” he said with a wry smile.
Domestics were seen as a waste of police time by some officers. Yet sometimes they were more than just two adults squabbling like two kids. Sometimes it turned ugly and ended in violence.
“Officers forcibly entered the property after knocking several times and getting no response. The neighbours mentioned they’d heard a loud bang after the argument had quietened down. Some people thought it was really loud sex, which apparently wasn’t that unusual for her.” Again, the wry smile appeared.
“And they’re sure it’s murder?” Ashley asked as they walked closer to the room where most of the people were gathered. “It couldn’t have been a drug overdose, or death by natural causes?”
The officer didn’t answer, just stood aside to allow Ashley access to the bedroom. She stopped and stared. “Oh,” she said as she surveyed the room. There was no doubt at all this was murder and a very violent one at that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
From her position behind the photographer, Ashley could see bare skin, pale and creamy, against the vibrant red of fresh blood.
“Alright, mate,” said a nearby officer to the photographer, his voice muffled by his face mask. “Could you move aside so the detectives here can get a good look at everything?”
“Sure. I’m finished anyway,” the photographer said as he backed away and left the room, looking only too grateful to have a reason to leave.
Ashley stepped forward and inspected the victim. The young body was sprawled across the bed, naked and spread-eagled. Clothing, which Ashley presumed belonged to the victim, lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed, splattered in wet, sticky blood that was slowly dripping from the mattress above, making a dark, congealed pool where it fell. Everywhere Ashley looked she could see blood. It was on the walls around the bed, spattered, smeared, and spread in thin sweeping arcs as a result of the girl’s arteries being severed.
The modest bedroom had recently been redecorated by a madman. Everything Ashley could see was tainted by blood. Her stomach clenched and she swallowed forcibly. There were finger marks of blood as well, hand prints, and thick smears as if someone had decided to paint a picture but got bored partway through and tried to rub it away. There was blood on the far wall, splattered in all directions. Ashley put the spread of marks together in her mind and realised the blood had probably been flung from the killer’s hand as he or she pulled their arm back to slash or stab Justine again. It was even on the ceiling, in similar patterns.
“Jesus,” Ashley gasped.
“I think it’s safe to say that this was murder then,” Dale said, standing beside her.
Ashley finally looked at the victim’s face. So damn young! Just a kid, really. Justine’s eyes were wide and staring, their irises now blank and lifeless. There was blood all over her, smeared in strange swirls and patterns. She felt the bile rise in her throat and swallowed again. Concentrate on the crime, you can’t do anything to help her now except catch this monster. Ashley looked again at the lifeless form on the bed. The body had multiple wounds. Deep slashes on her torso, arms, and legs glimmered darkly in the bright lights the forensic team had set-up.
Ashley saw the glistening of blood and the slash of a cut in her pubic region. The only part of Justine’s body that showed no signs of the brutal stabbing was her face. There was no blood on it, although a few pale pinkish areas suggested it had been there at some point. Did the killer wipe her face clean? That is really bizarre and psycho, if he did. Ashley couldn’t even tell what colour her hair was, so much blood had soaked into it.
“This looks personal,” Dale commented, stepping closer. “Overkill, if you’ll excuse the terrible pun. I’d be surprised if there’s any blood left in her body. Doesn’t a human being only have about eight pints or so in their system?”
“Very astute, Detective,” the Divisional Surgeon said as he entered the room. He was a gaunt, creepy looking man with a coroner’s sense of humour. “There looks to me to be at least six pints on the wrong side of her skin.”
“Wow,” Dale said with a whistle.
“Okay, I declare life extinct at nine pm,” the Divisional Surgeon said, looking at his watch. “Detectives, I’ll leave you to get on with it.” He nodded at Ashley and Dale.
“Thanks,” Ashley replied, her eyes following him as he retreated from the room. “Ripley said it was a domestic. But something doesn’t feel right,” she said, turning to Dale.
Ashley looked around the room, taking in all the expensive lotions on the dressing table and the array of designer clothes she could see through the partially open wardrobe door. Justine Lockhart, famous for her sexploits, certainly looked after herself, or was well looked after, if the tabloids were anything to go by. She noted there didn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle. Surely, if there had been a violent domestic argument, the room wouldn’t be so neat and tidy. Everything seemed to be in its place. The only oddity in the room was the victim herself. Her gaze wandered towards the back of the bedroom door. She crossed the room and scanned it for any marks. There were none. She bent down to take a closer look at the door handle. Smudges of blood ran along the edge.
“Dale, when the Scene of Crime Officers get started make sure they take a swab of the blood on the door handle.”
“Okay,” he replied distractedly.
Ashley walked to the bottom of the bed and regarded the starlet’s lifeless body, shifting from one foot to the other. She was always uncomfortable being this close to violent death. Even after all the years of doing this job, a life taken savagely always got to her. She felt like screaming and running out the door. Instead, she forced herself to push her natural repulsion aside and focus, looking over the body slowly. A glimmer of white caught her attention. She leaned forwards and looked more closely, breathing shallowly, trying not to inhale the ferrous smell of the congealing blood. The white was bone. The killer had cut so deeply that bone was exposed. Ashley stood upright quickly, fighting nausea. She chided herself for feeling queasy. This wasn’t her first murder case. She turned away to clear her head, and swallowed a few times, not being able to take the deep breaths she so desperately needed in this room that was heavy with the smell of iron and death.
“With so much blood, is it possible to tell if a sexual assault was carried out?” Dale asked, peering closer.
“We won’t be able to know until the post-mortem. Maybe...” Ashley began.
What she was going to say next was cut off by a commotion from outside the bedroom door. She heard one of the male officers arguing with someone and then silenced by a sharp voice. Ashley groaned. She recognised the female voice instantly. She sighed and rolled her eyes at Dale, who grimaced just as the door swung open, and Colleen walked in.
“I’m the highest ranking officer here, and if I need to go into the crime scene, I will,” she snapped, addressing the group of SOCOs scurrying after her. She fixed her gaze on Ashley, barely glancing at the body on the bed. “Ashley, shouldn’t you be at home?” she said coldly.
“No. DCS Ripley called and told me to handle it. What are you doing here? He’s the
SIO.” Ashley frowned at Colleen. She was confused by her presence. In order to preserve crime scenes, only officers involved in the investigation were allowed at the scene. DCI’s rarely visited crime scenes outside regular work hours. Especially Colleen, who usually avoided bloody crime scenes if she could help it. So why was she here now? As tired as she was, Ashley felt her curiosity coming alive for the first time since she’d received the call-out.
“You’ve had a look?” Colleen said this in a way that was more of an acknowledgement than a question. She carried on without waiting for an answer, “I don’t think there’s anything more for you two to do. It’s an open-and-shut case.”
“We can’t possibly know that yet,” Ashley said, her fingers trying to rub away a headache that was getting a toehold in the middle of her forehead.
Colleen turned her face slowly to Ashley and gave her a scrutinising look. Ashley wondered why she suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope. She straightened her back and returned Colleen’s hard stare, giving no ground.
“I’ve already put Mike on this case,” Colleen said firmly. “You should be out there trying to solve the Conner case. It seems like you’ve just about given up on it.”
With that, Colleen walked out of the room, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she headed purposefully towards two uniformed officers outside the front door, with whom she stopped to speak. Ashley rushed to the doorway, taking in Colleen’s hushed-tone discussion with the officers, and alarm bells went off in her head. She heard Dale’s footsteps coming up behind her, but her eyes were fixed on Colleen and the officers. Not for the first time, she wished she had learnt to lip-read.