His mother wailed and screamed for what seemed like hours when she found her father. Once the family had been called from a neighbour’s house, she had to drag Gates away from his taid’s body. He didn’t want to leave him. He held onto his taid’s icy fingers with all his might. And when he eventually let go, it scarred his very soul. From then on, life was very different and the magic never returned. No one ever explained to him what had happened to his taid. His mother and aunts muttered about him being in ‘a better place.’ Why did Taid want to go to a better place without him? Was death a nice thing then? Could he go to this better place too? His mother left him at home to look after the dog when his taid was buried. She told him that he was too young to understand. He watched from the window as the coffin arrived outside. And then watched as his entire family left for the church, returning drunk many hours later, singing and arguing.
After that, Gates began to wonder about this place where his father and taid had disappeared to. Was it heaven? And why had they left him surrounded by the misery and growing criticism of his mother and aunts? They called him ‘fairy boy.’ He would catch them whispering about him ‘being a bit strange’ and asking his mother if she thought he was ‘a queer?’
There were never any men in their house as he grew up. He ached for male company and felt the fury of having been left by his father and taid. So he would wander away by himself. And he would watch boats from the beach where he and Taid had skimmed stones, making up stories in his head until darkness came.
It was nearly one o’clock when Gates drove down the high street, turned onto a side road that backed onto Bar One Hundred and parked. He was well over the limit but he didn’t care. The police were too busy to breathalyse him. He had no respect for the police anyway. They were stupid. Why else would you do a job like that?
Walking out onto the festive high street, the anticipation of the next few hours excited him. The seduction, the deception and then the kill. Hunter and prey. ‘Away in a Manger’ played from some speakers as people collected for a children’s charity.
Gates wasn’t interested. He was lost in thought. The initial excitement after a murder was overwhelming, and Gates found himself jigging and smiling at the very thought. He couldn’t contain himself. He felt like dancing. In the moments after the five murders that he had committed in the previous months, he had found the erotic excitement too much to bear and had to stop the car to masturbate while gazing at his victims.
The ‘high’ Gates would get from the memory of those moments would last for days. He would replay his previous murders over and over in his mind. It gave him a surge of excitement and pleasure that coursed through his whole body and gave him an immediate erection. He wondered if he should start making videos so that the memories would never fade.
Gates got out of the car. He was drunk, happy and content with the world. He began to sing to himself, a song his taid had taught him. ‘I love counting, you can hide, one, two, three, four, five. I will find you, wait and see. There’s no place to hide from me. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Should I start to count again? Maybe yes, maybe no. Am I coming, you don’t know.’
Walking into the bar, he sniffed in the smell of booze and warmth. It was comforting. Now, where was his new love? A man in his thirties, handsome, with a beard, sat in the corner as arranged. Lovely. How lovely, he thought. And younger and prettier than he was expecting.
Gates walked over with a huge smile. ‘Hi. I’m meant to be meeting someone here. Are you Nick?’
Nick smiled up at him ‘Andrew?’ Wow. Deep velvety voice. Nick is sexy.
‘That would be telling,’ Gates replied, trying his best to flirt. He found it awkward but he knew he had to play a role today. Wear a mask.
‘Erm, I’ve arranged to meet Andrew here?’ Nick said.
‘Well aren’t I the lucky one?’ Gates said. He could already feel the energy and excitement. He needed to keep calm. Keep a lid on it. Stay focussed. Don’t blow it. He could feel his breathing getting shallower.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Nick asked, getting up from his chair. He already had a drink on the table. He must have arrived early, Gates thought.
‘No, no. I’ll be back in a second.’ Gates smiled. ‘You just make yourself comfortable.’
Gates went to the bar. He needed more booze to take the edge off his excitement. He ordered a treble whisky in a glass and swallowed it in one. The burning sensation at the back of his throat brought him some relief. What was that old expression? His blood was up. That was it.
Gates patted the pockets of his jacket. On the left side, he had a new packet of menthol cigarettes. On the right, he had two-milligram dissolvable tablets of flunitrazepam, better known as Rohypnol, in his pocket. He just needed to find the right opportunity.
Gates returned to the table with his pint of beer and sat down. Nick had lovely brown eyes and good bone structure.
‘Cheers,’ Gates said, and they chinked glasses. ‘You’re very handsome, aren’t you?’
‘Thank you.’ Nick seemed embarrassed by the compliment.
‘So you’re NightPorter?’
He was very direct, Gates thought.
‘Am I? Why do you say that?’ Gates said with a beaming smile. He liked to tease.
‘That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’ Nick asked.
‘Oh. I thought it was because our eyes met across the bar and we decided to have a drink because we liked what we saw?’ Gates smirked. He hoped he was being charming and flirtatious. It was certainly easier now he had a few drinks inside him.
‘Night Porter ... It’s a good film, isn’t it? Dirk Bogarde and Charlotte Rampling. Very sexy. All that SS uniform stuff,’ Nick said.
‘You don’t look old enough to know anything about The Night Porter,’ Gates said and laughed, but he wasn’t listening. He was waiting to set his trap. Then he glanced quickly out of the window as though he had seen something strange – it was a well-rehearsed act.
For a split-second, Nick glanced over his shoulder at the street outside. In that moment, Gates dropped one of the Rohypnol tablets into Nick’s drink. That should do it. The momentary diversion had worked like clockwork, like it had done five times before.
Got you! Soon Nick would be his.
‘You were saying about The Night Porter, Nick. I’m fascinated because it’s my favourite film,’ Gates said. He knew that in around ten minutes Nick would feel like he had been hit on the head with a claw hammer. He couldn’t wait.
‘Hence your name on the website?’ Nick asked.
Gates nodded but didn’t answer, and Nick didn’t pursue it any further. They made small talk for a few minutes. Plans for Christmas, family. Gates was getting annoyed as Nick was giving little away. He wanted to get to know Nick before he killed him. That was part of the deal. He needed a glimpse into this man’s very soul to know that he needed saving from the pain of his existence.
Nick needed to relax a little. The funny thing was, Gates thought to himself, that in a minute or two, Nick was going to be so very relaxed. He heard a little ironic laugh in his head.
‘I’m ... er... I’m just ... going to nip to the toilet. I’m not feeling ... sorry,’ Nick said. Gates was glad to see that Nick was now unsteady on his feet and his speech was slurred. The drug was really starting to kick in.
‘Oh, gosh. Are you okay?’ Gates asked. How he enjoyed playing the part of the concerned date.
‘I’m ... fine. Really,’ Nick mumbled as he seemed to lose his balance. He stumbled and knocked over a chair. He looked like a man who had been drinking all day.
Gates jumped up, putting his arms out to catch him and prevent him from falling.
‘Whoops, don’t worry, love. My car’s outside. I can drop you home if you’re feeling unwell. There are lots of nasty bugs going around this time of year,’ Gates said. ‘Come on, sweetie.’
One of the bar staff came over and frowned. ‘Is he all right?’
Gates smiled and mimed drinking. �
��One too many, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I’ll get him home safely.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ the young man said as he picked up the chair.
Gates supported Nick as they headed for the door. However, Gates spotted a man and a woman running down the pavement. They were heading for the door with radios in their hands. They looked like police officers. Shit! He didn’t know if they had anything to do with him but he was taking no chances. He needed another way out.
Gates turned and headed for the swing door that led to the kitchen, dragging Nick with him. Some of the kitchen staff, dressed in white, looked up and frowned.
‘You can’t be in here, mate!’ a kitchen porter shouted.
‘Yeah, sorry. Someone’s collapsed by the door ... We can’t get out.’ Gates gestured to Nick, who could barely focus. ‘And I think he’s going to be sick. Can I take him out the back?’
Gates pulse was thudding with excitement. He threw a glimpse back through the kitchen window and the running couple were now in the bar. Why were police officers here? Maybe they were looking for him? Had he been set up? Or was he being paranoid?
The kitchen porter looked annoyed. ‘Yeah, go on then. Through there.’ He rolled his eyes and pointed to a door that led to the outside.
Gates pulled Nick with him. ‘Come on, lovely. Let’s get you some fresh air, eh?’ He smiled at a teenage girl washing up. ‘Office party. Sorry.’
As soon as they got outside, the cold air hit Gates in the face and stung his skin. Now where? There were bolted double doors that clearly led out onto a side road. He hoped it was where he had parked.
Gates ran through what had happened since he arrived at Bar One Hundred. Why was Nick so keen for him to admit to being NightPorter? Why had he been so reluctant to reveal anything of himself? Had the police linked him to the U’veGotMale website? Had Nick been undercover?
Gates stopped for a moment and pulled Nick’s shirt open at the chest. There, clear as day, was a wire that had been taped to his chest.
‘Oh dear, Nick. You have been a naughty boy, haven’t you?’ Gates said, shaking his head. ‘Come on. I think it’s best that you come home with me.’
‘CONTROL FROM THREE-six. We’re in position,’ Ruth said into her police radio.
‘Three-six received...’
As she looked out at the high street, she could see that the sky was colourless. Christmas shoppers wrapped in scarves and hats ambled along, their breath freezing as they exhaled.
Two minutes earlier, Nick had gone into Bar One Hundred to pose as the blind date for whoever NightPorter turned out to be. There were two CID officers with earpieces close by on the high street. The male and female detectives had shopping bags and were looping up and down, pretending to be a couple window-shopping. Meanwhile, two uniformed patrol cars were discreetly parked two hundred yards either side of Bar One Hundred.
Merringer sat at the wheel of their unmarked car and looked at his watch.
‘He should be here any time now, boss.’
Ruth nodded. Even though they had checked there was one exit, she didn’t like putting any officer in the vulnerable position of being undercover with a possible multiple murderer. The high street was busier than normal and it was office-party season so things felt a little out of her control.
And then she saw him walking along. It was Gates. Even though it wasn’t a huge surprise, her stomach still flipped. Of course, it made perfect sense. They had found the remains at his property. He had used the website to lure gay men on dates, then murdered them, disposing of some of the body parts at the house he was renovating. How did he think he would get away with it?
Gates wasn’t wearing his trademark tinted spectacles. Maybe it was a sign of vanity, Ruth thought. Walking confidently into the bar, Gates disappeared out of sight. Now they had to rely solely on the audio from the wire that Nick was wearing.
Ruth turned up the volume on the receiver. The noise of the chatter of the bar increased.
Gates: ‘Hi. I’m meant to be meeting someone here? Are you Nick?’
Nick: ‘Andrew?’
Gates: ‘That would be telling.’
Nick: ‘Erm, I’ve arranged to meet Andrew here?’
Gates: ‘Well aren’t I the lucky one?’
Merringer turned to Ruth. ‘Just give him a straight answer, you prick!’
Ruth motioned with her hand for him to be quiet. She didn’t want Nick to be in there any longer than he needed to be.
Nick: ‘Would you like a drink?’
Gates: ‘No, no. I’ll be back in a second. You just make yourself comfortable.’
Ruth was frustrated. She knew that until Gates verified that he was the NightPorter, they couldn’t make their move. That meant Nick had the delicate job of getting Gates to admit to his dating site nickname while keeping the conversation as natural as possible.
Ruth clicked her radio. ‘All units from three-six. Target has made contact. Stand by.’
‘Received.’
Gates: ‘Cheers. You’re very handsome, aren’t you?’
Nick: ‘Thank you. So you’re NightPorter?’
Gates: ‘Am I? Why do you say that?’
Nick: ‘That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’
Gates: ‘Oh. I thought it was because our eyes met across the bar and we decided to have a drink because we liked what we saw?’
Ruth and Merringer exchanged a frustrated look.
Ruth shook her head. ‘For God’s sake!’ she muttered.
Nick: ‘Night Porter ... It’s a good film, isn’t it? Dirk Bogarde and Charlotte Rampling. Very sexy. All that SS uniform stuff.’
Nick’s question concerned Ruth. He was trying too hard to get Gates to admit to the nickname, although she couldn’t blame him.
Gates: ‘You don’t look old enough to know anything about The Night Porter. You were saying about The Night Porter, Nick. I’m fascinated because it’s my favourite film.’
Nick: ‘Hence your name on the website?’
There was a gap in the conversation as Ruth strained to listen. Still no admission from Gates. The tension was mounting. Was Gates on to them? Was that why he wasn’t being drawn into the conversation? Or was he just being very careful?
Ruth and Merringer continued to eavesdrop as Gates and Nick’s conversation drifted into small talk. However, Ruth thought she could hear a change in Nick’s voice. At first, it was imperceptible. But then she was convinced that his words were slurring as though he had had a drink. She had noticed it when she first worked with Nick and he was still drinking. There was no way that Nick would decide to have an alcoholic relapse while working undercover with a wire.
Ruth was convinced that something had changed. She looked over at Merringer. ‘Does Nick sound like he’s had a drink? Like he’s drunk.’
Merringer listened intently and then frowned at her. ‘Yeah, boss. He does.’
Ruth started to panic when she heard Nick move his chair.
Nick: ‘I’m ... er ... I’m just ... going to nip to the toilet. I’m not feeling ... sorry’
Gates: ‘Oh, gosh. Are you okay?’
Nick: ‘I’m ... fine. Really ...’
Merringer shook his head. ‘He sounds hammered, boss.’
There was the sound of a chair falling over. It was at that moment that Ruth suddenly realised there was another explanation for Nick’s rapid change.
‘Shit! He’s drugged him.’ Ruth exclaimed. She clicked her radio frantically. ‘All units from three-six. Something’s wrong. Move in on target now. I repeat, move in on target now!’
Ruth leapt from the car, watching the two undercover officers running into Bar One Hundred ahead of her. She knew that nothing that Gates had said on the tape was incriminating but Nick’s safety was at risk. At least there was only one way out of the bar and they could now arrest Gates and build a case against him.
Dashing into the bar, Ruth scoured tables and chairs. No sign of them. She pulled out her warrant card and flashed it at th
e barman. ‘Police. I’m looking for two men that were drinking together. One had a beard.’
Where had they gone? She was feeling sick with fear.
The barman nodded. ‘I saw them earlier.’
A female member of staff came over when she saw the warrant card. ‘They went out the back through the kitchen. The guy with the beard was drunk and was gonna be sick.’ Ruth was now gripped with panic.
Gates had Nick.
The two plainclothes detectives jogged over to her from scouring the far reaches of the bar. ‘Nothing, boss. They’re not in here.’
Ruth sprinted for the door marked Kitchen. ‘Quick! This way.’
Darting through the kitchen, Ruth glanced left and right trying to spot them. Nothing. She showed her warrant card as she shouted, ‘I’m looking for two men who came through here a couple of minutes ago.’
‘They went out the back to the delivery doors,’ the kitchen porter yelled over at her.
Ruth threw open the back door. An area of concrete and then double doors that appeared to open out onto a side road. How could this have happened? Nick was in real danger now.
‘Shit!’ Ruth yelled in frustration as the two detectives caught up. She turned urgently to the kitchen porter. ‘They definitely came out here?’
He nodded. ‘Yeah. The guy with the beard was so drunk he could hardly walk.’
‘What’s that road?’
‘Chapel Street.’
Ruth clicked her radio. ‘All units. Suspect has escaped with DS Evans. Last seen entering Chapel Street. I need a PNC and DVLA check on an Andrew Gates and I need his car registration, make and model, now!’
CHAPTER 12
‘Three-six to all units. No sight of target vehicle,’ Ruth said as they hit sixty miles per hour.
The PNC and DVLA check on Gates had come back in a matter of minutes so they now knew what car they were looking for.
Ruth gripped the door handle in sheer frustration. How had this happened?
The Dee Valley Killings Page 9