Staring into the Darkness (Urban & Brazil Book 1)

by Tim Ellis

  ‘I hear you’ve been ill, Urban.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m on the mend now, Sir.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘Like pushing string uphill.’

  ‘Related to one of my old cases I hear.’

  ‘So we’ve just discovered. The Jeanne Taylor murder in Harbour Regional Park.’

  ‘Witnessed by her six year-old son?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An unfortunate case in a number of ways. Not least, because we couldn’t find her killer. We had as much luck then as you’re having now.’

  ‘Our cups have definitely not been overflowing with luck, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Do you really think it’s the boy – Anthony Taylor?’

  ‘He’s our number one suspect, Sir. The murders are more or less copies of the Jeanne Taylor murder. One of the many problems is that he ran away from the orphanage after five days and nobody’s seen or heard from him since.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s still alive?’

  ‘We’re not sure of anything.’

  ‘It’s a bit far-fetched after thirty-two years, Urban.’

  ‘I agree, but there it is, Sir. The clues all point to her murder being the original crime.’

  ‘Let’s say that the killer is Jeanne Taylor’s son after thirty-two years, which would make him about thirty-eight now, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Let’s say it is him who’s doing the killings – what’s his motive?’

  ‘No idea, Sir.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘If these murders are related to my old case, I’m surprised you haven’t been up to speak to me.’

  ‘You were on my list for today, Sir. Didn’t want to bother you over the weekend.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Roswell Higgins?’

  He could see from Fenton’s eyes that the man already knew he had. ‘Drove up to Bakersfield yesterday, but he wasn’t any help. Of course, prior to that, we tried to find the original file in the Records Division, but it had gone missing.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘That’s also what Higgins said. And we’re having trouble locating a copy of the drawing that the sketch artist made of the killer from Anthony Taylor’s description. I don’t suppose you kept a copy for old times’ sake, did you, Sir?’

  ‘Why would I do that, Sergeant?’

  ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘After the case went cold, I never gave it any more thought. We had more murders coming in every day. There was no time to think about what might have been.’

  ‘That’s what I guessed, Sir. If you couldn’t solve the case then, I thought you weren’t going to be much help to us now. We haven’t found out anything new on Jeanne Taylor’s murder anyway, we’re focusing all our efforts on the current murders. Maybe if we ever do find Anthony Taylor, he’ll shed some light on his mother’s murder, but at the moment that’s a big if, because we’re nowhere near finding him. We have no idea who he is, or what he looks like.’

  ‘If he’s still alive?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Fenton said, tapping the age-progressed drawing with a finger.

  ‘Guesswork, Sir. One of my men found a photograph of six year-old Anthony Taylor and had a sketch artist guess what he’d look like now based on that photograph. It’s hardly scientific, but it’s the best we’ve got.’

  Just then, the Lieutenant walked in. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I thought I’d come down and see how the case was progressing, Bob.’

  ‘It’s courtesy to let me know you’re coming, Sir.’

  ‘Spur of the moment. No offence intended. Anyway, Sergeant Urban’s been very helpful, so I’ll go back to my office and shuffle some more papers. ‘Thanks, Sergeant Urban.’

  ‘My pleasure, Sir.’

  After he’d gone Lieutenant O’Callaghan said, ‘I should have seen that coming. What did he want?’

  ‘I think he wanted to see with his own eyes what his spies had already told him.’

  ‘’And?’

  ‘I told him we know nothing.’

  ‘Did he believe you?’

  ‘No. I think he’s worried that we’re getting close to finding the killer. If it is Anthony Taylor, then it’s likely he’ll tell us who murdered his mother. One theory put forward is that Taylor is forcing us to find his mother’s killer, and he won’t stop killing until we have.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  ‘I don’t know what his motive is, but it’s certainly feasible.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘And I think the Deputy Chief will make sure he gets to Taylor before we do and silences him.’

  ‘How could he do that?’

  ‘One of my men is his spy.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Fenton knew I’d driven up to Bakersfield yesterday to speak to Roswell Higgins. The only people who knew that were sitting in this office this morning.’

  ‘Any idea who?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You need to find out.’

  ‘I know.’

  ***

  Her mouth was as dry as the desert. She was strapped to a table. Where was she? What had happened to her? As the fog in her head cleared she remembered the photographs of silent movie stars, Lilly’s voice, and the hand with the rag in it covering her nose and mouth. She was shivering, her head was pounding and against her will she vomited. What had he used on her? How long had she been unconscious for?

  Oh God! She’d walked right into the spider’s web. Lilly Carter must be Anthony Taylor – it was the only explanation. A hermaphrodite could be a woman as well as a man. She recalled Sister Augustin’s words, “A lovely looking boy.” She hadn’t made the connection then or since, but now she did. A lovely looking boy could easily pass himself off as a lovely looking girl, and then as an attractive woman.

  Would she be his next victim? Her predicament appeared to make that very likely. At least he hadn’t raped and strangled her yet, but she guessed it would only be a matter of time before he did. Restrained as she was, there was nothing she could do about it either. Is this what had happened to Annie and the others? Was this the end for Katie Brazil?

  And in her stupidity, she hadn’t told anyone where she was going, so the first time anyone would miss her would be at the meeting scheduled for six o’clock in her apartment. And even if they became concerned and began looking for her, where would they look? Certainly not here. She hadn’t written this address down anywhere. The only person who knew she was here, besides Lilly Carter, was the cab driver who would be of no help at all. She was on her own. Nobody was going to come and rescue her. If there was any way to escape, then she had to find it herself.

  She had the feeling of being underground. In a basement. A dimly lit bulb hung from a wire in the middle of the ceiling. There were no windows that she could see. There was also no sound. She couldn’t hear the traffic on Wiltshire Boulevard. Nor could she hear any voices, or the sounds of people in Lilly’s studio. Was she even in the studio anymore?

  ***

  It was four o’clock. He’d made the effort by washing up and making everyone a coffee. If the Marines had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that leaders led by example. You don’t ask your men to do things you’re not prepared to do yourself.

  ‘Hey!’ Bill said. ‘You’ll be bringing us breakfast in bed next, Erik.’

  ‘We solve this case and you got yourself a cook,’ he said.

  Dennis smiled. ‘We’ll hold you to that, Erik.’

  ‘Be my pleasure. So, what have we got?’

  They all looked at each other, but nobody said anything.

  ‘No breakfast in bed tomorrow then?’

  ‘We got nothing, Erik,’ John said.

  ‘That the same for all of you?’

  They nodded.

  ‘Why?’

 
‘Not a single one of mine looked like the drawing, and none of them was the guy we were looking for.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Greg agreed. ‘You get a feeling about people. They’re either hiding something, or they’re not. I didn’t get any feelings about the ones I questioned – not a single feeling.’

  Ray Pinker appeared. ‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’

  ‘Not a damned thing,’ Carl said.

  ‘You got something, Ray?’ Erik asked.

  ‘Had a meeting with the wigmaker like you asked me to.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The only thing he could tell me was that it came from a woman’s wig. It’s probably stating the obvious, but there’s no difference between male and female hair . . .’

  ‘You’re kidding us?’ Jack said. ‘Women’s hair is soft to the touch and shiny, smells nice as well. But my hair is like a wire brush. Can’t do a thing with it.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Come and take a feel if you don’t believe me.’

  Ray pulled a face. ‘I’d rather believe you. The reason your hair is different from a woman’s is because women use all those hair products to make their hair soft and shiny, what do you use?’

  ‘Carbolic soap.’

  They all stared at Jack and laughed.

  ‘Carbolic soap!’ George said. ‘They have men’s shampoo, you know.’

  ‘Waste of money.’

  Erik directed the conversation back to the strand of hair. ‘So the wigmaker said it was from a woman’s wig.’

  Ray nodded. ‘That’s right. It’s long, soft and shiny. No man would wear a wig comprised of hair like that.’

  ‘So Mike was right to dismiss it?’ Bill said.

  ‘What if the killer is a woman?’ Dennis suggested.

  Bill shook his head. ‘Then how would you explain the rapes? It’s got to be a man.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Erik said.

  They all looked at him.

  ‘What?’ George asked.

  ‘Maybe the killer is a woman.’

  George grunted. ‘How can that . . . Bloody hell!’

  ‘Will somebody tell me what’s going on?’ Carl said.

  Erik looked at Dennis. ‘What was the name of that sketch artist who aged the photograph?’

  ‘Nicola Burgess.’

  ‘Have you got her phone number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Call her. I want her to do a drawing of a thirty-eight year-old female with long dark hair based on that photograph.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Carl said. ‘You mean we’ve been looking for a man, when all along the killer is actually a woman, or at least going about masquerading as a woman?’

  ‘I’d say it was looking that way,’ Erik said. ‘It’s part of the reason why we haven’t been able to catch him/her. A hermaphrodite is both male and female and I should imagine they can slip between the two and be at home in either body. Not only do they possess both sets of genitalia, but some develop breasts as well.’

  Dennis came off the phone. ‘It’ll take her a couple of hours. She said she’s done most of the hard work and it won’t take her long to modify the existing drawing. I’ll go over and collect it when she’s finished.’

  George said, ‘In the meantime, don’t we need a list of all the female stylists in the area?’

  They all groaned.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ John said.

  Erik rubbed his chin between thumb and forefinger. ‘Maybe not. Carl, you and Greg go and pick up Sam Rich and bring him in.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Jaywalking. If you drop him a couple of times on the way here, so much the better.’

  ‘Sam Rich!’ Dennis said.

  ‘Yes. If he doesn’t know who the female stylist is, I’m sure he’ll know someone who does.’

  ‘We’re on it.’

  Carl and Greg hurried out.

  ‘I hate waiting,’ Jack said.

  ‘It’ll make the time go faster if you make the coffees,’ Dennis suggested.

  Erik checked his watch – it was twenty to six. He stood up. ‘I have something to do, but I’ll be back. If there’s anything urgent, call me at home.’

  ‘Will do, Erik,’ Dennis said.

  He made his way outside, climbed into his car and drove back home.

  When he reached the fifth floor in the elevator at five past six, Howard Caplan and Eliza Linton were standing in the corridor.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Nothing’s happening. We’ve knocked, but she’s not there.’

  He walked along the corridor and knocked on Martha’s door.

  ‘Hello, Erik,’ she said when she opened the door. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘Can you let us into Katie’s apartment?’

  ‘Is she not there?’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be. She’s late. We had a meeting planned for six o’clock and it’s quarter past now.’

  ‘Of course. Katie won’t mind if I let you in, will she?’

  ‘No.’

  She went and got the key, and then let them in to Katie’s apartment.

  ‘Thanks, Martha.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Eliza asked.

  Erik said, ‘Good question.’

  ‘Yes, but what’s the answer?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  They searched the boards for some kind of clue as to where she’d gone and why she could be late, but there was nothing.

  After another fifteen minutes Eliza said, ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘Yes,’ Erik agreed. ‘Me too.’

  ‘She’s not still pursuing her acting career, is she?’ Howard enquired.

  Erik shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, who else does she know?’ Eliza asked.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘What about Sam Rich?’

  ‘I have men taking him to the police department as we speak.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll know where she might be?’

  ‘Well, the meeting clearly isn’t going to happen, so I suggest you both go back home. I’ll contact you once I find her.’

  They nodded in agreement.

  He knocked on Martha’s door again.

  ‘Has she not turned up?’

  ‘No. Can you call me at the department if she does?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Where was she? Why hadn’t she told someone where she was going? Or at least left a note? Maybe she didn’t think it was necessary. Maybe there was no cause for concern, because she was going to see a woman. Or at least someone she thought was a woman. But who? And where?

  Sam Rich better know. He was in no condition to beat the truth out of the slime ball, but he was sure one of the other guys would be happy to oblige.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He could hear Sam Rich’s voice as soon as he stepped out of the elevator with Dennis Whipple, who had just returned from collecting the modified version of the sketch artist’s drawing.

  ‘My attorney will make mincemeat of you lot. I hope you have other skills, because as detectives you’re finished. I shouldn’t even bother coming into work tomorrow, because none of you will have jobs worth shit.’

  Erik shuffled up to where Rich was standing, moved his walking stick level with the man’s neck, jabbed it into the flesh and kept pushing him backwards until the agent to the stars was pinned against the wall. He already had a streak of blood running down the side of his face, which had obviously been caused accidentally during the trip to the department.

  ‘What are you doing? Are you crazy? Do you know who I am? You can’t treat me like this. I’m a . . .’

  ‘You’re a bastard, Rich,’ Erik said. ‘I’m Sergeant Urban. I’m in charge here. Katie Brazil is a friend of mine and you gave her to the wolves for a few pieces of silver.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘It was exactly like that. Now, I’m going to throw you into the cells with a price on your head. Let’s see how long you last with the w
olves down there.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Who’ll stop me? Take him . . .’

  ‘Please! Please! I’ll do anything. What do you want me to do?’

  Erik nodded at Dennis. ‘Show him the drawing.’

  Dennis held up the drawing.

  ‘Who is it?’ Erik pressed.

  Rich stared at the drawing and slowly shook his head. ‘No, I don’t know . . .’

  ‘All right, take him down to the cells. I’ll put twenty dollars he’ll last less than five minutes.’

  ‘Wait, wait. Let me take another look.’

  Dennis held the drawing up in front of Rich again.

  ‘This is somebody Katie met since signing with you,’ Erik pushed. ‘Who is it, Rich? Someone she spoke to? Someone she’d feel safe with? Someone . . .’

  ‘Maybe . . .’

  ‘Maybe what?’

  ‘Yeah, it does look a bit like Lilly Carter. She was the stylist at Frank Page’s photographic studio. She worked on Katie’s hair and make-up.’

  ‘Is that where this Lilly Carter works?’

  ‘Only on Fridays, I think. The rest of the time she has her own styling studio at 1493 Wiltshire Boulevard.’

  ‘Lillie Carter?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure it’s her.’

  He moved his walking stick and pointed to a row of chairs by the wall in the corridor. ‘Go and sit in one of those chairs. If you move, I’ll throw you in the cells and forget about you.’

  Rich hurried over to the chairs.

  ‘Shut the door, Dennis,’ he said.

  Dennis did as he was instructed.

  Erik stared at his men one after the other. They were all there: Dennis Whipple, Greg Lombardi, Bill Ackerman, John Harrity, Carl Seger, Jack Rogers and George Hirst. One or more of them were traitors. ‘One of you is a spy for the Deputy Chief of Police John Fenton . . .’

  They looked at each other to try and spot which one, as if the traitor wore a mark that made him immediately visible.

  ‘No. No one would do that, Erik,’ Bill said.

  He ignored the protests of innocence. ‘Whoever it is, will go from this room and call Fenton, tell him that Anthony Taylor is Lilly Carter and where to find him/her. Fenton will despatch men to that address with orders to “tidy up” – probably by a very convenient fire – much in the same way as he did with the original sketch artist Silas Pitcher, which also killed his wife and children. Well, whoever that person is, let me tell you that if there is a convenient fire, and my friend Katie Brazil dies in that fire, I’ll hunt you down and shoot you in the head.’ He looked each of them in the eyes and they knew he meant every word. ‘Now, we’re going to go to 1493 Wiltshire Boulevard to save Katie Brazil who has gone missing, arrest Anthony Taylor and collect any evidence there might be of the crimes we’re investigating. You’re to work in pairs. No one person is to be on his own until this is over. If one of you goes to the head, then the other accompanies him to hold his cock or wipe his butt. No one makes a telephone call to anyone. Do you all understand?’