by Jay Nadal
Scott eased up as his initial concerns appeared unfounded. Mike’s raised voice coming from the second level snatched away the moment of peace.
The familiar feeling of dreaded anticipation rose within them as Scott and Abby raced upstairs. They found Mike leaning against the door frame of the room towards the front of the house. “Is this what you were looking for?”
They joined him at the doorway and peered in. It was a plain bedroom with cream walls, dark brown carpet, and matching curtains that were drawn, casting the room into semi-darkness. The room itself felt bland but what they found in the bed was far from it.
Two bodies, an elderly male and female, lay covered by a duvet that stopped just short of their shoulders. The cream duvet cover appeared drenched in blood that had long since dried. Both victims had extensive facial injuries with bruising around the mouth and cheeks. Their suspect had struck again.
“Is this what you were expecting?”
Scott remained silent but confirmed with a nod.
“What raised your suspicions, Guv?”
“It’s about being alone.”
Mike and Abby exchanged silent glances of confusion. “Guv?”
Scott stepped back from the doorway and into the landing. “I thought back to Samuel Ashman. Other than his wife, he had no one else in the world. Janet only had a mum, who passed away. Ashman’s parents are deceased. He has no siblings, and they had no children. He is alone in this world with no immediate family.”
Abby’s expression compelled him to continue.
“The Harps were different. Craig’s parents are overseas, and rarely visit, so let’s take them out of the equation for the time being. Neither Craig nor Amy had siblings. Amy still had parents, so she wasn’t alone. They had to go.” Scott nodded towards the bedroom.
All three looked back into the room. Scott thought about how Amy would receive the news after what she’d already suffered.
“Mike, call it in. We need Cara, SOCO and uniform. The house is a crime scene now. Organise door-to-door enquiries. Find out if the neighbours have seen anything suspicious, and find out if any of the residents have CCTV. We need a timeline for the last twenty-four hours.”
“Fuck. This is a mess, Guv.”
Scott couldn’t agree more. Whilst he would love to tell Abby about the call, he couldn’t afford to put her life in danger. He was still working out the killer’s intention, and until he had a clearer picture, he needed to keep certain things to himself.
“I don’t get this being alone thing. Why?”
Scott gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that the two surviving victims have lost all of their families. Samuel his wife, Amy, her husband, children and parents.”
“Some kind of revenge thing?” speculated Abby.
“That’s one theory.”
“What’s the other?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. At first I thought it was to warn off Ashman. But this doesn’t make sense.”
Outside the house, patrol cars had arrived and blue and white cordon tape put in place across the pavement to secure the scene. Two white scientific services vans had their doors open and officers were in the final throes of kitting up and unloading their equipment. The increased police activity brought many of the neighbours on to the street, several questioning the uniformed officers who had secured the perimeter. With the light fading, the forensic work would continue late into the night.
“Any update from the hospital?”
“No, Guv,” Abby replied. “Amy’s still sedated. I think it will be tomorrow morning before we have time to talk to her.”
“I’m not sure we can leave it that long. But I don’t know if she can handle further devastating news.”
Abby worked on a motive. Was it a way to terrorise the survivors into remaining silent? She contemplated the revenge angle. By leaving the survivors, had he resigned them to a life of thinking about their loss? She suspected that they would be in therapy or counselling for the rest of their lives…If they lived that long.
“I’m heading to the hospital. I need to speak to Amy Harp. Call me if there are any further updates.”
Evening rush hour gripped Brighton. The traffic snaked in every direction. Buses were full of people starting their journeys home, and street lights illuminated the surrounding streets. Scott’s patience was wearing thin with the line of traffic in front of him. The lack of food, strong coffee and some sleep robbed his critical faculty of thinking straight. Why are there so many stupid drivers on the road? he fumed. The violent tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel grew faster and louder as he sucked in air through his teeth. “I haven’t got all daaay!” he shouted to the rear lights of the car in front. Knowing he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, he pulled over and flicked through his contact list on his phone and dialled her number.
“Hi, babes. How’s your day going?” he asked.
“Same shit, different day,” she chuckled. “I’m just at the new crime scene. Abby is here with me. I just had a look at your victims, and it appears to be the same MO. The cause of death is excessive blood loss. From what I can tell, the victims were alive when their eyes were removed.”
An incoming call interrupted Scott’s reply. The caller ID displayed unknown caller. He cut Cara off apologising in the process.
“Detective Inspector Baker.”
The voice had been obscured further than last time.
“Good. You made the connection quicker than I thought you would. I have to say, Mike is handy for kicking in doors.”
Scott’s eyes widened. The realisation hit him like a hammer blow to the chest…the killer had been so close without their knowing.
“What is it you want? Or do you get a kick from randomly selecting people to slaughter?”
“What is it that I want? Perhaps I should ask you what you want, Inspector.”
The tone irritated Scott. He was in no mood to play any games. His heart thumped like a bass drum in his chest. His mouth was bone dry and his breathing came thick and fast. “If you’ve got nothing concrete to say then stop fucking around. If you want to play games, then find someone else, because the more you piss me off, the more I’m going to track you down to the ends of the earth.”
The man let out a hearty laugh. “Fighting talk, Inspector. I like a good fight, since there’s nothing better than a good battle. Especially, when the enemy can’t see you.”
Scott needed to keep him talking. He needed to get inside his mind and discover what made him tick. He took slow, long deep breaths to control his nerves, to control his voice and to control his anger. “So, tell me. What do you get from all of this? Is it some kind of twisted perversion? Is it about control? Don’t tell me, you get off on people’s pain and fear?”
“Keep guessing. You see, Inspector, I can guarantee you’ve never met someone like me. I know you’re trying to keep me talking so you can analyse my words, hoping I slip up, or give you a little clue. I couldn’t give a fuck.”
“This stops here. Enough,” Scott raged. “Do you not think you’ve caused enough pain and misery?”
He laughed again. “I’ve only just begun. Call it…the warm-up act.”
25
Scott headed to the nearest toilets. Sweat beaded from his forehead, and his hands trembled as uncontrollable talons of rage clutched his body. He leant over the sink and splashed cold water on his face, the chill tightening his skin. The shock did little to temper the fire that raged within.
He dropped his head to the side and drank straight from the tap. His gulps were large and noisy, the wetness playing on his lips for the first time in hours.
Scott glanced up to see his red, angry eyes boring in to his ragged reflection. How could he let someone anger him so much? His teeth ached from clenching his jaws so tight. He needed to find this man…his tormentor.
Amy Harp had been placed in a private room away from the main ward, just along the corridor from wh
ere Samuel had been. A police officer stood outside the room, his eyes tracking the movements of everyone who walked past.
The officer had seen Scott striding towards him. He was just about to step into the middle of the doorway to block Scott’s route, when Scott held up his warrant card. The officer apologised. Scott told him that there was no need, and that he appreciated his vigilance.
“Has anyone been in to see her?”
“No, Sir. No one other than medical staff. She’s out of it. I accompanied her here from the scene and she had to be restrained. One minute she was crying, next minute she was trying to leave out the back door. She completely flipped.”
“Understandable, Constable. Most people would behave erratically in that situation, don’t you think?”
The constable appeared a little sheepish and dropped his gaze for a few moments.
Scott headed over to the nurses’ station in search of someone to talk to. A mixture of personnel milled around, some discussing cases, others inputting data on computers. Scott looked for the ward sister, the one wearing the darkest blue uniform, and introduced himself.
“Sister, I’m Detective Inspector Baker from Brighton CID. Can I get an update on Amy Harp?”
The woman looked away from her conversation, and gave Scott the once-over. She was a thin lady, with a pointed nose, and narrow face. She’d pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail, making her features sharper and more pronounced.
She came round from the side of the station. “Yes?” she said, her tone as sharp as her features.
The woman’s attitude did little to soothe his blazing emotions. He was tired, frustrated and angry. Wishing only a few moments of cooperation, he levelled and quietened his tone. “Can you tell me how Amy Harp is getting on?”
“She is under the care of Dr McAllister. He’s been to see her, and…” She glanced at the watch pinned to her front, “he’ll be back again first thing tomorrow morning.”
McAllister was the last person he wanted to bump into. He had been less than cooperative on the last visit. “I appreciate that. Have you had the opportunity to see her?”
Her eyes bore down on him as if he had asked the most ridiculous question. “Of course. I attended to her when she was brought in. She’s resting. And rest is probably the best thing for her at the moment.”
“Do you think I’ll have a quick word with her in the next few hours?”
The sister shook her head.
“Sister, I’m the SIO investigating the murder of her whole family. I know it’s a difficult time for her and sadly I have further bad news. I’ve just come from her parents’ house. Both of her parents have been murdered as well as her children and husband.”
The news caused the ward sister to stiffen. She wrestled with her conscience and the need to protect the patient. “I’m sorry to hear that. I think giving her the news will destroy her in a way you and I could barely comprehend. She’s in a fragile condition already. I would advise against informing her of her parents.”
“I know, and I appreciate your concern for her present welfare. But she will need to know at some point. This is now a multiple murder investigation and she’s the only witness. There is a real risk that others may come to harm. Any shred of information that Amy can provide could prove critical in tracking down the perpetrator before he strikes again.”
The ward sister grabbed the nearest phone and dialled an extension number. “I’ve got Detective Inspector Baker from Brighton CID with me. He would like to talk to Amy Harp when she wakes, could you speak to him?”
Scott watched as the woman rolled her eyes, no doubt listening to Dr McAllister chewing her ear off at the other end, before she handed him the phone.
“Inspector, I understand that you wish to see my patient. However, I need to stress that Amy Harp is much the same way as Mr Ashman. She has gone through a harrowing mental and physical ordeal. I do not believe my patient is in a fit state to answer your questions.”
Dr McAllister’s tone was firm but sympathetic. His first concern was the welfare and safety of his patients.
“Dr McAllister, I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. I think the cases of Mr Ashman and Mrs Harp are connected. Between the two cases, I’m dealing with six deaths, six murders. At present, I’m unsure whether Mr Ashman and Mrs Harp are in danger.” With a brief inhale to steel himself, Scott bent the truth a little saying, “we’re moving Mr Ashman to a safe house for his own protection, and I’ll be doing the same with Mrs Harp when she is released. We cannot afford any further loss.” Scott stressed the point to let McAllister know he had a joint responsibility in this case.
An uncomfortable pause hung on the line whilst McAllister considered his options and Scott’s request. Finally, he sighed at the other end. “The ward sister will take you, and if she’s awake, you can have a few minutes with her. But I need your reassurance now that as soon as the ward sister asks you to leave, then you do so. If you don’t, Inspector, then I’ll ban you from seeing her whilst she’s under my care. Do I make myself clear?”
The ward sister pushed the door ajar a few inches and peered in through the crack. Amy Harp was lying on her side looking towards the door, her eyes soulless and empty, fixed on a space in front.
As Scott entered the room, the background hum of hospital life faded into the distance and the door glided close with a subtle shushing sound. The ward sister moved towards the end of the bed. Her eyes flicked between Amy and Scott.
The darkness outside matched the mood inside the room. For Amy, it must have felt like a void. A dark void. A never-ending dark tunnel that had consumed everything and left her feeling empty. Amy didn’t move from her position. Scott wasn’t certain she knew he was there.
“Mrs Harp, I’m Detective Inspector Scott Baker from Brighton CID. On behalf of myself and my team, I’d like to say I’m so sorry for your loss. We are using all resources available to us to find out who’s done this. I know it’s difficult for you, but…could you tell me what happened?”
He felt foolish asking such a difficult question even though he needed to when the woman lying in front of him had just watched her whole family murdered.
Still staring at the wall, she began speaking in a soft, broken and raspy voice. A tone comprised of agony laced with heartbreak. “They’re gone. All of them. They’re gone. My sweet, sweet babies. I…saw him…take…each…one…of…them.”
The ward sister grimaced, her mouth forming a thin line as she crossed her arms.
“Did he say anything?”
Amy thought for a few moments. She grimaced through her face swollen, and her split lips. Pain sliced through her head like her brain was being dissected with a dull knife. “Every time…I tried to look away, he hit me.” Her flat and emotionless voice could barely utter the words. “I saw everything he did to them…”
“What did he look like?”
She shook her head slightly, but enough for Scott to see. “He wore black, and he had a black balaclava on. I saw his…eyes…mouth. He was white.”
As Scott sensed the ward sister shifting, he knew he was running out time.
“Have you, your husband or your family experienced any trouble?”
She shook her head but didn’t reply, tears escaping from her swollen eyes. Her body shut down again, crawling in to a box, where she could curl up and hide.
“I’ve only got a few more questions and then I’ll leave you to rest. Do you know Janet Ashman?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered.
“Does the name Samuel Ashman ring a bell?”
Scott noticed something that sent a shiver through him. The woman gave a tiny micro-muscular movement, a non-verbal body response he picked up on.
But she didn’t reply.
26
Abby peered over her steering wheel and eyed the sky. The clouds that had been wispy and white that morning, were now darker and denser. The earthy scent of rain hung in the air as she watched the sky darken up ahead.
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br /> The gloom of the day reflected in the moods of the residents who trudged along the pavements, their heads stooped in contemplation. Something about a cloudy day seemed to rob the life and soul from people. Thick blankets of grey clouds crept in from the sea, casting shadows that appeared to blanket the floor with a dark cloak.
“I hate mornings like this. It feels like a duvet day. And if there’s one thing that pisses me off more than anything else, it’s getting my hair wet in the rain.”
The corners of Helen’s mouth curled up into a smile as she looked out towards the sea. The rain hadn’t arrived yet, and Abby was already moaning about getting her hair wet.
She noticed how her skipper often came across as a doom and gloom merchant, finding the smallest of things to moan about. If it wasn’t the weather, then it was the food, or a shit tasting latte. She’d grumble about the long hours and not being able to get to the gym, or the lack of hygiene in the canteen. And you didn’t want to get her on to the cleanliness of the toilets. That appeared to be Abby’s pet hate. She’d seen Abby pull the sleeve down over her hand to form a temporary glove, so that she could open doors, or turn handles.
Helen let out the smallest of laughs, thinking she had laughed in her head.
“What’s so funny?”
Thinking fast on her feet she said, “Nothing skip, I was…I was just thinking how miserable people look around here.”
Abby replied with a short hum, “Well look at it, shitville, you couldn’t pay me to live here.”
“That’s just being a snob, skip.”
Abby didn’t reply as she turned off into the small car park in front of their destination. From the outside, Whitefields appeared clean and modern. Abby had done background research on the unit prior to their arrival. Opened eight years ago, it treated patients from across Sussex. The primary referral base was the Sussex County. Abby had informed them of Amy’s loss.
A slim, short man, wearing black trousers and a white shirt greeted them. He introduced himself as Adam Stanley, the unit manager, and showed them through to his office before offering them a seat and refreshments which they declined.