The Safe Word

by Karen Long

  Eleanor pushed her uneaten muffin over to Susan. “I don’t suppose Andy could narrow it down to any particular area could he?”

  Susan shook her head as she chewed appreciatively. “He said they’re not exclusive to cemeteries as folks do try and grow them in ornamental gardens. However, he also found a small amount of chrysanthemum and lily spores, which says ‘Garden of Rest’ to me.”

  “Give Andy a big kiss from me,” said Eleanor.

  “Think he’d rather have one from Captain America here,” she giggled. “Ooh, the tox screening’s there too on Lydia Greystein and Cassandra Willis. Both had hefty doses of ketamine in their system.”

  “He gave them an anaesthetic.” Laurence said as he glanced down the page. “Both women appear to have been injected with it.” He read on. “Interestingly there was a much larger dose found in Cassandra Willis’ body. Ketamine can cause instant loss of consciousness when injected intra muscularly. Also causes hallucinations when the patient has come to.”

  “Patient?” Eleanor remarked.

  “Sorry, victim,” he replied self-consciously.

  “You can pick ‘Special K’ up in any nightclub in the city. Any point in trying to source it?”

  Eleanor shook her head, “Not really. I’ll tell Johnson to run any thefts or loses through the system but it feels like a wild goose chase to me.”

  “Captain America! Is that how you all see me,” asked Laurence smugly as they moved quickly towards Eleanor’s car.

  “Well Timms certainly doesn’t,” she replied, the phone to her ear.

  “Shit!” groaned Laurence as he remembered Monster.

  “Say again… Oakhurst Lawns, off the Expressway. I know it. Email me her grave number and clear it with the caretaker ok?” Eleanor spoke into her cell as she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Should I call Timms?” asked Laurence with a worried tone.

  “I think you should either get the dog re-homed or look after it properly until your girlfriend gets back from her holidays,” she said swerving through the increasingly heavy traffic onto the Parkway.

  “Ex-girlfriend and…” he began but Eleanor wasn’t interested.

  “Call Andy Bateman and ask him if he’ll come and sample the grave site this morning. His number’s on the top of the second sheet,” she said, reaching for the report on the back seat.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Laurence tapping in the number and hearing the ringing tone.

  “I think that our killer may be a frequent visitor to his sister’s grave and if that’s the case then someone will have seen him and might know his routine. Then we can stake it out and wait to see if he shows.”

  “Hi is that Andy Bateman? This is Detective Laurence Whitefoot. I’ve just read your report on the pollen findings from the Lydia Greystein and Cassandra Willis murders… yes, we suspect that the suspect’s sister may be a possible link. She’s buried in Oakhurst Lawns on the west side… yes… ok, we’re going there now and I’ll call you through the details… urm… thanks,” said Laurence uncomfortably.

  “Well?” asked Eleanor curious as to the change in his tone.

  “He’s going to come up and take samples this morning. Very obliging… oh and he liked the sound of my voice, said it was very masculine.”

  Eleanor laughed at Laurence’s sheepish expression.

  “You going to tell everyone in the department?” he asked.

  “Oh dear Lord, yes!” she said, taking a sharp right onto the Gardiner Expressway.

  “Is that guy for real?” asked Laurence as they watched the appropriately lugubrious figure of the cemetery caretaker lumber towards them. “I swear the words Bela and Lugosi are going to slip out.”

  “I guarantee they won’t detective as you will be listening and taking notes,” Eleanor responded firmly as she looked at the row of cypress trees interspersed between the graves.

  “Mr?” asked Eleanor, stepping forward her hand stretched out.

  “Please say Lugosi. Please!” whispered Laurence behind her.

  “Semper. Arnold Semper,” he croaked, scowling at Laurence.

  “They all three turned to stare at the immaculate grave of Carin Hughes. “Nice and tidy that one,” remarked Arnold Semper, still scowling.

  “Who has responsibility for the upkeep of the graves here? Is it you?” asked Eleanor.

  “I have to make sure they don’t become an eyesore but it’s the relatives what do it,” he replied, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply. “I look after that one ’cos he won’t touch it,” he added, pointing to an overgrown site adjacent to Carin Hughes’. “That’s the mom but he won’t go near it so I mow it in the summer and wipe the headstone.”

  Eleanor bent down and read the plain sunken head stone, which bore Marilyn’s name.

  “Who’s the ‘he’ you’re referring to?” she asked.

  Arnold Semper shrugged. “Guess it’s the brother of ’er. She’s bin dead too long for it to be a boyfriend.” He pointed to Carin’s grave, which was polished and had a wreath of flagging African lilies and chrysanthemums draped around it.

  “How often does he come here?” asked Eleanor.

  “Regular I guess,” responded Semper.

  “Give me a rough idea.”

  “I dunno maybe once a month. I aint never spoken to him,” he shrugged again.

  Eleanor’s mouth opened but Semper got in quickly. “I dunno when he was last ’ere but looking at the state of the head stone and flowers maybe a week or so ago.”

  “Would you recognise him?” she asked reaching for the photograph in her bag.

  Semper shrugged. “Dunno… try me?”

  She handed him the school photograph and waited as he contemplated. “When was this taken? He don’t look like that now.” He passed the photograph back to her.

  “How do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well he’s a lad there. You got anything newer?” he asked handing it back to her. “It’s him alright but he’s older. Filled out and his hair’s different.”

  “In what way?” butted in Laurence.

  “Shorter. It’s ’bout an inch all over.”

  “How tall?”

  “Five ten, eleven. Shorter than you,” he said pointing at Laurence. “And a bit taller than you,” pointing at Eleanor.

  “How did he arrive?” Laurence asked.

  Semper shrugged. “Can’t see the car park from ’ere. Bus, bike?”

  There was a pause before Eleanor nodded and handed him her card. “I’d like you to call me if you see him here Mr Semper. I must advise you not to approach or communicate with him. He’s an extremely dangerous man.”

  Semper scowled, “Well if he’s that dangerous how come he hasn’t done me already?”

  “Presumably because you’ve never spoken to or challenged him before Mr Semper,” said Eleanor. “A scientist will be arriving this morning to take samples of the grass around the grave. I assume you have no objection?”

  “Don’t bother me none. No holes though,” he warned before turning abruptly and heading back in the direction he had come from.

  As soon as he was out of earshot Eleanor pulled out her phone and spoke quickly. “Timms? I need to get an exhumation order for Carin Hughes’ body. Tell them that we’ve got the tox screenings on Lydia and Cassandra and they both had evidence of ketamine. I am proposing that Lee Hughes murdered his sister and mother so will need… I know it’s not going to hold water with the DA but you and Wadesky have got to find a way to get this past Heidlmann… Yes, Hughes is tending the grave. It might flush him out if we start messing with his sister’s resting place… Yes… Whitefoot?” Eleanor raised one eyebrow and looked at Laurence who was making a ‘cut off’ gesture. “Yes he’s here,” She passed the phone to Laurence and smiled as she heard Timms yelling down the phone at him.

  She was seated in the car by the time Whitefoot caught up with her. He slumped into the passenger seat.

  Laurence cleared h
is throat, “What if Heidlmann won’t agree to the exhumation?”

  “It’s highly unlikely that he will. But we’ll set up the grave as if it’s an exhumation and hope that does the same trick.”

  “Won’t that piss the DA off?” he added.

  “I imagine it will!” she replied.

  Lee should have been exhausted but was anything but. He knew he was putty in Carin’s hands but which artist wasn’t? He smiled as he thought of Dante pining for Beatrice; his only salvation and hope had been knowing that, although dead, she would steer his pen and thoughts into creating the great poetic vision that was ‘The Inferno’. Carin was steering him towards his masterpiece and that was why neither cold nor hunger could deter him from his artistic frenzy. He’d cleaned the fairground ride and managed to drag the old trolley seats from the campsite and, with the aid of a metal girder, lever them onto what remained of the tracks. He took stock for a moment and tried to evaluate what was missing. He’d replaced the missing section of wall by stapling in place a rotten hessian tarpaulin he’d found shoved underneath one of the slides. It wasn’t ideal but it did bring greater atmosphere and had the added benefit of reducing the wind that blasted through the construction, and which had blown out most of the uncovered candles. There was no time for any major decoration changes as Carin had insisted that the canvas was to be collected this evening. He’d argued that point but when Carin had started sulking and threatening to leave him on his own to tackle the project he backed down. She knew best.

  Although he couldn’t get any real movement out of the trolley, he felt that its presence was probably sufficient to create atmosphere. There hadn’t been a need to employ artificial lighting on his other two projects as he’d had all the benefit of access to sunlight but this wasn’t possible. He needed to throw shadows and having no source of power he’d sunk the better half of thirty bucks into buying good quality candles, which would burn for several days, providing he’d plugged all the drafts. There would be a delicious irony to the hanging of the canvas, which would hopefully not be lost on the audience. There were at least seven heavy-duty carabiner type hooks embedded in the ceiling, presumably where papier mâché skeletons and the like were originally displayed. At first he’d been nonplussed by the graffiti sprayed on every available wall but was beginning to feel that the images had an odd urban beauty to them so he left them where they were.

  It was late afternoon when he’d finally finished the presentation. He was beginning to feel the need for some sustenance and planned to grab something from the local supermarket as he made his way back to the studio, where the initial preparation of Eleanor Raven would take place.

  Eleanor and Laurence stared at the artist’s impression of Lee Hughes. “He’s so bland!” said Laurence in disbelief. “How the hell can we find this guy? He’s wallpaper!”

  “I’ve aged him to thirty-four or thereabouts and altered the hair and weight after receiving your call. Sorry guys but unless he’s got some interesting facial scars I suspect that’s him,” said Lucy the department’s ‘on call’ forensic artist. “If you get anything else let me know and I’ll adapt it as a priority. Ok?” she grabbed her coat and bag and headed for the door.

  “Thanks Lucy. Much appreciated,” said Eleanor studying the pencil drawing of Lee Hughes.

  “Anything to catch the bastard,” Lucy replied with feeling as she left.

  There was a crash and then a yell was heard making its way, like a tsunami, along the corridor. Eleanor prepared herself for the imminent arrival of Marty Samuelson.

  “Progress?” he demanded yanking a chair from under Eleanor’s table. “Give me the progress!”

  She was silent for a moment and then handed him the photocopy of the pencil sketch of Lee Hughes.

  “That him?” he asked.

  Eleanor nodded. “We need to go public with it.”

  Samuelson scratched his head vigorously as he thought it through. “He’s a bland bastard and once this is out there he’ll sprint. Only thing we’ve really got is that he doesn’t know we have his ID. However, maybe someone might just connect… That’s a bloody forgettable face,” he moaned. “What do you say?” he asked Laurence.

  “I think if you’re going to tease him out of the woodwork with the exhumation of Carin then you might as well saturate the city with his image. If he’s busy trying to hide from being recognised then he can’t be planning another kidnapping. Let’s put him on the wrong foot… maybe…” Laurence was interrupted by a polite coughing. Ruby Delaware stood in the doorway her short stout frame enveloped in a pink poncho, which made her look alarmingly like an overgrown toddler. “I’ve brought your profile and, without meaning to be rude, may I join in your discussions?”

  “Please do,” replied Eleanor gesturing towards a chair.

  Ruby sat down, arranging her bags, glasses, folders of photocopies and small floral pencil case neatly on the table. Johnson looked on with barely-concealed approval.

  “Johnson come and join us. Is anyone else around?” asked Eleanor.

  “No, everyone’s out but Timms is due any minute.”

  Neither Eleanor nor Laurence looked entirely happy with this event, Eleanor because Timms’ views on profilers was vociferously negative and Laurence because he’d have to face a tirade about animal neglect/abuse etc.

  “Your killer is a very interesting and disturbed individual,” began Ruby, nodding to no one in particular. “First, let me tell you that I think you are correct in your belief that Lee Hughes is a likely candidate. I know you have more circumstantial evidence that points to him now but it was good detecting work on your part. Now, let’s get to business…” Ruby flipped open the manila folder and withdrew a pile of neatly-typed profile sheets and handed them round, leaving surplus sheets in a pile.

  “After processing forensic, geographical and historical information about Lee Hughes, I have drawn up what I believe to be a psychologically authentic portrait. I have forwarded my profile to Quantico but it could take weeks to get feedback from them.” She looked around the table awkwardly before clearing her throat and launching into her opinions.

  “Lee Hughes was deeply and I imagine still is, in love with his sister Carin. Having found her body alongside his mother’s he will have divided his emotion into what could be described as a hatred for all women for causing him such loss and pain and adoration of what he could consider to be the perfect but unobtainable being.”

  “How’d you get to that?” asked Samuelson suspiciously.

  “His attempts at preservation of the body with the plastic wrap and subsequent reproductions of the image in his later artistic works…”

  “You’re saying this guy considers himself to be some fucking Van Gogh?” said Samuelson.

  “In his mind yes. The women he is displaying are a homage to Carin.” She pulled out a colour photograph of the dead Carin. “I believe he is trying to reproduce the emotional impact of discovering the body. You can see that she is beautiful in death, her lips and cheeks giving the illusion that she’s merely resting. This image will have shaped his entire future.”

  “Do you believe he was having a sexual relationship with both Carin and his mother?” Eleanor asked.

  Ruby sighed. “There was physical evidence from the autopsies that both women had unusual amounts of bruising between their thighs and, in Carin’s case, around the breast region. However, Marilyn was diagnosed as schizophrenic and had spent some considerable portion of the children’s early years in a psychiatric unit. She had medication issues and…”

  “What issues?” interrupted Eleanor.

  “She didn’t like to take her meds and as a result became aggressive, disorientated and prone to self-harming according to the hospital reports.” She handed several photocopied sheets to Eleanor. “Reading between the lines I believe Marilyn’s frequent absences from the family home and inadequate parenting would have forced Lee into developing an unnaturally close relationship with his younger sister.”

/>   “What about their father?” Eleanor asked.

  “Neither biological father stayed around long enough…”

  “So Lee and Carin were half siblings?”

  “Apparently. There is no evidence that either child received any adult supervision during Marilyn’s stay in hospital. They were supposed to be looked after by a neighbour but there’s little data to suggest that was an effective strategy.”

  “So we have two teenagers, effectively parentless, unsupervised and living together,” said Eleanor.

  Ruby nodded, “It would have been natural that they formed a unique bond. That it was sexual in nature would make it more unusual. There’s also evidence that Carin had been hearing voices and having visions,” Ruby said pointedly.

  “She was schizophrenic too?” asked Eleanor leaning towards Ruby.

  Ruby shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “She would have been a little young for the condition to have developed fully but her school had been worried enough by her behaviour to call in the educational psychologist, who recommended she be evaluated; but she was dead before that could happen.”

  “Tell me about how he lives,” said Eleanor.

  Suddenly the door flew open and Monster bounded into the squad room barking loudly. He made a beeline for Laurence, landing both feet onto his lap and shoving his panting face into Laurence’s.

  “What the fuck!” shouted Samuelson. “Is this dog in training? Whose is it?” he bellowed.

  “He is supposed to be Whitefoot’s dog sir but I found him in here, starving to death last night and was forced…” said Timms angrily.

  “The fuck you did!” yelled Laurence jumping to his feet and pushing the dog away. Monster began to bark loudly. Timms whistled him over.

  “Get that mutt over to the kennels at once.” Samuelson’s voice was drowned out by Monster’s steady barking. “What the fuck!” Samuelson yelled and lunged at the dog who was dithering between loyalty to Laurence and his new found master in Timms. Grabbing Monster by the collar, he stuck three fingers sharply into the dog’s ribs to get its attention and pushed it into a sitting position. Monster, recognising a higher force, lapsed into silence and stared at Samuelson making occasional whines.