Glimpse

by Stephen B King

  So, time passed, the cops turned up at work less and less, and life returned to the same level of normality as before. Slowly my thoughts turned to my cool room, and what I could be using it for. Then one day, out of the blue, I had the most amazing epiphany.

  Who knows, dear reader, where random flashes of inspirational thoughts come from? I think artists and great writers are sometimes hit like that. They go from normalcy to being inspired in a flash, and when that does hit them like a lightning bolt, they must act on it. So, it was for me.

  In our branch of Dalton’s, we made our own sausages, not just for our retail sales, but other stores as well. We had a huge mincing machine into which we put the meat offcuts, spices, and flavorings into the big hopper, and out of the other end came a never-ending supply of meat which was squirted into the skins. In Dad’s day, he used to use intestines to retain the meat, but at Dalton’s we used synthetic ones, because they were cheaper.

  Clearly, the problem I faced with killing people was what to do with the bodies afterward? I’m not a big man, neither am I terribly strong, so corpse disposal was an issue that was never far from my mind. I had already concluded that if I killed someone in the cool room, getting them out of there would be in pieces. But then what? A body in pieces still takes up a lot of room and weighs the same.

  I was standing at the machine, holding a casing over the spout, as it filled with sausage meat after filling the hopper up with an assortment of beef offcuts, when it suddenly hit me. I could take the meat from the bones, bring it in to work in plastic bags hidden in my rucksack, and drop them into the meat tubs to be turned into sausages. Customers would unknowingly be buying human meat mixed in with the pork, or beef, for dinner. How funny would that be?

  Once I had the idea, I knew, I just knew that I had to follow it through. It would mean from a practical point of view, all I would then have to dispose of would be the bones, but that would be a lot simpler than the whole body. The thought of my customers eating my victims, was an added attraction, and something, I felt I was compelled to do.

  Chapter 9: Mind Games

  Rick had left Patricia Holmes’ Applecross home in a hurry, with the promise to report back to her in the morning at her University Campus office. She had given him her word she too would listen to the recording she had made, to see if she could glean any further insights for him. She also asked him, if he was permitted, to take some crime scene photos for her. Possibly, she volunteered, she might notice something.

  All the way to the South Perth Apartment he asked himself: How could she have known that? And then a second question: How come I didn’t think of it first? He shook his head, and muttered under his breath, cursing himself for being so blind to what then seemed obvious.

  Two patrol cars, with lights flashing, had cordoned off the street either side of the small apartment block and uniformed officers kept onlookers at bay. Rick’s car screeched to a standstill at just the same time as the DI approached from the other end of the road. No sooner had Rick’s foot hit the asphalt road surface a thought crashed around inside his head like a pin-ball. With blinding clarity, he knew something, something important; and he had Patricia Holmes to thank for it.

  Jesus, the killer had been watching us interview people at the phone box! He stood and closed his door, then leaned on the roof, completely still; he had to think this through. Hold the fucking phone, hold everything. If the killer had set up Bridget Schaeffer, how could he know they had interviewed her before he killed her? Answer: he was watching the phone box himself and saw them question her. Then he must have followed her home, let her get inside and killed her before she could be re-interviewed.

  Everything clicked into place, and for the second time that evening, he cursed himself for not being more observant. He could have been standing right next to the killer, damn it.

  If this were a chess game, he would be two to three moves ahead of you. That was what she said.

  Very slowly, Rick turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees and looked at every shadow, then studied the faces of the people watching, in case he was there. But, that would be too easy, and nothing about this case was easy.

  “What’s wrong, Rick?” the DCI asked as he approached.

  “Hi, Boss.” He quickly explained the result of his meeting with Patricia Holmes, and her thoughts on the false description that led to Ms. Schaeffer’s murder. He explained he had been scanning the area in case the killer was watching them, as he must have been earlier when he interviewed her.

  “Rick, you aren’t making a lot of sense.”

  Rick shrugged. “The thing is, I believe her, and let me tell you there was no bigger sceptic than me before this. She told me this witness was in danger and that she would be a future victim. She has a knack of looking at facts in a different way, from the killer’s point of view if you like. If I’d thought of this before, Bridget Schaeffer would still be alive.”

  “Stop that right now. There was no way to have predicted this.”

  “Patricia Holmes did. What if we could bring her in as some sort of advisor, get her to think like him and help us?”

  “What would she charge do you think, to be a consultant? I’m not sure I could get approval for such a thing. I don’t think any force in Australia has a psyche on the payroll.”

  “I’ve no idea. I don’t even know if she wants to be involved, she doesn’t need the money but the looks of her house. Maybe a word from the assistant commissioner could go a long way. But, I think, whatever she charged, she would be worth it, if it helps get this guy locked up.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “I will talk to Mr. Monkton in the morning, get his thoughts.”

  “No need to wait till morning.”

  He nodded to where a black Holden Caprice smoothly parked, and the commissioner got out of the rear door. With a determined stride, he walked over to them, looking irritated. “What have we got here gentlemen?”

  “We’ve not long arrived, sir, Sergeant McCoy has been updating me on his meeting with Patricia Holmes.

  “So, do we know this is the work of our man?”

  “Has to be, sir, it’s the only thing that makes any sense.” Rick explained again his interview with the witness, and the meeting with Pat that told him of the danger Bridget Schaeffer was in.

  “And why does she think that?”

  “Well, to be honest, I didn’t get time to finish our chat. I’m going to see her again tomorrow morning. But, she does have amazing instincts and insights, and I’m very glad I met her. She likened the investigation to playing chess with him, but he will always be two steps ahead.”

  “Why you, McCoy? What’s his beef with you, did she have any thoughts there?”

  “I have no idea, but she thinks it’s possible that somewhere in the past our paths have crossed, but I can’t see it. Over the twenty years I’ve been a cop, I can’t tell you how many people I’ve come across. I’ve no idea if he was a victim, or offender, someone I’ve arrested or tried to help. Without more information, there is no way to know. That’s why I think I need to try talking to him through the media.”

  “McCoy thinks we should ask her to be a part of the task force,” Colin Harris interjected. “Can we get funding to pay for her services?”

  “You won’t need funding; she would love to be involved with a murder investigation, she has been on at me for years; this is her dream. She will want to write a paper on the guy when we catch him, but for someone with her credentials, that’s a small price to pay.”

  ****

  For the first time in many years, Rick felt like vomiting when he saw the crime scene.

  The woman whom he had interviewed only hours before; a vibrant, healthy person with a strong personality had been slaughtered, for the sole purpose of making him look bad. This is total madness.

  The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. There was to be no statement to the media about June Daniels being held by a madman with blonde hair or otherwise. They had
invented a story to hide the real reason why they were looking for witnesses at the phone box, and that told Rick that the killer had not been close enough to know that, just enough to know they had spoken to her.

  Rick thought he saw a chink in the murderer’s armor. While he was capable of planning far into the future to show off his supposed superior intellect, the fact was that that also made him fallible if they could act in a way that hadn’t been predicted. PPP was not going to get the publicity he wanted, so possibly things would escalate, that could cause him to make a mistake.

  Forensics was all over the apartment, checking for DNA and fingerprints. But to Rick, the scene told its own story. She had come home from work, entered, but the doorbell had rung. She had not had time to change, or even take her jacket off. She had opened the front door to greet her killer, possibly assuming it was the police. Rick shook his head when he saw the chrome security chain hanging loose, unused, which possibly could have saved her life, if only it had been latched.

  They canvassed the neighbors, to ask if they had heard or seen anything unusual. No one had. It appeared Bridget had not had time to scream.

  There were two entries into the building, one at the front and the other from the car park at the rear. There were only enough car bays for residents. Visitors would need to find street parking so it was possible, but unlikely, the killer had parked there. The street itself was jammed with cars as the area was full of apartments. He would have been covered in blood spatter, so he wouldn’t have walked far without being seen. There were no CCTV cameras to aid them, how the murderer had got away was a mystery.

  By ten that night, the interviews were finished, and Rick and Tyler compared notes. The only thing they had that seemed out of place was one witness who said they saw an old man who looked like he was homeless, shuffling down the street away from the building. Only seen from the rear the witness, Michael Highgate, said that the only reason he noticed him at all was the gray shabby long raincoat he was wearing when it wasn’t raining or even cold. When pressed for a description, he said the man had unruly gray hair, he was quite a small man who walked with a stooped gait and seemed to be wearing very dirty running type shoes that once in their life had been black.

  At first, Tyler had discounted him and only mentioned it to Rick in frustration that he was the only person seen in the area. But, the description rang a warning bell with Rick. Patricia had said that the man wore stupid looking sunglasses so that if he was seen by a witness they would remember the glasses rather than the face. Was the description of this homeless person not similar? If he was the murderer, he had given the impression he was an old man whose appearance made him look like a tramp, and therefore people would be more inclined to remember the overall picture, rather than anything specific. In fact, could it not be ultimately very clever because mostly, when people saw homeless tramps, they didn’t want to look them in the eye.

  Again, Rick had told himself, and Tyler, that their suspect was capable of extreme cunning. He had not come here to kill Bridget Schaeffer in a blind rage or panic, even though that was how the murder scene looked. He had planned this down to the last degree and must therefore have thought about how he would stop a witness giving a good description of him. Rick shook his head, he found himself both sickened at the brutality of the murder, but admiring the killer’s ingenuity, and that thought didn’t sit right with him.

  ****

  He got home close to eleven that night, feeling weary and depressed. Before he could turn the key in the lock Juliet opened the door for him. She smiled crookedly and hugged him.

  “Hey, babe, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he said.

  “You look worn out, dinner is still warm. Do you want a beer?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Jules, thank you.”

  “Come and talk to me while I get things ready.”

  He leaned against the sink, and changed his mind, he needed a beer to help him get through talking about the case. He took out a can and popped it open.

  “So how did you go with the psychologist?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Funny thing, Jules, but I thought it would be a complete waste of time, but I really like her, and she is smart as a whip. I had to cut it short as we now have another body, but I have permission to ask her to join the task force as a consultant.”

  “Another body?”

  He told her about it all from start to finish, and she listened with rapt attention. She held up a hand to stop him at one point.

  “So, wait a minute, he picked a phone box, then watched it for God knows how long, picked someone who walked by at the same time every day, then donned a disguise, made the call to you and left the box so she could see him? That is unbelievable enough, but then he watched to make sure you interviewed her, and then killed her? Oh, my God Rick, that’s incredible.”

  “I know, but then he wore another disguise so that when he left her apartment we would think he was a homeless bum.”

  “But why, Rick? Why go to so much trouble? And why not wear the blonde wig again?”

  “That’s the question I want to ask Pat tomorrow. I guess the change is because after the murder he wanted to get away unnoticed, whereas he wanted to be seen before. Patricia thinks it’s because he wants to make me look like an idiot. That sometime in the past we met, and I let him down. But it just doesn’t seem real enough to me, yet I can’t think of another explanation that makes sense, other than some warped need for playing around in our collective heads for fun.”

  She stared at him across the dining table. “You knew him?”

  “Well, yes, apparently. But, she says that to me it may have been inconsequential, but to him, it meant the world. I have put plenty of people in jail, but she thinks it’s not that, it’s more of disappointing this person. I’m buggered if I can think of anyone I’ve done that too, but then I’ve not had a lot of time to think.”

  “Oh, Rick, this must be terrible for you.”

  He smiled at her, loving her understanding, because he did feel terrible. “Not as terrible as it is for June Daniels, and it seems like it could be my fault.”

  She stood and walked around the table, sat straddling him on his lap, and put her hands on his shoulders. “How can it be your fault? Ever since I’ve known you you’ve tried to help people and find closure for the families of victims of murder. The first person he killed, he wasn’t taunting you then, he didn’t even know you would be on the case, surely?”

  “How Patricia explains it is that he saw me on TV during that investigation and it awoke memories for him, that’s when his focus shifted to me.”

  “So, that’s why you mustn’t blame yourself. He was already a killer; there was nothing you could have done about that. He is a madman, doing things for his reasons. I know you will catch him. Come to bed; let me help you feel better.”

  She kissed him softly at first, while his hands slipped up inside the back of her shirt. For a while, Rick did forget about the case. The silky-smooth feel of her skin, the soft little moans she always made when she was aroused and the way she responded to his touch drove the thoughts of a demented killer, from his mind.

  He carried her to bed, and undressed her slowly, kissing her skin as he uncovered it. Her nipples were hard, and her fingernails sharp, as she dug them into his back when he entered her. Within minutes she climaxed, biting his shoulder, which took him over the precipice to join her.

  ****

  In the morning, Detective Chief Inspector Colin Harris reviewed what little they had so far while standing and making notes on the huge evidence white board in the Major Incident Room. He read from his notes as he went, to the now twelve officers.

  “Listen up please; let’s recap where we are at. I want to remind you all that if anyone leaks the details of this investigation to the media, I will have their badge.”

  “Our killer is named PPP, but we have no idea what those letters stand for. We now know that he abducted Melanie Cartwright, kept her f
or almost a month torturing her before he cut up her body and packed the pieces in a suitcase and left it at the Midland Dump. That investigation yielded no witnesses for either the kidnapping or at the dumping site of the body. He now has June Daniels and given us limited time before he starts sending us pieces of her body. Questions?”

  “How was she cut up, do we know what weapon was used?” Detective Riggs asked.

  Colin nodded and pointed to the blown-up picture of the suitcase. “Good question. The Medical Examiner believes it was done neatly, with a very sharp knife or possibly a scalpel. Perhaps by someone with medical training, or at least with knowledge of anatomy. The joints had been de-boned, rather than hacksawed through. This was no frenzied murder; it was carefully thought out, planned and executed.”

  “Six months almost to the day later we received a call that a note had been left for us in a call box in the city about the body in the suitcase murder.” He pointed to an enlarged picture of the letter. “It was addressed to Sergeant Rick McCoy who had headed up the original investigation. The note included this picture.” Again, he pointed to the board.

  “We canvassed people at the phone box at the same time on the following day in hopes we could find a witness to who had left the note. Rick found Bridget Schaeffer. She gave a reasonable description of the person at the right time who she only saw in profile. An arrangement was made to speak with her at home that night after work, and for a police artist to work with her. Unfortunately, someone murdered her before that could happen.

  “Now, it’s possible that the description could have been false, that PPP wore a form of disguise, namely a blonde wig and oversized sunglasses. He then killed her to perpetuate that incorrect description. If that theory held up it would mean he is toying with us, as a police force, and Sergeant McCoy, in particular. He then, we believe, wore a different disguise, to escape detection. This time a witness described an old man, with shuffling gate, dressed like a hobo in a long raincoat. We believe the raincoat was reversible, so he could turn it inside out and hide the blood stains.”