Nothing but Meat
Adrian Kendrew
Published in 2014 by Adrian Kendrew
Copyright Cover Design Adrian Kendrew
Copyright Text Adrian Kendrew
First Edition
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For the old pot and pan
Nothing but Meat
Piggy was awake.
The Ghost stood in the darkness and listened as she whimpered and fumbled around. There was a brief period of silence and then he saw the yellow glow of the candle flickering weakly in the distance.
Piggy had found the matches. Good.
He was naked under the robe and the mask he wore had become warm and damp around the mouth. His heart thumped in the silence and his breathing quickened with the excitement of anticipation. He stood still with the knife by his side, watching the tunnel, waiting for the walls to shift with the dim swell of candlelight as she ventured out and tried to find salvation. He pressed the tip of the blade into the side of his thigh with languid distraction, picking at it until he broke the skin. He slowly pressed it deeper and deeper until he felt blood run down his calf and waves of white pain shot through his body, circling his balls and filling his chest like a hot damp cloth.
There, he could see her now; alone and naked in the glow of the flame. He watched as she ventured into the tunnels foolishly believing escape was possible. The dark angels had given him a stage on which to play and he wasn’t going to disappoint them. The curtains in his theatre of pain were about to be lifted and tonight’s headline act unveiled.
She was disorientated and scared. The darkness and the fear of the unknown; dealing with the idea of never seeing daylight again would surely be enough to break even the strongest of minds and if she did manage to overcome the threat of mental collapse he knew that when he sprang from the shadows in all his glory, seeing him for the first time would be more than enough to tip her over the edge.
Hidden in the darkness, the Ghost began to follow. The hunt was on. Creeping death was he.
Part 1:
Dead Flowers
1
Steaming hot water ran over Simone’s fingers and thundered into the bath. As the bubbles formed she breathed the soothing lavender scent that filled the room and watched the filth wash from her skin in the tranquillity of running water. Simone was bruised and bloody and she hurt all over, and as the water slowly swelled in the bath she longed desperately to climb in and soak away the aches of the day.
Earlier, Simone Connelly and her partner John Barratt were coming to the end of their uneventful and yet demanding ten-hour shift when the call came in. They were to investigate reports of raised voices and the sound of breaking glass coming from a home on an estate in Cambridge.
‘I’m going to say it one last time,’ said Barratt as he wound the car window completely down.
Simone sighed. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘Waste your energy stating the bloody obvious for the umpteenth time today.’
‘It’s too bloody hot.’
‘Happy?’
‘No.’
‘Complaining to me won’t help, but of course you already know that.’
‘I’m sweating like a whore in a sauna.’
‘Lovely.’
‘I’m going to kill whoever handed this car back without reporting that the air con was fucked.’
‘I know, you said that earlier.’
‘You fucking watch me,’ he said. ‘I’ll bet it was Greenwood. That prick.’ He mumbled to himself and then began to hunt through the glove box.
‘Now what are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Looking for the log book,’ he replied just as he found it and sat back in his seat. ‘Got it, right then, who had this piece of shit last?’ He thumbed the pages and laughed out loud. ‘Well well, would you believe it, Greenwood is in the clear; it wasn’t him. Do you know who it was? It was McCredie, bloody Mongo McCredie. Typical, should have guessed.’
She took her eyes from the road and squinted at him against the sun. His face was pink and shiny with sweat from the efforts of having to cope with the heat of the long day and the stifling conditions inside the car.
Barratt was a big man and struggled in the heat, he was also short tempered and liked to complain and Simone had spent that shift and many others before it, listening to Barratt get increasingly stressed throughout the day. He was never annoyed with her and she usually did her best to ignore his complaints because she knew he just liked to argue, he entertained himself by raising his voice and forcing his opinion even when he knew he was wrong. He would sometimes say things just to get a rise out of her and provoke an argument as a way of passing the slow hours in the squad car. She had to admit that sometimes she enjoyed it too and got a kick out of making deliberate comments to wind him up and set him off on one of his raging tantrums. A heated debate with Barratt could be a good way to let off steam and get through the closing hours of a long shift. There were never any hard feelings afterwards, they had known each other for many years now and anything they threw at each other was just dust on the breeze. But today had been hot and slow and Barratt’s temper wasn’t the only one that was becoming frayed at the edges and she was well aware that, although it was unlikely, an argument about anything, even something as trivial as a squad car with a broken air conditioning unit that had gone unreported could easily get out of hand on a day as long and as hot as this.
‘Mongo?’ she said. ‘Is that what he’s getting called? Poor lad, he’s not been with us long and he’s already got a shitty nickname.’
‘It’s always a bad sign when someone gets a nickname like that within the first few months,’ he said, ‘and Mongo is as bad as it gets. Me and him are going to have words when we get back.’
‘He’s alright, he’s just young,’ she said.
‘Still, when you fuck up; you have to pay the piper. How else is he going to learn? He’s lazy, I can tell, and besides, I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re irritated too. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to have done the right thing and reported that the air con was on the fritz, and if he had, we wouldn’t have had to spend the day driving around in this sweatbox.’
‘You’re right Barratt, you’re always right, so I’ll tell you what,’ she said, ‘when we get back, we find him, I’ll hold him and you punch him.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘You’ve gotta have a plan,’ she said.
He grunted his approval and swiped the back of a large hairy hand across his brow. ‘Anyhow,’ he said. ‘If we didn’t complain we wouldn’t have anything to talk about.
She agreed with him, and decided against pointing out that even though she had her moments; it was usually the big man that did most of the complaining. She knew him well enough to know that when he got bored he talked incessantly about anything and everything. And right now he was bored.
‘I’m going straight to the pub tonight,’ he said. ‘There’s a pint of Pickled Pig with my name on it - cold, fizzy and sharp. That’ll hit the fucking spot. Roxanne will understand.’
‘I don’t know how your wife puts up with you.’
�
��Puts up with me? Bloody hell, I suffer at the hands of that woman.’ His face was deadpan as he spoke but Simone new better. The sun glinted from his sunglasses and his forehead shined. ‘Such indignities, you wouldn’t believe.’
‘I don’t want to know what happens behind closed doors. Keep it to yourself.’
‘She forces me, actually forces me to watch soap after soap. Bloody X Factor, Strictly, that other one, Prancing on Ice or whatever it’s called.’ He shuddered for effect. ‘It’s abuse, spousal abuse and hey I should know right?’ He tapped his badge. ‘I’m the law! I should have her locked up!’
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘It’s too hot to listen to your bullshit Barratt.’
‘You love it.’
‘You’re giving me a headache.’
‘It’s not me, it’s the heat.’
‘Why don’t you invite Roxanne to go to the pub with you?’
‘Never!’ he shouted. ‘It’s man time!’
‘I’m going to tell her everything you just said next time I see her.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Try me.’
‘Leave it alone Connelly she’s got nails like razors she’ll have your eyes out in seconds.’
‘You do realise that whenever we see each other all we do is talk about is you. I’ve heard what you’re really like, the big cuddly hubby, unafraid to show affection. Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard all about you.’
‘It’s all lies; she lives in fear of me. I’m a man and I do what I like. I am the law.’
‘What was that pet name she has for you?’
‘Quiet now. This police work is serious business.’
‘Something to do with a bear.’
‘That car was speeding.’ He pointed at a random car as it passed. ‘Pull ‘em over.’
‘Oh yes, I’ve got it; Huggy Bear.’
‘It’s all lies I tell you. Lies. But keep it to yourself; you don’t get a reputation like mine without busting a few heads and if people hear false rumours like that I’ll be ruined.’ He lifted his shades and winked at her. ‘And I’ll take you down with me. You see if I don’t.’
They pulled up outside the house and could hear the argument raging inside as soon as they got out of the car.
Barratt knocked on the front door and the voices inside became suddenly quiet. He called out, ‘Mr Pulaski? Mrs Pulaski? This is the Cambridgeshire police. Open up please.’ There was whispering from within, Barratt was about to knock again when from inside the shouting resumed. ‘You called the police you fucking whore!’
‘Get off me!’ There was a cry of pain. Barratt looked through the letterbox. ‘I can’t see them.’
Simone called out, ‘Mr and Mrs Pulaski. If you don’t open the door we will be forced to break it down.’
There was a slapping sound and another cry of pain. A man screamed, ‘I’ll kill you!’
Simone and Barratt looked at each other. ‘It’s getting heated in there,’ she said and the sound of breaking glass highlighted her statement.
Barratt said, ‘Wait here, I’ll go around the back.’ Before she could answer he unlocked the gate and disappeared down the side of the house while Simone was left looking at the front door. She was about to knock again when the lock clicked and the door swung slowly open. Simone expected one of the Pulaski’s but a child stood in the open doorway. Simone squatted down and said hello. The girl’s face was wet with tears and she had a vacant, far-away look in her eyes. Simone smiled and asked, ‘What’s your name?’ The little girl stepped silently to one side and beckoned Simone into the corridor.
‘He’s hurting my mum,’ she said.
Simone stood, put her foot against the bottom of the door and called John’s name. She asked the little girl to stay in the corridor and when John got back they went in together.
The direction of the shouting led them to the kitchen where Mr and Mrs Pulaski stood either side of a freestanding counter; he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and was shouting loudly at his wife who was giving as good as she got in return. She was dressed in a bathrobe and Simone was shocked at the state of her face; both eyes were puffed out massively and her lips and nose were crusted with blood. At the sight of the police officers her lips curled into a furious grimace and her bloody nostrils flared. Simone could see that a front tooth was missing. She looked at her husband with a crazy wild-eyed stare and then back at the officers. She shouted at them, ‘Look at what he’s done to me. Look at me!’
Mr Pulaski snorted derisively. ‘You’re lucky you’re still alive.’ He leant forward on the counter and pointed his finger at her. ‘Cunt!’ He raced quickly around the counter and she made to move in the opposite direction but slipped on something unseen. She vanished and he was upon her in a flash. Simone and Barratt rushed forward to the other side of the counter and found Mr Pulaski violently throttling his wife while she clawed helplessly at his arms and wrists. Barratt hooked his arms under Pulaski’s armpits and yanked him up but before he could get him into a headlock the bare-chested Pulaski squirmed free, he spun around and drove his knee quickly into Barratt’s groin. It was a lucky blow but it connected sweetly. Barratt’s eyes bulged and he reeled backwards. Pulaski turned and lunged at Simone but she sidestepped him and closed in behind. She used his forward momentum to slam him hard into the fridge. His gasp of pain told Simone she’d winded him and before he had chance to get his breath back she cuffed his hands behind his back. She twisted him quickly but as she did so Pulaski threw his head back and smacked it hard into Simone’s face, her nose crunched and her lip split in an instant. The pain was blinding but she never relaxed her grip on the restraints around his wrists. Barratt came forward and punched Pulaski in the stomach, he doubled up and Simone kicked the back of his knees, his legs buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the floor. She dropped with him and used her weight to pin him to the ground with a knee in the small of his back.
Barratt helped Mrs Pulaski to her feet, she was crying madly and when she saw her crushed husband she shouted loudly at the officers. ‘What have you done to him? Leave him alone.’ She turned on Simone, shouting, ‘Stop hurting him you bitch!’
Her husband had just beaten her to within an inch of her life and tried his best to kill her she still couldn’t stand seeing the man she loved crushed and in pain. She repeated his name over and over. ‘Oh Alek, Alek. Please just leave him alone.’
Barratt turned to Simone with a look of despair on his face and Simone knew he could never understand that the woman loved her husband no matter what he did to her. They had seen this behaviour all too often; she probably wasn’t even going to press charges. Mrs Pulaski spat in Barratt’s face and then charged at Simone but Barratt grabbed her and held her back, she snatched a glass of fruit juice and threw it across the room, it missed Simone by an inch and shattered against the wall behind her, spraying her with glass and juice. Barratt turned his attention to Simone. ‘You okay?’ he said but before she could reply Mrs Pulaski grabbed a knife from the sink. Simone screamed a warning to her partner but it was too late, before he had chance to defend himself Mrs Pulaski swung the knife into the side of Barratt’s head, the blade glanced off his skull and flew from her hand, skittering across the tiled floor. Barratt stumbled back in shock; a confused look crossed his face as blood rained from the rent in his head. Simone reacted quickly; she got to her feet and launched herself at Mrs Pulaski who was about to retrieve the knife from the floor. As she bent to pick it up Simone used all her weight and strength to slam into Mrs Pulaski’s body and drive a knee into her ribs knocking her backwards with all the force she had. Mrs Pulaski didn’t stand a chance and her head smacked against the marble of the kitchen counter with a terrible crunch and she collapsed on the floor in a heap.
Simone radioed for immediate backup and an ambulance and then grabbed a cloth and pressed it against the wound in Barratt’s head. He was slumped on the floor but still conscious. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said to him. She
took the towel away and blood streamed onto his neck. She could see the dark separation of flesh and the gleam of bone underneath but she could also see that the blade had only caused superficial damage. He would need a lot of stitches but he would be okay. The knife hadn’t gone into his face or neck, it had hit skin and bone and nothing else. She told him to press the towel against the wound and she took his cuffs from his belt and went over to the unconscious Mrs Pulaski. Mr Pulaski had found his voice he was shouting at Simone: ‘You killed my wife! You crazy cunt I’ll fucking sue the shit out of you!’ Simone ignored him, checked her vitals and cuffed her wrists. Something caught the corner of her eye and when she looked in the direction of the door she was embarrassed to see the figure of the little girl standing in the doorway. Wet faced, she looked into the bloody devastation of the family kitchen and then to Simone. ‘Is Mummy going to be okay?’ she said quietly. Simone nodded and tried to smile but she knew that the little girl’s mother was going to prison for a very long time. Between them, Mr and Mrs Pulaski had assaulted one police officer and tried to fatally harm another and because of this the little girl was going to spend a lot of time with social services.
Barratt was coherent but in shock, Simone cradled his head and stemmed the blood flow until the paramedics arrived. She accompanied him to the hospital and had her busted lip stitched up, her nose wasn’t broken but it hurt like hell and the nurse warned her that she was likely to expect two big black eyes within the next couple of days.
Her body was throbbing by the time she got home and all she wanted was a hot bath and a long sleep.
She stood outside and removed her heavy work boots, not wanting to walk them into the house. As she bent to unlace them her back protested and she caught a sickly whiff of sweat from her filthy skin and the metallic stench from the blood-soaked shirt that clung to her body like a death shroud. She felt polluted; as if she had been poisoned and she was so tired it hurt. She entered the house and went into the lounge where her husband Martin was sitting on the couch watching the television. He was quickly flicking through the channels as if trying to piece together conversations or make sense out of random scenes. She could see that his shirt and belt was undone and he had his feet on the coffee table, it was littered with beer cans and she could smell the malt tang of alcohol in the air. He didn’t turn around he just said, ‘You’re late.’
Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller Page 1