Saxon

by Stuart Davies

  After they left the office, Saxon said to Parker. ‘Okay, Parker, get in touch with his employer, whichever airline it is, and check that he has turned up where he’s supposed to be in New York. If not, get on to the FBI and maybe they could be kind enough to shoot him for us.’ He was cheerful that they had something substantial to get their teeth into.

  He was aware of a pregnant pause in the room.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Parker?’ he asked. ‘You’ve been shifting from one buttock to the other, what’s bugging you?’

  ‘The truth?’ Parker said tentatively.

  ‘The truth will do, spit it out.’

  ‘I think she could be setting us up to think that maybe her husband is the killer. Could be a handy way of getting rid of him. Apart from his money, it doesn’t sound as though she has much use for him. And there was something else, sir.’ Parker paused wondering whether or not to go on.

  ‘Well get on with it, Parker, we haven’t got all day.’

  ‘I did have the feeling that she was flirting with you just a bit, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Parker.’ He thought about it for a second. ‘Your imagination’s working overtime.’

  Saxon felt himself blush as he looked away and walked over to the window to open it.

  Monday, May 20, The Speckled Cat Pub, 8.20PM

  Lucas had adapted his plan, reluctantly at first, to exclude Baz Ryan. He was disappointed in some ways, but then on the other hand he was also quite looking forward to getting all the glory, rather than having to share it. His intention was to wait in the hope that maybe people would eventually talk to him. He didn’t have to wait. Quickly, he’d found himself in the position of fighting off advances from several of the regulars, and learnt the true meaning of cruising, as he was asked if that was what he was doing at least a dozen times.

  He wondered if that was how it felt to be a girl. He was confident in his sexuality and confident in his appearance. He knew that he was attractive and he quite enjoyed the idea that the part he was playing was one that required no effort. He just had to look good. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but be a bit nervous.

  Lucas walked up to the bar and sat casually on a barstool. The music from the jukebox was a steady drumming drone as if the band that produced it had recently bought an electronic drum synthesiser - and just left it on for too long. He didn’t care for that kind of music. Lucas looked around.

  It was early evening so the pub was quite empty. The after-work crowd had mostly gone home. There were a few really keen, but sad-looking individuals, either on first dates or just out to be the early birds after their worms. Lucas ordered his drink from what he thought was a rather attractive barmaid, and indeed, he had decided to flirt a bit. This plan was thwarted when a man approached the bar and asked “Eric” if he could have a large gin and tonic.

  Lucas moved away from the bar and sat in a corner with a good view of the door. Fifteen minutes dragged by and a few more people came in, but nobody who seemed worthy of any particular attention. Lucas was considering calling it a night, when a man came in who caught his eye immediately. He was tall and rather thin but he had his head down and was looking unsure of himself. He ordered a drink and sat down at the next table to Lucas.

  For twenty minutes, they sat sipping but not speaking. Nobody else of any interest came in. The man glanced in Lucas’ direction often, but seemed too shy to instigate any form of conversation. Lucas was convinced he had a possible suspect in his sights. He was acting suspiciously, his manner was furtive. Lucas was wondering how to engage him in conversation when suddenly the man rose to his feet, and Lucas realised he was possibly going to leave.

  Lucas had to act quickly. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’ he asked. The man stopped and smiled hesitantly at Lucas. ‘Yes, all right, thank you.’

  Lucas sensed his relief and flushed with embarrassment himself. Deep down, he knew that what he was doing was totally against his nature and probably illegal to boot. He should be out having a good time with his girlfriend or over at the Fox with Baz and the others. Alas no, here he was trying to pick up a man, who could be a serial killer, in a gay pub. But the thought of him, a lowly PC, catching a serial killer gave him the will to persevere.

  The man wanted a pint of bitter. Lucas was surprised and relieved. He’d been expecting the man to ask for a pink gin or some cocktail or other with a daft name, like a “long slow screw up against a wall”. His girlfriend and her mates used to go for drinks like that just to see him and his mates squirm with embarrassment when they had to ask for them at a bar. He smiled at the thought of his girlfriend. She rarely asked him about his work and he didn’t mind that at all, but he knew she would not believe what he was doing tonight. He rather thought she would be impressed though, if it all went according to plan.

  The man joined him at his table and the chat was stilted and matter-of-fact for about ten minutes, but gradually the subject turned to sex. Lucas had given it some thought over the weekend while he’d been planning the exercise. He’d decided to play the part of a man who was new to the gay scene, just coming out of the closet, as it were, and didn’t really know what he wanted. The man seemed to accept the situation but didn’t look too happy. It occurred to Lucas that his “date” was trawling for sex and was therefore almost certainly hoping for someone experienced rather than someone he might have to coax along. Lucas was going to play the situation as an innocent.

  ‘So, what do you do for a living?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m a medical journalist,’ the man answered easily. ‘I work freelance. It gives me a lot of freedom of choice about my hours of work. I really like that.’ The story was either true or very well-rehearsed, since it sounded very plausible. ‘How about you? What do you do?’ he asked.

  ‘Me,’ answered Lucas, with a smile. ‘I don’t work. Don’t need to. My father made a lot of money and I have a trust fund. It gives me enough to pay for clothes and the car and for going out.’ He laughed. This was his and Bazzer’s favourite fantasy. So, in a way, his story too was well-rehearsed.

  By 9.30PM the pub was filling up with people of every sexual orientation Lucas could think of, and a few that he was unsure of. As the numbers swelled, so did the thumping music. The more chattering voices, the louder the music became.

  But Lucas was frustrated. It was hard to coax anything of interest out of the man. He seemed to withdraw whenever Lucas asked anything personal. Lucas could foresee a situation in which they simply said goodnight at the end of the evening. He was determined not to let that happen. They took to discussing the other people in the pub. Since they were both conventionally dressed, albeit a generation apart, they could observe together. Body piercing was popular and every possible permutation of rings and studs and body parts seemed to have decamped into the pub during the last hour. There was enough leather upholstery in there to furnish a sofa warehouse. They soon ran out of conversation.

  Lucas found this situation was totally alien to him and he needed time out. He told the man that he had to take a piss. The toilet was a long way away now that the pub was full, and the surge of people was overwhelming. People he didn’t really want to be in close proximity to. The journey was, however, uneventful, apart from a few men who tried unsuccessfully to lure him with their eyes. Once inside the toilet, a large man almost walked into him and seemed to blot everything from his view. He had time to utter two words, ‘Sorry, mate.’

  The attack was so fast, and so violent, he could do nothing. The man was strong enough that Lucas was lifted clean off his feet and pushed against the wall. The last thing he heard was a soft voice say, ‘Die, carrier.’

  Then he was dead. The knife had ruptured his aorta and the dramatic drop in blood pressure was so swift that he didn’t have time to blink.

  The killer dragged Lucas’ body into a cubicle, carefully arranging it with trousers around ankles, and Lucas’ head down the toilet bowl, hands tied behind the down pipe.

  After he had cleaned the
area around the body, he left via the fire escape, which was inside the toilet. He was happy with his handiwork. If anyone had seen him enter through the pub, when he was not worth remembering, they certainly didn’t see him leave, when he was well worth recollecting.

  The even sadder thing was, if a cubicle was closed in this pub, the inhabitants were never disturbed. Lucas’ body was not discovered until well after closing time.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday, May 21, Pavilion Square, Saxon’s Apartment 1.05AM

  ‘The phone…oh shit, damn the fucking phone,’ muttered Saxon, as he dragged himself from what had promised to be the best night’s sleep he had experienced in a long time.

  ‘Sir?’ Parker’s tone was solemn.

  ‘Yes, Parker, what is it?’

  ‘Bad news, sir, very bad, there’s no easy way to say it.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Parker, don’t dither; I hate it. Spit it out.’ Saxon was wide-awake.

  ‘It’s Constable Michael Lucas boss. He’s been topped. Some bastard’s killed the poor sod. I can’t understand it, boss.’

  ‘Slow down, Parker.’ Saxon was shocked. ‘Tell me what you know. How did it happen? Where was he?’

  ‘Don’t know too much yet, boss,’ Parker said. ‘He was killed in a pub called the Speckled Cat. Apparently, it’s a gay pub. What the hell was he doing in a place like that for fuck’s sake?’

  Saxon was firm. ‘I know the pub, Parker.’ He was already out of bed and on his feet. ‘Your guess is as good as mine as to what he was doing there. Perhaps it was his local. Fill me in on anything else.’

  Saxon broke several traffic laws on the route to the Speckled Cat, noticing on arrival that Superintendent Mitchell was already there, talking to a man Saxon didn’t recognise. As he approached them, Mitchell ushered the man away.

  No chance of an introduction here, thought Saxon, suspiciously.

  Mitchell beckoned to Saxon and Parker to join him. He was agitated and his voice was low but insistent. ‘Right mess this is, I don’t need to tell you. But we can survive this; we can limit the damage.’ He looked around. ‘What the bloody hell was Constable Lucas doing in this place? That’s what I want to know.’

  He looked accusingly at Saxon.

  ‘Did you have anything to do with this, Commander? Was he working with you? Because if that’s the case, I didn’t authorise the use of one of my men.’ Mitchell spat the words out.

  Saxon and Parker stood silent. Mitchell was sweating heavily. The night was warm and humid. Saxon could feel his own anger and frustration building up inside. Parker sensed an explosion coming. ‘He wasn’t on our team, sir,’ he started to say, but he didn’t get to complete the sentence.

  Mitchell continued as if he hadn’t heard. ‘You had better leave this to me. With respect, Commander, you be the policeman, I’ll be the politician. I have a feeling I am the better diplomat, and believe you me, I know what everyone thinks of my policing skills. I’ll talk to the press; no one else is to breathe a word about this. Understand – not a bloody word.’ His breathing was fast and loud.

  Saxon had had enough. ‘Okay, Alex. That will do,’ he said, concerned to end the tirade and get on with something more constructive. ‘I have no idea what Lucas was doing here – he certainly wasn’t working for me. For all we know he may just have gay friends, which we all know is not illegal. Let’s base things on that assumption at the moment but keep open-minded to other possibilities at the same time.’

  Saxon gestured with his head for Parker to leave them and then put his hand gently on Mitchell’s arm. ‘Alex, perhaps you had better go and tell his next of kin, in your diplomatic way. We’ll examine the crime scene and see if we can catch the bastard who did it.’

  Mitchell looked at Saxon, still hostile. But he seemed to have used up his supply of vitriol and he strode off, without saying anything further, towards the un-introduced stranger, who had been waiting patiently in the back seat of a patrol car.

  Parker, who had waited at a discreet distance during the final exchange, approached Saxon to lead him to the back of the Speckled Cat.

  ‘Who’s the suit Superintendent Mitchell was lurking with, boss?’ he asked, looking over his shoulder at the patrol car, as Mitchell conferred with the stranger, who was blowing smoke rings into the night air. The smell of cigars carried easily. ‘I didn’t recognise him. Do you know him?’

  ‘Beats me, Parker,’ he answered. He had a feeling it might be significant, but right now it wasn’t the priority. ‘Let’s get on.’

  They made their way through the dark pub, across the now-deserted dance floor. The only people around were three PCs and some SOCO guys, waiting for the order to start their examination.

  One of the constables approached Parker nervously. ‘Sarge, I don’t understand, that’s Mike Lucas in there. We had no idea he was gay. He never…’ He didn’t get any further.

  Saxon had walked on and didn’t see Parker firmly push the PC to the wall and say with reserved calm, ‘We don’t know if he was, son. Gay, I mean. We don’t care. Just because he was here doesn’t mean he was gay. The point is, he’s dead. Murdered. He’s one of ours and we are going to get the bastard that did it.’

  Parker poked the constable in the shoulder. ‘Tell me you understand, Constable.’ The shocked PC nodded and was released.

  Parker caught up with Saxon as he entered the toilet area. They both slowed down at the same time.

  ‘Where is Dr Clarke?’ Saxon demanded, of nobody in particular. ‘Has anyone even bothered to call Clarke?’

  ‘I’ve called Jake Dalton,’ Parker answered immediately. ‘As soon as I heard about it, I tried to contact Dr Clarke, but there was no answer on the contact number we have for him at home. Dalton’s getting hold of him.’

  Saxon was anxious to get on, to focus on the details and get some evidence. It was too much of a coincidence, this one. It had to be connected to the other killings. A gay pub, maybe a gay policeman. In spite of the shock, he couldn’t help feeling a surge of anticipation that maybe, just maybe, there would be a clue here. Something they could go on.

  ‘Until he’s pronounced dead we can’t progress.’ He looked at Parker impatiently. ‘Can someone please find Clarke. Call Dalton again.’

  Memories of his father’s death and the helplessness of the situation momentarily flooded his thoughts. As usual, these images were pushed to the back of his consciousness.

  ‘Fuck this, it’s obvious he’s dead,’ he said. ‘Come on, Parker. We’re going to look around, just don’t touch anything’.

  They put bags on their feet and slipped on a pair of latex gloves but, in the confined space of the toilet cubicle, it was immediately apparent that there was little they could do or see until Lucas’ body was moved.

  For a start, it was hard to tell how he’d been murdered. There was nothing round his neck, and no visible signs of any wounds or bruising on the body.

  Parker straightened up and looked at Saxon. ‘Do you suppose,’ he began hesitantly. ‘Do you think he was raped, boss?’ he said quietly.

  Saxon shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Not our department. We need someone who knows what they’re doing to tell us that. God, I hope not,’ he answered.

  ‘Poor bastard,’ Parker murmured.

  ‘Yes, poor bastard.’ In spite of his sympathy for Lucas, Saxon was anxious to get the investigation focused. ‘Let’s leave that one for the pathologist. We’ll know soon enough.’

  He stood still and stopped looking around. ‘What can you see?’ he asked Parker.

  ‘Well, there’s not much blood in here, for a start, is there,’ he answered. ‘And that smell is disgusting,’ he added.

  ‘It’s bleach,’ Saxon said. ‘Think we’ll find it’s bleach.’ He looked back outside the toilet. ‘Must be gallons of the stuff around in public toilets.’

  ‘So the killer set out to clean up and he tipped bleach every-where?’

  Saxon nodded. ‘It would clean up the blood superfic
ially, but forensics will be able to detect if there was any here, and it would probably take away any traces of the killer’s presence.’

  ‘Assuming there were any to begin with, boss,’ said Parker, shaking his head. ‘If it’s our man, then he probably didn’t leave anything at all.’

  ‘Well they all slip up at some time or other,’ Saxon answered grimly. ‘The professor said it, so it must be true!’ They both knew it was a wish rather than a statement.

  They stepped backwards out of the toilet cubicle and had a look around the area.

  ‘There’s the locker where they keep the bog rolls and the cleaning stuff,’ said Parker. It had been broken open. Not a difficult task.

  Fifteen minutes later Jake Dalton arrived to a very impatient reception. He was clearly flustered by the fact that the pathologist hadn’t yet arrived.

  ‘Jake, at last. Thank goodness.’ Saxon made no attempt to hide his irritation. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ He looked over Jake’s shoulder and then back at Jake. ‘Where’s Dr Clarke?’ he demanded accusingly. ‘We don’t have all night to fart about here. Tell me something I want to hear, please’.

  ‘Sorry, Commander, I rang him a minute ago, when the PC at the door told me he wasn’t here yet. But I just got his voicemail again.’ He shrugged his shoulders slightly, while already looking around at the crime scene. He looked back at Saxon and Parker. ‘This is not like him at all, you know. Normally he’s frighteningly prompt.’

  Jake craned his neck slightly to see inside the cubicle. He could make out the kneeling form of the victim. ‘I can make a start if you like,’ he offered. He didn’t wait for an answer, stepping around Parker and crouching down to start his initial examination, before the photographer moved in.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Parker added. ‘Same thing happened when I tried to call him.’

  Saxon thought for a moment. ‘Well maybe Dr Clarke has a life outside work and fitness after all. Who knows – anyway, keep trying his number.’