by J. D. Weston
"Glue?"
"Yeah, you know the type that stays wet until it comes in contact with something?"
"What the-"
"I know," said Harris. "But whoever it was wasn't satisfied with that. The sick bastard cut his nuts off."
"They did what?"
"Then stuffed them in his mouth."
Malc took a second to digest the image. "Who'd do that to him?"
"It's a fairly long list, I'd say. There must be a few brothers and fathers out there who were just waiting for their chance."
"I guess you'll be busy interviewing then for a while?" asked Malc.
"I guess so, mate. There's a sicko out there that needs locking up."
"I'm speechless, Zack."
"And the worst thing about it was that Finn had probably learned his lesson but some twisted son of a bitch made him talk, probably wanted to hear him confess before he killed him. Imagine if it was your daughter that had been raped and the police had kept Finn out of your reach? You'd want to hear it from his mouth, right?"
"If I say yes, will you be interviewing me?" Malc joked, but immediately realised his insensitivity.
"Whoever our man is, he's disturbed, Malc. Finn's entrails were laying in his lap. His stomach was slit open. Doc reckons he was alive when it happened."
"Oh my-"
"That's not all. You're going to find out, so I might as well tell you," said Harris. "Our man set a trap up around the back of the house."
"A trap?" said Malc. "What for?"
"I took two of the Dunmow uniforms with me. One stayed in the car in case Finn did a runner, the other covered the back of the house."
"I don't like where this is going, Zack," said Malc.
"Sick bastard was there, Malc. He was just waiting for us."
"Go on," said Malc, not really wanting to hear what was next.
"He took out one of the uniforms, an Officer Small, cut his spinal cord and left him lying under a pane of glass."
Malc was silent for a moment, picturing the scene.
"The trap?" he said.
"I opened the door, Malc," said Harris. "It triggered the trap. The glass fell and took his head off."
Neither man spoke. They both knew the dangers of the job but it was rare that anything happened so close to home. In London maybe, but fifty miles out of the city in the countryside, life was tame in comparison.
"Sounds like the public is out for blood, Zack," said Malc.
"How do you mean?"
"There was something similar in Norfolk last week. Different setup but similar. Some guy was awaiting trial, some kiddy-fiddler or something, and the public got to him first. It was brutal, apparently. Took him into the woods and tortured him. Burned him alive eventually."
"Jeez," said Harris.
"You think it's connected?" said Malc.
"No mate, this was personal."
"So why did he kill our boy?" asked Malc.
"I asked myself the same thing," said Harris. "If he hadn't of killed Small, we'd have had to wait another twenty-four hours for the warrant. This guy wanted us to find Finn. Small was just a signpost."
"Somehow that makes it a whole lot worse," said Malc.
Harris didn't reply.
"Shout when you're free, Zack, if you need anything."
"Yeah, cheers, Malc."
Harris hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. He hadn't heard of the Norfolk killing, but then he hadn't really paid much attention to anything outside his own world for a few weeks.
He ran an internet search on the story before looking through the internal files. Often the publically available knowledge told the researcher a few more details that weren't always captured in an official police report, speculative details, opinions. Harris knew they couldn't be relied on as hard fact, but he wasn't looking for hard evidence, he was looking a holistic view of the Norfolk incident.
He was looking for a link.
The internet search produced two pages of potential results, plus a few more details on the victim's backstory. Dennis Strange, a twenty-nine-year-old from King's Lynn in Norfolk on the East Coast of the British Isles, had been found by a dog walker in the early hours. The man had wished to remain anonymous and was being treated for shock.
Strange's body, or what remained of it, had its limbs mostly burned off before being dragged from the thick undergrowth onto the path as if the killer had wanted him to be found.
Strange, who had been awaiting his court appearance, had been reported missing two days previously. Many thought his disappearance had been an admission of guilt, but his parents had been adamant of his innocence. His body had been found on the day of his court appearance.
Harris checked the police report. There were no witnesses; nobody saw anything untoward. No tyre tracks, no fingerprints, no sign at all except a small fire, a pile of Strange's clothes and his ruined body.
"Practised," Harris said aloud to himself. "That isn't the scene of a first-time killer."
He was still waiting for the forensic report on Finn's house, but he knew already. There'd be no substantial evidence, not even the glass that had cut Small in two would be tainted. It was all too calculated.
"Who glues somebody to a bathtub?" said Harris aloud.
The killer had wanted the police to find the bodies. The cases were too similar not to be connected. What type of man goes to all the effort of taking someone somewhere private to torture them and then drags them back out to be found?
"Is he boasting?"
He picked up the telephone handset, dialled a three-digit extension and waited for it to be answered.
"Zack?"
"Malc, are you thirsty?"
"Thought you were busy?"
"I am, but I'm thirsty as well."
5
A Light in the Dark
The Sheep's Head pub stood on the high street and was a busy lunchtime venue for the local businesses. A crowd of car salesmen from the nearby dealership stood at one end of the bar, a few local tradesmen stood at the other end, and many of the tables positioned around the pub were busy with couples and colleagues deep in conversation. The pub did a good lunch, which brought customers in from all over town, and had done for years.
Harris stood with Malc at the centre of the bar and ordered two ales.
"You okay, Zack?" asked Malc. "You seem a bit shaken up."
Harris reached out and took the first pint from the barman. He took a sip, and then set the glass down on a cardboard beer mat. He leaned down on his elbows. Then, as if agitated, he stood upright and took another sip of his ale.
"I looked up that Norfolk case," he said quietly.
"Oh right," said Malc. "Gruesome, wasn't it? Burned the victim's arms and legs off in a bonfire. How does someone even think of that?"
"Yeah, it's sick, Malc."
"What's on your mind?"
"Doesn't it seem odd to you that both killers went to extreme lengths, risky lengths, in order for the bodies to be found? Finn's killer killed a policeman so that we'd find Finn, who was glued to the bathtub, so he probably couldn't place the body anywhere, and Strange's killer dragged him out onto a footpath several hundred feet away."
"What are you saying, Zack?"
Harris leaned with his back against the bar and one foot up on the brass footrest.
"Isn't it also odd that both murders were a little...?”
"A little what, Zack?"
"Out of the ordinary, Malc."
"Out of the ordinary, Zack?"
"Yeah, out of the ordinary," replied Harris. "When did you ever hear about someone being glued to a bathtub and having their entrails pulled out while the victim was still alive?"
"Yeah, that is a bit weird. But it takes all sorts, right?"
"And how about burning someone's limbs off one by one, again while the victim was still alive?"
"Okay, so they're both a little out of the ordinary, as you put it."
"And Small?" said Harris. "The killer took th
e time to set a trap for God's sake."
"Have you had the reports back yet?"
"No, they'll take time, but I just find it a little too coincidental. When I first read the Norfolk case, you know the first thing I thought?"
"Go on."
"Practised," said Harris. "Bloody practised. Who is practised at this type of thing?"
"Serial killers?" said Malc, unsure of where his old friend was going with the conversation.
"Yeah, sure, serial killers are one. But you know what struck me? What connected them both?"
"What, Zack?"
"Professional," said Harris. "Not just practised, but bloody professional."
"You mean they were hits? Contracted?"
"Maybe," replied Harris. He'd fallen into deep thought, so Malc left him to think and tried to enjoy his pint while he watched the football highlights on the TV.
A man and a woman entered the pub. Malc caught the eyes of the tradesmen follow the woman across the room. She wore a short, tight-fitting leather jacket with black leggings that showed off her lean figure. The man was of average build, dark hair, and had a dog on a lead, who sat as soon as the pair reached the bar.
"Do you have a lunch menu, please?" asked the woman to the barman. "I hear the food is still good here?"
She spoke clearly and confidently, and had no twangs of an accent. Malc tagged her as a local girl.
"I'll take the steak," said the man, without waiting for the menu. "Well done, side salad, mushroom sauce and a water."
"Make that two, please," said the woman, returning the unopened menu. "Shall we get a table?" she asked her companion.
Malc turned back to Harris. "You solved it yet?" he said, as he swallowed the remains of his pint and set the glass down on the wood.
Harris smiled weakly and finished his own pint.
"Let's go. I could stay here all day." He placed his glass on the beer mat, nodded thanks to the barman, and made towards the door. "I'm sure there's a connection, and if there is," said Harris, "he'll strike again."
"Well," said Malc, who was holding the door open, "you go catch him, and I'll lock him up for you."
Harvey took the table nearest the door and sat with his back to the wall, where he could see the entrance and the rest of the pub. He watched the two men leave and overheard a brief snippet of their conversation, which caught his attention. He continued to watch them walk from the pub door, through the car park and onto the pavement. One wore police-issue shoes, trousers and a white shirt under a long warm coat. The other wore beige pants, brown shoes and a similar long coat to his friend.
"Police?" asked Melody.
"Smell them a mile off," replied Harvey.
"Oy, you were one once."
"Unofficially," he grinned.
"I can't imagine what it would be like to be in the force around here. At least we were kept busy by serious crimes. Can you imagine having to go door to door, or investigating robberies and small crimes?"
"They probably say the same about London police, some people like the quiet life."
Melody smiled. She knew he was referring to himself, and his desire to just stop and relax.
"I was thinking about what you said," began Melody.
"Don't give it too much thought, Melody," replied Harvey. "I should never have told you."
"I need to know though, Harvey. I need to know the things that affect you. If I understand, I can be there or not. I can do whatever it is I need to do to help you through it. That might be talking or it might just mean I give you space. Whatever it is, I'll do it."
Harvey cut the sides off his steak, four perfectly straight cuts to form a square piece of meat. He cut the square in half and then cut the rectangles in half. He repeated the cuts with the smaller sections until he was left with four rough-edged fatty parts and sixteen smaller squares of meat, each a mouthful, and each of them small enough to fit into the little pot of mushroom sauce.
"The food has always been good here," said Melody, as she watched him prepare his food. "It's just one of those pubs, you know?"
"Yeah, we had a few pubs like that in East Ham back when I worked for John."
"I didn't take you for a pub type of guy," said Melody with a smirk.
"I'm not, but we'd have to go in and collect the protection, so we'd have lunch there too sometimes. Julios was a big eater."
"So protection rackets aren't all about beating up the owner and taking his money?"
Harvey grinned at the stereotype. "No, not at all. Most places were happy to pay us. They knew we kept them safe. That was one thing about John; he was fair. If a business paid, they had no trouble at all. He'd send the boys in at the slightest of bar fights. He pretty much owned them all in the end, all the pubs worth having anyway."
"Sounds dull," said Melody. "I mean surely you had better things to be doing?"
"I didn't mind it, nor did Julios. He thought of it as a familiarity check. It was a way to make sure he knew all the faces, and more importantly, to make sure they all knew him. Anyway, that's in the past. When are we meeting Reg?"
"I told him I'd call him. I thought we could leave the camper somewhere and catch the train into London?" replied Melody. "It'll be in Clapham somewhere. He said we could find somewhere to sit outside so Boon could come too."
Melody's phone began to vibrate in her pocket. She took it out, looked at the screen and saw the double zero number that Reg had used before, which meant a secure line. "Speak of the devil," she said.
"Reg?" asked Harvey with a raised brow.
Melody nodded and hit the green connect button.
"Hey Miss Mills, or should I say Mrs Stone?"
"Not yet, Reg." Melody smiled and reached across for Harvey's hand. "We were just talking about you."
Harvey stood and indicated silently that he was going to use the washroom, leaving Melody to talk to Reg.
"So how's things? Where are we meeting?" asked Melody.
"All good, thanks. We thought we could go to the pub on the common. They're pretty cool about dogs in the garden, and I guessed you guys have done so much travelling in that old camper that you could do with a nice pub meal?"
"Yeah sure," said Melody. "Sounds good. Haven't had a pub meal for a while."
"Good, you'll love it," said Reg. "Where are you guys camping tonight?"
"Oh, Harvey wanted to go back to Theydon Bois tomorrow night. So we'll find somewhere local tonight. There's plenty of campsites and there's a place near Ongar my dad used to take us fishing. I'd like to go there just for old time's sake."
"Theydon Bois?" said Reg. "Why would Harvey want to go back there after what happened?"
"I'm not sure, Reg. I think he wants to see his parents' graves. We saw mine earlier."
Reg was silent.
"Reg?" said Melody. "What's up?"
"Nothing much probably," said Reg. "Listen, Melody, are you alone?"
"Yeah, Harvey has just gone somewhere. Why?" Melody's voice took on a serious tone.
"I just had an alert come through," said Reg, "from a secure database."
"So what? Surely you get those every day?"
"No, not like this, Melody. Someone's been looking into Harvey."
"What? Why?" she asked.
"I don't know, but listen, don't kill me for telling you this-"
"Reg, what's going on?"
"Apparently, Frank made records."
"Of what?"
"Of Harvey, Melody," said Reg. "He recorded everything he found out about him, everything Harvey told him, all the unsolved crimes that Frank put down to Harvey. Frank had been chasing Harvey for a long time, Melody. He didn't even know the extent of Harvey's crimes until he began to get more information from him."
"And he made this record? On a database?" said Melody, her voice higher than she intended.
"No. Frank's records were private. He stored them on his laptop. I doubt he meant for them to be seen by anyone else. But..." Reg sighed. "He probably didn't know he was go
ing to be investigated and-"
"And what, Reg?" Melody asked. "Shot?"
"Well, I didn't want to go there, Melody, but yes."
"So when the old headquarters was shut down and Frank's laptop was confiscated, all the files were uploaded to a database for anyone with the right level of security to access. Am I hearing that correctly?"
"There's a strong security level, so it's not open to anyone, but yeah, someone with the right pay grade can see everything Frank had on Harvey. Basically, Frank managed to put together a list of unsolved crimes that fit Harvey's style, motivation and methodology.”
"His noose?" said Melody. "You're talking about the noose that Frank had on Harvey all that time."
"Exactly, Melody."
"And now someone is accessing his files? Is he in trouble?"
"I don't know," replied Reg. "Jackson doesn't think so, but it's not my database. I don't have access to the SQL server. But I figured one of us might land in it one day, you know? For all the stuff that happened when we were on the team. So I ran a small plugin that would let me know if our names were called up in any searches."
"So it could just be random?" asked Melody. "What is it? A keyword search?"
"Well, not exactly," said Reg. "It's a search for similar cases. Whoever ran the search entered the details of a crime and pulled similar cases. Harvey's name popped up twice."
"And what was the search?" asked Melody. She closed her eyes in anticipation, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.
"Well, we both know what Harvey did for John Cartwright."
"Reg, don't wrap it in fluff."
"Well, these are different. These are outright murders, Melody. They're not gang-related at all."
6
Beast Dreams
Harris stood at the long wall in his office. He stared at the photos that he'd stuck to his magnetic whiteboard of Noah Finn, Officer Small, and the Norfolk victim, Strange.
There was no apparent direct link between the crimes, save for the location of the Finn and Small murders, and the crimes that Finn and Strange had committed.
He pulled open the middle drawer of his filing cabinet and found a folded and tattered ordinance survey map showing the British Isles. Using a few small magnets, Harris fixed it to one end of the magnetic board. Then, using a black marker, he circled King's Lynn and Dunmow. The two locations weren't too far to travel but were far enough to make the journey purposeful. If it was the same killer, the murders would need to be planned.