by J. D. Weston
"Killing?" asked Reg.
"And not getting caught," finished Melody.
"And in the meantime, he found peace for Hannah's memory."
"Yeah, but you know what?" began Melody. "I think there was more to it than that."
"How do you mean?" asked Reg.
"Well, just talking to him about it over the past few days-"
"You talk about all this stuff? Like over breakfast or something?"
"No, not like that. But he's been quiet recently like something has been on his mind."
"You mean the silent, brooding serial killer was quiet over breakfast?"
Melody shot him a look.
"Sorry," said Reg. "Bad taste."
"He's been having dreams," said Melody, "violent dreams, and he gets aggressive in his sleep."
"And what did he say about that?"
"He just said that in the past, he'd had them, and that was like his calling. That was when he'd begin to research a new target."
"So the killing wasn't just to bring peace to Hannah?"
"Yeah, it was," said Melody. "But there's more to it than that. They brought him peace too, kind of like a therapy."
"And he's been having these dreams again?" asked Reg.
Melody nodded. "Yeah, plus he's been quieter and quieter. At first, I thought it was because of the wedding, you know? It's a big deal for him to be centre stage, not hiding in the shadows."
"Okay, can I say something?"
Melody nodded.
"We need to piece this together, but to do it, we're going to need to assume Harvey is guilty, that he's actively killing again, and-"
"I know, Reg," said Melody. "We need to treat him like a suspect and disassociate ourselves from him."
Reg nodded. "Think you can do that?"
"I think I have to," said Melody.
"So we're not trying to find him guilty, we're trying to catch him before the police do, and the only way we're going to catch him is by working out where he's going next."
"Reg, no," said Melody. "You could lose your job, aiding and abetting and all sorts."
"If we can get to him, maybe we can get him out of the country, somewhere safe. I don't have to be involved. But you know what? I want to. We owe him that."
"He's already out of control, Reg. I don't know what he's going to do next."
"So where is he now?" asked Reg. "Where did you leave him?"
"Rettendon, by the murder scene," replied Melody.
"Okay, so let's get down and dirty, Melody. Let's see if he has any targets in the area."
"How are you going to do that?"
"The sex-offenders register," said Reg flatly.
"But that won't show their addresses, will it?"
“No, I'd hope not, but I thought you had a little more faith in your old friend than that," said Reg with a smile.
Within a few moments, Reg had an up-to-date copy of the register on his laptop.
"How's this for a hit list?" he said to Melody, showing her the screen.
"There's so many," she said. "These are all-"
"This is all the UK registered sex offenders," said Reg. "Let's start by focusing on Essex and East London."
Reg ran a few commands in the database to add location filters, and the list shrank but still ran off the screen.
"There're still a lot of names there, Reg."
Reg cleared the filters, and the database populated with the full list of names again.
"So, according to Frank's data," said Reg, "I think I'm right in saying that many of the victims-"
"Targets, Reg," corrected Melody.
"Targets?" said Reg.
"That's what Harvey called them, targets. If we're going to find Harvey, we need to think like him."
Reg nodded.
"And besides, Reg, I still love the guy. I don't like to think of him as having victims. He might still be saveable."
"We need to disassociate, Melody," said Reg. "Remember?"
"I am disassociated, Reg. But a girl can cling to hope, can't she?"
Reg gave her a flat smile and carried on.
"Anyway, many of the targets were either due to go to trial or had recently been released from prison when Harvey-"
"Killed them," finished Melody. "Killed them violently in the most horrific manner possible, causing slow and agonising deaths." She returned his stare. "I'm okay with it, Reg."
"I'm not sure I am," said Reg.
"So who do we have?" asked Melody.
Reg eyed her quizzically.
"Who do we have that's either due up or due out?" said Melody.
"Oh, I see," said Reg, getting back into the research. "Well the database can't actually name people who are yet to be found guilty, for defamation reasons I imagine, but it will show names of people that have recently been released. Let's start with one month, shall we?"
"No, one week," said Melody. "The list will be smaller. Try one week in the London and Greater London areas."
"If you say so," said Reg. His fingers began to fly across the keyboard and the database shrank with each tap of the enter key as the filters cleared out the names until they were left with just one.
Shaun Tyson.
Harris sat at his desk in his office. The magnetic board displayed a clear picture of the killer's movements over the past couple of weeks and historically. Photos of the victims, locations and methodologies all tied into one and other. But it was all reactive. None of it was a clear indication of what was to come, or where.
That bothered Harris.
Catching a serial killer would propel Harris' career from small-town detective hopefully into something bigger and better. Even if the government agencies got hold of the case and took over, he'd be the one to guide them. He had the research, and he'd been close once before, he'd felt it on that hill. The killer had been close by.
His office door opened, and Malc poked his head into the room.
"Thirsty, Zack?" he asked.
Harris shook his head. "No, Malc, not today, mate. This one needs a clear head."
Malc followed Harris' gaze to the magnetic board and stepped inside to get a better look.
"Oh, for God's sake, Zack," he said. "You could have warned me." He turned away from the ghastly photos of dismembered, burnt, and ruined bodies. "Do you really need them up on your wall, Zach?"
"It's good for motivation," said Harris.
"Motivation?"
"He's out there somewhere planning another one, and I'm going to stop him." Harris stared unblinkingly at the wall. He was transfixed.
"Are you sure you're cut out for this?" asked Malc. "Try not to wind up on that wall yourself, eh?"
But Harris was lost in thought.
"Alright, mate, I can see you're busy. Don't be a stranger, eh?"
Harris snapped out of his gaze. "Yeah, sorry, Malc. Got a lot on my plate right now, mate."
Malc peeked behind the door again and studied the mass of sickening photos and George's scribbled writing. "What's all this then?" he asked, pointing at the two lists of old murders and new murders.
"He's done it all before," replied Harris. "We think the killer is re-enacting his previous murders."
Malc's face took on a disgusted look. "He's clearly sick, presuming, of course, it is a man?"
"I think so," said Harris. "The last one in Rettendon had a flattened patch of grass beside the body like he'd laid down beside it, maybe even savoured the moment. I had the photographer give me a scale. We're looking for a man, six-foot-ish, average build."
"That narrows it down then," said Malc. But Harris didn't crack a smile.
"I remember this one," said Malc, pointing at a photo of an Eastern European man in what looked like an antique copper bathtub. "Boiled in the bath. I read about that one in the papers."
"Like you said, Malc, he's a sick puppy."
"Yeah but hold on a minute, didn't they find another guy tied up next to the bathtub? It was like the killer had let him go, spared him
almost." Malc tapped his forehead trying to think. "Ah, what was his name?"
"Yeah, Shaun Tyson. He's serving time now. George reckons we can't go near him without raising a few unwanted flags, and the last thing I want on this case right now is more attention. It's bad enough that the reporters are hanging around outside, waiting to pounce on me as soon as I step out for a coffee."
"You might want to check that, Zack. This was the guy I was reading about last night. The second guy, Tyson, he was locked up for sex offences, but he's just been released, I'm sure of it. I was round the in-laws last night in Enfield. The guy was from Potters Bar, which is close by, and the local rag did a piece on him. Even had a picture of him at his mum's front door."
"Are you sure it was the same guy?" asked Harris, sitting up from his slouch.
"Yeah, positive. The headline was something like 'Boil-in-a-bag Sex Pest Set Free.' You know, imaginative stuff. I doubt he'll make the national papers, but the local one, the Enfield Gazette or something, was having a field day on it. I was surprised they could do that, you know. I mean, the guy is obviously a nonce and needed to be locked up, but the bloke served his time. I said to the missus, when the local boys find out about him, he'll be bloody lynched, he will."
Harris picked up his desk phone and punched a three-digit number.
"George, in here now."
11
Days of the Beast
Harvey Stone woke from another horrific vivid dream to find himself under a bridge beside a river. The memory eased slowly into reality and pushed the images of the dead faces from his mind.
He sat upright and clutched his knees to his chest. The cold night had taken hold of his body, and his shirt was damp from the wet ground.
Harvey considered his situation. He was effectively on the run. How had it happened? He'd managed to evade the law his entire life hiding in plain sight, and now he was clean, suddenly he found himself hiding under a bridge. If he was going to make a move, it would need to be now in the early morning light.
He'd watched from the trees as the police had cordoned off the area, and had watched the two plainclothes detectives study the body. He hadn't even had time to study the body himself. He didn't know if the murderer had left clues, but he knew how they'd done it.
Harvey had murdered somebody that way before.
Benjamin Green, Southend-on-Sea. Harvey couldn't remember when exactly he'd done it, but he knew he had. He'd dreamed of the face. He remembered the sharpened sticks that pinned him to the ground, and the tiny nick of the wind-pipe, not enough to sever it completely, but enough to start the clock ticking. Harvey could see Benjamin in his mind's eye, drowning in his own blood.
The victim on the hill had no face, not in Harvey's memory. In his mind, the face was replaced with a morphed composition of his many targets.
And Melody.
Melody's face. Suddenly it was her lying there on the hill beside him, in his mind. They were rolling around, deep in a passionate embrace, and then blood, thick, hot, sticky blood on Harvey's hands, coming from the back of Melody's head.
He kissed her.
But she wasn't kissing back.
She was lifeless.
He tried to roll her over but she was fixed, her wrists, and her ankles, pinned to the ground by wooden stakes, carved by his own hand.
Her eyes were closed.
He slapped her face.
No response.
"No, Melody," he cried.
He felt her chest.
No movement.
No breath.
"Come on, wake up."
A pool of blood that ran from her sliced throat soaked her mass of thick brown hair as it lay on the sodden ground. Her soft, glowing skin had sunk to a pale white.
Then somebody stood over her.
A shadow.
Harvey lunged out at the shape, but the space was empty. He fell to the ground and clutched at the small smooth stones beside the river.
Suddenly, he felt as if his chest was being squeezed. He fought for air, but there was none. He rolled back onto his elbows and crawled away from her body, but there was no body, no blood.
Just the shape of a man who stood, unmoving. Watching.
Harvey rolled away and stood in the grass by the side of the bridge. It was daylight now and the river flowed by noisily over the rocks. Harvey peered tentatively under the bridge then looked all around.
He felt eyes on him like weights that hung heavy from his limbs.
He found the spot where he'd slept, where he'd seen the body, the faces, Melody's face.
It was a dream; it had to have been. All that lay on the ground now was a makeshift bed of leaves and a crumpled up newspaper he'd used to stop the biting wind.
The newspaper.
Boil-in-the-bag sex pest set free.
"It's here on the right-hand side," said Reg, leaning from the rear of the camper into the front to point at the little house with the wrought iron garden gate and narrow footpath that sat among quiet back streets of Potters Bar.
Melody drove straight past the house without slowing and found a suitable place to turn the camper around. She parked away from the streetlights, one hundred meters away from the house, turned off the engine and then climbed into the back with Reg, who was pulling the little curtains closed.
"Just like old times, Melody," said Reg, as he passed her a set of binoculars from his pack.
"Except we used to have Harvey on our side, Reg," said Melody. "I never thought we'd be hunting him down."
"We're not hunting him down, Melody. We're saving the bloke. God knows, he saved us enough times."
Reg had set up his laptop on the van's small dining table and connected it to his phone's 4G data signal. "You think it's odd that all this is happening at the same time that Shaun Tyson is being let out?" he asked.
Melody lowered the binos.
"Now that you say it, yes."
"But what does that mean?" asked Reg. "I mean, who would have known Tyson was being released? And how would Harvey have found out about it?"
"Tons of people would be in the know, Reg," said Melody with a long sigh. "The prison service, family, enemies. Can you imagine how word spreads when somebody like that is set free?"
"Would the media know?" asked Reg.
"I'd hope that they wouldn't, but I guess sometimes information like this is leaked." Melody sat back and took a cursory glance through the binos.
"What if it was leaked before your trip and Harvey has been leading up to this all along. Planning it. It is, after all, the one guy he spared."
"Oh my God," said Melody. "It was Harvey who suggested stopping in Queensbridge and Little Broadwater."
"What about King's Lynn?" asked Reg.
"King's Lynn and Dunmow were my idea, but they were always part of the trip. He knew we'd go to both places. So if he was researching targets, he could have done that weeks ago."
"Here," said Reg, leaning back from his laptop, "there's an article about Shaun Tyson in the Enfield Gazette yesterday. It says here that-"
"Yesterday?" said Melody. "That can't be it. Check the back issues. If he was planning this all along, he would have had to have known about Shaun a few weeks ago at the very minimum."
"I'm checking the back issues," said Reg. "Doesn't look like anything else has been mentioned about it. So how would he have found out that Tyson was being released?"
Melody gasped. "What about the other targets, the other murders?"
"What about them?" asked Reg.
"When were they released?" said Melody. "If they were already released then maybe Harvey just struck lucky. But-"
"If they had also only just been released, then he definitely has someone on the inside feeding him this information," finished Reg.
"Damn it," said Melody. "I don't know how, but it's somehow worse that all this was premeditated. How could I be so stupid, Reg? He planned this all along."
"Don't beat yourself up about it, Melody. How were
you to know?"
"I knew he was a killer, but I thought he was over it. Do you realise how stupid that sounds?"
Reg exhaled through pursed lips. "It doesn't look good, does it?"
Melody sat with her head in her hands.
"You need to make a choice, Melody."
She looked up and peered through her fingers.
"You need to decide if you’re going to help him," said Reg, "or stop him."
Melody stared at Reg with raised eyebrows.
"I love the man, Reg," she said. "But now..." She hung on the words, dreading to say them aloud.
"You have to take him down, Melody," said Reg quietly.
A silence fell between them and Melody's eyes began to glisten in the dark of the camper.
"There's another problem, Reg."
He waited for her to finish.
"He's Harvey Stone," said Melody. "He's unstoppable."
12
Catching a Demon
"Are we going to sit here all night?" asked George. "We don't even know if he's going to show up."
"He'll be here alright," replied Harris. "It might be tonight, it could be tomorrow, but he'll be here.”
"What makes you so certain?"
"It's all too convenient. Tyson is let out and our man just happens to be on a trail of destruction?"
"Yeah, but how would he even know that Tyson has been let out? And even if he did know, he must have known Tyson was being let out-"
"Weeks ago," finished Harris. "The others were just a warm-up."
"A warm up?" said George, incredulous. "You mean like a practice?"
"You saw it yourself, George. The man is good at what he does, but he hasn't struck for a few years. I think he's been honing his skills on whatever scraps he can get and saving himself for this one."
"Tyson?" asked George.
"He's the one guy who got away."
"He let him go though, didn't he?"
"I'm not so sure, George. I mean, why would he let him go?"
"I don't know. This is all just speculation."
"No," said Harris, "we're onto something here. I can feel it. Shaun Tyson was found tied to a wooden beam, while some other guy was boiled to death, right?"