by Simon King
“Your days of hurting women are over. I’m here to tell you that your wife is fighting back.”
“What?” Was what he meant to say, but it only came out as “Wha…”
“Pamela has requested to end her marriage from you, Neville.”
“I…I don’t under-“
“This is the end.”
Neville had barely enough time to make sense of the situation before the blade punched through into his chest. As the blood began to flow and he could feel the world fading away, he had a final recurring thought, one that would never be answered.
“But I’m in charge, aren’t I?”
6
When the phone rang later that morning, Sam answered it without checking the caller ID. She had assumed it was Mumma and to her surprise, listened as John Milton greeted her.
“John, how are you?” Tim heard her say the name and lowered his own cell that he’d been scrolling through.
“Hello, Samantha. How are things going there?”
She quickly filled him in, leaving out the part about Jim visiting both her and Tim during the flight over. John listened with interest, not speaking again until she was finished.
“Before you head out, I’ve got something for you. There’s been another murder.”
“Another one?” Sam replied. “Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker.” She did, set the phone down on the table and waited for John to continue.
“Years ago, back before I hit the big time you could say, I needed an investor’s help. The person that came forward was a man named Nick Coppins. Him and I had had dealings previously, but not like that. He had two daughters named Theresa and Trudy. Several years later, wait, one sec guys.” He paused for a moment, speaking to someone else in the room with him. The voice was muffled and took a few moments to finish.
“Sorry, so many things happening. Anyway, Trudy was murdered a few years later and the killer officially became the third one we ever ended. Nick and Theresa know what we do, because they’ve experienced our service first hand. Theresa also happens to be the mayor of Chicago now. She phoned me just now and told me about another murder, one matching all the rest, including calling card, the rose and a blade to the chest. The victim worked for her and she’s asked us to step it up. I’m sorry for putting pressure on you guys, but we need you to find them as quickly as possible.”
“We think we may have a lead, John,” Tim interjected. “The victims we’ve already investigated had a history of violence, namely upon their partners and immediate family.”
“We thinking some sort of guardian angel here?”
“Possibly. But we need to make a couple more stops before we know for sure.”
“OK, get on it. Send Mumma anything you have and I’ll get her to follow things up from this end. I’ll get her to send the details of the latest victim though now. Go get ‘em, guys. I’m counting on you.”
He didn’t wait for a response, the call ending with a resounding click. Sam and Tim looked at each other for a moment, before reaching for the laptop and checking the latest message from Mumma.
“Neville Potter. Found murdered at The Bed Place a few hours ago. Married, no children. Check this out,” Sam said, turning the laptop a little so Tim could see the crime scene photo that had already been uploaded.
The photo showed a standard motel room, the bed the main focus with a man tied to it. There was a knife handle protruding from his chest and lying behind it, the stem of the rose. They could just make out the calling card left in the dead man’s hand, which completed the usual lineup for this killer.
“All the same,” Tim said, “in almost every detail.”
“And always hotels with no security cameras, high foot traffic and always less-than-classy clientele.
Sam leaned forward and began to type something, then watched as another screen opened up. She typed a few more words.
“Wife’s name is Pamela.” A bit more typing and Sam watched as another page opened, this one revealing what she already suspected.
“And there’s her medical records. Broken jaw, bruising, cracked ribs, broken finger, teeth knocked out. This guy was a piece of shit to her. I wonder how hard Pamela Potter is grieving right now.”
“I can’t imagine she’d be too upset,” Tim offered, his eyes still darting from line to line.
“Anal tearing, on more than one occasion.”
“Someone certainly looked out for this woman.”
Before they headed to the home of the latest victim, the pair decided to check out the murder scene itself. It wasn’t a huge drive from where they were staying and traffic wasn’t particularly hectic. After just ten minutes in the car, Sam followed Tim into the elevator that Neville Potter had been in just hours before.
The room turned out to be mostly free from police, with just a single cop guarding the body. Once the pair flashed their ID cards, he waved them in and watched as they began to check out the room.
“I’m just waiting for the meat wagon. Should have been here a while ago, but they got held up at a suicide downtown.” As if on cue, there was another knock on the door and as the cop opened it, a man and woman from the coroner’s office wheeled their trolley in. They waved a hello to Sam and Tim, then headed straight to the body.
“Damn,” the man said. “This Black Death chick is really getting on with things.” His partner nodded as she slid Neville’s legs into the black bag. Rigor was still somewhat visible, but the effects seemed to be wearing off.
“Is she ever. Hate to be on the other end of her shit,” the woman replied.
“You guys attended any of the other scenes?” Sam asked, peering at the name tag of the man. Bryson immediately began to nod.
“Sure have. Jill and I attended two others.” He pointed at his partner, as if Sam needed reminding of whom his partner was.
“Damn terminator, that woman. Certainly getting her name out there.”
Tim winked at Sam and she understood. They weren’t going to find anything worthwhile here and simply thanked the cop before heading back out into the hallway.
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked as they entered the elevator again.
“I think we need to speak to his wife. Maybe Jim was right.”
Pamela Potter turned out to be missing in action by the time Tim and Sam showed up on her doorstep. They tried for several minutes, knocking on the door repeatedly, but to no avail. Just as they were about to leave, a neighbor popped her head over the short fence between their homes.
“You after Pammy?”
“Yes, do you know where we might find her?”
“You the police?” Sam reached for her purse, pulled out her fake ID and quickly flashed it at the woman. “Not quite. Crime Service.”
“Hmm, never heard of that one. She’s in my home. Her husband has just been murdered, although I’m guessing you already know that.”
The woman beckoned them over and they walked back out the bottom of the driveway, rounded the fence and made their way to the new front door. It was standing open by the time they reached it and Helena Jeffries waved them inside.
The corridor was dimly lit and led through into a relatively comfortable sitting room. A fire was crackling in the fire place, despite the warmth of the day.
“I get cold easily,” Helena said as she passed them.
Sitting on one of the couches was Pamela, her face almost vacant from grief. Sam would later tell Tim that the first impression he got from her was relief, just as they had predicted.
“Pam?” Sam asked. The woman nodded, stood and offered her hand. “Do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?”
“He was an asshole,” Helena interjected, before anyone could get a word out.
“Helena, please,” Pam whispered, almost embarrassed by the outburst.
“Well, he was. Good riddance.”
“I’m guessing you two didn’t have a smooth marriage?” Helena scoffed a little, shook her head and headed for the kitchen. Once she
was gone, Pam sat forward a little.
“I’m sorry for Helena. I’ve leaned on her a lot in recent years and she’s seen most of the ugliness to come out of it.”
“How long has he been beating you?” Sam asked.
“Almost since the very beginning. By then, it was too late. My parents would have been horrified at me getting a divorce so soon after tying the knot.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “They were very much old-school when it came to marriage.”
They listened as Helena began to open and close cupboards in the next room, the dishes rattling this way and that.
“She cooks when she’s angry. It’s her escape. Helena is also a survivor of abuse. Her husband passed a few years ago, from cancer.”
“Would you have any idea who might have wanted Neville dead? Any enemies? Anyone at all?”
Pamela shifted her feet at the question, then lowered her eyes. Sam picked up on it immediately.
“No,” the woman said, but all three knew she was lying.
“Pamela, I know this must be hard for you, but we need to find out who murdered your husband. They have already killed six people and who knows how many more will follow?” Sam sat forward a little more, trying her best to connect with the woman. “Pam, if you know anything that can help us.”
“If someone’s out there, doing away with those that like to beat up women, then good riddance. Fuckers don’t deserve to live.” It was Helena, back to add another serving of her thoughts.
“But surely you must know that this is wrong,” Tim tried, but neither were listening. Instead, Helena walked up behind Pam, rested her hands on the seated woman’s shoulders and squeezed.
“No one is going to hurt Pammy now. She’s safe here with me.”
That was when Sam realized the rest of the story between the women. They weren’t just neighbors helping each other out, they were a lot more. And when Pam reached up and squeezed Helena’s hand, their story fell out completely.
“Yes, it’s what you think it is. It may not be conventional, but neither is getting beaten senseless everyday. We have each other and that’s all that matters.”
Sam reached into her purse, pulled out a card and placed it on the table. She looked at Pam as she did, hoping to get into the mind of the weaker woman.
“Please, Pam.”
Only once they were back in the car did they speak, Tim frustrated by the lack of help from either woman.
“It’s almost as if they’re happy there’s a killer on the loose.”
“For them it’s not just a killer, you know that. This is more than that. But I’m betting they know exactly who killed Neville.”
“I’d put money on it.”
Tim pulled the car back into the road and headed in no discernible direction. He reached a t-intersection and paused, unsure of which way to turn. Sam stared off into the distance, trying to make sense of the situation.
“This person is never going to stop,” she whispered, but Tim had other ideas.
“This person, whoever they are, they’re….” He paused, a thought suddenly striking him in the face.
“Tim? What is it?”
A car honked from behind and Tim took off, turning right after flashing an apologetic wave.
“I’ve just had a thought. I need to get back to the room.”
It wasn’t until they were back in their hotel room that Tim finally shared his thoughts. Sam tried her hardest to keep quiet on their return journey, despite her own thoughts fighting her every step of the way.
“They’re all linked,” Tim began after sitting down at the table.
“OK, I think we already know that. The killer has made that part pretty obvious.” He ignored her mockery, his eyes seemingly staring at her, but seeing right through her.
“None of the people know each other. I think that much has already been established. If they were, we would have known about it. And yet….” His voice trailed off for a brief moment, to collect his thoughts again. “And yet, they do know each other, just indirectly.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they know a lot more than they’ve been letting on, at least some of them. Pamela, Joanne Houghton. Martha, I don’t think so, but I bet if we dug a little further, we’d find a neighbor or a friend who’d know more.” That was when Sam felt more than just intrigue. She somehow knew he was onto something.
“What are you talking about?”
“I bet if we dug hard enough, we’d find something where this killer is advertising. These kills aren’t random. They’re premeditated. I bet the killer knew exactly who they were going to kill, long before they met any of their victims.”
Sam’s phone rang just then and when she answered, heard Mumma’s voice. After a brief greeting, she listened to the news which seemed to find its way to her with perfect timing. She thanked the woman on the other end, cancelled the call and set her phone on the table.
“Don’t tell me another one,” Tim said almost bluntly.
“No. Neville Potter’s vehicle was brought in by tow truck. Police checked it and guess what they found?” He sat forward a little, his face ready for anything. “The brakes had been tampered with. Someone wanted him to break down.”
“He was murdered after work last night. Do we know how he got downtown without a car?”
“Mumma said phone records showed he called for an Uber.” Tim mulled the information over in his mind, then flipped open the laptop. He tapped away for a few minutes, leaving Sam clueless as to what he was searching for. But once he found what he was looking for, he spun the screen around to face her.
“Surprise. The driver was brand new on the job, had a single fair and clocked off after it. I bet if Mumma checked out this ‘Jazabel Heartwell’, she’ll find that it’s a fake name and address.”
Instead of phoning, Sam simply messaged Mumma the details, then sat patiently and watched as Tim continued his search.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking there’s a website somewhere, one where people make contact with this Black Death and she picks up on their call for help. I’d bet everything I owned on that fact. They’re all linked because of the way they’re contacting her.”
Sam’s cell beeped and when she checked, nodded.
“Jazabel Heartwell is a fake name and address.”
Tim sat and stared at Sam for a few seconds, letting the information sink in. This was it, the exact thing he’d hoped for.
“It’s her. This Jazabel Heartwell is Black Death.” He reached for the laptop again and resumed typing. After a few more seconds, he cursed at the screen.
“Fuck. I knew it.” Sam took a look and saw a photo of a young blonde woman and didn’t need to ask for confirmation. “As fake as the rest of the profile.”
“But at least we have something to go on. A name at least. Yes, it’s fake, but it’s a start.”
The laptop suddenly beeped, indicating a new message and Tim opened the notification absently as his thoughts continued swirling in his mind.
“Holy shit. Check this out,” he suddenly said and Sam leaned in to watch.
Mumma had managed to track down a feed from one of Neville Potter’s neighbors. The camera itself was situated directly across the street and the view they were watching, was of the driveway during the middle of the night.
A streetlight shone brightly for a few moments, then suddenly died as if someone had flicked a switch. They continued watching as the camera switched to infrared mode. It wasn’t top of the line, but it covered enough of the scene with its vision to detect the lone shadow carefully moving towards Potter’s car.
Whilst not the HD footage they were used to, the grainy feed still had enough clarity to highlight the lone figure as it dropped beside the car and reached up underneath.
The whole operation was over in a matter of seconds and the person they knew to be Black Death, slipped back into the shadows. But for the first time, they had both a fake name and actual footage
of the person herself. They were on the trail and that was the best place they could be at that moment.
“We need her message board. If we can get hold of where she finds her targets, then we find her.”
“How do you propose we do that? The web is huge. She could be in one of millions of sites.” Tim thought for a moment, staring at the screen as the video cycled through a second time.
“But we know she uses the name Black Death. That’s the name she leaves on her calling card. I bet it’s more than just fancy words. I bet that Black Death is also her handle and used for more than just cards.”
“Mumma’s been searching high and low for the name. Nothing’s popping up,” Sam offered.
“Tell her to focus on sites used by domestic violence survivors, those that help and support them, even just chat sites devoted to them. I’m telling you, Sam, she’s there. We just have to look harder.”
As Tim began to type again, Sam picked up her cell and began to type herself, but not in the way Tim was.
“I tell you what. You keep searching here and I’m going to try and talk to Pamela again. I have a feeling if I can get her alone, she might spill a little more.”
Sam drove back to the home of the latest victim, but instead of parking right out the front, decided to hang back a little, to give herself time to simply watch. What she needed was a break from Helena and if she could wait for an opportune time, it might make all the difference.
The afternoon was getting on and Sam began to wonder whether there would be enough time left in the day for her hopes to come to fruition. She wasn’t sure whether Helena worked, so made that her first priority once parked.
It turned out that Helena did in fact work. She spent a couple of hours per day helping out at a local senior’s center. Sam pondered how she could find out when the woman was next due to go to work and then it hit her.
After dialing the number, she listened as the call rang on the other end. After several repetitions, a soft-spoken voice answered with a standard greeting.