Six Dead Men

by Rae Stoltenkamp

  Deed found himself uncharacteristically disturbed by her lack of composure. To put her more at ease he asked “How's your thumb?”

  He watched Madie look down at her hand distractedly then back up at him. Deed the man was shaken by the confusion in her eyes as they refocused on his. In her distress she seemed much younger than her twenty five years. He found himself revisiting the doubts he had encountered on first viewing her interview tape. Deed the police inspector became brusque in an effort to cover how affected he was by her look. “I needed to call you in for further questions so your message was timely.” He showed her into his office and indicated a chair. As he sat down he deliberately allowed his hand to move the photographs on his desk slightly. Madie's gave glazed over the pictures, not truly seeing them. “Your message said you had some important information for us regarding Mr Burry’s case.”

  The troubled look in Madie Bricot’s eyes increased.

  "I think .... I think I knew all the men."

  Deed’s response was automatic even though he already knew. "Which men?" She can't mean it.

  "The men on your list."

  I knew it. "All the men? You knew them all? You knew them all well?"

  "No. Not really."

  She was silent. Her head was bowed and her fingers continued to restlessly shred her tissue. She looked for somewhere to put the pieces and finally left them in a heap on the edge of his desk. Deed could see she wanted to say more so he waited; a technique he used when he knew a suspect wanted to talk but needed time rather than rushing.

  She looked up at him and then began slowly. “I... I... think I saw them. Before they died, I mean.”

  “All of them?”

  She nodded.

  I wasn’t expecting this. “How soon before?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I need you to tell me.”

  Deed looked at Madie carefully. She was by no means relaxed, but she wasn't showing any of the characteristic signs liars exhibit. She was obviously nervous as she fidgeted in her seat. He sensed she was still in shock. During his prolonged stare she began to chew on a thumb nail, but maintained eye contact with him. This decided his next course of action.

  Deed stood and partially closed his office door to access his filing cabinet. He pulled the cold case files from the back of the drawer. Before sitting he stacked the pile of files on a corner of his desk. Then he looked over at Madie. She was watching his every action as though mesmerised. He picked up the first folder then dropped his eyes as he opened it.

  “Well, the coroner puts Danny Matthew’s death at approximately 23.12 hours on May 2 nd . A shame really, it was his birthday.”

  He heard her sharp intake of breath and looked up at her inquiringly. She licked her lips then pressed them together. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a tiny squeak emerged.

  Madie cleared her throat. “I met him that day. He was on his way home. I think his mom had a big party planned.”

  “Was it an arranged meeting?”

  “No. No. I was on my way back from work and I met him at the bus stop.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “He used to hang out with Luis and his guys at the Portuguese café sometimes.”

  “How much time had you spent with him previously?”

  “None, he was just a passing acquaintance. Someone you might see from time to time when people come by the house.”

  "Are you certain you didn't spend more time with him prior to this meeting at the bus stop?"

  "Of course I'm sure." Her voice rose in agitation.

  "Let's move on. We'll come back to Danny Matthews."

  Deed closed the file and put it to one side. He opened the second file on the pile. “What about Anthony Brockwell?”

  “I met him at the sixth form disco.”

  “The sixth form disco? How old were you?”

  “Nearly sixteen.”

  Deed watched as a strange look came over her. She was clearly remembering something. What were you like at sixteen I wonder? Pushing the distracting thought aside he focused on Madie. A thin wisp of a smile touched the edges of her mouth, but then she looked up at him. Suddenly her eyes were swimming in tears. Her lips compressed into a thin line. Her voice was heavy as she said:

  “He promised to ring me the next day, but he never did. I never heard from him again.”

  “Were you dating him at the time?”

  “No.”

  Deed heard a wistful quality in her voice.

  “How did you know him?”

  “We went to the same school.”

  “Had you spoken to him before?”

  “No. I’d seen him around school quite a bit. He was a sixth former. I was a lowly Year Ten. The two don’t mix.”

  “So why were you speaking to him at the disco?”

  “He came and spoke to me. He was so nice. Different from what everyone said.”

  “What did they say?”

  “That he had a nasty streak — hurt animals and things like that, but I never sensed it. He was so gentle.”

  Deed saw her eyes cloud in memory again. He moved on to the next file.

  With each new name Madie revealed how and when she had met each victim. In each case she claimed each meeting was momentary.

  Jesus! This is unbelievable. How the hell has she done it? The turmoil inside him had stopped. It always did once it was proved right. “So we’ve established you were with each of the victims briefly the day before they died. Even though these men died months, sometimes years apart, you are most definitely a common factor Miss Bricot.”

  “This can’t just be coincidence can it?”

  “I don’t think so Miss Bricot.” No such thing as coincidence is there?

  Madie swallowed then nodded her head. She opened her mouth as though to speak then shut it. Her eyes began to swim with tears again.

  God don't cry. How many times had guilty suspects cried in his presence and not once did it affect him in the way Madison Bricot’s tears did. It twists me up inside worse than my bloody "you're so guilty" gut. On reflex Deed reached into his back pocket and drew out his neatly folded handkerchief. He passed it across the desk to her.

  She sobbed as she accepted it. Deed waited in silence as she gradually calmed herself, blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. He thought she clutched at the piece of fabric as though it were a lifeline. When she finally spoke he had to lean in to hear her.

  “I think it’s me.” she whispered.

  “What do you mean Miss Bricot?” Just explain this to me so it makes sense Madie.

  Her voice was small. “I mean me. I’ve done this.”

  Deed smiled even though his stomach knew she was right.

  He saw the conviction of her statement written in her expression. Her anguish was affecting him in a strange way. Deed suddenly wanted to prove to her she was completely wrong. He wanted desperately to make her see she could in no way possible be answerable for the deaths of these men.

  You can’t be responsible; you’re just a slip of a thing. “You? How exactly did you do this? You weigh hardly anything at all. There’s no indication of poison. You don’t have the strength to kill these men and there’s no physical evidence to prove they were killed with a weapon. Do you mean you poisoned them in some way? She can't have done. The lab results found no toxic substances. You only feel this way because you knew them, that’s all. It’s just coincidence. It has been known to happen you know, coincidence I mean.” Why am I trying so hard to convince her? Or am I trying to convince myself?

  “You don’t understand. It was me! I know it was!”

  “Well then how did you kill them Madie?” Deed was shocked by his use of her first name. Oh God. Has she noticed? No, she hasn't . But he liked the way it felt when her name passed over his lips, like a sigh of contentment. He wanted to say it out loud again. Madie... Fuck, focus Robert. Deed pulled himself back to the interview. His inability to accept she was guilty seemed to be affecting her greatly.
She was crying again and chewed on her bottom lip. She made no attempt to stem her tears with his handkerchief. They fell freely as she tried to articulate why she was guilty.

  “I...I....”

  Madie stood up from her chair abruptly and paced backwards and forwards in front of Deed’s desk. He could feel the tension and confusion radiating from her stiff-legged walk. Deed stood and walked around the table. He caught hold of the tops of her shoulders and steadied her with his hands. She's like a startled deer. Beneath his touch he felt her begin to still. It's like I can feel her emotions through my hands. He heard her breathing become less ragged and felt some of the tension in her body ease as she leaned in towards him slightly. Her scent rose to his nostrils and engulfed his senses. Deed tightened his grip on her shoulders and drew her in towards him. His arms seemed to move of their own accord and wrap themselves around her frame. The detective in him knew he was crossing over the bounds of conduct. It seemed though that Robert, the man, could not help himself.

  A moment of slow motion pleasure stole over him as he felt her body heat seep through the cotton of his shirt. His heartbeat quickened. Everything else stilled. The office sounds from the squad room became muted. The very air seemed in a state of stasis. He closed his eyes, revelling in the moment and his lips brushed against her hairline in an unconscious kiss. She stiffened and pulled away from his embrace.

  “No...” Madie whispered. Then, “No!” in a clearer, more definite tone. She tried to pull away from Deed. But Deed, the man was reluctant to release her from his embrace. She dropped his handkerchief as she placed the palm of her hand squarely on his chest and pushed him away forcefully. “No.” she repeated.

  Still trapped inside the centre of serenity they had created, Deed stumbled as Madie pushed him aside, pulled open the partially closed door and left his office too swiftly for him to react. Still in a state of bewilderment Deed moved stutteringly out of the pause touching Madie had produced and wandered to the door of his office. Johnson was up and ready for action at his own desk. He gave Deed an enquiring glance but Deed waved away the offer of assistance.

  He turned back into his office and was encountered by the accusing mound of his crumpled handkerchief. Deed bent to retrieve it and stared at it dumbly where it sat in his palm. Why on earth did you do that? Whatever possessed you? Are you insane? If she decides to lodge a complaint your career is over. Jesus Christ, Robert, you’re an idiot. He dropped the handkerchief onto his desk.

  Feeling the need to do something physical, Deed shuffled the files on his desk together into a pile and re-filed them. Madie's perfume still lingered in his nostrils? He stared down at the notes he had made of her interview. He rewound the tape on his Dictaphone and listened to it again. Then he tore the notes from his note pad, ejected the tape from the recorder and popped them both in an envelope. He licked the gum of the heavy duty envelope, folded the flap and moved to put it in his top drawer. Deed turned towards the jacket hanging behind his door and placed the envelope into the inside pocket next to his battered copy of Sonnets from the Portuguese. Only then did the detective in him feel he had awoken fully from a waking dream.

  Danny Matthews aka DMs

  I saw my first video phone footage when I was sixteen. It was a revelation. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with it — distribute.

  A few months later the boys and I were partying when Ronnie X brought round this girl he’d picked up at a club. She was high and hoping to score some more dope so what happened next was inevitable. X man was all about showing his prowess to the boys and liked to poke his girls in full view of the rest of us. He always managed this ‘cos the girls were more or less completely out of it. I’m not saying he slipped them rohypnol or anything like that, but he always picked the ones who were well gone already by they time they headed home with him.

  I downed my shot of vodka and wandered over to watch X man’s antics. He was huffing and puffing and the girl was squealing away. So I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began recording. I was all the big time directors thrown into one, eyeing up my angles, looking at the lighting. Yeah right! I didn’t care a shit about any of it. I was just enjoying the spectacle.

  The first person I showed the footage to the next day was Raj. “Holy crap.” Was his response. “Shit man DM’s. This is quality. Let’s have another look.”

  “First time was free my man. Second time you gotta pay.”

  He didn’t even blink. Just coughed up the two quid. I showed the clip to every other fucker I met up with that day and pulled the same trick I’d pulled with Raj. I got so cocky I began to up the price. I made it to six quid before people just walked away from a second viewing. And so was born my mighty enterprise.

  I gave X man a cut. He was my leading man after all.

  *****

  I’m rushing from HQ, as I like to call the garage where we operate our phone porn business. Me and Raj have spent the day sorting the resolution and editing our latest mobile phone snuff film production to distribute on the net. It was touch and go whether we would finish on time because Raj kept stopping to enjoy the merchandise. It doesn't take much to get Raj going. A shot of someone putting a pair of handcuffs on the girl was enough and he nearly lost it completely when the four guys in the video were howling like wolves and fighting each other for who got to go first. I finally told him to stop spanking the monkey because I wanted to finish early on account of the fact it's my birthday.

  I’m the business brains of the outfit, the front man. Raj smokes a bit too much weed to keep it together. Like today I mean - getting himself all worked up like that. Usually when he starts going for his toolbox I plug in my iPod. As long as he does what he's supposed to. He's an IT genius, always going on about artefacts, digitizers and encoders - whatever they are. Just know they make it possible for us to have the highest hit rate on a website like ours. The competition's tough out there with everyone thinking they can film stuff and put it on the net. But they don't have Raj to keep the cops chasing round the net trying to find us. Without him they'd be on our doorstep in an instant. He's the one that does all that complicated rerouting stuff they always go on about - everyone thinks our little earners come in from some place in India. I make sure the films come in on time and that my online contacts receive the films to deadline. This way the money keeps flowing steadily. Raj's cut goes on one thing and one thing only. No, that's not true, sometimes it's two things. I'm kinda trying out this savings thing called ISA.

  Now Raj is just a short term investment. I can tell it’s getting to the point where I’ll have to cut my losses and recruit a new guy. I’m doing a bit of sourcing right now. No good getting the wrong sort of person in on the deal. I’ll keep Raj on as a silent partner. Lots of weed and enough screen time and he’ll be happy. I think Adrian might be just right. I’ll check him out a bit more before I let him in on the deal. If too many people know about your operation you can screw the whole thing up. But Raj is getting just a bit too carefree. Just as well most people don’t pay him much attention. It helps to have a partner who’s thought of as a weed head.

  Now normally I’d have a bit of R and R and join Raj in the sensual enjoyment of the latest product but today is my 18 th and I’m planning an unforgettable night. I’ve told the boys to meet me at the pub for last orders before the night of excess begins. First though, I’ll have to endure the family dinner mum has planned. She'll go spare if I don’t turn up for that. Knowing her, every relative under the sun will be there and the whole thing will turn into an event worthy of a street carnival. My life is not worth living if I don’t turn up for the family gathering. It’s annoying the way mum still sees me as her little boy but there’s something so reassuring about it at the same time. When I used to mess up at school she always backed me, even when I was in the wrong. She’d die if she knew what business I’m into. She thinks I work in IT - thanks Raj. Had to explain the large amounts of cash I throw about. I know how to keep mum sweet — a few presents here and the
re, a bottle of Dolci and Gabbana or Gucci and she’s happier than anything.

  I jump off the 322 at the stop by The Dog and Star and bump into this girl I vaguely recognise.

  “Hey there DMs.”

  I stare at her, recognition not coming right away.

  “Madie...”

  “Allie’s sister.” I finish her sentence as I remember who she is. “Man, you’re looking fine.” And damn she is. She's wearing these jeans that tell you where everything you can't see is.

  She smiles with pleasure. “Where you going in such a rush?”

  Suddenly I feel embarrassed. I don’t want to mention mum’s iron rule over me. “Getting ready to meet the boys and make things happen tonight.”

  “Any special reason or is it just the usual?”

  “It’s my birthday man, the big 1. 8.”

  “Hey, many happy returns!” She stands on tiptoe to peck my cheek, but I’m caught by surprise. I jerk my head slightly and the kiss touches the corner of my mouth. A thrill passes through my body and I’m a bit stunned as my nose is filled with the smell of her perfume.

  “Oh, that’s my bus.” She hastens towards it and shouts out, “Have a good one.”

  I just stand there watching her go. I can feel myself getting a woody. I’m just standing there smiling stupidly.

  *****

  I’ve been pacing the kitchen floor, watching mum ring round my friends. She hasn’t seen me for a day and a half. She knows it’s not like me to leave her hanging with no phone call or text. At first she wasn’t all that bothered when I didn’t come home from my night of revelling. Mum knows I’m a young man in my prime and I need to sow my oats. She knows I’ll come home when I surface from my alcohol and drug haze. She doesn't approve, but there’s not much she can do really. And anyway, she still thinks I’m a good boy. And if anyone tries to dispute this fact she’ll help them remember the truth.