What Lies in the Dark

by CM Thompson

  “If it was a Friday night I probably was with Adelina. What does this have to do with anything?”

  “Did your wife know Stella McQam?”

  “She has a friend called Stella, I don’t remember her last name, I don’t think it’s McQam though.” There is a pause, Jack is trying to figure out what this idiot might be implying. “Why? What do these women have to do with this?”

  “We think they might be connected.”

  “Are they suspects? Do you think these women killed …” Jack chokes on his wife’s name.

  Fletcher takes advantage of the pause to interrupt. “No, we don’t think they are suspects. Do you recognise this woman?”

  Bullface pulls out another cropped photo, the picture that had been found in Adelina Sasha’s purse. They have cropped the image carefully so only the victim’s face can be seen.

  “No, what do these women have to do with my wife?” Anger re-laces his voice. He looks up at the two grim faces.

  “Mr Sasha.” Fletcher begins quietly.

  “Do you believe him?” Fletcher asks Bullface tentatively.

  “For now,” she mutters. They are watching Jack Sasha leaving the station, his escorts closely shielding him from the waiting press. Jack still looks angry, like he might go for anyone who gets too close. He just needs an excuse to take a swing.

  Through the open window, the calls of the press drift in.

  “Mr Sasha! Is it true they found your wife?”

  “Was she mutilated?”

  “Mr Sasha! Mr Sasha!”

  “Do you have anything to say to your wife’s murderer?”

  Jack Sasha stops despite the urging of his escorts, slowly turns to face the luckless reporter.

  Bullface holds her breath, readying to run to the escorts’ aid.

  Sasha faces the camera. “I will find you,” he hisses. Every word is uttered clearly. “Everything you did to her, I will do to you.” He leans closer into the camera, the footage picking up every throbbing vein around his bloodshot eyes. Flecks of spit hit the lens as he thunders. “I will find you.” He is hurried into an awaiting car by two very anxious escorts. The footage will make the six o’clock news, along with film of Adelina’s mother weeping hysterically for twenty seconds.

  Jack Sasha had, before he exited so dramatically, graciously provided the officers with Anna Stevenson’s contact details. She sits now in Jack’s place in the conference room. Her mascara has run in thick black lines down her face, smearing into foundation with every tissue wipe. Little drips of make-up cascade onto her bright yellow shirt as Anna’s face falls apart with every tear.

  “I just can’t believe anyone would hurt Adelina. She’s such a great …”

  Fletcher clears his throat slightly nervously. Bullface fidgets in a slight discomfort.

  “Ms Stevenson, I would like to ask you a few questions about your relationship with Adelina Sasha, if I may?”

  “Of course, anything to help Adelina.”

  Bullface rolls her eyes inwardly at the cliché, she does try to be sympathetic but thinks maybe Anna Stevenson is a little too much. Particularly since Anna seemed almost flirtatious in her grief. Flirtatious to Fletcher by the way, not to Bullface.

  “How did you meet Adelina Sasha?”

  “I met her when we were in university, we both took business studies together.” The tears are slowly drying up. Anna rubs her face with a tissue as if suddenly self-conscious. Bullface almost wants to tell her that Fletcher is married.

  “So how long have you known her?”

  “Nearly erm … nearly twenty years now.”

  “So a long time then, you must have known her pretty well.” Fletcher tries to make himself as friendly as possible, much to Bullface’s disdain.

  “Yes we are …” pause, then the invariable second cliché “… we were very close.”

  Family and friends, Bullface thinks, sometimes just seemed to be following a script. The dramatisation of suddenly correcting the speech so that present tense becomes past, the endless ‘she is’ then a pause, ‘she was’. Was it the sudden realisation of the lost? Or maybe the juxtaposition of suddenly losing someone, someone special crossed with the chance of being famous, of being involved in something considered to be dramatic. Maybe this juxtaposition commanded that they all follow the same script. Then maybe, Bullface relents, they just don’t know what they are saying, the correcting is just automatic. Jack Sasha hadn’t used such rewording, suggesting that to him, in his mind, his wife is still very much alive. Bullface, after seeing Jack’s behaviour does not want to be around when the realisation of Adelina’s death finally hits him.

  “So you knew her before she met Jack Sasha?”

  “Yes, I was the one who introduced them.” There is a slight bitterness in her voice.

  “Would you say they had a happy marriage?”

  “Well, Jack can sometimes be a little, well, extreme, but I think overall she had a happy marriage.” There is a touch of bitterness there again. Bullface wonders if the unmarried Anna was maybe slightly jealous, but then Bullface always thinks the worst of people.

  “Did she mention any problems to you?”

  There is a hesitation, a pause, then Anna slowly shakes her permed hair. “She was generally happy.”

  “So she wasn’t having any kind of problems? No financial problems? No problems at work?”

  Anna’s slightly uneasy look is betraying her. “Erm … not really,” comes the weak reply.

  Fletcher’s eyes meet hers with a gentle glare.

  “She was just feeling a bit … well old. It was her birthday last month and, well, she kept saying she was the wrong side of thirty now. She will be forty in two years and she was thinking of changing her career. You know, the average, ‘I don’t know where I am going sort of thing.’ But she was still happy, she loved Jack.”

  “So she has been a little emotional lately?”

  “Since she took up jogging she started to improve. I think the exercise was really doing her some good. She used to talk about …” A suddenly stop as Anna realises that she is about to betray her friend.

  “What did she used to talk about?” It hasn’t quite clicked with Fletcher.

  “There was a guy she would see while out jogging, a youngish guy. I think she might have been a little flattered by his attention. It was all harmless though, Adelina would never cheat on Jack.” She didn’t add that Adelina may have been afraid of what Jack might do if he found out.

  “Was this the person she was meant to be meeting on Friday?”

  “Oh no, like I said, Adelina was flattered but she would never cheat on Jack.”

  “Did she mention who she was meeting?”

  “She was meant to be meeting me at three, we were going to do a little shopping.”

  “What did you do when she didn’t turn up?”

  “I rang her a few times, but she didn’t answer. I just thought she had forgotten. We didn’t have definite plans anyway. It wasn’t till Jack called that I realised she was actually missing.”

  “You didn’t tell Mr Sasha that it was you Adelina was meant to be meeting?”

  “I thought I did, but I don’t know, he was really panicked. I guess he was scared she had left him or something. He might not have heard me or something.”

  “Do you know the name of the guy Adelina would meet while jogging?”

  “No, I don’t think she knew his name, it was just a little fun that’s all. She wouldn’t have hurt Jack or anything. Adelina used to be very pretty, I think she was just flattered that someone was noticing her again.”

  “Do you know what this guy looked like?”

  “No, I never met him.” Realisation hits her, her smudged eyes open wide, the pudgy mouth forming a little O. “You think he might of …”

  “We need to look into every possibility.” Fletcher says gently.

  In Anna’s mind however, the mystery is solved, it was a jogger who killed Adelina. Jack is cleared of all suspicio
ns, it was a mysterious stranger who killed Adelina. A story that would be over-romanticised as Anna met her other friends for drinks and shared gossip and tears for Adelina, also strategic plans on how to ‘comfort’ Jack Sasha.

  What Fletcher asks next only added extra juice to the gossip. “Did Adelina have any contact with Fran Lizzie Taylor?”

  “That name does sound familiar … I don’t think Adelina knew anyone called Fran …” Anna doesn’t want to admit that she doesn’t know all of Adelina’s friends. Then it clicks, her eyes open wide again. “She was the girl who was murdered, about six months ago. Wasn’t she?”

  “So Adelina had no connection with Fran?”

  “Do you think it was the same guy? Adelina was so scared when that happened, she didn’t want to go out for weeks afterwards.”

  “Please answer my question Ms Stevenson.”

  “No, I don’t think she ever met Fran, if she did, she didn’t mention it to me.” The tone is slightly indignant as if to imply there may be other things Adelina hadn’t mentioned to her.

  Bullface again produces the altered photograph. “Do you recognise this girl?”

  Anna gives it a long hard look, her fingers shaking on the table with fear and excitement. She is actually seeing photos! She thought that only happened in crime shows, she could be famous. Then there is a growing fear, rumours of what happened to Adelina had reached Anna, the rumours that the sight of her had made a grown man cry, and the police thought there could be other victims. That meant a …

  “She looks a little familiar, I don’t know why. Has she been on telly or something? I don’t think Adelina knew her though, unless she worked with her. She looks a little familiar though, but I don’t know why.”

  “Try to think.” Fletcher advises patiently. Bullface stirs slightly, if Anna recognised the unknown girl in the photograph … well it might open up a new lead or two, new possibilities. These women had to have something in common, it was just a case of finding it.

  “No, I really don’t know. Sorry.”

  Fletcher presses a business card into Anna’s eager hand, with the statutory “If you remember, please give me a call.”

  Chapter Four

  “OK, let’s go over what we know so far.” Fletcher and Bullface sit in the briefing room, two coffees and piles of paperwork spread across the table. Two other blank-faced detectives sit opposite.

  “First known victim was Fran Lizzie Taylor, aged twenty-two. She was found with the number 22 carved into her left hand. The mutilation was inflicted by a scalpel or a small knife, post mortem. She was found on March 9th, at eight am, having been killed maybe six or seven hours before. She was fully clothed with no signs of sexual assault, no defensive wounds. Her throat had been slit, death was near instantaneous. She was found in an isolated area, thrown over a five foot fence.” Fletcher states all this mechanically.

  Bullface continues in a similar monotone. “The dump-site felt planned; although her purse is still missing. We think this was an intentional murder rather than a robbery gone wrong. I think he took the purse for a token because everything seemed planned, we are presuming he is of rational mind, the killings are not the work of someone in a frenzy. This implies that he is an organised killer, probably won’t be mentally challenged or a drug abuser. The victim had been thrown over a five foot fence; this would take someone of a strong build and height.”

  Bullface pauses to sip her coffee, wishing it were something stronger.

  Fletcher takes up the report. “Several fibres had been found on the victim’s body, three of them were a match to the pub seating, two are black 75% Cotton, 25% polyester fibres, and one is unknown. No DNA has been found on the victim, evidence found at the scene is circumstantial. As you can see,” Fletcher pauses to show them one of the many photographs of Fran Lizzie’s demise. “Several cigarettes were found on the scene. DNA has been recovered but nothing is a match to anyone in our system. Other items found on the scene are listed here. All these items have been fingerprinted and DNA has been taken from them, again no matches in the system. As you can see a purse was found by our officers, in this river.” He points again to the photograph. “Along with a briefcase, neither of these items belongs to Fran Lizzie Taylor, both were reported as stolen weeks before the attack.”

  “Do you have any suspects on this case?” One of the detectives asks, the other frantically scribbling notes.

  “Our first suspect was Fran’s boyfriend Steven, but he has been cleared by his alibi, he was working that night, around twenty miles away. There is no chance he could have slipped out and killed her. Fran’s flatmate was also investigated, but she doesn’t seem likely.”

  One eyebrow is questioningly raised at this.

  “Fran’s flatmate is five foot four, she would not have been able to lift and throw Fran over a five foot fence. Her flatmate has no alibi though.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Fran had been out drinking with one of her work colleagues, she left the pub alone and no one had been seen following her. At the moment we have no other suspects. None of the DNA found on the scene is a match to Fran’s family, boyfriend, flatmate or work colleagues.”

  “The second victim to be found was Stella McQam, aged thirty-seven. Found yesterday. She had a number 28 carved into her right hand. Victim was a prostitute, found in a busy location, dumped in an alleyway, fully clothed, obvious signs of sexual penetration. She has been processed and the DNA is now being sent off, though it could be several months before we see the result. She had been stabbed twice in succession. Her number was inflicted shortly before or during death.” Bullface pauses again, collecting her thoughts, allowing Fletcher to take over.

  “Because the attack happened in a busy area, we believe that the assailant may have dumped some of his clothes. We had officers collect the bins within a mile radius, they are currently going through them as we speak. We have seized CCTV footage and recorded eye witness statements but so far no one has seen anyone suspicious.”

  “The next victim has been identified as Adelina Sasha. She was killed three or four days before Stella. Adelina was partly decomposed when she was found, she has some trauma to her left hand. As you can see, insect damage means that we cannot assume or deny that she may have been numbered. Adelina was thirty-eight, she had been reported missing by her husband. Victim was found partly dressed. She was still wearing a black skirt, white shirt, underwear and shoes. Her shirt had been undone and there were several slashes to her stomach as well as to her arms and face. Her autopsy shows that she had been drinking shortly before death, stomach contents included several sandwiches and some fruit. She was killed shortly after eating. Cause of death was a slit throat, like Fran Lizzie Taylor.

  “She was found in a secluded area, out in the fields. Her car is still missing, I have put out an APB to keep an eye out for it.”

  The scribbler pauses. “Any chance she was killed by her husband?”

  “Slim chance, her husband was at work at the estimated time of death. He can clearly be seen on his company’s CCTV footage for most of the day. The victim’s body indicates she had been killed where she was found. Officers are checking into his financial accounts. We are also appealing for eye-witnesses to come forward.

  “We interviewed one of Adelina’s friends, there is a possibility that Adelina may have been having an affair with someone she met while jogging. The friend could not give us any more details.

  “What connects Adelina to this case is a Polaroid found in her purse. Adelina’s purse was empty by the way, it seems the assailant had taken the contents. Jack Sasha identified the purse as belonging to Adelina. No fingerprints have been found on the purse or the photograph.”

  A copy of the Polaroid is again pulled out and passed across to the officers. One takes it with a grimace.

  “There is little possibility that the girl is alive. The assailant obviously wants us to know that there are other victims out there. She may have been his second victim.”


  “Any idea what the numbers mean?”

  “The most obvious one is that he is numbering each kill. This is hard to determine because we don’t know what Adelina Sasha’s number was or if she had a number. If the assailant is using a code then it is not an alphabetical code as Stella McQam was number 28 and as we know the alphabet contains only 26 letters.” Bullface feels the need to state the obvious, as she considers most of her co-workers to be idiots. “Since the numbers inflicted on the victims changes from left to right hands, there could be a possibility of two assailants. One carving on the left hand, one carving on the right, however, no other evidence can support or confirm this so far. But the difference in dump sites and modes of kill also suggests this.”

  “The girl in this picture, has she been identified?”

  “Not as yet, we are planning to include her in the media campaign.”

  “She looks a little familiar.” A long uncomfortable pause hovers as the luckless officer tries to recall.

  The other officer interrupts with an authoritative, “If there is a possibility there are twenty-four other bodies out there, then we need to look for them.”

  The city is screaming with rumours. The death of Stella McQam had not caused much concern until the fresh new rumour that her death was linked to the two other deaths, and possibly even three or nine other deaths. The whispers swell, along with murmurs about mutilations, the bafflement of the police and the possibility of even more victims. Some say that an underground bomb shelter had been found out in the fields, filled with sacrificed children. Other rumours take the Blackbeard approach that all the women had been married, in secret, to a mysterious man who literally stole their hearts. The women had been found missing their eyes/teeth/hearts/fingers/toes. More postulated on the murderer himself, that Jack Sasha had broken down and confessed that Steve was his secret boyfriend. Fran Lizzie had caught them together and her death had been an accident. It had been a local politician, covering up his string of affairs. The bookie’s favourite, The Krill, was still the prime suspect, casting a metaphysical dark shadow over every conversation. What should have been a tragic death for Adelina Sasha turned into a romanticised, over-exaggerated death. What should have been a period of mourning for Jack Sasha turned into a hunting party, where over-eager blamers, reporters and not so altruistic comforters tracked him down and shrieked him into isolation.