by Tim Ellis
‘Female. Aged between fifteen and twenty years old. Height about five feet seven. By the extent of the dry decay, I’d say she’d been dead for at least three months. Also, there’s still a considerable amount of dark brown hair. Clothing is beginning to rot, and consists of a light-blue top, a red skirt, and red shoes not on her feet. I can’t see any underwear. The top is ripped. There’s no bra, and no panties. Write down that she was possibly raped – forensics will have to verify that. She has a gold-plated necklace around her neck with a heart-shaped pendent. The name PAUL has been engraved on it . . .’
‘Na ud e ee oo ace.’
‘What?’
Stick removed the end of the torch from his mouth and wiped it on the sleeve of his jacket. ‘I said, that should be easy to trace.’
‘I hope you’re not dripping saliva and snot all over my crime scene?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Well, if I wanted you to comment I’d say so – write, and stop interrupting my outpouring of genius.’
‘Sorry.’ He put the torch back in his mouth.
Xena moved to the second corpse. ‘Also female. Same age range – fifteen to twenty years old. The body is nearly dried out, it has a cheesy smell and has gone mouldy. There are beetles feeding off the fleshy remains instead of maggots. I can see larvae and the cheese fly. I’d say this body has been here for around two months. It looks like her jaw’s been broken in three places – see here . . . ?’ She pointed to the deformed left side of the victim’s jaw bone. Jagged fractures were clearly evident. ‘There’s three teeth missing as well.’
Stick nodded.
‘She was wearing a calf-length black dress with black hold-up stockings. No bra, no panties and only one black high-heel shoe on the right foot. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was on a night out when she was abducted.’ Something on the victim’s chest glinted in the torchlight. Xena moved a flap of decaying skin to reveal a nipple ring in the shape of a salamander. ‘Something else that’s distinctive and should help us trace the victim. He doesn’t seem to be worried about anyone finding out who the women are, which suggests there’s nothing that can lead back to him if we do identify them.’
She shuffled to the third corpse. ‘Mmmm! He seems to be working on a month between victims. The body has collapsed and the flesh has a blackened creamy consistency. There’s a strong smell of decay, and a significant amount of fluid on the floor surrounding the body. Insects and mites are feeding off the fluid, and there are several generations of maggots – some of which are fully grown. I’d say we have the makings of our victim profile – aged between fifteen and twenty years old, attractive, shoulder-length dark brown hair, slim, about five feet seven. She’s not wearing a top or a bra, but there’s the remnants of a black cuff on her left wrist. Hello! What’s this . . . ?’ She moved closer. ‘There’s a gold ladies watch under the cuff that stopped working at ten-twenty. It’s a bangle in the shape of a serpent with rubies on the face. It doesn’t show the date. She’s wearing a denim skirt, but no panties.’ She looked about the floor. ‘There are no shoes that I can see. She has dark patches on the insides of her thighs, which might be bruising, and there’s a heavy dark line around her neck. I suspect that the cause of death might be strangulation.’ She glanced up at Stick. ‘Any intelligent comments you’d like to make?’
Stick shook his head. Spittle sprayed over the corpses and the floor.
‘What’s wrong with you? Dry your mouth. It’s a good job nobody thinks you’re a serial killer.’
‘I’m too nice?’
‘You’re too stupid – write.’
She shuffled over to the fourth victim. ‘This body has been here about eight hours and already it’s being devoured from the inside out. Can you hear the intestinal noises?’
Stick screwed up his face and nodded.
‘The blowflies have already laid eggs in the ears, nose, mouth and eyes . . .’ She looked lower down. ‘. . . And the anus and genitalia.’ Pulling a face she said, ‘God, the little buggers work quick.’ She batted a few flies away, but they took no notice of her. ‘Okay – look at the marks on her neck. She’s been strangled – do you agree?’
Stick nodded, and then took the torch out of his mouth. ‘What about the bruising on her face and torso?’
‘Write.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Same physical appearance as the others – slim, attractive, shoulder-length brown hair . . . Her top has been ripped to pieces. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’d been attacked by an animal. The bruising and cuts on her face, neck and torso suggest the man who attacked her did so in a rage . . .’ She undid the button on the right arm of the victim’s blouse and pushed it up. ‘I thought so – her forearm is broken.’ She pointed to the deformity just above the wrist. ‘See?’
Stick screwed up his eyes.
‘The bastard doesn’t seem to like women very much. The blouse is white, the skirt herringbone and brown. No bra, no panties, no shoes. She has a gold butterfly ankle chain around her left ankle with two small diamonds dangling from the main butterfly – no engraving. Heavy bruising on the inside of her thighs and around her genitalia. One gold stud earring in her left ear. The right earring appears to have been ripped out of her earlobe.’ She stood up and walked round the room looking at the corpses from different angles.
‘I take it back,’ Xena said.
‘Oh?’
‘They look more like prostitutes.’
‘I didn’t like to say.’
‘Numpty.’
‘And if I’m being allowed to speak now. I think they’re closer to fifteen than twenty – maybe younger. The latest one is wearing a lot of make-up.’
‘You might be right.’
‘They could still have been on a night out. I mean . . .’
‘I hope you’re not going to suggest that some women on a night out look like prostitutes?’
‘They do though, don’t they?’
‘It’s a good job I’m not a lawyer. If I were, I’d sue the arse off you. You’re not permitted to say anything that could be construed as misogynist, sexist or anti-feminist. Especially as you’re a public employee . . . and a man.’
‘You do.’
‘I’m a woman.’
‘That’s hardly fair.’
‘Fair!’ She pointed to the four bodies. ‘You think this is fair? Do you think it’s fair that a man can beat, rape and murder a woman because of his physical superiority? Do you . . . ?’
‘I’ll shut up, shall I?’
‘A wise decision, numpty.’ She carried on staring at the bodies. ‘How old would you have said the killer was?’
‘My first impression was that he could be between twenty-five and thirty-five . . .’
‘That was my guess as well.’
‘But now I’m not so sure.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. It was that wiry body. I have the feeling he’s older – much older. Maybe in his late forties or early fifties . . .’
‘That old?’
‘Yes. The other thing that confuses me is the age of these women . . . In fact, they’re not women, they’re teenagers. Who beats, rapes and kills female teenagers?’
‘Men.’
‘But very rarely young men.’
‘Ah, I see where you’re going. If these women were older we might say he was selecting them based on the way they look; that he was possibly rejected or betrayed by a similar-looking woman in the past; and that with each murder he was exacting his revenge on her.’
Stick shook her head. ‘But they’re too young for that scenario.’
‘Exactly. I think they’re still being chosen for the way they look though, but there’s something else going on here.’
‘Maybe she represents his daughter.’
‘Possibly, but why . . . ? Jesus! I was going to say: Why rape them? But what if he was sexually abusing his own daughter and she ran away.’
‘They’re runaways,’ Stick said.
‘That’s why there’s been no outcry about them disappearing.’
‘And he’s punishing them. Maybe his daughter became a prostitute . . .’
‘I read a report by the Children’s Society which stated that runaways as young as nine were forced into prostitution, drugs and crime.’
‘It’s a sad state of affairs all right. So, he abducts them, takes pleasure in beating, raping and finally – strangling them. Why does he bring the bodies here?’
Stick removed the torch from his mouth again, sucked in the dribbling saliva and massaged his lips. ‘He has keys – to the outside door, and to this door.’
‘You’re right – he does. Why?’
‘Maybe he used to work here – or at the farm – in the past. This can’t always have been an empty industrial unit. Maybe he was a farm worker.’
‘All good ideas. Now all we need to do is get out of here . . .’
‘Blake?’ came over the radio, which was in the next room.
They both scrambled back into the storeroom.
‘Is that you, Earth?’
‘You have visitors.’
Her heart began jitterbugging. ‘Crap! Tell them I’m in the shower.’
Chapter Eleven
The bundle of white wasn’t Bronwyn. Oh, it was a female all right, but the young woman was dead and there were maggots crawling all over her broken and battered face.
Shakin’ and Joe both puked up their burgers in the corridor.
‘It’s not Bronwyn is it, Mrs K?’ Shakin’ said as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
‘No.’ Jerry moved back to the body and pushed it over, so that the woman was lying on her back. There were black cavernous holes where her eyes had been, her lips were missing and her teeth were smashed and protruded unnaturally. The white hospital gown had large dark brown stains on the front. Jerry began to lift the gown up . . .
‘Don’t do it, Mrs K,’ Joe said.
‘We have to find out what’s going on.’
‘I think we already know what’s going on – they’re killing their patients.’
‘But why?’ Shakin added.
Jerry peeled back the front of the gown. The body was covered in hand-sized black marks as if the woman had been subjected to a horrific beating. One of her breasts was barely attached by slivers of skin and looked as though someone – a man – had tried to physically tear it from her body. There were knife cuts on her abdomen, cigarette burns on the inside of her thighs and around her genitals. ‘Either they’re a bunch of cowboy surgeons who work here,’ she said. ‘Or there’s something else going on. It looks as though this woman was raped, beaten and tortured before she was killed.’
Joe said, ‘I don’t understand, Mrs K. Didn’t this woman die on the operating table?’
‘I would say not, Joe.’
‘We have to call the police,’ Shakin’ said.
Jerry took out her phone. ‘I’ll call my husband. He’ll know what to do.’
Just then, Shakin’ was pushed in the back, jerked forward, crunched into Jerry and they both nearly fell on top of the corpse.
‘Hey!’ Shakin’ said.
A tall clean-shaven man with a crew cut and dark clothes was standing in the doorway. In his right hand he was carrying an Uzi sub-machine gun that had a light under the barrel and a silencer attached. ‘I’ll take that,’ he said with an Eastern European accent, holding out his hand for Jerry’s phone.
She placed the phone on the man’s open palm.
‘And you two,’ the gunman said, keeping his hand outstretched towards them.
Shakin’ and Joe passed their phones over.
The man threw the phones on the floor. ‘That as well,’ he said, indicating the crowbar that Shakin’ had hooked over the fingers of his right hand. ‘Real careful, like.’
Shakin’ handed it over.
The noise was deafening in the silence as the man tossed the crowbar on the floor with the phones. ‘Bag, torches and jackets on the floor as well. And empty your pockets out.’
They did as they were instructed.
The man backed up into the corridor and said, ‘Out here. And you should know that I have the bad habit of shooting first and asking questions later, so don’t do anything stupid.’
He directed them along the corridor to another room, unlocked the door, pushed them inside and locked the door again.
‘What are you doing?’ Shakin’ said. ‘You can’t keep us locked up down here. We haven’t done anything. We have rights. I’m gonna sue the arse off you.’
The man laughed. ‘Dead people don’t have rights, and I’ve also found that they can’t sue people either.’ He left them in darkness then as he retraced his steps along the corridor.
‘We’re up to our eyeballs in shit, aren’t we, Shakin’?’ Joe said. ‘Excuse the language, Mrs K.’
‘I think we’re well past the eyeballs, Joe,’ Shakin’ said.
Jerry sighed. ‘I’m sorry, boys. I should never have dragged you two into this mess.’ Here she was again. When would she ever learn? She should have let the police deal with it. But they wouldn’t have dealt with it, would they? At least Ray knew where she was, but how long would it be before he became concerned and started to search for her? And how long would it be before the people here killed them and disposed of their bodies? She should never have got Shakin’ and Joe involved.
They heard a moaning sound then.
‘What’s that?’ Joe said, hiding behind Jerry.
‘Hello?’ Jerry said into the darkness.
‘Is that you, Jerry?’ It was Bronwyn’s voice.
Jerry hurried towards the sound. ‘Thank God, you’re all right . . . You are all right, aren’t you?’
‘I think so. Where am I?’
Shakin’ grunted. ‘You’ll wish you hadn’t asked that question when we tell you.’
***
‘What should we do?’ Stick said.
Before Xena could supply him with an answer, the Chief’s voice came over the radio. ‘Stay in that room, Blake. You and Gilbert are not wearing any bullet-proof vests. Defend yourself if the drug smugglers come inside the room by all means, but don’t come out into the main unit until I come and get you. I have people here who can adequately deal with the situation, and CO19 are on their way by chopper.’
‘Understood, Sir.’ She stared at Stick. ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘Indubitably. Where should we position ourselves?’ Stick put his back against the door. ‘They’ll come in with a gun. If we stand opposite the door we’ll be in a direct line of fire. In fact, anywhere on the back wall . . .’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Working out a defensive position.’
‘Is that what they taught you in Special Ops?’
‘Yes. A few seconds could be the difference between life or death.’
‘It might be if we were staying in here.’
He pulled a face. ‘Not again! You heard the Chief. He gave us – you – a direct order: “Stay in that room, Blake.” That’s what he said. I can still hear his exact words echoing in my brain, and now . . .’
‘You’re like an old woman. Get a grip of yourself for God’s sake. Do you think I’m going to sit inside this room like a quivering wreck waiting for some idiot to come in and kill us?’
‘I’ve worked out that if we position ourselves . . .’
‘. . . Outside in the main unit – that’s where we’ll be positioning ourselves. Come on.’
‘I’m staying here.’
‘Okay.’
Xena opened the door.
Stick shuffled up behind her.
‘I thought you were staying here, numpty?’
‘You know I can’t let you go out there on your own.’
‘Quick,’ she said. ‘Someone’s opening the vehicle door.’
Xena darted out of the room and crouched down behind the stacks of drugs.
Stick followed her.
‘Did you shut the
door?’
‘No.’
‘For fuck’s sake! Go back and shut the door. If they see it open they’ll know straight away we’ve escaped, and it might spook them.’
Stick darted back to the room, pushed the door closed and returned to crouch behind the drugs again. ‘Okay. What now?’
‘Don’t you ever have an original thought?’
‘I usually find that first thing in the morning is a good time for original thinking . . .’
‘When they all come inside and start moving the drugs into the back of that truck, we’re going to arrest them.’
‘The two of us?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Without bullet-proof vests?’
‘Which are overrated in my opinion.’
‘The Chief’s going to go ballistic.’
‘You’re a cry baby. Why should he get all the glory? We’re the ones that have been stuck in that room with puke and dead bodies nearly all day. Now it’s time for some payback.’
‘Payback?’
‘We’ll be heroes. Not only will we have smashed an international drug-smuggling ring, we’ll have uncovered a cesspit of dirty coppers and found a serial killer into the bargain as well.’
‘Where do you think the Chief is?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had an offer he couldn’t refuse and now he’s one of the growing number of dirty cops lining up against us. That’s probably the reason he didn’t give us bullet-proof vests, and I also wouldn’t be surprised if the bullets in these guns were blanks.’
‘Stranger things have happened?’
‘Damned right, Stickamundo. We’re on our own as usual. You and me against the world. Are you ready?’
‘Today’s a good day to die.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Me! You’re the one . . .’
Xena stepped out from behind the stack of drugs. ‘ARMED POLICE – HANDS UP.’
A hail of bullets was despatched as a reply.
Xena dived back behind the drugs. ‘Thanks for your help out there.’
‘I was just about to . . .’
Bullets thudded into the packs of drugs. Clouds of white powder puffed out.