by Marian Phair
Ruth stood before him and shrugged her bra straps down. Turning slowly, retaining eye contact over her shoulder, she undid her bra, holding it over her breasts. Then turning to face him again, kept an arm across her breasts. His eyes never left her, as she slid her other hand under her arm and pulled her bra out from underneath. Then dropping the bra, took her arm away exposing her breasts to him. Ruth paraded around the room, gyrating her body as she flirted with him. Arching her back, and pushing her breasts out, she touched them, cupping them in her hands, and kneading the nipples. Using her own hands as if he were touching her, she touched herself the way she knew he wanted to touch her, and in the places he wanted to touch her. Looking into his eyes as she caressed herself, she ran her tongue sensuously around her lips. Ruth never got to finish the routine she had learnt so diligently.
Scott, unable to control his emotions, moaned aloud. Watching her caress her body to the music, drove him crazy for her, and he couldn’t take it anymore. His hand shot out and ripped the flimsy lace thong from her body, and he reached hungrily for her.
They fell to the floor together, Scott struggling with the zipper on his jeans and cursing. With Ruth’s help, he finally managed to release his swollen manhood.
“What about dinner?” she asked as he bent over her. “Won’t it burn?”
“Let it burn, honey; I’m already on fire.” He planted kisses on her face, seeking her mouth. Ruth’s legs parted, and he entered her roughly, his desire for her formost in his mind. “What about America?” she whispered in his ear, as he thurst forward with his hips. “The heck with America!” he called out as she wrapped her legs around his waist and raised her hips to meet his thrusts.
CHAPTER 37
The grey-haired man, sitting by the wall opposite the entrance to Creswell’s Meat Packers, stopped reading, and glanced up, as the police car pulled up outside the main doors. Intrigued, he folded his copy of the Observer, knocked out his pipe against the cement parapet on which his feet rested, and hoisted himself out of the white, plastic chair, moaning a little at the stiffness in his limbs, and the ache in his back. He made his way over to the officer’s getting out of their vehicle.
“Can I help you officer’s?” he called out as he approached them.
“That depends,” Pete Morgan said. “We’re looking for the owner, or person in charge.”
“That would be me. Zachery Jordon. What can I do for you gentlemen? If you’re looking for illegal workers, you won’t find any here.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. We’re seeking information about someone who used to work here, a Basil Green,” Tom Holmes, told him.
“That name means nothing to me, I’m afraid.” Zachery said, shaking his head.
“You may know him better as Roger Green,” Pete Morgan added.
“No, the name still means nothing. It’s hardly surprising, really, since we employ well over a hundred workers here. Did he work in the dirty or the clean rooms? Or was he boning and scrapping? Packing? ” He gave them an inquiring look.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost us there, Mr Jordon. Neither of us have a clue.”
“The man we want to know about worked for you until his wife was involved in a car accident and he was forced to give up his job to care for her. I realise this was way back, but we were hoping someone here could help us.”
“Well, I can’t help, but my chap, Walter Millar, may be able to, if anyone can. He’s anal about keeping records; records everything! I swear he could tell you how many toilet rolls we get through monthly, and how many arse’s could be wiped per sheet.”
He headed for the door calling back to them to follow him. Once inside his office and they were all seated, Zachery pressed an intercom button and requested Walter Millar’s presence in his office. Within five minutes a knock on the door announced his arrival, and Zachery’s voiced boomed out, ‘COME IN.’
The man who entered appeared to be in his late forties, around six foot two, with a paunch. Completely ignoring the two police officer’s, he addressed his boss politely. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes, Walter, I wonder if you can help these officer’s by answering a few of their questions? They are trying to find out about a Roger Green who used to work here.”
Walter Millar turned to the officer’s, acknowledging their presence for the first time.
“What is it you want to know? Which department did he work in?” he asked them.
“That’s what we’re hoping you can tell us and anything else you know about him.”
“Couldn’t you ask him that question? I haven’t got time to do your job for you. I assume you know where he lives?” Walter said cockily, a surly look on his face.
Pete Morgan rose from his seat and went over to where Walter stood, ram-rod stiff, chin out. He spoke over his shoulder to his colleague and Zachery.
“Excuse us for a moment gentlemen, but I have something important to say to Walter, and it’s for his ears only.” Placing a friendly hand on Walter Millar’s shoulder he steered him across the room out of earshot. Keeping his voice low and his mouth close to Walter’s ear, he dug his fingers into the pressure point on the man’s shoulder as he spoke.
“Listen closely, you cocky fuck, we’re here on police business. I want to know everything about this Roger Green that you can tell me. What his job was here, how long he worked here, and how he got on with the other workers. Your boss told me you would even know how many times he went for a crap. Now are you going to be a good man and help this NICE police officer in his inquiry, or do I have to take you in for witholding information? He released the pressure on Walters shoulder, and smiled genially at him, eyebrows raised in question.
“Now you’ve explained the importance of your inquiry, officer, I’ll be only too pleased to help you.” Walter wasn’t backing down completely, just trying to save face.
“If you’ll excuse me, I will go and check my records and see what I can find out.”
“We’ll come with you, Walter, I’m sure Mr Jordon doesn’t want us stuck in his office holding up his business.” Pete walked over to the door and stood waiting for Walter to join him. Tom got to his feet, and thanked Zachery for his help. Then followed the two men down a narrow corridor to Walter Millar’s office.
Going over to a large metal filing cabinet that practically filled one wall, its numerous drawers neatly labelled in alphabetical order, Walter searched through file after file. “This could take some time,” he told them. “It would have helped if you knew which department he worked in.” He gave Officer Morgan a dirty look.
“We don’t mind waiting, Walter. If we can help you in any way you only have to ask.”
“I don’t want anyone messing with my files.” Walter said, as he bent his head and quickly scanned the next file on his list. Half an hour passed before he finally found what he was looking for. Walter put the file on his desk then checked a number off in it and went back once more to the cabinet. He flicked through a drawer marked ‘Boning’ and removed another file, taking it over to his desk, he placed it along side the other.
“Is something bothering you, Walter?” Pete Morgan was quick to notice the puzzled look on Walter Millar’s face.
“That’s strange, why would he want to do that?” Walter muttered to himself.
“Have you something to share with us, Walter?” Tom asked him, as Walter Millar cross checked one file against the other. “Well, it appears Roger Green worked here on boning-out for a period of three years before going to the dirty section. I guess he switched sections for the money, from the looks of things he was very good at his job. He did that for two years before leaving.”
“Walter, I want you to explain to us dumb police officer’s, what the jobs here entail. No, let me rephrase that. Explain the work that Roger Green did while he was here.”
“Well, he started here boning out carcasses,” Walter stated.
“I assume that’s a skilled job he would have trained in?” Tom Holmes sa
id.
“Well, we have two sections here for this, and in one section you have to be skilled in the use of knives, and know how to cut and bone to get the best from a carcass.
The bones themselves are then passed on to another section and then scraped of any remaining flesh which is then used in burgers etcetera. McDonalds get most of their burgers from us.” he stated, proudly.
“Let me guess, Roger Green was skilled in the use of knives?” Pete Morgan said.
“He certainly was, according to his file, he was quick and efficient.”
“I suppose you have many accidents here, people cutting themselves while working. It must cost a small fortune in first aid kits,” Tom said to Walter.
“Not half as many as people would think. We have special equipment to help prevent serious accidents, otherwise we would be sued right, left, and centre. When cutting up carcasses the operatives wear chain mail gloves, so if the knife they are using should hit a bone, and the knife slips, it will hit the glove and slide off.”
Walter closed the files and returned them to the drawers, then sat at his desk.
“Roger Green worked in that department, butchering, for three years, before switching sections. Then he worked in the dirty section up until the time he left.”
“What is this ’dirty’ section you keep mentioning?” Pete asked, as he made notes on his pad.
“The dirty section is where the animals are slaughtered and skinned. Workers in these sections are separated from the others. The dirty sections have their own showers, toilets, and canteens, and the workers in the clean section, have their own facilities. We have strict hygiene standards here.” Walter sat with an arrogant look on his face.
“So what exactly did Roger Green do in the dirty section Walter?”
“He was a Knocker, and a Sticker,” he told them.
“So, what are a Knocker and a Sticker exactly?” Pete snapped, now tired of this backward and forward questioning. He had only eaten a round of toast for breakfast, and his stomach was rumbling, needing food.
“A Knocker delivers the killing blow. He shoots the animal in the head with a captive bolt to stun it. It requires a skilled hand to hit the head in the exact spot each time.”
“I read somewhere that animals are slaughtered with electricity,” Tom said.
“Yes, sheep calves, and some pigs usually are. Large tongs are placed either side of the animals head, and an electric currant passes through the brain causing temporary loss of consciousness. Then it’s passed through the heart. Stunned, and killed, at the same time. Pigs and poultry are exposed to a mixture of air and argon gas, until dead.”
“You had to ask, didn’t you?” Pete said to Tom. “Are you trying to put me off eating meat for the rest of my life? I’d become a vegetarian if I worked here.” He pictured the poor chickens being confined and gassed.
“Sorry about that, I thought you had a stronger stomach.” Tom grinned.
“Lets just stick to policing, that’s too much information for me. Especially before lunch.” Turning his attention back to the job in hand, Pete Morgan flipped his notes over exposing a clean page.
“Right, Walter, lets wind this up. You told us that Roger Green killed cattle.”
“Yes, officer, he worked as a Knocker in the slaughter house.”
“Yes, I got that bit down,” Pete said referring to his notes. “So he’s stunned the animal with this bolt and then what?”
“Once it has been stunned, it is shackled by a hind leg and hoisted above the ground. Then as the slaughter man, he would stick it.”
“Explain what you mean by ‘stick it,’ please,” Pete said.
“He cuts its throat, using a very sharp knife, severing the major blood vessels in the neck and chest that supply the brain, ensuring rapid blood loss, and once enough blood has left the body, the heart stops, and the animal is dead.
“You just had to ask, didn’t you?” Tom teased. Walter noted the sickly look on Officer Morgan’s face, as he visualised cattle hung upside down, their cut throats dripping away their life blood. Secretly delighted at having upset the stomach of the officer, called, Pete Morgan, he couldn’t resist asking.
“Do you wish to witness this process officer?” Pete managed a weak smile.
“Thanks but that won’t be necessary. I think we have all we need for now.”
They were on their way back to the station when Tom remembered his colleague was hungry, and thought he’d have a bit of fun at his expense.
“I spotted a McDonalds about a mile down the road. Did you want me to stop so you can grab some lunch, a beef burger maybe?”
“Just keep driving, I’m no longer hungry. When I do eat again, it won’t be a bloody beef burger from McDonalds or anywhere else for that matter.”
“You could have fish, or chicken. A chicken burger would be nice.” Tom grinned.
“Shut up and KEEP driving!”
CHAPTER 38
Scott was working his way through the reports, while Jake was busy making notes on the whiteboard, as he briefed the officer’s sitting around the room. Every head turned towards the door, as Pete, and Tom entered. The DCI signalled with his hand, for them to be seated, allowing no interruptions once briefing had started.
“I’ve been doing a bit of sleuthing myself this morning, and this is what I’ve found out,” Jake told his men. “Meat from the slaughter house is usually delivered on a Monday. We know the last delivery couldn’t be made to Bradley’s Butchers, because the delivery man couldn’t gain access to the premises, and that’s when we were called in. I’ve learnt something that could be of vital importance in establishing time of death, since this couldn’t be obtained at autopsy.”
Turning back to the whiteboard, Jake took up the marker, and wrote down the facts as he addressed the officer’s, and some made notes while he talked.
Against number one, he wrote, ‘Killed before closing time at 4:30 p.m.’
“Lucas Bradley was killed before closing time, how do we know this?” He looked around at the silent faces. “I’ll tell you. We know this because when it came around to four thirty, the meat on display in the window would have been wrapped and placed on trays in the chilled unit. I’ve been told that this is the first thing any butcher does prior to closing for the night, before he gets to cleaning and scrubbing down.”
He wrote on the board again, under number one.
Two: - Still alive at 4 p.m..
“We know Lucas always opened at eight thirty sharp everyday apart from Sunday.
He was still alive at four o’clock because he cut and boned a joint of pork for Connie Kershaw. This has been confirmed. Mrs Kershaw told Sergeant Frankton she was the only customer in the shop at that time, and she didn’t see anyone else around. So his killer would have entered sometime between ten past four, and four-thirty on Thursday last, and somehow overpowered Lucas, before killing him and disposing of his body.”
Three: - Shop keys.
“We know Lucas was frozen and the body then brought back and hung in his chiller, along with the carcasses. His killer using Lucas’s set of shop keys, to go back and forth.”
Under four he wrote, ‘Copy Cat killing!’
“The white rose found in the chest freezer, is a known variety, and bears no resembalance to the ones found with the bodies of our other victims. This is a copycat killing done as a cover-up. Who ever killed Lucas Bradley also killed his wife. That sign reading ‘Prices Slashed,’ was written in her blood, and her missing organs were found cut up in the trays behind the sign.” Jake moved away from the white board.
“We have one sick bastard out there. My guess is when we find Evelyn Bradley’s lover, we’ll find her killer, and that of Lucas Bradley, because Lucas Bradley did not kill his wife. There’s no evidence at all linking him to her murder, despite the killer’s attempt to make us believe so. I’ll hand you over to the profiler, Scott Holden, to give you his thoughts based on the evidence found. Scott, would you take it from h
ere?”
Scott stood and faced the officer’s, feeling slightly uncomfortable.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. This is how I think it went down. Evelyn Bradley told her lover she was pregnant, and for reasons not yet known, he killed her. The manner in which she was killed, made it easy for suspicion to fall on her husband, Lucas. We know that Lucas Bradley was infertile. A fact that must also have been known to her killer, and when confronted with her pregnancy, I believe it sealed her fate. Evelyn Bradley wasn’t just murdered, she was butchered, strengthening the case against her husband as being her killer. Then, the media made everyone aware that we have a serial killer in our midst, whose signature is a white rose. I think, armed with this information, Evelyn’s killer saw the chance to get rid of Lucas, with the blame this time, falling on the ‘White Rose’ killer. Perhaps assuming, we would think it was the vigilante avenging Evelyn’s murder. DCI Fletcher already mentioned the killer using Lucas’s keys to go back and forth, unfortunately for us, undetected.”
Scott paced up and down as he put forth both theory, and facts, pausing now and again to refer to the whiteboard and Jake Fletcher’s notes.
“Lucas Bradley’s murder was premeditated, that is a fact. Toxicology reported finding traces of chloroform, so we know the killer wasn’t a stranger to Lucas Bradley, and thus was able to get close enough to use it to overpower his victim. A hole had been cut in the back of his clothing, prior to freezing, to facilitate hanging up the body when it was frozen. There are signs that a ratchet levered hand hoist was used for this purpose. Although, keeping a grip on a frozen body, would have required considerable strength.” Scott’s voice tapered off as his throat dried; he stopped talking and reached for a bottle of water, gulping it down.