A Hunger Within

by Michael Kerr

  Fucking civilians! Phil released the man, holstered his gun and went back outside the door to work on his crossword.

  “How did you get up here, Harold?” Emily said.

  “The stairs,” Harold said.

  Emily smiled. “I meant...Never mind. You saved me from being murdered. Thank you.”

  Harold shuffled his feet. “You’re welcome. I want you to know that I wasn’t creeping about watching you. I drank too much and got up the courage to come round and strike up a conversation. I saw the strange car and...and...”

  “Thank God you turned up, Harold. I can never repay you.”

  “Yes you can. Let me take you for a meal...when you feel better.”

  “Okay. That’s the least I can do. But I’m paying.”

  If it had been dark, then Harold’s grin would have lit up the whole hospital. Emily thought he looked like a kid on Christmas morning. And he seemed to be a nice guy. It was hard to believe that up until now he’d been almost a stranger; the reclusive next door neighbour who she had let ogle her sunbathing naked through the garden fence.

  She had enjoyed knowing that he was watching her. Exposing herself had been one of the horniest things she’d ever done. Knowing what he might be doing while she massaged oil into her breasts was a mega turn on. But that seemed a lifetime ago, before this horrific event had taken place. But she would not let what had happened change her as a person. She was determined to put the episode behind her and embrace life, but with far more caution.

  “So, Harold, we live next door to each other and have never really passed the time of day, apart from the odd ‘hello’ in the supermarket. Tell me all about yourself.”

  “There’s not a lot to tell,” Harold said. “I used to be a forklift truck driver, until I turned one over and ended up underneath it. I’m on a disability pension now. I just potter about. I’ve got a dog, Benson. And I like big band music. Most of the things I always wanted to do have never got done. I suppose I’ve gotten used to being alone.”

  “I don’t think you ever get used to being alone, Harold. That’s what got me into this mess. I was reaching out for something, and bit off more than I could chew.”

  “I’ve got nothing going for me, Emily, but I’d like to be your friend.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “I’ll be off then,” Harold said. “I don’t want to outstay my welcome. I just needed to see that you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. I should be getting out of here tomorrow. Be careful, Harold. The police think he might try to finish what he started. You may be in danger.”

  “He didn’t see me, Emily. Maybe you shouldn’t go back home until he’s caught.”

  “Who says they’ll catch him? He used a false name. I don’t think they have a clue as to his real identity.”

  “I can give you five minutes, Officers,” Jayne Lennox said to Ryan and Eddie, turning on her bright if totally insincere smile.

  Ryan leant forward in the bamboo chair and gave her his intimidating look. “This is a murder investigation, Ms. Lennox. Let’s not put the clock on it. One of your researchers, Paula Kay, was shot in the head and neck. Someone who knew her arranged for that to be done.”

  Jayne had reluctantly ventured out from her inner sanctum to the reception area, and shown them to a corner that had chairs and a large coffee table. The walls were a pale shade of green, there was a water feature with tinkling fountain, and potted palms and yucca plants in abundance.

  “You must be confusing me with a suspect, Detective Inspector,” Jayne said with a sneer. “I’ve already given a full statement. You will find that I have nothing to add.”

  Her attitude reminded Ryan of the young Margaret Thatcher, when she had been at the top of the tree, imperious and full of shit.

  “Are you a lesbian, Ms. Lennox?” Ryan said.

  She didn’t so much as blink. “My being gay or not is none of your damn business,” she said. “It isn’t pertinent. Next question.”

  “Same question, because it is pertinent. Paula was gay. She may have upset a lover who couldn’t handle rejection.”

  Jayne sighed with an edge of manufactured exasperation. “You may be right,” she said. “But be advised that I am not about to discuss my sexual orientation with a couple of cops. I did not see Paula socially; did not murder her, or hire anyone else to. Neither do I know anyone who I think capable of such a thing. Anything else?”

  “How long did Paula work for you?”

  “Eight months on the show. But she has, sorry, had been with Auntie for three or four years. Fact is, her job was more secure than mine. A lot of us household names come and go at the whim of audience ratings, but an experienced researcher like Paula would probably have a position until she chose to move on or up.”

  “So you weren’t her boss?”

  “No. She answered to the producer of the show.”

  “Who is?”

  “Anne Stark. I suggest you talk to her. I believe she and Paula were more than just good friends. Will that be all?”

  “Yeah, for now,” Ryan said. “Thanks for your time, Ms. Lennox.”

  Jayne got up, smoothed down her skirt and walked away briskly without another word or backward glance.

  “I don’t think you were popping her cork, boss,” Eddie said. “It went downhill from when you asked her if she was a dyke.”

  “You think if I’d sucked up to her a bit more, she might have asked me on to her show?”

  “Positive. You might have got your own five minute slot, answering phone-in questions about the fight against heinous crime: telling the public at large how to avoid becoming victims of serial killers and other assorted crazies.”

  “And you think I’ve blown it?”

  “Big time.”

  “Story of my life. Now go and arrange for us to see this Anne Stark. And find some coffee.”

  Anne Stark sent an assistant down to escort them up to her office. There were dated, framed photographs of Esther Rantzen, Michael Parkinson, and other questionable luminaries on the walls.

  “Have you found out who murdered Paula?” Anne said Ryan after they had taken seats in an informal corner of the large room, away from the desk and filing cabinets.

  “No, Ms. Stark. But we are now positive that it was someone she knew.”

  Anne scratched her scalp absently through ultra-short hair. There was a light dusting of dandruff on the shoulders of her dark, big-shouldered jacket. “I thought she was just one of several people shot by a madman.”

  “So did we, initially. That is apparently what we were supposed to believe.”

  “And what more do you think I can add to the statement I’ve already given?”

  “We understand that you were a close friend of Paula’s. Is that true?”

  “She was my chief researcher for a couple of years. We had a good working relationship.”

  “Any other relationship, Ms. Stark?”

  “What has that bitch Lennox been saying?”

  “She implied that you and Paula were more than just good friends.”

  “And I suppose she led you to believe that she was straight.”

  “Are you saying that she’s gay?”

  “Do bears shit in the woods, Inspector?”

  “At a guess, yes.”

  “Well take it from me, given the choice of Brad Pitt or CZJ to cosy up to, Brad would be out in the cold.”

  “CZJ?” Eddie said.

  “Catherine Zeta Jones. Jayne thinks the woman is wasted on Michael Douglas, or any man. She fancies her something rotten.”

  “So you and Paula were an item?” Ryan said, not interested in anything to do with showbiz. Rightly or wrongly, and he didn’t care which, he thought that many actors and other celebrities were basically shallow and insecure men and women, playing charades for too much money, and only interested in being legends in their own minds, if nowhere else. Too many of them were posers who didn’t contribute much to society, and who lived on a di
et of vanity and nose candy.

  “For a short time,” Anne said. “She was a lot younger than me. After a while I found her too immature. I moved on.”

  “Are you saying you dumped her?”

  “Your terminology is a little coarse, Inspector. It was more of a mutual split. And we maintained a very good working relationship.”

  She was lying. Ryan couldn’t make eye contact with the woman. And she was almost squirming in her chair.

  “Do you know of any ex-lover she had who would not be able to handle rejection, and might wish her harm?”

  Anne shook her head. “No. I’m sure that if she had been threatened, or felt at risk, then Paula would have confided in me.”

  “Obviously that was not the case, Ms. Stark,” Ryan said. “Her killer was paid to murder her in cold blood. He shot her in the back of the skull. Blew half her brains and an eye out.”

  Anne shot to her feet. Blinked against a rush of tears. Shouted ,“That’s enough,” spraying Ryan with spittle. “Get out of my office, you insensitive pig.”

  Ryan lit up on the way down in the lift, directly under the NO SMOKING sign.

  “Who do you want to go and upset now, boss?” Eddie said.

  “You think I was a little too abrasive?”

  “I think you were charming...up until the brains and eye bit. I’m surprised you didn’t bring a few crime scene shots to run by her. We might have got to see what she had for breakfast.”

  “She was lying to us, Eddie. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

  “I got the impression that it might have been Paula who gave her the elbow. She has pride, boss. She’s a dumpy little dyke who isn’t getting any younger. She wanted to keep some dignity. Does that warrant your being so rude to her?”

  “I believe she was lying about a lot more than why they split up, Eddie. I think she hired Tyler to murder Paula and take out the others to keep us off her back. If I’m right, then she as good as pulled the trigger.”

  “What gave you such insight?”

  “Just a fleeting look in her eyes. I saw guilt there.”

  “If you’re right, then how do we prove it?”

  “We have to put up a good enough case to have her financial records scrutinised. I expect to find that she made a large withdrawal, or several smaller ones from different bank and building society accounts, probably in August. We’ll need to prove probable cause to get warrants. The paperwork gives me the shits. It slows us down. Gives scumbags too much room to manoeuvre.”

  “You think a police state would be better? Take away everyone’s civil rights and―”

  “Give me a break, Eddie. You know what I mean. We make one spelling mistake or fuck up procedure, and the bad guys walk, even when everyone knows they’re guilty as sin. Didn’t the Bodine case teach you that?”

  Eddie screwed up his face. Duane Bodine was a date rapist and murderer who had used liquid X to subdue his victims. He was a regular clubber, and had the sense to strike infrequently and at different venues. The bodies of eight young women had been found as far north as Watford, and as far south as Brighton. The MO told them that it was the same killer. The girls had all been beaten unmercifully, raped repeatedly, and finally finished off by way of an industrial nail gun being employed, to crucify them. Each was discovered pinned to tree trunks in public parks. Bodine liked the shock effect his method generated. The tabloids tagged him the ‘Jesus Killer’.

  With a description given by a teenage girl who he’d drugged but failed to lure out of the Praying Mantis club in Harlow, officers broke into Bodine’s flat in Islington. During the subsequent search, they found the nail gun, clothing with blood on it that matched one of the victims, and Polaroid photographs of each girl nailed up by her hands and feet, with a six-inch nail through their foreheads. There was no doubt whatsoever that Bodine was the Jesus killer.

  The CPS threw it out. The search had been illegal, not backed up with a correctly worded warrant. That made everything found inadmissible as evidence. If it had gone to court, they would not have been able to use the proof they had. As far as the law was concerned, the murder weapon, bloodstained clothing and the photos, did not exist.

  Bodine had been kept under surveillance, and knew better than to start up again. But they got a result of sorts. What goes around sometimes comes around with a little help. Someone had leaked his name to the fathers’ of all his victims. Six month’s down the line, Bodine dropped out of sight. It was fitting that his mutilated body was found a week later, nailed to a tree. He who lives by the sword – or in this case, six-inch nails – sometimes dies by it.

  “Two wrongs don’t make what happened right, boss,” Eddie said. “Bodine was murdered. One of those girls’ fathers took the law into his own hands.”

  “Whatever works, Eddie.”

  “You condone it?”

  “There’s always compromise, Eddie. We live in extremely violent times. I can live with sacrificing a little professional integrity if it gets the job done. My white hat is a little scuffed and grubby, but I still rate myself as being one of the good guys. If I’ve got to get down and play dirty, then I will. My conscious is clear. As a kid I used to watch a lot of Yank cop shows. The motto: ‘TO PROTECT AND SERVE’ was – and still is – on the sides of the black and whites in L.A. That always stuck in my mind. It’s why we do what we do, Eddie. I try not to let red tape and small-minded bureaucracy get in the way of what really matters.”

  “It gets complicated, boss.”

  “Only if you let it.”

  They talked to reception staff, then other BBC employees who had worked alongside Paula. It was Fiona Lovell who gave them more insight into the true nature of Anne Stark.

  “Is this off the record?” Fiona nervously asked Ryan as they gathered round a table in the canteen.

  “We’re not the press, Ms. Lovell. This is a murder investigation. At this stage, we are just making discreet inquiries,” Ryan said in answer, not pointing out that what she told them could land her in a witness box at any subsequent trial.

  “Paula was a lovely girl,” Fiona began. “Anne Stark was no good for her. You’ve heard of the producer’s couch. Stark seduced dozens of young women whose careers depended on her. She is a sex mad, ruthless bitch. A user. But she fell in love with Paula. Wanted her to stop seeing anyone else and move in with her. Paula wouldn’t. Rumour has it that Paula started up with Jayne Lennox, and told Stark it was over between them. I once overheard them having a shouting match in the ladies―”

  “Who? Paula and Anne?” Ryan said.

  “Yes, I was in a stall and heard Paula tell Anne to leave her alone. Anne started shouting. Said that it would be over when she decided. Called Paula a whore. Paula gave as good as she got. Advised Anne to find some older woman who might enjoy her geriatric style of lovemaking. It ended with Anne telling Paula to watch her back; that she would pay dearly for humiliating her by screwing around with Lennox.”

  “Do you believe that she intended Paula harm?”

  “She’s a vindictive old bitch, Inspector. Her temper is legendary. I would tend to believe anything bad I heard about her.”

  With what they now knew, Ryan and Eddie went back up to brace Jayne Lennox. Ryan would be coming at her from high ground, armed with one of the most powerful weapons on earth; knowledge.

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  “For fuck’s sake, Mary, you’re making me look like a Geisha girl. What’s the matter with you today?”

  “Sorry, Ms. Lennox,” the flustered makeup artist said. “I thought you liked the high-definition blusher.”

  “Think sophisticated, and that less is more, Mary. Wipe it off and start over.”

  Had Mary not been such a darling, who Jayne was hoping to bed, then she would have just told her to get the hell out, called Quentin, the head of the makeup department, and asked him to send someone more proficient.

  Ryan knocked at the door and opened it. “We need another word, Ms. Lennox.”

  Jayne
looked at Ryan through the mirror. Her mouth actually dropped open, and her face took on the overall hue of the rouge that Mary had been so heavy-handed with.

  “How dare you burst in here? Get out, now,” she shouted.

  “If we leave now, then you accompany us,” Ryan said. “It might be more conducive to finding the truth in more formal surroundings.”

  “Are you arresting me, Inspector?”

  “No. But have no doubt, if you continue to hold back vital information, then I will ruin your day.”

  “Leave us alone, Mary,” Jayne said, waving the girl away. “I’ll call you when these gentlemen have left.”

  Mary threw her pots, brushes and assorted products into a large case, snapped the catches closed and scurried off. Eddie closed the door after her.

  Jayne spun round in the swivel chair to face the two officers. “This better be good,” she said to Ryan. “You’re beginning to really piss me off.”

  “You misled us, Ms. Lennox,” Ryan said. “It’s widely known that you’re gay, and that you had a personal relationship with Paula.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “The question should be, who didn’t tell us that? It’s common knowledge.”

  “So I swing both ways,” Jayne said. “There’s no law against it.”

  “True. So why hide the fact from us?”

  “Because I find that in a world still largely dominated by heterosexual males, that it pays to be ambiguous. Men feel threatened by any woman who doesn’t need them to get it on.”

  “Let’s skip the foreplay then,” Ryan quipped. “You were seeing Paula, and knew that she had been tight with Anne Stark. Correct?”

  Jayne teased a tissue from a box and dabbed at both eyes in turn.

  “The old cow threatened her, Inspector.”

  “With physical violence?”

  “Paula told me that Stark had slapped her face and said that she would be sorry. The crone knows a lot of people here, and a lot of things that they would rather not have brought out into the open. One phone call, and Paula would have been out on her ear, without a reference.”