by Michael Kerr
Matt got up and filled two mugs from the simmering coffeemaker and placed them on cork coasters on the table and slid back onto the bench seat.
“What did he do?” Matt said.
“Beheaded his mother, father and sister with a Samurai sword.”
“Jesus. Why?”
“Because he’s mentally ill, Matt. He was sick of family bickering and decided to end it, permanently. He was found in the living room with the bodies, by a friend of his mother’s. He was sitting watching TV with his sister’s head in his lap.”
“You really work with some total nutters, Beth.”
Beth smiled. “Yeah, and that’s just the staff. So how’s your current case going?”
“There are two on the boards, and we’re getting nowhere fast. One is a rapist who has strangled three young women and dumped them in skips. He works at night and doesn’t leave trace, so we believe he wears gloves and a condom.”
“And the other case?”
“It’s pretty original. The guy is a repeater who has obviously selected his targets after doing a lot of research on them. I think that theft is his main objective, and that the subsequent killing is just to cover his tracks. He bungled what we believe was his first robbery.”
Matt gave Beth the details of the killer’s actions to date, and of how the victims of his last two crimes were murdered in cold blood; the housekeepers asphyxiated and their employers shot between the eyes.
“I have the feeling that if the first old man hadn’t beaten him off, he wouldn’t have escalated and started killing,” Beth said. “He probably decided to up his game and cut out any possibility of another failure. His warped logic told him to not only ensure he kept total control, but to leave no witness to what he had done.”
Matt thought it over. “Do you fancy a nightcap?” he said.
“A small one with ice,” Beth said as he got up and took the empty mugs over to the sink, and then poured scotch into two lead crystal glasses and added a cube of ice to Beth’s.
“Cheers,” Matt said as he once more sat down and handed Beth what would have been at least a triple measure in a pub.
“Cheers,” Beth said.
Matt took a sip, savoured the Glenmorangie, and wondered why he ever drank cheap blended scotch: because single malt costs an arm and a leg, he reminded himself.
“Why do you suppose that he would stun the housekeepers, tie them up and put plastic bags over their heads?” Matt said. “He uses a gun on the men he robs.”
“I don’t know,” Beth said. “You told me that he doesn’t inflict any other injuries on them, or sexually assault them, so it makes no sense.”
“Does his MO suggest any particular…what do you call them, mental disorders that put him in a category you recognise?”
Beth swirled the half-melted ice cube in her scotch and took a sip as she ran through the scenarios of the crimes that Matt had outlined. “Though not by conscious design he’s now a pattern killer,” she said. “He tied up the first woman and left her in the bath, alive. The second wasn’t so lucky, and he added the plastic bag. It was simple and did the job. He felt comfortable doing it, so repeated it the next time. Same with the old men that he then robbed. He shot both of them, so will most likely do the same again.”
“You think he’ll keep at it?”
“Yes, definitely. And you know it. It’s a formula that works, and I’m sure that he enjoys the thrill of doing it. Perhaps he started this just for the money, but I think it has gone beyond that now.”
“So what I’ve got is a serial killer started up. Right?”
“Right. And remember our deal, Matt. Don’t get personal with him. I want to feel safe here in our new home. I don’t want him to know that you exist.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Matt said. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
Beth frowned. “I hope so,” she said. “You’re like a bloody magnet to them, Matt.”
“That was then and this is now. I’m still as dedicated to closing cases as quickly as possible, but not by putting myself or anyone else up like ducks in a shooting gallery.”
“Sounds good, but you get a fire in your brain. It’s like a fever. You start acting as if any further victims are a result of you not finding and stopping the offenders. You adopt a sense of guilt, as if you’ve personally failed them.”
Matt shrugged. He knew that Beth was right, and that he became emotionally involved. It was how he was, and he believed that the deep concern he felt helped to concentrate him. He had never been a copper that could approach serious crime in a disconnected way, as if those that suffered at the hands of others were just statistics. When he stood over a corpse, or looked at crime scene photographs, he allowed his mind to see them as people that had died of unnatural causes: people whom he believed should still be alive and enjoying the gift of life with their loved ones: loved ones that were now trapped in dark tunnels of personal grief, each mourning, finding it almost impossible to understand why someone had been taken away from them by a murdering bastard that didn’t merit his space or place on the planet.
Matt sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t isolate my emotions from the events. It’s who I am, Beth. If I didn’t care so much, then I’d be in the wrong job.”
“It isn’t a job of work to you, Matt, it’s a vocation. You have to somehow find a way to not take it so personally. The murderers and their victims are strangers to you.”
“I know. I hear what you’re saying, but I can’t put my heart and soul into anything if I erect barriers and stay detached.”
Beth smiled. She loved Matt to bits for who he was. His empathy for others was one of the endearing traits that were part and parcel of his makeup. She stroked the solitaire diamond engagement ring on her finger. They kept meaning to set a date to tie the knot, but were in no hurry. Getting hitched would not make them love each other any more than they already did.
“You want to go to bed and fool around, or have another scotch?” Beth said.
Matt appeared to give it some thought and finally said, “Both.”
He gripped a twelve-inch long piece of lead pipe, which he had withdrawn from a deep inside pocket of his car coat as he entered the mouth of the alley, to be swallowed by darkness after taking no more than four steps. Keeping the pipe down by his side, he stood still with his back against a brick wall until his vision became accustomed to the gloom and he could make out the bulky shapes of skips that he knew were used by the many restaurants and fast-food joints that fronted the street at the other side of buildings that shielded him from the glow of lights and the sight of people.
Janice Cross was feeling really horny as she slipped her panties down to her ankles, hooked them off over her shoes and stuffed them into her handbag. A vodka Breezer too many, she thought as she unbuckled Mark’s belt, undid the button of his waistband and pulled the zip down with trembling fingers. God, she was up for it.
Janice pushed his jeans down to below his knees, and Mark gasped as her hand found and encircled his erect penis. He put both hands inside her coat, unbuttoned her blouse and eased up the flimsy bra to gain access to her breasts. Her nipples were already stiff, and as he ran his thumbs over them Janice moaned and pushed her hips against him.
“Do it, Mark, now,” Janice whispered urgently. “I need you inside me.”
Up against a wall in an alley wasn’t the perfect venue. Mark was over six-foot tall and Janice was only five-foot-one. He bent his knees and used his right hand to guide himself into her warm, wet centre.
He drew nearer to the couple and watched. It stimulated him to be a voyeur to their act. They were totally absorbed by what they were doing and oblivious to all else.
He let the lad finish, and could imagine that he would be breathless, with trembling legs and a heart pumping like a racing engine.
Mark had absolutely no knowledge of dying. He had just ejaculated and withdrawn from Janice when the devastating blow from the lead pipe split his sku
ll open to deeply puncture his brain.
Janice opened her eyes. She had come at the same time as Mark. Experiencing orgasms had never been a problem for her. Just half a dozen deep thrusts could make her pop like a cork from a champagne bottle, to fizz with an intense pleasure that made her groan as if the episode were causing agony, not ecstasy.
He used the pipe again to hit the girl across the jaw.
Janice didn’t understand what was happening. She had no idea that Mark was technically dead at her feet. She cupped her hands to her split lips and knew that some of her teeth had been broken. Her tongue found the jagged stumps; she could taste blood, and spat out small pieces of tooth without even being aware that she was doing it.
He grinned at her, but said nothing. Her expression was one of absolute terror; her eyelids stretched wide to fully expose the irises. He could see that initial shock and pain had immobilised her. Grasping her by the hair he pulled her down to her knees and within seconds was taking her from behind. That she had removed her panties and was already wet, made for quick and easy entry.
Janice’s face was hung down, very close to Mark’s head. She lost all sensation, to be completely overwhelmed by the sight of Mark’s eyes staring unseeingly at her. A ribbon of blood had leaked from his left nostril and was dripping down onto the paving stone beneath his head.
He was at the brink, and dropped the lead pipe and put both hands around her throat and dug his fingers into the warm flesh, just a second or two away from exerting enough pressure to fracture the larynx or cricoid bone and finish her off.
Shit! A sudden shaft of bright light hit and illuminated him. He became motionless for an instant before leaping to his feet and running back to the end of the alley, removing his latex gloves and zipping up his trousers as he ran. When he came to the street he slowed down and walked off in the direction of Shaftesbury Avenue. He could feel panic blossoming in his brain. The bitch had seen his face and could give the police a description of him. Relax, he told himself. She had been in shock, and the alley had been dark. But what about the man he had seen the silhouette of in the open gateway? Had he had enough time to take in the full picture as the scene had been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree?
Somehow forcing himself to stroll casually among the revellers, he finally caught a tube back to where he had parked his Nissan in the NCP at Newbury Park, just a short drive from his house in Ilford.
He was worried, but more than that, he was extremely frustrated. He needed sex, and also to make up for his failure to kill the girl. Commonsense decreed that he back off and wait for the dust to settle, but primal urges had a way of overruling logic.
CHAPTER SIX
Matt’s mobile was buzzing and moving around on top of the bedside cabinet like a dying fly on its back. It was the middle of the night and the caller ID was Pete Deakin.
“Yeah?”
“Didn’t wake you did I?”
“You know you did. And you enjoyed doing it, so tell me something that will stop me from driving into work and shooting you.”
Pete laughed, but only for a second. “The rapist was busy again tonight, boss. He attacked a young couple this time. The lad didn’t make it, but the girl did.”
“What makes you think it’s the repeater?”
“He was raping and strangling her down an alley in Soho.”
“How come she survived?”
“A kitchen worker was putting rubbish out. He opened a gate to the alley and saw it going down. The rapist did a runner, and the witness got on to emergency services for an ambulance and the police.”
“How was the lad killed?”
“Looks like he was hit with a piece of metal pipe, hard enough to fracture his skull and scramble his brains.”
“Where are you now?”
“On my way to the scene with Phil. We should be there in a couple of minutes. Crime Scene is already there, and the pathologist is en route.”
“Which hospital is the girl in?”
“Guy’s.”
“Okay, I’ll give Marci a bell. She can come with me and talk to the girl. Have you got her name?”
“Janice Cross. And her now late boyfriend’s name is Mark Collins.”
Matt got dressed and phoned Marci while Beth made black coffee for him to take with him in an insulated mug. He then verified that the witness from the restaurant was at Old Street police station, and arranged for him to be transferred to the Yard.
“Be safe,” Beth said after Matt kissed her at the front door and walked over to the two-year old maroon Vectra he had traded the old gas-guzzling Discovery in for. He got in, waved and drove off, heading into the city to meet Marci at Guy’s Hospital.
Marci Clark was inside the main foyer of the hospital, sitting facing the doors and reading a Patterson paperback while she waited for Matt. She had ascertained that Janice Cross was suffering from a mouth injury and bruising to her throat, but that she was fully conscious and would be discharged within a few hours. The teenager had been extremely lucky. She would need dental work, but had survived an attack that would have undoubtedly proved fatal had it not been for kitchen waste being taken out at the crucial time. It bothered Marci that life was a series of random events that could cause catastrophe or good fortune to happen in a blink. There was no assurance that any given individual would still be alive tomorrow. Each day seemed to be packed full of misfortune. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time could prove fatal, and yet everyone made plans for a future that they had no guarantee they would be a part of. And she was just as guilty. She looked forward, even though she believed that she should only live for the day.
Matt strolled in looking more like a roadie for a heavy metal band than a detective inspector. His thick hair was a little long and unfashionable, he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and his windbreaker and blue jeans were old and worn. He was even wearing cowboy boots. So how come he looked so good to Marci. If he hadn’t got it together with Beth, and a hundred other things hadn’t happened over the years, then she believed that she and Matt would have had more than just a good working relationship. He was a good man, put his life and reputation on the line if need be, and fought his team’s corner against the powers that be, of whom he had little time for. Marci had recently ended an affair with Pete Deakin. They had both thought that they were in love with each other, but when faced with the prospect of one of them having to leave the SCU, they had ultimately decided that it was just a passing infatuation, and that good sex had been mistaken for something more. They remained the best of friends, and so could still work together.
Matt gave Marci a small smile as he angled over to where she was putting the paperback in her shoulder bag as she stood up to greet him.
“You look as fresh as a daisy, Marci,” Matt said. “How do you manage that at this time in the morning?”
“Bollocks, boss,” Marci said. “Flattery’ll get you nowhere. I’ve got bags under my eyes and my hair looks like a haystack.”
“Yeah, but apart from that you look fine,” Matt said. “Can we get to see the girl now, or are they working on her?”
“They found her a bed on the fifth floor.” Marci said. “And in a private room, due to the press drifting in like vultures to a carcass.”
“That’s all we need,” Matt said. “Let’s go up there before some hack spots us and gets in our faces.”
Janice had been given a mild sedative, and was sitting up in the bed with pillows behind her. She had called her parents and let them know that she had been assaulted, and they were on their way to the hospital.
Matt introduced Marci and himself to the girl. She was trying to put on a brave face, but both Matt and Marci could see that she was close to tears, and that the reality of what had happened was beginning to sink in. The initial shock and the subsequent hospital treatment were now being replaced with the horror of what had taken place in the alley. She was replaying the events over and over again, and Matt needed to glean as many facts as he co
uld from her, before her mind decided to take time out and start closing doors to protect it from blowing circuits.
Matt could see that his presence was inhibiting the girl from talking freely. “I’ll go find some decent coffee,” he said to Marci. “Do you want anything, Janice?”
“Coke with a straw, please,” she said with difficulty. Her mouth and throat were hurting.
“Do you need to let my parents know all the details?” Janice said to Marci when Matt had left the room and closed the door behind him.
“Regarding what?” Marci said.
“What Mark and I were doing.”
“The main thing that we’re interested in is the attack on you, Janice. Whether you and your…and Mark were just snogging or doing more than that isn’t the issue.”
“I feel so terrible,” Janice said with tears pouring down her cheeks. “Mark is dead, and I’m worrying what my mum and dad would think if they knew we were having it off down an alley.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Marci asked.
“We…We’d just finished,” Janice said in a very low voice. “And as I opened my eyes Mark was gone, and another man was standing in front of me. It all happened so fast. He hit me in the mouth with something, and I fell down next to Mark. I could see his face and…and I just knew that he was dead.”
Marci said nothing. Just reached out and gently squeezed Janice’s hand and gave her time to marshal her thoughts.
“The man started raping me from behind,” Janice whispered. “And he put his hands around my throat was strangling me. I knew that I was going to die, and then a gate opened and there was bright light. He let go of me and I heard him run away. A second later a young Asian guy was kneeling next to me, telling me that I was safe. He phoned for an ambulance, helped me up and took me into a storeroom at the back of a restaurant. He got me a glass of water and stayed with me till the ambulance arrived.”