‘Oh, I think you do. You deal with the dirty leeches every day of the week. Rapists, robbers, people that prey on the weak and vulnerable. It must grind in your gut when you see them get off. And let’s face it, most of them do, because the police aren’t very good at their jobs. What if you had the power to give them a little restorative justice? I’m only doing what the rest of you fantasise about.’
‘And what are you?’ Elizabeth said.
Frank narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You mentioned the criminals I deal with. The rapists, the muggers and the murderers. What are you?’ Elizabeth said, the words dripping with sarcasm.
Frank smiled. ‘I’m the Grim Reaper. I tap these people on the shoulder when their time is up. I could have done so much more if Sam hadn’t chickened out. Still, his time will come and one day the old Grim Reaper will be tapping on your shoulder too.’
Elizabeth’s guard dropped as her face fell.
A smile played on Frank’s lips. ‘What? Don’t look so alarmed. I’m only stating the obvious. You planning on living forever, darling?’
Elizabeth took a slow cool breath. ‘Who else have you killed?’
‘You’re the detective. You tell me,’ Frank said, cracking his knuckles.
‘Why don’t we talk about how you killed Mr Osborne and move on from there.’
Frank leaned forward in his chair. ‘Ah, look at your face. Have I rattled you? Sorry, it was not my intention. You know, if you took your hair down and dressed a bit more feminine, you’d be a real knock out.’
Elizabeth glared at her suspect, hating that her voice had risen an octave. ‘It’s Sergeant Knight to you. I asked you a question, how did you kill Michael Osborne?’
Frank tutted. ‘There you go again, spoiling the party. Just when we were getting so well. Let me tell you something. I run this interview, not you. You want to know why that is? Because all the cards are in my hands.’
Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, and Frank waved a finger to stop her.
‘Ah ah ah, now don’t interrupt. I’ve just done your career the biggest favour. I’m going to make you famous. This interview will be played all over the country. You’ll be able to write a book about it. So you listen while I talk.’
‘Focus on the criminal offences and it’s a deal.’
Frank nodded. ‘I like that. You remind me of someone. She had a smart mouth too. Unfortunately, she’s not with us anymore.’
Elizabeth bit her lip as she thought of the police officers searching Frank’s flat. She still needed physical evidence, as he could easily backtrack on his confession later. ‘I need specifics; dates, times. When did this all start?’
Frank leaned into the tape recorder. ‘I have harboured my feelings for some time. It’s the natural order, the way things should be. I expect one day the rest of the world will catch up with my thinking. It’s not just criminals that deserve to die. People that abuse their position of power are villains in disguise and the truth is closing in. How is your truth Eli-za-beth? Is your conscience clear?’
Elizabeth was painfully aware of the ticking clock on the wall. She needed a reaction, and purposely stifled a yawn in response to Frank’s grand speech. ‘Let’s say we start from the beginning and work your way through the people you claim to have killed.’
A flicker of annoyance crossed Frank’s face. ‘Claimed! You really have no idea who you’re talking to, do you? I killed them all right. Mr Michael Osborne – a drug-dealing pimp. I smashed his face in before kicking the chair out from his legs as he whimpered for mercy. He couldn’t even die with dignity. Your pathetic investigation failed to even recognise the fact that he was murdered.’ Frank said, spittle gathering in the corners of his lips as the words poured out. ‘Then there was Stanley, the kiddie fiddler and retired school teacher. Everyone knew he was a child molester, but nobody had the guts to do anything – until I came along that is, and smoked him to hell. Somebody had to take a stand, and it certainly wasn’t going to be you.’
Elizabeth nodded, not wanting to break the momentum. ‘Please carry on.’
Frank shifted in his chair. ‘Yes, I can see I’ve got your attention now. I got Mrs Harris’s attention too. What a waste of life that was, flapping around on her back for her inhaler, those big pudgy jaws opening and closing like a fish out of water. Quite funny really.’ Frank paused and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I think that’s enough for you to go on for now.’
Concealing her shaking hands under the table, Elizabeth sighed, as if she was talking to a naughty school child. ‘Frank. Everything you’ve told me so far is hearsay. You’ve not given me any times or dates, nothing definitive. I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve made the whole thing up.’
Frank response came in a low grumble. ‘That’s what Sam thought until Tina.’
Elizabeth stared coldly. ‘Are you talking about Tina Jackson? Because we’ve never found a body.’
Frank clenched his jaw. ‘I really don’t like your tone. I told you that I would be in command of this interview, not you. You want me to give it to you on a plate? Well hard luck. You’re certainly not competent to investigate murders, none of you are.’
‘Then why did you ask for me?
Frank wiped his mouth again in disgust. ‘Because I had plans for you. You were my pièce de résistance.’
Elizabeth responded with a blank look.
‘Don’t you remember our little meeting?’ Frank said, ‘I believe we have some unfinished business.’
Elizabeth’s fingers bit into her palms as she span another lie, reassuring herself that DS Scott was sitting outside. Goading suspects was not a tactic she used often, but it occasionally yielded results. ‘I have no recollection of meeting you, Mr Foster. Are you sure it was me?’
Frank cracked his knuckles again, ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you, playing games. I know you remember that day, so don’t try to pretend.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t, but please explain if it is relevant.’
Frank banged the table with his fists, his face twisted in a scowl. ‘You must remember! You came so close that day, snooping uninvited in my room. The sketchpad on my bed, you must remember.’
‘So where is this sketchpad?’ Elizabeth asked, her thoughts returning to the search team at the flat, hunting for evidence.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know? Shame you’re not going to see it,’ Frank said.
Elizabeth gave a condescending smirk. ‘Frank, I think it’s time you step into the real world and be honest with me.’
‘Honest! You’re a fine one to talk about being honest. When you interviewed me about Mrs Harris, you lied to try to catch me out, saying she was found right away, and then you lied about not being alone. You deserved to be taught a lesson that day. But I was ready to play the long game. I had it all planned out.’
‘Perhaps you would like to enlighten me.’
Frank’s gave a low growl. ‘Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like better.’
Elizabeth felt every sense sharpen as the adrenalin began to flow. She was about to light the keg and she prayed she would come away unscathed. ‘You know what I think, Frank? I think you’re a fantasist. You met this vulnerable young boy named Sam and compared stories in order to impress each other. But both your stories were built on lies. You lied about your family, your background, and your father being the Chief Constable. In fact, he is a downtrodden used car salesman who left you to start another family half way across the world. Is your real life so terrible Frank, that you would make up this persona of being a serial killer to escape it?’
Beads of sweat glistened on Frank’s face as his eyes narrowed. ‘You’re wrong. You don’t know who you’re dealing with!’
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to his clenched fists. But she wasn’t ready to back off yet. ‘Yeah sure, you’ve already said that. Who’s the next victim, Frank? Or are you waiting for some old dear to die of old age so you can lay claim to being respon
sible?’
‘You stupid girl, why would I do that?’
Elizabeth leaned forward, spitting her words. ‘Because you are a latent homosexual, and you developed feelings for Sam. But you didn’t feel confident approaching him as who you really were; a man in his forties who had sacrificed his life to care for his prostitute mother. You created this persona of a serial killer because you wanted his respect and his fear. But it all went wrong when he killed Tina, and he came to the police to report you for the murders you didn’t have the guts to commit.’
Frank drew a sharp breath, pushing back his shoulders as he enhanced his bulk. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’ll show you what I have the guts to commit.’
‘Will you, Frank? How are you going to do that, then?’ Elizabeth said.
‘Go to my house and you’ll find the key to a lock-up under the floorboards beneath my bed. The garage at the back of the Grove housing estate, number seven. You’ll find your proof that everything I told you is real. While you’re there, take a good look at my notebook and see what I’ve planned for you. Because let me tell you, you are a day away from death. And don’t think just because I’m in a police station that you are safe, because you’re not. It’ll take more than a police cell to stop the Grim Reaper.’
‘Thank you Frank, I’m sure my colleagues will be very interested in seeing any evidence you can provide us with.’
Frank stared at Elizabeth in amazement. ‘I’ve just told you I’m going to kill you, and you didn’t even blink. What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me?’
‘Nothing you can say can hurt me, Mr Foster. But if you have hurt others then you will get all the respect you deserve in prison. Now if we can get back to the interview I’d like to discuss the specifics.’
‘Fuck you and fuck your specifics. But let me tell you, it doesn’t matter where they put me, you won’t be safe. You or your kid. I’m coming after you both and I’ll finish what I started. Everybody will know the Grim Reaper’s name.’
‘Back up there a minute, what did you just say?’
‘Oh, I know all about you, and I’m going to hit you where it hurts. They say a mother’s love for their child is an unbreakable bond. Well I’ve never experienced that so I wanted to observe it for myself, see how far you’d go for your little girl. Jennifer, isn’t it?’
‘How do you know her name?’
‘The Grim Reaper knows everything and everyone. You think you can stop me? This is only the beginning. Soon everyone will know my name.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it. Because nobody will be writing books or giving interviews, and I’ll be recommending that your real name be used in the media, not your pathetic pseudonym. And when you go to jail, and believe me you will, I’ll be recommending that you’re not supplied with any writing materials, or anything that could potentially feed your fantasies. Because that’s all you are, a sick fantasist.’
Frank hammered his fists against the table and jumped up, sending his chair skidding behind him. ‘You fucking bitch, I killed them, and you’re next. Do you hear me? You and your kid!’ His screams of rage filled the room as threw over the table and lunged towards her. Jennifer jumped out of the way, picking up the chair in defence, jabbing the rusty chair legs towards his chest. The emergency buzzer sounded as officers piled into the room, grappling Frank to the ground. His screams rang in her ears as she made her exit, fighting to calm her shaking body.
32 Chapter Thirty-two
PS Elizabeth Knight - 1992
‘Are you OK, girlie?’ DC Scott asked, his face flushed with excitement. ‘He made some pretty serious threats there.’
‘I’m fine,’ Elizabeth said, as she grabbed a bunch of car keys from the hook on the wall and scribbled her name on the log book. ‘Can you keep an eye on things here for a bit? I need to speak to the search team.’
‘Woah, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. You’ve just interviewed Foster, I don’t think you should be going on scene stamping your size fives all over the place.’
Elizabeth gave him a pleading look. ‘He threatened my daughter. I need to know what’s in there.’
‘If you go to the scene you’re compromising the evidence for court. If you want to keep your daughter safe then the best thing you can do is make sure the bastard gets locked up. All right?’
‘I just feel so helpless ...’
DS Scott clamped a hand on her shoulder. ‘They’ll be back later with the evidence. You can see it then, when it’s all bagged up. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way, I promise.’
Elizabeth nodded. It would mean another late night at work but there was no way she’d be able to sit at home without being fully briefed of the threat.
‘And girlie?’
‘Yes?’ Elizabeth said, returning the car key to the hook.
‘Good work,’ DS Scott winked.
The atmosphere was subdued as the search team returned with a big enough haul of evidence to put Frank Foster away for a very long time. Usually such an occasion would have been accompanied by raucous cheers, but the fact that the next next intended victim was hours from such a grisly death left them dumbfounded. A small town like Haven had its usual problems, but they had never come across a serial killer before, least of all one who took such relish in taking innocent life.
Elizabeth was waiting for their return. Her shift had long since ended, and she took a deep breath as officers recounted the evidence, laying it on the large wide table before booking it into property. She scanned the haul, which consisted of eleven large bags and numerous small ones. They were all cause for concern. She shuddered at the sight of the spade bagged up along with other weapons; an axe, several different types of hunting knives, and – for more refined work – a set of scalpels. Rolls of masking tape inhabited another bag, the edges looking like they had been chewed off in the absence of a scissors. Ropes in varying forms, gloves, cable ties, bloodied rags, air freshener, bleach, accelerant and a set of clothes. The garage had been meticulously organised from within.
‘It’s like a DIY kidnapping kit,’ DS Scott said behind her. Another officer hauled in bags of crime books and placed them on the already heaving table. But there was far worse to come. The handheld recorder they seized was still usable under the thick plastic evidence bag, and as DS Scott rewound it he issued a warning. ‘I don’t know what’s on this folks, but we’re dealing with a right sicko. If you don’t want to hear it I suggest you vacate now.’
The room fell silent. Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her back and stood firm. She knew the warning was issued for her benefit but she had no intention of leaving now. DS Scott gave her one last glance before pressing his finger to the side of his nose. She nodded in acknowledgement as he pressed ‘play’. What followed would stay in the minds of the five police officers for the rest of their careers. The tape quality was poor, but it did not drown out the tortured screams of the man pleading for his life. DC Scott rubbed his chin, his finger hovering over the ‘stop’ button as he tried to decipher the cause of the man’s excruciating pain. The words were muffled as if the victim had been gagged, and it was then, when the man was in too much pain to beg, that they heard the flames crackle and hiss on his skin. Elizabeth closed her eyes at the inhumanity of it all. Seconds before DS Scott turned off the tape she heard another sound much closer to the microphone. The hairs crept up on the back of Elizabeth’s neck at the sound of a man, lightly chortling, as he cracked his knuckles.
The officer behind them broke the silence. ‘You think that’s grim. You want to see what he had planned next, the sick bastard.’
Elizabeth’s eyes turned to DS Scott.
‘It’s up to you love, the way the jungle drums beat in this nick you’re bound to hear it anyway.’
She nodded slowly, swallowing back the bile in her stomach. Would she have goaded Foster in interview had she known what he was truly capable of?
‘We found loads of books, sketch books and journals. He
refers to himself as the Grim Reaper in all of them. We think a lot of the items in the smaller bags are momentos. We even found a tooth in a bloodied cloth. Somehow I don’t think he’s keeping it for the tooth fairy.’ He looked at them with a grin that was dropped when they failed to find the humour. ‘Anyway, he has a diary about somebody he’s been watching. He doesn’t name her as such. He starts off talking about a visit he had, a lot of it is rambling, sometimes you can’t even read the words. There’s a picture of this woman tied up while he’s … well, it looks like he fantasised about rape. Anyway he seems to have scrapped this idea as he then says it’s too good for her.’ The officer looked at his notes and followed the words with his finger. ‘Here it is, he writes about testing a mother’s love to see how far she’d go for her child. He spends a page justifying it because she’s corrupt and needs to be taught a lesson. He then goes on for another page planning the kidnapping of her daughter, and bringing them to somewhere secluded. It gets pretty gruesome from therein. I haven’t copied all the details but he talks about tying up both of them and torturing the mother to see how much she can withstand before killing them both. He goes on to make a list of tools he needs, such as scalpels and ropes. The thing is, they’re all here. There’s no reason to believe this wasn’t going to happen. He said he had recruited someone to help abduct the child, and it was planned to go ahead tomorrow. Just think … if we were a day later …’
Elizabeth excused herself from the room, scrambling to the bathroom just in time to throw up. Just what am I still doing here? she thought, as she knelt on the cold tiled floor, her stomach cramping in the aftermath. She had been diagnosed with cancer weeks ago. Choosing to keep the news to herself was a form of denial she had welcomed at the time. It was easier than coping with the devastation that lay before her. The irony was that she had been notified of her promotion to Inspector the same day she had received the news of her illness. But interviewing Frank Foster was just what she needed to finally realise what really mattered in her life. The images of her daughters’ faces came to mind. Jennifer was only seven, already so obstinate and strong willed, yet desperate for her attention. And Amy, just three years old but a daddy’s girl already. A pang of guilt stabbed her as the warmth of her tears salted her lips. She had put her job before them from the day she had been able to return to work. Her only comfort was that there was enough evidence found in the lock-up to put Frank away for good. Evidence they would not have found had it not been for her style of interviewing. She could keep some clippings. It would be something for her daughters to read about one day.
Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 24