by K. J. Frost
“There were moments when he seemed completely mad,” I reply, almost to myself.
“Yes, and there were moments when he was, without a doubt, the sanest, most calculating man alive,” Thompson replies. “He investigated his own crimes, steered you in the directions he chose, sent you off down blind alleys, diverted you by targeting Miss Cooper… He knew what he was doing. Those are not the actions of a madman.”
“Except they are… evidently.” My voice cracks on the last word. I can’t talk anymore. I have nothing left to say. Thompson can obviously see my emotional state and goes out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my feelings, not that I really want to be alone with them. I may have half expected this, but I still needed Ellis to be convicted. I needed to feel the finality of his demise – and there’s no doubt that he deserved it. I’m not a vindictive man, but I needed him to suffer for what he did to those women. Discovering that he’ll live, that he’ll survive when his victims have perished and their families must go on without them… it’s too much. What’s worse is that I know I have to break this news to Amelie and the thought of it is too much. I let my head fall into my hands and wonder if it’s ever going to be over.
It’s gone five o’clock before Harper re-appears, wearing his uniform now, although where he’s been, I have no idea. Fortunately, at the time of his arrival, I’m out in the main office, so he can’t sneak past me.
“Where the hell have you been?” I say as soon as he walks in.
He doesn’t reply, but stands still, staring at a spot over my shoulder.
“I’ll see you in my office, right now,” I bark and, without hesitation, he walks into my room. I follow behind and close the door. On this occasion, I don’t offer him a seat, but leave him standing, facing my desk, and I stand the other side, looking down on him. “I don’t think I need to tell you why you’re in here,” I say firmly. He goes to speak, but I hold up my hand and he wisely closes his mouth again, staring out of the window behind me. “I understand you sent Pearce away this morning when you apprehended Chambers. And I believe that when Pearce returned, something had occurred that resulted in an injury to Chambers’ person. Can you tell me what that was?”
I glare at him and he meets my gaze defiantly. “He fell,” he says.
“Mr Chambers seems to be very clumsy. You’re telling me that he fell in the street and then again when you got him back here?”
“Yes, sir.”
I stare at him for thirty seconds or more before he looks away. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying, Harper. I think whatever happened to Chambers is a direct result of your actions.”
“You can’t prove that,” he retorts, smirking.
“I don’t have to,” I shout and he jumps, paling. “The fact that you’re in uniform means you’re not officially my problem, but I’m making you my problem, as of now.” I pause for a moment to take a breath. “I know that the Chief Constable has already left for the day, but I’ll be speaking to him tomorrow morning about this matter and it’ll be for him to decide what action will be taken against you. If it were up to me, I can assure you, you wouldn’t be working here anymore. For now, I think you’d better write out your report and then go home.”
“But my shift’s due to finish in twenty min––”
“I don’t care,” I bellow, interrupting his whining. “I want an account of everything that happened today and I want you and it, in my office, at nine tomorrow morning.” I want to be able to compare his version of events with the one that Pearce has prepared, before presenting the case to the Chief Constable. Harper scowls, but nods his head, just once, before turning around and leaving the room.
I flop down into my chair and glance at the clock, giving thanks that it’s nearly time to go home.
It’s been an awful day, and it’s not over yet. I’ve got to go and see Amelie when I get back to Molesey. I’ve got to tell her about Ellis, and I know she’s going to be devastated. I know that, because it’s how I feel too.
How do I explain to her what’s happened, when I don’t really understand it myself?
This isn’t why I became a policeman.
This isn’t how justice is supposed to work.
Chapter Four
There’s been a power cut at the factory, so they’ve sent us home an hour before our shift was officially due to end, and I believe they cancelled the night shift too. While there are a few mumblings in the cloakroom about the ‘lucky buggers’ who’ll be getting the night off, there’s still a general feeling of euphoria, like the end of term at school, which seems a bit disproportionate to me. Even so, I’m not about to complain. It makes a change to go home in daylight, although it’s overcast and misty, so it doesn’t really make much difference.
I get to the newsagents beneath my flat and the newspaper display catches my eye once more. I stop in my tracks, my mouth dry, my fists clenching as I read the words emblazoned across the notice:
‘MOLESEY MURDERER DECLARED INSANE’
What does that mean, I wonder. There’s a woman standing in the doorway, talking to a young child. It seems to me like the stupidest place to stop for a conversation but I wait politely for a few moments until it becomes clear she hasn’t noticed me at all.
“Excuse me. Can I get in?” I say, a little impatiently.
“Alright, dear,” she replies with equal agitation. “It’s a free country.”
“Even if it is, you don’t have to block the doorway,” I point out.
“No need to take that attitude,” she retorts, taking the hand of her child and exiting the shop with a huff.
Inside, I go up to the counter and take a newspaper from the top of the pile.
“Just the paper?” the owner asks, giving me a smile.
“Yes, thank you.” I try not to look at the headlines for fear of what my reaction might be.
I hand over the money and just as he’s taking it, he glances down. “Dreadful news that,” he says. “Don’t know how they can let him get away with it.” I struggle to breathe. “Well, it’s not right, is it? All those women dead, and…”
“Thank you,” I say quickly, turning and leaving the shop, almost stumbling out through the door and taking in a gulp of fresh air as I get outside.
I can’t face going back to the flat. I can’t bear the idea of being cooped up. I flip the newspaper over and, as I make my way unsteadily along the pavement, I begin to read, my anger and astonishment building with every step. Ellis has somehow managed to convince the court that he’s insane, his assertion backed up by two medical professionals, as a result of which, it seems he won’t even have to face a jury. Instead, he’ll be incarcerated at Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum, for the rest of his life.
Life.
He’ll get to live. He’ll get to breathe, to read, to see, to feel, to cry, to laugh. He didn’t give those options to his victims, did he? He squeezed the life out of them, took everything they had, in the most brutal way imaginable.
And how can the court and the doctors possibly have believed him to be insane? He was sane enough to know what he was doing when he raped and murdered five women, wasn’t he? He was sane enough to hide their bodies, sane enough to investigate their murders, alongside an incompetent police force, who couldn’t see what he was doing, even though he was right under their noses…
I screw up the newspaper and throw it down on the ground.
I can’t let this happen. I just can’t.
I’ll get revenge for her… for all of them. Someone has to.
I continue walking for a few minutes, working things out in my head, until a plan has formulated. It’s risky, but if it means getting justice, it’s worth it.
*****
I let myself into the house, grateful that today’s finally over.
Except it isn’t, because I’ve still got to go and see Amelie, and tell her about Ellis. I feel my shoulders sag as I take off my coat and hang it over the end of the stairs, placing my hat on top. I’ll be put
ting them back on soon enough, so there’s no need to tidy them away. I’ll just go and see Aunt Dotty first, explain the situation to her, and then I’ll go back out again…
“What’s wrong?” I ask the moment I enter the living room, my worries about visiting Amelie forgotten, being as she’s sitting on the sofa, tears pouring silently down her cheeks, with Aunt Dotty beside her, holding her hands solicitously. Dotty looks up at me.
“Oh, you’re home. Thank goodness.” She gets up and gives me a quick nod, silently telling me to take her place beside Amelie, not that I need her instructions, and I sit on the edge of the sofa as close as I can to Amelie, as she gazes up at me, weeping inconsolably. To hell with Aunt Dotty being in the room, I’m not letting the woman I love sit by herself when she’s so clearly overcome with grief. I pull her up into my arms, holding her close to me and stroking her hair.
“Hush,” I whisper softly. “I’m here.” I have no idea if that helps at all, but I hope it does. I hope my presence offers her some comfort at least, and she nods into me, letting me know the answer to my unspoken question.
We sit still like that for a few minutes, while I worry myself sick, until her sobbing subsides and she pulls back just a little. I reach into my pocket and pull out a clean handkerchief, handing it to her, and she wipes her nose and eyes, sniffling and gulping down quick breaths.
“What’s happened?” I ask.
“It’s awful,” she replies, then starts crying again, more quietly this time.
“Perhaps I should explain,” Aunt Dotty puts in from where she’s now sitting, on the opposite sofa, and I twist slightly so that I can see her better.
“I think you should,” I reply and Dotty shifts forward, clasping her hands together.
“I popped out to the chemists,” she begins, “because Ethel was busy and I needed to get a few things before they closed, and I met Amelie walking back from the bus stop.”
“You were walking?” I ask Amelie and she nods, wiping her eyes again.
“I couldn’t ride home,” she says weakly.
“Why not? Did something happen?” I’m immediately transported back to the night when Ellis slashed the tyres of her bicycle to force her into wheeling it home, so he could follow her. While I know he’s probably locked up safely in Broadmoor by now, that feeling of crippling fear is unlikely to ever leave me.
Amelie goes to open her mouth, then closes it again and shakes her head, letting me know she can’t talk, I think.
“Amelie had heard someone talking as they came into the factory to start the night shift, just as she was leaving her office,” Dotty explains, resuming the story. “It seems they’d read in the newspaper that Ellis has been found insane, and that he won’t be tried for his crimes. But I assume you already know about that?” she queries.
“Yes.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice.
“I thought you might. Anyway, it was too much for Amelie, so she left her bicycle at work and caught the bus home. Fortunately, we met up just as she was crossing the road from the bus stop.”
I give Aunt Dotty a look, which I hope conveys my gratitude to her, and she returns it with a smile of understanding, before standing up. “I’m going to see how Ethel’s getting on with the dinner,” she says quietly.
Once the door’s closed behind her, Amelie leans away from me, gazing up into my eyes.
“How are you?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I lie. I’m just as angry and distressed as she is, but I’m also worried about her now.
She shakes her head and brings her hand up, resting it against my cheek. “No you’re not,” she says softly. “You needed this to end just as much as I did.”
“It has ended.” I’m not really feeling the conviction of my own words; I’m simply trying to make her feel better.
“No it hasn’t. Not in the way any of us expected. Not in a way that’s satisfactory.”
“No,” I reply slowly. “No, it doesn’t feel very satisfactory.”
She puts her arms around my waist and leans into me, and when she speaks, her voice cracks with emotion. “I wanted him to be tried. I wanted to hear, in his own words, why he killed Beth, and all the rest of them.”
“I explained that to you,” I whisper to her, raising her face to mine. “I doubt it would have made any more sense hearing him say it.”
“So you do think he’s insane?” she asks, her brow furrowing.
“No. I think he’s disturbed. That’s different. He’s still responsible for his own actions. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Then why have they let him get away with it?” She looks puzzled and I don’t blame her.
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.” It’s the truth.
At that moment, Aunt Dotty comes back in and sits down again. “Dinner in ten minutes,” she says, her voice quiet. “And I don’t want any arguments about you going home,” she adds, turning to Amelie, who just nods her head and sits back into the corner of the sofa.
Dotty mirrors her action and stares across at me. “This news isn’t going to go down well in the village,” she says.
“No, it’s not.” I sit back myself, taking Amelie’s hand in mine and resting them both on my leg. “But there’s not a lot I can do about that.”
“I assume these doctors didn’t know him?” Dotty asks.
“No. They’re just appointed by the court to assess his fitness to stand trial.”
“So, in theory, it would be quite easy for him to hoodwink them?” Amelie suggests, looking up at me.
“In theory, although they’re trained to see through things like that.”
“You mean, you think he really is insane?” Aunt Dotty asks, repeating Amelie’s earlier question, her surprise obvious.
“No,” I reply. “But I wasn’t there when they examined him. I don’t know what happened, or what he said to them.”
Amelie’s expression becomes even more serious. “You don’t want to talk about this, do you?” she says, unexpectedly.
“I don’t mind. I know sometimes it helps to talk, and if that’s what you want, then that’s fine with me. But we need to bear in mind that nothing we say or do is going to change what’s happened. Either way, he’ll spend the rest of his life in Broadmoor, and that’s no picnic. Yes, I’d rather have seen him face a trial, but I suppose there’s always the chance that, being as manipulative as he is, he might have been able to convince a jury of his innocence and walked free. And a full trial would have dragged on for weeks, or maybe even months, raking up all those memories for each of the victims’ families again. At least this way, he can’t hurt anyone else.” I’m almost convinced by my own argument and, as I say the words, they do seem to make sense. It certainly won’t help any of us to dwell on what’s gone before.
“We need to get on with our lives, don’t we?” Amelie says, reflecting the direction my own thoughts are taking.
“Yes. We do. It’s the best way to remember his victims and to forget him.” I lean over and kiss her cheek, wishing for a moment that Aunt Dotty wasn’t here and I could embrace her properly.
“Ahh… the wisdom of youth,” Aunt Dotty murmurs, almost to herself and, when I look up, she’s smiling at us both, with that customary twinkle in her eyes once more.
Dinner is a very fine lamb stew, followed by apple pie and I make a point of telling Ethel how much her cooking is coming along. She blushes and gives me a simpering curtsey before taking out the dessert plates.
Amelie looks from me to the closing door and back again. “Is there anything you need to tell me?” she asks, smiling.
“No.” I get up and hold her chair while she stands.
“Are you sure about that?” she teases. “Only it seems that Ethel is a little taken with you.”
“I can’t help that, can I?” I feel myself blush slightly as I take her hand and raise it to my lips, kissing her fingers.
“It’s all my fault anyway,” Aunt Dotty says from her side of
the table.
“It is?” Amelie replies, turning and looking over at her. “How?”
“Oh, because I told Ethel that Rufus looks like Errol Flynn, before he came to stay here the first time. She’s been besotted ever since.”
I can see the smile twitching in the corners of Amelie’s lips. “And you don’t enjoy this at all?” she says, turning back to me.
“No, I don’t. It’s embarrassing.”
“I have tried,” Dotty says.
“Tried what?” I ask, fearful of what she’s going to say next.
“I’ve tried to suggest she maybe takes an interest in other film stars. I’ve dropped names into conversations, like Clark Gable, Laurence Olivier, James Stewart…”
“Not Cary Grant?” Amelie asks.
I turn to her. “Oh? Is there anything you’d like to tell me?” It’s my turn to tease now.
“Well, I am rather partial to Cary Grant,” she replies, looking up at me and biting her bottom lip.
“More than Errol Flynn?” I move a little closer, lowering my voice.
“Oh, no…” she whispers. “Errol Flynn is definitely my new favourite.”
“Good answer,” I say and kiss her forehead. We both look over at Aunt Dotty, who’s smiling at us. “I take it Ethel wasn’t impressed with your suggestions?” I enquire, and she shakes her head.
“No. It seems no-one is likely to topple Errol Flynn from his pedestal.” She gets to her feet and leans on the back of the chair. “And having a real-life lookalike living in the house just makes it so much more exciting… evidently.” She starts chuckling to herself as we all leave the dining room and cross the hall into the living room, where Ethel has already laid out the coffee tray.
We sit down on the sofas again, with Aunt Dotty opposite Amelie and myself.
“Being as you don’t have your bicycle here,” I say, taking Amelie’s hand in mine, “would you like me to take you to work tomorrow morning?”
“I can get the bus,” she suggests.
“Yes. Or I can take you.” I smile down at her.