Fifty Two Weeks of Murder

by Owen Nichols

  “This is some twisted shit,” he muttered as Helen helped Ben with the next task. Anders had sliced the skulls from the pigs at such an angle that they could be sewn to the faces of the corpses, creating a bizarre hybrid of man and pig. A human torso with pig limbs and pig faces.

  “How the hell you come up with this?” hissed Barry as he dragged a completed corpse to the straw. The second was dragged to the sticks and the third tucked behind a low brick wall.

  “Now we need to kill them,” muttered Ben darkly and set to the bodies with a knife. Barry sighed at his efforts and snatched it from him.

  “You said kill them, not tickle them.” He gave several quick stabs to the bodies, opening wounds that did not bleed. Helen started spraying blood around the area, Anders guiding her.

  “It’s not Picasso,” she muttered as Anders showed her how she wanted the blood spread.

  “The Blood Eagle won because it was art. We need this to look like art.” She then positioned the bodies until she was happy and fussed some more over the blood, insisting it look lifelike. Satisfied with the work, she had Ben stand behind the scene and take a picture, framing the macabre imagery with the beauty of London at night. They crowded round the camera to see the picture and there were murmurs of approval.

  “Tell you what,” said Helen. “I’m going to be disappointed if we don’t win.” They gathered up their gear, checked quickly that they hadn’t left any signs that the scene was fake and made their way back to the car. A stagnant silence smothered the grounds, as if the land itself was shocked into stillness by their obscene act.

  One they’d left the park, Anders stopped by a pay phone and they gathered round as she spoke, all trace of her American accent gone, replaced by a drunk, possibly stoned, teenager.

  “Hey man, you gotta get over there now. I was in the park and I saw something. I don’t know what it was, man, but they were dead. All of them. Which park? Greenwich bruv, where else? By the observatory. It’s some freaky shit, like that competition from the web. My name?” She hung up and gave Barry the nod. He dialled a number on his mobile and waited for Jesse to pick up.

  “Call should be coming through soon. Send Duncan to the scene. We’ll get changed and meet him there once Mal gives us the word. You do your end. Make it look real.” He clicked the phone off and patted Ben and Helen on the backs, bringing them into his giant embrace.

  “Good work folks. Go home, get changed, maybe get some sleep, coz tomorrow we’re investigating who could possibly recreate the three little piggies after a visit from the big bad wolf.”

  Chapter 6

  Jonathan Sanders saw things. Flitting in the shadows, ethereal shapes that broiled and raged in the night. He saw the darkness that enveloped Man. He hadn’t killed Sarah Baldwin to punish her. How could he? Jonathan loved her. He would watch her, sometimes from afar, sometimes so close that he could smell her. She would never see him. Never sense his presence, but he was always there. Always watching. He loved her.

  As he watched Sarah, he saw the darkness insidiously creep into her soul, saw the shadowy figures slither into her as she lived her life. He needed to protect Sarah. To stop the darkness from taking her. He’d loved so many women. Deep in the recesses of his mind, a small part of him had always held him back, stopped him turning his fantasies into the reality of providing each love with the ultimate gift of freedom. He’d ponder on that as he watched and skulked. He’d thought himself weak. A coward. Too afraid to release their souls until Buckland’s words had given him the courage and strength to act. To finally set Sarah free. She was so lovely. So full of life and vigour. He hated to see the darkness infect her, to sully her spirit.

  He didn’t do it for the money. It meant little to him. He saw the truth in Buckland’s words, as if a veil had been lifted and he saw the world for what it was. Releasing Sarah had provided an emotional catharsis that left him a sobbing wreck. The shadows drew closer, shapes and demons flitted in his periphery as he realised that he himself was infected with darkness. As he sank deeper into despair, his daily tablets long since forgotten, madness slithered its way deeper into his mind. Without thought, he uploaded the image of the blood eagle to that website and sat in the dark, staring at nothing, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

  After many hours, his phone beeped silently. Unused to the sound of contact, he stared at the phone for a long time before reaching out and picking it up.

  He’d received a text.

  Jonathan. I was stunned by your beautiful image. Your work is truly extraordinary

  He continued to stare as another message popped up.

  You have set her free indeed. Your selfless fantasy was to ensure that she was released from this terrible world. You have found your calling.

  Jonathan sat up straight in his chair. You have found your calling.

  You cannot stop now. It is time to be strong. We need to set them all free.

  He made to respond, but another message popped up.

  You loved her very much didn’t you.

  It was a statement. Jonathan found himself nodding in agreement.

  “I did,” he whispered in the dark.

  Did you love anyone else?

  He send a swift reply. I’ve loved so many…

  Anyone special?

  Jonathan gave it some thought, his thumb hovering over the keypad of his battered phone.

  There was one. His first. The one who had started it all those years ago. She had left. When they see him, they always leave. Melissa Adams, he typed. He felt a thrill as he hit send, his heart beating loudly in his chest. The reply was swift.

  Details

  He knew all the details. How tall she was, where she used to live, where she worked, when she was born. He wrote of her favourite food, how the smell of fresh cut grass was her favourite and how she loved croissants every Saturday. The way she chewed her lip when nervous or played with her long, blonde hair when she watched TV. Her bra size and her favourite lingerie. What she always wore on a first date and how she applied her make-up. What he didn’t know was why she used to cry into a pillow every night. Even after he would leave her gifts.

  He took a long time to pass this information on, his fingers unfamiliar with the keypad.

  He waited then. Alone in the dark. He could hear the sounds of rats as they scurried under the floor, the arguing of neighbours through the thin walls and the constant hum of distant traffic. Below all that, he could hear the gentle, insistent susurrations of the darkness. Eventually the phone beeped, startling him. He looked at the screen, the faint glow illuminating his face.

  Found her. She lives in London now. Show her how much you love her. Set her free

  He didn’t need to think about his response. I will.

  You are being watched.

  Jonathan knew that. The shadows had told him, their voices a snarl. Leave that to me.

  The conversation finished, Jonathan embraced the shadows, folded them around himself and stole away.

  Chapter 7

  It was a surreal experience working on a crime scene you had created the previous night. Helen and Ben looked to be working diligently, but they were actually wiping away any traces that it may have been them. Duncan and Mal spoke to the Wardens, though the camera’s had mysteriously been erased of all data. The investigation was thorough but no evidence of any use could be found. Mal gave Anders a strange look as he approached the scene.

  “This looks messed up,” he said. Anders nodded in agreement.

  “Yup. Some twisted mind came up with this.” She handed him a USB with the photographs on it. He pocketed the slim memory stick and walked with her down the steps from the observatory. London was in the middle of a glorious heat wave and a bright sun banished the shadows from the park, the verdant green of the grassy space bright and inviting. The park had been closed by the borough police and there was a quietness to the area that was comforting despite the macabre scene they walked from. Though they had slept little, the b
eautiful setting and weather invigorated their spirits.

  “What did McDowell say?” asked Anders, pulling her shades down from her hair and resting them on her nose. Mal gave her a sideways look that Anders was becoming used to. One where he thought she didn’t notice how his gaze lingered on her long legs or slim figure. It gave her a little thrill but she pretended not to notice it.

  “He was okay with it until the call came in and he heard what you’d done. Might have lost his temper a little bit. Got to say it myself, but those pig, man hybrid things you’ve made creep me the hell out.”

  “Gotta stand out if you want to win,” said Anders. Mal gave her a thoughtful look and stopped midway down the hill. Above them, the crime scene was diligently being worked. Below, more officers were walking the park, searching for further evidence. They’d find nothing, but Mal had them working anyway.

  “Speaking of winning. You still up for Saturday?” Anders arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Winning? I’m not some prize,” she said dangerously. He danced backwards, laughing at her tone.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, a twinkle in his eye as she scowled at him.

  Several hours later, Anders made her way through the now familiar hospital corridors to see Lucy. She had improved considerably since the surgery, but still looked wan and pale. Entering the room, Lucy gave Anders a smile as she accepted the flowers and chocolate, opening the wrapper with one hand and offering Anders a chunk.

  “How you doing?” asked Anders as Lucy held up the opened bar of chocolate.

  “Getting used to doing things with one hand. It’s not easy, but I’ll keep trying. Barry put me in touch with some of his old buddies who’ve been injured and they’ve been really inspirational.” She looked determined to overcome her disability and was imbued with purpose. Anders could see that, though it would be a long struggle, she would overcome her challenges. She was a far cry from the sour transgenderphobe that Anders had first met and she could see that, in many ways, the horror of the last few weeks had made Lucy realise that her fears and prejudices were petty and insignificant. Anders wished that more people would use challenge and adversity in a positive way. She always felt that how you chose to react to adversity was the true measure of your worth.

  “I’m pleased to see you doing so well,” she said as she unzipped her handbag and took out a sheath of rolled up papers, spreading them out on the bed for Lucy to read. “Here’s the stuff you wanted. We’re no closer to finding Buckland to be honest, but we’re narrowing the search. We found three more holes in the land registry, but there was nothing in any of them. We’re only half way through the check though, so there’s time yet.”

  Lucy had asked to be kept up to date with the case. Anders was only too happy to oblige, knowing that it kept her mind from atrophying when stuck in hospital bed. She spent the next hour going through new evidence until she could see Lucy tiring.

  “I’ll leave this with you,” she said and fetched her dinner from the cart in the corridor and helped her to open the fiddly packaging on the pudding. Once Lucy had finished her meal, she tired quickly and was asleep within moments. Anders waited a minute or two and then tip toed out so that her heels wouldn’t make too much noise. Out in the corridor, Helen called, Anders’ phone blaring out “It’s Raining Men.” Helen enjoyed tampering with the phone every time Anders helped her out, taking delight in choosing embarrassing songs as a ringtone. Anders sighed and rolled her eyes as she got several curious stares in the corridor.

  “Last week, it was “The Lady is a Tramp”, I’m pretty sure I preferred that,” she said as Helen gave a throaty chuckle down the phone.

  “Just keeping you on your toes. My lab. Now.” With a click, she hung up, leaving Anders puzzled as to what she wanted.

  It turned out to be Tequila.

  “We need to finish the bottle off,” she declared as Anders entered the lab. The unit previously occupied by the bottle now held a cadaver and Helen was loath to have it lying around unused. “It’s a waste otherwise.” She poured Anders a large measure in a glass beaker and kicked a chair in her direction. Sixties music blasted from her docking station. Helen refused to listen to anything written this century and cherished the sixties and seventies even though she wasn’t born until the eighties.

  She removed her lab coat and danced to the music as Ben hurriedly packed his bags and tried to leave, despite the protestations of both Anders and Helen.

  “Have one drink,” cajoled Helen. She put an arm around him and he dithered as he realised he wasn’t going to get out easily.

  “Just one,” he said and gulped nervously as she took out a six hundred millilitre beaker and started filling it with the golden liquor. Anders patted his arm and had him sit as Helen shoved the beaker into his hand.

  “Aaron’s looking forward to Game Night,” she said as he sipped the tequila, grimacing at the taste. He managed a smile.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll let him win,” he said and Anders gave him a mock frown.

  “You’ll do no such thing. Besides, I’m pretty sure we’ll all kick your arse.”

  “What’s this?” Helen asked, sitting on the dissection table, feet swinging as she tossed back a shot. “Ben got you playing his geeky board games.” Ben blushed at her ribbing, so Anders leapt to his defence.

  “Can’t wait!” she said. “Ben’s going to show us how to play Descent. Apparently, he thinks his dungeon master is going to take us all on. You in?” Helen pursed her lips as she considered it.

  “Will there be alcohol?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’m in. As long as I can be a kick arse warrior with a big sword.”

  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?” jessed Anders with a knowing look and Helen gave a filthy laugh. The conversation became even filthier as they drank the tequila. Ben, despite his best efforts, ended up quite drunk, but Anders managed to remain sober. She sipped her drink, knowing she had too much on to get drunk. Ben was starting to open up and they found his company engaging as they got to know him better. Beneath the cripplingly shy exterior, there was a charming, witty and thoughtful man underneath.

  “We need to sort you out,” announced Helen, a tinge of a slur to her voice. “A haircut perhaps, definitely some new clothes. I shall help you find a woman!” She poured some more tequila, the liquid sloshing around the nearly empty bottle. “Or a man, whichever,” she said and he blushed.

  “Um…woman,” he stammered, his nerves suddenly returning.

  “Well that’s good, because you have two gorgeous women here,” she declared and winked at him. “Two Miss Universe winners right here!” Helen giggled as she did an impression of a contestant declaring that she wished for world peace and they fell about laughing. Ben gave Anders a strange look, unsure of whether to speak, but the alcohol dulled his reserve.

  “Can transsexuals enter Miss Universe?” Anders had always been open with them and didn’t mind their questions. She felt that it was better to engage with people rather than stigmatising transgender issues further by hiding or being defensive. She sipped her tequila, enjoying the tingling it gave her lips.

  “Someone tried in twenty twelve, Jenna Talackova, but she was disqualified when they found out.”

  “Bit harsh,” said Ben as he quickly Googled her. “She’s better looking than most of the entrants.” Helen grinned.

  “Purely research there Ben?” she said as he swiped through some more pictures. He blushed.

  “We’re allowed entry now though,” said Anders. “There was a bit of a stink at the time.”

  “You should go on it,” said Ben drunkenly. “You could be like Miss Congeniality.” Anders gave him a playful punch on the arm as both he and Helen laughed. She pointed to the scar that coiled around her neck.

  “Think my back might make them run screaming.” Helen poured some more tequila and turned the music down slightly as she spoke.

  “They ever bother you? The scars?” Anders gave it a mom
ent’s thought.

  “They did at the time. So much of being transgender is about appearance. It’s important because it puts people at ease around you. It took years for me to stop worrying about how I looked and then this happened.” She traced a finger over the lumpen ridge by her ear. “Doesn’t bother me now though. Anyone who sees me sees a woman and that’s all that ever mattered to me; that the exterior matches the interior.”

  “Was it hard?” asked Ben, putting his beaker aside and giving Anders his full attention.

  “Mentally, changing wasn’t hard. I’d always known what I was, so the change was inevitable for me. I knew I was becoming a better person because I wasn’t living a lie any more. Some find it much harder because they become so entrenched in their male lives. The longer you leave it, the harder it gets. Especially when you start getting the secondary sexual characteristics of a male.” She gave a mock shudder. “I’m glad I never went through that!”

  “Oh, it’s not so bad,” said Ben. Helen chuckled wryly.

  “Speak for yourself hon. I’m with Anders on that one.” She turned to Anders and offered her some more tequila.

  “You find people less prejudiced now than twenty years ago?” she asked as Anders accepted a small amount.

  “Yes and no. We’re more prevalent, but only in certain areas. Modelling work, TV, things like that. People are fine with it in some aspects, but it’s different in the day to day world. Bruce Jenner coming out as Caitlyn went global and the more positive press we get, the more barriers we’ll break down, but old prejudices will always be there.” Ben nodded his head in agreement.

  “That’s because we’re used to seeing models and celebrities as objects, not strictly real things. You can look at a model and think that they’ve been made that way with surgery and Photo Shop, the same with transsexual models. You can objectify them as much as you would any other model. People overlook their natural beauty, but also fail to accept them for what they really are.” Helen gave him an impressed look.