An Unfamiliar Murder

by Jane Isaac

  Helen had been required to wait for the tactical advisor for the firearms team to contain the area, liaise with force intelligence to find out who was registered as living at the address, made sure that it was as safe as possible for his officers to enter the property. She understood the need for these provisions. If intelligence suggested that a family with children lived at this address then it would be wrong to enter en masse - they may have a hostage situation on their hands, or worst still create one, putting officers in undue danger. But right now the clock was ticking away . . .

  As soon as he gave her the signal, she, still hidden behind the camper van on the opposite side of the road, raised her mobile to her ear. She gave the command, “3-2-1- Go Go Go!”

  Armed officers flew from their positions behind cars, tucked around corners, low behind fences.

  Bang! The door was pushed in with the battering ram. Body after body of heavily armored officers streamed into the house. The noise became a din, as tumultuous voices, banging of doors, thunder of footsteps all merged together. Helen heard a dog barking, more shouting, doors slamming . . . Come on, she thought, bring him out.

  An officer came out holding the German Shepherd’s collar. “It’s only a pup,” he called out laughing. It was animated, geared up by all the excitement. Where is he? thought Helen. Uniformed bodies started piling out of the house. Helen walked over to the front door. “What’s going on?”

  “He’s not here,” PS Bates, head of the Armed Unit, said.

  “What do you mean, not here? We’ve been watching both the front door and the rear exit. How can he have left?”

  “No idea, but he’s gone. You’ll want to get in there and take a look though – he’s one twisted geezer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kane Edward’s flat occupied the whole first floor of the end terraced house. The front door led directly into the lounge. Furnishings were limited to a brown three seater sofa and a television in one corner. The room was dominated by three elements. Firstly, Anna. The wall behind the television was plastered with photographs of her: Anna in the cafe with Rab, Anna on her bicycle, Anna’s rear as she made her way through a crowd outside her flat, Anna in her parents’ garden, side profiles, full frontals, pictures taken from every angle. There was even a photo of Anna in the police-issue, navy jogging suit she had worn home from the station, the Saturday before.

  As if the photographs weren’t chilling enough, the opposite wall was covered with computer printouts, posters, pages torn from books of the armed forces – soldiers at war. As Helen’s eyes flicked over the pieces she picked up a theme, a focus. The photos showed soldiers from different disciplines, cultures, countries and backgrounds. She could clearly see the Italian Army parading in all their finery, the Russian Red Army marching, the British RAF saluting, pictures of warships, tanks, airplanes.

  As she scanned down she noticed that the pieces were becoming more specific. There were printouts of means of torture – water boarding in the Iraq war, amputation in Sierra Leone. Goose bumps formed on her arms. DC Spencer’s words flashed in her mind, “. . . hemophiliac . . . blighted his life . . . Always wanted to join the military, but failed the medical . . .” Was it possible for someone’s thwarted ambition to turn so ugly? The majority of articles and printouts appeared to focus on the Russian/Afghan war in the 1980s and in particular the Mujahideen tactic of slicing the skin off Soviet soldiers. Helen shivered. He was studying his art. Just as a bird watcher may gather books, articles, photos about his hobby, Kane Edwards was doing the same. Was slicing tattoos from his victims just the beginning?

  Strangely, that wasn’t the thing that bothered Helen most. What really worried her, what really turned her blood to ice, was the number of weapons he had accrued. A samurai sword hung off the wall alongside a bayonet and above a couple of saber claw knives. The carpet underneath the window was strewn with nun chucks. She walked into the kitchen again and caught sight of a baseball bat, leaning neatly against the wall beside the back door.

  Helen’s stomach churned as she pulled out her mobile phone and dialed Pemberton’s number urgently. He answered on the second ring.

  “Sean, it’s Helen. Get hold of the liaison officer at the Cottrells, will you? Make sure that she locks all the doors and keeps all family members inside.”

  “No problem.”

  “And make sure the armed car’s down there will you?”

  “Certainly, ma’am. I take it he’s given you the slip?”

  “Yes,” she sighed, “but we need to catch him and quick. By the looks of his flat he’s working up to something. And there’s no telling what will happen if we don’t get him off the streets now.”

  * * *

  Anna was angry, angry at the intrusion into her personal life, her home, her belongings, her relationships. Angry at the emotional pain and suffering inflicted on her family and those close to her over the past eight days. Angry with the lies, secrets, deception she had unknowingly faced over the years. And the anger fired her up as she trudged through the fields towards Cross Keys.

  She could hear her phone ringing and pulled it out of her pocket. Recognizing DCI Lavery’s number she scowled at it and rejected the call. A text message also flashed in the inbox and she clicked to see who it was – Rab. She sighed and put it back into her pocket without even reading the message. Leave me alone.

  The ring road roundabout at Cross Keys was busy with shoppers heading in and out of Hampton city centre, families traveling to and from their destinations, people on their way home from work. She had to wait several minutes before she could get across and take the third exit into Keys trading estate.

  In stark contrast the trading estate was quiet. She passed a car workshop with a few vehicles parked outside, a printing company which looked deserted, two engineering companies and a couple of brick buildings which looked like offices. One was called ‘Angel Sportswear’ but the A was hanging off the sign. They all showed little sign of life. Anna guessed that many of them either didn’t work Saturdays or opted for an early finish. Only a few die hards were left to finish up. As she progressed into the trading estate the noise of the traffic eventually subsided. She left it all behind her and it felt strangely peaceful.

  Her thoughts turned back to Ross. She knew now that she would sacrifice herself for him if necessary. Dying would be easy compared to the life that she had lived this past week. It would feel like someone switching off the light, taking away all the pain, the confusion, the distress to those around her. This wasn’t living. It was more like living hell. She continued on her path deeper into the estate.

  The entrance to

  Bracken Way was set back from the road, surrounded by a small car park, marked with the sign of a white bicycle on the blue background for the ‘National Cycle Network’. Formerly a railway line, it had fallen victim to the mass cull of the railways in the 1960s and lay stagnant for many years. Around 30 years ago the neighboring councils clubbed together and invested in a development program which transformed it into a cycle and walking route, placing several small car parks and picnic areas at intervals along the route so that people could decide how far they wished to travel. Anna thought back to when she had last used this route. It would have been the first summer that her and Ross were together. The track ran for almost 22 miles, but not many people covered the whole route, apart from the seriously determined cyclists. They had packed a picnic and cycled the whole length and back, on that warm August afternoon, encountering walkers, cyclists, runners, families, couples, people walking dogs on the way. It had been a hive of activity, families jostling for a safe area to take the children and a flat ride on their bikes. There had even been an ice cream van parked at this entrance.

  But there was no ice cream van today, no crowds to be seen. Even the car park was empty. Perfect place for a murder. She shuddered.

  Anna stepped onto the track uneasily, her eyes darting around, surveying the isolated surroundings. She could smell damp wood, the b
ranches on the trees not recovering from the recent rain. The silence was eerie.

  Paradoxically this disused railway track lay only a mile from the busy Cross Keys roundabout, but the tall, mature, broad leaf trees and high vegetation still managed to cut out the noise. Even at this time of year when their leaves had disappeared, it felt very secluded.

  Nervous doubts crept into her mind. Should I tell someone where I am? Just in case? She kept walking as she thought, one foot in front of the other, towards the tunnel entrance. Her pace slowed slightly, but she wouldn’t allow herself to stop. If she stopped she would turn back, she knew it. And then what would happen to Ross? Apprehension flooded her veins.

  The sudden buzz of her phone in her pocket made her jump. Calm down. She stopped and retrieved it from her pocket – another message from Rab. She sighed and stared at his name for a long moment. This was her chance. A quick text, that was all it would take. Perhaps this is a trap? If I just . . .

  At that moment she felt a strange sensation. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Somebody, somewhere was watching her.

  Anna looked up. The tunnel was now in sight in the distance. Was that movement down at the bottom? She scrunched up her eyes. She wasn’t sure if it was a figure or the bare branch of a tree hanging down. Hastily, she put her phone back in her pocket, not quite summoning the courage to turn it off. Perfect place for a murder.

  She started walking again and soon realized, about two hundred yards from the cavernous tunnel entrance that it was a huge tree branch, belonging to an old oak tree. It looked like it had been hit by lightening, hanging awkwardly away from the main part of the trunk. She breathed a sigh of relief and carried on walking.

  It was just as she reached the bench that she heard it. A soft crunch, followed by a gravelly voice behind her, “You can stop right there . . .”

  * * *

  As Helen ended the call to Pemberton, she felt crushed. Anna had disappeared from her parent’s home, slipped out without anyone knowing. How could that have happened? Her mind was buzzing. Now they had lost Kane and Anna. This was a recipe for disaster.

  Her father had told her that heading a murder investigation was like a drug. He should know. He had carried the job for almost fifteen years, right up to his retirement. He had said, when you worked a case, caught your killer, you made a huge difference to everybody’s lives. This was the big time, catching the real bad guys - there was no other job that offered the same rush.

  Except right now Helen didn’t feel any rush. It was all going belly up. And with Celebrity Cop Sawford breathing down her neck, this was all she needed. She could just imagine his insidious mind working overtime now, plotting how he could turn this around to suit his own ends. She reached for her phone, selected Rab McCafferty’s name and actually crossed her fingers as she pressed dial.

  * * *

  Anna swung around, then froze. The man behind her froze too. He didn’t say anything for what seemed like several minutes, just stood, like a waxwork statue, staring back at her. A familiar statue.

  Anna cast her eyes behind him in confusion, then found her voice at last, “I wasn’t expecting . . .”

  His eyes pierced her skin. He seemed to read her mind. “Had to make sure you weren’t being followed.”

  “Where’s Ross?” Anna stared back at him defiantly, using all of the bravado she could find, battling to get the words out evenly. Where have I seen you before? She thought inwardly.

  Kane Edwards stared back at her, his eyes open rather too wide for her liking. Then he tilted his head to one side as a mischievous, evil smile crept onto his lips. “All in good time.”

  This is wrong. Get out of here.

  Kane held his head back, took a long, deep breath through his nose and looked around him. “It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” he said, finally resting his eyes upon her again. They were so pale, so menacing.

  Who are you? She tried to stand tall. “You said you have some information about Ross?”

  He looked her up and down and she felt as though a large spider was crawling up her neck.

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Look, if you’ve lied to me . . .”

  “Do you like blond men, Anna?”

  Her stomach churned.

  “I like brunettes. I like you.” He took a step closer and she instinctively stepped back, stumbling in her wake.

  Fear crept through her veins. Keep him talking. “Let Ross go. Please?”

  His face clouded slightly. “We can talk about Ross later. Let’s get to know each other first, eh?” He reached forward and attempted to run his index finger down the side of her face, but she ducked out of the way defiantly.

  “Come on, Anna, we’re just being friendly.”

  Her stomach turned upside down. He was much taller than her, well over a foot, and he wore combat trousers and a combat gilet, the pockets bulging. His arms were bare, in spite of the cold weather. She looked at his yellow teeth, his thinning white-blond hair scraped away from his face. He lifted an equally yellow, tobacco tinged finger and rubbed it along his jaw line. All the time he stared straight into her eyes, a gesture she found very disconcerting. If he did blink, she didn’t notice.

  “What do you want from me?” Anna asked finally.

  “Just to get to know you a bit better,” he said, his piercing eyes looking deep into her.

  “What do you mean? I don’t even know who you are,” she said confounded.

  He reached into one of the top pockets and pulled out something.

  Anna gasped. Her address book. The one she couldn’t find in her flat. That meant . . .

  “I feel I know you quite well myself,” Kane responded, a cruel smile on his lips.

  She wanted to turn, to run, but her feet were rooted to the floor. He was much taller than her, maybe even fitter. No doubt, he would be much quicker. She managed a swift glance over her shoulder.

  Again, he tilted his head to one side. “Looking for someone?”

  She shook her head, small jerking movements, but said nothing. The truth of the matter was that nobody knew she was here. All those chances . . . Helen and Rab had tried to contact her. But no. She did nothing. And now she was here, all alone.

  “Leave me alone.”

  He put the book back in a pocket. “Don’t be like that. Come on, we have a lot in common you and I. We both like Muse.”

  “W-What?”

  “And I love the intermezzo too. Raging Bull is one of my favorite films.” She looked back at him puzzled, feeling completely at a disadvantage. “And I listen to ‘Eyes Open’ all the time. Just like

  you . . .”

  The penny dropped. He hadn’t only taken her address book, he also had her iPod. “Where’s Ross?” She struggled to keep her voice even.

  He stood still and raised his eyes to the sky. Perhaps now she could run, turn, quick, if she just . . .

  And then he put his hand into another of the pockets on his jacket, and pulled out the knife. And she knew it was too late . . .

  The blood rushing through her veins suddenly turned icy cold. She felt trapped. She turned to run, but he was quick, too quick. He grabbed hold of her by the lapel of her jacket, pointing the knife at her throat. Struggle would be useless, the tip pressing against her skin.

  She peered down her nose at the knife. “What do you want from me?” she cried, her palms sweating despite the rapidly declining temperatures. The sun’s light was just starting to fade, open skies leading the way to a frosty night.

  He ignored her question and just stood in silence for a moment. She looked up to see his grey eyes filled with malice, spittle in the corner of his mouth. He looked like a wild animal, preparing for the kill. Or a supernatural character in a film. She shivered, physically repulsed.

  He laughed bitterly. He was enjoying himself.

  Behind him she saw a movement in the distance. Yes. It was a person she was convinced of it. Don’t focus on them. Don’t draw attention. Short g
lances. It was a man. He was within 30 yards now. And then . . . Her stomach bounced briefly, then confusion set in . . .

  “Get your hands away from her Edwards!”

  Kane jumped. Anna moved back, lashed out with her leg. But he was too quick for her. She felt a sharp sting as the knife scratched the first layer of skin. Then he tossed her around so that she had her back to him, his thick arms tightening their grip around her.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t McCafferty,” he said. “I wondered if you’d show up.”

  Anna’s mind was in a spin. How did Rab know they were here? Unless… Were Rab and Edwards in this together? Some kind of deranged feud against her?

  Suddenly, a light switch flicked in her brain. At that moment she finally realized why Kane looked familiar. She had seen his face before. He looked like, no he was, the man who she had crashed into on her bike at the end of Ross’ road. The day Ross went missing. The day she went to meet Rab. And he was the man who had stared at her from across the road, when she had been in the coffee house with Rab. How many other times had he been there? Stuck at the back of a crowd, hidden behind a parked car, secluded down an alleyway; watching her. Stalking her . . . She gulped as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air. What was Rab’s role in all of this?

  “I’m serious Edwards, get away from her,” Rab continued.

  “Where do you get off telling me what to do?” he hissed back.

  “She’s done nothing wrong.”

  “No, but you have.” Anna was sure she could feel his face sneering. He sniffed at her hair and she shuddered.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”