Dead Man Walking

by Paul Finch

  Heck pushed the figure aside, shining his torch into the room behind. This might once have been a dining room; it was large enough, with a properly beamed ceiling and ancient wainscoting. But now it was hung with ragged clothing, both men’s and women’s – he also remembered hearing that Annie had once lived here with her parents. Jackets, pairs of trousers, skirts and frocks adorned every wall, suspended along what had once been the curtain rail and from the lintel over a doorway connecting with yet another darkened room. The scent was exclusively rancid. Annie might well use and re-use her old family garments, which in some ways was laudable, but she didn’t have hot running water, so how could she wash these things effectively? Meanwhile, what might once have been a handsome dining table took up the central space. It was dented and scuffed and covered with melted wax from candles that had burned down into puddles. The long dark of the Northern English winter was difficult at the best of times, but the thought of facing it without gas or electricity was horrific.

  An Edwardian-era sewing-machine, powered by foot pedal, occupied the far end of the table. The sight of this aged mechanism – which stirred so many memories of Heck’s indomitable grandmother – put a barb of sadness through him, reminding him more than words ever could that they were dealing with a real person here; an elderly lady who’d struggled against the elements all her life, putting in backbreaking hours just to survive. He moved around the table to the next door, but this led only to a walk-in wardrobe hung with yet more tattered relics. Gemma now entered the dining room, Heggarty standing behind her in the doorway. Before anyone could speak, there was a dull thud somewhere overhead. They swapped glances. Another thud followed; it sounded like a foot impacting on timber.

  They followed the corridor back to the living room. The front door stood open as they’d left it, but now they noticed another door, beyond which their torchlight picked up the bottom of a staircase. Heck halted briefly at the foot of it, staring at what looked like a recently-placed basket of consumables, complete with a fresh tablecloth over the top, sitting on a side-table. This was all the proof he needed that Hazel at least had been here. But why had he not seen her yet? Why couldn’t he hear her voice as she conversed with old Annie? Why did the place still feel silent and dead? Swiftly, Heck led the way upstairs. They stopped at the top – and heard what sounded like a suppressed whimper. It came from a passage on the left. Heck went down there first.

  ‘Heck!’ Gemma hissed.

  He barely heard her, homing in on a door at the end, coincidentally the only door on the landing that was closed. At the last second his old instincts kicked in again, and he slid to a halt.

  There was a soft metallic click.

  Heggarty had come up behind, but Heck spun from the door, slamming an arm across the tall bobby’s chest, knocking him back against the wall. Gemma, about five yards behind, dived to the left. With a shuddering BOOM, and a gale of smoke and splinters, the entire lower half of the door was blasted outward.

  ‘Shotgun!’ Heck shouted. ‘Gemma, you’re still in the line of fire! Get downstairs!’

  ‘Fu … uck me!’ Heggarty stammered, ashen-faced. He tried to struggle upright, but Heck slammed him backwards again, so they were both flush against the wall.

  ‘Downstairs!’ Heck shouted again. ‘Right now!’

  But then he heard another voice – wavering, almost childlike.

  ‘Mark? Mark … is that you?’

  ‘Hazel? What the …?’

  ‘I tho— thought …’ The voice stuttered unintelligibly. ‘I thought you were …’

  ‘Yeah, it’s me!’ he called. ‘And I’ve got two other police officers with me. Put the gun down, okay? You’re safe now.’

  There was a clunk of metal on wood.

  ‘It’s down.’ She sounded tearful.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘It’s down, I said!’

  Heck pushed what remained of the door aside and shone his torch through. Gemma appeared alongside him, adding her light to his. Their combined glare was dazzling – so much so that Hazel, who was crouched in a corner of the bedroom, had to cover her eyes. Though the figure lying on the heavy, iron-framed bed did no such thing.

  Even from outside on the landing, Heck and Gemma could see why.

  First of all, it lay twisted and still, the shapeless shift it wore so wadded with congealed blood that it was plastered over the skeletal proportions beneath. They couldn’t see the face from where they were standing, but the feet and exposed shanks were rail-thin and mottled purple, the hands at the ends of the sleeves little more than emaciated claws. The reek pouring off the shrivelled form suggested it had been dead for at least a couple of days.

  Heck ventured forward, only for Hazel to cross the room in a blur, throwing herself into his arms. He staggered, almost dropping his torch.

  ‘Thank God!’ she wept. ‘I thought … I thought …’ Her hair was in disarray, the mascara stained down her cheeks indicating she’d been crying. ‘Thank God …’

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, as Gemma slid past, already replacing her woollen gloves with a pair of latex disposables. The room was a cluttered hovel. Aside from the discarded bed-sheets, musty clothing was heaped everywhere, also stained with blood. The walls were green with damp, the ceiling smothered in layers of dust-web.

  ‘I came up here …’ Hazel jabbered, breaking off to kiss Heck on the mouth again and again, though they were kisses of relief rather than desire.

  Gemma, having made a cursory but unsuccessful check for vital signs, circled around the bed and picked the shotgun up by its stock, gently disengaging its second hammer and breaking it open to unload the remaining barrel. On her signal, Heggarty also checked the prone figure, just about managing to avoid gagging as he probed. Not that there was any obvious need for this. Even from over the back of Hazel’s shoulder, Heck could tell that the old woman, whose face was more like a decayed rubber mask, was dead. What looked like a deep stab wound yawned in the middle of her throat. There was another between her withered breasts, and more tellingly than either of these, her two eyes had been gouged to pulp.

  Heck and Gemma swapped glances, neither initially commenting.

  ‘I came up here …’ Hazel stammered. ‘I wanted to help Annie … and I found her like this … I mean, good God!’

  ‘Okay,’ Heck said. ‘Okay. But why’d you shoot at us?’

  ‘I don’t … I don’t know what I was thinking.’ Fresh tears brimmed onto Hazel’s cheeks. ‘I was so … so frightened …’

  ‘You need to calm down, Ms Carter,’ Gemma said with what Heck thought was unnecessary firmness. ‘You’ve just opened fire on the police with an unlicensed shotgun. Now alright, it may have been unintentional. But we need to know why.’

  Hazel nodded, trying to get hold of herself. ‘I’m so, so sorry about that …’

  Heck cupped her face. ‘Just tell us what happened.’

  ‘I came in here and found Annie like … this. I mean she’s obviously been murdered. Her eyes, oh God, her eyes … look, I’m so glad you’re here. I’m just …’

  ‘Tell us exactly what happened, Ms Carter,’ Gemma prompted her.

  Hazel shook her head, visibly quaking. ‘Well … I didn’t know what to do. I mean, there’s no phone here. Mobiles can’t get a signal in the Cradle …’ She fought to regain control. ‘Then I heard this whistling.’

  The officers listened intently.

  ‘Whistling?’ Heck said.

  Hazel’s eyes glinted with fresh tears. ‘Oh my God, it was Strangers in the Night.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘You didn’t think Strangers in the Night because that’s the song I happened to mention to you in reference to those two hikers?’

  ‘I know what I heard, Mark!’

  ‘Where did this whistling come from, Ms Carter?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘At first it was outside, and then it was downstairs in the house. I could hear
someone moving around. And it was loud too, and tuneful. Like they weren’t trying to hide.’

  ‘So whoever it was, he didn’t know you were here?’

  Hazel shuddered. ‘He might have, he might not.’

  ‘When was this?’ Heck asked.

  ‘Twenty minutes ago … half an hour.’

  Gemma turned to Heggarty. ‘Look around … let’s make sure he’s not still here.’ Nodding, the PC left the room. They heard his heavy feet clumping downstairs.

  ‘I was so frightened,’ Hazel stammered, more tears dabbling her lashes. ‘Especially when the whistling just stopped. It was weird, like a switch had been thrown – for a moment then I was certain he’d heard me. Though he’d probably seen that basket of supplies I left downstairs.’

  ‘I’m surprised he didn’t,’ Heck said.

  ‘I know. Anyway, all I could do was sit in that corner with the gun … you know the rest.’

  Gemma glanced at Heck, her expression blank, which in his experience of working with her meant she was seriously concerned. Almost unconsciously, she retrieved the shotgun from the wall where she’d propped it.

  ‘Can you honestly blame me for shooting?’ Hazel asked them.

  Heck mused. ‘It’s not a good idea in times of crisis to make a blazing shotgun your default option, but I think on this occasion it may just be forgivable.’ He looked at Gemma, who was peeking around the curtain and, rather surreptitiously, had broken open the shotgun and was sliding the remaining shell back into its breech.

  ‘What about Annie?’ Hazel asked in an increasingly shrill tone. ‘Why’s he killed her … a harmless old lady? For God’s sake, why did he take her eyes …?’

  ‘Ms Carter, why don’t you go onto the landing,’ Gemma said. ‘The air’s fresher out there.’

  Hazel looked confused by the request. She glanced at Heck.

  ‘Better if you go and wait at the top of the stairs,’ he said, steering her out of the fetid room and along the landing. ‘The bedroom’s a crime scene now.’

  She leaned against him as they went, their bodies briefly melding into one another. He couldn’t deny it anymore; he was developing a protective urge. Perhaps it was inevitable after all they’d been through together, but that didn’t make it any easier. He just hoped Hazel didn’t detect it. All through their short-lived acquaintanceship, though she’d never admit it, he’d suspected Hazel was looking, or maybe hoping, for a little more commitment from him.

  Heggarty now re-ascended from below. ‘No one else here, sarge.’

  Heck nodded, allowed the PC past and sat Hazel at the top of the stairs. ‘Listen, you’ve done incredibly well,’ he said, kneeling next to her.

  ‘Not well enough,’ she sniffled.

  ‘You think you could have saved her? How? By the looks of her, this happened a couple of days ago.’

  ‘By coming up here months back and checking she was alright.’

  ‘That still wouldn’t have saved her.’

  ‘It’s just the thought of her … alone, in this horrible place …’

  ‘Hazel, Annie chose to live this way.’

  ‘And does that mean the rest of us had no responsibility?’ New tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘I only came up here tonight because I heard …’ Her words tailed off. She looked too horrified to say more.

  ‘Heard what?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I don’t know. I was down at the pub, and I heard this ungodly wailing. Oh Lord, Mark … what pain must she have suffered to make a noise like that?’

  Heck considered this. ‘Hazel, you must’ve heard something else. Something completely unconnected. Annie was already dead by this evening.’

  ‘Hell of a coincidence, Mark!’

  ‘Coincidences happen. Look … you heard a noise travelling half the length of the Cradle? Not just that. All the way down the Cradle Track as well? Annie was old and probably sick. Imagine the pair of astonishingly powerful lungs it would have taken to project any noise over such a distance …’

  ‘So you’re telling me this didn’t happen? That we’ve imagined this terrible thing?’

  ‘Of course not …’

  ‘If only I’d checked on her sooner.’

  ‘If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,’ Heck said. ‘I’m the closest thing around here to a chief of police, and I didn’t even know Annie Beckwith existed.’

  ‘I should have ensured you did.’

  He put his arm around her again. ‘People die … okay? It’s a bag of crap, but it happens. And yet always I meet grief-stricken friends and relatives who blame themselves, which is total bloody bollocks. The fault for Annie’s death lies with the person who killed her. Nobody else. You get that, Hazel? Other folk can make innocent mistakes. Can be unintentionally neglectful. But murders happen because murderers commit them.’

  She wiped her eyes. ‘That doesn’t make me feel a lot better.’

  ‘Very little will in these situations. But don’t beat yourself up. You came all the way up here on your own to try and help Annie. How brave is that?’

  Hazel looked vaguely surprised. ‘You’re not cross about that?’

  ‘Yeah, sure … but I’m proud of you as well.’ He squeezed her shoulders, pecked her cheek. ‘I need to ask you this though, Hazel … did you have any physical contact with the body? Any at all?’

  She shook her head numbly. ‘As soon as I got close … saw what he’d done to her, I just … I just couldn’t.’

  ‘Okay, good. Now you just sit tight a couple of minutes. I’ve got to get back in there and help Gemma.’

  Again, Hazel nodded.

  When Heck re-entered the bedroom, Heggarty was standing unobtrusively to one side while Gemma had produced her phone and was stepping carefully around the bed, making as detailed a photographic record as she could. She broke off to nod at a discarded item lying in a corner. It was one half of a pair of rusty old sewing scissors. Heck squatted down, using the light of his own phone to examine it more closely. It was coated with dried blood.

  ‘Rigor’s been and gone,’ Gemma said. ‘At a rough guess, time of death happened a couple of days ago. Course we’ll need confirmation.’

  ‘That’s what I thought too,’ he said. ‘At least twenty-four hours before the attack on the two girls. Murder weapon improvised from yet another household item, I see.’

  ‘In the original case there was a theory he’d improvised his entire murder kit from household implements that he’d pillaged from the house where he launched his first attack,’ Gemma said. ‘Possibly added to it with other items later on.’

  ‘So we think he’s got himself a new kit together, eh?’ Heck indicated the half-scissors. ‘And maybe left this behind because it was broken?’

  ‘I was talking about the original case,’ Gemma replied. ‘Not necessarily this one.’

  Heck turned to Heggarty. ‘I take it there’s no sign of forced entry?’

  ‘The front door was open, sarge … like you saw. But it hadn’t been forced.’ Heggarty turned to Gemma. ‘Isn’t it time we got divisional supervision up here, ma’am? And a doctor to certify death?’

  ‘By all means try and get someone if you can,’ she replied.

  Heggarty put his lapel transmitter to his lips. ‘7438 to Charlie Two, receiving?’ There was no response; not even a crackle. ‘I’ll see if I can get a better signal outside.’ Gemma nodded as he strolled along the landing, asking ‘Ms Carter’ to ‘mind out’ and clumping downstairs again. ‘7438 to Charlie Two, urgent message … 7438 to Charlie Two, receiving, over?’

  ‘So, what do we think?’ Heck asked.

  ‘You mean do I think is this the Stranger?’ Gemma replied.

  ‘It’s familiar stuff, you must admit.’

  ‘You’re long enough in the tooth, Heck, to know that other offenders have gone for the eyes.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, but the eyes are only part of the pattern …’

  ‘Where are the extensive mutilations?’

  ‘If I recall r
ightly, the Stranger worked his way up to that last time. In the first instance, it was a home invasion in a remote spot. Then, like now, there was no sexual interest … so the occupant, a lone householder, was killed relatively quickly. It was almost like a trial run. An easy hit on a vulnerable target. And then the real thing afterwards – the attack on the two hitchhikers.’

  ‘There was a much longer cooling-off period last time,’ Gemma said.

  ‘He’s not a newbie anymore. He’s taken a few years off, but for whatever reason, he’s suddenly got a taste for it again and he’s raring to go.’

  She glanced at him curiously. ‘You’re a hundred per cent sold on this, aren’t you?’

  ‘No, but what does the evidence tell us?’

  ‘Evidence can be fabricated.’

  ‘I know, I know. This whole thing bears much deeper investigation. But … now is not the time.’ He shook his head. ‘If you want my honest opinion, ma’am … we should get the hell out of here. I don’t know about you, but I can sense when the odds are against me. Right now we’re far out of our comfort zone. This guy might not be.’

  ‘You’re suggesting we abandon a crime scene?’

  ‘Preservation of life and limb always takes priority over the needs of an investigation, you know that. Look, Gemma … whoever we’re dealing with here, he could hold all the aces, while we’re blind as moles. Not only that, we have a civilian on the plot.’

  Gemma glanced with interest at the open door to the landing. It wasn’t just any old civilian out there of course – it was Hazel. ‘Heck, we walk away from this now and he’ll have all the time he needs to clean this place from top to bottom.’

  ‘This fog will be gone tomorrow … we can come back then, in force.’

  ‘There might not be a scrap of physical evidence left.’

  ‘Whatever physical evidence there is, he can’t afford to let us sit on it ’til the circus arrives.’ Heck lowered his voice to ensure Hazel didn’t hear. ‘He’s going to counterattack … and he’s got a gun he isn’t frightened of using, while the best we can muster is the Salford Caution. Look, Gemma … we don’t need to leg it all the way back to the Keld. If we can make it down to Cragwood Ho, one of the houses there has a landline installed, so we can call Windermere Comms. We can even draw straws to see who gets to stay here and stand guard over the insecure premises, if you like … but there’s only three of us, and splitting us up further doesn’t sound like a plan to me.’