by Rob Ashman
The blue lights in her grill flashed and the siren blasted out as they hurtled across a junction causing other motorists to slam on their brakes. Tavener hung on for dear life. Cars slammed into the kerb to get out of the way as Kray powered her way through gaps in the traffic. Tavener stared at his boss. Fucking maniac.
Through another red light, the road finally opened up. The speedometer was touching seventy as the blur of houses and driveways flew past the window. Then Kray stood on the brakes and slewed the back end of the car around a bend and skidded to a halt.
They both leapt out.
‘You take the back, I’ll take the front,’ Kray said pointing to the pub.
Here they come. Like flies around shit.
I can see her running to the door. There is a man outside holding a sheet of paper, he stops her and they have a conversation. That must be a picture of me, or to be more precise, the person I was nine minutes ago.
The ice cream tastes good. A ninety-nine with all the sprinkles and toffee sauce has always been my favourite. I lick around the edges, savouring its sugary delights. My heart is still beating hard as I sit on the bench looking out to sea. Well, half turned looking out to sea, so I can also watch the show unfold.
A second car screeches to a halt about fifty yards from where I’m sitting. Three people pile out into the bar. I would love to be a fly on the wall right now. Kray would be talking to the barmaid who recognised me from the mug shot. The other plods would be searching the place high and low looking for the woman in the picture, while others attempt to take statements from drunken bystanders.
I crunch through the biscuit cone and get a bad case of head freeze. The sugar is helping me to come down from my exertions. Another car arrives and more coppers jump out, scampering inside.
I munch the last piece of cone from my hand and check my bag. The torn zip gapes open, displaying the dress, wig, shoes, tits, underwear, mirror, cream …
Then at the bottom of the bag I see it. My heart stops.
A two-inch square of plastic with a perforated top containing a surgical wipe.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
38
Question: How do you get twelve police officers to cram themselves into a small imaging suite? Answer: Tell them they’re going to see CCTV footage of a dead colleague, who is seemingly alive.
‘Shit there she is, there’s Lucy,’ one man said putting his hand to his mouth.
‘It’s not Lucy, it’s the sick bastard who killed her. Note what he’s wearing,’ said Kray.
‘The dress from the photographs,’ Tavener added.
‘Jesus that’s exactly like her,’ said another, still trying to fathom that it wasn’t Lucy they were looking at.
‘That’s why I wanted you all to see what we are up against. The man is a pro, not some happy amateur with a liking for women’s clothing.’
They were glued to the black and white images on the screen.
‘Stop. Rewind a few seconds,’ said Kray.
The guy operating the equipment did as he was told.
‘Now I want all of you to watch this very carefully. Press play.’ The killer picked the glass from the table and raised it, staring straight into the lens.
‘Pause. I want you all to take a good look, remember this is not Lucy Frost. This cheeky bastard is raising his glass to us. He did it last time, sat at the very same table in the very same bar. He raised his glass and said cheers. Now watch as the suspect leaves the table and heads off towards the toilets. Fast forward …’ The operator rotated the thumb wheel and the figures in the bar rushed about. A group of guys who were congregated at the bar beetled off in the direction of the toilet, then came back again to resume their onslaught on the bar staff.
‘Watch,’ ordered Kray. ‘Now freeze.’ The image on the VDU was of a slightly built man carrying a rucksack slung over one shoulder. He was wearing a white T-shirt and jeans. You couldn’t see his face because it was hidden below the wide peak of a baseball cap. The figure eased his way through the jostling crowd and disappeared out of camera shot.
‘That’s our man,’ Kray said. ‘That’s the bastard that killed Lucy. We will be circulating screen grabs from the footage.’
‘Boss can you rewind to when Lucy, err, I mean the suspect, gets off the bar stool?’ Kray spun around to see who was speaking. A thirty-something-year-old man with floppy hair and greying side burns pushed his way to the front. ‘I’m Craig ma’am, Craig Forrest.’
Kray motioned to the man with his hands on the buttons and the film went into reverse.
‘There,’ Craig said.
‘There what?’ replied Kray.
‘The suspect leaves the table carrying a wine glass. It’s in the hand farthest away from the camera but I’m sure he does.’ The tape spun backwards and forwards. ‘Look, the glass is there in this frame and then it’s not.’
‘Nice spot Craig, he took it with him.’
‘Boss, I found a glass of wine in the gents’ toilet. It was on the floor in one of the cubicles.’ Craig was on a roll.
‘Where is it now?’
‘I bagged it. I thought it was odd having a wine glass in the gents, beer glasses I could understand but—’
‘Is it in the evidence room?’ Kray cut him off.
‘I guess so.’
‘Get it down to the lab and get it dusted right away. And check the rim for DNA,’ Kray said. ‘I think our boy might have made his first mistake.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’s all I can say to myself as I drive home.
I can’t believe I messed up. I had the disinfectant wipe with me, and in all the commotion with my bag, I forgot to use it. I have to assume they have the glass of wine and when they realise what they’ve got, they will have my finger prints within hours. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to use the glass to wind up the coppers, but that only works if I clean the bloody thing first!
What a dickhead thing to do.
My mind is running amok. Did I drink from the glass? I don’t think so, I wasn’t meant to, but in the heat of the moment I can’t really remember. Get a grip and calm down. I have to keep my mind focussed on the prize, remind myself why this is important.
I bring the car to a stop and get out. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I slide the key in the lock and reach the sanctuary of my home. I’m still rattled by my stupidity, but there is nothing I can do about it now. I put the bag in the hallway, strip off my clothes and open the door to the cloakroom under the stairs. The skirting board lifts away to reveal the key and I’m standing on the top step gazing down into the darkness. My cock begins to stiffen in anticipation of what’s to come.
The wooden steps are cold on the soles of my feet and the back of my hand keeps in contact with the wall as I descend into the cellar. I am welcomed at the bottom by the green glow of the freezer lights and the soft orange warmth of Sampson’s tank. He eyes me from his coiled position in the corner and tastes the air. He is sleepy and not interested in trying to kill me today.
I shuffle along to the upright freezer and pull on the handle. The suction gives way with a whoosh and the door swings open. The cold air hits my skin but does nothing to diminish my erection. I curl my fingers around the shaft and rub back and forth in time with the rhythm as I chant the lines.
‘To chill her blood, how so divine,
Walk in her shoes, her face is mine,
With evil dripping from your pores,
The next face I need to take
… is yours.’
On the top shelf is a frosted back mannequin’s head covered with the white puckered skin of Madeline Eve. I chant the words over and over as I rub my cock.
‘To chill her blood, how so divine,
Walk in her shoes, her face is mine …’
On the middle shelf is another head, lightly dusted with ice crystals, and framed with the freshly sculptured face of Lucy Frost.
‘With evil dripping from your pores,
The next face I need to
take …’
On the bottom shelf is a naked mannequin’s head – ready and waiting.
‘… is yours.’
39
For the second time in a week, blades of grass clung to Kray’s shoes as she crested the brow of the hill to gaze down at the riot of colour. The early morning dew dampened the bottom of her trousers. In her hand was a brown paper bag, the Costa brand emblazoned on the side. She made her way along the rows of headstones and turned right, walking along to the fourth one from the end. She stopped midway and took out a coffee and a bran muffin.
‘Hey,’ she said into the wind as it tugged at her coat. ‘I’m having a shit week so I thought I’d meet you for breakfast. The weather woman said it’s going to be sunny today, she even used the word ‘hot’. Which means it will probably reach a sweltering fifteen degrees for us.’ She took a tentative nibble at the muffin and gulped some coffee.
‘The bastard killed one of my team, you know the one I told you about, the pretty girl, the runner. He fucking sliced her up like he did with Madeline. The whole station is devastated. Then the cheeky twat goes walkabout in her clothes in the centre of town, posing for the CCTV cameras. Made us all look like wankers.’ Kray took another bite. ‘We scrambled everyone we could, but he slipped away.
‘And don’t get annoyed but I went to see Rampton. I didn’t tell you because you would have told me not to. I had to look him in the eye when I asked him the question. That didn’t end well either, turns out it was nothing to do with him. Fucking stupid clock. It was the ravings of a mad woman, and before you say anything, I know you’re not surprised. I got into hot water with Wacko-Jacko though, he was fizzing mad.’
She laughed to herself and slurped at the hot drink.
‘Funny thing happened at the briefing. The Chief wanted to say a few words to the troops and did a great job. Then Wacko decides to do the same – what a bloody car crash. No one knew what he was on about, it was hilarious. That is, if anything at all this week could be described as hilarious. Anyway, I thought I’d come and share my shit week with you. How have you been?’
Kray paused, every time she asked that question she expected her husband to respond. She stared out to sea at the array of windmills in the distance. They looked like a child had planted them there and forgotten to come back. Jackson’s words barged their way into her consciousness and a phosphor bomb of realisation went off in her head.
Kray marched past the hospital reception boy who was playing Candy Crush on his phone. She emerged from the lift on the fourth floor and looked for the signs that read ‘Pharmacy’. She retraced her steps from the other day when she had been trailing along behind a tall, pissed-off pathologist. The place was a whitewashed maze of corridors and hallways and she asked for directions twice.
She arrived at her destination and pushed open the door. At her post behind the counter was Mandy Hawthorne.
‘Hi Mandy, I’m DI Roz Kray, we met the other day.’
‘Oh yes, I remember. You were interested in Suprane.’
‘That’s right, would it be okay if I asked you a few more questions?’
‘Well I’m due to go on my break shortly, but I’m fine for a few minutes.’
Mandy pressed the button and the door to the side clicked open. Kray wandered in.
‘Can you bring up the delivery note we looked at last time? The one with the manual adjustment.’
‘Umm, I’ll try to find it. It was pure chance that one came up.’
The VDU in front of her came to life with a series of windows showing scanned documents. After a while Mandy sat back. ‘You mean this one?’
Kray looked at the document. ‘Yes that’s the one. Now can you bring up the associated documents that correspond to that delivery.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You know, the purchase order, the invoice, things like that.’
Mandy’s hand sped around the mouse mat clicking hot buttons on the screen. ‘So, what we have here is the PO stating the amount of material requested, the cost and the delivery date. And this is the matching invoice.’
‘May I?’ Kray moved her hand towards the mouse. She clicked between the documents tallying up the figures.
‘Is that it?’ Mandy said, looking at her watch.
‘Can I see another please?’
‘Okay let’s see if I can find one.’ The screen dissolved into a blur of electronic paperwork. After a couple of minutes Mandy sat back again. ‘Here’s one.’
Kray looked at the delivery note with the quantity crossed out and replaced with a handwritten number.
‘Can you find the corresponding paperwork to go with that? Like you did before.’
Mandy made a point of looking at her watch again. ‘It’s my break time now and the Pharmacy has strict opening hours. If I miss it, I don’t get to take it later.’
‘Please, it’s important.’
The mouse moved even faster than before. The documents came alive on the screen. Kray scrutinised the figures – they checked out.
‘And one more, the last one I promise.’
‘I really do have to go or I’ll miss my break.’
‘Please Mandy, this is the last one. You’ve been so helpful.’
Mandy interrogated the records further and brought one up. The delivery quantity had been amended and a new figure was scrawled in its place.
‘Now can I see—’
‘I know, I know,’ Mandy interrupted.
Kray scanned between the documents.
‘Can you print these off for me?’
‘I suppose so.’ Mandy was now giving it the grumpy schoolgirl routine. ‘Why do you want them?’
Behind a filing cabinet a printer spooled out the sheets of paper. Kray picked them up and spread them across the desk in front of Mandy.
‘Here is the purchase order for fifty-two boxes of Suprane, placed on the third of February. This is the delivery note for that order number showing an amended quantity of fifty-one boxes, received on the eighth February.’
‘Yes so?’
‘This is the final invoice showing …’ Kray didn’t bother completing her sentence.
‘Fifty-two boxes,’ Mandy said in hushed tones.
Kray folded the sheets of paper together and left Mandy staring at the screen with her mouth open. It looked like she wasn’t going to have her break after all.
40
The poky room resonated with the sound of buzzing which seemed to go on for an eternity – then it suddenly stopped.
‘For the purposes of the tape, present in the room are DI Kray and Detective Tavener with Kevin Chamberlain and his solicitor Cheryl Paignton. Mr Chamberlain has been previously read his rights and is still under caution. Do you understand, Kevin?’ Kray asked.
A short stocky young man with angular features sat opposite her dressed in a sweat shirt and ripped jeans. He shuffled around in his seat and said nothing.
‘For the purposes of the tape Mr Chamberlain has nodded his head,’ Kray continued. ‘Can you tell us what you do for a living, Kevin?’
Kevin looked sideways at his brief who nodded her head.
‘I work at the hospital.’
‘What specifically do you do at the hospital?’
‘I work in the stores.’
‘What do you do in the stores?’
‘I do lots of things but mostly I look after the deliveries and make sure the stock is in order.’
Kray looked at Tavener who produced a plastic folder with a sealed red top. Inside was a document. ‘This is a docket dated the eighth February for a delivery of Suprane. It shows a quantity of fifty-two boxes, but this has been crossed out and overwritten with a new quantity of fifty-one boxes.’ Tavener slid the evidence in front of Chamberlain. ‘Is that your writing Kevin?’
Chamberlain shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.
‘It is customary,’ Tavener continued, ‘for documentation to be altered to correspond to the actual delivery quantities rece
ived. That’s correct, isn’t it?’
Chamberlain said nothing.
Tavener pulled two new pieces of documented evidence from a folder. ‘These are also delivery notes, each one has the quantities manually crossed out and a new figure written in its place. Is this your hand writing Kevin?’
Kevin looked at his brief, then at the papers spread out on the desk, then back at his brief.
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ he replied.
‘I am now showing Mr Chamberlain the corresponding invoices for each of the deliveries.’ Tavener produced more documentation and arranged them on the table so the order numbers matched up. ‘You can see in these two instances the invoice amount matches the altered delivery quantity, however, in this case the delivery quantity was amended to read fifty-one boxes but the invoice amount is still made out for fifty-two boxes. How do you account for that, Kevin?’ asked Tavener.
‘I don’t know.’ Chamberlain screwed his face up.
‘We checked with the supplier and their paperwork confirms that fifty-two boxes were despatched from their warehouse.’ Tavener pulled another piece of paper from a file and laid it on the desk. ‘They are certain that quantity of Suprane left their warehouse but when you took delivery of that order into the hospital, you changed it to read fifty-one. The company sent an invoice for fifty-two boxes because that’s what they believe was delivered. Why did you alter the quantity, Kevin?’
‘Because that’s how much there was.’ He held out his hands, palms facing up, in non-verbal sign of honesty.
‘Did you alter the delivery quantity with the intention of stealing the Suprane?’
‘No, I never did that.’
‘This is your writing isn’t it, Kevin? It matches the other manual adjustments.’
‘Yes it’s my writing but I didn’t steal any Suprane. And anyway, if I did it would show up at the month-end stock check. And they are all fine.’ He sat back in his chair folding his arms across his chest as though that was the end of the matter.