by Edward Figg
They were about to start the three-storey climb, when the glass doors of the lobby opened and in walked the woman with the curlers. She still had them in but this time they were covered with a head scarf. She looked at both men then put down the two shopping bags she’d been carrying.
‘I recognise you?’ she said, ‘The Old Bill.’ She dug into her handbag and took out a packet of cigarettes. ‘You’re that copper that came looking for Harris the other day.’
‘Yes, that's right,’ said Baxter.
‘What a shame.’
‘Why, what's a shame?’ Reid said curiously.
‘Well if you were going up.’ She put the emphasis on the word ‘were’. ‘You could have made yourselves useful and grabbed one of these bleeding shopping bags for me.’
‘And why shouldn't we be going up?’ queried Baxter, watching her struggle to light a cigarette.
‘Coz 'e ain’t there is 'e? Moved out late yesterday after you and your mate came banging on the door. I saw ' im go. He 'ad a big backpack thingy. Maybe he could 'ave got his letter from the council about moving to the new housing estate. Then again, come to think about, haven’t seen any furniture going though? We got our letter last week. We move out at the end of the month. About bleedin' time if you ask me. Be glad to see the back of this dump, smells like a cabbage farm,’ said Mrs Curlers, eventually lighting the cigarette. She took a few drags of it, let out a sigh, picked up her two bags and with the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth, she walked towards the stairs.
Standing in the car park a few minutes later, Baxter said, ‘When we get back, get on to the council, see if he has been rehoused. We need to find him.’
*******
Sitting at his desk, Reid put down the phone, finished off the last of his cheese and tomato sandwich and stood up. Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, he went off, down to the canteen to see Baxter.
When Reid entered, Baxter was seated at one of the Formica-topped tables. He was devouring a plate of egg, sausage and chips, all smothered in brown sauce. The only other occupant was one of the canteen ladies who was half-heartedly mopping the floor. The rest of the staff had gone. Baxter put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth with his serviette and waited while Reid pulled out the chair from the other side of the table and sat down.
Baxter picked up his fork, speared some chips and quickly popped them into his mouth. All finished, he pushed away his plate and lent back in the chair. It creaked and groaned in protest. Still chewing, he said, ‘How did you get on?’
‘I spoke to the council housing officer. He told me Harris was not due to be moved for another two months. As far as they were concerned, he still occupies the flat. He's definitely not been re-housed nor has he given any notice of leaving.’
Reid looked at the congealed egg and brown mess on the plate and suddenly felt hungry. He could have joined Baxter here in the canteen but decided to eat at his desk instead. Baxter picked up his cup, took a sip of tea, then put it back down.
‘Mrs Mop, seeing this, took it as a sign. Coming, ready or not. She walked over, grabbed the plate and cup and disappeared with them towards the kitchen. Baxter was about to protest about not having finished his tea but thought better of it. It was half cold anyway. She gave him the impression lunch time was well and truly over and she wanted to go home.
‘Right. Sounds like he’s done a runner,’ said Baxter. ‘This man has something to hide. He's definitely a person of interest. Let’s get a search warrant organised for his flat. See if you can find a photo of him. We'll need to put it out to other forces. Someone must know where he is.’
*******
Baxter stood in the middle of the room assessing the mess spread out before him. It was easy to see that Harris had left the flat, either that or he was just plain bloody untidy. He guessed that wasn’t the case. It looked, by the state of the bedroom, that he had just selected only a few clothes to take with him and tossed the rest on the floor. The contents of both bedside cabinets and the wardrobe, were strewn all across the room and bed.
‘We're looking for anything that will give us a clue as to where he may have gone,’ said Reid, addressing the two PCs standing in the hallway. ‘Tanner, you start in the kitchen. Hobson, you take the spare bedroom.’
Reid started in the lounge, checking first through the book shelves and then going through the waste paper bin. He picked out a small piece of shaped plastic which he recognised as a thumb drive. He turned it over in his gloved hands and examined it, then taking an evidence bag from his pocket, dropped it in. He then started going through the draws in the sideboard. In it he found some photos. He laid them out and examined them. One outstanding feature was one man’s shock of white hair. Most of the photos were of groups of soldiers. Some in full dress uniforms, others in battle dress with full packs. Everyone were smiling at the camera. One group was sitting around just smoking. One face had been ringed with a pencil. His white hair very conspicuous. It was Harris.
The landscape behind them looked barren and harsh. He turned it over and written on the back was Me, Afghanistan May 2001. He looked be about 19 or 20 years old when that photo was taken. If you were clearing out for good, surely, you'd take all this kind of memorabilia with you. You were certainly in a hurry to get out of here my friend, he thought. Something made you run. What was it?
It was while he was moving some newspapers on the coffee table that he noticed an exercise book. He opened it and a card fell out. Only one page of the exercise book had been written on. The writing was a child like scrawl. Reid read, Abuse, humiliation, beatings and other acts of cruelty. I will never forgive her for what she did to me. I was forced to wander this worthless world alone with just my mother’s harsh indoctrination for experience, and her harsh words for company. Woe betide any animal that comes too close to me! They will all suffer as I have.
He bent down and picked up the card. It was Baxter's calling card. He turned it over, looked at it then said aloud, 'This must be why you ran.’ He dropped that and the photo of Harris into the evidence bag just as Baxter entered the room.
'Nothing in the bedroom just a bit of light porn for late night reading. Seems our man likes combat jackets. He has four of the in the wardrobe.’ He pointed to the photos that Reid had laid out on the sideboard. ’Just like those in that photo, said Baxter. ‘The other bedroom has nothing in it but a wardrobe with two Border Security uniforms. Must have belonged to his brother? You got anything else?’
Reid showed him the book. He read the passage and said, 'From what Harris has written here, assuming it is his, he is very disturbed. I think this man needs a psychiatrist. I’d lay money on it that he’s our man.’ ‘I think your card spooked him,’ Reid said, ‘He thought we were on to him so he's done a runner. And one other thing. Look at all those crime novels over there on the bookshelf. Fiction and non-fiction. Twenty quid says he's our man. I can't find any personal mail. It's mostly junk mail and a few unpaid bills. Those four newspapers on the coffee table. The last one was dated the day you came, yesterday, Wednesday. I did notice that today's paper was still sticking out of his mailbox down in the lobby. We know he doesn’t have a car so if he has left town it would be either by train or bus. I think he may have a laptop. I found this.’ He showed Baxter an evidence bag containing the small thumb drive.
‘Sir,’ said Tanner, poking his head around the door. ‘Better take a look at this.’ Baxter and Reid followed him down the hall towards the kitchen.
At that point PC Hobson came out of the spare room and followed them saying there was sod all in the spare room but empty boxes full of linen.
When they filed into the small kitchen, Tanner pointed to a small case that lay open on the kitchen table. ‘Found that under the sink,’ he said.
Baxter was quick to recognise its elaborate contents of rods, brushes and wool mops. ‘It's a gun cleaning kit. Bloody hell. This means that Harris could be armed,’ he said, looking worried.
‘A
souvenir from his army days maybe?’ said Reid, looking for an answer.
‘Could be. Shit, the last thing we need right now is this nutcase running around the streets with a bloody hand gun. OK. Let's get this place secured, then get back and get this photo circulated and check out that thumb drive. Tanner, bring that kit with you.’
Out in the hall Baxter noticed that their presence had not gone unnoticed. Harris's neighbour, Mrs Hair Curlers, was watching their every move. The door of her flat was slightly ajar but as they drew level to it, it quickly closed.
******
Thursday October 7th
PCs Hobson and Miller, the crew of Kilo Zulu Four pulled into the library car park just as the town hall clock was striking nine. They left the car and. putting on their caps, headed up the steps to the glass-fronted doors of the library. Millicent Evans, the librarian, stood at the top of the steps, arms crossed over her large bosom, waiting to greet them. She was not in a happy mood.
‘I reported this over an hour ago, what kept you?’ she pouted.
Andy Miller looked at the elderly librarian. He also was not in the best of moods. The pair had been on their way to the canteen for an early breakfast when they got the call to go to the library about a reported break-in. On the way, they'd came across a minor traffic accident. It took a while to calm down and sort out the two arguing drivers who were on the verge of fisticuffs. Both stood in the middle of the road blaming the other while holding up traffic and gathering a crowd of onlookers.
‘We’re sorry, Mrs Evans for the hold up, but…’
‘It's ‘Miss’, Constable,’ she said, quickly correcting him.
‘Sorry, umm. Miss Evans, yes… umm. As I was about to say. We had to deal with a traffic accident on the way here. That's why we're late.’ He looked around. 'You reported a break-in?’
'Yes. Follow me please.’ She turned and walked through the automatic doors with Miller and Hobson trooping behind her. The trio made their way past rows of book shelves, then down a passage to a small room marked ‘Staff Only’. In it were a table, chairs and a sink. A fridge stood humming away in the corner. It was their tea room. The door through to the outside yard stood open. 'I found it like this, open, when I came in this morning. The bolts on the back gate had also been slid back because I made sure it was bolted when I left last night.’
‘We'll need a few details,’ said Hobson, taking out his notebook.
Miller left them and walked out into an enclosed yard. He looked at the high wall that surrounded the yard. It was about eight feet tall with a door leading to was an alley. He checked the door. It was secure and had not been tampered with but the two bolts had been slid back. ‘Whoever it was,’ he said to himself, ‘must have scaled the wall to get in.’
He then examined the outside of the staff room door. It had clearly been forced. Pieces of splintered wood stuck out from around the lock. ‘Whoever it was that broke in, left by going out through the door to the alley.’
He walked back in. Hobson was sitting at the table, taking notes.
‘Miss Evans,’ said Miller. ‘You say that nothing appears to be damaged and there's nothing missing? Strange. I think that something might have disturbed the intruder and he ran off before he could do anything.’ He rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble beneath his fingers. ‘Why would anyone want to break in? Do you keep anything of value here? Rare books, manuscripts, money?’
‘No, Constable. We have nothing of that nature here.’
Hobson closed his notebook and put it into the top pocket of his jacket. ‘OK. No doubt the council will send someone around to fix that door. I’ll see about sending someone to check for prints.’
He had his doubts about finding any. The door was old and made of rough wood. ‘If we do find any we'll need to get prints from all your staff. Just for purposes of elimination you understand.’
‘Tell me, Miss Evans,’ said Miller. ‘You did say you checked the door to the alley before you left yesterday and it was definitely bolted?’ queried PC Miller.
‘It certainly was. I check all doors and windows before I leave.’
He made a mental note to make sure they checked the bolts for prints. They might just get lucky.
'Would you like some tea? I can soon pop the kettle on,' she said.
Never a one to miss an opportunity, Hobson gratefully accepted.
As they walked back to the car, Miller's personal radio beeped.
‘Kilo Zulu Four, Miller, receiving?’
It was Sergeant Crane. ‘Yes Sarge. Go ahead.’
‘As you are out and about we've just had a call from the Gone Outdoors store. That new camping store over on the industrial estate. They've had a break-in. Go over and wait for DS Kirby. She'll meet you there.’
He thumbed the button on his radio. ‘Silly me. And there was I thinking we was on our way back for a nice fried breakfast. Eggs, bacon, fried bread and bangers.’ He paused a moment. 'OK Sarge,' he sighed. 'We're on our way.’
'You'll thank me later,' Crane chuckled. 'All that fatty food is no good for the heart. I might have just saved you from a possible heart attack. Think of it as my contribution towards your healthy lifestyle.’
They got into the car. Miller started the engine and adjusted his seatbelt. ‘No bleeding chance of dying of a heart attack’, he grumbled. ‘At this rate, the only thing I’ll die of is bloody starvation.'
He put the car into gear then accelerated out of the car park and headed off towards the industrial estate.
Chapter 12
Carter pressed the pause button on the remote control. He was watching Cold Cases. Murders Unsolved, a programme he had recorded earlier in the week. With a groan, he got up off the settee then ambled down the passage to the kitchen. He grabbed a beer from the fridge. Clutching the cold can, he walked back into the living room and stood in front of the sideboard. He gazed at the framed photo of his wife. He remembered when he and June used to walk to the village pub for lunch on a Sunday. He missed those days. He thought no one could ever replace her, but since Christine had come into his life, things had started to change. He felt renewed. It was something he thought would never happen. It was time to move on. Leave the past and embrace the future.
He yanked at the ring pull on the beer can and sat down. His thumbed the play button on the remote control, and settled back in to watch. Five minutes later, he stiffened and hit the pause button. His heart rate quickened. The names and faces of the dead women stared at him from the screen. It was not their faces that alerted him but the dates of their deaths which had grabbed his attention. The dates on the screen were the same as those of his four victims. Stunned, he sipped at his beer but barely tasted it. He thought about the coincidence for some time. He spoke the victims’ names out loud and ran the dates of their murders through his head. Something else on the screen suddenly jumped out at him. He pressed the pause button again.
‘Could this be what it’s all about?’ he said out loud.
His laptop lay open on the sideboard next to June’s picture. He went over, picked it up and walked over to the coffee table. He taped away at the keys and brought up the Google search engine. He made a search confirming what he’d just seen. As he read from the screen, he started taking notes. Ten minutes later, he paused and stared at what he’d written. He glanced once more at the still image on the television screen then blew out loudly through his lips as he realized what he’d discovered.
‘Bloody hell,’ he thought, after comparing names and dates. If what I see in front of me is true, we not only know the date our man will kill again, I know the name of the next bloody victim. He was stunned. The only thing missing is the killer's name but I think I know who that is,’ he thought. ‘It has to be Harris.’
Doing a quick calculation, he flipped over a page of the wall calendar and ran one finger over the squares. He stabbed his finger on a date square in November.
‘So,’ he thought. ‘That’s when he intends to kill again.’ He realis
ed the enormity of it all. ‘Our first priority is to protect this woman at all costs. Until that date she’s safe. He won’t attempt anything until then. Should we catch the bastard before he tries it, or, should we just sit back and wait until that date and catch him in the act. After all, he has to come to her? We have her name and we have the date he plans to kill her. He thought about it some more. Am I prepared to take that risk?’ He took a long swig from the can, sat down, and started to formulate a plan.
Chapter 13
Friday 8th October
He awoke early that morning feeling totally refreshed. He’d had a dreamless uninterrupted sleep. It was the best night’s sleep he’d had since the investigation started back in August. To Carter, it seemed a lifetime ago. After a hasty shower, he put on a clean shirt. He never wore the same shirt for two days. It was something that his wife June had insisted on. In the six years since her death, he’d never once forgotten to do it. He grabbed a hasty breakfast of coffee and toast liberally spread with marmalade then left the cottage.
The overnight rain had stopped and the sun had started to make a watery appearance over the treetops. He got into his Vauxhall Astra and drove up the lane, splashing through the overnight puddles. At the end of the lane, he turned left, left again onto the M2 and accelerated towards Kingsport. The traffic was light and as he drove, he ran the whole thing through his head once more. He felt that what he'd found the previous day sounded totally crazy, in fact it was just downright bloody stupid but he knew he had the answer. It all fitted. He pressed his foot harder down on the accelerator.
******
The CID room was deserted. He went in, switched on the lights and headed over to the whiteboard. He took a marker pen and set to work putting all the details down on the board. When he had finished, he stood back and examined what he had written. Satisfied, he turned the board so that it faced to the wall then went over and made himself a coffee.