by steve higgs
‘Middle name Danger? Isn’t it?’
Oh, that’s right, she had looked me up last night. Super.
‘That’s a story for another time.’ Was my best deflection and one which had occasionally worked so that another time turned out to be in bed. ‘So then, Amanda. Why me and why now?’
‘Because I think you will solve this anyway and I want to ride on your shirt tails. I can assist, I have holiday I can take and use for the next two weeks. I have four days off now anyway from my shift pattern.’ She was buttering me up for her own gain and I was fine with that. I had no idea why I was resisting because I knew I was going to say yes.
‘Let’s go through to my office and discuss this in there.’ I hopped off the counter and led her though to what would have been a dining room but served as my home office. I still had a dining table and chairs in the room pushed up against one wall where it was largely forgotten. The walls were dominated by newspaper articles, whiteboards with scrawled theories and post it notes of varying sizes, colours and ages. At the far end of the room was a patio door at which the dogs were now sat. I let them out. ‘Please feel free to nose about, I am going to put some more substantial clothes on, but will not be long at all.’
I drained the last of my tea, set the cup on the dining table and headed upstairs. My need to get dressed was driven by the danger of Mr Wriggly deciding to get up a head of steam and show through my jogging bottoms since I had no restraining underwear on. In the bedroom, I grabbed slacks and a shirt/jumper combination that looked business casual and popped on some shoes. Glancing in the mirror I discovered that my hair was sticking out at every angle.
Perfect.
Momentarily angry at myself for not checking my appearance before opening the door, I thought instead that it spoke volumes about Amanda that she felt no need to say anything, nor stare at it. Then I thought that perhaps she didn’t say anything or stare because she had no interest in me other than as a means for forwarding her career.
Bugger.
Chastising myself for thinking at all, I tidied it with a little product and went back down to find her.
‘So, what do you think?’ she asked as I walked back through the door. ‘Are we forming a partnership to get this bastard? I have the inside line on the investigation and can provide details for all the witnesses and families of the victims and will hear about any new developments long before you might otherwise. I can help you with questioning people and stitching together the evidence to lead us to the perp.’ She said perp like she was Judge Dredd and I loved her for it instantly.
Giving myself a mental slap, I pretended to take a few moments to think before replying. ‘Let’s give it a few days and see how we go. How does that sound?’ I didn’t want to appear too keen. ‘I have never had a partner before, a few assistants when I needed extra muscle, but never a partner. This is not a paid investigation. You do understand that, yes? I have not been commissioned and will not be paid for expenses or anything else while this goes on so there is no reward money, but there are bills to pay.’ I let that hang for a moment, but started speaking again before she had a chance to. ‘I don’t expect you to pay, other than fuel in your car and perhaps snacks if we stake out. Do you have a site for the murder last night? Can we get access to it?’
‘I was expecting to pay you actually, not that I can afford it, so thank you for not giving me a bill.’ Her shoulders seemed to slump a little as if she had been holding her breath and now felt able to finally exhale. ‘The victims were found by a passing motorist at 0400hrs this morning on the B2163 going to Chart Sutton. I don’t know much at this time other than that there are two victims, a man and a woman and that the M.O. is the same as the other murders. I came pretty much as soon as I found out. One of the other girls gave me a call to say she was heading to the scene. We were meeting later today as she was going to be off shift at breakfast and now will not.’
That seemed like explanation enough to me. What I would need to do before going out? Did I have enough gear in my car and the house? ‘I need to change my footwear and grab a few bits, but we should get going as soon as we can. Five minutes sound good?’
Crime Scene. Sunday September 26th 1000hrs
In less than six minutes we were in my car, having elected to take that and not hers because all of my gear was already in mine. The cab of the Porsche is small, comfy and plush, but definitely small and I brushed her arm every time I changed gear. Her perfume filled the small space. It was a fantastic scent on her and I had to try not to glance at her despite my brain demanding that I study her face, her hands, the exposed flesh of her neck, the swell of her breasts. I wonder how she trims her… For God’s Sake! Concentrate man.
Thankfully Amanda started speaking which distracted me and probably prevented me from dribbling.
‘With the murders last night, this officially became a serial killer case. Chief Inspector Quinn will be getting pressure from the Superintendent to wrap this up before the National Crime Agency swoop in and cut him out.’
‘Why is it only a serial killer case now? Is that to do with body count thresholds combined with a period of time that defines it as different to a spree killing?’ I asked
‘Essentially, yes. A serial Killer is only defined as such after the third murder, but it is a specific category with an abundance of writing on the subject. Honestly, the Americans once they defined it, almost romanticised it almost to the point that it became something to aspire to.’ she paused, perhaps realising that she was beginning to rant. ‘Sorry, I wrote my dissertation on the growth of the serial killer from 1970 – 2000 when reading Criminal Psychology at Uni. Would you believe the number of identified serial killer cases globally increases by one hundred percent every year? There are so many now that they do not even make the news unless they are truly wacko.’
‘Like our Vampire?’
‘Pretty much.’ Amanda lapsed into silence again and before I could think of anything to say we passed a sign announcing our arrival in Chart Sutton.
Chart Sutton is a pleasant enough village, not too far from the lovely village of Leeds with its fabulous castle and grounds. It is a bit too remote for me to want to live there but I imagined the demand for property was high enough to keep the house prices up. The roads at that time were mostly empty, although a few people were heading out for weekend pursuits. With little traffic with which to contend the thirteen mile journey had taken just over fifteen minutes, the crime scene easy to spot from a long way off even in the poor light of early morning. As we slowed to pull off the road just before all the tents and barrier tape a police officer jogged across to wave us off. Amanda powered down her window, exchanged a few words and directed me to park along the road past the screened off area.
We exited the car with me having to step into the road to get out. Traffic was still light so swinging my door into the lane of oncoming cars was easy enough. I popped the boot open and grabbed my shoulder bag out. Amanda had not waited for me so I hustled to catch her before she got under the cordon tape.
‘Will I be allowed free movement here? Or will I need to stay with you?’ I asked her
‘Probably best if you stay outside for now. I will be able to go where I please and should be able to take you with me, but if Chief Inspector Quinn is here he may cause a problem. Especially after your arrest yesterday.’ She turned to me then perhaps wanting to see what my face was saying about having to wait outside for her to check the coast is clear. ‘Okay?’ she asked.
‘Yup. I’ll hang around outside until you have had time to see if our friend is already here.’ It was no problem for me, I was used to not being let into crime scenes. Getting into the tent to see what the killer had done was a new experience.
Amanda ducked under the tape and into the tent past one of her colleagues who gave her a brief nod. He looked across at me with an unreadable expression, then looked away as if dismissing me.
I took out my note pad and jotted down what I knew.
Five murders over the course of just over two weeks.
Each death (assuming these were the same MO) was the result of a vicious and frenzied attack during which the attacker had bitten a large hole in each victim’s neck. The resulting trauma caused catastrophic blood loss and almost immediate death.
The dead so far had no apparent connection. They were different races, ages, genders, social groups and lived in different villages.
They were all killed at night or in the early morning.
It occurred to me as I wrote the list that there really was no paranormal connection other than the press had dubbed the killer as The Vampire because of the neck wound. Was that important? No, I decided, it was not because there is no paranormal, just a lot of people willing to believe in it. My primary (and self-appointed) role as a paranormal investigator was to find the ordinary truth behind the mystery’s I faced.
So far, I had never had a case that I had not been able to solve by producing a perfectly ordinary criminal acting out as a werewolf or ghoul or whatever for their own gain or a set of circumstances that explained why the client had convinced themselves they were being haunted or visited by an apparition. In one case I had a lady that had convinced herself that her late father, a fisherman had returned and was haunting her house because she could smell him. It turned out her cat had been catching fish from the pond of a neighbour and was eating them under the stairs where a fishy mound of half eaten bodies was now producing the scent she thought she recognised. Even after removing the fish carcasses myself and cleaning the area with bleach, she continued to question whether I was sure her father hadn’t returned. Paranormal investigation can be quite lucrative, but I often feel that I am robbing people when I prove their case was all in their head.
Amanda reappeared to break my train of thought, ‘Tempest you can come through’ she said holding the cordon tape up for me to pass easily underneath. ‘It is pretty gruesome though. I hope you have a strong stomach.’
I followed her through the screen flap to the scene beyond. I was not worried about losing the contents of my stomach, it had been hardened against such things a long time ago. Always best to be warned though as I had no desire to vomit in front of the lovely Amanda.
Beyond the screen was the back end of a late 2006 Maroon Ford Mondeo. A further screen obscured all but the boot lid and tail lights, but as I drew closer I gained a view of the driver’s side back door. It was open and a person in a full forensic suit with mask and gloves was taking pictures of the interior. From where I stood I couldn’t see much of anything; no blood, no pale foot sticking out of the car door, no sense of anything to indicate it was a murder scene really.
I had my note book out already and my phone which I used to snap the vehicle registration. Unsure what information I would be able to gather here without getting in the way I stayed where I was, out of everyone’s way and jotted down a few questions:
Name of victims?
Ages?
Any connection between the victims?
Taxi firm?
Where did the driver collect the fare?
Was the taxi despatched from a base or waiting outside a bar or club?
I was struck by how quiet the scene was. Road noise came from the occasional passing car, but in between I could hear bird song. I had seen perhaps twenty people on site, but each was going about their business with minimal conversation. There was no radio chatter or audible conversation, just an occasional quietly spoken instruction from one colleague to another. This was my first time this close to a fresh murder scene. I had never been able to get beyond the barrier tape before, so I could not gauge whether this was normal or not. I guess I expected more banter, more action, more something.
As I stood considering what my next move should be Amanda reappeared moving at a fast walk. She grabbed my right elbow without slowing down. Quietly she said ‘We need to go, Chief Inspector Quinn just pulled up. I doubt he will be pleased to see you here and that will embarrass Michael, the chap I sweet talked into letting you in with me.’ Clearly, we were leaving.
‘I know you didn’t get to see anything, but I should have all the information you need.’
‘Super.’ I replied as she wove me through the screening and back out on to the road. We exited the opposite side to where I had parked about fifty metres down the road and would need to go back past the cordoned area to get to my car. I paused outside the screening to put my notebook and phone back in my shoulder bag not sensing the urgency that Amanda clearly felt. She displayed this by grabbing my hand and pulling me after her. She wanted to get going, but hey, I was now holding her hand. Actual flesh to flesh contact.
We skirted the edge of the road between the cars and the barriers still holding hands. Her arm stiffened to make me stop as we got to the end of the barrier screens. I watched her peer around the corner and I guessed she decided it was clear as her grip on my hand loosened. I let her hand go as she turned to look at me “All clear” she mouthed silently.
‘Jolly good.’ I said with far more volume than was required. As I passed her and strode back to my car my stride was confident. I am not in the habit of showing fear and all the sneaking around was making me feel ridiculous. Perhaps I was compensating because I had no power in this environment. Not bothering to analyse why I felt the need to strut, I arrived at the car still fishing in my bag for my keys with my left hand and holding the bag open with my right. Amanda had fallen behind briefly as I set off, but caught me now as my scrabbling hand finally located the keys and plipped the car open.
Amanda caught my eye across the roof before we got in. ‘I think it best if we get out of here before he spots us.’ she said. ‘Not that we cannot be here, but he is an annoying arsehole and I would rather avoid the questions. Do we go back to your office?’
‘My house. I have more space there to spread the information out. What can you tell me about the latest victims?’
Amanda was quiet for a moment as I focused on finding a gap in the increasing traffic. Seeing my opportunity, I spun the car off the grass verge, trying not to churn it up and fill my tyre treads with mud, crossed both lanes and headed back towards Maidstone and my house. Once into traffic she started speaking again.
‘The two victims are a man, probably the taxi driver, and a young woman. The male victim was Harold McBeak, age fifty-eight, looks like he tried to defend himself. He had a bat of some kind.’ she explained. ‘The cause of death appears to be massive blood loss from a neck wound. He was found several metres from the car. It looks like he was dragging himself away from the car towards the road when he bled out. The bat was abandoned behind him in the blood trail. The girl we have yet to ID, but she was petite, blond and attractive. From her clothes and complexion, I would place her at maybe nineteen or twenty and most likely on her way home from a club in town. She was left on the back seat of the car, same cause of death. No other obvious injuries to either victim.’ she had delivered the details as a report, keeping emotion and cadence from her voice.
‘What makes you think the man tried to defend himself?’ I asked pressing for more information.
‘The presence of the bat and its proximity to his body coupled with traces of wood that match it alongside the driver’s seat. My guess would be he kept it for dealing with problem customers. It could be that the killer brought it with him, but so far he has left no trace of himself and never used a weapon so leaving a bat with his finger prints on would seem clumsy. Also, there is no blood on it so it was not used by the attacker.’
Reasonable enough I thought. ‘What do the throat wounds look like?’
Amanda paused before answering, possibly to order her thoughts so that she could answer the question accurately and without opinion, or possibly because it was gruesome stuff and she didn’t really want to remember at all. I gave her a few moments, but she started speaking before I felt the need to prompt more from her. ‘They seem to fit the pattern of the first three victims. Forensics will need time to
confirm whether it is the same mouth that inflicted the bite to the earlier victims, but I would say it is the same person. Same murderer.’
‘Did the attack seem frenzied?’ The murderer was killing people in quick succession, five now in seventeen days, three in the last four days and with no apparent connection between the victims. Was the killer acting out a sex fantasy? Meeting a pathological need of some kind? Were the five victims we knew of the only ones he had killed or were there more elsewhere? The questions were piling up and answers were proving elusive.
Amanda had taken time to consider her answer again ‘I don’t think so. The girl’s clothing was a bit skewwhiff as if she had been having sex in the taxi. Bra undone, but not ripped, skirt pulled right up, but there were no obvious bruises on her arms and legs, so it is unlikely she fought much, if at all. If I had to guess I would say there was a second passenger that was known to the girl. They were travelling together and he bit her throat in the back of the taxi while it was being driven. The taxi driver careened off the road as the blood started, coming to rest where we saw the car this morning. He then either took the bat and attempted to stop the attack or panicked and fled only to be caught and overpowered. Does that sound plausible?’
‘I think I need to give that some thought, but I don’t see any immediate holes. It is probably close enough for now.’
The conversation had taken us back into Maidstone town centre. I was on the one-way system and it was 1145hrs. I needed breakfast and a cup of tea. Amanda took that moment to yawn and stretch and in doing so pushed her shoulders back and her chest out. The fullness of her shirt filled my vision, involuntarily I stared at her fantastic twin mounds of swollen flesh and my thoughts turned from crazed vampire murders to the potential future nakedness of my companion. Mr Wriggly instantly stirred, which when stuffed into trousers and jammed into a bucket seat was not comfortable. He was endeavouring to stretch out and in doing so was tugging on some pubes that were probably tucked underneath him. Now distracted by a pinching sensation coming from my groin I remembered why I was having trouble in the first place and flashed to another image of PC Hotstuff, this time reclined in lingerie on my bed.