by Ellis, Tim
‘Why is the door open then?’
Xena’s face creased up. ‘You’re full of questions today. They probably forgot to lock it.’
‘Or, there could still be someone here.’
He began walking down the corridor opening doors and calling, ‘Anyone here?’
At the end of the corridor he found Erin Donnelly sitting at her computer with a pair of earphones on.
‘Hello?’ she said slipping the earphones off.
‘There’s no one else here,’ Stick said to her.
‘No, they’re either at one of the crime scenes, off shift, or they’ve gone home.’
‘Apart from you,’ Xena said.
‘I’m just finishing off.’
‘You were.’ She pulled out the mobile phone, the passport, the wallet, and put them on the worktop in front of Erin. ‘I need everything you can find out about the mobile phone, the single number in the phonebook, the credit card in the wallet, and the passport.’
‘I can certainly start the necessary programs running, but you won’t get the results until mid-morning tomorrow.’
‘That’s the best you can do?’
‘The very best.’
‘Okay, we’ll come back then.’
They both turned to go.
‘I take it you’ve not seen the email I sent you?’
‘I’ve not had chance to log onto the system today.’
Erin clicked her mouse a few times, then said, ‘Take a look,’ and swivelled the monitor.
They both bent forward to examine the website displayed on the screen.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ Xena exclaimed. ‘How did you find this?’
‘Somebody sent the link anonymously to the station, and don’t ask me if I can trace either the email or the website back to the source because I’ve tried and failed.’
‘I thought you were meant to be the best there is.’
‘I am, but someone’s developed a program to prevent a trace. What it does is hop from one server and country to another every couple of seconds. I’m trying to write another program to stop the damned thing from hopping, but I’m not having much luck at the moment. It’s a bit like trying to hit a moving target with a peashooter and your eyes closed.’
The website was entitled: “Mothers Against Paedophiles” – MAPs for short. In the centre of the screen was a video recording of a hooded man torturing the victim that had been found at the end of Drury Lane in Hunsdon.
‘Can’t you block it?’
‘Same problem. If I can’t find it, I can’t block it.’
Xena sighed. ‘Crap. The shit’s going to hit the fan when the Chief sees this.’
‘That hooded man doesn’t look like a mother either,’ Stick said.
***
As soon as he saw her, he knew she was going to be his number five. She was so beautiful – it took his breath away.
He’d been sitting in the lobby reading the Richmond Guardian, and she’d arrived in a flurry of yawns and suitcases.
The article he’d been reading totally forgotten, he stood up and moved closer, and overheard which room she was in. Oh yes, she would be perfect. She was with two other adults and a baby, but sooner or later they’d be alone together, and then she’d be his inspiration.
Chapter Five
As agreed, they met in the corridor outside the room at eight o’clock, and walked down to the restaurant together for dinner.
Although he had a suit and tie with him, he didn’t want to appear like a stuck-up English twit, so he’d dressed down and worn a pair of beige chinos with a loose plain white shirt. Smart, but casual – as the people in the know called it.
‘You look fantastic,’ he’d said to Angie as she pirouetted in the middle of their room in a black and white floral party dress. ‘Good enough to eat. In fact…’
‘Don’t start that again, or we’ll never make it down to dinner.’ It was good to hear her laughing again.
She hadn’t completely got her figure back, but she wasn’t far off. Her psychological figure would take a while longer, but this trip – he hoped – would make some headway into repairing the damage.
‘Hey, look at you two,’ he’d said to Alicia Mae and Richards when they’d appeared. The nanny didn’t look anything like a nanny. She wore a three-quarter-length red jersey dress with a plunging neckline, and Richards had on a black and cream diamante maxi dress hanging off one shoulder. ‘I’ll be the envy of the hotel… Virginia… America… The whole damned world.’
And eyes had certainly turned towards them as they were shown to their table. It was as if three eyeball magnets had walked through the room.
If anyone was staring at him though, it was to frown at his dress sense. When he glanced around the dining room, he noticed that the majority of men wore suits and ties. Some, had gone the whole hog, and dressed in a dinner suit and bow tie. He felt distinctly underdressed, and wondered whether he should go back to the room to change, but then decided it would only make an issue out of it. Tomorrow night, he’d know better.
They occupied a table near the window, overlooking the main entrance. There were thick pillars throughout the room, which prevented the ceiling from collapsing on them. Gold leaf had been used on the filigree at the tops of the pillars and in the design of the ceiling. The seats were soft and comfortable, and a small ornate table lamp and shade sat at the end of the table.
‘This is the life,’ he said.
‘Jack certainly thinks so,’ Alicia Mae said. He was snoring in his buggy wedged between her and Angie.
‘Didn’t you bring a suit?’ Richards asked.
‘I thought I’d save it for Friday.’
‘I’m so ashamed. Aren’t you ashamed, mum?’
‘It’s what’s inside that counts.’
‘Thanks for your unequivocal support, Angela Parish.’
‘Well…’
‘I’ll buy a couple more tomorrow. I didn’t know we were going to be staying in Thomas Jefferson’s summer palace.’
Richards grinned. ‘We’ll help you.’
‘Hmmm! I’ll look forward to that.’
While Angie had been in the shower, he’d glanced through the FBI welcome pack. It contained two name badges with a lanyard, a conference folder with the order of presentations – he and Richards were on seventh at 1515 hours on Friday – and a thick booklet of biographies of members of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and all those giving presentations over the two days. A member of the BAU – Harrison Smedley – would come to their room at 1000 hours tomorrow morning to brief them.
It was like a briefing for a military operation into enemy territory. So, between eleven o’clock tomorrow morning and Friday at nine o’clock, they were free to do as they pleased. And then again on Sunday and Monday, before they flew back to Gatwick on Tuesday – two days either side of a two-day conference.
After dinner they drifted into the bar, and Parish was surprised at how popular they became as the evening wore on, but he soon realised that his popularity hadn’t moved from the basement-level. In fact, he was in charge of Jack while men of different ages and nationalities crowded around the three beautiful women. He was being sidelined, pushed out, marginalised. The question was: “What was he going to do about it?”
‘I’ll take Jack up to the room,’ he whispered to Angie.
‘Not without me.’
‘You don’t want to stay?’
‘No thank you. If you’re going then there’s no reason for me to stay.’
‘You could find someone with a suit.’
She laughed. ‘Unfortunately, a suit does not a man make.’
As they traversed the lobby towards the mountainous staircase he said, ‘You didn’t fancy that American football player with hands like shovels, or the man who could hold his breath for ten minutes, or…?’
‘Yes, of course I did, but unfortunately I came with you.’
‘I see.’
‘And you have everything I need.’
<
br /> ‘I see.’
‘Stop saying, “I see”. I’m quite sure there are many women you are attracted to, but for better or worse you’re married to me. We don’t become blocks of stone when we commit to another person. But I’m not the type of woman who wants to try all the sweeties in the sweet shop. I have my sweetie, and that’s everything I need.’
He kissed her. ‘And I have my sweetie.’
‘I know you do, or we would never have married.’
There was a connecting door between Alicia Mae’s room and theirs. Jed wheeled the cot through, collected up some of his son’s things to see him through the night, and locked the door again. He’d told Alicia Mae that they’d take Jack for the night. If she did bring a man back he didn’t want Jack in there as a spectator clapping and cheering. He also didn’t want Alicia Mae to resent Jack if she did want to bring a man back, but felt she couldn’t. And after all, it was their baby, so why shouldn’t they look after him for the night?
‘Do you think Mary will be all right?’ Angie asked him.
‘Absolutely not. Where men are concerned, she has a self-destruct button.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘We’ll just have to wait for the morning to see what damage she’s done.’
***
Xena moved around the Chief’s desk, and brought up the website on the computer screen for him.
‘And anyone can see it?’
‘Yes.’
‘The shit’s going to hit the fan when the Chief Constable sees this.’
‘That’s what I said, Sir.’
‘And you were right, DS Blake. Are you sure we can’t block it, or shut it down?’
‘Apparently not, but Erin Donnelly in forensics is still trying.’
The Chief clicked on the video. They watched as a hooded man cut the victim on the chest, and the bound man screamed loud enough to wake the dead. When it reached the removal of the victim’s penis and testicles, the Chief stopped it.
He pulled a face. ‘I don’t think we need to see that.’
It wasn’t simply about torture though – it was a final confession. Beneath the video was a transcript of that confession:
My name is Alan Morrison and I’m a paedophile. I have sexually assaulted a lot of boys and girls, and… I have been responsible for the abduction and murder of three children… They are buried in the north corner of Reynkyns Wood…
‘Have we got people searching the wood?’
‘I have a team there now, but unfortunately the north corner is quite big.’
‘I hope you’re not thinking of dragging your heels over this investigation, Blake?’
‘When I saw this confession, my feet became very heavy, Sir. This is what people call justice. Not that namby-pamby crap they dish out in the courts.’
‘Don’t think I’m unsympathetic to your point of view, but this is not justice – it’s revenge.’
‘Some people would say that retaliatory justice is the only justice – an eye for an eye, a life for a life. Some people would argue that restorative justice isn’t justice anymore – it’s all about reintegrating the offender back into society – that the government has confused mercy and compassion with justice. Some people would argue that criminals have far too many rights, and the victims have none. Some people…’
‘And are you “some people” DS Blake?’
‘If I was, I wouldn’t tell you, Sir.’
‘A wise decision.’
‘What about you, DC Gilbert?’
‘I don’t even know who those people are, Sir.’
‘Hmmm. Okay, I’ll let the Chief Constable know what we’ve got here. Also, I’ll ask Jenny Weber to arrange a press conference for nine o’clock tomorrow morning…’
‘I have something to do…’ Xena started to say.
‘Change it. Trying to keep a lid on this is far more important.’
‘You’re not going to be able to…’
‘We can at least try. The important thing is to catch these people, and put them behind bars. Once I’ve spoken to the Chief Constable, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep you as the senior officer in charge of this investigation, Blake. He has a new initiative – stolen from education – called Operation Cleveland, and don’t ask me why it’s called that – I have no idea. Experienced DI’s are parachuted in to take charge of a difficult case, and I think I can guarantee that the Chief Constable will want to field test his new initiative on this case.’
‘Difficult for who?’
‘Don’t start getting wound up, Blake. You know how things are. One minute you’re flying, the next you’re grounded.’
‘But I’ll keep the Smith case, won’t I?’
‘I’ll try, but...’
‘Crap! When will you know?’
‘Make yourself a coffee and take a seat, I’ll ring him now.’
‘Make the coffee, Stick.’ She sat down in an easy chair and began chewing her thumbnail. Then she stood up, and started pacing in front of the Chief’s desk as she listened to the one-sided conversation.
Stick brought the coffee, but she waved him away. ‘Not now, dork.’
‘I understand, Sir,’ the Chief said, and replaced the phone in its cradle.
Xena stopped pacing and stared at him.
‘SDI Toby Pollock will be here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning…’
‘SDI?’ Xena asked.
‘Super Detective Inspector.’
Her face creased up. ‘Super?’
‘As the Chief Constable explained, they used to call the Headteachers who were parachuted into schools – Superheads, so that’s how we’ve now got SDIs. It’s a local rank, and only applies in Essex.’
‘Hopefully, the parachute won’t open.’
‘You don’t mean that, DS Blake.’
Stick was doing a good impression of a nodding dog.
‘You don’t know me very well, Sir.’
‘Well, that’s the way it is, Blake. Oh, and if it wasn’t clear before, I’ll be taking the press conference tomorrow morning.’
‘And what about the Smith case?’
‘Have you interviewed Smith?’
‘Yes, Sir. He didn’t say a word.’
‘In your opinion, is he likely to say anything?’
‘No.’
‘There’s no rush then. Put it on the backburner, the MAPs case is the priority.’
‘But…’
‘Are you having trouble understanding simple instructions, Blake?’
She felt like killing someone. ‘No, Sir.’
‘Close the door on your way out… and I also expect you to co-operate fully with SDI Pollock.’ The Chief stared at her. ‘Pardon, DS Blake? I didn’t quite catch that.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Super DI Bollock!’ Xena said, as she walked back to her desk. ‘I think I’m going to puke.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘Nothing. I know if I say anything, it’s bound to be the wrong thing.’
‘“Hmmm” was the wrong bleeding thing.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’
***
Wednesday, 27th February
He’d joined the melee around the three women, but after a while had drifted to a small table on the other side of the room to sit alone and watch. He wasn’t interested in any of the women in that way.
At three in the morning he left his room with a small rucksack slung over his shoulder, and walked up to the next floor – she was in number 315.
He let himself into her room, and waited on the other side of the door until his eyes had adjusted. She was alone, as he knew she would be. He’d followed the two women from the bar, and although there were a few persistent men who offered their services for the night, both women had declined.
Standing by the bed in the darkness, he strained to listen to the tidal flow of her barely audible breathing.
It was time. He had work to do.
Sitting sid
eways on the edge of the bed, he placed one gloved hand over her mouth, and pressed down hard. With the other hand he gently squeezed her nose. Inside the condom, his penis was fully erect.
For a short time she fought to stay alive. At first, she tried to pull his hands from her mouth and nose, and then reached up to claw at his face, but it was all in vain – he had done this six times before. Soon, her hands unclenched, and she lay still.
As his mind recalled that very first time, he ejaculated into the condom. He’d been eleven years old when they’d taken him from the orphanage into their home. In return, he’d killed their only daughter – Rebecca. She’d simply stopped breathing in the night – how sad. He didn’t like to share. If there was any love to be had, he wanted it all. Leaning forward he kissed her on the lips.
He switched the bedside light on, and then began his work. First, he placed her in a position he was happy with, and then arranged her nightdress so that the right strap fell from her shoulder to reveal a perfect breast with its small pink nipple. He withdrew the hairbrush from his bag, and brushed her lustrous blonde hair. Next, he applied blusher, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick until she was more beautiful than he could bear.
In her right hand he placed a mask, and in her left a knife. Taking a few paces backwards, he viewed his handiwork. Yes, he had chosen well.
He removed his digital camera from the bag, and took a number of photographs from different angles.
Next, he withdrew and erected his telescopic easel, and secured the canvas in the clamp. He laid out his palette, brushes and palette knife, solvent/oil and containers, and rags and paint tubes. He mixed the medium in a squirt bottle, using one-part poppy oil to two parts solvent, and added alkyd resin to speed up the drying time. Now, he was ready to capture the beauty he saw before him.
He sketched an outline first, and then began applying the pigments using his favourite kolinsky sable brush – the fibres taken from the tail of a Siberian mink. He also used different brushes to create different effects and textures, and then the first layer was done. There was only ever time enough to paint the first layer, but the photographs would help him to finish the painting over the coming months. Then, he would hang it next to the other four paintings. Each painting a moment in time lovingly captured, so that he would always recall the beautiful Rebecca.