A Need To Kill (DI Matt Barnes)

by Michael Kerr

  Lucas had taken the van home and garaged it, and then walked the short distance to Ralph’s.

  The big man had been surprised to see him, but asked him in and offered to make tea or coffee.

  He would rather have not had to kill him. All Ralph had to do was let him borrow the car, but had started whinging about needing it for work. Even promising to return it before Ralph was due to start work on the door at the Flesh Pit had not been enough. It was a little spooky how quickly he had died. Being a big tough guy had not helped him at all. Lucas just picked a knife up off a plate that still had beans and toast on it, and drove it up into Ralphie’s chest. The giant had stared at Lucas in astonishment. His mouth formed a perfect O, and then he dropped backwards like a felled tree. The floorboards shook, and that was it. The blade had punctured his heart, and he had just dropped dead, taking a lot of witty tales and old secrets with him.

  No matter. Lucas had found the car keys hanging from a cup hook, then gone back to finish up at home, and was now driving towards Maidenhead with Julie safely stowed in the boot. It was more than likely that Ralph would not be missed until that evening, when he failed to turn up at the nightclub. And the body might not be discovered for days. Lucas determined to change the plates on the Volvo, or steal another vehicle. The next few hours would decide things. He slipped on his mirrored shades and the baseball cap. Turned on the radio and found a station playing a Led Zeppelin track; Communication Breakdown. He cranked it up good and loud.

  This was like setting off on holiday. He could hardly contain his elation. What a surprise his aunt, Marjory, would get when he turned up at her house in the country. She had never personally mistreated him, but had known what his whore of a mother and that turd Brown were doing to him. She could have intervened and saved him a lot of pain and suffering. Maybe got the child services people to take him away from a mother who had never loved or wanted him. Now, finally, she could help him, or suffer the consequences. He had kept up with what she was doing. Knew that she’d married some rich punter and was living the life of Riley.

  He parked up against low branches, tight into the undergrowth of a lay-by that was set back and out of sight of passing traffic on the road. A copse of trees separated the lay-by from a field that in turn backed on to land belonging to his aunt and Vincent Walters, the property developer who was also a slum landlord.

  “Here’s the plan,” he said, standing, holding the boot lid open and looking down at Julie. “We need somewhere to stay, and so I’m going to arrange it. I’ll obviously have to tie you up and gag you, but don’t panic. I won’t be long. Once we get settled and change our appearance, things will work out just fine. We can start over, Julie. I think we can be good for each other.”

  Julie said nothing. It could only work out fine if he was dead and she was free of him. She felt a small kernel of hope growing to replace the utter despair that being discovered hiding in his studio had generated. The last second reprieve had been unexpected. He had chosen to let her live, for the time being. The monster wanted her on some level that she could not fathom. But his moods were as changeable as the weather. His emotions were unstable, drifting at the will of deep and unseen currents. Or in the way that tectonic plates will shift deep under the earth. She had to keep focused, and not allow herself to believe that she was indispensable. Circumstances could so quickly conspire to make her a burden, which he would dispose of in the way you would toss away a smoked cigarette, or squash a bug.

  “Think nice thoughts,” Lucas said as he quickly trussed her up, pushed a balled-up handkerchief into her mouth and taped it in place, before finding a wheel brace in a plastic pouch that was attached to the side of the boot. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Wavering shadows danced through breeze-blown trees that were not yet dressed in full summer greenery. The ground was hidden under a thick, damp mulch of rotting leaves and the twigs, branches and fallen trees that had been blown down by high winds during the winter months.

  Lucas trotted down what he thought might have originally been a deer trail, but had been widened to accommodate the passage of people who needed privacy to vent their frustrations. Was every patch of woodland and country lane similarly besmirched by human faeces, and littered with: discarded underwear; translucent condoms; crumpled tissues cemented with semen, and curling, damp hard-core magazines? He thought so. England’s green and pleasant land was mostly a cesspool of industrial pollution, overpopulated and ever-expanding cities, and a countryside that was being eroded almost as quickly as the world’s diminished rain forests. Man had a lot to answer for; turning a beautiful planet into a ball of shit. Not his concern. But he had no respect for the pseudo-civilised masses who only thought about their own selfish material needs. Surely the world would gasp a smog-filled sigh of relief when this destructive species went the way of the dinosaurs. Nothing would give him greater pleasure than to witness the global panic that would occur if an asteroid the size of the moon was found to be on a collision course with the Earth. The fear would be of such magnitude and intensity that he was sure he would be able to feel, taste and smell the terror in the air. Or to be more realistic, it was on the cards that some super virus would make AIDS and SARS look like the common cold. A mutating, airborne microbe that was immune to any vaccine formulated against it, was out there somewhere, waiting to cream humanity. It was so pathetic, that with death and disease striking people down every second of every day, anyone would give a fuck as to what he got up to. Priorities were seriously in need of adjustment. The money squandered on hunting individuals like him would be better spent on finding a cure for cancer, or in providing the elderly with a better quality of life. Christ! He really hated his fellow man with a vengeance. Their antics were at best slightly humorous, and at worst, downright deplorable.

  He got to within fifty yards of the main house. Looked around the corner of the garage block and froze as he saw Barnes and another cop trip out of the front door and climb into a grey Discovery.

  Drawing back from view, he slid down onto his haunches with his back up against the wall. Banged the back of his skull three times against the bricks in rage and frustration. Barnes was as smart as a shop window mannequin, and had somehow put all the pieces together and could see the whole picture. To have traced Marjory so quickly was an unsettling development. The cop was far too clever, living up to his reputation as a top manhunter. He would have to be dealt with: be shown that he was trying to play in a league that he could not compete in.

  Lucas heard the engine start up and furtively looked out and watched the 4x4 drive off. He made a note of the registration number and stayed put until the vehicle had vanished from sight and the sound of tyres on gravel could no longer be heard.

  At the side of the house were steps leading down to a door he assumed would open on to a cellar. He employed the chisel end of the wheel brace he carried. Forced it into the slight gap between door and frame, next to the lock, and prised the two apart.

  He was in. He closed the door behind him and smiled as he made his way across the dank cellar. It was time to seek Marjory out, give her the surprise of her life and re-establish their relationship.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Julie thought that he may have broken something in her throat. It took all of her concentration and effort to breathe through her nose and inhale enough of the stale air in the boot to stay conscious. And the wheezing sound it caused was scary. She felt light-headed and wanted to go to sleep, but knew that if she did, then she might suffocate. How long would he be? Could she survive until he returned?

  The heat in the confined, dark space increased. She was sweating profusely, and almost gagging on the blood from her deeply gashed lip, that had soaked through the handkerchief and was now trickling down her throat. She had the urge to throw up, but had to fight it. If she were to vomit, then it would be the last thing she ever did. She would choke and drown on the contents of her stomach, which would have to find egress through her nostrils, and by
doing so, stop her from breathing.

  Please come back!

  She worked her jaw, and the tape covering her mouth moved a fraction. Straining, stretching and contorting her face until the muscles in her cheeks ached, the tape began to loosen its grip. The blood had acted as a barrier between the adhesive and skin. With the tape hanging below her bottom lip like the chin strap of a guardsman’s Busby, she used her tongue to push the sodden, coppery-tasting wad from her mouth and then took in a deep, whooping breath of warm air, and then another.

  It occurred to Julie that happiness was an emotion that should be reserved for far more pleasant activities than being able to suck in air without hindrance. But it was pure joy that she felt. At that moment, no greater gift could have been bestowed on her. It was another hurdle cleared and behind her.

  Should she try to kick the boot lid open and scream for help? She did not have the courage to. What if Lucas was at that moment walking back towards the car. She had only been able to see a glimpse of sky and overhanging tree branches when he opened the boot and tied her up. They were probably out in a secluded location, nowhere near a main road, or where other people would be. Why risk antagonising him again? He did not want to kill her...well, not yet. There would be a better time to go for broke. Until it presented itself to her, she would be whatever he wanted her to be, do whatever he wanted her to do, and attempt to be indispensable to him.

  He made his way along one long, whitewashed room, through an arch and into another room. Found a light switch and thumbed it on. A dim glow emanated from a low wattage light bulb. He could see that the cellar was home to an abundance of old-fashioned furniture and bric-a-brac. Cobwebs hung like net bunting from the ceiling, and fat, black spiders scurried away from the light. At the top of a short stairway he was faced with a door that he assumed would be locked. It wasn’t. He opened it an inch and peered out into a wide hall, to see the back of a squat woman in a black and white uniform disappear through a doorway; one of Marjory’s maids, he supposed.

  Moving quickly, silently, he went up the stairs and opened four doors before deciding that he had found the master bedroom. ‘Madge’ had done well for herself. She had hooked and landed a guy who was seriously well-heeled. The bedroom had a massive en suite bathroom; all pink tile, marble, and gold fittings, with two basins, a bidet and a walk in shower room with seating. Yeah, auntie had a lot to lose. She would help him, just to keep her lifestyle. Vincent would not take too kindly to knowing that his gracious wife was from the back streets of south London, and had screwed more men than Vinnie had had hot dinners.

  As he walked out of the bathroom, Marjory entered the bedroom and gasped in surprise.

  “Hi, Auntie. Long time no see,” Lucas said, giving her a broad smile. “Aren’t you going to give your favourite and only nephew a big hug and a kiss?”

  “What the hell are you doing in my house?” Marjory said, quickly regaining her composure. “The police have only just left. They knew you’d contact me.”

  “They don’t know fuck all, you stupid bitch. They’re just covering every possibility. What did you tell them?”

  “The truth. That I had no idea where you were, and hadn’t set eyes on you for years.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “That you are a serial killer, who has done terrible things to a lot of young women.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it. One of the officers gave me his card.”

  “Give it to me,” Lucas demanded.

  Marjory extracted it from a pocket of her tailored jacket and stretched her arm out, not wanting to approach Lucas.

  He went to her, walked past her and closed the bedroom door. Took the card from her hand, studied it and turned it over.

  “Well, well. Detective Inspector Barnes has even scribbled his mobile number on the back. I take it he told you to contact him if I got in touch. Right?”

  “Yes, Lucas.”

  “What did you tell him about me, Auntie?”

  “That you had a rough time of it as a kid. I told him that Brenda...your mother, treated you badly. That she―”

  Lucas grasped her face in both hands and pulled it to within an inch of his own.

  “Rough time...Treated badly! She and that jungle bunny pimp tortured and disfigured me for life. And you knew what was happening.”

  “What could I do?” Marjory mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to pull free of his grip.

  He enclosed her nose with his mouth and bit it with enough force to make her cry out, before releasing it. The urge to scythe through it with his teeth was tempered by the fact that he needed her help.

  “I want to crack your skull open like an egg and suck your brains out, Marjory. But if you behave and do exactly what you’re told, you may survive this reunion.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say,” Marjory said with a sharp edge of fear to her voice.

  “I know you will. If not, I’ll make sure that your doting, rich hubby is enlightened as to how you earned a crust. And if you contact the police, then pray that they catch me, because if you shop me, then you’ll wish you’d never been born. What I did to those other whoring bitches will be nothing compared to what you will suffer.”

  “What do you want, money?”

  He kept hold of her face and walked backwards, pulling her with him, until the backs of his knees pressed up against the edge of the bed. He then spun her round and threw her onto the quilted duvet.

  His mother’s voice shattered the silence. ‘She was as bad as me, son. My precious sister didn’t give a shit about you, or care how you were treated. Kill the cunt, Lucas. Look at her. Can’t you see me looking back at you. The same red hair; the same eyes. Slit her open and spill out her guts’.

  Marjory pressed her lips together and remained silent as Lucas loomed over her. His face was flushed purple, and his eyes were drilling into her, full of undisguised hatred. At that moment, she believed he would kill her.

  The pressure caused damaged capillaries in his swollen nose to burst. Blood drizzled out of his nostrils to pepper Marjory’s face.

  “You look as if you’ve got measles,” he said, allowing a smile to dimple his cheeks.

  The moment had passed. He had restrained himself and rebuffed the insistent voice of his mother.

  “A few quid wouldn’t go amiss, Auntie,” he said. “But what I really need is somewhere to stay for awhile, until I get organised.”

  “You wouldn’t be safe here,” Marjory said.

  “I know. But you have other properties. I want the keys to somewhere out in the sticks, away from the maddening crowd.”

  Marjory immediately thought of the cottage in the Forest of Dean. It was a rustic hideaway, only accessible by way of a rutted lane. It was her retreat; a place where she could spend the odd weekend and let her hair down, so to speak, to be alone and sit by the nearby stream and practise her new-found hobby of watercolour painting. She knew that she would never be good at it, but found the process of being out in the fresh air with her easel and paints therapeutic.

  “Vincent bought me a little cottage. It’s off the beaten track. I think you would be safe there,” she said.

  “Where is it?”

  “In the Forest of Dean. It’s well away from prying eyes. You would have total privacy.”

  “Sounds fine. Pack a few things. I’ve decided that you can come along for the ride.”

  “I can’t, Lucas. I’m supposed to be going to Paris tomorrow with Vincent. If I take off with you, then it would look suspicious and the police would pick up on it. You have my word that I won’t...Ooof―”

  His fist hit her in the stomach. Made her snap up into a sitting position, clutching at the source of pain. She was winded and had to fight for breath.

  Lucas looked around and saw an ashtray on the bedside cabinet next to him. There was also a packet of cigarettes with a swank looking gold lighter on top of it. He quickly
lit one of the cigarettes and let it hang from his mouth as he grasped hold of Marjory’s jacket by the lapels and jerked it open to send the buttons flying. He then ripped the pearl-coloured blouse apart to expose her bra, and nimbly undid the front fastener to release her breasts. They looked too firm. He grasped one by its nipple and lifted it to expose the thin, white scar line beneath. Just as he had suspected. It was not just her face that had been fixed up.

  “I don’t trust anyone’s word, Madge. Least of all a conniving prostitute who screwed her way into a fortune. You are out of the same rotten mould as my mother. And in case you ever wondered, it was me that cut her throat. I got back at her and Leroy fucking Brown, and no one ever suspected me.”

  Clamping his left hand over Marjory’s mouth, Lucas removed the cigarette from his own, blew the ash off its end and pressed the glowing tip onto the dark aureole of her left breast.

  Marjory thrashed and struggled to no avail. He burned her breast three times, then stubbed out the cigarette on her stomach, grinding it into the soft flesh.

  “That was just a little demonstration,” he said. “I want you to be fully aware of what will happen if you tell anyone that you’ve seen me.”

  Marjory was made of stern stuff. When Lucas sat back, she lashed out and slapped him hard across the face.

  “Listen to me, you animal. I don’t ever want anyone to know about my past, so I’ll help you. But don’t hurt me again, or all bets are off. Take the keys to the cottage, and what money I have, and get out of my life forever.”

  “All right,” Lucas said, not fazed by the mild sting of the slap. “We understand each other. But be warned, if I get caught, then I’ll reach out to you from a prison cell. I’ll send someone to butcher you, Marjory. You would be found and dealt with.”

  Marjory pushed him aside and got to her feet. Not bothering to cover herself, she went over to the dressing table and took a small bunch of keys from a drawer, and then went into the walk-in dressing room, pushed aside a dozen hangers that held freshly dry-cleaned two-piece suits, still in plastic covers, and unlocked a small hidden door. She quickly tapped out a four digit number on the panel of the exposed wall safe, opened it and withdrew three banded bricks of money.