by G. M. CLARK
Finally coppers move in and haul her bony ass back before I lose it completely. We jump into one car, someone else can drop mine off later. Mack revs up the engine, wheels spinning as we make a break for it. I look up to see her still shouting at the car.
Mack says, ‘I bloody hate that bitch… know who she reminds me of with that stupid black wig that covers half her damn face and that deep manly voice screaming at us?’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘She’s bloody Darth Vader’s mother!’
I laugh. ‘Now, Mack.’
‘What?’ He’s smiling.
‘You’re not being polite.’
‘So who gives a shit?’ he says.
Who gives a shit indeed, I think. As far as I’m concerned all media are scum, no exceptions; all they want is a sensational story. They have no heart, no soul; like mindless vampires sucking the blood out of every story, every human being’s pain. No, I hate every damn one of them.
I’ll bet that not a single one of them thinks of Preston Law’s wife or children. No, that would be too humane; what do they care that a family would be ripped apart for the rest of their days? Where is the compassion in journalism? The answer – there isn’t any.
CHAPTER 24
Mack drives me back to my flat; the tension between us is palpable. We’re each lost in our own thoughts of despair. Once again we failed to stop an innocent life from being savagely ended, and the fact that we’re no nearer to finding out the killer weighs heavy. How many more will die before we manage to catch a break? This isn’t what we signed up for. We both joined the police force as we wanted to protect innocent citizens, whilst weeding out the dregs of society who leech off the frail, the poor and the lonely. We want to make a difference to society; it may be old fashioned, heck it may even be politically incorrect these days, but up until recently we’ve always been a pretty successful team.
‘You want me to come up with you?’ asks Mack.
I know he’s thinking a riddle might be there.
‘Nope, not tonight Josephine.’
I open the car door.
‘Hey, Downey.’
‘Yes?’
‘Why do we work for the murder investigation team?’
‘Because the dead need answers, their families need answers… and so do we.’
Mack thinks about it. ‘You ever thought about changing departments?’
‘I’ve thought about it, but the murder team has one advantage above all the others.’
He lights a cigarette and draws in a lungful. ‘What’s that then?’
‘In the murder team the only true boss… is God.’
I shut the door.
I can actually feel my hand tremble as I turn the handle on the flat door. A quick glance down – no letters. The fax machine is empty too; I can feel the relief wash through me. I notice a message flickering on the answer machine and hit the play button. It’s from Dr Marion Clements, Connie’s friend. Can Connie give her a call, she has now worked out most of the riddles? Jesus, a break at last. I don’t have her phone number and think that 11:30 p.m. is a little late to be calling anyhow. Hell, it can wait till morning. I’ll see if the police files can track her number down.
I’m bone weary; all I want is to curl up in bed and drift off to oblivion, where the dead cannot beg you for answers that you don’t have. I throw off my clothes and slide in. The sheets are cool and the pillows soft to the touch. My hand automatically reaches over to Connie’s side, but I can only feel the empty space which matches the vacant place in my heart. I wonder where she is, what she’s doing? Does she miss me at all?
I fall into a restless sleep, tormented by the vision of Thomas Johnson. I haven’t had these nightmares for a while, but now they’re back with a vengeance. I can see his face smiling at me; the angular features, eyes as dark as death itself, the mouth twisted in a sneer. I’m running, steaming towards him in desperation; he throws himself to one side, turns and shoots at me – I’m diving for cover, my eyes still desperately trying to seek him out. The screaming fills the air; I hear the first shot phttt. More screaming, I see blood on the floor; then more shots phttt, phttt, phttt, phttt. Five bodies in all. The firearms unit finally arrives, one of them running, aims his gun, trains it on his heart and squeezes the trigger – boom. He goes down, the twisted smile still in place. The screaming is hysterical; I look down at the bodies – five young, innocent children lie dead on the floor, their blood spilled because I was moments too late.
I can still clearly see their mothers’ eyes, the disbelief in their faces, as they rush to grab the dead children, hugging them to their breasts, yelling their names; their sobs coming fast and furious, and then their eyes on me, hatred, pure unadulterated hatred for my failure. They weep together like a tidal wave, mounting, peaking and then the utter silence of shock sets in. I stare at the tiny bodies in their blood-soaked arms. I failed. Oh sweet Jesus, how I failed… and I can never forgive myself.
I wake with sweat pouring off me, my body trembling from head to toe. Dear God, it’s happening all over again. I need Connie, need desperately to speak to her, hear the soft but strong voice, to know that she’s safe. God, I ache for her.
I know I’m going to break a cardinal rule – what if he’s monitoring my calls, can I take the risk? Use the mobile phone; less chance of being traced, unless he has his very own Simon the ping ping. I wander into the lounge; paper is protruding from the fax machine, and I know it’s from him. I hadn’t even heard the phone ring, I’d been so caught up in my nightmares. I slip on the latex gloves and followed the usual procedures.
To Whom It May Concern: perhaps Preston Law.
The heat is all around it
The temperature soars within
Deserving of all who live there
You can only put yourself in.
What am I?
Your nemesis.
Pouring myself a large glass of whisky, I slide into the chair, my heart heavy with the knowledge that I’m failing again. I know that time is running out; he’s killing so frequently now. I finally admit to myself that I need Connie’s help – I’m getting nowhere. I punch in the numbers on my mobile phone; it rings out for a while. Just as I think it’s going to go to an answer message, she answers.
‘Hello?’ God, it feels so good to hear her. Damn it, I miss her so much.
‘Hey babe.’ I can actually feel my voice thicken with emotion.
‘Downey?’ Her voice, unsteady and unsure for a change.
‘I’ve missed you.’ I finally say it.
A pause. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
‘I need you to come home.’
‘So it’s safe for me now?’ she asks with no trace of malice or sarcasm – it’s just a question.
‘No it’s not. I still need you here, but that has to be your choice… I can’t guarantee your safety.’
‘I heard about Preston Law,’ she says gently.
I swallow a gulp of whisky, and also my pride. ‘He’s way out of control,’ I say.
‘I know.’
‘Can you come back? I got another riddle tonight.’
‘Is that all you need me for?’ she asks, a slight hesitation in her voice.
‘You know it’s not.’ I know she won’t make it easy. She won’t be nasty, that wasn’t her style; but she wants the truth from me… finally.
‘Then tell me why I should come, after you threw me out.’
‘I didn’t throw you out; I just wanted to protect you.’ I’m nervous, and I know she can tell.
‘Tell me why I should really come.’
This time there’s no hesitation. ‘Because I love you.’
I can hear rustling at the other end. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Packing.’ I can feel a smile spread right across my face, the first smile in a long time.
‘How long?’ I ask.
‘Be there in half an hour,’ she says.
‘I’ll be waiting. Oh, by the way, your friend D
oc Clements phoned, says she has some answers.’
‘I’ll call her on the way.’
I slide the phone closed and stare at the riddle. You know what, you bastard? I’m coming to get you – really soon.
I hear the key in the lock twenty-five minutes later; I’m glad she rushed to get here. I sit in the chair, wearing the blue towelling dressing gown that she bought me a while back. I’ve lit candles; their orange glow flickering around the room, a bottle of her favourite Chardonnay is sitting in an ice bucket, already uncorked. I play Simply Red in the background – ‘Home’ – I thought it was apt.
She stands framed in the doorway, the golden hair like a halo; the creamy skin, so pure, so soft. She’s wearing tight pale jeans, frayed at the edges, and a red woollen jumper that accentuates every curve.
‘Wine?’ I ask, pouring a glass; not waiting for an answer.
‘That would be good.’ She puts down her case and slowly closes the door. I keep one eye on her as she wanders over; we’re like two lovers on our first date, each scared to make the first move.
I hand her the glass and she takes a small sip.
‘Have you been okay?’ I ask.
‘No, not really.’ Her eyes cloud.
‘Has he contacted you?’ I actually feel my heart pump faster.
‘Nothing like that,’ she says, putting down her glass.
I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. ‘Then what…?’
She puts a hand to my face, stroking it. ‘I’ve been lonely.’
Love and lust intermingle, pent-up desire fills up and overflows; I pick her up easily and carry her through to the bedroom, my mouth never leaving hers. Gently I lay her down, and begin removing her clothes. In seconds she lies there naked. God, I love her, with every breath in my body, every fibre of my being. I drop the dressing gown and slide across the bed. I kiss her until my mouth actually feels bruised; needing, wanting her, every touch, each caress is like a hot coal over my skin. We bury ourselves in each other; devouring, taking whatever, everything that we want.
CHAPTER 25
She lies in my arms; she’s wide awake, staring at me, smiling. I can’t stop kissing her; some days you just can’t stay kissed.
‘You haven’t asked me where I went.’
‘I don’t need to know; as long as you were safe, that’s all that mattered.’
‘You never checked?’ she asks, slightly surprised.
I can feel my lips creasing; I tried to stop them. ‘Not me – personally.’
She laughs. ‘So you did know?’
‘That you were safely ensconced in Manchester University’s Hall of Residence room 201? I might have heard a whisper.’
She playfully thumps me on the chest. ‘You sod.’
‘That’s me all over.’ I grab her again, and go for the second act – she doesn’t complain.
We must have drifted off together, but we both wake early, the sunshine actually streaming in the window for a change. She slips out of bed and shrugs on her silk dressing gown; damn she’s beautiful.
‘How about some coffee, sexy?’ she asks.
‘Sounds good, I’ll just grab a shower.’ I pinch her bum on the way past, and hear that familiar laugh. Man, it’s good to have her back home again.
The jets are strong; hot water lashes at my skin. I enjoy the massage, have a quick wash, and get dried in record time. And God, I am ravenous. The familiar smell of percolated coffee wafts my way, and the toast pops as I pick up the steaming mug.
I see her bent over the open notebook, reading the latest riddle. She spots the snap bags with the actual evidence; sure, you get no prints from a fax, but I want to protect it anyhow.
‘You haven’t called it in yet?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to keep away from the suits.’
She arches her eyebrows. ‘You know you have to turn it in, you can’t withhold evidence.’
I nod. ‘I know, I just figured we’d give the riddles a go first.’
She steps over to her bag and pulls out her yellow pad, quickly flipping the pages. ‘Okay, let’s set them all out and put down the answers that we have.’ We set them out on individual pieces of paper on the floor.
Riddle 1
I live only to die
With half my life
Although sometimes surrounded
I have no wife
I breathe without breath
Yet I still make a sound
I look up to the stars
But begin in the ground
What am I?
A TREE
Riddle 2
I can take you to places you’ve never been
And show you sights you’ve never seen
I can bring you the world, a sight to behold
I can conquer the lands, with your stories untold
I can travel afar, and for a while keep you there
And yet, I’ve simply never been anywhere.
What am I?
IMAGINATION
Riddle 3
When time is the bearer of age to the place
I will own the tears and lines from your face
And when the hours from the sun, vary each day
I can light up or dim, have it your way
I can weep and smile at the same time as you
Yet nothing you say can I dearly hold true.
What am I?
‘I called Marion last night, she gave me two answers we didn’t have and matched TREE and IMAGINATION.’ She looks a little pleased with herself.
‘What’s the answer for riddle three then?’
‘A MIRROR.’
‘Damn it, it’s so obvious. Let’s keep going.’
Riddle 4
If you do not have me, you will surely feel alone
For only I embrace each and every one who asks for me.
Should you choose to walk alone or lose me
You will surely walk in the shadows of death.
I am found in your heart within your soul and beyond
And yet you cannot touch me.
What am I?
FAITH
‘Your doctor friend is extremely clever.’ I smile.
‘I keep only the very best of company.’ We can both feel the mood lighten as we actually start getting somewhere.
‘Keep going.’ I lean over and kiss the tip of her nose.
Riddle 5
I can cause you problems
But I can never solve them
I can give you false strength
And courage it’s true
But use me too often
You’ll be singing the blues.
What am I?
‘Now this one has a few answers,’ she says. ‘DRUGS, ALCOHOL, or even A MASK.’
‘Just write them down.’
Riddle 6
If you dig down deep
A part of me you will use
Play me in a game
You may win you may lose
I have a family that you have seen
I rule them all, we are thirteen.
What am I?
‘Marion didn’t have an answer for this one.’
Now it’s was my turn to feel smug. ‘I know exactly what it is.’
She glances up. ‘Well?’
‘THE KING OF SPADES.’
‘Jesus, it’s so damn evident; why didn’t she get that one?’ She shakes her head.
‘She obviously doesn’t play cards.’ This time she moves to kiss me on the nose, but changes her mind and kisses me full on the mouth; that’s my girl.
Riddle 7
The heat is all around it
The temperature soars within
Deserving of all who live there
You can only put yourself in.
What am I?
‘Perhaps I should phone Marion?’
‘Let’s try and work it out.’ I stare at the final riddle; come on, get the old grey cells working. I pour us both another mug of coffee as she paces the fl
oor.
‘Deserving of all who live there?’ she asks.
‘Jail, death row, or a grave?’ I volunteer.
‘Perhaps.’ She continues pacing. ‘What person deserves to live in soaring temperatures?’
My brain is starting to race. ‘How about the devil?’
‘But the devil isn’t all people,’ she replies.
‘How about all sinners?’ She sinks to the floor again; frustration etching her stunning features, shaking her head.
‘Oh Jesus Christ – what the hell is it?’ she snaps in utter frustration.
It’s like a light bulb exploding in my head. ‘You said it.’ I grin.
‘Said what?’
‘The answer is… HELL.’
She jumps off the floor and throws her arms around me. God, I feel so damn self-righteous.
‘Right, so what have we got? Write the answers out again.’
She jumps to her notepad and jots them down. I lean over her shoulder, softly stroking her hair.
A TREE
IMAGINATION
A MIRROR
FAITH
DRUGS, ALCOHOL or A MASK
THE KING OF SPADES
HELL
I don’t see any obvious connection – but then I don’t suppose we’re meant to.
‘What about a nursery rhyme?’ she asks.
‘I can’t see many of them having hell in them.’ I shake my head. ‘More like something out of a horror story.’
‘You mean like Doctor Faust?’
‘Something like that.’
She quickly grabs her laptop, attaches her mobile phone, and logs onto the Internet. Pushing keys faster than I can snap on handcuffs, she begins trawling for any horror stories with those specific seven words. There are thousands of stories; it would take weeks to physically go through each one, to find out if we could exactly match up the seven precise words.
‘You want me to cook some breakfast?’ I ask. She never lifts her eyes from the screen.
‘That’d be great.’
‘How about an omelette, bacon and tomato?’
‘Sounds perfect.’ Her fingers still fly across the keyboard – she’s dedicated, I’ll give her that much. Give her a project and she’ll work like a demon until she cracks it; another of her traits that I admire.