Nick stumbled into work after having the good sense to book a doctor’s appointment for Friday at nine in the morning. Taking the time to thank John, he got his head down and tried to concentrate on the job at hand. Yet every few minutes, he was thinking about the muddy footprints on the bedroom carpet and the trainers next to the bed. The thought that he might have killed these girls left him in a cold sweat, and once again, he had been unable to eat anything this morning.
When the tea trolley came round, he grabbed a coffee and a muffin and retired back into his office. So far, he had done nothing, just shifted paperwork, and stared at figures. What was wrong with him? Then a thought sent a spike of pain through his skull and seemed to squeeze his heart until it would pop. His pulse was racing, and sweat had broken out on his forehead and back. What if he was a schizophrenic, what if he was killing these girls and just didn’t remember?
Flicking onto Google, he did a quick search. Some of the symptoms matched muddled thinking, loss of memory, but that was all. It gave no reason for him to be killing girls, and then it hit him, multiple personality disorders. Did he have a split personality? Quickly he typed in the search for the symptoms of this disorder, and just as he pressed enter, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said quickly, flicking over to another window.
“Hello, Mr. Bellamy. If you remember, I’m Detective Inspector Merlin, and I would like you to come down to the station to discuss a few things with us.”
Nick’s breath froze in his throat, his chest ached with the pounding his heart was giving it, and he doubted if he could stand even if they forced him. Clearing his throat gave him time to think. “Is that a request? Because if so, maybe I could come later, after work?”
“Yes, it is a request, but I would prefer it if you came now. A young lady is dead, after all.”
“I know nothing about that,” Nick said and knew it sounded pathetic.
“Still, sir, if you don’t mind.”
Chapter Eight
Nick sat in the interrogation room, wondering if he needed a lawyer. So far, all they had done was ask him about his movements over and over again.
“Like I said,” Nick repeated. “I overslept. I’ve been feeling unwell. In fact, I think I’m coming down with something, and I’m going to the doctor.”
“So, no one knows where you were at midnight then?” Merlin asked.
“I was in bed with my wife. Why don’t you ring her?”
Merlin put on a smug expression. “Well, sir, we already have. She remembers taking a sleeping pill, she also thinks you got up in the night, but she can’t remember the time.”
Bitch, went through Nick’s head. “She never takes a sleeping pill, she doesn’t believe in them.” A vision of the muddy footprints on the beige bedroom carpet came into his mind, but he shrugged them away, no way had he killed a girl in his sleep.
Merlin opened a file and pulled out a photo. It was a pretty girl, blonde hair cut into a shoulder-length bob. She had a pretty oval face, and she looked so like his wife that his face dropped. His mouth sprung open, and he felt the color drain from his face. What was happening?
“I see you know her,” Merlin said.
“No… No, I don’t.” And he didn’t, but as he looked closer, the set of the eyes, the mouth, was this Gillian Jones?
“So you do know her,” Merlin pressed. “You may as well admit it, Mr. Bellamy, because we have your company’s records.
“I… she could be a girl I dealt with a few years ago, but she’s so much slimmer, and her hair is a different color. I’m just not sure. Is she dead?”
“What would you know about that?” Merlin asked.
Nick tried to ignore the slimy grin on the man’s face. They thought they had him, but no way had he killed her. Yet as he opened his mouth to talk, a nagging doubt picked at his brain. Pick, pick, pick – had he killed her? “I… I… Look, you’ve brought me in here… I have to assume you’re showing me her picture because something happened.”
Merlin slid the picture back into his file and pulled out another one. In this, the girl was transformed. Empty eyes, red, raw, and butchered stared back at him. They held his gaze, accusing, pointing at him, and almost demanding his head. The picture was like a punch to the gut, and Nick felt his stomach turn. He jumped up from the table. Bile rose up his throat and into his mouth. Biting down he scanned the room, there was a bin in the corner, he leaped from the chair and raced to the bin. Just in time for vomit to stream out of him in one long caustic gag reflex.
“Sit back down, Mr. Bellamy,” Merlin shouted.
Nick dropped to his knees, and dry heaved into the plastic. At last, the spasms stopped leaving his throat raw, his abs aching and a slick bitter taste in his mouth. Spitting out the last dregs and trying to rid his mouth of trails of saliva, he sat back on his heels. “Are you kidding me?”
“Sit down and look at the picture,” Merlin’s voice demanded.
As if in a trance, Nick did as he was told. Seeing the picture caused another convulsion in his gut, but he held back and tried to look. “I didn’t do this,” he said. “Why would I do this?”
Merlin placed the file over the picture and stared into Nick’s eyes. The seconds ticked past, and Nick felt as if his very soul was being observed. It took all his control to keep his face calm, neutral, and at last, the man broke his gaze.
“In that case,” Merlin said. “I would like you to write down your account of this morning. When you woke, who you spoke to, how you got here. Can you do that?”
Nick nodded and took the paper and pen offered. With a shaky hand, he did as he was bid while the smug bastard sat watching him; his arms folded his eyes blank. Finished, he handed the paperback and watched as Merlin took it from him, stood up, and left the room.
As the door closed, Nick felt a mixture of fear and relief. It was good to be out of the cop's gaze, but he had to wonder what he had just done. Trying to relax, he closed his eyes, but fatigue overtook him, and he had to stand and slap his face to stay awake. This was ridiculous, his freedom was in danger, people were dying, and yet he needed to sleep.
***
Outside the interview room, Merlin met a tall, bald man with a kind face. Shaun was their handwriting expert, and with excitement in his gut, he handed over the paper. “How long to analyze this?” he asked.
“Not long.”
They walked together down the faded gray corridor and into Shaun’s office. It was cluttered with paper and files, and Merlin wondered how he ever managed to find anything. There was a bench at chest height on one wall. It sloped away from them, and Shaun placed the paper on its surface. To one side was a twelve by ten photo of a naked back. Carved into the skin was a heart. The edges of the wound had bled down, and to Merlin, it looked as if the skin had cried blood. He shook his head. This was no time to be feeling sentimental. Next to the photo was a small note about A6 in size. It was sealed in an evidence bag, and next to it was an enlargement of the note.
Shaun pulled an overhead light, on an extendable arm, down to shine on the table. To Merlin, it bounced off the white surface and seared into his eyes. He closed them for a second; this was no time to give in to fatigue. This bastard had killed twice, and there was no sign of him stopping unless Merlin could find the evidence.
Opening his eyes, he watched as Shaun leaned over the writing, his head nodded slightly as he moved over each word. Then he looked to the left, checking the evidence bag. Merlin moved in closer and peered over his back. He could see Nick’s writing on the right. It looked the same to him as the writing on the left, the writing that had chilled his blood this morning. A note had been found under both bodies. They read, ‘Would you die for me, darling?’
Shaun stood upright and turned around so quickly that the two men were toe to toe, and Merlin jumped back. “Well?” he asked, recovering some composure.
Shaun nodded. “They are similar, and there are matching points. However.”
Merlin heard the word, and his world dropped out from beneath him, this was the last thing he needed to hear.
Shaun had paused as he saw the detective’s face, but he continued. “However, they are not a match.”
“Is that it?” Merlin asked. “Can’t you give me any more? Maybe he could have altered his writing, made it look less like his?”
Shaun shook his head. “That’s not possible. Even if you change your writing, there are base points that look the same. You slip them in subconsciously, and that is what we look for. This is a small sample.” He tapped the evidence bag. “So my findings are not one hundred percent, but in all honesty, I don’t believe these were written by the same man.”
“You have to give me something?” Merlin said, knowing that he sounded desperate.
This time Shaun dropped his head and seemed to wait. At last, he looked up. “It will have to be off the record.”
Merlin nodded; there was an understanding between them.
“Alright,” Shaun said. “Off the record, I would say that this looks like someone trying to forge his handwriting.”
“You’re telling me someone is trying to frame him?”
“Maybe,” Shaun said. “The only other possibility is split personalities, but remember, this is not an exact science, it’s my opinion. I could be wrong.”
Merlin left the office with a sinking feeling in his gut, and fatigue seemed to crush him. This had been a total waste of time, he had nothing, and he had to let Nick go. How many more women would die screaming before he could catch this bastard?
Chapter Nine
Sara stepped off the bus and into the cold night. Pulling her coat around her ears, she regretted staying at work so late, almost as much as she regretted catching the last bus and not opting for a taxi. Still, it was only a short walk home, and the street lights made it feel safer.
There was no traffic, and she crossed the road and lengthened her stride glad she had worn trousers today and that her heels weren’t too high. All she had to do was walk along Sycamore, cross over Oak, and she would be back on Basil. Her mind was half on the drawing she had completed today. It was good work, probably her best, and she was proud of it. Heat warmed her cheeks as she thought of the client, he was lush, and she had put in some extra hours to make sure he was impressed. Tomorrow they were meeting for lunch to discuss the project, so she needed to get home and sleep. She was looking for more than professional courtesy, and it was more than her drawings she wanted him to find impressive.
Up ahead was a ginnel, it would take a few minutes off her journey, and she had done it many times before. Yes, she would take it, but as she approached the unlit cut through, it looked dark and unwelcoming, anyone could be hiding within the shadows. Admonishing her cowardice, she still ignored the shorter route and continued on under the street lights. After all, two women had been murdered in the town recently, why didn’t she take that taxi?
Pulling her mind back to safer ground, she wondered what she should wear tomorrow. This had been going through her mind all week. Every time she heard his silky voice and thought about the deep blue of his eyes and the sun-kissed hair, she had wondered and worried. She was sure he was interested, and all he needed was a little extra push. Still, she had to look professional, but still, she wanted something just a little enticing. It came to her, she had a figure-hugging black shift dress. It was totally right and cut just a little lower than she normally found comfortable. If she wore a black jacket, she could take it off as the luncheon warmed up a little.
She was nearly home and feeling satisfied when she spotted a shadow. As she walked past a house, something reflected in the window. It was dark and moved behind her, but as she turned her head to look, it was gone. She stared back at herself in the black pane of glass, and behind her, the street was deserted. There was just a car and someone’s dustbin, but nothing moved.
Quickening her pace, she set off again, but now there was a catch in her breath, and her heart pounded against her chest. It was nothing, just a shadow. So why did she feel like a rabbit? In her mind, the fox took its time, waiting in the bushes for just the right moment to pounce.
“Stop this,” she whispered, but the hairs had risen on her arms, and fear fluttered like a trapped bird in her stomach.
She turned onto Basil and could see her front gate. It was so close, she was home, and these foolish feelings would look just like that once she was safe within its walls.
A noise behind caused her to jump inside. It sounded like a foot scuffing the concrete. Hurrying towards the gate, she glanced back. There was a shadow on the wall. Someone was following her. No, more than that, they were hiding. They didn’t want her to know.
She set off at a run and sprinted the last few paces to her gate. Footsteps pursued her. No longer cautious, whoever was behind, closed the gap. Sara wanted to look back, but she knew if she did, it would slow her progress. Reaching the gate, her hand clasped onto the cold metal, and she reached down for the clasp. It was always tricky and once again regret clouded her mind, why hadn’t she got it fixed. She pushed but missed the catch and rammed into the gate. It scraped against her thighs, and panic filled her, making her hand slip on the cold iron, but this time she had it, and the gate swung inward.
Reaching in her pocket, she fumbled for the keys. Finding them, she pulled them out just as she heard the gate move. Her pursuer was close. The keys jangled in her hands as she searched for the right one. Yes, she had it, and it slid home and turned. She was safe.
Sara pushed the door and stepped in just as she was punched in the back. It stung, and she cursed but kept going just as a hand reached around her. Something that smelt sickly and sweet was placed over her mouth.
Panic like a vicious beast clawed at her, and she thrashed her arms clawed for the hand at her mouth. Deep inside, a voice told her to remember her self-defense training. To reach down and go for the balls but her hands would not obey, and she clawed at the thing that clamped over her mouth. DNA, scratch him, she thought, but it was leather that her nails dug into, and she was fading. It would be fine to rest for just a little while. Her hands dropped to her side, and luckily, she was caught as she collapsed against her attacker.
The figure pulled her inside and kicked the door closed. The light was not needed, the house would be better in darkness. Lifting the girl, it stepped into the house and through to the kitchen. Perfect. Drawing the blind, a hand was swept across the worktop, sweeping pots and a sugar bowl to one side. The girl was laid face down.
Blood oozed from her back, but the knife had missed her kidney, and the flow was clean and steady. There was a little time yet. From within a pocket, an eight-inch long serrated hunting knife was produced, and in the semi-light, it sliced easily through the girl’s thick coat and her thin blouse.
Breathing heavily, the figure smiled as the knife slid across smooth skin. This was the best bit, this was the enjoyment. Observing the sharp knife as it shaved skin before sinking into a living, breathing human and then watching as the lifeblood flowed out. It was euphoric, it was God-like.
Chapter Ten
Time was short. As a hunter, the night was a friend and dawn an enemy, and yet the sun was coming, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.
The girl had been rolled over onto her back, stripped naked and strapped to the work surface. It was an ingenious design. Packing straps held the body tight and were secured with a small nail gun. The countertop would never be the same again, but that was someone else’s problem. Everything was portable and easy to carry, and every care was made that DNA, hair, and fingerprints were not left at the scene. Still, the hunter was confident that they would not be caught. Planning was key, as was the preparation. The girl had been watched for weeks, and everything was in place. The transformation would take about an hour, and then she would be left for viewing. For everyone to see what a hooker she was and they would know, she deserved everything that she got.
Eyes closed, blonde shou
lder-length hair combed out behind her, she looked almost serene. She had nice boobs, firm but large and a fit, attractive body. Tan lines marked her arms and legs, and there was a scar across her stomach. It was interesting, and a good place to start, no, maybe to finish. Still, she breathed easily and slowly, and there was no sign that she would wake.
This was the trickiest part, waiting for her to come around. Waiting and wondering if the dosage was too much and she would sleep on, not waking in time for the party. The most important one of her life, the one she really did not want to miss.
Standing back, breath coming faster and faster with the anticipation of the fun to come was part torture, part pleasure. A hand reached across a chest tensed and expectant and then down to a groin that throbbed with desire.
Excitement caused a gasp of air, she was waking. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed. So far, she thought this was normal, did not realize what was about to begin. Quickly, before she started to scream, from a bag on the floor, a ball-gag was produced and pushed into her mouth then fastened behind her head. The rough handling brought her fully conscious and frightened eyes widened as she realized the predicament she was in. In the dim light, she could not see too well. But she would feel the cold counter beneath her back, feel the straps across her naked body, and feel the cuts in her skin as they opened as she strained against her restraints. It was always the same, they tried to scream, tried to fight. Their bodies convulsed as they struggled against their ties.
It was best to stand quietly and enjoy the show. Sooner or later, she would exhaust herself and quiet down. Then it would be time to start. Sometimes, when they saw death stood before them, their bladder would empty, and the sharp smell of urine would fill the room, but not tonight. It looked like Sara had control.
Die for Me Darling Page 4