The Twelve Murders of Christmas (Quigg 1)

by Tim Ellis

‘You have thoughts?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to share them until they’re fully formed.’

  ‘Maybe you should. Anyway, a serial killer when he kills is acting out a fantasy, but what’s the fantasy here?’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘There’s no sexual motive, unless he is masturbating over their corpses, but if he is I think it’s subordinated by a much larger obsession – the clothes and the face. I think the clothes and the face are his fantasy. It’s as if he’s taking the whole person. But why take all of the victim’s clothes?’

  ‘So he can relive his kill.’

  ‘But why all the clothes? Surely, if he wanted to relive the kill he’d take her knickers, her blouse, a piece of jewellery – one item would suffice.’

  ‘I’ve tossed all this around in my head, and I agree that the face and the clothes are significant factors in this investigation, but it doesn’t lead anywhere. That’s what I’m saying, we have a killer taking the face and all the clothing the victim was wearing – so what? It doesn’t move us any closer to catching him. I’m a great believer in not speculating on reasons if they don’t provide clues to help us catch the murderer.’

  Lulu crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Okay, should we go?’

  ‘I’m not saying...’

  ‘Are we still here?’

  ‘You’re not happy?’

  ‘I’m very happy, thank you.’

  He navigated through the car park and turned left into Du Cane Road, and then a right onto the A219.

  ‘This is you being a petulant princess?’

  ‘This is me being a petulant partner. I don’t want the fact that I’m a princess to be mentioned again.’

  ‘Okay, Sergeant...’

  ‘Oh, you’re going to pull rank on me now?’

  He grinned involuntarily. ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’

  ‘I try.’

  ‘You’ll owe me a lunch tomorrow.’

  ‘Is everything about money with you?’

  ‘When you haven’t got any... I suppose you’re rich, aren’t you? I bet you bathe in goat’s milk and diamonds, and then there’s the mountain of gold and gemstones from King Solomon’s mines...’

  ‘I’ll pay for your lunch every day until we solve the case.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to find out what Beluga caviar tastes like.’

  ‘It’s terrible, it tastes of fish eggs. I remember having it at the American Embassy in 2004. It was disgusting. Count yourself lucky I’m not going to let you have any.’

  ‘Not in the Rich List Top 100, huh?’

  ‘So come on then, Sir.’ She said “Sir” as if it was a swear word. ‘Why do you think the killer is taking the victim’s face and all her clothes?’

  ‘First of all, we have one murder. What if he doesn’t take the next victim’s face and clothes? You’re thinking it might be the killer’s signature, but it might not be. I’d much rather wait until we have two or more murders. Not only that, although there is a suggestion that he might kill again, until it happens it’s pure speculation.’

  ‘You know he’s going to kill again.’

  ‘All I know is that he might. Second, the clothes could be used for masturbating over, but why take all of them when one item would do? There’s another reason he’s taking all the clothes instead of just one article.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘You’ll need to wrap up warm tomorrow, so that you don’t freeze to death in the queue outside the food shelter.’

  ‘I’m beginning to regret asking you for help, Lulu Begone.’

  ‘You don’t mean that. You’ve been thinking what a great partner I make, how much we gel together, and can you steal me off DI Scrivener.’

  He smiled to himself. ‘The Chief would never allow it.’

  ‘You don’t get if you don’t ask.’

  ‘Very philosophical.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘All right, he could be taking the face and the clothes to wear, or for someone else to wear.’

  ‘I knew you could do it if you really tried.’

  Chapter Four

  Quigg pulled up outside 23 Pear Tree Lane at twenty-five past three. A uniformed copper stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together at the front door, which was absent of a wreath.

  ‘How long left of your shift, Constable?’ Quigg asked the uniform as they walked up to the front door.

  ‘Three hours, Sir.’

  ‘Sergeant Begone and myself are going to be here for at least half and hour, go and see if you can get yourself a hot drink and thawed out.’

  ‘Are you sure, Sir?’

  ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’

  ‘You’re a life-saver, Sir,’ The Constable shot off along the street.

  ‘That was kind.’

  ‘You’re looking at a very kind person. It is Christmas after all, and let’s face it, all I’ve given him is half an hour.’

  Quigg used the key to open the door, and they walked through into the kitchen. ‘According to Perkins, this is where it happened.’

  ‘Where are the knives?’

  Quigg pointed to a drawer. ‘In there.’

  ‘Does the knife used to kill her match the ones in here?’

  ‘That’s a question for Perkins.’

  ‘Okay.’ She made her way out of the kitchen, turned directly left into the back room, and opened the patio door. ‘He came through here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And it was open?’

  ‘Yes. Or, should we say, there was no forced entry.’

  ‘So, where was Mrs Partridge when the killer entered her home?’

  He shrugged. ‘Could have been in the front room, upstairs, on the toilet...’

  ‘And he helped himself to a kitchen knife from the drawer, killed her when she came into the kitchen, dragged her upstairs, stripped her naked, dumped her on the bed, and cut off her face?’

  ‘That’s the scenario we’re working on.’

  ‘It seems to me that the killer knew Mrs Partridge wouldn’t have the children here.’

  ‘Carry on?’

  ‘If he came to kill her, surely he’d bring a weapon with him – he brought a scalpel. This wasn’t an opportunistic murder, or a crime of passion. He planned it by coming in a Father Christmas outfit, why wouldn’t he bring the murder weapon? What if the victim had been in the kitchen standing between him and the knife drawer when he arrived? So, yes he surprised her, but he already had the knife.’

  ‘That’s an interesting hypothesis. Let’s see what Perkins has to say about it.’ He rang Perkins.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Lulu thinks the killer brought the knife with him.’

  Silence.

  ‘You’ve not gone for a donut and left me on hold, have you?’

  ‘Just a minute, Sir.’

  He rolled his eyes.

  Lulu moved back to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s a kitchen knife.’

  ‘Yes, we know that. And you checked that it matches the other kitchen knives here?’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘Okay...’

  Lulu was calling him.

  ‘Hang on a moment, Perkins.’

  He followed Lulu into the kitchen. She had laid out the five-piece kitchen knife set in a row on the worktop.

  ‘I’m on the phone.’

  Lulu pointed ‘They’re all here.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The murder weapon matches these knives,’ she pointed to the set of black-handled knives. ‘But the full set is here.’

  ‘You’re getting sloppy, Perkins.’

  ‘I am, aren’t I? You understand it wasn’t me personally, but one of my staff? I am, however, as Head of Forensics, directly responsible for any mistakes by my staff, and as such I’m not shifting the blame, but rest assured heads will roll.’

  ‘I understand that, and I’ll re
commend to the Chief that you keep your job, because as far as I can see there’s no lasting damage. You will, however, direct the knife to renewed scrutiny based on this new information?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He ended the call.

  ‘How did he know to bring that kitchen knife?’

  ‘He could only have known that if he’d been here before,’ Quigg said. ‘Knew exactly which kitchen knife to bring, so that forensics would get confused, which is what happened. Good job, Lulu.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘So, we’ve shifted one hundred and eighty degrees based on this new information. The killer wasn’t a stranger he was someone she knew. Someone who had been in her house and had access to her kitchen knife drawer, who knew the patio door would be open, and who knew the children wouldn’t be here on Christmas Day.’

  ‘We have to talk to the people she worked with.’

  ‘And her friends.’

  ‘That won’t take long,’ Lulu said heading up the stairs. ‘From what I’ve heard and seen she didn’t have any friends.’

  ‘Okay, let’s say that the killer knew her, and there was a personal motive for the murder.’ He followed her up the stairs and into the bedroom. ‘What’s the reason for the other murders? The implication of the message is that there’ll be lots more murders conforming to the Christmas carol. Why?’

  ‘To cover up this murder?’ Lulu offered.

  ‘That’s a bit flimsy.’

  ‘It’s all I have at the moment, except... Why did he bring her up here?’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘He killed her in the kitchen, why not leave here there? What was the point of carrying her upstairs, taking off her clothes, and putting her on the bed to cut off her face?’

  ‘He was going to have sex with her, but changed his mind.’

  ‘He could have done that downstairs.’

  ‘The bedroom meant something to him.’

  ‘Or her, but why?’

  ‘Maybe they’d had sex here before, maybe she’d refused to have sex with him, or... maybe he’d been unable to get an erection.’

  ‘It’s all speculation isn’t it, Sir?’

  ‘Yes, but it was worth coming here and getting your fresh pair of eyes on the crime scene. Some things we’ll never know unless we catch him and ask him what he had in mind. Let’s go back to the station now and bring it all together.’

  They went back down the stairs. Quigg walked through into the back room and double-checked that he’d locked the patio door. The Constable had returned and was standing in the open porch.

  ‘Thanks again, Sir.’

  ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘And to you too, Sir.’

  It was five past four. The sky was a gunmetal grey, and tiny snowflakes began seesawing down. By the time they had walked gingerly over the frozen path and reached the car, it was snowing heavily. The lock in the driver’s door had frozen solid, and Quigg had to unlock the passenger door, reach across and open his door from the inside, and walk back round the car.

  When he turned the key in the ignition, the engine caught on the third time – just. One more attempt, and the battery would have died a horrible death. Tomorrow, he knew he was going to be in trouble. The battery would probably expire overnight. In the morning he would wake up, but the battery wouldn’t. He’d be stuck without any means of transport. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. His mum had a woman’s old black bicycle with metal brakes, but he didn’t plan to resurrect that from the cemetery of ancient things in the garage.

  ‘I love this snow. In South Africa it never snows.’

  ‘What about on the mountain tops?’

  ‘Of course, but nobody lives up there.’

  ‘I see, so have you built a snowman, or had a snowball fight, or made a slide, or...?’

  ‘I haven’t done any of that.’

  He sat forward and squinted through the heavy snowfall. ‘This is going to be fun.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘No, it’s going to be a nightmare, I can barely see.’

  They eventually arrived back at the station at quarter past five. The car park was a good six inches under fresh snow and because of the lack of white lines he ended up parking the car lopsided like a drunk.

  ‘Do you think Mr Perkins is still waiting for us?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. I’ll go up and check, you stay here and start building a snowman.’

  She laughed. ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘I thought you had a high IQ?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘There you go then. When I’ve sorted Perkins out, I’ll come back down and help you.’

  Upstairs, the incident room was dark and empty. In fact, the whole place was like a ghost station. He rang forensics on the internal phone, but there was no answer. He tried Perkins’ mobile, but it went to voicemail.

  ‘Got stuck in the snow, Perkins. See you tomorrow morning at nine-thirty in the incident room. Be there, or be square.’

  Back outside, Lulu was intent on building her snowman and didn’t notice him. At the door he picked up a handful of snow and fashioned it into a beautiful snowball that could have won awards for excellence, and threw it. It hit Lulu on the back of the head, exploded, and pieces of snow slithered down her back.

  ‘Aaagh! What are you doing?’

  ‘Teaching you the value of keeping your wits about you at all times.’ He threw another one, which hit her on the shoulder and sprayed snow onto her face.

  She dived behind the half-formed snowman. ‘There must be a law against this sort of behaviour by senior police officers?’

  He threw another one. ‘Oh there is, Lulu. It’s called the law of fighting ba...’ A snowball skimmed off the top of his head. ‘Yes, I think you’re getting the hang of it, but I should warn you that striking a senior officer...’ He could hear her angel’s laughter as a snowball hit him full in the face. ‘Now you’re in serious trouble, Sergeant Begone.’ He burst from the sunken stepwell like a sprinter out of starting blocks, ran the short distance to where Lulu was crouched behind her half a snowman, and dived on her. He sat on her midriff and pushed her arms under his legs so that she couldn’t escape.

  She laughed and wriggled like a stoat in a sack.

  He was laughing so hard his side hurt, but he managed to smear snow over her face, and then he let her push him off and return the favour.

  She stood up, brushed herself down, and then danced about trying to get the caked snow out of her roll-necked jumper before it melted. ‘I should report you to the Chief for torturing a junior officer.’

  ‘Of course you should. I’ll give you a form in the morning for just such a dastardly occurrence.’

  ‘Make sure you do.’

  A wave of guilt and sadness came over him. He should be having snowball fights with his daughter, not Lulu Begone. He’d probably never get the chance again. Caitlin was a bitch for taking her away from him.

  He sat up and leaned against the stump of what could have been a half-decent snowman. ‘You’d better go home now, Lulu. I’ll see you tomorrow at nine, and thanks for all your help today.’

  ‘Are you all right, Sir?’

  ‘I’m fine. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Sir.’

  He pushed himself up and climbed in his car. According to the LED clock it was five to six.

  He followed Lulu out of the car park. It would probably take him an hour to get home, but he needed to do something about his battery, so he called in at the first petrol station he came to. There was a cashpoint machine, so he put his card into the slot to check how much he didn’t have. When he saw that there was a credit amount blinking at him he looked furtively both ways like a criminal as if he’d done something wrong. Why did he have money in his account? Who had put it there? Was it a bribe? Was someone trying to implicate him in an international drugs cartel? Then it came to him – salaries were always paid early at Christmas. He smiled and withdrew fifty pounds
. Although, he knew that next month he’d be short of money again, but what could he do? Investigating a case without a car was like orienteering without a map.

  Inside the shop he didn’t know whether to buy a brand new battery at a cost of forty-four pounds, or a battery charger at thirty-five pounds. A battery would immediately fix his problem, but a charger would give him peace of mind. In the morning, he could simply put the new battery in and drive to work. With the charger he’d have to mess about tonight fitting it to the battery, and again in the morning taking it off. Also, even if he took the charger with him there would be no guarantee he’d be able plug it in when he needed to, and even if he could he didn’t have the time to wait six hours for the battery to charge. After weighing up all the evidence, he bought a new battery even if it was the more expensive option. The way he saw it was that he’d be saving money on lunches, so could afford to splash out a bit. A late Christmas present to himself, he thought.

  ‘You haven’t got someone to fit it for me, have you?’ he asked the shop assistant.

  ‘Sorry mate, we don’t fit them.’

  He hoped there were spanners and things in the toolbox in the garage.

  ***

  ‘Is that you, Quigg?’

  ‘Yes, mum.’ He put his duffel coat in the small closet by the door and went into the living room. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Lonely that’s how I am, Quigg. I have a son you know, but he’s never here. Prefers the dead to his poor old mum, he does. One day he’ll come home and find me stiff and cold in my chair, and it’ll be too late then.’

  The doorbell sounded.

  ‘Ah, that’ll be my taxi. I’m off to see Maggie Crenshaw, and I’ll probably stay there overnight.’

  He mimicked Beryl. ‘I have a mum you know, but she’s never here. Prefers her friends to her only son, she does. One day she’ll come home and find me...’

  ‘Stop talking nonsense, Quigg. I haven’t made you anything to eat because you never told me what time you’d be back, so you’ll have to find yourself something.’

  ‘Have a good time, mum.’

  Then he was on his own. He decided to ring the Chief and tell him what had happened.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Hello, Chief.’