Dead Blonde

by Beck Robertson

  “Why was this not picked up on when the diagnosis was made? Wouldn’t that be classed as dangerous to society? Why let her I mean him out free to possibly kill someone?” She shrugged.

  “Lots of people have borderline psychopathic or sociopathic tendencies Inspector. But unless they break the law they won’t come to our attention. And most people with sociopathic tendencies don’t break the law despite the myths.”

  “But Randall has broken the law if he’s responsible for the murders?” he said, looking at her incredulously.

  “Yes but he has managed to evade the arm of the law for a long time too,” she said, adjusting her glasses with one hand.

  “But how?”

  “Sociopaths are usually highly functional in society. Sociopathy is not what most people think it is. You yourself could be a sociopath or any of your colleagues.” A shiver ran down his spine at the words and he suddenly felt cold.

  “But if a diagnosis of sociopathy doesn’t lead to murder then why is it important?” She shook her head firmly.

  “I never said it doesn’t lead to murder Inspector, I said it doesn’t necessarily preclude it.”

  “Then what does all this say about Randall?” He knitted his brow, feeling a bit bewildered.

  “If there was a formative traumatising incident, in early childhood or adolescence, or possibly even a combination of both, then, in a person with a predisposition to sociopathy this can prove a lethal combination.” He looked at her.

  “What kind of incident?”

  “Well we know Louise had gender identity disorder. We also know that Louise was sexually attracted to girls-” she stopped as he interrupted her.

  “Yes Inspector?”

  “The mother, Helena Randall, she disapproved of Louise’s attraction to women, she admitted as much to me. But she never said anything about Louise being transsexual. Surely she would have said something?”

  Gateway shook her head firmly, her neat, grey bob swinging from side to side.

  “No not necessarily. You said yourself she disapproved of Louise’s sexual preferences. Imagine how much of a stigma Louise’s transexuality would have been for her to accept? Perhaps Helena Randall was in denial, or perhaps she simply refused to accept it.”

  “So the traumatising incident was caused by the mother?”

  She shrugged. “Very likely. But we also know of the connection to Sally Brooks and the fact the two had a falling out. We know Louise gave Sally the necklace. The same kind of necklace found round the necks of all the other victims. It’s highly possible the relationship between the two went deeper than just a friendship.”

  “You think Louise could have been romantically involved with the Brooks girl?”

  “Yes, I do. And if someone with sociopathic tendencies is rejected, someone who’s already very traumatised, well it can be a lethal combination.”

  “The mother, she said she wished Louise could be more like the brother. Do you think that’s why she, I mean he took that name?”

  “It’s highly probable yes,” she said, nodding. Pulling the white card out of his pocket he held it out to her.

  “Someone sent me a wreath. Anonymously. A taxi driver brought it to my house, and this came with it.” She peered down at it.

  13:45-46 These violent delights have violent ends

  “What does it mean? Are those numbers a time, a date?” Gateway shook her head slowly at him.

  “I don’t think so no. The text, well that’s easy enough for anyone with a fondness for Shakespeare to answer. It’s a line from Romeo and Juliet.”

  “He sees himself as Romeo? So who’s Juliet?” he said, scratching at the stubble on his chin.

  “Most likely the person who started him off on this cycle.”

  “Sally Brooks?”

  “Could be,” she said, nodding thoughtfully.

  “And the numbers?”

  “I can’t be sure, but I would say it looks like they are a biblical reference.”

  “A biblical reference? But why, what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know what it means but I know this. He’s playing games with you Inspector. He wants to see if you can figure him out.”

  “So he wants to be caught?” he said, looking at her.

  “Not before he’s done what he plans to do.”

  “So why send it to me at all?” He frowned. She looked at him frankly.

  “He doesn’t think you’ll catch him in time, he thinks he’s smarter than you.”

  “Why would he send it to me now though? He’s never tried to contact me before.”

  “He’s stepping up the game, stepping out of his pattern. He’s near to completing whatever it is he wants to complete,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose again.

  “You think its Birthstone then? Not a copycat?”

  “I don’t think it’s a copycat no. Typically a copycat would make a threat or some kind of confession. This is more like he’s sending you a challenge.”

  “You think Louise could be Birthstone?”

  She nodded slowly, looking directly at him as she spoke.

  “I do, yes. And I think you could be dealing with a very dangerous individual indeed.”

  ***

  When he entered the small holding cell Kenneth Carver was sitting there, his arms folded across his chest, chewing gum and staring sullenly at the wall. Carver looked up as he entered, and bobbed his greying head, nodding curtly at him.

  “Alright,” the man said, in acknowledgement. He pulled out a chair from under the Formica topped table at which Carver sat, easing himself into it.

  “Mr Carver. You wanted to speak to me about Marilyn Channing?” The man nodded.

  “Yeah. I know something might be of interest. Have to do me a favour though. You know how it works Gaine.” His jaw tightened. He didn’t like the sound of this. Sighing he regarded Carver.

  “Kenneth if you’re up to your eyeballs in shit I can’t flush it away for you.” The man leaned forward, beckoning him closer with a grubby finger, his yellowed nail thick with grime.

  “Come on Gaine. Both you and I know you can pull strings if you really need to. Get Vice to drop the charges, point them in a new direction. You got the authority and…” he paused looking directly in his eyes, “I know you got previous form for looking the other way.”

  “Fuck off Carver. That was one time. I needed to nail that bastard.” Suzanne Muholland. Found strangled in her luxury penthouse that overlooked Trafalgar Square. Rumour had it she was a high class call girl. He’d done some fishing and found she was seeing a man called David Bradbury. Bradbury was a club owner officially but his club was a thin veneer for some serious drug running and a high class prostitution racket.

  Rumour also had it Suzanne had wanted off the game and Bradbury hadn’t liked it. Hadn’t liked it enough to put his hands round her throat and squeeze the life out of her. Trouble was there was no evidence. Carver had been the only one who could link Bradbury to Suzanne. It was his testimony that he had seen Bradbury with Suzanne on the night she was killed that nailed Bradbury. In exchange for him dropping the charges for the stabbing of Leonard Fitzroy.

  It had been a tough call but it had to be done. Carver had walked and Bradbury had gone down for a ten to twenty stretch. Now Carver wanted another favour and he didn’t want to do it. But they were getting desperate for leads now. He could do a lot worse than hearing what Carver had to say. Sighing, he sat back in the chair eyeing the man.

  “Tell me what you know.”

  “That Marilyn bird. She was a hooker.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “She was. She used to pick up johns from that club she worked at in Soho, Sweethearts. Then she’d leave with ‘em after her shift. Take ‘em back to her flat and give em a good seeing to.”

  “If what you are telling me is true how does this help? So she was a hooker?” Carver grinned, showing crooked teeth.

  “She had one particular john that I think might be of inter
est Inspector.”

  “How would you fucking know?”

  “A little bird from the club told me.” Carver had bloody spies everywhere.

  “So who was it then? I haven’t got time for games, I’m working on a fucking murder enquiry if you hadn’t already noticed.” Carver raised an eyebrow nonchalantly.

  “Can tell you who it is if you wanna play ball Gaine? You know how it works you scratch mine, I’ll jerk yours.” He snapped.

  “Cut the fucking crap Carver.”

  “Want it?” Exhaling, he paused considering before nodding slowly.

  “Fine but you get pulled up again I’m not helping you out. Thjs is the last fucking time you hear me?” Grinning Carver nodded, giving him a mock salute.

  “Yes boss.”

  “Fuck off. Now tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “The guy you’re looking for is Vincent Kemp.” Kemp? How did the fuck did Carver know about Kemp?

  “How do you know Vincent Kemp?”

  “Oh I make it my business to know all sorts of things Inspector, you never know when it might come in handy,” Carver said, grinning as he tapped the side of his nose. He rolled his eyes, Carver obviously wanted him to play along for a bit for dramatic effect.

  “So what do you know about Kemp?”

  “A sweet little Doris I’ve been chatting up at the club told me all about our friend Vincent. A barmaid who works there.”

  Michelle Swan. So that’s why she had seemed so evasive.

  “It’s always good to make connections but I’m sure you know that already Chief Inspector.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “Said she’d heard you’d been asking around about Kemp,” Carver said, staring straight at him.

  “So? I’m a police officer, asking questions is what I do.”

  “So apparently she thought he was dodgy as well but she was wary of grassing him up to the cops. The guy liked it rough. Been through quite a few girls there that offered extra services she said. None of them liked him-”

  “And?” He interrupted Carver, losing his patience. Carver leaned forward, his beady eyes gleaming.

  ”The dead bird, Marilyn. She said she saw Kemp leaving the club with her one night.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR - BIRTHSTONE

  He sat inside the blue Mazda parked outside Carl Stowe’s house, looking at his watch. The phone call he’d made pretending to be a wrong number twenty minutes earlier before he left had assured him Stowe was in.

  11pm, Carl was probably watching the television or doing something on the internet. Maybe he was looking at pornography? He was single after all, the perennial bachelor. A succession of girlfriends and one failed marriage behind him. Not much had changed then. Even at school he’d always aspired to be a ladies man. No kids. No one to love him, whatever that meant, wasn’t that what they always said? Well, apart from his parents. Even so he wouldn’t be missed, much.

  Perhaps he was even working, though that was unlikely. When you’d led a life of privilege like Carl had, where wealth was as plentiful as the air you breathed, then working overtime when you didn’t need to was simply unnecessary.

  And Carl had had it all hadn’t he? Had everything that any man could ever desire, ever ask for. Even her. Sally. His left eye began to twitch. Well now Stowe would learn that eventually everyone had to pay the price. Even money and privilege couldn’t insulate you against the only certainty in life if it was determined to single you out.

  Opening the door, he slid out, planting a foot on the pavement and using the car door to pull himself to an upright position. Clicking the door shut silently, he patted his pocket as he made his way to the front door. This one was going to be rather enjoyable. And it had been a long time coming.

  He bit his lip hard, remembering. The salty taste of his blood reminded him of the taste that had flooded his mouth that night.

  “I’m not like that. I’m not a lesbo you know.”

  “But I thought you understood…” his voice trailed off and he bit down on his lower lip hard, his incisor breaking the thin skin, a bead of blood oozing out.

  “Understood what?” She looked at him confused, her beautiful features creased into a frown.

  “Wh…what I told you? About me. I thought, I thought you understood. That I wasn’…that I’m not a woman. That I should have been born a guy. That as soon as I can I’m gonna do something about it.” Giggling she looked at him, raising her eyebrows.

  “Whatcha gonna do about it, grow a schlong?”

  The humiliation coursed through his system at the words and he felt his cheeks burning.

  “No, but, well there’s things you can do,” he blurted out, embarrassed now, the tears pricking his eyes.

  “Things you can do? To get a cock?”

  “No, well, yeah, kind of but not just that. Other things, to look more masculine. So I’d look on the outside more like I feel on the inside. I thought you understood, you said you didn’t mind that I wasn’t born a boy when I told you…” She shot him a pitying look.

  “I was just saying that cos I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. Look, I know you like girls, that’s cool, no one gives a shit and if they do they’re lamos and they can fuck right off.”

  “So you don’t mind then?” He looked at her hopefully.

  “Look Louise, what we did it, was fun, while it lasted. But you’re never gonna be a boy and you’re never gonna have a cock and I like boys, real boys. More than I like girls, a lot more. I’m not saying I never would, just I know what I like.” The pain coursing through him was unbearable, it felt like someone had a hold of his guts and was twisting them.

  “Would you have dated me if I had a dick, if I looked more like most guys? Could you love me even?” Sighing, she rolled her eyes.

  “Look I dunno alright? All I know is I like Carl a lot, and he’s a boy and that’s how I feel. I don’t mean to make you feel bad that’s just the way it is. I can’t help who I’m attracted too.”

  “But you seemed to like it when we did stuff together?”

  “Yeah, it was fun alright. But it’s over now definitely, it has to be. If Carl found out, he might be,” she paused, as if she were unsure of whether to say the words,, “put off a bit,” she blurted out, chewing her lip after as if she felt slightly guilty about what had been said.

  “I thought you said no one should give a shit and if they did they were lamos?” She pulled a face.

  “Yeah but it’s different when a guy likes you. You don’t wanna do anything that might make him think you’re a lesbo. Guys don’t want to sleep with lesbians.”

  “Some of them do. Some of them get off on it. And anyway, you’re not a lesbian if I’m not a girl.”

  He remembered how Mayes had teased him when he’d caught him staring at Marietta in the year above. How he’d wanted to know what it was like to be attracted to girls when you were a girl. Except Mayes hadn’t known that he wasn’t a girl, not really. No one at school knew. No one in the world knew except his mother and that was only because she’d found the diary. No one knew except Sally.

  “Well Carl doesn’t. And I don’t want him thinking I’m a lesbian alright.”

  “But if I’m a guy that wouldn’t make you a lesbian. And I am a guy I just told you that for the eightieth time.” She looked at him witheringly.

  “Louise you’re not a guy. Come on be realistic. Can’t you just like be like one of those diesel dykes that drives a truck and be done with it already?”

  “You liked it when we-”

  “Look shut the fuck up about that alright? That was a handful of times, it didn’t even mean anything to me,” she said spitting the words out, as he shrunk from her fury.

  “I wish I’d never fucking done it actually if you’re going to start going all bunny boiler on me. And I definitely don’t want Carl finding out about it.”

  Carl. Carl was the one that had taken her from him all those years ago. Raising his hand to the doo
r he pressed the bell. He heard footsteps coming from inside the house, they sounded like they were coming from somewhere upstairs . So Stowe was in. Good. His fingers curled round the handle of the knife. This one was going to feel really good. Like justice. The footsteps grew louder, turning into heavy muffled slaps, as they approached.

  It’s nearly the end of your life Stowe, do you have any awareness at all? Peering through the small square glass panel, he saw the figure coming up the hallway, blurred behind the safety glass. Nearly here. Come and play with me.

  The figure reached the door, and he heard the rattle of the chain being slid back. Stowe obviously wasn’t too worried about late night intruders. A click, that must be the lock. Slowly the door opened and Stowe poked his head around it.

  “Hello?” He hadn’t bothered to disguise his face for this one. After all there had hardly been the need. He stepped into the light.

  “Mr Stowe?”

  “Y…yes? Who are you?” He flashed the badge at him. Stowe visibly relaxed. That old trick. Never failed.

  “I thought you should know someone reported an intruder hanging round the outside of your property. Over there,” he said, pointing to thewindow that was open at the side of the house. Stowe scowled.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, one of the residents who lives just across the street reported it. Apparently it’s been a real problem around here lately. I’m just warning everyone to secure their properties. Been a spate of break ins recently and always better to be safe rather than sorry,” he said, smiling at the man reassuringly.

  Stowe opened the door wider to see the window he was pointing at.

  Surprise motherfucker. Lunging forward, he pulled the knife out of his pocket with his right, shoving the man hard with his left, and causing him to land on his back in the hallway of the house. Stowe saw the wink of the blade, and panicking, tried to get to his feet.

  Pushing him down again, he kicked hard him in the windpipe. Gasping, Stowe tried to hold on to his foot but he managed to shake him free, kicking him hard in the face. Stowe’s head snapped back, as stunned, he fell backward again.