by M A Comley
“Are you listening to me, John?” The girl’s voice suddenly rose, not for the first time that evening.
“Don’t I always?”
“No! You don’t.” She punched the top of his arm, shoved her handbag under her arm, and ran out of the pub.
Scott’s brain worked through the gears. He downed the last third of his pint as he watched the man approach the bar and high-five his four mates standing there. “Barman, another round of drinks here. We’re celebrating.”
The barman nodded and poured five pints of lager, which he placed on the bar in front of the group. John raised his glass in a toast. “To freedom, boys. Sup up, and we’ll move on to the nightclub to pick up another unsuspecting victim or two.”
The group laughed riotously, and Scott slipped out of the pub then dashed across the car park to his vehicle. Scanning his immediate surroundings for the girl, he was surprised to see that she had already left the area. He jumped in his car and set off. Where would I head for if I’d just split up with my partner?
He exited the car park and checked his speed, determined that his eagerness wouldn’t be his downfall. He drove down one of the smaller roads close to the pub. When he didn’t find her, he retraced his route back to the pub. Then he decided to take the main road. Finally, he found her sitting on a bench near a bus stop. Resting her chin on her clenched fist, she appeared to be deep in thought.
He pulled up alongside her, looking around him cautiously, making sure no one saw him approach the girl. He threw open the passenger door and called out, “Hey, do you want a lift?”
The girl scratched her head, confused, and pointed at her chest. “Who? Me?”
“Yes. Sorry, I don’t make a habit of picking up strangers in the street, I assure you. I was in the pub and saw what went on. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay after your little contretemps with your fella.”
“Oh, thanks! That’s very kind of you. I’m waiting for the bus, but have no idea how often they run, to be honest. I haven’t used public transport for years. Do they even run at this time of night?”
He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. Jump in. I’ll drop you off anywhere you like.”
“Are you sure?” she asked after a few seconds of hesitation.
“Of course. It’s not safe being out here on the streets at this time of night. If I drove off and left you, then read about your murder in the paper in the next few days, I’d never be able to forgive myself for not forcing you to come with me for your own safety.”
The girl’s eyes widened as his words sank in. She rushed forward and hopped in beside him.
He smiled, beaming from ear to ear, and held out his hand for her to shake. “Scott Taylor at your service.” Up close, he realised that she was older than she had first seemed. He would need to have all his wits about him to tackle this one.
She giggled briefly and shook his hand. “Tracy Brand. Nice to meet you, Scott. I really appreciate you giving me a lift.”
“Right, where to?”
“Gosh, I don’t really know. I told my flatmate that I would be out all night. I had planned on staying over at John’s house before…”
“Your flatmate won’t mind you going home, surely?”
“She has a new boyfriend staying over. I said I’d give them a bit of space, you know?”
“I understand. Well, I’m not from around here, just here for the weekend. I stay in a motel. You’re welcome to spend the night on the couch in my room if you’re desperate.” He left the suggestion dangling without pushing her at all for an answer.
After a while, she nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure? That’ll be twice you’ve saved me tonight. Not sure how I’ll be able to thank you.” A shyness descended, and she looked out of the side window as Scott drove off.
“Nonsense. It’s an honour and a privilege to come to the aid of a beautiful damsel in distress. I’d much rather take you under my wing than leave you out here alone with all sorts of nutters running around on the loose.”
“Thank you. You’re so kind. Where are you from?”
He thought quickly. “Devon.”
“Oh, what part? I used to go on holiday to Torquay with my folks when I was a kid.” After a deep sigh, she added, “They’re both in a care home now. Mum has Parkinson’s Disease and Dad Alzheimer’s.”
“How sad. I’m sorry to hear that. I used to live in Dawlish, just along the coast from there.”
The car fell silent until Scott pulled into what appeared to be a privately run motel’s car park. “I won’t be long. I’ll go in to collect the key.”
Returning from the reception office, he found the woman outside the car, resting against the passenger door.
He held the key up and jangled it in his hand. “We’re hot to rock.” Feeling nervous all of a sudden, he didn’t have a clue where that saying had come from.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I think I will go back home and face the wrath of my flatmate after all.”
“No! I mean, what’s the point in falling out with her for weeks on end over a silly incident that could be simply averted?” He held up his hands. “I promise not to lay a hand on you. I’m even willing to give up my bed for you. How’s that?”
His heart skipped a few beats while he awaited her decision. Eventually, she nodded and smiled at him. “What the heck. You’re right, anything for a quiet life regarding Jill. She does tend to like hearing the sound of her own voice sometimes. Okay, I’ll do this on the proviso there is no funny business. Any sign of that, and I’m out of here. Got it? I’d get my own room if I could afford it.”
He crossed his heart with an extended finger. “There’s no need to go to that expense. I swear. It’s the room at the end.” Scott opened the door to reveal a small, sparsely decorated room. The room consisted of a double bed, a two-seater sofa, and a small dressing table and stool. On top of the table was a tray laden with tea and coffee-making facilities. “Fancy a coffee?”
She shrugged. “Why not?” Then she placed her handbag on the floor and flopped onto the end of the bed. “Do you always stay here when you’re in the area?”
“Now and again. Depends what calls I have to make the following day and if they’re local or not. Sugar?”
“One, thanks. What do you do?”
“I’m a… don’t laugh, underwear rep.”
She burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. Underwear as in lingerie or the type Bridget Jones likes to wear?”
He finished making the drink then handed her a cup and saucer. “Definitely the former. The sexier, the better for girls nowadays.”
Her cheeks flared up.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. That’s why I tend not to tell folks what I do for a living.”
“Oh! What do you usually say then?”
“That I’m a double-glazing rep. I generally get bombarded with light-hearted abuse when I divulge that.”
She chuckled. “Now that, I can believe. Do you get a lot of free samples to take home to your wife? You are married, I take it, a good-looking guy like you.”
He turned away from her and took a sip of his drink to contemplate his answer. “I was. She just couldn’t get used to me staying away from home five days a week. We’re going through a divorce right now.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Could you not try and get a job closer to home? That is, if you want to save your marriage?”
“We talked about it. I told her that I’d be willing to jack this job in, just to remain married, but she said it was too late and that she’d fallen out of love with me.”
Tracy sipped her coffee. “That’s such a shame. It’s a bit like my situation with John. I think our relationship is drawing to a close if tonight’s outburst is anything to go by.”
“Have you been together long?”
“Just over two years, on and off. I think we’ve spent more time apart than together in that time. I know he uses me.
”
“No! Really? For sex?”
She stared down at the cup she was holding and gulped. “Yes. Isn’t that the way all men think? With their dicks?”
Scott had just taken a drink, and he sprayed it across the room. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, he apologised. “Crap! I never expected you to say that. Do you really think that’s true?”
“Of course. Don’t you? Especially nowadays. Don’t you think people have reverted to the hippie era? You know, free love or ‘putting it around,’ as I call it?”
Scott hesitated answering; he had to think fast. Maybe you’ve made a huge mistake, buster. Perhaps this girl doesn’t spread her legs for all and sundry after all.
She coughed to gain his attention. “Hello? Penny for them?”
“I was just thinking thoroughly before I actually delivered my answer. I’m not really sure. Maybe it has been a while since I was around the dating circuit to notice. The trouble is when you’re married you feel safe, wrapped up in your own little cocoon. If you get what I mean?”
“I suppose so. Having never been married, it’s hard for me to comment on that. Do you have kids?”
Her question flummoxed him. A picture of his son filled his mind, causing him to doubt his plans. The conversation was becoming far too personal for his liking. He plucked a question of his own out of the air. “And what do you do for a living, Tracy?”
Her cheeks puffed when she blew out a long, dissatisfied breath. “I’m a petrol attendant. I work for the local Esso garage. Hate it with a passion. I only do it because it pays the bills.”
“You should aim higher in life. God loves a trier, as they say. All too often, people are just willing to plod on in this life. That’s not for me.”
She laughed. “Spoken like a true underwear rep.”
His rage sparked in his gut—he hated it when folks mocked him. He had ambitions of being a millionaire and raising his family in a huge mansion overlooking the Broads. She had no right to mock him. He placed his cup on the dressing table and excused himself. He closed the bathroom door behind him and studied his reflection in the mirror. His eyes darkened along with his thoughts of what he was going to do to that woman. Up until she had mocked him, he’d had serious doubts about going through with his plans, but her dumb remark had put paid to that. He slipped his hand into the overnight bag he’d placed in the bathroom earlier and pulled out the knife he’d stashed away in a secret pocket. He played with the knife, twisting it, and shuddered when the light caught the blade, catching his reflection in the steel. Scott had to suppress the urge to let out a Vincent Price-type laugh that he’d witnessed when his parents had allowed him to stay up on Saturday nights to watch the double-horror-film package on TV. Perhaps those days had initiated his lust for murder. He hadn’t really thought about that before.
Scott placed the knife in his trouser pocket, quietly opened the door, and peeped into the room. Tracy had put down her cup and was stretched out on the bed. Is she giving me the come-on? Or is she prick-teasing, like all the others? He forced himself to smile. “Made yourself comfortable, I see.”
She shot up and swung her legs off the bed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ll take the sofa.”
She replaced her legs on the bed and looked at him shyly. “We could share.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t mean to suggest any kind of funny business. If I keep my clothes on all night, what’s the harm in sharing? I’m not likely to tell anyone. Are you?”
“No. Okay, that’s fine by me.”
She patted the bed, inviting him to join her. He pretended to drop something and bent down beside the bed, where he removed the blade from his pocket and slipped it under the bed for later. They chatted for the next hour or so, his anger ebbing in and out as she told him more about her sad and lonely life. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep. He leaned over her, resisting the temptation to kiss her. Finally, he gingerly reached under the bed and withdrew the knife. The first cut was tinged with a mixture of emotions. He covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming as he inserted the knife over and over again, sometimes viciously and at others with the gentleness of a caring lover. Either way, he watched as the life disappeared from her eyes and her arms and legs stopped thrashing.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sally kissed her mother goodbye, made a quick fuss of Dex then headed off to work. The drive took her through wide-open countryside that sparkled like coloured jewels under the sun’s early rays. She loved this part of the country and would never have dreamed of living anywhere else in the UK—that had always been a stumbling block in her marriage to Darryl. He had wanted to live down south, in London, where he could live the high life more suitable for a pilot’s image. He even ordered Sally at one point to look into leaving the Norfolk Constabulary and joining the Met, but her friend Lorne Warner had persuaded her to stay where she was if she valued her “quiet life.” In the end, Sally had insisted to Darryl that she loved policing East Anglia and would feel lost in the likes of London, where the far harder types of criminals tended to rule.
Still, even East Anglia had seen its fair share of serial killers over the years—notably the Suffolk Strangler, Steve Wright, not to mention the current case she was working. It was a sign of the times that crime was escalating, and forces, due to the cuts, were struggling to deal with their bulging caseloads. But upping sticks and moving to London had never, and would never, be an option for Sally.
Maybe that was where her marriage had started to go wrong. She had never wanted a life filled with hosting endless fancy dinner parties for all of Darryl’s friends, some snootier than others. She preferred a serene life, at the end of the day. I’m definitely a curl-up-on-the-sofa kind of girl. She shrugged. “And that’s how it’s going to be from now on; I’ll make sure of that. Men are definitely off the agenda for the foreseeable future.”
She pulled into the station car park as Jack arrived. Studying him as he got out of the car, she tried to work out what kind of mood she’d be dealing with during the day. Today, his broad shoulders were pulled back, not slouched, and there were no heavy bags under his eyes, which was also a good sign. “Good morning, Jack. How are things at home?”
He smiled briefly. “Let’s just say that the barricades are down, and all parties are now on speaking terms again. I hate going home to a war zone.”
They walked into the station and went up the stairs. “I don’t know anyone who really enjoys arguing. I certainly don’t. Glad things are working out for you all. Any news if Teresa is keeping the baby or not yet?”
“We’re still discussing it. The thing is, Donna really wants her to keep it.”
“And you’re not so sure?”
“Nope! Mainly because I can sense us taking care of the child more than Teresa will.”
“I would have thought that was a given. I’m sure things will sort themselves out soon.” She patted his arm. “I wonder what lies ahead of us today. At least we know the streets will be safe now that Dorling is locked up.”
“Until the next bloody serial killer surfaces. Once the media start announcing the story, it will spark something in some dumb arse’s brain! And so it continues.”
“You’re right. Still, it keeps us in a job, eh?” Sally agreed with her partner.
After issuing the team their instructions for the day, Sally entered her office and spent the next few hours dealing with a few issues that cropped up in her morning post. Halfway through the morning, Jack walked into the office. “I don’t believe it.”
“What?” Confused, Sally looked up from the form she was about to sign.
“We’ve just heard about another bloody murder.”
Sally leaned back in her chair. “Really? Where?”
“In a motel room. The girl was stabbed repeatedly.”
“Why do I sense there’s more to this story than you’re telling me, Jack?”
He tutted. “Because you know me so well.
There were traces of semen left on the victim, like all the others.”
Sally bounced forward again. “What? That’s impossible! Dorling is tucked up safely in a cell, isn’t he? Have you checked?”
“First thing I did. Yep, he’s still behind bars. Do you think we’re looking at a copycat killer?”
She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t effing know. Maybe the victim was killed a few days ago. Jeez… I suppose we better get over there. Have the pathologist and his team been informed?”
“They’re on their way now.”
“Okay, I have one more important form to fill in, and then we’ll shoot over there.” Sally picked up the form, scanned the page, and threw it back on the desk. “Sod it! It can wait.”
Sally and Jack rushed out of the building and drove to the location. Several cars were already at the scene, including SOCO and the pathologist’s vehicle. The whole car park was cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the motel owner, a man in his late fifties, stood in the reception office window, glowering at them.
“Hello, ma’am,” the PC guarding the motel room greeted her.
“All right, Tim?” Sally smiled at the PC and walked in to find the pathologist examining the body. “Hello, Simon. What have we got?”
“A murder,” he replied in a flash.
Sally groaned and raised her eyes at her partner. “Thanks for clarifying that. Anything I should know about?”
“Why don’t you stop going around the houses and come out and say it, Inspector? You mean, ‘Can this crime be linked to the others?’”
“Yes. I don’t have to remind you that we’ve already arrested a suspect and placed the man on remand for those crimes, do I? Do we know how long she’s been lying here?”
Simon shrugged. “Not long, a few hours. If the accused is behind bars, then in all probability, I think we could be looking at someone being a smartarse and copying.”
“Well, the location is certainly different from what we’ve come to expect. I’ll go and check with the manager, see what info I can get out of him. See you in a mo.”