The new venue was much livelier and with talking in a large gathering hard to maintain over the thumping music, people had started to split into smaller groups, with the main focus being on consuming shots of spirits and bothering the women who were occupying the dance floor. What Jack liked least of all was that the majority of the people there seemed to be the new Freshers for the University of Kent. The fact that the local university was already underway was even more of an indication to him that it was high time he moved on, not just from this bar but his home town altogether.
Jack slipped away unnoticed. Any more alcohol would be a bad idea, especially when he had a long car journey in the morning.
But although he managed to leave the venue without any of his so-called friends succeeding in preventing him, he didn’t go straight home. Without the fear of having to consume any more drinks, Jack could enjoy his current level of intoxication. As desperate as he was to make the leap to the next phase in his life, there was a certain apprehension about moving to another part of the country. For many of his friends, alcohol seemed to increase their bravado, causing them to say and do things they would ordinarily be too afraid to. For Jack it was allowing the doubt he had kept buried within to surface. Trying to convince himself it was mere melancholy, he went to say goodbye to the places that held the greatest memories. As he stood outside the café, he felt regret, not for the fact he was sacked and hadn’t managed to raise the sort of money he had hoped would supplement his student loans, but that he had never gone on that date with Emily, the waitress. He knew that starting university would open up a wealth of opportunity, but the summer may have panned out very differently if they had started dating.
Jack passed through the archway of the West Gate and headed for the hill that would lead him up to his old school. It was a walk that he typically resented for its steep incline, but he was enjoying the fresh air and felt that, even if his time there hadn’t ended with the glittering A Levels his promise had shown, it was still worth commemorating this huge influence in his life.
However, passing the garage where Brandt had deposited his knife only served to remind Jack of the part of Canterbury his current destination was trying to avoid. It didn’t matter that he had spent seven years at St. Edmund’s, the spot that held the greatest influence on him was a small side road, just off from the high street; somewhere that Jack must have passed countless times over the years, but only recently had become the most significant place in his entire life.
In that instant, Jack knew the root of the apprehension he was feeling. It was one thing to imagine carrying on Brandt’s work but, as he found out when he went to Whitstable on the day he had completed his last exam, quite another to be able to live up to that ideal. Although his underperformance in his A Levels had necessitated him finding an alternative institution, he knew that living in Nottingham and finding he didn’t have either the courage or the resolve to carry out the tasks he had planned would be torture. At least if he were at Warwick, if he found himself lacking the necessary fortitude, he wouldn’t have to be reminded on a daily basis of his unworthiness.
Having barely managed a few paces past the garage, Jack turned around. He knew what he needed to do if he was going to be able to set off tomorrow with any degree of confidence. What’s more, he now viewed it as entirely essential if he were to be able to settle there without being immediately drawn to testing whether he was capable.
Having made the decision, the main thing troubling Jack was that he didn’t possess a knife and, without going home first, which would add a multitude of other complications, he couldn’t see how he was realistically going to be able to get hold of one. His concern was such that he considered abandoning the whole endeavour, hoping that he would wake up tomorrow and feel differently; being able to chalk this up to the effects of the alcohol and the typical trepidation of leaving the place he grew up in.
But a single thought stopped him from turning tail and slinking back home.
Brandt.
Jack considered the challenges he must have faced, not least when he had needed to flee the country following his attack on DCI Johnson. There must have been many occasions when conditions were not at their optimum, and yet he had always found ways to overcome them. Moreover, to use not having a knife as an excuse to chicken out wasn’t acceptable. It may have been Brandt’s preferred weapon, but neither of his killings in Spain had involved a blade. He had used his hands to strangle his victims and there was an argument to suggest that this had shown an evolution in his methods where he felt comfortable to use a more intimate approach. It would be a bold step for Jack, given his relative inexperience, but if the whole purpose of this was to demonstrate his capability, then its success would be all the more meaningful.
Realising he could spend the whole night stood there debating the best thing to do, he set off back the way he had come. Jack had considered many times the route Brandt would have taken from where he killed the girl. It would have been as direct as possible, whilst avoiding the CCTV cameras positioned in the city centre. When his identity was revealed, and it transpired he lived nowhere near Canterbury, Jack assumed that he didn’t have local knowledge and so settled on a path he felt most logical under those circumstances. Jack had retraced the assumed route, the sense of being out of his depth which had marred the experience in Whitstable lessening with each step. There were many ways in which his actions could lead to him being caught, but using the same location as Brandt was much more than merely honouring what he had done. The knowledge that he had escaped detection for his actions there, removed some of the variables that had been such a concern with Jack’s first killing. Furthermore, if tonight were to prove a success, this could be a blueprint for Nottingham, where Jack could gradually feel his way towards filling Brandt’s shoes by using the relative safety of replicating his initial murders.
Walking down the residential road, with only the odd noise drifting over from the high street and the occasional babble from a television escaping through an open window, now more than ever Jack understood why Brandt had chosen this location. It struck the perfect balance between being somewhere secluded and a place where there were likely to be passers-by. However, whilst the darkness and time of night aided the former, Brandt might have had a number of people to choose from, whereas Jack had none. It had not occurred to him once on the journey there that he may arrive to find himself presented with no potential targets. He cursed himself for drinking quite so much that he had dulled his senses, but as much as this offered an unwelcome challenge, he’d come too far to abandon his plan now. This was something that simply had to be done.
Jack slowed his pace to enable him time to consider his options, of which he believed there to be two. He could either pick a looping route that would continue to avoid CCTV and see him pass here every five minutes or so, or he could try and find a place to hide out until a suitable victim came by. With the bars in Canterbury being as busy as they were, it was just a matter of time until someone came home this way, but he didn’t know how many loops he would need to make until that happened. It would only require one resident to notice him passing for a second occasion for them to potentially remember enough of his description for the police to be able to track him down. Therefore, it was better for him to wait somewhere. Ironically the best place would be somewhere that, were he to be spotted, would arouse the most suspicion. Waiting in the street wouldn’t cause one of the neighbours to contact the authorities until after he had committed his crime, but lurking in a car port or one of the few garages would reduce the chance of him being seen and, crucially, if he was, his dubious whereabouts would lead to him being challenged before he settled on a target.
Glancing around to make sure no one had installed their own cameras since Brandt’s visit, he found a covered spot behind some wheelie bins and sat on the tarmac to wait. It didn’t take long before he heard footsteps and he resisted the urge to emerge from his hiding position to see who they belonged to. He b
ecame convinced that the sound was from a single pair of shoes, but an accompanying voice caused him to hesitate. Between the gap in the bins he saw the man walk past, his mobile telephone pressed to his ear, a woman audible on the other end of the line. Jack knew that he still had time to come out and strike whilst the man was distracted, but he was reluctant. Jack was undoubtedly strong but what if the man was able to wriggle free or, worse still, beat him off and leave him unable to escape before the police got there? He would only be charged for an attempted robbery but there was a chance his fingerprints or DNA had been left on his victim in Whitstable.
Settling back down, he reasoned it was far safer to wait for a woman and he liked the fact that, considering the absence of a knife, it would at least provide some similarity with what Brandt had achieved.
Jack spent the next hour huddled behind the bins, becoming increasingly cold; during which people passed on four occasions. Twice he was encouraged by the sound of a woman’s voice; both times their hoydenish laughter being carried to him on the still night air. But in each instance, it became clear they were not alone, and he was forced to wait for the next opportunity.
He heard the distinctive sound of high heels clipping along the pavement. They were approaching slowly, but their irregular beat caused Jack to think they might belong to more than one pair of feet. The sound that began to accompany them, a murmur at first, seemed confirmation. As Jack contracted himself to become as small as possible, a scraping sound followed by a thud and a giggle caused him to re-evaluate what he had heard. Daring himself to risk a look, he stood up and peered around the corner.
A lone woman was struggling to regain her feet following a fall. If what Jack had overheard before wasn’t enough to suggest she was inebriated, the short dress that was currently riding up around her midriff and displaying a black lace G-string underneath, established she was returning from a night on the town. He had to act now, before anyone else came along; this representing the best opportunity he was likely to receive that night.
‘Hey… you!’ she hollered drunkenly.
Jack could feel a prickle of fear sweep across his skin, causing his flesh to come out in goose bumps. He wasn’t so much concerned that she had spotted him, but more that someone in one of the houses may have heard her and was about to switch on a light. A nervous glance around as he approached her seemed to suggest otherwise. Even if the residents had heard the fall that preceded her calling to him, they were probably used to such antics late at night and had learned to tune them out.
‘Can I help you up?’ he whispered, hoping that his apparent desire to be of assistance would prevent the woman from recoiling at his advance. Bathed under the orange glow of the sodium street light, he could see that under the smeared make up and, despite the unfortunate crust of vomit to the right of her mouth, she was attractive. A little old perhaps for Jack but, with her long brown hair and curvaceous figure, appealing nonetheless.
As she looked up at him with dark eyes, glassy and struggling to focus, he reached out as though to help her up, diverting his hands to her throat at the very last moment. His application of pressure was not met with the immediate resistance he had anticipated, and it took a few seconds for her brain to register what was happening. The resultant flailing of arms and kicking out of legs appeared alarmingly loud to Jack, but there was no turning back, especially as her movements did not threaten to dislodge him.
The whole process was much quicker than he expected, but with the woman now hanging limp from his grip and her tongue lolling lifelessly from her mouth, he still clung on just to make certain. He wasn’t sure whether it felt quite as dramatic as seeing the man’s blood fly from his chest on the beach, but he knew then that his thirst for death had merely remained dormant for a while, and even after tonight would never entirely go away.
Noise in the distance caused him to finally release the woman and she slumped awkwardly back onto the pavement where he had found her. He allowed himself a final scan of the surrounding houses to ensure that no one had witnessed his actions before slipping quietly away in the direction he had come.
Chapter Eleven
‘Well, obviously it’s not Brandt but I really don’t like where it is,’ DCI Marlowe said thoughtfully.
‘Do you think it might be a copycat?’ DC Stepford asked, unable to hide the enthusiasm in his voice.
Marlowe got up and walked slowly to her office door, slamming it shut. She waited until the silence became so uncomfortable that Stepford turned to face her. ‘I don’t want to hear any of that shit, either from you or the rest of the guys. It’s bad enough what the press are going to make of this without you feeding them stuff that’s going to put them into a frenzy.’
‘But, ma’am,’ he pleaded, still reeling from the uncharacteristic rebuke. ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s all a bit odd.’
‘Yes, as I said the location is disturbing and, before you ask, I am going to phone Nottingham so they are aware but, even if there weren’t any clear distinctions between the crimes, the last thing we need is to blow this out of all proportion.’
‘Look,’ she said, unable to avoid the sigh that accompanied it. ‘You’re doing a good job out there and I don’t want you to stop looking for inferences and patterns. What I’m saying is that we cannot allow anything to cloud our objectivity. Am I making sense?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he nodded.
‘Whilst I don’t want us to rule anything out at this stage, it would be wrong to jump to any conclusions just yet.’
‘Agreed. I suppose it might be her boyfriend unhappy about her flirting with other guys when they were out,’ Stepford offered.
‘Exactly,’ Marlowe replied with false enthusiasm. Not only did she not believe in coincidences, but she also didn’t like the unintended implication that this poor woman somehow did something to provoke it. It was one thing for the smug lawyers to be always searching for mitigating circumstances when they had a suspect bang to rights, but she didn’t like her own team allowing their misogynistic attitudes to guide their lines of enquiry. Just because a woman chose to go out in a short skirt doesn’t mean there is any sense of promiscuity. However, she did have to admit that most attacks against women were committed by someone they knew.
DC Stepford remained motionless with an expectant look on his face.
‘So if you could look into that…’
‘Oh yeah, of course, ma’am,’ he said, having got the hint and now retreating back to his own desk.
With her door shut again, Marlowe lifted the receiver but then put it back down. She needed to work out what she was going to say first. The last thing she wanted to do was cause any alarm, especially when they still knew so little about what had happened, but she knew from experience that it didn’t pay to delay the inevitable.
‘This is DCI Marlowe from the Canterbury Constabulary, can you put me through to DCI Johnson, please?’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am, DCI Johnson is currently… currently on leave at the moment. Can I put you through to the person who is leading her cases at the moment?’
This revelation came as something of a shock. Naturally Marlowe had heard of what had happened to Johnson, but she had met her and saw in her the same steely determination that had driven her own career. And from the uncertain response she had received, it didn’t sound as though she were merely taking an overdue holiday.
‘Ma’am, are you still there?’
‘Yes, yes, just put me through to whoever then, please.’
‘Yes, hello?’ came the impatient response after a short time on hold.
‘Hi, this is DCI Marlowe from Canterbury. To whom am I speaking?’ She was sure her introduction would elicit a warmer tone now.
‘DI Fisher, what is it you want?’
Covering for Johnson or not, she out ranked this guy and was irked by his continued brusqueness. She had two choices. There was the strong temptation to immediately slap him down, but she didn’t know who this DI Fisher was. Therefore, s
he would go with the other, more subtle and pernicious option which was to feed his impatience by being slow to come to the point. That way he would have to backtrack of his own volition when she finally dangled something of interest in front of him.
‘You may recall we had reason to combine our efforts a few months ago following an incident here.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’
‘Okay, sure, well, clearly things have changed now that the perpetrator is no longer at large.’
‘Yes. Clearly.’
‘However, it would be remiss of me not to inform you of something that happened here overnight that, whilst unrelated, may be of interest.’
The awkward silence that followed suggested this DI Fisher was going to prove a harder nut to crack.
‘Something that bears similar hallmarks.’
‘Look, just spit it out. We’re all very busy here even if you lot aren’t.’
That was it, enough messing about. ‘Now you listen to me, Detective,’ she left a deliberate pause to emphasise that, unlike her own title, there was not going to be anything to prefix the word that was coming next. ‘…Inspector. I have no doubt you’re busy, especially as you try and fill the shoes of someone far more capable than you are.’ She stopped for a moment to see whether he would choose to argue back and allowed herself a brief smile when it was clear that he was too stunned by her sudden change of tone to do so. ‘I can assure you we’re very busy here as we deal with the aftermath of a brutal murder. Now I am ringing you purely out of courtesy,’ Marlowe took delight in carefully sounding out each syllable. ‘The murder here last night is at the same location as Brandt’s. There is nothing at this stage to suggest this is more than an unfortunate coincidence, but I wanted to share this with you nonetheless. I’ll have my DI send over the relevant details.’
Smoke and Mirrors Page 5