Smoke and Mirrors

by Denver Murphy

  The stroke of genius had been falling asleep in the chair the night before. He had originally thought he would have to fake it but all the late nights on the internet whilst Mandy slept had taken its toll. When he woke up a little later, she was sufficiently concerned by this apparently unusual behaviour that he confessed he was struggling with sharing the small single bed. It had the desired effect of Mandy suggesting they restrict their sleeping together, although not the sex she was keen to point out, to only a couple of nights in the week. Satisfied, Jack had gone back to his own room where, despite knowing such a big day lay ahead of him, he managed eight hours of uninterrupted, nourishing slumber.

  Nevertheless, it hadn’t just been about getting rest. Jack needed to be left in peace the following morning so he could finish his final preparations. He would be out by the time Mandy would think to knock for him, but he had already taken that into consideration and had hidden in his room a gift for her he was going to claim he had gone into town specifically to buy. That should serve to immediately smooth over any difficulties with his mysterious disappearance and hopefully make sure she was feeling open minded for the kind of sex he anticipated wanting in the euphoria of completing this most challenging of tasks.

  Jack had been anxious to get going as soon as he woke up but had to wait patiently until the appropriate time. It wasn’t that he would be unable to do it any earlier, but it just felt right to arrive at a specific point in the morning. By the time he left his room, the campus was already starting to get busy, but he saw this as good. Today he would be taking more risks than in the rest of his murders put together, and he drew comfort from the fact his initial movements would just seem to blend in with what everyone else was doing that morning.

  Except they nearly didn’t. Just as he rounded the corner from his particular corridor, Mandy was stood at the pigeon holes by the porter’s office, checking her mail. He froze with indecision despite knowing that if she were to turn around at that exact moment, she would spot him. It wouldn’t mean that his plans would have to be cancelled but it would represent a more than unwelcome complication. With each second bringing his girlfriend closer to finishing, he gave himself two choices. He could turn around and work his way out the back of the college or just walk right past her and hope he completed the gauntlet before she noticed him.

  Jack chose the latter. Today was all about being bold and, besides, if he did hear her calling his name from behind him, he could claim he hadn’t spotted her in his sleepy daze and was just popping to the student shop to get some supplies.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed open the double doors and walked into the fresh air. He had made it through unscathed and saw this as a sign that whatever unforeseen challenges might face him whilst completing his work, he was more than capable of meeting them.

  Once safely out of the university grounds, he could block all other considerations from his mind and focus purely on the path ahead. Whereas he fully intended enjoying the act itself, the thing he was most looking forward to was getting the newspaper tomorrow and imagining how proud Brandt would be as he read the same article. Perhaps he would try and make contact with him. Jack understood that Brandt had been quite a formidable detective and although Jack had been careful in covering his tracks, part of him hoped that he had left a clue somewhere that he might follow. Perhaps they could murder someone together? Master and student fulfilling their destiny.

  Heading back to the station felt like something of a pilgrimage for Jack. He might have been living in Nottingham for a number of weeks now, but the last time he had been there was his daytrip during the summer holidays.

  It may have only been a couple of minutes’ walk away from the very centre of the city, a place he had visited a number of times, not just at night to enjoy its bars and clubs but also during the day with Mandy, but he had never been drawn to the station. However, as he exited the Broadmarsh Shopping Centre and could see it further down the road on the left-hand side, it now felt entirely fitting.

  Going there was like completing the circle and his arrival on a Saturday just before 11.45am had been timed to perfection. It was at this exact moment, on the same day of the week in early spring that Brandt had committed his first act. Jack knew from experience how the dump of adrenaline would have heightened the conflicting emotions of excitement and apprehension.

  But Jack felt calm. Unlike Brandt that day, he was now a seasoned killer. Although he knew that his actions would be thrilling, he had learned sufficient control to keep his powder dry until the moment of impact.

  Seeing the sheer number of people in and around the station helped him to understand why Brandt had been unsuccessful. All his other locations had afforded him sufficient time and seclusion to ensure his victims died from their wounds, whereas in the case of Sarah Donovan he’d had just one opportunity; one swift pass to deliver a killing blow.

  Walking slowly along the pavement but at a pace he hoped wouldn’t appear suspicious, Jack wondered what Brandt had made of his own failure. Did it still haunt him that his choice of destination had been too ambitious for his first attempt? Jack imagined it did, but he hoped that his actions today would go some way towards providing his hero with a degree of closure.

  He lightly brushed the outside of his jacket, in the precise spot where he knew the knife would be resting in the lining. It had felt rather special to finally possess the same kind of weapon Brandt had used, but now the blade had been fed with the blood of others, it had taken on a special quality. Jack almost considered it to be alive.

  With mere metres to go until he would arrive at the spot where Sarah Donovan fell, Jack could feel his hand creeping inside his jacket.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The vibration of his phone ringing in his pocket caused DC Hardy to let out a small yelp of surprise. Fortunately, he was not in earshot of another colleague. Glancing around to make sure no one had noticed that the man who was, just a moment ago, casually resting against the wall forming the intersection between the railway station’s sliding doors, was suddenly now alert, he allowed himself a quick glance at the phone’s screen. He avoided the temptation to swear under his breath. It was Johnson. Not that he welcomed any of her calls these days, this one was most inopportune, and he pressed the red reject button before, a moment later, switching off his phone entirely for good measure.

  He couldn’t afford any distractions and needed to remain alert, whilst at the same time not appear to anyone observing him that he was doing anything more than waiting for a companion to arrive.

  ‘Hardy. Report in.’ The command came through the receiver placed in his right ear, with that side of his head kept angled towards the wall.

  ‘Here, guv, nothing to report,’ Hardy responded under his breath with the powerful but tiny microphone just under the lapel of his coat transmitting every word clearly.

  ‘Stay sharp now.’

  He might have taken it as an indication that DI Fisher had seen his recent indiscretion, but he knew it was more likely because 11.45am was approaching. They had been in position all morning, but it seemed fitting that their target would strike around the same time as the other stabbing.

  Hardy’s job, and that of the other undercover officers strategically placed at certain points in and around the station, was becoming increasingly difficult as the crowds of people continued to grow. Unless someone was acting very suspiciously, the chance of them spotting him and intervening before he pounced was slim. The knowledge of this did not sit comfortably with Hardy but he knew it would be of no use going on the radio to share his concern with Fisher. He knew what the response would be, not least because Fisher hated his decisions being questioned, no matter how respectfully and sensitively, but Hardy had already foreseen this problem when the plan had first been formulated. He had spoken to him in private and said that a visible police presence was far more likely to prevent an attack from happening because it would act as a deterrent.

  Fisher hadn’t neede
d to respond, the contempt in his eyes had been enough to tell Hardy he was aware of that but what was the use in stopping something from happening if it didn’t bring them any closer to catching the man they were hunting? That Hardy could see the logic in this didn’t help the disquiet he felt at knowing there was a very real possibility someone was likely to be seriously, perhaps fatally wounded just metres from where he stood.

  ‘IC1 male approaching north entrance. Short dark hair, young, slim build, black jacket, blue jeans.’

  The chatter over the radio had been like this all morning and this must have been the twentieth such call to alert. Hardy recognised the voice and knew that this particular person had been picked up by the officer stationed just outside the bookies. A swift glance at the unkempt man casually smoking outside the shop, seemingly taking a quick break from blowing what little money he had on another horse race or in the slot machines, allowed Hardy to see his lips moving. He followed his line of sight towards the person in his description. One thing was certain, it wasn’t Brandt, and even his slow pace was enough for Hardy to understand why he had been highlighted. The man was young, hardly a man at all really, and young people tended to walk with more purpose. Of course, he might just be particularly early for his train but there was something about his manner that seemed odd.

  Almost straight away Hardy realised what it was. The notion that a person swings their arms in time with their movement is often incorrect in reality. Hardy had seen countless people walking along with their hands rigidly dangling by their sides. But what marked this person out was that his left arm was moving whereas his right wasn’t. Hardy could now see why. The lad was faintly caressing the side of his jacket, as though something special was contained within.

  Under the circumstances, this was enough to alert Hardy to the possibility this could be their target; especially given the time of day it was unfolding. He moved forward, knowing that a single word over the radio would see armed officers emerge from multiple locations within seconds and take this guy down.

  That’s it, Hardy thought to himself as the lad stopped caressing his jacket and began reaching inside. He would need to wait to see what was withdrawn. He needed to be certain that he wasn’t just pulling out his phone or something equally innocent but as soon as he saw that first glimpse of steel he would act – the codeword already on his lips.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  As Jack slowly moved his hand inside his jacket, the temptation to just whip out the knife and start stabbing away indiscriminately was strong. Surely one of the blows would see someone die and allow him to achieve what Brandt had been unable to.

  Instead he withdrew his hand and pulled the jacket’s zip up the remainder of the way to his chin. The wind whipping down Carrington Street had conspired with his slower walking pace to allow the cold of the late autumn day to penetrate his layers of clothing.

  Coming to the station at the correct time had always been part of his plan but only in so much as it marked the start of his true journey. This had been where it had all begun for Brandt, and Jack was going to achieve what he hadn’t managed to, but not by killing some random passer-by in the exact same spot that Brandt had chosen. It wasn’t even as though the playing field would have been level for Jack. He may not have specifically seen any police around the station, but he was sure there would be plain clothes deployed. Brandt had been able to target somewhere so bold because no one had been looking for him at that stage. Jack had missed his chance to kill here as soon as he murdered his first victim in Nottingham. The police may not have been able to catch him so far, but he was certain they would be attempting to anticipate his next move.

  He just hoped to God that his true destination was more ambitious than they could have imagined. It certainly had felt an enormous step up as he had been planning it and it would do far more to impress Brandt than killing a stranger, even if the location would have held some meaning.

  ‘The one who got away,’ he murmured under his breath, jumping into the taxi at the front of the rank. He offered the driver a destination within a short walk of where he was really going, but sufficiently far away that no one would establish the link, and settled back in his seat to allow his body a quick rest before the task ahead.

  Establishing her address had been easier than he thought. He knew her location would be a closely guarded secret given what had happened, and the expectation was confirmed by her social media accounts being locked down on the tightest privacy settings. Jack had expected he would need to find a way to hack in but had been gifted a simpler solution by those who knew her not being nearly as cautious. He supposed he could understand their complacency when they had believed that Brandt was dead, but they hadn’t sought to hide their indiscretion once it was revealed he was still at large.

  Now out of the taxi, and having paid in cash just in case, Jack walked along the road that he would only need to deviate from once to arrive at the destination. The nerves quickly began to set in. The greatest trouble he had found was on deciding which day of the week to carry this out. Not only had Saturday the greatest resonance with the reason why he was doing this, but it was better to find she had gone out for the day than arrive knowing it was highly likely she was still at work.

  As he approached the house, the sight of it provoked a cruel smile. As well as managing a lucky escape, she had clearly landed on her feet. But there was a reason for this: the detached property in which she was currently residing hadn’t been paid for by her own meagre salary.

  He knocked on the door in the manner he had practiced. He didn’t want it to sound like the casual, almost resigned to failure, rap of someone trudging from door to door trying to flog something or convert the occupants to whatever bizarre brand of Christianity floated their boat, and run the risk of it being ignored. He went for the purposeful bash of a harangued delivery driver, paid by the item rather than the hour, and who was liable to lob your precious package over the garden gate if you didn’t open up within five seconds.

  A flicker of movement from behind the frosted glass confirmed to Jack that he was in luck. The question now was who was going to answer. He had planned for either person, as well as how to successfully abort if he could hear the sound of them entertaining guests.

  Good, Plan A then, Jack thought as the door opened to reveal a man. He recognised Josh Ramage from the article the local newspaper had run a few weeks back. Jack had seen it within hours of it being published online, when it had come up as part of his daily routine for searching for anything Brandt related. Sarah Donovan’s personal details might have been locked down, but it seemed Josh was quite the man about town. Naturally Jack hadn’t expected him to be stupid enough to leave his home address lying around, but a trawl through his Instagram posts soon gave him enough photographic evidence to work on. It seemed he was particularly proud of his new company car, a black Mercedes C Class coupe, and had uploaded a photograph of it gleaming on his driveway, much as it was now. From that, Jack had been able to identify the door number and, a few hours later, after spending the intervening time on Google Street View, he matched the image of the house with the relevant street name.

  ‘I have a parcel for Mrs Donovan. Is she in?’

  Josh turned back towards the interior of the house and opened his mouth as if to call his wife. He closed it again upon realising that it was not only strange that he simply wasn’t being asked to sign for the package but, from what he had seen, the man wasn’t holding anything either.

  However, it was too late because Josh’s action had been enough to allow Jack time to withdraw his knife from the jacket. He had planned on driving it into his chest, but Josh’s exposed neck was suddenly all too tempting.

  The slash didn’t open his throat like the movies suggested it should, but the power of the delivery was enough to provoke a spray of arterial blood. Josh instinctively put his hands to the wound and the action was sufficient to allow Jack to bundle him inside and slam the door.

  The
commotion caused Sarah to emerge from the back of the house and Jack had a quick decision to make. Should he take the time to finish the man off or make a grab for her before she had an opportunity to run?

  Instead he did neither. Quickly pulling his right arm around his back in order to conceal the blade, he put on his best concerned face. ‘Mr Donovan, are you alright?’

  Clearly he wasn’t, and the sight of her husband writhing on the floor with blood pouring through his fingers was enough to bring Sarah closer. Jack bent down as if to try and provide assistance and when she copied the motion he sprung up, hauling her to her feet with him.

  With her back pulled into his chest and the knife pressed hard enough against her neck to puncture the skin, he buried his head in her long blonde hair, so his mouth could get close to her ear.

  ‘Where did he stab you?’ Jack panted.

  ‘What?’ Sarah cried out.

  ‘I said, where did he stab you?’ He raised his knee to jab it into her side to indicate what he meant.

  Before Sarah had a chance to answer, Jack could feel his standing leg being pawed at and he yanked her to the side, so he could better see what pathetic endeavour to assist his wife Josh was attempting. With both feet firmly planted on the ground again, he studied with curiosity the dilemma the downed man was facing. He couldn’t helplessly watch as his wife was butchered, but removing his hands from his throat was only speeding up his blood loss and making his own death more certain.

  Jack paused for a moment to consider if he would do the same for Mandy under similar circumstances. He didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting her but was sure his own sense of self-preservation would kick in. However, he remembered reading that the copper had sacrificed himself in order to save Johnson.