Only the Dead

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  Cyril returned to his office, leaving a note for one of the team to contact the corpse’s doctor with specific reference to cardiomyopathy. He then strolled through to the incident room to check the progress on both fronts. Liz was working.

  “There’s been nothing now for a few days, Liz. Do you think your man has done what he set out to do?”

  “Could have but my guess is that the last game he played, which I guess to him was away from home, was a little more difficult than he imagined. He probably knows that he has made a few errors and that he’s left some evidence. It’s given him a little fright. If a man pops his head over the parapet and gets it shot at, Sir, he usually puts it back down and waits a while; he might even move to a different parapet.”

  “Interesting analogy, what brought that on?”

  “What do you make of the fact that two of the three victims heard a whistle just before the attack and that other witnesses have supported that claim. A lady in the loo at The Lowry said that she heard a whistle sound and thought it was the start of the performance but I’m assured by the theatre that they don’t use a whistle. Remember we’re dealing with World War One chemicals here, and if I remember correctly, before the troops went into battle over the top the officer blew a whistle. Why would these three attacks link to Belgium, France or the war? I see no sense as yet unless, of course, it’s all a smoke screen,”

  She raised her shoulders and spread her hands.

  “By the way, Owen has added some info there and asked me to make sure everyone sees it.” She pointed to the section on the second white board before carrying on with her work.

  Cyril, confused by the whistle, read the details highlighted.

  Phillip Jarvis has for the past number of years travelled within Sierra Leone, Liberia and other African states under the name Phillip Malraux. Apparently, he still has a European passport in that name. He’s been responsible for the placement of teachers with the charity ‘Foreign Teaching and Educational Development’. This is a charity group focussed primarily on the establishment of independent, teacher training colleges. He has also been involved with bringing foreign students to France.

  “Sierra Leone, foreign students, Malraux, he’s even taken his father’s name again. Let’s hope his benevolence is charitable and not like his father’s,” he said out loud.

  “Sorry, Sir, didn’t catch that,” Liz called, looking up from the computer screen.

  “Nothing, Liz. It’s nothing. I was just thinking out loud. Thanks for that.”

  Cyril inhaled the menthol vapour and tapped Whistle Blower into Google out of pure curiosity.

  The term ‘whistle-blower’ comes from the whistle a referee uses to indicate illegal or foul play. US civic activist Ralph Nadar coined the phrase in the early 1970’s to avoid the negative connotations found in other words such as "informers" and "snitches".

  He picked up the phone using the internal system. Liz answered.

  “Liz, just type whistle blower into a search. It may be nothing, but considering all the victims are linked to either the NHS or care profession, our man might be cleverly telling us something if he’s the one with the whistle. As you say, though, it could be a smoke screen.”

  He had just returned the phone when it rang.

  “DCI Bennett.”

  “Sir, checked with Eric Johnson’s doctor. He reports that he hasn’t seen him for years. 1986 was the last visit. Must have straightened himself out when Child Protection threatened to remove Trevor into care. Doctor emphasised that excessive drink can be a major, contributing factor to the onset of cardiomyopathy. Considering the quantities he used to consume when the doctor really knew him, he was well on the way, to becoming a diagnosed alcoholic.”

  “So why did the kid remain with him?”

  “I guess he fell out of the system. Pressure of work meant that the Child Protection Officers saw a change for the better in Eric and Trevor was being fed, he was clean and that was that.”

  “Thanks! What about Trevor’s medical history?”

  “He too is known only by his absence in recent years.”

  “Where’s he now?”

  “Still on the psychiatric ward but scrubbed up and eating properly. They’ll be starting a detox program which could prove a little distressing. There’s no sign of our delivery boy, nothing. Maybe the report in the local press has sent him to ground. It’s certainly saved him a job and some money.”

  “Good work, Owen. Add it all to the boards when you get in. By the way, I was interested to read the information on Jarvis or is it Malraux now? Have you spoken with the charity?”

  “Sorry Sir only one head and two hands but if you talk to the charity it’s Malraux.” There was, unusually, a degree of resentment in Owen’s tone.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Cyril couldn’t shake the Sierra Leone connection from his mind. He knew he shouldn’t hang a serious thought process on this coincidence; two people, connected so far back, both being co-incidentally involved in the same distant and dangerous country and neither know of the other’s involvement? Did Flint still have some dealings with Phillip? Did he introduce him to the country at some stage? If so, then they must have met again after Phillip left England. What Cyril did know, was that a much more thorough investigation was required. Could he wangle a trip to visit Jarvis in person or would Owen think he was just going away for a dirty, but nice, weekend in Nice? He stopped, added artificial tears to his eye, before beginning to read the pile of outstanding paperwork in his ‘In’ tray.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lawrence sat in the workshop looking at his hands; he just turned them over and over and then glanced at the notice-board. He felt he was now ready for the important one, his raison d'être. After this one, even if everything went wrong, he had received part payment for his mother’s suffering. He breathed and polished his glasses before laying them to one side. Taking a box of contact lenses, he inserted each and blinked focussing on the canary which hopped from one perch to the other. It started to sing, accompanying the now constant buzzing light. Lawrence closed his eyes to let the lenses settle and enjoyed a few minutes before collecting his items. He was looking forward to this very much indeed. He checked his watch, 19:05. He had plenty of time. It was Friday and Friday night was Paula’s night out, usually in the company of her boyfriend.

  Each item was meticulously checked and packed into a small shoulder bag. He then slipped on a new coat and a flat cap. He was determined to alter his appearance from his previous attack at all costs. He knew that there was every chance that someone would have described him, as well as the inevitable CCTV’s having his image. He needed to make himself look older and the last part of his casual disguise was a walking stick.

  ***

  Paula Jones finished her make-up and checked her appearance in the mirror. She glanced at the bedside clock. 19:35. She was meeting Craig on the corner and they were driving to Leeds. She locked the front door, checked it and moved onto the street. Lawrence had been in position for only a few minutes when he saw her close the door. He waited a few more seconds before starting to walk. His stick tapped on the pavement, as he moved as quickly as he dared towards her. He noticed that she was dressed for summer, even though the evenings were a little chilly. That was youth, fashion was more important than practicality.

  She stopped on the corner and checked her watch before looking up and down the road. Lawrence stopped, put on his butcher’s glove over his latex surgical glove and slipped the mask round his neck. He placed the whistle in his mouth before pulling the mask to cover his nose and mouth. Although he breathed through his nose, the whistle made him sound a little wheezy. From his bag he took a note and the phial as he approached the solitary figure. He kept his eyes firmly on his victim. A number of cars passed but none was Craig’s. Paula looked anxiously at her watch again and saw, in her peripheral vision, the elderly man approaching. Something just didn’t sit right. Whether it was his pace for someone needing
a stick or the fact that he was making a direct approach with his head down, she wasn’t sure. She suddenly felt a pang of fear, of real uncertainty. Inadvertently she took two steps backwards whilst looking round in the hope of seeing Craig or someone or something that might be able to help.

  Lawrence’s gloved hand crushed the phial as he neared his victim and he blew a short blast on the whistle. She clearly heard it and turned. To her relief, the man stopped, turned and walked in the opposite direction. It was then that a heavy hand fell on her shoulder and she screamed, a heart rendering scream that frightened Craig. He immediately let her go.

  “That’s some welcome babe, what’s got into you?” Craig spun her round and saw immediately the fear in her eyes change to relief.

  Tears flushed her cheeks and she endeavoured to tell Craig about the man who had approached her just before he had arrived but her breath was caught in her throat.

  “Steady, steady, what’s the matter? You’re OK! Look at me.” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed away the tears. “You’re safe, Babe.”

  “The man, he was coming... and it was all wrong... there was something not right. Did you hear the whistle?”

  Craig nodded. “Yes, just before I turned the corner. Which man came?”

  Craig looked both up and down the road but could not see a man with a walking stick, just a couple walking slowly in their direction.

  “Down there, he turned and went down there!” She pointed in the direction but didn’t turn to look. “Something wasn’t right... I don’t know but there was something...” She took the handkerchief from him and blew her nose.

  “I’ll be one minute.”

  Craig started to run down the road.

  “Don’t. Don’t leave me, Craig!” she screamed, her voice breaking, as fear returned.

  Craig stopped immediately hearing the increased fear in Paula’s shaky voice. He looked but saw no one. He turned and saw Paula sitting on the pavement, sobbing.

  “Come on, get in the car, we need to report this.”

  “I’ll be fine, please Craig I don’t want to see anyone. Let’s just go to mine.”

  Paula stood with Craig’s help and they walked the short distance to Paula’s front door. Craig, all the while, was looking to see if he could locate the man. Once inside she seemed to relax a little but occasionally whimpered as flashbacks swamped her mind.

  “Tell me all and I’ll open a bottle.”

  ***

  Lawrence spat out the whistle into the mask as he frantically looked for a bench, somewhere to sit, some brief haven of safety away from the screaming girl. It was imperative that he go through the procedure of removing the now infected glove as safely as possible. He saw an empty bench just on the edge of the Stray and moved towards it. Carefully, he clutched the butcher’s glove tightly to prevent as much of the viscous fluid as possible from oozing through his fingers. He tucked the walking stick under his arm, removed a bag and placed it over his butcher’s glove. His hands shook. So close, he thought, but you fool, nearly too close to being caught! He was angry with himself for not having assessed the situation more professionally.

  He removed the butcher’s glove containing the sulphur mustard, leaving the latex glove in place. Taking another bag, he double wrapped it. Soon he would be on the move again to ensure that he was as far away as possible from his intended victim, just in case they were to report the incident.

  “So close, just so close,” he said again out loud.

  The adrenalin was pumping and he was quite high. When people approached he looked down, conscious of the mask. He dared not remove it until he was sure that his inner gloves were uncontaminated. His heart rate began to slow and he could now feel the perspiration, wet and cold, under his arms and along his forehead.

  “One more minute, that’s all, just one more minute,” he whispered.

  ***

  Paula sipped the wine and felt a little better, but the image of the man crept back into her head and she started to cry again.

  Craig pulled out his mobile. “I’m calling the cops, as this isn’t like you at all. I’ve never seen you or anyone like this. You’re totally freaked out, Babe; I want to get it checked out.”

  It took twenty minutes before the two uniformed police arrived. Both came and sat with Paula. The WPC spoke as her colleague took notes. He then called it in. Two patrol cars were called to sweep the area after being given Paula’s description of the man. Once they had assured her that a regular patrol would be allocated to her neighbourhood, and assured themselves that Craig would be staying the night, they left. It would be two days before the threat that Craig had reported fell on DS Graydon’s desk.

  ***

  “We spend a bleeding fortune on computers and forensics and yet we can’t put two and bloody two together. This should have been spewed out as a possible link on the day it was filed. So Paula’s guy telephones to say that she felt that she was being stalked or about to be attacked by some old bloke who then stopped in his tracks. The two officers attending say she was genuinely upset. She heard a whistle as he drew closer, as did her boyfriend who was out of sight of both Paula and the suspect. She even hints he might have been wearing some form of mask, for Christ sake, and it takes two days for the report to fall here. We are in the digital age where information moves along fibre optics at the speed of light, this seems to have been attached to a pigeon’s bloody leg.” Liz banged the table. “Anybody want to tell me what else is here staring us in our bright red, embarrassed and incompetent faces?”

  She turned methodically, surveying each officer in turn. It took only seconds but to some it seemed like an age as her anger passed from eye to eye as if apportioning silent blame.

  “I take it that’s a no? She works in a nursing home people; she’s in the caring profession, just like every other victim. I want her in and I want her fella in with her. Today!”

  ***

  Paula had been escorted from the Willow Gate Nursing Home and waited with a WPC in a small but comfortable room. She cradled a polystyrene cup in both hands but made no attempt to drink. The door opened and she looked up. Craig walked in and smiled at her.

  “OK, Babe?” He kissed her head and sat beside her. He took the coffee and sipped it.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Twenty minutes, I wanted to wait for you.” She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about, it’s not your fault. It needs sorting. They obviously think there’s something to investigate and that’s what I think too. You can’t be frightened every time you’re alone or you go out.” He sipped the coffee again.

  The door opened and DS Graydon entered, introducing herself.

  “Thanks for coming in. You know WPC Ash and this is DC Proctor. Just a few questions.”

  They went through the whole story again, checking times and descriptions. Liz wanted to determine whether the man was wearing a mask and gloves. Paula seemed to relax more as the sensitive questioning helped her to remember.

  “There was something strange about him as he approached, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe it was the way he approached. He made a direct line for me and yes I’m fairly sure that he was wearing gloves but one was black and the other was a kind of white, surgical-type glove. His right hand glove was black and shiny, like metal and the hand holding the stick was white. Yes I can see it clearly now.”

  “And the mask?”

  “He tried to keep his head down, that was also unusual, I thought. It made me feel uncomfortable; as if he were hiding, not wanting to be seen,”

  She looked around at everyone present as if trying to make sense of what she was saying or looking for understanding.

  “He... he wore a flat cap and he only looked up briefly. It was then that I saw what looked like a mask. He had a moustache, a large, grey moustache but it too looked as if it were also a mask or disguise. I don’t know. I really don’t. It d
idn’t look right. I was frightened and confused and I’m usually tough, aren’t I Craig? It all happened so fast but like in slow motion. I’m not making sense. I told you we should have said nothing.”

  She looked at Craig and tears filled her eyes.

  Craig gripped her hand. “That’s why I rang. I’ve known her a while now and she behaved totally out of character. Do you think he targeted Paula because she was on her own?”

  “Paula you’re doing just fine. Was there anything else you can remember? Glasses? Limp?”

  “Nothing, no, sorry.”

  Liz would only say that her information had been most useful!

  “Take a good look at Proctor here. Not the best looking copper in the world we could find, but a brilliant officer. You’ll see him about for the next few days as he’s going to be keeping an eye out. Also, you’ll probably not notice but a number of plain police cars will be operating in your area. I’m grateful that you both could come in. Just before you go, please look at these images. I know that they’re not the best quality but I’d just like to know if this could be the chap you saw.”

  Paula and Craig looked at the images, then at each other, wondering if either of them had recognised anything but they both shook their heads.

  “As I said, not the best pictures in the world. Thank you.”

  Liz and Proctor left the room, leaving the WPC to see the couple out of the building.

  ***

  The morning briefing was called early in light of the developments. Liz went through the statement made by Paula and her boyfriend. Her eyes checked each police officer in front of her.

  “She was one lucky young lady! I believe it was our man and from all accounts, the whistle, mask and gloves are a definite part of the attack. I’ve allocated resources to trace where these masks can be found but they are, as you all know, readily available from DIY stores, surgical suppliers and the inevitable plethora of internet outlets. We’ve also spoken with the Health and Safety Executive and reviewed the documents related to COSHH, (Control of Substances Hazardous to Health). Our man would need a number of specialised pieces of clothing and DC Park is looking into possible sources, but common sense tells us our man may well be in the trade. The simple fact that he has handled the stuff on four occasions and isn’t a victim, tells us he’s competent. We’re searching local industry dealing with any chemicals from fertilisers to cleaning and dry cleaning businesses, there’s a list.” Liz pointed to it on the third white board. “Remember too, if he uses this stuff then he has to dispose of it. Nothing has turned up from previous searches so it can be assumed it’s either stored or disposed of. He’s not fly-tipping it! My gut feeling says he’ll not go after Paula again, but...”