by steve higgs
‘Help me how, exactly?’
‘I looked you up last night when I finished my shift. You have a colourful past, but you are solving cases and this one seems right up your alley. Chief Inspector Quinn thought he had solved it yesterday when SOCO found human blood at Jim Butterworth's place. The fool even went on TV last night announcing that he had a man in custody, and he believed the case to be nearly closed. I don't think my lot are going to get to this guy before he does it again, so maybe you can. I can assist with information I guess.'
I let a few seconds of silence pass to see if she would feel the need to fill the lack of void and tell me more. She did.
‘Plus, I have applied for promotion to detective four times and Chief Inspector Quinn knocks me back, or gives me the wrong date for the exam, or somehow always manages to scupper my plans. He is the lead investigator and I want him to fail. If I can help you to find the killer maybe you can let me have the arrest and I can get out of uniform and finally make this into a career.’
I considered what she had said for a moment and then thought about what she had not said. There was a definite undertone. I looked squarely at her eyes and gave her a second to decide if she wanted to hold the gaze or not. When she looked away, I spoke again.
‘Is there some history there with Chief Inspector Quinn?’ I asked the obvious question.
‘You are quite astute, but that is not something I wish to discuss at this time.' No eye contact. She was looking into her cup, reflecting on something. Was he a filth bag that made her skin crawl? Not important at this point.
I put my teacup down, then pushed myself back and up, to sit on the kitchen counter. Electing to leave whatever issue she had with Inspector Quinn to one side, for now, I asked instead for more detail on how I could help her, ‘So, just to be certain I have this right: you want me to help you catch The Vampire because it will further your career and you think I have the necessary skills to achieve that. I feel quite flattered but tell me why I should help you.’
Her eyes snapped up at the question, her face seemingly unsure which emotion to go for and caught between disappointment, anger, and surprise.
‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ I continued, ‘I am not saying no, I just want to hear more detail on what my part in this is and why I should feel motivated to help you. I just realised that I don’t even know your name.’
PC Hotstuff smiled across at me, lighting up my world again as she stepped forward with her hand extended. ‘Amanda Harper,’ she said.
‘Tempest Michaels,’ I replied, letting my hand fall away. Her hand was soft and very warm where it had been gripping the mug of tea. Leaning in to shake her hand was the first time I had touched her. The move brought me close enough that my nose picked up the gentle feminine twang of her perfume, not that I was able to determine what it was, but it smelled exquisite and expensive.
‘Middle name Danger, Isn’t it?’
Oh, that’s right, she had looked me up last night. Super.
‘That’s a story for another time.’ It was my best deflection and one which had occasionally worked so that another time turned out to be in bed. ‘So then, Amanda. Why me and why now?’
‘Because I think you will solve this anyway and I want to ride on your shirt tails. I can assist, I have holiday I can take and use for the next two weeks. I have four days off now anyway due to my shift pattern.’ She was buttering me up for her own gain and I was fine with that. I had no idea why I was resisting because I knew I was going to say yes.
‘Let's go through to my office and discuss this in there.' I hopped off the counter and led her through to what would have been a dining room but served as my home office. I still had a dining table and chairs in the room pushed up against one wall where they were largely forgotten. The walls were dominated by newspaper articles, whiteboards with scrawled theories and post-it notes of varying sizes, colours and ages. At the far end of the room was a patio door at which the dogs were now sat. I let them out. ‘Please feel free to nose about, I am going to put some more substantial clothes on, but won’t be long at all.'
I drained the last of my tea, set the cup on the dining table and headed upstairs. My need to get dressed was driven by the danger of Mr. Wriggly deciding to get up a head of steam and show through my jogging bottoms since I had no restraining underwear on. In the bedroom, I grabbed slacks and a shirt/jumper combination that looked business casual and popped on some shoes. Glancing in the mirror I discovered that my hair was sticking out at every angle.
Perfect.
Momentarily angry at myself for not checking my appearance before opening the door, I thought instead that it spoke volumes about Amanda that she felt no need to say anything, nor stare at it. Then I thought that perhaps she didn’t say anything or stare because she had no interest in me other than as a means for forwarding her career. Chastising myself for thinking at all, I tidied it with a little product and went back down to find her.
‘So, what do you think?’ she asked as I walked back through the door. ‘Are we forming a partnership to get him? I have the inside line on the investigation and can provide details for all the witnesses and families of the victims and will hear about any new developments long before you might otherwise. I can help you with questioning people and stitching together the evidence to lead us to the perp.’ She said perp like she was Judge Dredd and I loved her for it.
Giving myself a mental slap, I pretended to take a few moments to think before replying. ‘Let's give it a few days and see how we go. How does that sound?' I didn't want to appear too keen. ‘I have never had a partner before, a few assistants when I needed extra muscle, but never a partner. This is not a paid investigation. You do understand that, yes? I have not been commissioned and won’t be paid for expenses or anything else while this goes on so there is no reward money, but there are bills to pay.' I let that hang for a moment but started speaking again before she had a chance to, ‘I don't expect you to pay, other than fuel in your car and perhaps snacks if we stakeout. Do you have a site for the murder last night? Can we get access to it?'
‘I was expecting to pay you actually, not that I can afford it, so thank you for not giving me a bill.' Her shoulders seemed to slump a little as if she had been holding her breath and now felt able to finally exhale. ‘The victims were found by a passing motorist at 0400hrs this morning on the B2163 going to Chart Sutton. I don't know much currently other than that there are two victims, a man and a woman and that the M.O. is the same as the other murders. I came pretty much as soon as I found out. One of the other girls gave me a call to say she was heading to the scene. We were meeting later today as she was going to be off shift at breakfast and now won’t.'
That seemed like explanation enough to me. What would I need to do before going out? Did I have enough gear in my car and the house? ‘I need to change my footwear and grab a few bits, but we should get going as soon as we can. Five minutes sound good?'
Crime Scene. Sunday, September 26th 1000hrs
In less than six minutes we were in my car, having elected to take that and not hers because all my gear was already in it. The cab of the Porsche is small, comfy and plush, but definitely small and I brushed her arm every time I changed gear. Her perfume filled the small space. It was a fantastic scent on her, and I had to try not to glance at her despite my brain demanding that I study her face, her hands, the exposed flesh of her neck, the swell of her breasts.
For goodness sake! Concentrate, man.
Thankfully Amanda started speaking which distracted me and probably prevented me from dribbling. ‘With the murders last night, this officially became a serial killer case. Chief Inspector Quinn will be getting pressure from the Superintendent to wrap this up before the National Crime Agency swoop in and cut him out.’
‘Why is it only a serial killer case now? Is that to do with body count thresholds combined with a period that defines it as different to a spree killing?’ I asked.
‘Essentially, ye
s. A serial Killer is only defined as such after the third murder, but it is a specific category with an abundance of writing on the subject. Honestly, once it was defined, it was romanticised almost to the point that it became something to aspire to,' she paused, perhaps noticing that she was beginning to rant, ‘Sorry, I wrote my dissertation on the growth of the serial killer from 1970 – 2000 when reading Criminal Psychology at Uni. Would you believe the number of identified serial killer cases globally increases by one hundred percent every year? There are so many now that they don’t even make the news unless they are truly wacko.'
‘Like our vampire?’
‘Pretty much.’ Amanda lapsed into silence again and before I could think of anything to say we passed a sign announcing our arrival in Chart Sutton.
Chart Sutton is a pleasant enough village, not too far from the lovely village of Leeds with its fabulous castle and grounds. It is a bit too remote for me to want to live there but I imagined the demand for property was high enough to keep the house prices up. The roads mostly empty due to the early hour although there were a few people heading out for weekend pursuits. With little traffic with which to contend, the thirteen-mile journey had taken just over fifteen minutes, the crime scene easy to spot from a long way off even in the poor light of early morning. As we slowed to pull off the road just before all the tents and barrier tape, a police officer jogged across to wave us off. Amanda powered down her window, exchanged a few words and directed me to park along the road, after the screened-off area.
We exited the car with me having to step into the road to get out. Traffic was still light so swinging my door into the lane of oncoming cars was easy enough. I popped the boot open and grabbed my shoulder bag, then hustled after Amanda as she had not waited for me. I caught up to her just before she got under the cordon tape.
‘Will I be allowed free movement here? Or will I need to stay with you?’ I asked.
‘Probably best if you stay outside for now. I will be able to go where I please and should be able to take you with me, but if Chief Inspector Quinn is here, he may cause a problem. Especially after your arrest yesterday.' She turned to me then, perhaps wanting to see what my face was saying about having to wait outside for her to check the coast is clear. ‘Okay?' she asked.
‘Yup. I’ll hang around outside until you have had time to see if our friend is already here.’ It was no problem for me, I was used to not being let into crime scenes. Getting into the tent to see what the killer had done was a new experience. Amanda ducked under the tape and into the tent passing one of her colleagues who gave her a brief nod. He looked across at me with an unreadable expression, then looked away dismissing me.
I took out my notepad and jotted down what I knew.
Five murders over the course of just over two weeks.
Each death (assuming these were the same MO) was the result of a vicious and frenzied attack during which the attacker had bitten a large hole in each victim’s neck. The resulting trauma caused catastrophic blood loss and almost immediate death.
The dead so far had no apparent connection. They were of different races, ages, genders, social groups and lived in different villages.
They were all killed at night or in the early morning.
It occurred to me as I wrote the list that there really was no paranormal connection other than the press had dubbed the killer as The Vampire because of the neck wound. Was that important? No, I decided, it was not because there is no paranormal, just a lot of people willing to believe in it. My primary (and self-appointed) role as a paranormal investigator was to find the ordinary truth behind the mysteries I faced.
So far, I had never had a case that I had not been able to solve by producing a perfectly ordinary criminal acting out as a werewolf or ghoul or whatever for their own gain, or a set of circumstances that explained why the client had convinced themselves they were being haunted or visited by an apparition. In one case, I had a lady that had convinced herself that her late father, a fisherman, had returned and was haunting her house because she could smell him. It turned out her cat had been catching fish from the pond of a neighbour and was eating them under the stairs where a fishy mound of half-eaten bodies was now producing the scent, she thought she recognised. Even after removing the fish carcasses myself and cleaning the area with bleach, she continued to question whether I was sure her father hadn't returned. Paranormal investigation can be quite lucrative, but I often feel that I am robbing people when I prove their case was all in their head.
Amanda reappeared to break my train of thought. ‘Tempest you can come through,' she said, holding the cordon tape up for me to pass easily underneath. ‘It is pretty gruesome though. I hope you have a strong stomach.'
I followed her through the screen flap to the scene beyond. I was not worried about losing the contents of my stomach, it had been hardened against such things a long time ago. Always best to be warned though as I had no desire to vomit in front of the lovely Amanda.
Beyond the screen was the back end of a 2006 Maroon Ford Mondeo. A further screen obscured all but the boot lid and taillights, but as I drew closer, I gained a view of the driver's side back door. It was open and a person in a full forensic suit with mask and gloves was taking pictures of the interior. From where I stood, I couldn't see much of anything; no blood, no pale foot sticking out of the car door, no sense of anything to indicate it was a murder scene really.
I had my notebook out already and my phone which I used to snap the vehicle registration. Unsure what information I would be able to gather here without getting in the way I stayed where I was, out of everyone's way and jotted down a few questions:
Name of victims?
Ages?
Any connection between the victims?
Taxi firm?
Where did the driver collect the fare?
Was the taxi despatched from a base or waiting outside a bar or club?
I was struck by how quiet the scene was. Road noise came from the occasional passing car, but in between, I could hear birdsong. I had seen perhaps twenty people on site, but each was going about their business with minimal conversation. There was no radio chatter, just an occasional quietly spoken instruction from one colleague to another. This was my first time this close to a fresh murder scene. I had never been able to get beyond the barrier tape before, so I could not gauge whether this was normal or not. I guess I expected more banter, more action, more something.
As I stood considering what my next move should be Amanda reappeared, moving at a fast walk. She grabbed my right elbow without slowing down. Quietly she said, ‘We need to go, Chief Inspector Quinn just pulled up. I doubt he will be pleased to see you here and that will embarrass Michael, the chap I sweet-talked into letting you in with me.' Clearly, we were leaving.
‘I know you didn’t get to see anything, but I should have all the information you need.’
‘Super,' I replied as she wove me through the screening and back out on to the road. We exited the opposite side to where I had parked about fifty metres down the road and would need to go back past the cordoned area to get to my car. I paused outside the screening to put my notebook and phone back in my shoulder bag, not sensing the urgency that Amanda clearly felt. She displayed this by grabbing my hand and pulling me after her. She wanted to get going, but hey, I was now holding her hand. Actual flesh to flesh contact.
We skirted the edge of the road between the cars and the barriers still holding hands. Her arm stiffened to make me stop as we got to the end of the barrier screens. I watched her peer around the corner, and I guess she decided it was clear as her grip on my hand loosened. I let her hand go as she turned to look at me. "All clear," she mouthed silently.
‘Jolly good,' I replied with far more volume than was required. As I passed her going to my car, my stride was confident. I am not in the habit of showing fear and all the sneaking around was making me feel ridiculous. Perhaps I was compensating because I had no power in this environment. Not bot
hering to analyse why I felt the need to strut, I arrived at the car still fishing in my bag for my keys with my left hand and holding the bag open with my right. Amanda had fallen behind briefly as I set off but caught me now as my scrabbling hand finally located the keys and plipped the car open.
Amanda caught my eye across the roof before we got in. ‘I think it best if we get out of here before he spots us,’ she said. ‘Not that we can’t be here, but he is an annoying arsehole and I would rather avoid the questions. Do we go back to your office?’
‘My house. I have more space there to spread the information out. What can you tell me about the latest victims?’
Amanda was quiet for a moment as I focused on finding a gap in the increasing traffic. Seeing my opportunity, I spun the car off the grass verge, trying not to churn it up and fill my tyre treads with mud, crossed both lanes and headed back towards Maidstone and my house. Once into traffic, she started speaking again.
‘The two victims are a man, probably the taxi driver, and a young woman. The male victim was Harold McBeak, age fifty-eight, looks like he tried to defend himself. He had a bat of some kind,’ she explained. ‘The cause of death appears to be massive blood loss from a neck wound. He was found several metres from the car. It looks like he was dragging himself away from the car towards the road when he bled out. The bat was abandoned behind him in the blood trail. The girl we have yet to ID, but she was petite, blond and attractive. From her clothes and complexion, I would place her at maybe nineteen or twenty and most likely on her way home from a club in town. She was left on the back seat of the car, same cause of death. No other obvious injuries to either victim.' She had delivered the details as a report, keeping emotion and cadence from her voice.