by M A Comley
“I’m sorry. Tell me what you want, and I’ll do my best to make things right.”
The line went dead. Lorne looked across at the tracer, who shook his head. She hurried into her office and slammed the door, feeling both helpless and guilty.
There was a knock on the door, she hoped if she ignored it the person would give up and leave her in peace. No such luck—Pete entered as though on tiptoes and closed the door behind him. He said nothing, just sat down in the seat opposite. Lorne stared past him at the painting of the Lakes she adored that hung on the wall behind him.
“Boss, we need to talk about this.”
“The bastard is watching me, Pete. Can you imagine how that feels? He knows my every move. Why? How?” Her hands shook as she raked them through her hair. She wanted to pull it out from the roots in frustration.
“I’m not gonna let you out of my sight, okay?”
“That’s ridiculous, Pete. You can’t be with me 24/7.” She blew out a deep breath.
“Was Arnaud here with you last night?” His brow creased.
“Yes, but it was purely professional. We went over the case from every angle. He helped me make some calls. I shouldn’t have to be explaining my actions to you, Pete. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You should make Tom aware of the situation. You know—that you’re being watched, not…”
“I will later. What we should be doing now is looking for the body. Get uniform on to it, will you?”
As soon as Pete left the room Lorne reached for the phone. “It’s me.”
“Why did you run off like that? Am I that scary, ma chérie?”
“I’m sorry, Jacques. I’ve just received another call from the killer. He’s killed the woman, but I have no idea where her body is.” She was fighting to remain professional, but all she wanted to do was seek comfort in his arms.
“Did you manage to trace the call?”
“No, it was too short. He’s not stupid. He knows you were here with me last night.”
“How? Merde, he’s watching you.”
“We need to catch the bastard before I become one of his victims. Can you hurry the tests along for me?”
“It goes without saying. I’ll get on to it immediately. Ring you later. Take care, chérie.”
“I will. Ring me as soon as you know anything.”
Pete barged into her office as she hung up the phone. “There’s a woman at reception demanding to see the person in charge of the case. The desk sergeant thinks she’s a nutter, but he can’t get rid of her. The woman’s tried ringing me a couple of times, but…”
“She might have some information for us, Pete. At this stage, we can’t discount anyone.”
Pete set off to fetch the woman, mumbling under his breath.
The woman was dressed in black from head to toe. Silver rings jangled together as she swept her long black hair over her shoulder and sat in the chair opposite Lorne. The black on her lips and her eyes enhanced her weird beauty.
“My colleague said you’ve got some information about a case we’re dealing with?”
“You mean cases, surely, Inspector. My name is Carol Lang; my stage name is Madame Xsarina. My talent was given to me by God to rid the world of evil.”
Lorne raised her eyebrows. “I see…How?” Her interest was piqued. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Pete fold his arms. She knew how he felt about outside influences on a case. He called it ‘jiggery pokery’ and was adamant there was no place for it on the force. In the past, he’d condemned other forces who had been open to using psychics and their ‘special powers’ to help solve cases. But Lorne felt differently about psychics, as her great-aunt had been one.
“I’ve had visions that up until now I couldn’t explain. I believe three murders have been committed.” When the two detectives neither confirmed nor denied her statement was correct, she continued. “I see the despicable deeds through the murderer’s eyes. He is cold and calculated in his actions. I see a sheet of paper with three names on it. He’s holding it in his hands and shares the information with another.”
“What’re the names on this piece of paper?” Pete asked, with his usual cynical tone.
“I can tell you’re a non-believer, sir. If you can keep your scepticism in check for half an hour, I will prove that my visions are accurate.”
“He will. Go on.” Lorne shot Pete a warning glance.
“The names are unclear, they are blurred…”
“That figures,” Pete muttered.
“I’ve read about the murders in the paper, but if I give you information that hasn’t appeared in print, then will you believe me?” Miss Lang aimed her question at Pete, who shrugged his acceptance.
“If you want to leave, Pete, feel free. I’d like to hear what Miss Lang has to say.”
“I’ll stay. I promise to keep my opinions under wraps from now on.”
“Two of the women were twins. Identical twins, I believe? One of the murders was a mistake.”
“That’s right, but that information has already appeared in the paper,” Lorne said before Pete had a chance to jump in with another of his sarcastic comments.
“You’re missing the point, Inspector. One was a mistake.”
“There’s no way of knowing if that’s true at the moment, the investigation is still in its infancy.”
“When you are putting the clues together, just bear it in mind. Kim, the sixteen-year-old, was not originally on the list either. She did something that angered the man, she was punished for that.”
“Let’s get this right.” Pete chipped in. “One of the twins was a mistake, and now you’re telling us that the last victim, Kim Charlton, was also a mistake. I guess that puts paid to your list of three names then, doesn’t it?”
The woman ignored him and continued divulging what she’d seen in her visions. “The women are abducted and kept in a kind of cell.”
Lorne was amazed by this revelation, a fact that had never been alluded to in the press. They had only discovered this particular piece of information yesterday, after Tracy’s friend had listened to and analysed the tape. “Go on.”
“The women are from his past. He’s punishing them for something that happened years ago. I can’t see what that is—perhaps it will come to me in the future. He beats them to death with a long, narrow object, with a hook on one end and some kind of spike on the other. I don’t think you’ve found any semen at the scene either. I believe the man is impotent. He does, however, sexually assault them and leaves something like a calling card inside the victims.”
“Jesus Christ, how the hell did you know that?” Pete’s interest piqued, and he paced around the office.
“Do you believe me now, Sergeant? You have also been receiving body parts through the post.”
Lorne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “When was the last time you had one of these visions?”
“A couple of days ago. The last few nights I’ve had trouble sleeping. Although I haven’t seen it clearly, I think he may be holding someone else hostage. Is he?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
“Inspector, I can help you get this man…Burning, I see burning.”
Carol Lang’s hand flew up to her forehead, and Lorne wondered if the woman was having another vision.
“Ah well, now. That’s where you’re wrong, because none of the victims have been burnt or found near a fire,” Pete was quick to point out.
Lorne studied the woman as beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. Carol clutched at her throat and gasped for breath.
“I can’t breathe. There’s a thundering noise. Flames leaping up all around me. I’m in a tunnel—I can see the end of it. A river is a few feet away. If only I wasn’t bound, I could dive in and put the fire out. Torture, this is torture! He’s standing close by, laughing as the flames engulf me, goading me. Please. Please help me.”
“Get the map, Pete.” Lorne ordered. Pete left.
Carol Lang screamed. Pete rushed back into the room, map in hand. The woman had passed out in the chair. Lorne rushed past him to get a glass of water.
“What happened?” Pete asked breathlessly.
“She just passed out. Set the map out on the desk. We’ll go over what she told us.”
“If you believe what she just told you, you’re as insane as she is.”
“How can you say that? She’s given us info that isn’t common knowledge yet, like the body parts arriving in the post and the way he kills the victims. What else have we got to go on, Pete? Lighten up, for Christ’s sake. Right, we’re looking for water and a tunnel of sorts.” Lorne checked the woman’s pulse; it seemed normal. She kept a close eye on Carol as Pete and she studied the map.
Pete pointed at the map. “Here, the river runs along here—and shit, there’s a bridge. Jesus, could that be classed as a tunnel?”
“Ring down to reception, get someone up here to look after her.” Excitement churned up Lorne’s stomach.
“Will do. What are we going to do?”
“Get down there straight away, of course.” Lorne grabbed her keys and handbag.
“But it might not be that site. Who’s to say she’s right?”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take. Come on.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It was past six by the time Lorne and Pete arrived at the location; the light was fading fast. Something in the distance caught Lorne’s eye. An orange glow beckoned them.
Pete bolted from the car, leaving the passenger door swinging in the breeze. Lorne contacted the station and called for backup. She also requested the fire brigade, an ambulance, and told the controller to place a call to Doctor Arnaud immediately.
Lorne searched the boot of her car. “Damn it!” All she found were a few carrier bags that had seen better days.
“Here. Get some water in these.” She handed Pete the bags. He looked at them and shook his head in despair, then ran to the edge of the stone embankment and scooped his right arm into the murky river.
As he pulled the first carrier bag out, the handle stretched and broke under the weight of the water. “Shit!” He tried another bag, this time filling it with less water, and rushed over to the small fire burning by the bridge wall. The orange glow dimmed, only to flare up again when he threw the pitiful amount of water on it.
“It’s no good; we need more water.” Lorne said urgently as trepidation filled her. She placed the last two carrier bags one inside the other and handed them to her partner. “Take this. I’ll see if I can find anything else.” She hunted the area surrounding them and found an old metal bucket that had a large hole in the bottom, but the handle was good.
After Pete tipped another bagful of water on the flames, Lorne held the bucket out to him. “Put the bag inside to cover the hole. Hurry up; keep them coming. It’s working; the fire’s going out.”
Lorne felt relieved when she heard the sirens in the distance. The fire engine pulled up as she threw another bucketful of water on the fire.
“Stand back, miss. We’ll take it from here.” The burly fireman gripped her by the elbows and guided her back towards her car.
“There’s a body. We think she’s dead. We just wanted to put the fire out. Be careful with her; try not to destroy any evidence.”
“I understand. We’ll do our best not to disturb any more than we have to.”
Pete joined her, and they watched in silence for a while as the fireman put out the fire. Pete appeared to be just as traumatised as she was.
“This is my fault. If only I’d been around to take his call, maybe I could’ve prevented this. That poor, poor woman.” When Lorne saw the charred remains, tears welled in her eyes, but she was determined not to let them spill.
“That’s rubbish, Lorne. The sick bastard’s got an agenda. He was set on seeing it through, whether you were around to take his call or not.”
It was unusual for Pete to call her by her Christian name, and she felt strangely comforted by it.
A black BMW skidded to a halt in the gravel alongside them. Jacques walked towards them. He eyed her with concern. “Inspector?”
Lorne watched as sparks flew between the two men. “Pete, can you check what’s happening, while I have a word with the doctor?”
“How did you know where to find the body?” Jacques stepped forwards as her partner walked away.
“Not long after I called you, a woman turned up at the station wanting to see me. She’s a psychic, and she told me things about the victims that I’ve intentionally kept out of the media. She told us about a bridge—actually, she called it a tunnel. That it was by a river. She also told us she’s been having visions and said she sees things through the killer’s eyes. She also saw a list with three names on it. I know this is the fourth murder, but she thinks two have been mistakes. Maybe the other two women were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Who the hell knows? She even told me about the packages I’ve received.
“She made me think—the way he keeps ringing me and letting me know he’s watching me, makes me wonder if he intends making me one of his victims. Perhaps mine is the third name on his list.”
“Is that what you truly believe?”
“Why else would he be trying to make contact with me?”
“There could be a number of reasons. You’re the lead investigator.”
“Hmm…”
“It’s plausible that he sees you as a friend rather than foe.”
“If that’s the case, why won’t he confide in me why he’s carrying out these murders? Why are his calls so brief?”
“Because he’s not stupid. He knows you’ll try your best to trap him, to trace his calls. Whatever happens, swear to me you will never agree to meet him, not alone.”
“If it means I can save the lives of other women, that’s exactly what I’ll have to do.”
“But that’s ludicrous. You can’t put your life at risk to save others.”
“I joined the police force to protect and serve my fellow countrymen. If I turn away and run when things get tough, then I shouldn’t be in the job, should I?”
He shrugged, defeated by her words. “I can see it would be useless to try and dissuade you.”
Pete returned to them and shaking his head, he said, “I told you he was getting worse.”
Jacques gave Lorne a puzzled look. She explained, “The crimes—Pete’s got it into his head that each murder is worse than the previous one.”
“It is not uncommon for a murderer to perfect his art. He becomes more confident and, I suppose, more adventurous in the way he kills.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Pete muttered.
Jacques’ eyes creased in annoyance at Pete’s derogatory tone. “Far be it for me to tell you your job, DS Childs, but I think it would be better if you took DI Simpkins home. She’s had a rough day, and she also spent an uncomfortable night at the station.”
“Yeah, you’d know all about that, of course.”
“Pack it in, you two, for God’s sake. Thanks for your concern, Jacques, but I have a post-mortem to attend in case you’ve forgotten. There’s no way I can call it a day, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”
After a moment’s pause, Jacques said, “Is that the only reason you have to stay at work?”
“I suppose so,” she replied, perplexed.
“Then I will postpone the post-mortem until tomorrow.” When Lorne stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief, he added, “It is my prerogative, as leading pathologist on the case. No, seriously. Being practical, I would have to wait for the body to cool down before I attempt a post-mortem anyway.”
“Okay, you win. What time shall I be there in the morning? Bear in mind, I have a funeral to attend at eleven on the other side of town.” It was pointless to argue with him; she could feel exhaustion tapping at her bones.
“If you promise me you’ll go straight home, then I will consider an early start. Shall we say ab
out seven?”
“That’s fine. I’ll see you bright and early at the mortuary.”
He walked off without saying goodbye and for some reason she felt abandoned by his departure.
“Come on, I’ll drive you home,” Pete said, his eyes burning through Arnaud’s back.
“But your car is back at the station,” she replied.
“I’ll drop you off, take your car home, then pick you up in the morning, if that’s okay?”
She was in no mood to argue with him as they got in the car. He cursed when he bashed his knee on the steering wheel. She was a good six or seven inches shorter than he was. His frustration increased when his belly prevented him from locating the knob that adjusted the seat.
Lorne found it hard to keep a straight face, and he shot her a disapproving look.
It was dark when they pulled up outside her house. Her heart pounded as she prepared herself for yet another of Tom’s likely filthy moods.
Pete noticed her anxiety and asked if she wanted him to accompany her.
She smiled and placed a hand on his arm. “Would you mind, just for a minute? I know he won’t argue if you’re there. I want to see Charlie’s all right before I thrash things out with him.”
Tom’s angry scowl changed to a loving smile when he spotted Pete lurking behind her.
“Is Charlie in her room?” Tom nodded and turned his back. “Get Pete a drink will you please, Tom?”
After checking Charlie was happy and had completed her homework, Lorne returned downstairs to find the boys debating football. Of course; what else?
“He’s gotta be the best player Wenger has brought to the club in a long time, apart from Henry that is.”
“Who are you talking about?” Lorne sat on the leather sofa next to her husband.
“Jose Antonio Reyes, the kid they bought in January. He’s playing out of his skin at the moment.”
“The cute one with the sexy smile, you mean?”
Both men looked at her in surprise. Tom asked, “But you don’t take much notice of football when it’s on. How the hell do you know who we’re talking about?”