by Aaron Fisher
M.I.T. (Murder Investigation Taskforce), Cardiff Branch
Tony knocked on the frosted glass window of Colgan’s office. The blinds were down and he couldn’t hear his superior inside but he knew that just like himself, he would be exactly where he said he would be, exactly when he said he would.
Colgan’s voice answered, “Come.”
Tony stepped inside, careful to shut the door tight behind him. Colgan was busy on the phone behind his desk, his face mostly obscured by his computer monitor. He raised an open palm and gestured for Tony to take a seat at the table opposite his desk.
As he sat down, Tony made sure his phone was on silent and did his best to hide his surprise. Even now he was struggling to hear Colgan’s voice. No wonder he hadn’t heard him outside. The phone call must be important, Tony deducted, which of course made its topic all the more attractive. As if sensing his spiked interest, Colgan looked up at Tony, across the top of his monitor. Tony looked away, cautious not to make his movement seem sudden.
“What do you know about Denise Sanders?” Colgan asked suddenly.
Tony turned. Colgan had now finished his call and already risen from his desk. He answered immediately, without hesitation, “Victim number twelve. Sixteen years old. She went missing whilst walking back from her friend’s house at night. Murdered in the exact same way as the others. Her body was found at Lisvane Reservoir.”
Colgan leaned forward on the table and nodded, his head bowed. “I don’t drink tap water anymore.”
Tony remained silent, unsure whether the correct response was to laugh, agree, or say something insightful.
Colgan’s head remained down as he thought aloud, “Always water. Why does he always leave them near water?”
This time Tony knew he could answer. “It’s likely to destroy any forensic evidence. Blood, semen, hair; water would wash all that away and nearly all of the bodies have been found partially if not completely submerged.”
It was Colgan’s turn to remain silent. Tony paused. His answer hadn’t been the one Colgan was looking for.
“You think it’s linked to the practice of the killing?” Tony asked eventually.
“I’m beginning to think it’s some sort of ritual. Water is considered a purifier in most religions. Christianity, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam, they all incorporate a form of ritual washing.”
“You’re saying you believe the killer is trying to cleanse his victims?” Tony frowned. “Why would he do that?”
“Guilt? We know he feels shame for his actions. He tears out their eyes so that he doesn’t have to feel he’s being watched as he rapes them.” Colgan looked up finally, meeting Tony’s eyes. He stood up straight. “This guy isn’t like the others. His methods aren’t changing. They aren’t evolving. They’ve been exactly the same since day one and he’s not making any mistakes.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
Colgan raised the corner of his mouth in a little laugh, “Even you?”
Tony wasn’t sure if that was a reprimand or a compliment. His boss was certainly keeping him on his toes today.
Colgan’s smiled dropped. He pulled his chair around and sat opposite Tony. “Cardiff has never faced a serial killer like this before, and certainly not one with such a long reign. One of our biggest problems here is the media. They’re out for just as much blood as this lunatic, only the blood they want is ours.” Colgan brought his hands together. “The first sniff of a lead we get and it’s splashed all over the headlines. Not only does it needlessly get people’s hopes up, but quite often it ruins what slim chance we have at actually catching the bastard.”
“I agree, sir.” Tony replied, when he was certain it was the right time to do so.
Colgan reached for a file that had been on the desk the whole time and slid it over to Tony. Inside were photocopies of statements with red biro rings around certain areas. Tony began skim-reading these paragraphs, simultaneously making sure that he kept listening to the department director.
Colgan got up and turned his back, walking as he talked, “It’s a stretch, and I really do mean that. Denise Sanders’ mother says in her statement that on the day before her daughter was abducted, her sixteenth birthday party, she saw a man watching Denise. The party was held at their local pub. There were lots of men there, and Denise was a pretty girl. There was no CCTV footage besides one camera pointed at the till and no one else mentioned this man in their statements.” He casually studied the wall-sized map of Cardiff as he continued, “Nobody thought anything of it. Just some other sad, old barfly, perving on teenage girls. The only description she could give was that he wore a camouflage jacket.”
The director turned back, signalling Tony to look up from the folder. “And then we get Lucy Green. Statements were again taken from her friends and family when she went missing about what she had been doing in the days prior to her disappearance. One thing in particular popped out at me.”
“The man at the ice cream counter,” Tony said, hoping they had come to the same conclusion.
His superior nodded, “Lucy and her best friend, Jenny Williams went to the cinema the day before Lucy went missing. Jenny said that when they went to buy ice cream Lucy couldn’t find enough change in her purse and before Jenny could reach into her handbag, the man behind them paid for her. Teenage girl’s descriptions of anyone over thirty are always pretty generic, but besides being old, all she said about the man was that he wore a camouflage jacket.”
Tony rolled his tongue around his mouth once before speaking, “Even if it is the same man in both accounts, Cardiff is a small enough city for it to be purely coincidental.”
Colgan eased himself back into the chair with a sigh, “If these murders continue for much longer, there won’t be a person left in the county who doesn’t know somebody who knows one of the victims. I said it was a stretch.”
Tony nodded, “Sir, I understand and agree with your hesitance to release this information to the media.” He paused, “But you’ll have to excuse me for being blunt, why are you telling me this?”
“You mean as opposed to the rest of the team?” It was a rhetorical question. Colgan lowered his voice as he leaned forward. “There has been information reported that this department has not officially disclosed to the press. Inquisitive journalism only goes so far.”
It was Tony’s turn to lower his voice, “You think there’s a leak in the team?”
Colgan seemed frustrated that the question had even had to be said aloud. He bit down on his tongue, “I don’t know. Yet.”
Somewhere in Cardiff Bay
Paul hated to admit it, but Dean did seem to know what he was doing. If he didn’t then whoever had given him instructions certainly did. Paul was now driving the silver A4 with Richard next to him in the front passenger seat. Dean sat in the back directly behind Paul, his weapon still drawn. It was the set-up that had he been in Dean’s shoes, he would have arranged himself.
Dean had identified Paul as the most considerable threat out of the two brothers. A selection confirmed for him when Paul was the one most reluctant to hand over his weapon. Armed with that very weapon, Dean had it positioned at the back of his seat, just above where the small of Paul’s back would be.
Funny how things can turn around on you, Paul thought to himself, equally amused as he was annoyed by the situation.
Dean had made Paul the driver to keep his hands busy. Whilst Paul was driving, there was little chance he could cause a struggle and fight back. Sat behind him, Dean was also out of his line of sight. Paul could catch Dean’s face in the mirror if he turned his head enough but it was only a guess as to where the gun was pointed. All he had to go on was the assumption that Dean would be smart enough to keep it below window level.
Richard was the only one who was in a position to create any real attack, but then there was enough distance between them for Dean to simply turn the gun and shoot him.
“Left,” Dean shouted, at the last minute. “Right here.”
> As he turned the steering wheel, Paul breathed deeply. He had a temper and he knew it. Most of the time he kept it hidden and dormant, but when pushed he lashed out. Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that Dean somehow knew this, and was deliberately winding him up just to see what would happen. Right now, there was nothing Paul would like better than to show him.
“Straight over,” Dean announced when they came to a roundabout.
They pulled into another deserted industrial estate. Paul slowed the Audi A4 down to a stop.
“What the fuck are you doing?! Straight on!” Dean shouted.
Paul took a deep breath and continued on, heading straight for a line of warehouses. Richard frowned, curiously.
As they approached, the large shutter door on one of the factories began to retract, opening up before them.
Dean chuckled to himself, “Open sesame.”
Capelgwilym Road, Lisvane
Rebecca loved to jog. She enjoyed keeping fit but hated gyms, full of sleazy steroid-drunk men twice her age always trying to come onto her. Out here, in the country lanes behind the back of Thornhill estate, she was free from all that. Free from everything. She adored it all: The fresh air in her face, even if it did occasionally smell of manure; the sound of birds whistling, even if they were accompanied by the low mumble of the motorway. Despite all this she still felt privileged to have this little stretch of the country laid before her so close to home.
A sharp pain yanked at the back of her ankle, and she came to a reluctant, slowing stop. Kneeling down she rubbed the area, with her hand, trying to ease the soreness. She didn’t think she had torn anything, probably just a sprain. Rebecca checked her pulse and wondered about finishing off the rest of the jog, or whether she should just head home and rest it for a bit, try again tomorrow.
“Excuse me?”
The voice startled her, causing her to jump.
Gary smiled from the driver’s seat, through the passenger side window of the car. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Rebecca smiled back and replied through laboured breathing, “That’s alright.”
“I’m a little lost,” Gary started. “I’m trying to find Pontprennau surgery.” He pulled out a map from the compartment in the side of his door and spread it out across the steering wheel and dash. “I was told to get off the M4 here and turn left, but I ended up in somewhere called Tongwynlias and then that took me up to Caerphilly, so I followed the signs back to Cardiff and I’ve managed to end up here.”
Rebecca moved forward, “Um, it sounds like you got off the M4 at the wrong junction. I know where Pontprennau is but I’m not sure about the surgery...”
“Oh if you could help get me that far that would be great. It’s my first day, very embarrassing.”
Rebecca smiled again, “I’m sure they’ll understand if you’re a little late. Um...” She leaned in through the window to look at the map, with a finger.
“It’s open,” Gary told her, as she struggled.
Rebecca recoiled and opened the door. Gary took a deep breath. He had planned this and gone through the moment a hundred times in his head. He knew that she was the helping type, generous and trusting. He knew that her mother was a general practitioner and that the mention of being a doctor would make her more unsuspecting of him still. She wouldn’t doubt anyone unless they gave her reason to.
She leant in, her left knee resting on the passenger seat as her right foot still dangled outside. She pointed to a line on the map, “Here’s the junction where you should have come off. We’re here now, so if you carry on down these lanes.”
Gary watched the back of her head move as she navigated the journey for him on the paper in front of them. He flexed his fingers and raised his right hand, ready to snatch the long ponytail now only itches from his face. His left hand had already found its way into the compartment of the door again, and wrapped its fingers around the dampened cloth that he was going to ram into her mouth to stop the screaming, before sending her to sleep.
“She takes my money! When I’m in need! Yeah, she’s a trifling friend indeed.”
The sudden loud voice almost made Gary jump as he withdrew suddenly.
Rebecca cringed with an apologetic smile, “Sorry.”
She climbed back out of the car and reached for her phone that was attached to her waist strap, doubling as an mp3 player. “Hi Mom... Calm down, I’m on my way- ...okay, okay. I’ll be there now! ...Yeah- Yeah- Two seconds, Mom.” Rebecca turned back to Gary. “I’m really sorry. I’ve gotta go. Do you think you can find your way now? If you’ve got a pen I could mark it on the map-“
“I’ll be fine, thank you.” Gary interrupted, quickly.
“Okay, if you’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Thank you very much for your help.” Gary insisted.
Rebecca smiled warmly again, “Any time. Good luck with your first day.”
As she turned to walk home, still talking to her mother on the phone, Gary watched, unable to shake the image of that last smile out of his head.
So kind, so sweet and so, so young.
The vacuum in the pit of his stomach had returned and as he drove away past her, watching her wave to him in his mirror, he swallowed hard to keep himself from throwing up.
An Abandoned Warehouse, Cardiff Bay
Richard and Paul had been frisked twice again since their arrival. The second time they’d been told to spread their arms and legs Paul had asked the guy if he was going to buy him dinner first.
Now they had been led upstairs into one of the old warehouse’s offices. The filing cabinets still stood in the corner of the room, covered in sheet upon sheet of dust. The tile windows were missing a few plains and others were smashed or broken. In front of them was a large wooden desk, complete with an old wooden chair.
Richard scanned the rest of the room. There was little sign that the gang had set up shop here. The place was just as it had been left when it fell empty. They could have easily just walked in here this morning.
Dean had now been joined by five other thugs each with an AK-47 slung around their neck. Dean still carried Paul’s handgun. They stood behind the brothers, between them and the door, as they all waited in silence.
Paul glanced at the men. None of them displayed any significant signs that they had been professionally trained. The way they carried their firearms was sloppy and one even had his shoe laces untied. The Kalashnikovs didn’t surprise him either. They were probably the most accessible assault rifle in the world. Every man and their dog seemed to have one. Paul had been on both the firing and receiving end of his fair share himself.
After a few minutes, Paul shifted his weight, restlessly, “Have I got time to boil an egg?”
Richard sniggered in spite of himself.
“Are you hungry, my friend?” a loud, foreign voice asked from behind them.
Richard and Paul turned. Stood in the doorway was a tall man. He wore dark trousers and an open, pale blue shirt. His body was defined yet surprisingly gaunt, and covered in blue ink. His feet were bare and they too were plastered in tattoos. He had grey eyes and his head was completely shaved, only showing the faintest traces of stubble to distinguish him from being bald.
“Yeah, I missed breakfast,” Paul replied, his comical attitude unwavering.
Richard shot his brother a glare. He hadn’t expected him to talk at all when the organ-grinder had turned up, let alone mess around. “Giacometti?” he asked, trying to reaffirm his control over the situation.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, my friend.” The man said, ignoring Richard’s question completely, as he stepped into the room. He strolled behind the desk and sat down. “What would you like?”
Paul titled his head, not sure if this was a genuine offer or some kind of mind game, or even just a plain old rhetorical question. Fuck it. He was starving. “A bacon sandwich and a glass of orange juice would go down a treat. Thank you.”
Finally, the man ac
knowledged Richard’s presence, “And for you, friend?”
“Just a glass of orange juice, thank you.” Richard replied, reluctantly.
With a nod of the head from the ink-covered man, one of the thugs immediately exited the room, presumably to fetch the two brothers their breakfast.
“I am Giacometti,” the man announced. It could have been a reply to Richard’s earlier question or just a stand-alone statement. He smiled, exposing more than one gold tooth. “You must be the Gillespie twins?”
Richard nodded, “I’m Richard and this is my brother Paul.”
Giacometti stood up out of his chair and leant over the desk, to extend his hand to each of them. “Welcome.”
Richard and Paul shook his hand in turn. Sitting back down, Giacometti paused. He looked closely at Richard’s face and then checked it against Paul’s. “It’s amazing isn’t it? You are both exactly the same, and yet there are so many clear differences between the two of you.”
His eyes studied Paul’s face specifically. “Do you believe in God, my friend Paul?”
Paul paused, pondering the relevance of the question. Unable to draw any conclusion he decided to just be honest. “No.”
“Have you ever had faith?”
“I can’t say I have, no,” Paul shook his head.
“Your eyes are very old,” Giacometti said, staring deep into them.
Paul half-turned away, forcing a smile, “Too much television that is.”
Although he seemed to ignore the joke Giacometti’s gaze continued to burn and Paul did his best to meet it with his own.
“You look to me like a man who knows what it is to have sinned.”
Paul didn’t respond.
“I myself am such a man.” Giacometti pulled back the sides of his shirt further. “Each of these, marks a sin I have committed. I have one mark for each sin.” He allowed himself a small smile. “I’d have my hands and face covered by now, but then I would be too easily recognised and it is important for me to remain invisible. I think perhaps you have your own marks for your sins, my friend Paul.”