Nemesis

by Roger A Price

  Ten minutes later his new phone rang. It was Christine asking him exactly where he was. He told her and she joined him a few minutes later.

  “No one in, I’m guessing,” said Vinnie.

  “Nope, so I tried the neighbours, gave it the big press angle and my trademark smile – it always works, well usually,” she said.

  The thought ran through Vinnie’s mind that house-to-house enquiries were obviously far better received when you were from the press. Perhaps he’d give that a try in future, as disingenuous a tactic as it would be – that was if he had a job to go back to. Christine continued.

  “I got a reply from both sides and they corroborate each other in that Jimmy’s mum hasn’t been seen for a few days. Both neighbours say they usually see her pottering around in her garden unless it’s raining and, as you know, it’s not rained for a while now.”

  “Maybe Jimmy has taken her away for a few days,” Vinnie suggested. “You know, until Moxley’s caught. After all, the guy’s terrified of him.”

  “Funny you should say that as according to the neighbour on the left, her sister has a place in north Wales where she sometimes visits – but he didn’t know where exactly.”

  “See what I mean,” said Vinnie.

  “What?”

  “I doubt that I’d have got that little gem if I’d been on the knocker.”

  Christine merely raised her eyebrows in reply and Vinnie felt his cheeks redden slightly; he wasn’t sure if he was flirting, or not. One thing was for sure, though; he was enjoying her company. His cop instincts kicked back in. “Come on, then,” he said, as he started to open the car door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Well, if she’s away, that doesn’t mean Jimmy isn’t holed up here. Let’s have a snoop around the back.”

  Christine grinned and got out of the car to join Vinnie. He led her to a rear alley he’d seen at the end of the row which came out on the side street they were on. When he’d turned in he’d noted the house number on the corner and counted the rear gates until they were at the back of number twenty-three. An old wooden gate was locked, but he could see a faded number 23 on it. At least he’d counted correctly.

  “Hang on,” he said and jumped up the gate and scrambled over its top and unlocked it from the inside. As Christine joined him he looked around the small back yard, which had a small grassed area to one side of the gate and a concrete area to the other. All neat and tidy, though he noticed that the grass was a little longer than the front. Christine went to what Vinnie took to be the kitchen window due the two waste-water pipes coming out of the wall below it, and peered through. Vinnie was about to do the same at the second window when he noticed the back door. It was a cheap wooden door, half-glazed and covered in net curtains. It was the swaying of the net curtains that caught his eye. The glass was broken. He beckoned Christine over and showed her the door.

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  “It could be Jimmy,” suggested Vinnie. “Perhaps if you go in and shout, see if he answers?”

  Vinnie saw the look on Christine’s face and realised how unchivalrous that must have sounded. He explained, “I’ll be right behind you. It’s just that if he’s seen you knocking at the front door and now hears you at the rear, he may come to speak to you, to get rid of you.”

  “And what about the locked gate?”

  He’d forgotten about that. “Okay, good point. Let’s just creep in then, but if we hear anyone, then you shout out rather than me.”

  “What happens when he does see you?”

  “He won’t know I’m suspended.”

  “He will later when he speaks to Delany or whoever.”

  Vinnie knew she was right, but they hadn’t expected to come across a break-in and he couldn’t let her go in totally alone, so he’d work it out later. He shrugged his shoulders at Christine and carefully pushed the back door. It swung open and he walked inside.

  The door led into the side of the kitchen. There was a door off to the left that Vinnie knew from his glance through the window led to a small parlour. The next door down the hall, obviously into the living room, was open. A quick peek proved it was empty. The house was fairly clean but still had that aged musty smell you sometimes get in older people’s houses. Not as strong as an unclean house, but musty nonetheless. A smell that reminded him of his grandparents’ houses when he was a kid.

  At the foot of the stairs he whispered to Christine to shout something. If Jimmy realised she was actually in the house, he should show himself, especially once he realised that there was no threat here. She nodded, and called out.

  “Hi Jimmy, it’s Christine Jones here – reporter – I knocked before and then noticed your back door open. I hope you don’t mind me stepping inside.”

  Nothing. It was looking like Jimmy was either out, or had only paid a flying visit. Vinnie said as much, and added, “You wait here, I’ll check upstairs.”

  Christine nodded and Vinnie climbed the stairs two at a time. No need for stealth now. As he neared the top he could see three doors, two were open and the front one was shut. He noticed that the musty smell was more acrid and the landing looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Poor old dear probably couldn’t get the vacuum cleaner up the stairs. He’d come across that many times before. Many older people often slept in their living room chairs, only venturing upstairs when they had to. As if confirming his theory, the bathroom was empty but clean, whereas the rear bedroom was unused and unkempt.

  “I don’t think anyone’s here,” Vinnie shouted as he approached the closed door. But the moment he started to open it by the smallest amount, the stench hit him. A smell he recognised.

  He heard them before he saw them, as he pushed the door fully open. The room was full of them, hundreds of flies and bluebottles swarming around the bed in endless circles.

  He knew the smell was usually far worse than the sight, as he pulled his handkerchief out to cover his nose and mouth. But not on this occasion.

  Laid on the bed were the remains of someone he took to be Jimmy’s mother. An elderly lady of short height and build, fully naked from the waist down, and on her back with open lifeless eyes. A tormented look appeared registered within them, as if it was the last frame at the end of a horror movie, held forever on pause.

  Vinnie could see the congealed blood around the neck giving testament to the knife wounds across her throat. The blood was drying or dried and almost black. Her skin was a whitish grey, and he noted settled blood in her calves and along the lower level of her legs. She’d been like this for a while.

  He saw something else as he carefully backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. The poor woman had been scalped.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Johnson slept late into Tuesday morning and roused further refreshed after the last few days. He was catching up. It felt good to be back in his own bed and his own place, though he still got the creeps when he used the bathroom. He’d awakened but decided to leave a shower until later. He made a brew and sat down in the lounge. He checked his landline answer machine. No new messages, though he was sure he’d have woken had there been any as he wasn’t a heavy sleeper. He’d get another mobile today, that maniac had smashed his last one.

  He wondered how long it would take for Moxley’s body to wash up. Dawson had said it could take days. Not that he was bothered, it was just that he had to keep playing the frightened victim, which meant he couldn’t go out and about. He’d have to keep hidden away until Moxley was found and he knew he was officially dead.

  Although he needed a new phone he would have to be discrete, make sure he wasn’t seen going out. He wondered whether he should let the cop Delany know he was home. Now that he had his contact details he would ignore that pain Palmer and only deal with his boss.

  His first reaction was to say stuff it. They would eventually realise he wasn’t at the hospital, so why should he make their job any easier? Then he thought again about his conversation
with Dawson who had said the cops would probably let him know when Moxley was found before they went public. But what if they were busy doing whatever cops do when they find a body? It might be several hours or even the next day before they thought about letting him know. He would put a call into Delany. He would have to speak to him at some stage and at least he’d find out. He could ask if they had caught Moxley yet, that should promote a response.

  Ten minutes later, he put the phone down none the wiser. Delany had asked where he was ringing from so, conscious he was using his landline, he said “home” but was only calling in to collect some things and his cat. He refused to give Delany his brother’s address, but said he’d let him know his new mobile number when he had it, which he would.

  Delany said they were getting very close to catching Moxley and he obviously knew he was being bulled, but he needed to keep a line of communication open. He simply wished Moxley would hurry up and be found – even in death he was being a pain.

  After he refreshed his mug of tea, he sat back in his armchair, and wondered why Jimmy hadn’t rung yet. Before they parted, Johnson had given him his landline number and Jimmy said he would bell him with his number once he’d sorted out a new mobile. That way he could let him know as soon as the maniac was found. A thought hit him and he picked up the receiver and dialled 1-4-7-1 - if Jimmy had rung while he was in the hospital he’d be unlikely to leave a message – sure enough a mobile telephone was the last incoming call – on Monday afternoon, half an hour before he’d got in. If that nob driving the ambulance had been a bit more efficient, he’d have caught the call. No matter, he rang 1-4-7-1 again and wrote the number down.

  The number rang out for ages with no reply. When it did go to voicemail he left a short message, without saying who he was, said he’d try later on his new mobile, once he’d bought it.

  *

  Vinnie closed the driver’s door and turned to an ashen-faced Christine.

  “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  She didn’t reply straight away, just kept looking forward, still trying to assimilate what she had just seen. When Vinnie had returned to the foot of the stairs and told Christine what he’d found, she had insisted on having a look for herself. He wished she hadn’t, but realised he was in no position to stop her.

  “How can I describe something like that with any integrity, without first-hand knowledge?” she’d argued.

  Now he guessed she wished she hadn’t bothered. As she turned to face him, some of her resolve appeared to have returned as her complexion seemed less ghostly.

  “And you guys deal with seeing stuff like that all the time?” she said.

  “I’m not sure we always deal with it that well, sometimes. And to be fair, you could work homicides for the rest of your service and not come across another scene like that.”

  He wasn’t being considerate because Christine was not a cop; he could feel his own nausea churning inside.

  “The head; it didn’t look human,” said Christine.

  “It’s not now,” Vinnie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Part of coping is to realise that what you have just witnessed, as unpleasant as it was, is now a body. The remains of Jimmy’s mum – not Jimmy’s mum, understand?”

  “I guess, but it’s not really that easy.”

  “Granted. But we have a more pressing issue; what the hell to do now?”

  “Can’t you just ring it in?” she asked.

  “We’ve just done an illegal search and walked through a murder scene in so doing. I’m supposed to be suspended and …”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Christine.

  Vinnie continued, “… but I reckon she’s been dead for several days due to the level of putrefaction. I was careful to wipe the doors where we’d pushed them open, along with the gate, so our disturbance of the scene should be at a minimum.”

  “Moxley?” Christine asked.

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Do you think Jimmy knows?”

  “Hard to say. He may have come home, found her and freaked – who could blame him?”

  Vinnie knew he had to call it in somehow, with every passing hour more and more evidence on the cadaver would be lost.

  “Got it,” he said and started the engine.

  “What?

  “Crimestoppers,” Vinnie answered, knowing his reply would need further explanation.

  He said it was a ploy sometimes used by the covert squads. If they were operating in an area and came across something that needed emergency attention, they would often do it anonymously using the Crimestoppers hotline.

  “Can’t you just ring 999?”

  “No, they will locate where the call is coming from and record the call – my voice.”

  Christine nodded and Vinnie drove for twenty minutes until they were far enough away from the area and then searched around for a public phone box, something that was becoming more and more a rarity. Eventually, they found one on an estate with no obvious CCTV about. Vinnie told Christine to wait in the Volvo while he made the call. He returned to the motor a few minutes later.

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t want to be too obvious, so said I didn’t want to give my name as I’d been out on the rob myself when I came across number twenty-three where someone had obviously beaten me to it. Said I was only ringing in as there was a funny smell coming from inside. Then I hung up.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  “Should be, they’ll have to come out to a report of insecure premises and then they’ll find the rest.”

  “I pity the poor cop who gets that call,” said Christine.

  “Me too, and hopefully they won’t waste too much time trying to trace the caller as, if I’m to be believed, I’ve not exactly seen anything of evidential value.”

  “Won’t they?”

  “They’d like to, probably do a press appeal through your lot, but it won’t be a top priority and, in any event, they have no way of tracing me.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Let’s find somewhere that sells strong coffee. Beyond that, Christine, I’ve absolutely no idea.”

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Daniel Moxley came to and spat water from his mouth. He had no idea how long he had been out, but the pain in his shoulder kicked back in, big time. He was shivering. Looking around he realised what had happened. He’d become caught up in an overgrown tree branch that had snagged his clothing. As if on cue, he suddenly became untangled and as the flowing current tugged at his legs, he grabbed the branch with his uninjured arm. Having steadied himself and caught his breath, he slowly inched his way towards the bank, which was thankfully slanted at a giving angle. He’d been lucky; very lucky. Another moment or two and he’d have been off again, and may have drowned this time.

  On the bank he quickly took in his environment. He was at the edge of a field but could hear the distant sound of continual traffic. He checked his left shoulder, carefully peeling off his wet shirt. Lucky again, although it throbbed and each pulse reached a crescendo of pain, it was only a flesh wound. The river had washed the blood away and he hoped it hadn’t infected the wound – time would tell.

  His mind replayed the action. He couldn’t believe that Jimmy the Traitor had actually had the audacity to shoot him. He would have to pay a very heavy price for that, and so would Stench. Right now he wasn’t sure who he hated the most. His mind was starting to conjure up new and darker ways for which he would extract his revenge. He knew they wouldn’t be easy to find; probably impossible at the moment, as they would no doubt both crawl into a hole somewhere. But he could wait. They would have to surface at some time, and he would wait as long as it took.

  Then he remembered the entertaining afternoon he’d had with Jimmy’s mum. Initially, he’d not wanted Jimmy to have any distractions when they fled to start their new life together. She was old and near the end of her time. He was sure that Jimmy would have forgiven him eventually, though the
thought of Jimmy finding her probably around about now gave him a bolt of pleasure which ran down to his groin. He was probably stood crying over her right now. Though what he’d done to her would be nothing compared to Jimmy the Traitor’s fate. To make it extra special for him he would even wear his new wig that he had hidden not too far from her house.

  He slowly climbed to his feet and ripped one of his shirt sleeves off to wrap around his shoulder. The bleeding had all but stopped, but each time he moved a little more came out. His first task would be to steal some clothes from a washing line and find a public lavatory where he could sort himself out. But he’d have to be extra careful. He’d hidden his cash not too far from here, so once he was sorted he would address his remaining tasks before sitting and waiting for Stench and The Traitor to reappear. After a day or so they’d be sure he’d not survived and would arrogantly show themselves. He could hardly wait.

  In the meantime he had those other tasks to finish. It would all fit together well. He had always known he was good at time-management, though he would need to call in one last favour to facilitate his endeavours, and he knew just who to ask.

  *

  After three cups of coffee and some food Vinnie was feeling calmer, and he noticed Christine had regained her colour.

  “I wonder if they’ve found her yet,” she said.

  Vinnie looked at his watch. It was 1.30 pm and at least an hour since he’d made the call. “No doubt, by now.”

  “The poor sods,” said Christine. “Have you thought about our next move?”

  “The only lead I can think of is to still try to locate those under threat and wait for Moxley to come to us.”

  “But we’ve no idea where Jimmy is now, other than perhaps his auntie’s place somewhere in north Wales,” said Christine.