Myriad of Corridors

by Stan Mason

  On the following Wednesday, the local paper was issued with the front page covered with the story. The headline was provocative in itself: ‘Architect investigates murder’. The article then went on to allege that the police had mishandled the case and that Hunter, a cousin of the deceased woman, had advanced the situation by finding more suspects and establishing new theories. Hunter was delighted to note that mention was made of the Maltese Cross and the theory that two people might have been involved in the murder. It was an excellent article and he felt jubilant in that he had succeeded in promoting the cause. It proved that he was playing a much more vital role in the investigation. He now waited for some reaction from someone in the county. Only time would tell!

  ***

  One evening, after taking Ellen home, Hunter returned to his house and sat in the lounge with a nightcap. He rued the fact that he hated going into the marital bedroom to sleep on the understanding that his dead wife was watching him and might appear at any time at her whim. He hadn’t seen her apparition for quite some time and he held the misconception that perhaps she had found a way of progressing into the next world, leaving him to continue the remainder of his life in peace. If he believed that for one moment he was greatly mistaken and her renewed presence was to horrify him even more. At first he decided to sleep on the settee in the lounge and actually tried it out for size but it proved to be too uncomfortable, so he changed his mind and climbed the stairs intrepidly. No sooner had he got to sleep he began to dream. He awoke with perspiration on his brow about an hour later and looked towards the end of the bed but there was nothing to be seen. He fell asleep again and it was at exactly three-thirty in the morning when his mind spun around in the vortex again. This time he knew exactly what was going to happen and felt himself spinning round and round before disappearing into a black hole. He awoke suddenly when the pain of the nightmare became too harsh to bear but there was no apparition of his dead wife at the bottom of the bed. He blinked twice to assure himself but she wasn’t there. Then, without warning, everything in the room began to shake. The wardrobe seemed to contain a rampant lion trying to burst into the room, pictures on the walls fell to the floor with the frames splitting and glass smashing on the carpet, the chair on which he had placed his clothes was flung across the room, while drawers from the dressing-table flew open to discharge their contents. Within seconds, the bedroom was a total wreck. It was only then that Ruth’s apparition, in its strange mistiness, appeared at the end of the bed.

  ‘Why haven’t you found Amy’s killer?’ she demanded, with fury showing on her misty face.

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ he managed to say, terrified as to what she might do next. ‘I’m trying very hard.’

  ‘We are waiting in limbo and our time is running out,’ uttered the dead woman sombrely.

  ‘What do you mean time’s running out?’ he asked in bewilderment. ‘How long have you got?’

  ‘It isn’t the same time you have on Earth,’ she revealed in anguish. ‘If you don’t find the killer soon we may be left in limbo for eternity. Our strength is ebbing.’

  ‘Are you connected with Inge Carlsson who was killed recently,’ he requested dolefully.

  ‘There is just Amy and myself,’ came the reply. ‘You must hurry. Please hurry.’

  Her apparition faded at that point, leaving him to turn on the light and stare at his wrecked bedroom. She had been very angry to say the least but where did that leave him. He was no nearer to finding Amy’s killer than he had been when she first came to him. Like the police, he had gone through the motions of interviewing suspects but he was as far from the truth as they had been. Why couldn’t Ruth provide him with more information. Somehow she seemed to be disconnected from the world she had left and could only present herself to him. Time was running out, she had told him. Well how long did she have and what sort of time did she mean. Furthermore, what happened when a spirit was left in limbo for eternity? What actually happened to them? The questions pervaded his mind and forced him to remain awake. He rose and dressed, starting to clear up the mess his dead wife had created. She had been a virago, going wild, angry at his failure to achieve success in his quest. Well there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried his best and clearly that wasn’t good enough for her. Even the police, with all their resources, were baffled. What more could he do on his own? Of one thing he was certain... he would never sleep in his bedroom again until the matter was resolved. If the killer eluded everyone and was never found, he would take the medium’s advice to sell the house. Whether the new owners would be plagued with Ruth’s ghost was not his affair. He would be rid of her for good and, as far as he was concerned, the sooner the better. Who would want a ghost of their dead wife around night after night to haunt them for the rest of one’s life? It really wasn’t on especially as he had met Ellen and now thought of her as the woman of his dreams. Consequently, when he met Ellen after school the next day, they sat in the cafe drinking tea and he nervously posed a question to her.

  ‘Ellen,’ he began awkwardly. ‘Ruth’s apparition came again last night and she wrecked the bedroom like a poltergeist. I don’t think I can sleep in my house any more. Is it possible for me to stay at your apartment?’

  She thought about his plight for a few moments. It meant their relationship was likely to move up a few notches if he came to live with her and she wasn’t sure that, with Ruth’s apparition hovering in the background, that this was the right time.

  ‘Are you absolutely certain you want to do that?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Without any doubts whatsoever.’ ‘I’ll sleep in the second bedroom, of course,’ he stated frankly. ‘I don’t want to upset things between us.’

  She stared at him bleakly for a few moments. ‘It won’t work,’ she declared bluntly.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, surprised at her reaction. He couldn’t understand the rejection. After all, he only wanted a place to sleep... nothing more.

  ‘It won’t work because of the way I feel about you,’ she replied candidly. ‘Do you really think I could live with you in my apartment with you sleeping in a different bedroom. I though we were closer than that. If you stay with me it has to be either as master and mistress or husband and wife.’

  He stared at her in disbelief. She had really laid her cards on the table. It was to be all or nothing!

  ‘Don’t you think we’re taking this too fast?’ he ventured. ‘If it wasn’t for Ruth haunting me, we would be together at a different level.’

  ‘A higher rather than a lower one, I should imagine. Don’t you want us to close ranks in this relationship?’ she demanded indignantly. ‘Even my mother’s asking why we’re not living together when we’re obviously in love with each other.’

  ‘The Lady Dowager said that?’ he uttered teasingly.

  ‘Yes,’ she retorted, ‘the Lady Dowager... of the past. She wants to have some grandchildren. I can’t say I blame her. You know, you’ve got to move in to the twenty-first century, Jeff. You can’t skate on the outside of life.’ There was a pause before she continued. ‘So what’s it to be... both of us together or you find yourself a hotel?’

  She was really laying it on the line but, even though he was surprised at her outburst, he rose to the occasion. What else could he say but agree with her. In truth he was stunned by the fact that, in the not too distant future, they could have a family. It was something that Ruth had been unable to give him, and he began to become thrilled by the prospect.

  ‘Of course,’ he declared. ‘The two of us together. I would have suggested it earlier but I didn’t want to be precocious.’

  She smiled broadly at him shaking her head slowly. ‘Too precocious!’ she laughed loudly. ‘You know, Jeff, you’re precious!’

  He ignored her sarcasm to lean across the table and kiss her gently on the lips. Much to his surprise, it had become a win-win situation for him. Firstly, he w
ould be rid of the vision of his wife and her outrageous behaviour from beyond this world. Secondly he and Ellen would be able to live as, she had said, master and mistress or husband and wife. Yes... it was definitely a win-win situation!

  ***

  Hunter felt a great disappointment that the excellent newspaper article produced absolute nothing to move the case forward. Sadly, no one rang him or came to visit him at his house. Even though the theories seemed to lead to the development of the case, he found himself no further ahead. That evening, he returned home to collect some clothes to take to Ellen’s apartment when the telephone rang. He answered the call hoping that someone would relate some vital information but it proved to be wrong. Instead he found himself on the end of the line with a man who declared himself to be Amy’s killer. After the debacle of placing the advertisement in the local newspaper to find Antonio Perrera, the architect was extremely wary of crank calls and took the opening comment with a pinch of salt.

  ‘So you’re the killer of Amy Chester,’ he repeated. ‘If that’s the case, why don’t you give yourself up to the police?’

  ‘I’ve not called to receive advice from the likes of you,’ yelled the man down the line.

  ‘Then why have you called?’ demanded Hunter, playing him along like a man with a large fish on the end of his line. ‘I mean, if you tell me your name it’ll all be over for you. What a relief that would be.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic!’ snapped the caller sharply. ‘I’ve rung to tell you to lay off! Get off my case! Go back to your job as an architect and forget about it!’

  ‘And what if I don’t?’ returned the architect, still considering that it might a crank call.

  ‘Then I’ll come looking for you,’ came the smart reply. ‘I’ve already killed three people. Adding another one to the list won’t be any problem.’

  Hunter knew all about bullies. One had to face them and put the fear of God in them otherwise they browbeat a victim constantly.

  ‘I’m not a woman you can rape, beat up and strangle,’ he snapped smoothly. ‘I’m a man who can face you and fight you. If you think you can threaten me you’ve got another think coming. I’m wise to you, Jack!’

  ‘You know nothing about me!’ came the harsh reply. ‘You know zilch about what I’m doing. You think that there was another man holding down those women when I raped them. Well you’re wrong. You couldn’t be more wrong. If you want to know the truth it was a woman holding them down.’

  Suddenly the scales fell from Hunter’s eyes. He realised that he might possibly be speaking to Amy’s killer after all.

  ‘Are you serious?’ he challenged. ‘Why would a woman become involved in your rape of other women?’

  ‘Because she gets a kick out of it, that’s why! It turns her on,’ replied the caller without hesitation. ‘There are few things in life worth anything at all. Creating a life is one of them. That’s why I rape them. By the way, you do know that the baby Amy was carrying was mine. She had no right to have an abortion and deprive me of my child! No right at all!’

  ‘Is that why you killed her?’ Excitement built up in Hunter’s mind. He was now certain he was speaking to Amy’s murderer. No one else knew that she had had an abortion. Such details had never been revealed to the public in the local newspaper.

  ‘Of course not,’ continued the caller. ‘Mind you, I hardly knew that Swedish student. She was really the goods when I raped her. She struggled like hell all the time giving me the thrill of a lifetime.’

  ‘You’re a psychopath!’ snapped the architect angrily. ‘A monster! You rape and kill at random. What about the first woman you subjected to your whims... the one who was carried away by the tide?’

  ‘Oh, her. Elspeth Dainty. She was good too. A bit older than the other two, mind you. Pity the police didn’t find the body. It’s a shame. I wasn’t credited with that one, was I?’

  Hunter felt his temper rising at the man’s insolence. He was a serial killer boasting about raping and killing women. Now he was complaining of a murder he had carried out for which he had no credit. He had to be insane, to say the least! However, Hunter had gained at least one advantage in the conversation ... he now knew the name of the first woman who had been subject to rape and murdered.

  ‘Can you tell me the significance of the Maltese Cross?’

  ‘A red herring,’ came the reply. ‘I wouldn’t go along that route if I were you. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Anyway, it’s been good talking to you, Hunter. I think I’ve given you enough information. You just lay off and forget everything you know about the case if you know what’s good for you. Otherwise I’ll come after you and that’s a threat not a promise!’

  The line went dead and the architect replaced the receiver with a bitter taste in his mouth. He picked it up again almost immediately and dialled 1471 in a vain attempt to find out the man’s telephone number but he was told that the caller had withheld his number. Hunter was furious... not as a result of failing to discover the identity of the killer but because of the arrogance of the man. Everything he said was boastful, arrogant and distasteful, as well as threatening. At least he had divulged the name of the first person who was killed. That name was now put into play.

  He contacted Watson immediately and drove to the police station without delay to meet him.

  ‘You’re lucky to catch me,’ stated the policeman dolefully. ‘I was working late and was just on my way home when you called. You sounded as though it was urgent.’

  Hunter was pleased to see the change in the attitude of the police officer before offering him the information.

  ‘There was the rape and murder of another woman before Amy Chester,’ he related quickly. ‘Her name was Elspeth Dainty. Her body was placed on Vernon Beach too close to the water’s edge. When the tide came in she was carried away by the current. Her body was never found.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ asked Watson staring directly at his informant.

  ‘The killer just rang me,’ Hunter told him. ‘He demanded that I stop investigating the case or he would deal with me in his own way.’

  ‘Did he tell you anything else?’ requested the policemen.

  ‘Yes... he told me that there were two of them involved in each of these murders. You remember I said that the bruises indicated that one person had to hold the women down while the other one raped her. Well the second person’s a woman.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a crank call?’ muttered Watson, trying to get his head around the information.

  ‘Not this time,’ retorted Hunter curtly. ‘This was definitely the killer. It seems that the woman who’s involved with him gets a kick out of seeing him rape them.’ He paused as the police officer stared at him strangely. ‘It’s true. She gets turned on by the fact that he creates life. He also told me that Amy was carrying his baby and that he was devastated when she had an abortion.

  Watson moved to his computer and tapped in the name of Elspeth Dainty. ‘Hm,’ he muttered shortly. ‘Miss Dainty was reported missing by her father almost seven months ago. She worked in a major bank as a teller. Left work at five o’clock one afternoon and was never seen again... alive or dead. No one was ever charged with abduction. She was seen with a man the day before she went missing and it was believed that they ran off together. But you’re telling me she’s dead.’

  ‘That was the first murder,’ explained the architect. ‘He said that the Maltese Cross was a red-herring but I don’t think he was telling the truth.’

  ‘How can anyone be certain that Elspeth Dainty’s dead. No body was ever found. If it was carried out by the tide, someone would surely have found her.’

  ‘Well,’ countered Hunter with a benign expression on his face. ‘She’s out there somewhere.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ muttered Watson ruefully. ‘If she is one would say that you were talking to
the man we’re looking for... but is she. We need the body as evidence, not just a theory. Did you check the man’s telephone number at the end of your conversation with him?’

  ‘I dialled 1471 right away. He didn’t leave a number.’

  ‘Pity!’ expressed the police officer sadly. ‘It would have saved us a lot of time and trouble. But, don’t worry, if he is the killer, we’ll get him in the end. Every criminal makes mistakes at one point or another and the more murders they carry out the more likely they’ll make a mistake. We’ll just have to be patient.’

  ‘Hold on!’ snapped Hunter in disbelief. ‘Are you saying there’ll be more murders before we can catch him?’

  Watson looked at him sadly. ‘I’m afraid so. It’s the name of the game. Talk to me if he rings again or if you pick up any more information. I’m sure that Mr. & Mrs. Dainty will be interested to learn about their daughter, although they won’t be leaping with joy... that’s if we ever find the body.’

  Hunter left the police station frustrated at not being able to develop the case further. He had hoped that Watson would offer to undertake a full sea search but the offer had not been forthcoming. Once again there had been a development in the case and still he was no further forward. He returned home to pick up his clothes and drove to Ellen’s apartment.

  ‘You look as though you’ve had a real rough day,’ she greeted as he entered.

  ‘I spoke with the killer,’ he related eagerly, ‘but I don’t know who he is. Let’s have something to eat and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Later that evening, after they had finished dinner and he had told Ellen the affairs of the day, she suggested that they go to bed. As it was so early, Hunter felt extremely embarrassed, although he had no idea why he should feel that way. Nonetheless, they undressed together in the bedroom and when they were both in the nude, he went towards her and held her in his arms, kissing her on the neck and shoulders.