by Stan Mason
‘The Maltese Cross... St. John’s ambulance,’ he retorted. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? Why didn’t anyone think of it?’ He simmered down a little at her quizzical expression. ‘I’ll tell you all about it after the match.’
After the game was over, they retired to a small local cafe and she sat waiting for him to reveal the details of his findings.
‘I hadn’t intended to involve the police at this stage, because of the way they handled things, but I’m afraid I’ll have to,’ he began, revealing to her all that he had discovered.
‘You do realise that this will mean the end of Ruth,’ she told him with an element of sadness in her voice. ‘Are you prepared for such an event. I mean you were married to her for seven years.’
‘Does that displease you?’ he responded concerned that she should bring the subject up so readily.
‘Yes... in a way,’ she said sombrely. ‘It means you’ll want to go back to your house to live. I’m not sure I want to do that seeing that you live there with her.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ he stated firmly. ‘I’m going to put the house up for sale without delay. Does that answer your question?’
‘I suppose it does, if you really mean it,’ she smiled.
‘Oh I mean it all right,’ he retorted quickly. ‘I hope that pleases you.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.
‘And I’ll tell you another thing,’ she went on, trying to prevent herself from giggling. ‘The Lady Dowager will be delighted as well.’
He guffawed loudly almost spilling his tea in the process as they stared lovingly into each other eyes.
Later in the day, he went to the police station to find Watson only to be told that the policeman was off duty.
‘What did you want to tell him?’ asked the desk sergeant with a doleful expression on his face.
‘I’ve learned the identity of the killers of Amy Chester and Inge Carlson, and Lauren Buckley,’ explained Hunter, cursing the fact that the senior police officer was absent.
‘Oh, yes,’ rattled the desk sergeant, with a sceptical tone in his voice, believing that Hunter was another crank caller. ‘And how did you come by that conclusion, sir?’
‘By sheer deduction, sergeant!’ snapped the architect irately. He had had enough of police stupidity and was determined to put an end to it. ‘Get Roger Watson on the phone right away. He’s in charge of the case so he ought to know the details.’
‘I can’t do that,’ retorted the policeman sharply. ‘He’s off duty. I can’t ring him on the whim of someone who walks in here at random and claims he has information.’
‘My name’s Hunter and let me tell you this, sergeant. If you don’t, your head will be hanging outside this police station on a pole,’ yelled Hunter angrily. ‘I’ve very important information that’ll crack a murder case wide open. If you don’t contact him for me immediately, you’ll be up before your superiors and maybe suspended for ignoring vital information. I’m telling you I know the identity of the serial killers. If you don’t believe me it’s going to be your lookout. I’m telling you, your future depends on it!’
His short speech was so vehement that it took the desk sergeant by surprise. He paused to consider the alternatives if he refused to comply with Hunter’s wishes and then decided it was wisest to conform. Picking up the telephone, he rang Watson’s home number reluctantly.
‘Mr. Watson,’ he said into the receiver as the call was answered. ‘There’s a Mr. Hunter here who says he knows the identity of the serial killers. He wants to see you right away.’ There was a pause on the line and then the desk sergeant replaced the receiver into its socket. ‘He said he’ll be here in ten minutes. But it’s my turn to warn you. If you’re messing us around we’ll have you for wasting police time.’
Hunter mused that Lizabeth McBeth had been right. Victims were quickly turned into suspects by the police force in their feeble attempts to solve crime. He sat quietly on a seat in the police station patiently waiting for Watson to arrive. When he came, the architect related all the information to him and the police officer nodded appreciatively.
‘I have to admit you’ve done a good job, Hunter,’ he commended, ‘but you must let the police deal with it from here on. You mustn’t get involved any further.’
The architect was loath to allow it to happen that way, especially as he had made an agreement with Meredith. However, he had no alternative but to concede.
‘I won’t get involve provided you allow me to come with you to the St. John’s Brigade’s headquarters,’ he said almost pleadingly. ‘I promise to keep well away from the action.’
Watson thought about it for a few moments and then nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘I think I owe you that much. But you must keep well clear.’
The following day was agony for Hunter. He kept looking at his wristwatch wishing for the hours to go swiftly by, examining the face of it ever ten minutes to check the time. He would put himself through Hell during the day trying to waste the hours until eight o’clock that evening. Nonetheless, time did pass fairly quickly, especially after he had completed fifteen crosswords, met Ellen for lunch, and cleaned up the apartment.
‘You’re not to get involved in the arrest,’ she warned him, concerned that he might get hurt in a scuffle. ‘These people are suspected murderers. They’re quite capable of doing you harm.’
‘They’re not suspects any more. They’re downright killers and we’re going to catch them,’ he retorted emotionally. ‘It’s a pity the country doesn’t still support capital punishment. They deserve to be executed.’
‘Now, darling,’ she cautioned ruefully. ‘Contain yourself. Don’t get involved. Promise me you won’t... come on!’
‘All right, ‘ he told her yielding quickly. ‘I promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to your word,’ she told him, kissing him briefly on the lips.
That evening at seven forty-five, a team of policemen carrying loaded rifles met a short distance from the headquarters of the institute.
‘Don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary,’ ordered Watson commanding the unit. ‘Wait until I’ve gone in and just be prepared for action if you hear my command.’
The members of the team nodded, understanding the situation. Hunter stood beside Watson and another policeman until the clock on the tower of the local church moved to eight o’clock.
‘Right,’ said Watson firmly turning to Hunter. ‘I’m going in with this policeman. You follow behind but don’t get involved. Ready?’
The architect nodded and the three men went to the front door which was unlocked, entering into the hallway. A buzz of conversation could be heard from a room on the left hand side of the corridor and they pushed the door open gently before entering. There were eight people in the room. Seven of them were sitting around a table while Charlie Davis was standing with a sheet of paper in his hand ready to address them. Watson and the policeman went over to the two youngest people in the room and stood over behind them.
‘Peter Shakespeare and Sally Shakespeare,’ he said in a solemn voice, ‘I’m arresting you for the rape and murder of Elspeth Dainty, Amy Chester, Inge Carlson and Lauren Buckley...’
‘Hold on!’ interrupted Peter Shakespeare angrily rising to his feet. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m arresting you both for your complicity in those murders. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be taken down and used against you in a court of law. You may...’
‘Hold on!’ interrupted the killer rudely, ‘You’ve got nothing on me or my sister.’
‘I think we have, Mr. Shakespeare... or should I say Mr. McBeth.’
‘What... just because I changed my name.’ He laughed in disbelief. ‘Let me tell you that the name of our foster parents was Brent. We could ha
ve called ourselves that. No, sir. If all you have is our change of name its circumstantial evidence and it won’t stand up in Court. Not a word of it.’
Watson continued to read them their rights as Hunter left the room and went upstairs to the third floor. He opened the door and switched on the light. There it was in all its glory. A large Maltese Cross affixed to the centre of the wall. The psychics had been so right in their predictions. Indeed, he reflected, that particular cross had haunted him for weeks and now he was staring at it in reality. He moved to the cupboard at the side of the room and opened it. At the bottom rested a neatly folded skirt and a blouse. He unfolded them and stared at the bloodstains on both of them, shaking his head sadly. Why did the Shakespeare’s leave the clothes in the cupboard? They could have got rid of them at any time. Surely they couldn’t have forgotten about them! Maybe they examined them every so often to get a kick out of the bloodstains. Who knew how the criminal mind actually worked? He took the articles of clothing downstairs and stared at the two killers.
‘Here’s the bloodstained clothes of Elspecth Dainty,’ declared the architect, pointing to the evidence. Not only did they rape and strangle her, but they must have used a knife to slit her throat. These are the clothes Elspeth wore at the time. There’s probably the stains of his semen on the skirt.’
Watson nodded. ‘Give them to the constable,’ he ordered, and Hunter complied without hesitation.
The police then started to handcuff the brother and sister, locking Sally Shakespeare’s hands behind her. However, just before the second cuff was placed on Peter Shakespeare’s hand, he pulled away and drew a knife from his pocket. The nearest policeman stepped back to avoid being stabbed but Hunter, in his fury, advanced quickly to the man with the knife being wielded in front of his face a short distance away.
‘You don’t frighten me!’ savaged the architect moving forward, much to the dismay of the senior police officer.
‘Come on, Mr. Hunter!’ laughed the killer. ‘I look upon you as my friend. You’re not going to let them arrest me, are you?
There was a pause and then the knife was thrust at Hunter’s body. Even though he thought he had avoided being wounded by moving slightly sideways, the point caught him on the wrist, slicing into the flesh. The architect was so inflamed that he punched the killer in the face with his other hand knocking him down. Then he reached forward to prise the knife out of the dazed killer’s hand. Within seconds, the police surged forward and handcuffed him as they had done to his sister.
‘I told you not to get involved,’ snapped Watson angrily, wrapping his handkerchief around the wound on the architect’s wrist.
‘I wasn’t going to let that pipsqueak hold me to ransom,’ stated Hunter forthrightly. ‘He’s threatened me and my wife. I’d had enough!’
‘You’re daft,’ declared the senior police officer. ‘He had nowhere to escape to. You didn’t need to get wounded.’
The two killers were taken out to a waiting police car and the architect was transported to the local hospital where they bound his wounded wrist with a bandage. Thereafter, he drove home feeling as though he was on wings. The hunt was finally over. The killers had been found, caught and arrested. At last he was free to continue his relationship with Ellen without any interruption from his dead wife. He sped home to the schoolmistress to related the good news and she was delighted when he told her that the killers had been captured. From her point of view, his obsession with the case was at an end and she could live with the man on her own terms. Nonetheless, when she saw the bandage on his wrist and learned what he had done, she shook her head sadly.
‘You gave me your promise!’ she accused harshly. ‘I don’t know whether to call you a hero or a fool.’ She calmed down quickly after the tirade kissing him on the cheek. ‘I think I’ll call yoy my hero although you’re still in my bad books.’
He kissed her lightly on the lips and put his arms around her lovingly. ‘I don’t know how this works,’ he admitted candidly as an idle thought crossed his mind. ‘Ruth said that her spirit would be free as soon as the killer was caught but I don’t know whether that’s the case. She might have had to wait in limbo until he’s duly punished. It may not be over yet.’
‘Well it’s only a matter of time,’ returned Ellen, delighted that Hunter’s obsession would soon be put to rest.
‘Huh,’ he spat irately. ‘You know how long they delay cases in this country. It could be months.’
He continued to plague his mind with the thought causing his euphoria to turn sour. Surely the fact that the killers had been caught would be sufficient to release Ruth and Amy from limbo. However he soon realised that there was no means by which he could find out except to return to his home to see whether her apparition returned again. It was something he didn’t really relish.
The following morning he went to the police station to see the prisoners. The desk sergeant was still on duty only this time he looked at Hunter in a different light.
‘DI Watson’s waiting to see you,’ he advanced on the edge of eating humble pie.
‘What’s the low-down on the Shakespeares?’ asked the architect hoping to be able to question both of them.
‘Well,’ returned the policeman, ‘the woman worked in an abortion clinic and she gave her brother the names of those women who went there. It appears that ending an unborn life was the trigger that set them both off. They stalked their victims soon afterwards and, well, you know the rest. He worked in a bank as a clerk.’
‘I’d like to see them for further questioning,’ stated Hunter eagerly.
The desk sergeant pressed a buzzer and a policeman came to answer the call. ‘Take Mr. Hunter to the cells, Phillips,’ he ordered. ‘He wants to see the two we brought in last night.’
The policeman led the architect into the bowels of the police station and took him to the cells. In the first one, Sally Shakespeare sat on the bed with her head in her hands. The cell door was opened and Hunter entered to stare down at her as the door was closed behind him with a loud clang. She looked up at the noise to face him calmly.
‘How could you hold down those women while your brother raped them?’ asked Hunter sombrely.
‘Why not?’ she spat at him angrily. ‘What’s the big deal in that?’
‘You’re a woman,’ he continued. ‘You had to watch him do it. How could you? Where’s your decency. I can’t understand your motivation.’
‘If I was reincarnated to Earth, I’d want to come back as a man,’ she told him in the same angry tone. ‘The one thing I’m missing is a penis. Do you realise the power of it. It can create life. A woman is simply an object that produces the child eventually but it’s the man who has the power. I saw my brother create life every time he raped someone. It was magnificent to watch.’
‘But he strangled those women afterwards!’ stated Hunter, surprised at the woman’s response.
‘That was his way of taking revenge. Our mother abandoned us in our early years. Something Timony couldn’t handle as he grew up. So he killed himself by walking into the sea. Our mother set the scene for us to rape and kill any woman who had an abortion.’
‘But why? Why should you do such a thing?’ The architect’s voice became emphatic.
‘To replace Timony of course,’ she retorted. ‘It was Peter’s way to replace him but after he raped them he thought of mother and strangled them.’
‘That’s perverse,’ snapped Hunter in disbelief.
‘Oh, how I wish I had a penis,’ she went on, going into a mystic trance. ‘It’s like the old joke of the nun and the priest riding a camel through the Sahara desert when the camel dropped dead. ‘Without the camel we’re going to die,’ stated the priest. ‘Before I go, I’d like to see you in the nude.’ he told her. The nun undressed and said ‘as we’re going to die, I’d like you to do the same.’ The priest did so and hand
led his rising penis. ‘Do you know,’ he told her, ‘if this is put in the right place it can induce new life?’ ‘Well,’ replied the nun, ‘stick it in the bloody camel and let’s get the hell out of here!’ Sally Shakespeare began to laugh in a maniacal way at her joke, continuing to laugh long and loud at the top of her voice.
Hunter was stunned to note that the prisoner had gone insane in front of his eyes but he realised that she had been mental and under stress for a very long time. He motioned to the policeman who opened the door of the cell to release him, leaving the mad woman laughing crazily in her cell.
‘Whew!’ uttered the architect somewhat shaken at the experience. ‘I’d like to see Peter Shakespeare now.’
They walked down the corridor to the end cell and Hunter looked inside as the policeman unlocked the door.
‘Hold on!’ shouted Hunter in despair. ‘Something’s wrong here!’
The two men raced into the cell where the prisoner was hanging from the iron bars that were set into the window. He had torn a strip of cloth off the side of the mattress and had looped it into a noose to hang himself from the bars. An upturned chair that he had kicked away in his last moments lay awkwardly on the floor..
‘Damn!’ yelled the policeman rushing to take the prisoner down.
Together, he and Hunter undid the cotton strip and lowered Shakespeare gently to the floor. The policeman tested the prisoner for a pulse but shortly turned to the architect and shook his head slowly. The man was dead! Hunter was dismayed at first until he realised the import of the man’s death. It was only then that he became delighted at the outcome. The medium had told him that Ruth’s spirit would be released when either of two incidents occurred... when the killer was caught or when he died. Well there had been doubt in his mind what the situation would be when the killer was caught. Did Ruth really mean when he was caught or when he was punished to lead the rest of his life in prison? However that fear was now overcome by the fact that Peter Shakespeare was dead. Now Hunter was certain that Ruth’s spirit would be released and he would no longer be haunted by her. He couldn’t have hoped for a better result.