Wednesday: Story of a Serial Killer

by Success Akpojotor

  “They died from asphyxiation. Histotoxic hypoxia. Cyanide poisoning. How did l get the cyanide?” l said with bloodshot eyes.

  “That’s what baffles us. That‘s what we want to know. Cyanide is almost impossible to get. That‘s why they put you in charge of the investigation. They didn’t do it because of the trail you blazed in the priest-slayer case.”

  “So the coroner and –“

  “Yes they know.”

  “But why would l want to murder anyone?”

  “Perhaps for the same reason Stephen Akinmurele ripped the elderly.” He said cynically.

  I gave him a disapproving look. He and the others think I'm simultaneously playing a savior and a satan. “So Hugh is investigating me? Digging my past? Trailing me? Investigating my mother? Thinking that I-”

  He cut in “Murdered them but lack evidence beyond reasonable doubt to nail you.”

  “I didn’t kill anybody.” I said with a helpless tone as a slight electric shock surged through my nerves from my forehead.

  “Then find the killer because very soon you’d be on all tabloids after Hugh reads you your Miranda rights.”

  “I’ll find the killer.” I turned and walked to my car.

  He stood in front of me, and restrained me, "Will you still bring Regina to-"

  Wordlessly, with my right hand I pushed him from my way and opened the driver's door of my car.

  I entered.

  I ignited the engine.

  I sped away.

  ****

  Uniformed and non-uniformed men moved about. There were loud discussions as well as whispers. Telephones rang. The ACs chilled. The sight of NSY's working hours was a bustling one. May l term it busiest police force in Europe?

  My table was unkempt. As long as it was inundated with jumbles of files I couldn’t concentrate and think. I did my best to put it in order before Detective Sergeant, or DS, Danielle Rowland whose hour glass shape sent all the men and lesbians alike into confusion came to my table. Her lips were natural and florid like those of Katherine and Regina. Her eyes were a recipe for any man to ‘cum’ in his pants. “Good morning DI” she said.

  “Good morning Sergeant. How was your night?”

  “Bad!” she replied with a smile.

  I managed a chuckle. “Why on earth? A beautiful woman’s night should be beyond good.”

  She grinned. "Lisa left me. She wasn’t gay after all. She was only experimenting. But I won’t let it get to me.”

  I sighed. "I never knew …don’t worry you'd find love again."

  She smiled, “Perhaps in you.” She sat and passed me a folded note.

  I unfolded it:

  Be careful with Hugh. He’s looking for ways to nail you and charge you with the serial murder. He’s determined to maim your future and career. He told me at Sugar Cane two nights ago. As you reach the end of this note, look up, smile. Don’t raise any dust. I’m on your side. I know you didn’t kill anyone.

  I raised my head and smiled. “Thank you!"

  “It’s nothing.” She smiled. “Do unto others what you want done unto you." She was almost standing from the chair before I quickly remembered something.

  “Hold on please!” I told her.

  She relaxed back in the chair.

  “Are you good with mind games?” I said as I was almost absorbed in her lips.

  She smiled, “You want me to help decode the anagrams?”

  I gave a weak grin.

  “Hugh asked me to try. He’s convinced that the anagrams are gibberish. He said you, the killer, put it there to mislead the investigation."

  “You believe I’m the murderer?”

  “I already gave you my answer.”

  A relaxation partially numbed the worry in my mind, knowing that somebody didn’t think me to be a murderer. “Do you think the anagrams are a decoy?”

  “Really can’t say for now. Not sure though. We used wordsmith and it kind of complicated the whole thing.” She said.

  “Those anagrams might be the time or venue of his next attack.” I suggested.

  She leaned her head forward. "We can’t really say. What we know, according to Hugh, is that you’re walking and working your way into the serial murderers’ hall of fame. He said you’re slick and know how to leave no trail or clue. He’s still baffled as to how you got the cyanide. When I say you I mean the killer."

  I sighed “Is this killer a cop?”

  “Hugh thinks so.” She replied

  “Do you think so?” I inquired.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied.

  “Ok,” I had reached exasperation. “When you find any leads on the anagrams give me feedback."

  “I will." She stood and set to walk, “One more thing, the previous murders took place on Wednesdays March 6 and 13 respectively."

  “I know that." I said with an ‘abreast-of-facts’ tone.

  Hugh thinks that’s the murderer’s style." She added.

  “It is in my resume.” I said.

  “Hugh thinks you’d strike on the twentieth. Just be careful." She was out of sight.

  Now I was convinced that it was me and not Black Britons that Hugh didn’t like.

  ****

  Closing hours approached and DS Danielle visited my desk again.

  “What will you be doing Sunday night?” She sat.

  Her inquiry caught me unaware, “Sunday night?” I measured the syllables.

  “Yes. Sunday night. We should go to St. James theatre together. Baker’s wife is playing Maggie Thatcher in ‘The Audience’”.

  I smiled, “How do you know ‘plays’ is one of my things?”

  “You worship the king of Pop. Your soul is ignited by the New Age of Enya, Enigma and Era." She smiled weakly and continued, "You love Romance novels. They give you an escape route from the gory, grisly and sordid realities which are a part of our lives by reason of our profession." She bit her lower lip and released it. “You don’t womanize. Instead you implore the services of Lady Palm and her five sisters; and that of the breast biter. You do S and M, don’t you? You like beating or you like being beaten? Which of them? But I know you enjoy sex and pain."

  I chuckled. “You sound like God."

  “A woman researches the man she likes and loves to see if it’s possible that their chemistry needs a catalyst. And if this catalyst is there already, she fans it aglow. Except that I don’t do Romance novels. In fact I don’t do novels. They make me sick and over-exhaust my attention span. I would rather see a TV adaptation of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code than read the over eighty thousand-worded recycling of innocent trees called a novel. And who cares if it’s critically acclaimed."

  “A two–hour length motion picture doesn’t do justice to a book of over four hundred pages." I said matter –of–factly.

  “I think we should be doing this over dinner after seeing ‘The Audience' on Sunday. I’d pick you up at six." She stood and bade a farewell.

  Work came to a round off.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  March 15 came and joined the past.

  March 16 followed suit and took its place in the hall of history.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  March 17 was another spring Sunday. I couldn’t go to church for my running stomach made me pay frequent visits to my john. I felt considerable strength leave me as I kept emptying my bowels. My asshole was hot and peppery like it was being cooked on a hot stove; and I kept my pollex in the air for those who enjoy anal sex.

  I was imbibing my tetracycline and metronidazole medication when my door bell cried out. I quickly rounded off what I was doing and checked the door.

  It was Regina Cypher. I had told her she was free to visit me any time thinking she’d never give it a thought. At least not today of all days.

  “Good morning Wole!” She anglicized.” You look weak."

  My face mirrored my stomach. “Good morning. How was church today?”

  “I can’t join a minion of religious deluded hypocrites."
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  “Religion is how man perceives God and not how God relates with man. He doesn’t bless or forgive you because you’re a Christian, Muslim or Jew. He does because you’re human and nothing without him."

  “I’m kind of a freethinker." She gave a Mona Lisa smile.

  “It doesn’t matter how you find God. What matters is that you find him. Please be at home. “I walked into my kitchen to fetch some peaches which existed in my refrigerator.

  I returned to the living room with a flat ceramic which carried four peaches. “I’m a bachelor and what I have, give I thee. Peaches!"

  “Thank you!” She said as sweat and redness stayed on her face.

  Someone rang me up. I dialed the answer key. “Hello Danielle?”

  Her voice filtered into my phone’s earpiece. “Move away from her slowly. She mustn’t get wind of this conversation." A serious tone.

  I looked at Regina as I covered the mouthpiece of my phone. “A jiffy please. My mother."

  She nodded consent as I walked into my kitchen.

  “How did you know there’s a ‘she’ in my apartment?” I demanded.

  “You have few minutes to do what I tell you or you’d be behind bars after you’re convicted of serial murder– "

  I interrupted, “what are-”

  She didn’t stop, “that girl in your apartment right now is in possession of a vial which has potassium cyanide for its content. Hugh ‘duressed’ her into getting some from the lab where she cleans. The vial would still be in her purse if she hasn’t planted it already-”

  I hung up and hurried to my living room. I could literally feel blood running through me. Fear slapped me in the face when I proceeded to the living room and realized that Ms Cypher had absconded. My heart pounded so fast that I could feel it in my throat.

  She had planted the vial. But where?

  I wasn’t thinking on the shortest distance. I stabbed out Danielle’s phone digits from my Nokia. She busied the call. I guess she was angry because I hung up before time.

  My phone sang its Grande Valse. I dialed the answer key.

  Regina: “I’m sorry for agreeing in the first place. He threatened to deport me if I didn’t do it. I don’t know why bad things happen to good people."

  She hung up.

  “Bitch!” I said.

  I flung the phone on my couch and ransacked every nook and cranny until I heard siren wailing.

  My body’s flight mode was activated. Then on second thought, I erased from my mind the option of fleeing through the backdoor. I arranged my apartment to be almost impeccable before a knuckle conked my door. They ignored the bell switch outside.

  I opened

  It was Hugh and some Temporary Detective Constables, or TDCs.

  “We have information that an illegal immigrant in possession of potassium cyanide is hiding here." Hugh’s face was blank.

  “Nobody came here. I’ve been alone. All by myself.”

  His eyes scanned my living room and fixed themselves on the stool which carried a ceramic of peaches. “You didn’t have a guest? Why these peaches?”

  “I understand my Miranda rights!” I said with nervousness racking my nerves.

  “Search the apartment.” He ordered the TDCs.

  I didn’t request for a warrant now because it wasn’t going to change anything. It was a contrived emergency. All I did was whisper prayers in my heart to Jesus to make the vial of potassium cyanide disappear.

  The search suffered ten minutes. They found nothing.

  “Thanks for your compliance. Just wanted to make sure the rumour wasn’t true. The MPS continues to be respectable and of true character. See you at work tomorrow." Hugh said.

  They left my apartment.

  My belief in God got firmer. Jesus had varnished the vial.

  ****

  It was 2 P.M. and the fifth time I visited the john. It wasn’t funny.

  I returned to my living room to live when my eyes caught the SKY NEWS FLASH which replayed the death of a woman believed to have committed suicide by drinking from a vial right in front of St. James Westminster Church entrance in Askin Street. The local police found a note, on which she had scribbled her last words, on her.

  It was zoomed on the TV:

  I was a fool. I’m sorry. I wanted to pay good with evil. This is my penance.

  Regina was dead and Baker wouldn’t be happier by the time he would get to know of her demise.

  Gonzalo’s line in William Shakespeare’s The Tempest echoed in my head as I stood still and unconsciously buried my eyes in the SKY NEWS FLASH:

  “I have great comfort from this fellow. Methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him. His complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to his hanging. Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable."

  Consciousness surged through me as I retrieved myself from the reminiscence of my high school days. We had performed The Tempest and I had played the role of Gonzalo.

  Regina was born to die by cyanide. If she wasn’t, my case would have been miserable.

  ****

  I was recuperating with The Very Best of Era which sang from my digital video disk, or digital versatile disk, or DVD, player when I heard the sound of a car engine halt in my driveway.

  Before she had the chance to push the bell I opened the door and found her locking the door of her blue Chevrolet. She entered and I only shut the door.

  She had come to pick me for St. James Theatre as she promised at work. “She died. Suicide."

  I looked at her with derision. “To start with, I'm not going to the theatre. Our dinner tonight is axed."

  "You can’t be serious." She powered of the DVD player with the remote zapper which sat on the glass table.

  “How did you know Regina Cypher?” I queried.

  “I came to pick you for tonight’s plan. Let’s not spoil it." She pacified.

  I was queasy, “I told you our plan for tonight has been axed."

  “You can’t be serious."

  “I got a variety of fruits in the fridge. Peaches, apples, apricots, bananas…What do you want? You can help yourself. But first, how did you come to be in the know?”

  “Jude!” She sighed.

  “Jude? Who’s Jude?”

  “Hugh’s been fucking him." She bit her lower lip and released it.

  My eyes exuded doubt. “Hugh’s not a nancy!"

  “Hugh’s downlow. Jude is nancy, and Jude keeps telling me of Hugh’s plan as a way of getting back at Hugh who’s protecting his family from the devastating effect that his buggery–secret if revealed would bring. As far as Hugh is concerned, Jude is a sex-mannequin."

  “So Jude is your nark. How much are you paying him to soil Hugh’s plan?” I gestured at the red leather chair for her to sit as I sat.

  She sat.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as leather creaked. “Jude is my brother."

  My eyes exuded compassion as I neared her. “I’m not judging you or your lifestyle. Please understand that."

  “I know,” she sobbed. “Sometimes I just wish one of us was straight. My mother wouldn’t have died from the shock that knowing her two children are abnormal, according to her."

  “To her you might be abnormal. To me you aren’t. I love you the way you are." I said artlessly. “You’re appreciated."

  “Thank you." She buried her tongue in my mouth.

  I didn’t know when she did it and I didn’t have the strength to resist her florid lips until when Katherine walked in.

  “Hypocrite!” She said contemptuously, “You left our home because another man was screwing me, according to you, only as a guise for you to secure a place to screw lowlife bitches."

  “I’m not lowlife and he’s not screwing me." Danielle remonstrated.

  “Shut your gob you whore." Katherine shunned her.

  “If you weren’t a whore I don’t see why your husband would move out of your matri
-"

  Katherine interrupted with a slap on Danielle’s face. “You don’t hijack one's husband and still fight a wit battle with one even when caught red- handed."

  “This is uncalled for.” I told Katherine.

  She slapped me. “You’re lucky I’m not with my hand gun.”

  She walked out of the house and disappeared completely. Then I realized she hadn’t come in her car. She boarded a cab or used the tube

  Danielle followed suit. She wouldn’t say a word to me. She walked to her blue Chevrolet which assembled behind my car on my residential driveway.

  I followed her, “please!”

  “I knew you were married. I knew you were separated but I didn’t know she still had you fastened to her G-string's strings."

  "I’ll watch ‘The Audience’ alone”. Her wind glass rolled up and she backed her Chevrolet out of my drive and sped off.

  I noticed I was bare–footed before I planted myself back in my apartment which I inhabited with my companion – loneliness.

  Loneliness.

  I jerked off.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  March 18 was a leaky tent Monday. Dull. Hectic.

  I worked my head to the grey and white matters, and still couldn’t make any sense of the anagrams.

  DS Danielle wouldn’t say a word to me. Not even a “hi”.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  March 19 was a cold Tuesday

  DCI Hugh officially asked Danielle to assist me in the investigation.

  She said “good morning” and apologized for kissing me and being rude to my wife.

  ****

  DCI Hugh demanded that we had lunch together.

  I declined.

  He pushed, “I made a reservation for two at Rowley’s Restaurant. A minute walk from the Piccadilly tube. You can’t say no."