Dying to Meet You

by Patricia Scott

  ‘Jude,’ he called her again.

  She wasn’t in the bedroom, the bed hadn’t been used. The room was immaculately tidy as usual but she’d undressed in there, her gown and few skimpy undergarments were tossed onto the bed and the carpet.

  His face lightened rapidly. Now he could hear the water rushing, running freely in the bathroom, and pushing the door wide open to move in with his chair he saw why…

  Jude…lying at the bottom of the open shower cabinet. He saw her dark head first, her hair falling loose over her face. He gulped in air furiously, his heart pounding fast against his rib cage when he spotted the red stained water that surrounded her body and the crimson stains that splashed high and wide running down in red brilliant streamers over the white tiled shower walls; blood that was still fresh.

  He screamed out loudly, ‘Jude!’

  Jude’s beautiful face was the only part of her left untouched. A knife had slashed into her making an obscene morass of her slim body. Gutted open wide from her chest down to her stomach exposing and spilling out her inner organs onto the tiles.

  ‘Jude! Jude!’ He yelled out desperately again before nausea filled him up and he moved backwards in the chair quickly out of sight of the horror he’d just taken in, and vomited over the cream carpet in the bedroom.

  He beat his fists down on the sides of his chair, his voice rising high and hysterical with grief, ‘Oh my God! No Jude! Jude!’ he shouted out desperately, tears rolling down his cheeks. But she would never hear him again. Never whisper his name in his ear as he woke in the morning and caress him sweetly as only she could.

  He couldn’t stop his body shaking uncontrollably as he rocked in the chair. It took him some time to pick up the phone and dial the 999 number. And shout into it, ‘Murder, please come to the Orchid Club at once!’ before dropping the phone and collapsing back in his chair.

  *

  They came quickly. Scene of Crime officers moved like sombre acolytes through the rooms and around Erik, forgotten momentarily while the police surgeon and the officers dealt with the crime that awaited them in the bathroom.

  Farmer shouted, ‘For Christ’s sake! Somebody turn off the bloody water! Before it floods us out.’

  Peterson spoke out sharply, ‘Who is this woman? Did Kaufman say, Trask?’

  ‘His girlfriend, ma’am - she didn’t come home tonight so he came over here looking for her.’

  ‘Must have been bloody ghastly for him. Poor bugger! Looks like a fucking knacker’s yard in here. Or at best a bloody good take off of Psycho,’ Farmer said turning away quickly from the victim, his lips curled in disgust.

  Digital cameras clicked around them as they attempted to view this scene of butchery dispassionately.

  Calder was staring down at the body with a glazed look in his eyes. ‘She-she’s wearing a pendent like Linda’s,’ he said bumping up against Trask in his haste to leave the scene. ‘Sorry, Sarge.’

  ‘Yeah. Could be,’ Trask said, spotting the chain of gold around the victim’s.

  Granger’s normally cheerful face looked grim and pale. ‘Someone used a knife like Jack the Ripper. Took out most of the vital organs here. Two hours ago, I’d say at the most. She was strangled. Can’t tell you offhand much more than that. You’ll have to wait till the pathologist deals with it. You won’t get much out of that man in there - he’s in shock. I’ll give him something.’

  ‘Was it someone she knew or someone who got in into the premises with a key or password?’ Farmer asked taking a piece of peppermint gum gratefully from Trask and chewing on it to stop the bile from coming up in his throat. He wasn’t feeling so bloody good, and could do with a drink. Several in fact.

  ‘This place in general doesn’t look disturbed at all. The victim’s clothes taken off by herself presumably in the bedroom. Everything kept neat and tidy. The bastard probably washed and changed his clothes before leaving,’ Farmer said to Peterson. ‘Is there a connection here with Handley’s death? A knife was used but it could well be the same signature. The victim’s strangled and doused in water again and is wearing a pendent similar to Linda Handley.’

  She frowned and nodded. ‘You’re right, I thought I glimpsed that too. Could be committed by the same Perp. No sign of the weapon though so far.’

  ‘Someone must see that he gets home. Kaufman’s not in a fit state to drive anywhere.’ Granger indicated Kaufman, eyes closed still slumped in his chair. His face still damp and mottled with the tears he’d shed, his hands held tightly together in his lap. He looked up vacantly as his name was mentioned.

  ‘Trask help Mr Kaufman into my car, I’ll drive him home.’ Farmer announced. ‘Can’t say I’ll be able to sleep much now myself.’

  Seventeen

  Peterson drove back to her seafront hotel room at the White Rock from whence she had been rudely awakened an hour before by Trask’s urgent phone call. Richard, waiting for her in the double bed was drinking a cup of coffee when she joined him. The strain on her pale face told him all he wanted to know.

  ‘Bad?’

  She nodded with clenched lips and collapsed onto the bed with a groan beside him.

  He got up and went over to the drinks cabinet. His hand on the electric kettle he asked, ‘Tea, coffee or something stronger?’

  ‘I’ll have the something stronger, neat and make it a double, please, Richard.’

  ‘So, what was it this time? Another homicide?’

  She nodded and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘A woman at the Orchid Club. In the apartment upstairs, Kaufman’s partner Jude van Hoet.’

  ‘Interesting... Kaufman’s partner!’

  ‘Yep.’

  He poured out the drink; she took the tumbler from him, swallowed down the contents quickly as he sat down beside her. She leant against him for a moment or so while he stroked her head. He kissed her face tenderly. ‘Another?’

  She nodded. ‘Please...’

  ‘You needed that,’ he said watching her as she drank it down greedily and colour came back flooding back into her cheeks. She slipped off her grey blazer jacket and relaxed against him. ‘Really that bloody, was it?’

  ‘It was. You’ve got no idea,’ she groaned. ‘You really don’t want to know. Not if you want to sleep easy.’ She sighed heavily, closed her eyes a second or so and grimaced. ‘It was bloody ghastly. Your worst nightmare!’ She laughed shakily. ‘She was a beautiful woman... once. There was a large photo of her in the bedroom.’

  He put his arms around her, held her close to him and she felt his dark stubble bristling against her skin. She smiled. It felt reassuring and good.

  She was still trembling. ‘S-sorry, darling. I hoped we’d have some free time to ourselves this weekend.’

  ‘Shush - forget it.’ He rubbed his shadowed chin lovingly on her fair head.

  ‘What a wretched honeymoon we’ve had so far. Or the lack of one,’ she groaned. ‘I should have at least taken a week off.’ She pulled off her cream cotton sweater over her head. ‘And I must let Farmer and Trask and the rest of the crew get on with it. I think I’ve nettled Nick Farmer more than a bit honing in on things so far. ‘

  He kissed her on the nape of her neck. ‘Never mind. We’ll snatch what time together we can for now. Let’s have a midnight feast,’ he said nibbling her chin. He glanced at the clock by the bed. ‘Though it’s a bit late even for that.’

  ‘Thank you, for putting up with my work right now. I hope you’re not going to find it too wearing.’

  He laughed. ‘Never - you’ve put up with mine, my sweet. And we wouldn’t have met, but for the line of work I do.’

  It had taken six months of persistent courtship on his part to persuade her that six years age difference between them didn’t matter as far as he was concerned. Although it did to her at first. She’d told him how she felt when she realised it was becoming so serious. Especially if he wanted children; her career had meant so much to her before and now.

  ‘I want you to show me how much you love me,
Viviane Peterson,’ he said as he caressed her tenderly. ‘Make it worth my while being left all here on my own this weekend. Or I’ll set up divorce proceedings as a poor neglected husband immediately. By the way have you mentioned to anyone yet that you’re a newly married bride?’

  She chuckled. ‘No - I haven’t. I’ve been much too busy settling in and making the acquaintance of my team. They’re a good bunch you know. I really liked what I saw of Linda from the start. I feel so bad about her death.’

  ‘Stop it, woman - that’s enough shop for now…’ And the rest she wanted to say was smothered by his ardour.

  Eighteen

  In the incident room the next morning the officers started work early on the new crime. Could there be a connection between the two victims? Were the zodiac pendants a clue leading to the crimes or merely a coincidence?

  Peterson didn’t believe in coincidences.

  ‘Only two days between them. The killer has been busy,’ Peterson said studying the pictures displayed up on the board. She massaged her neck absently while she looked at the photos of the murder victims and picked up the plastic packet which contained the diamond decorated gold pendant from Jude Van Hoet. Frowning she studied it carefully. It was a valuable piece of jewellery. Robbery had definitely not been the motive.

  Nineteen

  Mel Goring, pouring the milk over Jack’s breakfast cereal, munched on a piece of crisp toast as she listened to the local radio news.

  ‘You’ll be good now at Nannie’s, won’t you? I’ll take you to see the new Disney at the cinema tomorrow and that’s a promise.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy, can Chris come too?’

  ‘Yes… Ssh!’

  ‘A woman was found dead in a flat over the local gambling casino. The Orchard Club. The police were called there during the early hours. The death is being treated as suspicious. Name of the victim not disclosed as yet...’

  ‘Another murder, Mummy?’

  ‘Jack!’

  Shocked by her small son’s quick reaction to this news she was reluctant to say too much about it. He was bright enough to pick things up from phone conversations she’d made. He said he wanted to be a policeman too.

  ‘Ye-es, it could be.’

  ‘They’ll get him, won’t they? The nasty man that killed Auntie Linda?’

  ‘I hope so, darling. I really hope so.’

  She closed her eyes briefly. They burned with unshed tears. She daren’t make too much show of her feelings in front of Jack. He was quick to soak up atmosphere and she thought him much too young to grieve again after losing his Daddy two years ago. He was only just recovering from that.

  Was this new death connected with Linda’s? Was it anything to do with the hard drugs being sold on the Orchid Club premises? Mel needed more than this brief snippet of radio news. She knew that she couldn’t find out anything unless she tapped her previous source of information, that most irritating of men, police officer, DI Farmer.

  Twenty

  Erik Kaufman wheeled his chair into the small white walled room and looked down silently at the dead woman lying on the table before him. Tears pricked his eyes when the white covering sheet was drawn back revealing the silky black hair which sprayed out loosely around her high cheekbones. He could still smell her musky perfume, which overlaid the distinctive chemical smell of disinfectant in the room.

  ‘Yes, this-this is Jude - Van Hoet.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Kaufman. We shall need to question you again. Later today, when you feel you can manage it.’

  Kaufman nodded. ‘Will do. Call me.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Kaufman.’

  ‘I shall expect you to nail the bastard who did this, Superintendent,’ Erik Kaufman said sharply before he left the room. ‘Instead of wasting time looking for petty criminals.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And I shall offer a reward of ten grand for any legit information. If that will help you to catch who did this...’

  ‘We aim to do just that, Mr Kaufman. The money could help if anyone knows who did it.’

  ‘I bloody well hope so.’ He growled. ‘Or I’ll be dealing with it myself personally, Peterson. And the methods I’ll use you definitely won’t like.’

  *

  ‘There was some attempt at strangulation in the same fashion as your colleague, but there is of course one very big difference too,’ Henry Lawrence the Medical examiner said as the three police officers drew nearer to the pathological examination. ‘As you know already it appears that we have another would be Jack the Ripper in our midst.’

  The officers made appropriate nods of agreement with their green capped heads. Farmer popped a mint imperial into his mouth to help settle his stomach. It was playing up more than usual with the smell in the room.

  ‘And there is also something else here,’ Lawrence said. ‘She, er, Miss Van Hoet was a transsexual. She’d had the op for it about three years previously, I’d say. Did either of you know that?’

  He looked at the officers for their reaction and was satisfied to see the astonishment shown on their faces. He chuckled. ‘No - I can see that you didn’t. That’s quite a turn up for you, isn’t it? Ask yourself, did the killer know that beforehand?’

  ‘Did you, Farmer? You’ve not heard anything before referring to her - his - gender?’ Peterson asked.

  ‘Nope. Not a whisper, ma-am.’

  ‘Jude Van Hoet was Erik Kaufman’s partner. Seemed like a pretty close relationship too. The man’s devastated. He is eager for us to catch the killer. He’s offered a big reward; ten k’s.’

  Farmer nodded. ‘He could help us. He must know more than we do about Van Hoet’s movements and the people she came in contact with - the motive for her killing perhaps. Other than this Cancer Astrology crap.’

  ‘Has this death anything else in common with Linda Handley’s?’ Peterson asked coming in closer to study Jude Van Hoet’s face. The marks of strangulation were showing up on her neck now.

  The ME nodded. ‘I think it holds the same sexual hallmarks so far before the killer ran amok with the knife. Perhaps the shock of discovering that she wasn’t all she seemed to be sexually might initially have sparked it off - hence the bloody mayhem.’

  ‘There is no sign of the weapon yet - could it be a kitchen knife? Snatched up perhaps from the kitchen in the flat?’ Farmer asked.

  ‘Yes - by the size of the wounds. She died by strangulation from pendent she was wearing and then the knife was used in this terrible fashion. The face this time was left entirely untouched. Quite beautiful, wasn’t she?’

  Peterson nodded. ‘She was.’

  Twenty-One

  Erik was in the glasshouse tending to his orchids half heartedly when Freddie walked in breezily through the door. ‘I heard about Jude. Flew back pronto. Soon as I heard the news from the boys. Sorry, bruv.’

  Erik’s hand trembled on the slim can as he watered the spray of cerise pink blooms in front of him. ‘You took your bloody time about it. I wondered when you would turn up.’

  ‘I came as soon as I could.’

  Erik studied his brother’s face. ‘Given yourself an alibi, have you? I’d say that right now you feel like dancing on her grave. And I’m warning you, if I find that you’re responsible for my Jude’s death I’ll see to it that you die slowly and painfully.’

  Freddie threw his arms up in the air in a wide sweeping gesture. His heavy spicy cologne filling up the warm air around them.

  ‘I’ve been in my place on the Algarve! What have I fucking got to do to convince you that I had nothing to do with it? I don’t know who killed her!’

  Erik wheeled quickly towards him up and whipped out a small pruning knife from the side of his chair that flashed and gleamed in the sunshine. Freddie yelled and instinctively covered his face with his hands as Erik brandished it in the air in front of him.

  ‘What are you fucking doing with that for Christ’s sake? What’s wrong with you?’ he mumbled. ‘Have you gone bloody mad?’

  Erik shouted. ‘Shall I show y
ou, Freddie? Shall I? A knife like this slit up her belly and gutted her like a fish from her navel to her throat - my beautiful, sweet Jude.’

  Erik gestured wildly with the knife and nicked his brother with the blade drawing a bead of blood on his freshly barbered cheek.

  ‘Jesus Christ! What the fucking hell has got into you?’ Freddie said looking down at the smear of blood on the back of his hand. ‘No fucking tart is worth all this.’

  ‘Clear out! Get out of here you fucking bastard and take your bloody pikers with you, do you hear!’ With tears rolling down his cheeks Erik charged at him in the wheelchair. ‘Get out of here! I don’t want to see you in here ever again. You pollute her memory!’

  ‘You’re a bloody madman! I wouldn’t have got rid of her. Jude made too much money for the family business for me to want to kill her,’ Freddie shouted back.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Erik slammed the glass door in his face and scowling, Freddie left. A moment later the door opened again.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Kaufman. Your brother told me you were in here. That looks like a pretty sharp weapon you’re brandishing in your hand.’

  Peterson stood in the doorway, with Farmer close behind her.

  Erik looked down at the knife balanced in his hand. His laughter had a harsh ring to it. ‘You picked your time. Brothers can fall out occasionally. This is my plant knife. Not a deadly weapon, Superintendent.’

  ‘Your brother - where was he when Jude was killed?’

  ‘According to him sunning himself on the Algarve. He likes the sun.’

  ‘Don’t we all. Perhaps you will tell us then what you were doing on the night that Jude Van Hoet was killed. You said you were waiting here at home before you set out to find her at the Orchid Club. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes - I couldn’t get her on my Blackberry and I was worried. It’s usual for her to give me a call if she’s going to be late. There’s a lot of money kept in the casino safe.’