by Luis Samways
He shuffled his feet forward as he stepped through some deep puddles. The wet sensation griped his feet as he cracked his neck, releasing some of the pent up frustration he had been feeling. He reached the large metal grated door, like a security shutter that most shops have in a mall. He banged his fist on the rusted metal. The clanging sound spiralled through the alley. He looked behind him, admiring his curvaceous vehicle in the backdrop. It looked out of place in the side street. He reached into his pocket and switched the lock on. The sound of the automatic lock could be heard from where Mullins was standing. As he took his hand out of his pocket, a small flap on the metal door slid open. Some ones faced poked out. The man’s eyes darted from left to right totally ignoring Mullins who was standing right in front of him. He finally acknowledged him with a brief nod of his head. The sound of metal unwinding filled the shallow alley as the large metal gate opened. The scrawny man in a well pressed Italian suit smiled and shook Mullins outstretched hand. He signalled Mullins inside. ‘Please do make yourself at home Detective Mullins. Can I offer you a coffee or something?’ The man says as he steps aside, allowing Mullins the right of way. ‘Nah, you know why I’m here. Where’s Humphries?’
‘I’m not too sure Mr Police man. He said he would be back in a few hours. I’m sure if you wait you will be able to catch up with him as soon as he comes back,’ Mullins nods his head as he waits for the man to close the gate while he stands in the small corridor. He watches as the small Italian accented man flicks an ominous medieval looking switch on the wall.
‘Why all the security?’ Asks Mullins as he reaches in his jacket and pulls out a cigarette.
‘We have a lot of expensive cleaning equipment here. A lot of it is purchased with our own money, some of it is on grant, and the vehicles like the street sweepers, are on loan from the bank. If someone came in here and took our equipment, we’d be fucked good and proper like a blonde at a porn convention. Mr Humphries doesn’t like to get fucked without dinner and a glass of wine beforehand that is. After that he isn’t too picky,’ the cheerful man says as he finally manages to close the heavy gate. He looks Mullins up and down and sighs. ‘You should be careful where you stand Detective. Humphries doesn’t like people bringing mud in from the street. It will contaminate the cleaning equipment. Can you please leave your dirty shoes at the door?’
‘And walk in bare foot?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, It’s just the boss will have my neck if he sees the track marks on the floor, its protocol around here.’
Mullins shakes his head in disbelief.
‘And I though the shiny shoes and pressed suits were fashion statements,’ he says as he kicks his black shoes off.
‘If you follow me to the waiting room, the boss will meet you when he returns.’
‘You guys have a waiting room here?’
‘Yes, for the council types that come here and negotiate business… cleaning business that is.’
‘You have meetings about street cleaning?’
‘Yes, the Mayor of Boston is particularly keen on keeping the streets clean.’
Mullins sits down on a chair in the waiting room. It’s decked out with classic singer portraits on the walls. It’s a stereotypical Godfather type hang out. The corners of Mullins mouth sharpen as he tries not to laugh.
‘Is everything okay?’ The Italian man asks
‘Yeah, I was just thinking that I agree.’
‘Agree with what?’
‘Keeping the streets clean…’
Twelve
Chief Shaw steps on through the middle tier offices that stand in between the foyer and the operations room. It’s a cluster of small booths occupied by wide eyed detectives as they fill out the paperwork on whichever cases they are working on. Shaw reaches the foyer in a matter of minutes. He spots Frank sitting on the visitor’s bench next to the door. He composes himself and walks on over to him. He spots what Frank is holding. He stops dead and breaths in deep. ‘Tell me that isn’t what I think it is,’ he finally says.
Frank looks on up at Shaw as he nods his head.
Shaw signals Frank up off his seat. He follows the Chief back on through the booths all the way to his office. Shaw shuts the door behind him and pours himself a drink. He quickly swigs it and makes eye contact with Frank who seems to be waiting on a response from his boss. ‘So?’ Frank asks.
‘Indeed,’ Shaw replies as he struggles to find the words that fit the occasion.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what’s in this box?’
‘I don’t need to Frank. I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘The thing is,’ Frank says just before Shaw interrupts him.
‘You found a box with some decapitated human parts in it, am I right?’
Frank’s face washes with confusion as he looks on at the near stiff fear in the eyes of his boss.
‘Yeah, how the hell did you know that?’
‘We got a call earlier today that the Christmas tree in the city center was toppled over by some troublemakers. We sent officer Santiago out on the call and he discovered a box just like yours on the scene. This particular box was crammed with two female legs, severed at the limbs, seeping blood out of the box. Someone purposely put the Christmas box under the tree, replacing the replica empty ones that were there before. The box could have been there for a while, we don’t know for sure how long though.’
‘What about the tree being vandalised?’
‘The people who tipped the tree over were unlikely the ones who planted the box there. Reports say that they were kids, although they were wearing ski masks, it was clear that they were local teens, most likely around the age of 18 considering that they were hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs. A serious killer wouldn’t be drawing attention to himself by toppling over a tree. I think we found it early, I think we were never meant to find it.’
‘Well I was certainly meant to find this particular box.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because this one was practically thrown at me.’
Thirteen
The young girl Roxanne opens her eyes for the first time today. She sees the usual sights that she has grown accustom to. The shards of light bellowing off her dim surroundings, the smell of course metal hitting her lungs and the screams and sobs of the other girls. She’s been here for a while. It seems as if this place is the only place she can remember. Her brain tries to remember other things, but sometimes she just gives up. There’s no point in trying to remember happier times. She has to deal with the present. The time at hand is no time she wishes to be a part of, but she has to stay strong, that’s what she tells her self every day. As soon as she wakes up, she reminds herself of her plan. Remain calm and collected. It’s worked so far. She’s been here longer then all of the girls. Every day she hears the screams. Every day she sees the cell’s grow emptier one body at a time. The busiest she has seen this place was a year ago, the Machete Man, as she calls him anyway, brung around twelve girls in last year. He kept them here for a while until recently that is. Most of the girls had gone into the room in front of her. One by one, the vast metal door had shut behind them. The muffled sounds of screaming were heard, then nothing for a good while. Then he would repeat the same thing, over and over again, until finally it was just her. She was used to being the last one. It had happened three times now over the course of four years, he had kept her here for longer than any of the other girls. She doesn’t know why, nor does she care. She just wants to find a way out. It was going to be hard. The place she was being kept prisoner in was dark and rigid. She had a cell just like everyone else. The cell was iron clad with a hulking metal barred door to keep her at bay. The actual walls were rock, most likely granite and iron; she recognised some of the textures of the rock. Her dad was a keen rock collector. There was something about rocks that fascinated him. She would always laugh to herself, thinking how ironic it is that she is being kept prisoner here of all places. Her dad would have lo
ved the place, if only she wasn’t in it that is. She imagined her parents had given up on finding her by now. It had been four years, they most likely thought she was dead, but she forgave them if that was the case. How could she blame them? How could she blame the police if indeed they did give up the search for her? She still remembers the day she was taken. It was a sunny day in Boston, a day that she imagined the angels of the sky would embrace, a day that God had created especially for the human race. It was the sort of day that made most people glad to be alive. A glorious beaming sun would lighten up most peoples grim thoughts. New England isn’t known for such days, especially in December. It was a day she remembers not only for the great heat, but for the way it changed her life forever. She was twelve years old and it was Christmas Eve. She had gone out with her friends to the mall. She wanted to get her dad one last present. It was a rock hammer, to shape and polish rocks. It was a hobby of his. The only thing she remembers vividly about that day is stepping into the woman’s toilets on the second floor of the mall. She needed to relieve herself after drinking a 7 Eleven, trying to scratch the dryness out of her mouth. She had gone into the ladies toilets for a few minutes. It was empty. She had sat down on the toilet. She had waited there for a few minutes until she had finished then she had gotten up and opened the door to be met with a blinding rag to her face. She remembers the smell of that rag vividly. It made her sleepy to think about it now, let alone then. The next thing she knew, she woke up in that very cell on her birthday, four years ago today. She sighs as she thinks about another birthday away from her parents, another Christmas away from society, and another lot of screaming girls.
Fourteen
‘Honey I’m back,’ says Henry Ledger as he enters his wife’s study. She’s sitting on her office chair overlooking the window peering out to the garden. She smiles at him as he gives her a wink. He walks on over to her and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.
‘How was your day honey?’ She says
Henry’s face darkens for a few seconds as he contemplates his answer.
‘It was just another day in the cutthroat business of financial advising.’
‘Many clients today?’
‘No, the usual high rollers keep checking on me as if I can’t do my fucking job correctly.’
Her eyes sadden as she looks on at her reeling husband.
‘I’m sure they trust you dear or they wouldn’t be willing to spend all of their money on you would they?’
‘It’s not about the money, it’s about the respect. These assholes think that just because they made all of that money they are better than me. I’m just a product of their success.’
‘Without you dear, they wouldn’t be successful.’
Henry gives up ranting and changes his tone.
‘How’s the book coming along?’
‘It’s coming on great. I’ve got an interview with the chief of police, Shaw; I think that’s his name, next week.’
‘You reckon he’s going to delve into the case?’
‘I don’t know, he said that he appreciated the fact that this was a record keeping book and not an expose’
‘So you’re not going to publish it?’
‘Publishing a book on our missing daughter feels wrong. I don’t want to capitalise on the bad fortune of ours; it’s more of a closure thing.’
‘Closure for whom?’
She smiles as she saves the document on her Mac and hits the x in the corner.
‘Closure for the whole family Henry.’
Fifteen
Diary entry number One
Dated 18th of December 2008
Dear Elizabeth, Yeah…That’s what I’m going to call you. It was the name of the girl at school, the one all the boys wanted. She was tall, lean and inspiring. It is her who gave me my life’s calling. It was her smell that made me react the way I did. It is her image that still drives me insane nearly fifteen years later. For if it wasn’t for you Elizabeth, maybe they would have a chance, a slight chance, to live and prosper, but you taunt me in a way I’m not used to. An aching trembling in my heart, a merciless linger in my nose, a salivating echo in my mouth. You will pay for the pain you caused me. You may think you are safe, but you’re far from it. Safety is relative. It’s dependent on the walls that surround us, the fences that keep us at bay. If it wasn’t for these fences and walls, then, maybe there could be another way, a different way, a nicer way, to get you back, and have you for myself. It is what it is Elizabeth. I can’t possibly describe the feelings I have for you. When I see you, I see beauty, nothing less, nothing more, just intense, unadulterated beauty. The type of beauty that stops the world DEAD. The type of beauty that makes my heart beat a mile a minute. I will catch you Elizabeth, like a child catches the measles, it’s inevitable, and like the world turning…you will turn with me.
Something needs to be done quickly, time is of the essence. I heard you were back in Boston. That’s good, we should catch up soon. Let’s set a date, four years from now, we shall be together, call it love, call it whatever, but I’m certain, we will meet again.
Love
Eli
Sixteen
Mullins had been sitting in the “waiting room” for nearly an hour now. He had been keeping himself entertained with his thoughts. He’d been scouring his head for reason and logic regarding the decapitations case. He had never seen anything of this nature in his tenure at Boston PD. Granted he had seen a lot, countless bodies, countless acts of evil; none had struck a nerve with him quite like this one. It was an unusual feeling, the sort of feeling he hasn’t felt before. Call it fear or whatever; it was still foreign to him. He glanced at his watch to confirm his reason for being on the edge. He knew the building he was in was owned by one of Boston’s Elite. He goes by the name of Humphries. He hadn’t a clue why the name on the building he was in was called Mason Humphries though, he was sure that the guy’s name was not Mason; it just didn’t ring with his surname. The guy was British and he kept himself to himself. No one actually knew his name not openly any way. He is a hard man to get to, he has an inner circle of people he trusts, and those people have their own circle. Mullins was not in the circle, he is an outsider. He knew that through the case they had on the cleaning company prior, Humphries didn’t like him. Nor did his men, they had an obvious disliking towards the police. Mullins understood his position, being an Elite business man in Boston is enough to get any one’s head turning, especially if you have your fingers in every pie imaginable. It’s safe to say the media and the people of Boston do not care for Humphries or his organisation. There’s no secrete about it. The media are constantly smearing him and his ventures. They are dead set on making his life hard, and Mullins has always been interested in why they feel the need to. There hasn’t been any concrete evidence that Humphries has been involved in any wrong doing, so Mullins imagines that Humphries must have pissed someone off. That’s partly why he’s down there, to get some much needed answers. At that minute, the small Italian man returns this time baring a tray of beverages, Coke’s and all sorts of sodas. Mullin’s eyes the tray in the man’s grips as he reaches the now standing Detective.
‘I thought you would be in some need of refreshments. The boss has been somewhat detained, he may take a while longer. I do apologise for the wait,’ the man says.
‘What seems to be the holdup?’ Asks Mullins curiously.
‘Traffic.’
‘What you going to do ay? You can’t prepare for Boston on a gridlock.’
‘The boss will appreciate your understanding…Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll leave the tray here for you; you can have a stiffer drink if you want…’
‘Nah, its fine, soda will do. I’m on duty after all.’
The Italian man smiles a mouth full of white and yellow.
‘Ah, an actual police man who doesn’t drink on duty, now that’s a first in my books. Police in Italy don’t care what time of the day it is. A drink’s a drink after all.’
‘Don’t you worry about it,’ the man smiles once more and plants the tray on the coffee table. He gestures to Mullins as he quietly walks away. The Coke tastes refreshing in Mullins mouth as he closely watches the Italian man disappear around the corner.
Seventeen
‘It just doesn’t make sense, why the Christmas boxes?’ Asks Shaw as he takes a stiff swig of his whisky.
‘Beats me, the only thing I’m curious about is why did I get a face full of limbs at the hospital. Were they tailing me or what? How did they even know I was being discharged?’ Asks McKenzie as he takes a toke of his cigarette.
‘Maybe they panicked’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Maybe they were planning on leaving the Christmas box at the hospital entrance. They saw you standing there and decided to throw it at you.’
‘I don’t know… it just feels a bit off.’
‘No shit, there’s a killer out there filling presents with decapitated women, if that isn’t off then I don’t know what is,’ says Shaw in a sinister voice.
Frank grabs the remote control for the TV and flicks the box on. The crackling light beams through the room lighting the dim grungy office.
‘What are you doing?’ Asks Shaw
‘Checking the scores.’
‘What scores?’
‘Hockey…’
Shaw shakes his head in disbelief as he watches his best Detective tune into ESPN. Frank shakes his head in disappointment.
‘What?’ Asks Shaw