His eyes continued around his apartment, which he had bought from the man that had previously been his landlord and was up for generating some liquid money. Lentus hadn’t wanted to move, the disruption to his routine would not have sat well. He had overpaid for it and was still doing so on a fairly big mortgage; but let’s face it, there was nothing else for his money to be spent on.
The kitchen, which he could see through the doorway from the lounge, was well equipped and barely used. His diet wasn’t the best, he viewed eating now as a purely perfunctory chore. He couldn’t imagine it any other way. Dining out as an enjoyable activity just wouldn’t happen. God forbid he ever have a date to go on, he just wouldn’t know what to do.
He took another silent sip of his tea and surveyed his living quarters again. He knew that Polly would say that it needed a female touch. She’d be right, too. Plain white walls, dark wood if there was wood, very little colour and not a flourish in sight.
A woman’s touch. He smiled ruefully at that. He didn’t have time for romance. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since college, and that had been a pretty staid affair. His obsessive compulsive disorder wasn’t the biggest draw for potential girlfriends. His social skills outside of the necessity of work were minimal and small talk was something he found impossible.
As for sex. Well, that was like a secret he was never let in on. Aside from the fact that he had very few urges, he couldn’t help but think of the whole thing as something sordid and a bit too messy. Too many bodily fluids, and way too many aspects that could go awry.
Nope, it wasn’t for him.
As a result he had never had full penetrative sex with anybody. He didn’t even masturbate. Ghost or no ghost, Polly’s presence would make that seriously off limits if he did feel the need. But he didn’t.
So here he was, sat with a cup of decaf tea on his boring chair, in his bland room, in his banal flat. No partner, no family; well none that were alive anyway. He was a 32 year old virgin with an incredible career and no life, with just one passion.
The obsession of catching that bastard that killed his beautiful sister.
‘Happy Birthday George’ he toasted himself
‘Happy Birthday Lenny’ his dead sister echoed, after spitting her fingers on to the floor.
Chapter 47
‘Many happy returns for yesterday, Guv!’
It was Gavin poking his head in the doorway, a surprise for Lentus. He didn’t even know that Gavin knew. Their working relationship was obviously very different now to how it had been at the start. Lentus’ rise up the ranks and his promotion beyond him had changed him when talking like this. Possibly he had just dropped the bullshit and started acting like a human being, possibly it was respect for his rank. The fact was, for all Gavin’s faults, he was a bloody good Detective, and Lentus was pleased that he hadn’t felt the needed to change divisions.
Walters had to deal with most of the interactions with Gavin, as he did most of the team. So this personal and seemingly warm greeting touched Lentus. He didn’t even know that anyone knew it had been his birthday, let alone Gavin.
‘Thank you, Gavin. How’s things?’ Lentus said in as close a semblance to small talk as he could. He left it ambiguous as to whether ‘things’ were work or personal; the best he could do after such an intimate interaction.
‘Oh, you know me Guv. I’m perfect, it’s all them other fucking muppets!’ he erupted into raucous laughter which was cut short almost as quickly as it had been started by Walters pushing past him through the doorway. Despite the hierarchy, Gavin was not pleased at being manhandled aside and was starting to puff his chest out and raise his power chin when Walters fairly exploded, excitedly holding a piece of paper and envelope in a latex gloved hand.
‘Guv, you are not going to believe what came in this morning’s post!’ he was grinning.
Lentus noted that Walters’ hand was shaking. His entire body was vibrating, in fact. His eyes were gleaming. Gavin had dropped the bravado and had stepped in to the office to take a closer look at what was in Walters’ hand. The office was charged very suddenly with tangible excitement.
‘What is it?!’ Lentus urged from behind his desk, getting impatient and staring at the piece of paper at his eye level.
‘It’s a letter, sir,’ Walters grinned, eyes dancing and sharp, ’from HIM’.
Lentus seemed to feel the earth shift. It was a strange feeling, and very obviously not real. But the mind can work in strange ways. On cue, he heard Polly spit her fingers and thumbs out and then heard them fall to the floor.
‘It’s here Lenny. Something big has happened’ she said. He didn’t see her, he didn’t focus on anything other than the typed piece of paper held in front of him in trembling latex covered fingers.
‘From who, Walters? Elaborate, man’ he said brusquely. But he knew. Walters was grinning, Gavin was licking his lips and eyeing the paper like it was an unexploded bomb.
‘Sir, I’m pretty sure this is a letter from Polly’s murderer.’ the intake of breath from Lentus and Gavin was clearly audible. ‘And sir, he’s listed more. And why he did it.’
His head span, his mouth went dry. Could this be the end? Was this a confession that would ultimately lead to his capture?
What would Lentus do if he DID capture this evil bastard? Not just to the killer, but what would he do after his nemesis was behind bars?
These thoughts, and a thousand more raced through Lentus’ head as he reached out for the piece of paper, his fingers now safely ensconced in latex. Three pairs of alive eyes and one dead pair all fixated on the same object.
Was this the beginning of the end?
After taking a huge, shaky deep breath, Lentus began to read out the letter to his audience of two, possibly three.
Chapter 48
Typed letter received by DI Lentus
November 2001
Dear Detective Inspector Lentus,
Manners maketh the man, they say. I therefore thought it only good manners to throw you a lifeline, as you seem to be drowning; if you will forgive me for saying so.
You see, I have seen you interviewed on TV and continually quoted in the papers, and you not only seem like a fish out of water, but also; you evidently are not joining the dots that I’ve been leaving for you. There is a picture forming, I assure you.
This list may go some way as to assist you.
Polly Lentus – rude, assumptive and aggressive
Tony Williams – cruelty to animals
Jonathon Crosby – bad road etiquette
Louise Richardson – lying and cheating the public
Russell and Cat Shevlane – no spatial awareness and rude
Jo Smithers – bad bar etiquette
Nicola Birt – talking in cinema
Bryan Cairns – no adherence to queue etiquette
Anoushka Craig – too pushy and rude
Jeanne Young – pushing in to queue
Lisa Bimson – slammed door in face and bad mannered
I think you can see a pattern emerging here, DI Lentus. I do not jest when I say manners mean a lot. Some of these vermin you would not have realised until now had been dispatched by my fair hand. Now you do.
There would have been more had circumstances allowed. Alas, they did not at the time. However, I can assure you that there will be many more to come.
For the avoidance of doubt, each time I shall leave you a calling card henceforth. Good luck, DI Lentus.
Remember this:
Manners Cost Everything.
Chapter 49
They stood in the incident tent, DC Walters and DC Shanks together, side by side with grim looks on their faces. Both very different in how they worked and both trusted by their boss implicitly. Both were on a level playing field today, and no competition was in play.
For them both to be sent out together to a crime scene was big. This was big. All of the team knew it, as it was the first time something had happened since the letter that really could have
a link. Not just a link they were secretly hoping for, but a real one. A calling card. He had struck again.
They had tracked back to all of the murders he had described in his letter and had reassessed the circumstances, evidence, and all details if they hadn’t been in the list already. Lentus’ obsession had taken on a new urgency, to the extent that the team were worried for his health. He had always been hard working, but now he was always the first in and the last out, and must have been existing on an unhealthily small amount of sleep. He looked ill.
Many would bow at the pressure of what their Guvnor was dealing with right now. Lentus was now spinning a lot of plates, more so since the public’s perception of events changed. Were changed.
Somehow, the papers had got wind of the letter and of course, all hell had broken loose. Someone must have leaked some information for a few quid, hugely frowned upon in their circles. But it had happened and they’d been fire fighting for months now. Any kill in the city, or indeed the country had the little shits at the papers rubbing their hands in glee. All the papers were concerned with was sales through scaremongering, and they were doing a damn good job of it, too.
To date, the rising tide of hysteria had been mostly quelled successfully; as it was all speculation and no substance. Fact and reason prevailed, so mostly, the public just had an inactive Bogeyman. One to scare the kids with and talk about around the camp fire.
Seemingly, until now.
It was bitterly cold, their breath fogging out in front of them created a temporary haze that shielded their eyes from the horror lying at their feet. They were both seasoned Detective Constables now, but they never got used to this.
This was vicious. This was frenzied.
That familiar smell was there, the copper tang of blood filling the small area inside the tent. It held a different note to the nose when frozen, but was unmistakable as blood. The other smells, they were knew. At least under these circumstances they were.
‘Do you want to be scribe, or do you want to do the once-over?’ DC Shanks asked DC Walters through plumes of vapour, still looking at the bloody and frozen lump before him. She had been pretty, he was sure he could make that out at least.
‘Gavin, do you mind if I scribe? My gag reflux is bad today, and I’m not sure I won’t chunder if I get up too close’.
‘No worries, Mark,’ he smiled, not without compassion, ‘I ain’t had breakfast today anyway.’
He knelt down by the body, after making sure he wasn’t disturbing any evidence that hadn’t been photographed and captured already by forensics. He wore gloves and had a wooden stick not dissimilar to a lollypop stick.
In a matter-of-fact tone that belied his queasiness DC Shanks started to list everything for DC Walters to catalogue, his pencil audibly scribbling on the form on his clipboard.
‘Female. Caucasian. Slim build. 5’4” to 5’6” height. Early to mid-twenties. Possible cause of death….’ he paused, choosing where to start and swallowing hard before starting again. ‘Multiple stab wounds, erm, I can count 12 without moving the body. Paper of some kind inserted into wounds. Could be leaflets’.
He used the wooden stick to turn over a piece of paper laying slightly to the side of the frozen body.
‘Meat is murder’ was printed on the front, with a photo of a mutilated animal underneath, followed by some hefty writing with lots of exclamation marks.
‘Oh. Yes, it looks like the wounds have been stuffed with Meat is Murder leaflets. Good god’. He gulped audibly, seeming to fight gagging.
‘OK. Coat and top have been removed, bra left on. Otherwise fully clothed. Slices of flesh have been removed from forearms, upper arms, shoulders and breasts. None look deep enough to be fatal, minimum bleeding would suggest posthumous cutting. See what the autopsy comes up with’.
‘Moving on….’ Shanks said, then paused, breathing heavily. Walters looked on, realising the strength it was taking to be up close to such horror, then looked swiftly back at the form he was filling out with Shanks’ words.
‘The face…’
Deep breathing. Gulp.
‘On the face, carved quite deeply. Half an inch I’d guess..’
Gulp. Gulp. Sharp intake of breath.
‘Carved on victim’s right temple is the letter ‘m’.’ Shanks looked away and breathed shakily and deeply for a minute or so. He then visibly steeled himself and went back to the gory task in hand.
‘Carved between the eyes is the letter ‘c’, and on the victim’s left temple, the letter ‘e’ has been carved.’
Gavin gagged slightly, breathed deeply and finished, ‘Buried in each eye socket of the victim is a carrot. Likely cause of death, assuming the length of carrots is in proportion to carrot top’.
Shanks stood up on shaking legs. All bravado had disappeared. He looked over at Walters, who noticed how pale he looked.
‘You ok, Gav?’ He asked.
‘Oh, mate. Who does this?’ he gestured at the victim at his feet. Leaflets were splayed around her and in her. From a distance the orange of the carrot tops with the dark of the base where the leaves would sprout, gave the illusion of a Halloween style horror mask eyes.
‘Shit, mate,’ All walls were down, camaraderie in the shared ghoulishness of the scene, ‘Some fucked up angry bastard. You know those carrots are full stops, don’t you?’
‘Yeah’ he replied, looking down sadly.
They looked at the M.C.E. spelt in gouges and carrots on the victim’s previously pretty face, and in unison, they said;
‘Manners. Cost. Everything,’
Chapter 50
Lentus wasn’t comfortable with attention. It wasn’t what he had got into the police force for at all. He had joined to catch bad guys and make the world a better place. It had always been his intention to do this as neatly as possible, with as little human contact as was possible. He had just wanted to quietly tie up the loose ends.
His deluded dreams had involved him quietly working away in darkened rooms, solving crimes and then handing it all back to the boss to deal with the outside world in some beautifully slick and socially adept way.
Unfortunately, as far as the public were concerned, he was that boss.
The buck stopped with him, and that was that. So, with this inarguable and immovable fact in mind, he had begrudgingly called a press conference. With the aftermath of 9/11 being shockwaves around the world, the public was sensitive to anything that shifted the balance of the status quo. There had to be some kind of transparency these days. It was expected.
The UK had a serial killer, it was on his watch, and they now had another murder on their hands. The shit was going to hit the fan either way, so he would do his best to use the press and keep hysteria to a minimum with some hard facts. His theory being that the less gaps there were in the information for the press to fill with speculation, the better it was all round.
The papers and TV were never going to go away. He therefore needed to control this conduit of information as much as he could under the circumstances. Thus far, any news of this new murder had yet to be leaked to the press. Lentus had called in 1 to 1 meetings with each and every member of his team to express to them the levels of repercussions if a leak transpired. It seemed to work. So he would deliver a measured announcement of this new development with assurances and platitudes.
His heart was racing at the thought of going out past these doors to address those gathered outside. He had decided there would be a better impact if it was in public, and close to the area where the most recent victim had spent her last hours. Of course, there was always the chance that the murderer could return to the scene of the crime.
That area was now covered in flowers and cards from well-wishers, the sight adding a different hue to the otherwise gaudy Christmas decorations strewn here and there in this busy shopping area. The podium upon which he and various other trusted individuals and senior staff would address the masses had been erected as close to the flowers as possible, whilst in
the area least decorated with sparkly seasonal crap.
Lentus hoped that this would garner the most sober and least hysterical of responses. Seriousness where it was needed. Possibly…
He had invited selected journalists from each of the major newspaper and television program; purposefully choosing the most credible of each. The ones from less credible, he had chosen the best of a bad bunch. In all, there were 40 reporters from various parts of the country and the World. 40. A nice, even number.
It had been a painful and slow process choosing who to invite from where, but he hoped it would pay off with less drama. Every little helps. Once invited, they appeared to have dropped everything and were now assembled in front of the stage, all emitting a steady thrum of chatter and noise. He had decided to think of it as a stage, as he would certainly be putting on a show for them. This would be the ultimate of masks that he would wear. Yes, he had obviously had to endure facing the press many times before, but this was the first time he had proactively set up a proper press conference. He felt like a fish out of water.
Manners Cost Everything (Manners Trilogy Book 1) Page 15