by Michael Kerr
Jack saw a uniform feeding coins to a coffee machine. Went over to him and said, “Ryder, SCS. Did you come with the victim from Kilburn?”
“Yes, sir, in the ambulance. They nearly lost her. Had to use paddles on her twice to bring her back. They took her straight into surgery.”
Jack nodded and went over to a desk that looked more like a barricade erected between staff and prospective patients.
“I need to talk to the doctor dealing with Anita Brewster,” Jack said to a weary looking bottle blonde who wore a peach-coloured nylon overall and was sitting behind the high, deep counter.
“You need to take a seat and wait, sir,” Janice Ainsworth said, turning her attention to a youth who was obviously pissed. The front of his shirt was covered in blood, and a trail of red, teardrop-shaped spots on the vinyl floor covering showed the weaving path he had forged from the door. It looked as if he’d been glassed, judging by the lacerations to his face.
Jack looked at the woman’s name tag: “Listen, Janice,” he said in a low, menacing tone, while pushing his ID to within an inch of her nose. “I haven’t got time to be fucked about. Some maniac, who has already murdered at least three young women, cut Anita’s tongue out. Stonewalling me is compromising more lives. If you want to keep your job, get a doctor out here. Do it now!”
Janice’s face paled as she picked up a phone and spoke urgently into it.
“Doctor Singh will be out to see you presently,” she said.
“You scared the shit out of her, Ryder,” Lisa said when they had walked across to a row of unoccupied plastic chairs.
“I got her attention,” he said. “They’re programmed to keep people waiting. It goes with the patch in these days of staff cutbacks.”
A long four minutes passed. Jack was all set to go back and lean on Janice again, but she was saved his wrath by the arrival of a small, lean man in a white coat.
Jack showed his warrant card again.
“What is it you are needing to know, Inspector?” the doctor said.
“I’m needing to know if Anita Brewster is going to make it. And I need a forensic officer to be allowed to examine her.”
“I am not able to say neither one way nor the other as to whether the patient will survive. She is in theatre, and in a critical condition. As for her being examined, that is out of the question.”
“Do you have a daughter?” Jack said.
“Er, yes, indeed. But I do not―”
“The animal that cut Anita’s tongue out is on the loose, and has already sexually assaulted and murdered other women. He is a stalker, who could quite easily select your daughter as his next victim. He will continue to commit these acts until we catch him. With your help we may be able to stop him, and save life, so man up Doc and use your initiative. Do what’s right.”
Doctor Vinay Singh had a wife and three daughters, and worshipped them. The thought of some maniac touching a single hair of their heads was almost beyond his ability to contemplate.
“What is it that you are proposing, Inspector?”
“That a skilled forensic officer be allowed to retrieve any evidence that might give us the DNA of the perpetrator, before it is degraded. If she was raped or sodomised, there may be semen. And if she fought with her attacker, then there could be trace evidence under her fingernails.”
“It is highly irregular. Would you be satisfied if a doctor performed these procedures?”
“With the forensic officer present, yes.”
“Where is this officer?”
“On the way. I would imagine she will be here any minute.”
“Very well. I will inform the surgeon who is operating on Ms Brewster of the situation. But he may deny your colleague access.”
“I appreciate you’ll do what you can, Doctor.”
“I think she’s here now,” Lisa said as the entrance doors sighed open and a young woman carrying an aluminium case walked purposely into the building.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WHAT a great, awesome, fantastic and altogether extremely satisfying experience. He had decided that more was less. He could be subtle. He took her from behind, then pushed her down onto her back and ripped the tape away from her mouth. When it opened, he gripped her tongue between the jaws of a pair of pliers, yanked it out as far as he was able to stretch it, and severed it with a single sawing cut, using a small boning knife he’d taken from the cutlery drawer in the kitchen. The amount of blood was phenomenal. She emitted a shrill high-pitched scream as blood jetted from between her lips to run down both cheeks onto the bottom of the bath. And then she whipped her head back and forth and spray-painted everything in lines of bright red. He had chuckled as she flopped around, knowing that she would bleed out without his needing to do any more. The tongue seemed to pulse in his hand. It could have been an eel, for they twitched and moved even when they were chopped up and frying in the pan. He loved eel pie and mash. Dropping the tongue into the toilet bowl, he rinsed his gloved hands and left her to die.
Back downstairs, he saw the computer in the lounge, which gave him the idea to send an email. That would put the cat amongst the pigeons.
Home now, showered, sitting eating a sandwich with a filling of pastrami and thick slices of raw onion, and sipping chilled milk. Acid and alkali. One negating the effect of the other. Everything was cause and effect. Anita had been the milk that neutralised the corrosive, ulcer-inducing anger caused by Dawn’s breach of faith. Her perfidy was wholly the fault of the police, and in particular the direct result of Jack Ryder, the Detective Inspector in charge, who’d spooked his lovely Dawn, causing her to believe, understandably, that she was in danger of becoming a victim. The instant retaliatory action against Anita would give Ryder much food for thought. And what he was about to do would leave the clever bastard in no doubt that he was locking horns with a far superior player. But he would have to move quickly. Plans were evolving in his mind. Circumstances dictated, to a degree, the next step he would take. He had no intention of being idle. It would be fun to poke a stick in the hornets’ nest he had constructed, and to then watch the resulting bedlam that ensued.
Once given the facts, the surgeon heading up the team working on Anita was sympathetic to Vinay’s request. He gave his permission for Officer Geraldine Rhodes – suitably scrubbed up and wearing the right apparel – to retrieve whatever trace evidence she needed from his anaesthetised patient. The procedure did not in the least distract Doctor Edward Parkinson in his endeavour to reattach the tongue using microsurgery. Anita was now stable after a blood transfusion, and his team’s immediate goal was to reunite her with the organ that would give her the continued ability to talk, taste and swallow efficiently, given time.
“You get anything?” Jack said to Geraldine when she returned to the small waiting room that he and Lisa had been marking time in.
Geraldine grinned. “A few grey hairs, semen, and blood and tissue from under her fingernails.”
Jack had the urge to hug the young forensics officer, but didn’t. “You notice any other injuries?”
“Tissue damage to her anus. But the semen was recovered from her vagina. I took a lot of swabs.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “Go do whatever it is you do. Let’s pray for DNA that we can match.”
Geraldine rushed off to the lifts. She was convinced that she had the evidence in her case that would result in the arrest of a serial killer.
Vinay caught up with Jack and Lisa as they were leaving. “I thought you might like an update on the condition of Ms Brewster, Inspector.”
Jack nodded. Doctors were rum buggers. They obviously cared, but were able to mask all emotion from their expression, voice and eyes. “Is she going to make it?” he said.
“Indeed, I believe that she is. And may do so with her tongue functioning. Though she will not be able to speak properly for some considerable time.”
“That’s good news, Dr Singh. You’ll appreciate that we’ll have to place her under protective cus
tody. She may be able to give us a description of the man who attacked her. He will not have expected her to survive, and may make a further attempt on her life.”
Vinay nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I trust that your officers will be―”
“Invisible,” Jack said. “Dressed as hospital staff. You won’t know they’re here.”
“Ms Brewster will be in ICU for a while,” Vinay said. “Then we will move her to a private room. You will need to liaise with our security department.”
“We’ll do that. Thanks again for your help, Doctor.”
“You are most welcome, Inspector. I very much hope that you catch this monster.”
“We will,” Jack said, stepping to one side as the lift door opened and a porter wheeled an old man on a gurney out into the corridor.
With a casual wave of his hand to the concerned looking doctor, Jack followed Lisa into the lift and hit the button for the ground floor.
“Do you really think he’ll make another attempt to kill her?” Lisa said.
Jack shrugged. “You tell me, you’re the mindhunter. What do you think?”
“I think that if he let her see him, then he will. But I don’t imagine he did.”
“That means we have to assume the worst case scenario, that she clocked him, so we need to keep her safe.”
Lisa nodded.
They talked to the copper downstairs. Jack made calls. And they drank coffee and waited until two SCS officers arrived.
DCs Nathan Wells and Colin Bransford were both armed. They had been with Witness Protection, and had both used lethal force during their careers. They were like well trained guard dogs, and had never failed to safeguard anyone who was put in their charge.
“Nat, Col,” Jack said in greeting. “You know what to do. The mark is Anita Brewster. She’s still in intensive care. Talk to the hospital’s security chief, and then blend.”
“You got it,” Nat said.
Jack had no need to give them specific instructions. They would let no one near Anita who they did not recognise as being a member of staff, from photographs in the hospital’s personnel files. Anyone else would be regarded as a potential hostile threat.
The rain had stopped and the bulwark of cloud had moved east when Lisa and Jack walked out to the car. It was bitterly cold, and the moon was low, big and dull yellow in a now clear and starry sky.
Jack’s phone rang as he was buckling his seat belt.
“Ryder.”
“It’s Mike, boss. I’m at the scene. The victim was―”
“Is, Mike. She’s going to make it. I’ve got Nat and Col watching over her.”
“Well, she’s single, boss. Works as a barmaid at a pub; the Speckled Hen. She isn’t in a relationship, as far as neighbours know, and it doesn’t look as if anything has been taken. The only development here is that she had a cat. Phil found its head in the fridge on a plate. We haven’t come across the rest of it, yet.”
“He likes to put on a show,” Jack said. “Have forensics found anything?”
“A small knife in the bottom of the toilet bowl. Most likely what he used to cut her tongue out with. Nothing else significant. They’re still working the scene.”
“Is Eddie with you?”
“Yeah. Do you want a word with him?”
“No, I want both of you to get over to that pub. Roust the landlord and see what he can tell you about the barmaid. Geraldine Rhodes just retrieved semen, some blood and tissue, and a couple of grey hairs. Call me back when you’ve interviewed the guy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE brightly lit room was reflected in the windows of the canteen. Jack had a bacon sandwich and a mug of black coffee. Lisa had no appetite and just sipped hot, sweet tea and saw pictures of skinned faces and disembodied tongues. Her mind was working overtime, determined to replay scenes she was trying to dispel with nicer images. It took a while. She settled for letting Jack’s craggy face fill her vision. His eyes were hypnotic, with irises like small kaleidoscopes made up of varying shades of brightly shining blue splinters. And his nose was very straight: cheekbones and lips well defined. Chin strong and dimpled. He looked what he was, a tough guy, capable of being as cruel as he needed to be. But she knew that he could be warm and loving as well, and felt that she was privy to know a side of him that she was certain few others had seen.
“I got food on my chin?” he said.
“No, Ryder. I was just giving you the once-over.”
“I thought you’d done that, before we took the next step.”
“I did. This was just a refresher course.”
“Regrets?”
“Not yet. Give me time.”
He smiled, reached across the table and ran his fingers over the back of her hand. They both felt the same pleasant shock. The simplest contact stirred them equally.
“Let’s go to the squad room and review what we’ve got. And what he might do next,” Jack said when he’d finished eating.
Ken limped down the corridor towards them. His leg was playing up. It felt as though somebody was drilling through his kneecap with a Black & Decker.
“Give me something, you two,” he said. “Tell me he fucked-up and left us a lead.”
“He fucked up and left us a lead. We’re hoping for DNA,” Jack said. “And the woman is going to make it. She might be able to give us a description.”
Ken scowled. “You don’t sound too enthusiastic, Jack.”
“I’m not. He’s smart. I don’t believe he would have left her breathing if she’d eyeballed him. And the semen could be from someone else. Neighbours say she gets home very late some nights. Everyone has needs.”
Ken shook his head and walked off towards the gents.
“Time he retired,” Lisa said. “He’s given all he can. The man’s running on empty. It’ll kill him if he keeps going.”
“He’s not as frail as he looks, Lisa. Ken’s as tough as old leather.”
“So he’d have everybody believe. I sense he’s in sight of the winning post, but might not have the stamina left to get over the line. You can only take so much pressure and stress. It builds up like tartar on teeth. You’re his friend. Talk to him. Make him see the light. He needs to take his wife somewhere warm; just get away from it all for a while and regroup. Then find new direction.”
“He’s a copper, Lisa. It’s not like being a bank clerk or car mechanic. We don’t look on it as a job. It’s what we are. Same as priests and actors and writers. For a lot of us it’s a calling; a vocation. If Ken retired he’d feel he had no purpose. He’d just fade away. The work we do gives him a reason to get up every day, get washed and shaved, and to be a part of something. It’s continuity, and it gives his life meaning.”
“You really believe that?”
“I know it. I’m a younger version of guys like Ken. In twenty years, people like us will be having the same conversation, only it’ll be about me.”
“Is the job worth such commitment?”
“Think of what you’ve seen over the past few days and answer your own question. Hard lines have to be drawn, with people prepared to defend them.”
“So you see yourself as a defender of justice, and―”
“I’m not some comic book caped crusader. And justice is an elusive animal that is badly served, usually by ex-public school plebs in silly wigs and gowns. They live their lives in a galaxy far away from the real world of serial killers, hitmen, rapists and organised crime. I ignore the bullshit and try to scrape some of the crap off the soles of society’s shoes. One of my biggest pet hates is that scum with dirty money can buy the best defence in the land from barristers who know that they’re as guilty as hell, but don’t give a toss.”
“You sound angry, Ryder.”
“I am. Being a little angry helps me to focus. If I was complacent I wouldn’t be effective.”
There was nothing else to say. Lisa appreciated where he was coming from. She reminded herself that she was also blinkered when it came to
her field of work. The intense exchange bothered her, though. Did Jack Ryder really have enough room in his life to accommodate more than what was apparently his mission?
In the squad room, Jack picked up a marker and added the salient points of the attack on Anita Brewster to the white board. He asked Lisa: “What do you think he’s trying to tell us?”
“That he can adapt. And that you can’t outguess him. Sending the email was his way of throwing down the gauntlet. He’s chosen you as his main adversary. From his point of view, this is personal now. You’ve interfered with his supposed relationship with Dawn Turner. Don’t lose sight of the fact that he is totally obsessed by her, and will without doubt believe that she feels the same way about him. He won’t leave her alone. The best you can hope for is that he doesn’t back off for a year or two, and then start up again.”
“A year or two?”
“There are cases of stalkers cooling it for much longer periods than that. But they usually resume where they left off. I truly believe he will pick his time and kill Dawn.”
“And in the meantime you think he’ll carry on murdering for the hell of it?”
“Yes, without a doubt. He wants to rub your nose in it. Unless you catch him in the act, he knows you’re looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“Let’s hope he tries to get to Dawn. Or feels the need to finish what he started with Anita.”
“No good hoping. You’ll have to take control and lead him out into the open.”
“You have a suggestion?”
“I’ll think about it. Nothing springs to mind. But he’ll be reading the papers and watching the news. Anything you say, he’ll latch on to.”
Five a.m. Eddie and Mike both hammered on the door of the Speckled Hen. It was in darkness, and they had no reason to believe that the landlord, Dave Cornell, was implicated. But he would be able to tell them exactly what time Anita had left the pub, and whether or not she had done so alone.