by Wes Markin
Run.
Lacey Ray rang the doorbell and the stupid boy opened it without even checking who it was.
‘Surprise,’ she said.
And he looked genuinely surprised – the silly little man.
‘You’ve shaved,’ she said. ‘A shame, I liked the goatee. Are you in hiding by any chance?’
‘What do you want?’
‘An invite in would be nice. I mean, we must have had sex like sixty times, it’s the least you could do.’
‘You always were the gobby one.’ Billy ran a hand over his freshly shaved head. ‘How did you find me?’
‘You left your mother’s address, you imbecile. Then, I told your mother that we were engaged. Foolish woman. Stupidity runs in the family I guess?’
‘You can’t talk to me like this!’
‘Of course I can. You’re only alive because you paid well.’
‘So, why have you come to find me?’
‘Because you’re not paying me anymore.’
Billy snorted. ‘You’ve got to be fucking joking.’
She lifted her backpack off, unzipped it and threw his feathered headdress on the floor. ‘You left this.’
The colour drained from his face.
‘And this.’ She threw a reddish mask on the floor.
She pulled out a handful of jewellery and threw that down too. ‘And all of this.’
He looked like he was going to throw up. ‘You’re fucking crazy.’
He dropped to his knees and started to scoop up his belongings.
‘You are a fucking murderer, Billy Shine.’ She pulled out the jade ashtray that he had killed Loretta Marks with. ‘And, unfortunately for you, so am I.’
She broke the jade ashtray over the back of his head.
In her last race this year, Gillian ran her heart out, grabbed a good time and even came third in the woman’s category.
And there was no better time to break her record than right now.
With a psychopath behind her, the adrenaline was such, it would take a landmine to slow her.
For some reason the nutter had released her hand and backed away. Maybe he thought that whatever was in the water had bitten her? Maybe some kind of poison was working its way through her system as she ran. But right now, she didn’t feel poisoned. Anything but.
She gritted her teeth. The bastard had told her she might never run again. She looked back over her shoulder as she burst onto the road they’d turned off. ‘Now look at me run, you fucking arsehole!’
She saw the lights of the white van flare into life and then heard the ominous growl of its engine.
That was quick.
She tried to increase her speed, but realised she was at her max. She glanced behind again and saw him driving over the gardens towards her. Ahead, was a small children’s playground. The ground sloped downwards which gave her a short burst of acceleration and allowed her to zip past a slide and a group of swings. Behind her, she could still hear her pursuer flogging his engine.
She neared a pedestrian tunnel that led under the road alongside the other side of the gardens. If she could make it there, she knew she stood a better chance of escape. A vehicle, especially a white van, couldn’t get through it.
It was twenty seconds away at the most. She flicked a look back as the maniac hit the slope she’d just run down. It came pounding towards her like a rabid dog, swerving around the park. It clipped the side of the swings and the whole structure came crashing down.
And then he was almost upon her; his bumper was metres behind her and she could see into his eyes—
She burst into the tunnel.
She heard the van screeching to a halt and the entire tunnel suddenly burned under the glare of his headlights. She heard the van door opening. Was he going to follow her on foot?
Her calves and shins burned now. She couldn’t remember ever pushing herself this hard. She emerged from the tunnel and turned sharply right. Then, she ran up a hill until she was at the main road.
She didn’t need to look back, she could sense him behind her, reaching out to her like the hand of a corpse through the soil of a shallow grave.
Unconcerned about the traffic coming off the roundabout, she charged onto Churchill way, waving her hands in the air. Dazzled by headlights bearing down on her, she stood in the middle of the road. Cars swerved and drivers bashed their horns, but no one stopped. She continued to wave for help. She could see Joe at the side of the road, deciding whether to join her on the busy road. She charged onwards towards the roundabout.
Someone stop!
Another two cars skidded around her; she could see the faces of the drivers going crazy at the wheel.
Just fucking stop!
And then one of the vehicles seemed to come straight for her. It didn’t turn. The headlights grew and grew until they seemed to swallow her whole, and for a moment, she thought the driver had hit her.
But she didn’t care. Anything was preferable to being dragged back to that van by him.
When Billy Shine woke in the chair that Lacey had tied him too, she held a mirror up in front of him, so he could see how ludicrous he looked wearing a feathered headdress, a red mask, a cape and some gothic jewellery.
‘My friend will be back any minute,’ Billy said.
‘Paul?’ Lacey said. ‘I saw him leaving on a date with a very attractive young lady. I doubt he will be in a rush to get back to this flamboyant transvestite tied to a chair. I love the cape by the way; such pretty patterns and colours.’
‘What is it you want?’
‘The simple things in life really. Justice, knowledge and harmony.’
He looked confused.
‘Justice will come quickly when you admit what you’ve done. Knowledge will come when you explain the reasons why you are doing all these peculiar things. And finally,’ she paused, for a smile and a wink, ‘harmony will come when I kill you.’
‘You are fucking insane!’
‘Yes, you said something quite similar outside, Billy; yet, here we still are.’
She took her mobile phone out and laid it on the floor between them. ‘I’d like to record this, a little memento of our time together. Are you okay with that?’
‘I’m not saying anything to you.’
‘Yes, I thought you might say that, which is why I brought these.’
She leaned down and took her secateurs from her bag. His eyes widened, and his bottom lip quivered.
‘They’ve served me well before. I never really leave home without them. Can I hit record yet?’
‘Fuck you!’ Spittle hit her in the face.
She cut off the little finger on his left hand.
She let him writhe in the chair for a few minutes and then when he’d finally calmed, she said, ‘Can I hit record now?’
He started to cry. ‘Yes … fuck you … yes.’
‘Good boy.’
She hit record. ‘So, first, you admit what you’ve done. Now, I’m assuming you got angry because you’re impotent?’
He writhed in the chair again, desperately trying to get himself loose.
When he’d finished, she said, ‘So the impotency?’
‘Yes!’ Billy said with tears streaming down his face. ‘The bitch laughed at me!’
‘Fancy that, eh?’
A broken man, sitting alone, drunk on whisky, with Riley’s loaded gun in his hand, Brookes couldn’t help but acknowledge that he was a contender for cliché of the year.
Not that he really gave a fuck.
He’d finally sent FLO Bryan Kelly packing and, Riley, god bless him, was great, but he just wasn’t in the mood for his words of wisdom right now. He missed his son already, and he missed Jessica. In fact, he’d missed Jessica for a long time now, even before she died.
He turned the gun on himself.
He then rose his eyes to heaven and lay the weapon back down on the table. ‘Don’t worry, Jess, I won’t be leaving Ewan alone anytime soon.’
So wh
y is the gun out of the cloth it was wrapped in then? He imagined her asking. She was always good with the questions.
He kept reassuring himself it was for when he clapped eyes on whoever did this. But what was the likelihood of that happening? Every time he spoke to Yorke, it sounded like they were still rustling around in a haystack and, even if they did find him, then what? Was he going to take him out on the way to the courthouse? That would be another contender for cliché of the year.
He phoned Ewan. ‘You asleep yet, son?’
‘Well, not anymore.’
Brookes smiled. ‘Just wanted to say goodnight.’
‘You sound drunk, Dad, are you?’
‘Nah. It’s cold in here tonight; I’m just warming myself up a little. How’s Freddy?’
‘You never ask about Freddy; you hate Freddy.’
‘Hate is a strong word, Ewan. He’s been living here for a few months now, I’ve grown fond of him.’
Brookes poured himself another whisky.
‘They haven’t got Mum’s killer yet,’ Ewan said. ‘Grandad told me.’
‘No, but they will. We’ll get justice – you don’t worry about that.’
‘Won’t bring her back though.’
‘No, it won’t. I’m so sorry Ewan.’
‘It’s not your fault.’
But it is, Brookes thought, I should have been there, in that house. All of us together.
‘How’s Grandad?’ Brookes asked.
‘Sad,’ Ewan said. ‘It’s a club growing in membership …’
Brookes smiled again. ‘Where do you pick up these expressions?’
‘I don’t know. Grandad keeps staring at photos of Gran.’
‘Why not? He misses her.’
And what happened recently has just reopened those old wounds. It may have been cancer that took his mother, rather than some maniac, but nature can be a serial killer too, laughing as it dishes out disease.
‘Dad, I know you don’t want to discuss it now, but I still want to join the police.’
Brookes sighed. ‘You’re right, I don’t want to discuss this now.’
‘I want to help people.’
‘There are other ways of helping people. Being an officer changes you. I like you the way that you are.’
‘When they’ve got him, can I come home?’
‘In a heartbeat.’
He looked down at the notepad that was opened beside his bottle of whisky and was reminded of his mother-in-law’s warning about a jaguar. ‘Did your mother ever discuss a jaguar with you?’
There was a moment of silence. ‘Not that I can remember, why do you ask?’
‘No reason, what about your grandmother?’
‘I hadn’t really spoken to her properly in years. She was too ill, you know that. Why are you asking?’
‘Nothing. Just something on my mind. ‘I love you son. Now, get some sleep.’
‘I love you too, Dad.’
Yorke and Gardner waited outside the house that Hillary Shine had directed them too. The lights in the house were all on, but the curtains were drawn, and no one was in a hurry to answer the door.
Yorke knocked again, while Gardner negotiated the rubble-strewn garden and attempted to see something through the window, past the curtains.
‘Any luck?’ Yorke said.
‘No,’ Gardner said.
Yorke kneeled down, pushed opened the letter box and shouted in, ‘Police. Could somebody open the door please?’
Another twenty seconds brought them no closer to getting in and finding out what was happening.
But Yorke already suspected he knew what was going on, and he suspected that they were too late. He looked at Gardner while trying the door handle. She wore an expression of disapproval.
‘Now Lacey is involved, we cannot delay,’ Yorke said. ‘If Billy is Jessica’s killer, we need him alive, to find out why he did it. And, if he isn’t the killer, he needs to explain his connection to that octopus.’
Not that it mattered, because the handle didn’t work. The door was locked.
‘Back-up?’ Yorke said.
‘Less than five minutes away, sir.’
‘Okay, stay here, I’m going around the back, and then I’m getting in one way or another.’
‘Is that wise, sir?’
‘Someone’s life could be in danger; it’s justified.’
‘No, I didn’t mean that, I meant is it wise putting your own life in danger?’
Yorke shrugged and slipped around to the back of the house.
The back garden was worse than the front. He recalled Hillary’s garden with the broken bath tub; this one came equipped with a cracked sink and a smashed-up toilet.
The back door was wide open and led into the kitchen. Dirty plates were piled high on every surface and there were at least five full bin bags littered on the floor. There was a gut-wrenching stench of rotting food and cigarettes. The stench was unbelievable. The kitchen was a kitchen in name only; it would be dangerous to cook here.
He looked at his watch. Three minutes until back-up? He knew he should wait, but then he remembered the state of Lacey Ray’s last victim and pressed on.
An inch at a time, he opened the door and looked out into the hallway. It was brightly lit, but he could hear nothing and was forced to concede that there was unlikely to be life in this house.
He reached up to check the top buttons on his shirt were fastened. He sensed death.
As he made his way down the hallway, his heart beat hard and fast. Not through anxiety over the danger to his own life, but rather anxiety over the sight which was about to confront him.
In the hallway, he brushed past old pizza boxes; a mountain of unopened letters; some unwashed laundry and … he tasted bile in his mouth … blood oozing out beneath the living room door.
He opened the door. A young man, presumably Billy Shine, slumped forward in a chair with his hands cuffed behind his back. He was completely naked. Blood pooled on the wooden floor beneath him. More than enough to suggest that he was dead.
Yorke took a step back and pinned his mobile phone to his ear to call it in as he headed for the front door.
Three crime scenes in just under three fucking days.
He needed to start doing his job, and he needed to start doing it fast.
When he got back outside to Gardner, his phone rang again; it was Topham.
‘Make it good news, Mark …’
‘Well, I guess it’s good news of a sort.’
‘Go on.’
‘The killer came back.’
Yorke put his hand against the wall to steady himself. Feeling light-headed, he tried to control his breathing. ‘And how is that good news?’
‘Because this time, the victim got away.’
Jake told Sheila everything. About the birds, the notes and about the murder of the prostitute in Brighton. What choice did he have? Lacey could be back, and if she was back, Sheila needed to be on her guard.
‘And what did you do with the birds?’ Sheila said.
‘Well I chucked them all away.’
‘Evidence?’
‘I know, stupid, don’t worry, Mike’s already had me over the coals on that one. I kept the last bird. It’s under the sink.’
‘Great.’ Sheila lit another menthol cigarette. ‘Let’s hope Frank doesn’t stumble across it.’
‘I thought you’d stopped smoking while we … you know?’
Sheila laughed. ‘You want to talk about trying to conceive after you’ve just told me there’s a sociopath in town?’
‘We don’t know that for sure.’
‘And what does she mean by how does it feel not to be able to fly anymore? Is she referring to me and Frank holding you back?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ Jake said, opening his palms out in frustration. ‘She’s crazy.’
‘Is that how you feel? Not enjoying the ball and chain around your leg?’
‘Now, you are being ridiculous—’ He bro
ke off. He needed to be more sensitive. She had only just found this stuff out, so she was bound to be reeling.
‘Well, maybe you should ask her?’
‘I don’t intend to ask her anything.’
‘Well, don’t hold back on my account!’
‘For what it’s worth, Sheila, I don’t think she would harm us. I mean, she had her chance, and she didn’t take it?’
‘So, she’s sending you dead birds because she likes you?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Possibly? Is it so hard to believe?’
‘Yes, it is.’
She looked over to the side of the room where PC Sean Tyler and DC Collette Willows were standing. They looked embarrassed. ‘Goodnight everyone,’ she said and left the room.
Jake looked at his colleagues apologetically.
Ewan was woken by a strange noise coming from outside the motorhome. This was disorientating; he was certain that he’d gone to bed in his grandfather’s house in Leeds.
At first, he wondered if it was a fox making the noise, but if so, this was like no fox he’d ever heard before. It sounded like someone gasping for air.
He looked into his father’s room, but when he saw that he wasn’t there, he went back into his room and threw on some warm clothing.
Ewan’s hand hovered over the door handle while he listened to the sharp wheezing sounds. He saw on his watch that it was past three in the morning, but this didn’t deter him from opening the door and stepping out into the night. It wasn’t raining, but it was bitterly cold and he was glad he’d stopped to get dressed. The noise was coming from about ten metres ahead in the trees.
He thought of Riley and wondered why he had not emerged from his neighbouring caravan. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could sleep through this incessant sound. He headed over to his caravan and pounded on the door. No answer. He tried several more times before eventually stealing a look through his window, gasping when he saw his father’s reflection in the glass. He touched his face and, in the reflection, his bigger, darker-haired father touched his face too.