by Liz Mistry
‘What did she say, Comps?’
Compo inhaled before speaking. ‘It is believed that, due to her Negroid heritage, Corrine Cameron has inherited severe anger issues down the paternal line. She should be confined to a children’s home where she can do no more damage to white children around her.’
Each word hammered a nail into Gus’s heart. This was his mum that woman had written about – Unable to see past her young ward’s colour, she’d blamed the child – his sweet, annoying mum. ‘I need you to send me all that – I need that woman’s address.’
Gus was about to hang up, give himself time to compose himself before heading back to the car. How could he face his mother knowing all of this, yet he couldn’t tell her. Not yet, not in the middle of nowhere, not without his dad there to comfort her, like he always did.
‘Wait, boss, I’m not finished. I have contact details for Jamie Cameron. You won’t believe it, but he’s in Bellbrax Mental Facility, the same one as Rory.’
Chapter 53
Bradford
The Man in Black is looking forward to his next killing. Having dispatched Jez Hopkins, number two on his mess with DI McGuire’s head list, he is now due his third ‘ritual kill’ from his turn the screws on Corrine McGuire list and he is excited. Somehow the pregnant women give him more satisfaction. Not because he gets a kick out of them being pregnant – he isn’t a sicko. No, it’s because he is able to watch the crime scene unfold and hear the suppositions of the various team members as they work. It is as if he’s a fly on the wall and it makes him feel powerful to know that he is privy to all this, yet they’re unaware of his presence. With the other kills – he is of necessity more distant to them. Once he’s killed them, he leaves the scene, so it’s only half the enjoyment for him. He imagines the confusion they feel as they work the scene, but it isn’t the same as actually being there, breathing them in, taunting them in silence.
He’d watched this pregnant target now for a few days. He knows all her daily schedules, all her habits, and all her partner’s habits too. The partner is a real piece of work. Maybe he doesn’t like his woman’s new shape – her pregnancy bump. Don’t know, but whatever the man thought – he spent half his time down the pub and the other half shagging anything with any pussy that moved … and a few that were too comatose to object.
They don’t live together, which of course makes the actual act easier. Having full reign of a house with no time constraint, makes it a lot easier than the others, when he’d known roughly when they’d be found. On the other hand, it means he might be stuck in the attic for ages. Her mum, according to her social media accounts, pops round on a Friday afternoon. So, the best time to do this would be early on the Friday. He does so enjoy witnessing the theatrics when they find a loved one dead.
He’s chuffed to bits with the access point he’s selected. After the fiasco last time with the old dear wakening up and the police hammering on the door, he’d wanted to be more careful this time. That’s why his first three target choices had been discarded. The only access points available in their streets had been busy households. This street was only half occupied, though. Half the houses have windows boarded up and so it makes his job easier for many reasons. He’s selected a house three doors down because it has a huge tree growing in the back garden that shields it from view from the other houses. It has easy access. He can’t understand why the pregnant bitch chooses to live here. She is white although the guy that knocked her up is a Paki. He owns the house – quite a few houses in the area – all inhabited by either his relatives or some students. This one is on the most dilapidated street in the worst area of Bradford Three. Unlike the other women he’d killed, this woman’s baby wouldn’t be promised a life of love or joy. It would be condemned to a life of rejection. The very life Corrine McGuire should have had – and her son and daughter too.
He’d considered sending one of the sketches he’d pinched from Robertson to McGuire at the police station but refrained. There is no need. It would only be him being showy and that is unnecessary. They’d get their new sketch soon enough. Oh, he was so pleased he’d done his research well – so very very pleased.
Of the five ritual targets he had planned; two were complete, number three was in hand and number five, the big denouement, was decided on. Which left one more target to choose. Number four. He had a few women in mind, but really, whichever he chose was immaterial. For she would be a mere prelude to the final act – inconsequential.
He isn’t worried about choosing just yet, for he has to select another one of McGuire’s acquaintances before he delivers the fourth verse of the rhyme. His research and hacking skills have delivered his next non-ritual target right to his laptop. It is doubly pleasing, because this target, although on the periphery of the investigations, has strong links with both DI McGuire and Corrine. It will deliver the message strong and hard and leave them winded. After this one is found, he wants to slap them hard with the next target he chooses for his second line of work – he giggles a little at that – he considers the home invasions of Erica Smedley and Jez Hopkins as diversifying the business. That thought amuses him – maybe he should design a website Murder for Hire or Killings R Us? Maybe he could come up with a snappy catchphrase like, You select the body, I’ll deliver the trophy, or something like that.
Alternating between the lists gives his art a pleasant symmetry keeps the boredom at bay, and serves the purpose of confusing McGuire and co. This next one has to be meaningful. He is determined to leave absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind that the two series of killings are linked. He wants them despairing and out of control before he makes his final move. By then, he would have ripped any shred of hope, any glimmer of a chance of recovery, from them. He’d have got the revenge he needed. Got the revenge he deserved – of course it isn’t all for him – no, not for him alone. There have been many people touched over the years by Corrine McGuire’s toxic presence. He is their avenging angel – their protector, the custodian of their redemption. No one else has the guts to do it. Everyone else seems content to wallow in the hurt she leaves in her wake. She’s escaped to a fulfilled life, leaving behind broken people, with no hope. The truth is, he despises Corrine McGuire, but there had been others he despised even more – they’d fallen prey to romantic notions of protecting him and they’d paid the price in many different ways for that – some had died, some were in places they would never escape from and some were locked inside their own tormented minds. He didn’t care – it amused him to see them, to witness their servitude, the way they suckled at the tits of sewer rats.
He is the one in control. He isn’t stupid enough to pretend that his main motivator is enjoyment. Yes, he wants revenge, for the opportunities that had been denied him, but with every new death, his enjoyment grows – he won’t stop, not unless he’s caught. But he won’t be. He is confident of that. He’s never been caught – ever. Others have cleaned up after him, taking the blame. Other times he played it smart and, like with his parents, when he’d cut the brake line – ‘such an awful accident. Poor child, look how he grieves’ … and that’s why he’ll never be caught. His versatility will save him. His ability to reinvent himself time and time again, to cast confusion. How many different killings have they laid on the wrong guy, just to massage their clean-up figures? He loves the control he holds – it doesn’t matter that hardly anyone recognises his work – that doesn’t matter to him. His main aim is the enjoyment of causing as much suffering to as many people as remotely possible.
True, hurting Corrine McGuire is personal – the life she has mapped out for herself should have been his. She doesn’t deserve it – she escaped – well now she won’t, and he’ll enjoy seeing her flounder. Seeing her perfect world come tumbling down around her. Seeing her break under the burden of guilt that will weigh her down. Then, when the time is right, he’ll move on, secure that the lives he’s destroyed will be counted, not just in the body toll, but in the hundreds of people affected. He’ll
move on and start a different pattern, initiate a different wave of destruction in a different part of the country or the world. He is like a Tsunami ready to wreak havoc wherever he goes, and this is his motivation. Sebastian Carlton, for all his psychology and all his experience, would fail to work it out – how could he? The Man in Black cannot be pigeonholed, like Sutcliffe, or Dahmer, or Bundy – no, he is truly unique – truly magnificently inventive.
So, with Karen Smith finally dead, dangling beneath him, her nails painted, the candle lit, her foetal scan, the sketch, the biscuit, and the sprig of lavender all in place, he settles down, enjoying the smooth darkness, the cool air that wafts his face from the broken roof tile above. By his reckoning, her mother will arrive about two-ish and then the pantomime will begin – he can barely wait.
Chapter 54
Bradford
Acting DCS Nancy Chalmers hadn’t expected to enjoy being back in the major incident room quite so much. There was something about the constant smell of coffee combined with the gentle bustle of officers doing their thing – working on catching the bad guys. Also, on the plus side was that she’d escaped the mounting pile of paperwork that seemed to multiply every time she took an eye off it. If she hadn’t already decided that going for the DCS job when it came up wasn’t for her, this would have decided her. She was happy being a DCI – some paperwork, but still with direct contact with the investigative team – still in the loop, not some aloof DCS in an ivory tower becoming more and more distant from the actuality of an investigation, the more the paperwork ate you up.
She’d ignored her PA’s shocked expression when she’d told him to hold The Fort (ha ha – idiot hadn’t seen the humour in that) and to take care of the mulch that occupied her in tray – of course that had been figuratively speaking because they’d gone paper free – and the mulch was all saving trees in her email inbox. She’d glared at him as he’d attempted to convince her that her presence was more beneficial in her office in front of her computer, answering a whole load of inconsequential emails rather than proactively helping her team to catch a killer. He’d shut up soon enough when she’d growled at him and repeated the words, ‘Empty inbox – OK?’
Feeling deliciously free for the first time in a year, Nancy had flounced into the incident room announcing that ‘I’m all yours’ and proceeded to study the crime scene boards with a forensic eye.
It pleased her that she could see little that she would have done differently. Both Gus and Alice had their heads screwed on the right way and had directed a methodical and detailed investigation. Compo’s detailed insight from computer land had provided them with some good leads and Taffy’s diligence on the ground had eliminated many false ones. She was fascinated with the sketches, her eyes drawn continually back to them. She’d always considered herself to be one of Corrine McGuire’s best friends, yet she hadn’t for even a single moment stopped to consider that her friend’s early life might have been so very different from her own. Not that Nancy had been well off as a child, but she had been taken care of, not handed off to different families who were unable to empathise with a traumatised black kid, like Corrine had experienced. Perhaps that was what the younger ones meant by white privilege. Yes, Nancy had been unfairly treated because of her gender, the sexist comments, the sideways glances, the whispered comments behind her back. The fact that to get each and every promotion she’d worked harder and longer than her male counterparts – all of this had angered her – but her colour had never been a barrier. Corrine, on the other hand, had had to fight both to get to her position. White privilege, male privilege – it was all so senseless. Reaching out her finger, Nancy caressed Corrine’s cheek on the childhood sketch and under her breath vowed, ‘We’ll get this person, Corrine. Whoever he is, whatever his motive is for exposing your past, we’ll get him.’
Chapter 55
Scotland
Heart heavy, Gus trudged back to his mum’s car. His hands trembled as he tried to push his phone back into his pocket. He hadn’t decided what to do. Whether to tell his mum now or later. He wasn’t sure he could hold it together for the next leg of the journey, but neither was he sure she could take it right now either. The one thing he was certain of was that he had to tell her before they arrived at the psychiatric facility. He wished he could get Professor Carlton alone – sound him out on the matter, but he was already late returning to the car and Carlton was inside with his laptop open.
As Gus approached, his heart cracked when his mum stepped forward with a takeaway drink, a sandwich, and a chocolate cookie. ‘You need to eat, Angus. We’ve still got a couple of hours to go.’ She frowned as ever tuned into her son’s every mood. ‘You look peaky. Are you OK?’
Gus nodded and glanced away from his mum as he took the drink and food, knowing he had no stomach for either but that it was easier to accept. Professor Carlton looked out the window, a frown across his brow. He met Gus’s eyes, and, in that instant, Gus realised the professor had accessed the email that Compo had presumably sent to both of them. He inclined his head a little and gestured to the service station. Thrusting the drink back into his mum’s hands, he smiled, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. ‘I need to go to the loo. Back in a sec.’
Carlton closed his laptop and struggled out of the car. ‘I’ll join you, Gus. Coffee always goes straight through me.’
Leaving Sadia and his mum moaning about ‘Men and their weak bladders’, the two men headed towards the toilets. ‘Compo emailed it to you too?’
Carlton nodded. ‘Is that what kept you?’
Gus nodded. ‘Yes, he phoned.’
Now that they were out of sight of the car, Sebastian stopped and turned to Gus. ‘Are you OK?’
Instead of nodding and dismissing the psychologist’s concern as he usually would, Gus thrust his hands through his dreads and shook his head. ‘I don’t have a fucking clue how I feel, and I don’t have a fucking clue how I’m going to tell her.’
Carlton placed his hand on Gus’s forearm. ‘This isn’t something you can tell your mum now. She needs to be able to have the opportunity to burst into tears, vent her anger, take time out, or do whatever it is she will need to cope. A motorway service station isn’t the place.’
Although he knew that was right, Gus wasn’t sure how he could get through the rest of the journey. As if reading his mind, Carlton smiled. ‘You need to do what you’ve done to avoid looking at that rather beautiful ex-girlfriend of yours during the first half of the journey.’
Gus should have known Carlton would suss that out, but it still made him pissed off. ‘How the hell did…’
But Carlton was tapping the side of his nose with his finger. ‘It’s my job. Now, I suggest you feign sleep again. I’ll keep up the idle chatter and when we get to the hotel, we can tell your mum together.’
‘Together? You mean you’ll help me break the news?’ A wave of relief surged through Gus. Carlton, for all his faults, was a people person and his mum liked him. He’d help them both through this. For the first time in days, Gus smiled. He held out a hand and Carlton smiled back as they shook. Perhaps the rest of the journey wouldn’t be quite as bad as expected, but Gus knew that when the journey ended it would be hell on earth. With as much ferocity as he’d wished the journey over, earlier in the day, he now wished it would extend indefinitely.
Chapter 56
Scotland
I don’t understand, Angus? Why the sudden urgency to check in at the hotel? I thought we were going straight to see Rory.’
‘Em, well I’d just like to freshen up.’
Jumping to Gus’s rescue, Carlton clapped his hands like a wee tartan gnome. ‘Great idea, Gus. Just the thing. We should all freshen up, have a drink, and rest for half an hour before heading to the hospital.’
Carlton looked at Corrine with concern on his face. ‘You must be exhausted, my dear. After all, you’ve driven all this way. Best to be refreshed to be reacquainted with your brothers – em, I mean brother.’
Gus glared at him. It was an easy slip-up to make and thankfully Corrinne hadn’t noticed, but Gus’s heart was hammering hard, hoping his mother would agree.
Shrugging, she changed the postcode on the satnav and as Gus heaved a sigh of relief they headed to the hotel. Sadia glanced back at Gus with a frown on her face, and Gus realised that although his mum had been easily fooled by Gus’s and Carlton’s double act, Sadia hadn’t. He should have realised she wouldn’t be. She had always been intuitive – that was one of her greatest skills as a detective. Gus shook his head and mouthed, ‘Not now.’
Sadia nodded, turned to the front, and began to chat to Corrine.
****
The hotel, a huge turreted building, was grandly named The Superior Scot Hotel. It was situated between Lanark and Bellbrax, not far from the high security psychiatric hospital. Sadia looked up at its façade. ‘Oooh, I wish I was staying here tonight, but I have to get home.’
Remembering the earlier conversation he’d overhead, Gus mumbled, ‘Hot date?’
Sadia laughed. ‘Well, sort of. Yes, I suppose you could say that.’
The smart of disappointment that hit him, was replaced by the weight of dread, when Sadia lowered her voice. ‘What was all that about in the car? You and Carlton being a tag team to manipulate your mum to come here?’
Angry that she had a date, Gus snorted. ‘Manipulate is a strong word, Sadia.’
‘Perhaps, but you two are up to something. Don’t forget, I know you Gus.’
Ignoring the pang that her last few words brought, Gus grabbed her arm lightly. ‘Look, Sad, something’s come up, that we need to tell Mum before she goes to see Rory. I can’t go into it here, but if you come with Carlton and me to my mum’s room, you can help support her. What I have to tell her is not going to be easy for her to hear.’