The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Work situation. Carried on late. Schmoozing partners at business functions is all part of my role. You wouldn’t know about that sort of thing.’ He’s drunk plenty, but he isn’t steaming. He’s breathing hard, though. ‘Didn’t realise it was so cold or dark down here, or I would have left the bike.’

  I can’t be bothered with this chump’s arrogance, but I need us to get on, or it’ll make things tricky.

  ‘Yeh, it’s really gloomy this evening. I’ll see you at the funeral.’

  His lip curls. ‘Sadly so. I hoped she’d shaken you off.’

  I hide my scowl with a hand. You can’t beat alcohol for loosening tongues.

  ‘And why would that be? Why don’t you like me? I’ve only ever been polite to you.’

  He snorts through his nose. ‘You aren’t like us. There’s something off about you, and I don’t enjoy having you around. Clear off and give the poor girl a break?’

  ‘She rang today. Said we’d go away later in the year. That doesn’t sound like the actions of a person who wants to be left alone.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You won’t be coming on our little cruise though. That’ll give Annabelle and me plenty of time to persuade her to find someone new. I’m sure there’ll be lots of rich bachelors looking for beautiful women.’

  Arguing with inebriated people gets you nowhere and there’s been enough unplanned violence already, so I turn and jog away. That’s when he laughs. It’s a drunken chuckle that has me gritting my teeth. On instinct, I stop, return, grab his handlebars, and lean into him. My clenched jaw prevents me talking, meaning I can only snarl.

  ‘See. There is something off about you. Don’t think I won’t be telling Claudia about this. And get off my bike.’

  I notice the white around his iris. To my amazement, he reaches out and grabs my throat in a painful grip. I know big men can swiftly do some damage. My years in uniform taught me that. Before I have a chance to break the hold, he swings a punch at my head with his other arm. It’s a huge, lazy, swinging haymaker and I only have to shift back a few inches for it to miss. The momentum of his swing unbalances him and the bike between his legs. He lets go and falls to one side and hops to get his balance. Lurching and staggering, he practically runs off the path, down the slope of the bank, through the reeds, and into the dark. There’s an almighty explosion of squawks and flapping wings. Malcolm roars as if he’s fallen into a pit of vipers. A tremendous splash, like the sound of a hippo charging into a river, erupts from the lake.

  The swans charge out in my direction. I remember my mother saying they could break a man’s arm, but I’m pretty sure they’re all bluster. It’s too early for nesting, anyway. They flap around me and disappear into the dark. I expect Malcolm to come crawling up the bank, but instead there are faint choking noises and hand splashing from out on my left.

  The murk prevents me seeing well, so I walk along the path and hold up my hat so the beam plays onto the lake. He’s somehow drifted farther out.

  ‘I can’t swim!’ he splutters in panic.

  I can just make out his head going under after he shouts out. Two steps over the stones and water reaches above my knees. It’s freezing, and I catch my breath. Even though it’s a rowing lake, it’s much deeper than a man’s height. Malcolm reappears, spitting and gagging. I dread to think what is in the water.

  I edge forward and am soon out of my depth. The brutal cold has me gasping and panting. He’s splashed towards me, so I only need to swim a few strokes to get to him. Panicked chokes implore me as I approach. His giant arms pound the surface as he attempts to keep himself afloat. If I’m not careful, he could pull me under, too. I consider what he just said to me. Would he have offered a hand if I was shouting for help? I don’t think so.

  I try to stare through his wild eyes at the soul behind. It’s easy to see he means me no good, and so there’s no need to show mercy. It’s an impulse decision. But as I reach out, I realise no one will know.

  I place my fingers above his forehead and press him under the water. It only takes five seconds before his struggles stop and his hands sink from sight. Stepping back, dripping onto the path, I listen to the sounds around me. The swans have settled, and all I can hear is the traffic from the parkway in the distance. I turn off the LED in my hat. There are no moving lights in either direction in the surrounding dark. If they don’t find Malcolm’s bike here, they won’t know where to look. I pick it up, switch his lamps off and cycle towards town and from where he came.

  My trainers squelch on the pedals. It’s pitch black. Heavier rain is falling. My jogging bottoms swing lazily on my legs, but they’ll soon lighten up. I walk the bike through the meadows next to the riverside. There’s no chance anyone will see me here. I’m careful as potholes and rabbit burrows abound. When I approach the main path that runs under the bridges near the edge of town, I turn on the bike’s lights. The gears are a little oily, so I pull the chain off and wedge it between the cogs. With a nudge, the bike plops into the water. My gloves are ruined again. I run hard when I get to the bridge over to the Asda supermarket and the town centre but I meet no one.

  Back now, I stagger inside my house, remove all my clothes, and flop on the sofa with a tired grin. I remember my mother’s words, repent in this life, rejoice in the next, and I wonder if Malcolm had repented his sins.

  28

  The Soul Killer

  Last night’s run and excitement wiped me out. A beeping at nearly 8:00 interrupts my slumber. I never sleep in and feel disorientated. There are four missed calls, all from Claudia. I hit redial. She picks up on the first ring.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you. Where have you been?’

  ‘In bed, then having a shower. My phone was downstairs.’

  ‘Malcolm’s disappeared.’

  ‘What do you mean he’s disappeared?’

  ‘He had a business dinner early evening and didn’t come home last night. Annabelle’s beside herself with worry.’

  I drank a herbal tea just before bed last night and role played this scenario. I knew she’d ring me.

  ‘He could be anywhere. What was he doing last night?’

  ‘His company were entertaining a big account at that posh restaurant, Prévost. He mentioned it might run late, so Annabelle went to bed. When she woke up, he still wasn’t back and isn’t answering his phone.’

  ‘I bet he had a skinful and slept at one of his workmates’ houses.’

  ‘He would have been in touch by now though.’

  ‘Perhaps he stayed at a woman’s?’

  There’s a very slight pause before the rebuke. Interesting.

  ‘He wouldn’t stay out all night and not call this morning.’

  ‘Has Annabelle spoken to his work colleagues?’

  ‘His boss said he left around ten, and that he’d cycled home. They ribbed him about it, but he claimed it was only a fifteen minute ride.’

  ‘Odd decision considering the time and weather. Do you know which route he used?’

  ‘They believe he cycled towards Oundle Road, but Annabelle thinks he usually cycles along the river and past the rowing lake.’

  ‘I’ve seen him do that before, but not so late.’

  ‘Can’t you do anything? You’re a policeman.’

  ‘I work in Major Crimes. I’m not sure this qualifies.’

  ‘What’s wrong with you? This is my brother-in-law! Do something!’

  Damn. She’s right. That didn’t come across as caring. Time to backpedal.

  ‘Sorry, Claudia, I’m still half asleep. Calm down and let me explain the procedure. The team aren’t going to be very interested with him missing for ten hours. He’s bound to turn up, possibly with some drunken story.’

  ‘I thought if they didn’t find someone within twenty-four hours, the chance of them being found alive is really low?’

  ‘That’s abducted children, not six feet tall solicitors.’

  ‘Can’t you get someone to search now?’

  ‘I’m
in court all day, and this is a uniform case. Here’s my advice. Stay with Annabelle and support her. Unless there are suspicions of a crime, they won’t divert resources to it yet. Get Annabelle to write down all she knows about what he was doing, where he was going, where he went, and who he was with. Get an up-to-date photo of him ready and a detailed description of his clothes, weight and height, and state of mind. Malcolm’s been under pressure lately. He might have got drunk to let off some steam and staggered into some bushes or down a slope. She’ll need to ring the hospital.’

  ‘Oh my God. What if he’s been run over, or toppled into the river?’

  I pause for a few seconds to allow those thoughts to crystallise. Staring in the mirror as I wait, I notice a scratch on my neck. It’s long but shallow, and must have come from Malcolm. Could they pull DNA from his fingernails after he’s been in the water for ages? I’ll need to check that out.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Sorry, I lost the signal for a bit. You know how it is down here. If he hasn’t turned up by midday, she can take the information to Thorpe Wood police station. You stay at her house in case he comes home. If she gives them all that information straight away, they should be able to get a special or a support officer to look along the route.’

  I hear her take some calm breaths. ‘Okay, we can do that. Thank you, I really appreciate it.’ She starts to cry. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t bother to ring, and then something goes wrong and I’m straight on the phone demanding help.’

  ‘Hey, that’s all right. Try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll pop up soon.’

  29

  DI Barton

  It was nearly evening when Barton got the message to see DCI Cox in her office. The intense stare from Zander, who took her call, suggested he do so immediately. He knocked on her door. Chief Inspector Frank Brabbins from uniform sat next to her.

  ‘Afternoon, John. Take a seat. You know CI Brabbins.’

  Barton shook his hand. He knew him well. Brabbins was time served and knowledgeable. He’d been offered further promotion last year but declined because he enjoyed his current role, but rumour now had it that the lure of extra money and status had finally proven too great, and he was leaving for the capital.

  ‘Afternoon, ma’am. Sir, good Christmas?’

  ‘I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to use Frank in this environment. And Christmas proved excellent, you?’

  ‘Can’t complain, Frank. Very slow workwise, so loads of time with the kids and wife. It was the Christmas most non-service people enjoy every year.’

  Cox cleared her throat. There wasn’t an offer to call her Sarah.

  ‘John, we’ve had two cases arrive within a few minutes of each other. There’s been a hammer incident over in Paston at the John Clare pub. An ambulance is on its way. Who’s in the office with you?’

  ‘Zander, Strange, Malik, Clavell, and Whitlam.’

  ‘Send DS Strange, Malik and Clavell to the pub. Also, a woman rang 999 over in Upwell saying that her husband kept her hostage for a week. Uniform are in control of both scenes, but we’ll need to attend. Send DS Zander and Whitlam to the latter.’

  ‘Which would you like me to attend?’ He hoped it wasn’t the Upwell one. That was right in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Neither for the moment. Let’s see how it pans out. We may have a different case. Frank, give him the spec.’

  ‘We’ve had quite a few mispers over the holiday period. That’s not unusual. One looks like a transient person, the other two left debts. However, last night, we had another. This is a local, professional man. Waved goodbye from a restaurant late and biked home. Wife wakes up to an empty bed. He still hasn’t shown up. First reaction?’

  Barton smiled. ‘Drunk, stayed at a mate’s, possibly a girlfriend’s.’

  ‘Apparently, he had quite a few bevvies and had been drinking more than usual lately. Although, the other diners think he cycled along the river opposite Railworld. His colleagues saw him go off in that general direction.’

  That sounded interesting. Railworld was a volunteer organisation run by rail enthusiasts. It sat on the edge of the town centre. There were often drunkards and worse there at night.

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘Ten o’clock.’

  Barton rubbed his chin. ‘With a chilly night like that, you wouldn’t get many people, nasty or otherwise, hanging around there. What was his destination?’

  ‘Orton Waterville.’

  ‘That’s about three miles. Anything could have happened. If he was drunk, he could have fallen in, or been robbed and his body dumped in the water or in the shrubbery. That’s a lot of river and bank to look in, and you’ve got the rowing lake, and even the lock at Orton Staunch. The current is much faster there.’

  ‘Our thoughts exactly,’ said Brabbins.

  ‘Is it still a misper, or are you asking us to take over?’

  ‘We’ll manage it for the moment. He might turn up yet. Murder is usually the last explanation. I’ve arranged for the underwater search team to arrive tomorrow at midday. If he hasn’t turned up by then, we’ll get started. I’d like you to work with us if the body turns up, assuming that’s okay with your department?’

  Barton didn’t even bother to look at Cox. That conversation would have been held long before he’d entered the room. ‘Of course. Isn’t it a bit early to be calling in the big guns for a misper case?’

  Cox’s face pinched but not in Barton’s direction. Brabbins had the grace to redden.

  ‘The missing man carries some heft around town.’ He quickly moved on. ‘You worked that situation with the body in the River Ouse a few years back. The dive team came to that, didn’t they? Can you talk me through it?’

  Barton recalled the incident. A lad had cycled home from St Neots town centre, again drunk, and never arrived. They found him at the bottom of the river four days later.

  ‘It sounds similar to this. A guy disappeared after a night out. The divers began searching about thirty-six hours later. It was a comparable time of year too, so I know it’s going to be hard work. Visibility is very poor, and the water’s freezing. There’s less daylight to use, too. It took them two days, and they had a much, much smaller target area. They can’t go too fast because they’re hunting for evidence as well as the body.’

  Cox tutted. ‘That doesn’t sound promising with the size of our search zone. Did he float down the river too before he sank?’

  ‘Do you want the detailed answer, or a simple one?’

  ‘I think we have the time for a thorough explanation.’

  ‘I got all this from the dive sergeant. The human body is slightly heavier than fresh water, more so if it’s clothed. It sinks pretty quickly once the lungs fill up with water. That’s likely to be near where the person went in. And it will go to the bottom, however deep it is. The sergeant told me that even if the current is strong on the top, it’s entirely different on the riverbed.’

  ‘No suspicions when that body was recovered?’ asked Frank.

  ‘No, the body was unmarked, and the toxicology indicated high blood alcohol content. Basically, he cycled off the path and drowned. So, you’ll need the exact make and model.’

  Both the chief inspectors stared blankly at him.

  Barton explained. ‘Of the bike. It was the first thing we found.’

  30

  DI Barton

  Barton left the changing room of the Holiday Inn leisure club, nodded to the friendly chap at reception, and self-consciously entered the gym. It was obvious his clothes were brand new. The induction with Strange a few days beforehand had been interesting, and he’d really enjoyed it. Inevitably, he’d signed up on the spot, weakened by the rush of endorphins. They’d even let them stay and use the machines afterwards. Barton had been so keen, he’d visited the next morning at 6:00 and pumped some weights for an hour.

  It felt different this time. In the past, working out had proved an arduous experience, requiring great
willpower just to get through the doorway of the gym. Upon arrival, he’d struggle to get going, especially with the lure of a sauna or steam room. The visits would slowly space out and eventually stop altogether, leaving him feeling unfit and guilty. Not to mention poorer. Holly had rolled her eyes at him when he’d mentioned he’d joined a gym again. She’d seen it all before.

  Maybe that motivated him. He wanted to prove to her he could do it. Since having children, getting in shape had become one of those things he’d do in the future. But when was that going to be? The years were ticking by. When he retired? Ginger’s demise, and decades of policing, had taught him that time waits for no man. Balancing work and family life proved tough for everyone, rich and poor. Yet his health had to be a priority.

  As he pushed the doors open and checked out the scene, it was almost like being in the office. Half the department sweated before his eyes. He spotted DCI Naeem and her husband on the rowing machines. The new guy, Clavell, posed with free weights in front of a mirror. Barton joined Strange at the water cooler.

  ‘You didn’t say you were coming down,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you lot would be out for a while. What happened?’

  ‘The hammer incident turned out to be a carpenter doing maintenance in the pub. A local got the hump because he couldn’t hear the horse racing on the TV. He threatened the carpenter, who had been nailing down some architrave. There was some pushing and shoving, and the instigator tripped over a toolbox. We took a few statements, but the CCTV showed it was handbags.’

  ‘And the incident at Upwell?’

  ‘Zander attended the false imprisonment case. It was a domestic. They weren’t even drunk. Neighbours believe they love the drama. They both got a warning for wasting police time.’

  ‘Does Zander come here?’

  ‘No, he said he was already perfect.’