The Safe Word

by Karen Long

  “There or thereabouts,” the pathologist replied. “Carin had been dead for several hours when her body had been repositioned by a third party. From the lividity patterns it was obvious that she had been seated next to her mother in the car while the engine ran. Her blood analysis indicated she died as a result of carbon monoxide inhalation as did her mother.”

  “So someone lifted her out of the car and placed her on the floor in a plastic wrapping,” said Eleanor.

  Dr Hounslow nodded, “There was no proof that Marilyn’s sixteen-year-old son had any part to play in the death of either female.”

  “Did he report the deaths?” asked Eleanor.

  Mira Hounslow shook her head. “No, that was a neighbour. As I said there was no proof that the son had been culpable for any of these events.”

  There was a pause. “So what has triggered the connection in your mind?” asked Eleanor leaning towards the doctor. “It’s more than just a plastic bag isn’t it?”

  “When we performed the autopsy both women had been subjected to physical abuse. They had the sort of bruising associated with prolonged sexual abuse. However, Carin was still a virgin when she died. Her hymen was still intact and no vaginal penetration was evident.”

  Eleanor looked puzzled, “That’s unusual isn’t it?”

  “In my experience yes,” replied Dr Hounslow.

  “Was there a father? Stepfather?” asked Eleanor.

  “No-one had ever been reported or seen entering the family home,” replied Dr Hounslow.

  “No-one except the son?” said Eleanor slowly.

  Mira Hounslow nodded slowly. “Lee Hughes was interviewed by police several times but he confessed to nothing and there was nothing that could be pinned on him.”

  “Dr Hounslow, were there any colour photographs taken of the crime scene?” asked Laurence anxiously.

  The Doctor smiled and nodded. “I wondered when you’d ask.”

  Eleanor frowned and looked at Laurence. “Why?”

  “Carbon monoxide poisoning,” said Laurence with excitement as the pathologist handed a slim envelope to Eleanor who immediately slid the contents out and lay them in front of her. What she saw caused her gasp with shock.

  “Carbon monoxide poisoning turns the cheeks and lips a beautiful cherry red,” said Laurence. “An identical shade to those of Lydia Greystein.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eleanor accelerated through the early morning traffic, her fingers drumming restlessly on the wheel as she finished her call to Wadesky. “… I want a complete timeline on Lee Hughes… C.A.R.I.N Hughes… Yes we’ll be there in five. I need to know who the primary was on the case.” She rang off.

  Laurence gave her thirty seconds before speaking. “Well? You think this is the guy?”

  “I think it’s an interesting possibility. But I’ve had these coincidences before. You put your hopes into a lead and then find out the guy’s been dead for years.”

  “The lips and the plastic bag. That could be his first murder and he’s been perfecting his methods over the years.”

  “You heard Dr Hounslow say that there was no evidence that they had been murdered by anyone other than the mother,” replied Eleanor, trying to keep her excitement to a minimum. “We need to find out if Lee Hughes could have left the school at any point and if so why?”

  “But they’d both been sexually abused. It could have been him. Maybe that’s why they killed themselves.”

  “You’ve made an assumption that a fourteen year old girl was a willing partner in her own death. You need more concrete evidence before you leap into scenarios like that,” said Eleanor. “If the primary is still alive and can remember the case we should get a better picture.” Eleanor’s cell phone rang. She listened with a growing smile. “Thanks. Well there’s a piece of luck. Mo was the primary on the Hughes case,” she said with enthusiasm. “We’ll get into the office, pick up the files and I’ll head on over to talk to Mo and you can go and talk to Tracy Earnshaw again.”

  “Whoa. Why am I excluded from talking to Mo?” said Laurence peevishly.

  There was a pause as Eleanor considered this matter. “You’re right. We’ll both go together.”

  Sergeant Andy Harrison had spent the last eight hours dealing with paperwork so when the second call came through from Mrs Needermeyer to say that the two officers who’d been sent to investigate the woodland crime hadn’t returned to their car for two hours he was more than happy to haul ass down to the park and investigate. He’d tried to raise both Paget and Ellis on their radios but neither picked up. He was pretty mystified but not worried yet. He’d learnt over the years not to fear the worst as it was proportionally most likely the worst hadn’t happened yet and it played havoc with his acid reflux. So, easing himself into his car he drove through the early morning traffic with the window down enjoying the cold, wet autumn wind.

  The patrol car had been parked next to Mrs Needermeyer’s front lawn. It was locked and there was no sign of either officer. Mrs Needermeyer pointed out the direction Paget and Ellis had taken and, putting on his overcoat, Harrison headed off into the wood. Where the hell were they? He knew that cops often stopped for a coffee but none of the stalls were open and they’d been missing for at least two hours. He chewed a couple of antacids as he made his way along the leaf strewn pathway that bissected the park. He’d been walking for about five minutes when he heard a cacophony of dog barking followed by screaming. Now was the time to fear the worst.

  It took him several seconds to comprehend the image in front of him. He knew exactly what was hanging from the tree as he’d seen the images taken from the Westex power station. It was probably a woman, wrapped in a heavy duty transparent plastic bag. But the base of the plastic bag had stretched and was beginning to tear where the weight of the body had collected. He raised his weapon and began to walk slowly around the clearing towards the two kneeling officers. The dog, a long haired collie, sprang up and down below the hanging woman barking incessantly. Fortunately it couldn’t reach her and destroy valuable evidence. He’d deal with the dog in a moment but first he had to reach Ellis and Paget.

  The two officers knelt with their heads bowed in what appeared to be an act of supplication to the woman hanging from the oak tree. Harrison knew he had to secure the site and that both Paget and Ellis were dead but he couldn’t calculate how they were both in a kneeling position. Cautiously looking around he approached the nearest figure, which he assumed was Ellis due to the size differential between the two officers. Edging nervously forward he pulled off his glove and gingerly pressed two fingers against the carotid artery, whilst keeping his gun raised; Ellis’ skin was cold and there was no detectable pulse. Hunkering down he saw that several large oak branches had been roughly pared down and used as a prop to prevent Ellis’ body falling forwards. Paget’s body was at least ten feet away. Still on high alert he moved slowly towards her, his legs heavy and hands shaking. Like Ellis her body was resting on an ‘A’ frame of oak branches. He reached out his fingers but withdrew them gratefully when he saw from the bloodied mess that her injuries were too catastrophic. Harrison pulled the metallic tainted air through his nostrils and pushed it through his mouth in an effort to stabilise his inner chaos. In the distance he heard the sirens gathering momentum as they sped towards him. Breaking through the sirens he could hear the dog and felt the comfort that familiar procedure presented. Moving swiftly towards the dog he grabbed its collar and firmly rolled it onto its back. He felt it relax under his commanding hand the bark subsiding to a whimper.

  “When the fuck are my officers going to be released?” hissed Marty Samuelson to Dr Hounslow, his back to the figures of Ellis and Paget.

  “Marty we are going as fast as we can and I will not allow sentiment to cloud my judgement. When Susan Cheung has finished, these officers will be escorted to the morgue where we can look after them properly. You will not serve them by rushing my department,” said Mira Hounslow firmly but without compromise.
/>   Marty Samuelson turned to Eleanor and Laurence. “Get this fucker! You understand?”

  Eleanor nodded. “Give me the manpower.”

  “You have whatever and whoever you want. You have unlimited overtime but you fucking report in,” Marty’s voice quavered with exhaustion and emotion. He lifted a warning finger, there was so much more to say but now wasn’t the time to open those floodgates. He turned and walked towards the Mayoral Mercedes, which was parked ominously on the periphery of the police taped line. Eleanor stared at Ellis and Paget and then fixed her attention on the woman. Laurence followed her over.

  “Did you expect him to murder again so quickly?”

  Eleanor slowly shook her head. “There’s always reason,” she turned to Laurence. “Give me some.”

  Laurence opened his mouth to speak.

  “Don’t rush your thinking,” she said quietly.

  He nodded and took in the whole scene. “Opportunity.”

  Eleanor let the corners of her mouth turn slightly. “You don’t think this is well planned?”

  Laurence shook his head. “No, there’s something missing… something’s wrong about it. He had to have carefully planned and selected this site but…” Laurence knew there was something but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Look at her first. She was selected and presented.” said Eleanor. She held a hand up to Matt, who was moving towards the body with removal equipment.

  Laurence circled the body. “He repositioned her too many times and snapped her vertebrae. He ruined the presentation didn’t he?”

  Eleanor nodded, pleased with his assessment.

  “It would have made him angry to have messed that up wouldn’t it?” responded Laurence.

  “Yes it would have. But he didn’t destroy her like he did Belinda,” she coaxed.

  “Because Ellis and Paget were here,” said Laurence, a little too loudly. “When they arrived he was angry because he hadn’t displayed her correctly. So he killed them and placed them in an attitude of…” he searched for the right phrase.

  “Awe,” Eleanor helped him. “They kneel in awe.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gary Le Douce stared at the man and then shook his head slowly. “What’s in it for me?” he said flatly, drawing an impressive quantity of smoke into his lungs.

  “A handling fee of course,” responded the man smoothly. Gary waited, his greed expertly disguised by practiced insouciance. “Fifty,” offered the man.

  Gary snorted the last remnants of smoke out of both nostrils, turned his back on the man and began to pad across the greasy floor in the direction of his lair. He knew from years of negotiating that the final fee would be determined by the greatest desire: his for the cash or the man’s for whatever illegal deal he wanted brokering. Gary could almost the taste the man’s hesitation as he walked and when he heard him clear his throat he knew he’d won. Obligingly he turned to the man, the two over-plucked eyebrows raised in an expectant feline leer.

  “One hundred,” hissed the man.

  “One fifty!” Gary shot back, trying not to betray his glee at having won. The man’s face twitched into an expression of such contempt that even Gary felt himself shudder slightly.

  “One fifty it is.” Slowly, the man looked around the dark and unhealthy interior of the As You Like It, as if checking for a camera or a warm body that could oversee his next move. Gary waited. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d pushed a business deal a little too far and paid the price, but he was getting a little too old for physical violence and the man looked no stranger to doling it out. Gary knew that to survive in his line of work one must never act like prey. So he stood his ground hardened his expression and waited.

  “The package will be collected sometime this week. I expect it to remain unopened and the recipient unacknowledged. The package…” He proffered a large folded manila envelope with ‘Samuel’ written in thick marker pen, “…is for Samuel.”

  Gary grasped the bag and waited while the man counted out three fifty-dollar notes and held them out to him.

  “I have paid well and expect a professional service,” the man said quietly.

  “And I will deliver,” answered Gary, trying not to betray his discomfort. With a final visual sweep of the room the man turned around and walked to the entrance, closing the door quietly behind him. With an alacrity that surprised even himself Gary rushed forwards and locked the door fumbling with the chain lock. “Fuck you!” he whispered quietly but with genuine feeling as the lock slid into place.

  The man had discovered the card when he’d replenished his own supply on the notice board of the club several weeks ago. At first, from a purely personal point of view, he’d been a little peeved to find the card advertising ‘Kidnappings Arranged’. Of course this appeared to be a commercial enterprise whereas he would never stoop so low as to link the acquisition of financial gain with the redemptive service he offered to the deserving few. So, he’d pocketed the card. But having met Eleanor Raven and feeling so strongly that she needed more than he could offer her, he had been mulling over the possibility of it being a gift as well as an opportunity to check out the opposition. The latter was a less than lofty thought and he had made every effort to banish it from his consciousness.

  He’d left his request on the cell phone’s voice mail a few days ago and had been surprised to receive a response from a male who called himself Samuel and gave clear instructions as to where the money should be left. He’d been pleased to find the event priced steeply, which indicated quality in his mind. As a man who’d made a comfortable living from real estate rentals he viewed money as a means to establish power and status.

  He walked quickly but observantly through the rain in the direction of his office building. He could have driven but he liked to imbibe the sights and smells of the city. Just as he turned onto Cambridge Street he passed the florists and a strange but wonderful idea came to him. He would send Eleanor a bouquet of roses and allow her the opportunity to anticipate and thrill at the upcoming event. She had no idea that he was in possession of her name and address; this would humble her and prepare her mentally for the cleansing to come. He smiled to himself as he selected the most expensive roses and wrote out the address for the small woman behind the counter.

  “It is their perfume,” she said in an Eastern European accent. He looked at her steadily, waiting for her explanation. “That is why they are so expensive sir. Most roses have to be flown in and they are selected for their shape. They all have long, thornless stems but these are traditional roses and while they will not look the same they will smell like heaven itself in a day or two,” she said brightly. “Would you care to fill in a card for your loved one?” she asked. The man felt a wave of irritation pass at her assumption but he was feeling genial. He selected a card from his wallet and placed it on the counter. The ivory coloured glossy card held a single image, a ‘yin-yang’ symbol. He shuddered slightly as the woman picked it up and flipped it over.

  “You want to write here?” she suggested. “Something to your lady?”

  “Please deliver the card with the flowers to the address.” He paid with his visa card and turned to leave.

  “You want these signed for by the lady? We deliver twice,” she added helpfully.

  Ignoring her, he stepped out into the fresh, cold air.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mo was fully dressed and struggling to put on his outdoor shoes when Eleanor and Laurence arrived. “I’m coming in,” he gasped, as a lace slipped out of his swollen fingers.

  “He is not coming in,” said Minnie firmly. “He goes into work and he’ll be the next cop on a gurney.”

  “Well I’d rather die on the job than sit here gathering cobwebs!” gasped Mo, the shoelace eluding him yet again.

  “That’s not what those poor dead officers said! Or their partners,” Minnie replied kneeling down, snatching the lace and tying it for him.

  “Let me have Mo for a few hours and I
promise he won’t leave the office. I will have him driven back by dinnertime,” Eleanor said persuasively.

  Mo smiled at his wife, stifling a belch and a grimace.

  “The doctor said he was to rest!” said Minnie desperately, knowing the ground was crumbling beneath her argument.

  “If I think for one minute Mo’s in distress I will personally call the medics. In fact,” she said turning to Laurence, “Detective Whitefoot used to be a doctor and he can keep an eye on Mo.”

  Both Mo and Minnie turned to stare at Laurence, who looked unhappy. “Huh? Why’d you do that?” asked Minnie, confused.

  “I… medicine wasn’t the right vocation for me…” his voice trailed off as he saw Minnie’s contemptuous expression.

  “That we should all have such choice,” she snorted.

  Laurence’s cheeks reddened.

  The atmosphere in homicide was heavy with anger and silence as Eleanor prepared her debrief. The board that had been dedicated to the Greystein murder had been exponentially expanded to cover the entire wall, other ongoing cases having been de-prioritised and shunted off into another room. Laurence stood back and stared hard at the narrative unfolding before him. A ‘true’ timeline of Lydia Greystein and the second victim had been placed next to each other. Each photograph of the murdered woman in situ and then their morgue shots indicated to even the untrained eye that this was a serial killer in action. To the left of Greystein’s photographs were the more tentative connections, Belinda Myrtle and Carin Hughes. A blank card with the name ‘Lee Hughes’ was pinned above the photograph of Carin Hughes, with several thin red threads linking it to each of the women. Above the empty space reading, ‘Lee Hughes’ was the colour photograph of Carin Hughes wrapped in a plastic bag.

  “Haven’t we got a photo of Lee yet?” asked Laurence.

  “Working on it,” said Wadesky from her station.

  Laurence moved closer to her. “No mug shots from the case? No yearbook?”