by Ben Oakley
“Oh don't you worry Mr. Lake, we're on that now. What were you drinking?”
I shrugged, “I don't see how this is gonna help anyone. Why don't you check my cellar for prints or DNA and see what comes back?”
“But you already claimed earlier that you were in the basement,” Berg frowned.
“God, you're quick aren't you,” I said. “But I didn't touch the chains, the table, three of the walls or Miss King – apart from her ankle. You'll see. Get what you can from them and see what comes back.”
“Doing my job for me, Mr. Lake?”
“I'm being set-up by someone for whatever reason. That's where the investigation needs to be, not here.”
“What's so special about her ankle? You a foot guy?”
“I thought the real kidnapper might have been upstairs so I tried to stop her. I know how it sounds but it's not what you think.”
He mocked me, “you tried to stop her leaving your basement. Interesting.”
“It's a cellar, not a basement.”
Berg nodded and looked at Hallberg, who was constantly lost in his own thoughts. He grunted before Berg looked back at me and took a deep breath.
“Why were you in Oxford last year?” he asked.
I shook my head again, “I was there following up on a story.”
“Oh yeah, that's right, for the Oculus. Yeah, I remember it. You remember that rag don't you Hallberg?”
“It's not a rag,” I clarified, “it's one of the biggest crime and paranormal databases in the world. International reach.”
“Hear that Hallberg? We've gone worldwide.” He looked at me, “what was it you said about us again? Oh yeah I remember.” He opened the folder and read from it. I sighed and rolled my eyes. “The Two Bergs acted like they auditioned for Police Academy 3 – and failed.”
I smirked a little, I couldn't help it. The ridiculous situation I'd found myself in was only exacerbated by the Two Bergs.
“You think that's funny?” he said.
“It's been a stand-out moment this past day, I can tell ya.”
“Have you ever visited a psychiatrist?”
“I know psychiatrists but I've never been in need of one.”
“Not even for your multiple personalities.”
“What? I don't have that and no one has that. The concept of a multiple personality disorder is a media myth, it's not what you think it is. Do your research, Berg, for crying out loud.”
“Did you kidnap and torture Miss King?”
“No, of course not.”
“Did you stalk her in Oxford when you were there?”
“Really?”
“Perhaps you spotted her from a distance and thought she looked nice enough to come back for. So you follow her for a little bit, abduct her when the time is right and then take her back to your torture chamber. Then you develop this phone call plan which you think will help you look innocent.”
I stretched my neck out and winced when I lifted my arms. “Never been electrocuted before.”
“Not nice is it,” Berg said.
“I dunno, nicer than sitting here staring at you two.”
The door to the room flung open and Detective Megan Paine walked in. Finally, I thought, someone with a bit of common sense. I wasn't familiar with her personally but I'd read about her numerous times in the papers and online sources. She seemed to be one of the better ones, I just hoped she could see my situation for what it was.
She beckoned the Two Bergs to stand and spoke to them quietly by the door. I couldn't hear what was being said. Her shoulder-length brown hair was perfectly straight, hooked back ever so slightly behind her ears. She was late-twenties, athletic, talkative, and from what I'd read; had a great career ahead of her.
I heard Berg and Hallberg sigh deeply, Berg muttered something under his breath but I couldn't hear it. Then he turned back to me and frustratingly lifted the folder from the table.
“Interview over,” he said, begrudgingly, “you're free to go.”
“Really? Just like that?”
They shook their heads at Paine and walked out the door, humming a recent pop tune. I could hear the regret in their throats, the annoyance at not getting their own back at me.
Detective Paine let the door shut by itself and turned to face me.
I shrugged at her, “what the hell is going on?”
In her clearly spoken South Coast accent, she said something that took me aback and saw my mind run off in all kinds of misdirections.
“Stansey King died two months ago.”
Nine
Paine sat in the chair vacated by the unlovable Berg. I could see her trying to work something out but she wasn't able to word anything. She just sat there and ran with her own thoughts. Until she shrugged to herself and got to it.
“What exactly is it you do?” she asked.
“You know what I do. I'm an Investigative Researcher for the Oculus.”
“Yeah, so what exactly it is you do?”
“We make connections where others don't. We publish some stories and articles in The Oculus Quarterly but there's a lot more that gets added to the database.”
“You're a ghost magazine,” she seemed proud of herself.
“That's not entirely accurate. We run some paranormal investigations but we also run reports on true crime, serial killers, mysteries, heroes, myths, legends, real people... you want me to go on? Because I think you know all this shit already.”
She snorted to herself, “oh you are on the ball.”
“So why don't you tell me how Stansey King died two months but she ended up in my fricking basement?”
Paine always seemed to have a little smile on her face, I'd seen it in some of her reports. It wasn't cockiness, it was more of an acknowledgement that she was two steps ahead. Except, this case was different. There could be no two steps ahead if no one knew what they were dealing with.
“Stansey King was a nineteen-year-old girl from Oxford who we pulled out the canal two months ago. She'd been killed a few days prior. The information she gave you doesn't add up. There is no 5532 Summertown Estate, there is no Origin Nightclub in Oxford. It's all a smokescreen.”
“What happened to her?”
“The one in your basement or the one in the canal?” she said, a little too cheekily for my liking.
“It's not a basement, it's a wine cellar.”
“You had no wine it.”
“Not then but I did... “ I sighed, “just tell me what happened to the dead Stansey King?”
“She had her throat cut and she bled to death in the water. Cause of death was a combination of the cut and drowning in the canal.”
“Camden Canal?”
“Not too far from it, it's part of a long system.”
I jumped two steps ahead as I'm sure she was already there, “are you dealing with a one-off or a serial killer?”
“We don't say serial killer around here unless we know for certain.”
“So what have you got?”
“I'm not entirely sure. But then you came my way.”
“Well that's just lovely for you. Let's not beat around the bush here Detective Paine. Might wanna enlighten me a little bit on your thoughts there?”
“It means you've been thrust into something that even I'm struggling to comprehend. A tortured and abused teenage girl was found in your basement and all the little fingers point to you.”
She moved her fingers like she was playing a piano – or working the strings of a puppet.
“I didn't put her there,” I said.
“Someone did.”
“It wasn't me. Am I even under arrest now?”
She sat back and I could see her thinking, her eyes were squinting and she was screwing up parts of her face in equal succession either to release tension or because it helped her think.
“The call was made to you and it makes you a big link in this story. I'm just not sure what it is yet. Do I think you did it? No. There's no forensic e
vidence and nothing in your history or character that alludes to anything like this, you're as clean as a whistle. Do I think you're involved? One-hundred percent yes.”
“Then why let me go?”
“The girl is unable to make a statement putting you in the firing line. And because you don't know you're involved.”
She had a point, I'll give her that. I was involved but I was starting to think I was part of this thing long before I ever answered the call. Why was Paine so sure? What did she want from me? I started to play things over in my head as quickly as possible before she broke my chain of thoughts.
Why was this canal such a big thing recently? I was trying to link the canal to the girl in my wine cellar and it wasn't working. I had followed some stories about dead bodies on the canal. A lot of the victims had fallen in after a night out or had got on the wrong side of some drug dealers.
Wait a minute.
“You think this has something to do with the Blood Streams Killer. Don't you?”
“Well that's not public knowledge.”
“It is if you run in the right circles. You want me to help you. You think that with my knowledge of more mysterious stories that I can help you solve my own case.” I could see she wanted more and I knew what it was straight away. “And... in doing so, you might solve the mystery of the Blood Streams. Am I right?”
She scrunched up her nose, “there we go.”
It wasn't uncommon for certain police departments or forces to outsource some of their workload to external facilitators. I'd worked with numerous agencies all over the country and beyond our borders. Most likely I would be put on bail, pending investigation and have to report any new evidence or findings to Paine.
“Earlier today I was saying the Blood Streams were a myth but now I'm not so sure. I'll do what you want me to do.”
“Thank you Harrison, I'll get the paperwork in order. You do know you'll still be under investigation?”
“I figured that.”
“Then come with me, there's something you need to see.”
Ten
After sorting through some legal paperwork with the arresting officers and the station sergeant, who really didn't take a liking to me, I was Paine's toy to use. I walked beside her along one of the station corridors and into a screening room.
A large screen in the middle was surrounded by multiple security monitors. Each one was recording one of the cells, with others focused on the corridors and public walkways into the building.
She beckoned me to sit on one of the two chairs facing the bigger screen in the middle. On it was a still image of Stansey King on a hospital bed.
“Is this here?” I asked.
She shook her head, “when we are in a situation where a victim or suspect needs medical assistance, as clearly she did, there are a certain number of private beds we use at the University College Hospital in Euston. Each private ward is fitted with surveillance so that we don't miss any information vital to a case.”
“You said that with such nonchalance. I take it this isn't public knowledge?”
She ignored me and got back to working the screen. I was apprehensive when looking at Stansey King again, if that was her name. The panic of the event rushed back and I had to take a few deep breaths to calm myself.
“You alright?” Paine asked.
I ran my fingers through my hair, I hadn't washed since being brought in and I felt grubby but I was in a better condition than Stansey.
“I'm fine, just play the tape. It's why I'm here isn't it?”
“It's a digital recording, tape's went out in the Nineties.”
“Oh we're gonna get on like a house on fire!”
“I never liked that phrase,” she said. “How is a burning house comparable to a friendly relationship?”
“It's the speed at which...” I was being mocked. “Just play the tape will you?”
She sniggered to herself and let it run.
“This was recorded three hours ago at the UCH. She is being interviewed by an officer, with a doctor present. When she arrived, she was patched up pretty quick but she wouldn't let people attend to the front of her body. Then we ran her DNA through the system.”
“Why did you run the DNA?”
“Because she said she was someone who died two months ago. Get your head in the game, Harrison.”
“So who is she?” I asked, genuinely needing to know.
“We don't know.”
“How can you not know?”
“There's no record of her.”
“How is that possible?”
“Maybe she's never been arrested or never been to a hospital in the past few years, there's a great many number of reasons. Privacy laws shut a lot of this off from us.”
“Missing person?” I asked.
“No one matches her description.”
“Is she English?”
“What makes you think she's not?”
“Have you tried missing persons in Europe?”
“We've sent the details over to Interpol, just waiting for them to get back.”
“Right, what do you wanna show me here?” I said, eager to get on with it.
Paine pressed play and I could hear Stansey's voice. Again, it was a little weird. I thought I was helping this girl not too long ago and suddenly she could be part of something bigger than I had first suspected.
My attention became transfixed on the screen, she was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, facing the direction of the camera. The officer and doctor were on two chairs in front of her.
“What's your name?” the interviewing officer asked.
“Stansey King.”
“Where's home, Stansey?”
“5532 Summertown, Oxford.”
“Do you remember how you came to be in the basement?”
“I woke up there.”
“Do you know who abducted you?”
“Harrison.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She was silent for a moment before sniffing in loudly. “No.”
“Why are you not sure who took you?”
“It doesn't make sense to me that he would go through this elaborate plan just to be caught at the end of it. I was drugged for weeks so I have no memory of who took me. I can't remember his face.”
“Do you think he was trying to help you?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“You're safe now and we'll get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you.”
The officer scratched his forehead and looked back at her. “Stansey, we've run some checks and we're struggling to find your home address, it doesn't show as an actual residence. Do you remember your address?”
“What, that's crazy! 5532 Summertown Estate in Oxford.”
“Unfortunately the address doesn't exist in the database, and there's something else. Two months ago the body of a girl was discovered. Her name was Stansey King from Oxford, she was nineteen-years-old and had black hair just like yours.”
“I'm nineteen-years-old. What are you saying?”
“Like I said, we'll work it out, there's probably been some mix-up. Though we are a little confused. The DNA of the girl we have on record matches that of Stansey King.”
“I'm Stansey King! What are you doing to me?” she cried.
“It's okay, you're safe now.”
“No I'm not, no one's safe from them?”
I leaned into the screen, suddenly my attention was peaked. What new revelations were going to come my way?
“Them?”
“Them, him, her, I don't know. Whoever's doing this to me. I just wanna go home, please.”
I watched the doctor take a deep breath and lean in closer to her. “It is our responsibility to keep patients safe and so if we discharge you then we will be putting you out on the street as a homeless person. It's not what we do, your care is most important to us. Because we can't bed you here, we're going to place you under psychiatric care until we can find yo
ur family and get you home.”
“No, no, no, no, I'll be found there. Please you have to help me!”
“Do you remember your name?” the doctor asked.
She started crying, more heavily than before. “I'm Stansey King, I'm nineteen-years-old, I live in Oxford. I've been tortured and raped. Now you're accusing me of being crazy?”
“We need to get you some help and you're in the right place just now. Just bear with us.”
The officer stood and mentioned he would be back in a short while. He left the doctor with her who cricked his neck and leaned back in the chair.
The doctor said, “oh, there was just one more question. What do you know about the Blood Streams?”
Stansey lifted her head high and stared at the doctor. Suddenly she lunged at him and had her hands around his throat instantly. She was screaming for help. The officer appeared back in the frame, desperately trying to drag her off but found it difficult so he slammed the alarm. A few moments later, the room was full of nurses and a security guard.
Paine paused the tape, or digital recording, as she put it.
“Wow,” I said.
“Isn't it just,” Paine replied.
“What happens now?”
“I'm going home, I've been awake since five, and I could do with some food, a foot rub from my man and some sleep. You should go home and rest too.”
“Wait, someone's been in my house!”
“Which is why you have a patrol car outside until eight tomorrow morning. Remember, the conditions of your bail mean you can't leave the city.”
She really was two steps ahead.
“So I'm trapped in Camden?”
“Didn't you read your bail conditions?”
“There was a lot there!”
“You're restricted to a five mile radius from your home. That puts your boundaries at Westminster to the South, Wembley to the West, Stratford to the East and Barnet to the North, with every little hamlet in-between. This station is 4.3 miles from your home – which is handy.”
“You're joking, right?”
“You had a tortured naked teenager in your basement, let that sink in. And you better adhere to this or we'll arrest you, simple as that. Five mile radius, Mr. Harrison Lake, that's your new world.”
