by Franklin, JJ
Getting the right costumes to highlight his statements had been his hardest task, and for days he racked his brains while crossing out idea after idea. It was really only by accident as he glanced through one of the papers left scattered about the staff room, that he spotted an advert in the event’s section for a huge sale of ex theatrical costumes in Birmingham. Taking care not to draw attention to himself, he scribbled down the details.
The sale was on the same day as the Harrogate conference and Clive began to see how he could make this work to his advantage. If he left early in the morning, as he had been planning to do anyway, it would take him less than an hour to get to Birmingham where he would have to wait another hour until the sale opened. Clive could make his selection and then head straight to Harrogate. He would only miss the opening rigmarole, which he knew was usually a waste of time anyway with all that concentration on getting to know your fellow attendees, whom you were not going to see or meet, hopefully, ever again.
On the day, as he waited for the sale to open, Clive debated whether to ring ahead to say he was stuck on the motorway. In this day of constant snarl-ups, it was always a valid excuse. Or, should he arrive late and only bring out his explanation if asked. If he arrived just before the coffee break and slid into the back, acting like he’d been there all the time, no one would probably take any notice. The delegates would all be dying for a coffee and a fag by then anyway. On balance, he decided against the call in case the police traced it or that someone remembered him calling.
Clive had parked the car around the corner from the sale and put on an old jacket and a flat checked cap his father had once worn, which, for some reason, his mother had decided to keep.
The cover story was that he was the producer of some amateur theatrical company and the next show in the village hall was going to require several of the chorus to look like little girls at a party. Clive had invented the name of the village and show, which he thought should be written by their own local playwright, Randolph de Winter, of course. However, despite his elaborate preparations, no one really listened or appeared interested.
A sullen young man served him ungraciously with a martyred air. Clive got the impression the young man felt he was acting beneath himself and that he was only filling in time until called to portray Romeo for The Royal Shakespeare Company. Though he was glad to take the cash Clive offered him for the several costumes he had managed to find from the numerous rails haphazardly crammed into the huge warehouse.
It had taken him a long time sort out what he needed and, as he rushed back to the car with his booty, he realised that he would have to drive at some speed to get to Harrogate before the coffee break. Clive consoled himself by thinking that it might be better to arrive at coffee time and slide quietly in, and by the fact that the costumes seemed perfect for his purpose.
He smiled at the merry dance he would be leading the police. They would be dashing off in more than one direction, unaware that he had been extremely careful with every prop used, leaving them nothing that led back to him.
The only niggling worry was dear Anne, but Clive thought he had that situation under control. Anne believed she was in love with Clive and he found that giving her a little taste of what she wanted seemed to work. This wasn’t an unusual situation in the office. Clive usually managed to offer the ladies his charmed attention and then use Mother as an excuse to keep his distance.
Anne started at En Jay’s some months before and had shown such determination in her pursuit of Clive that she was becoming something of a nuisance. At first, he was his most charming self and expected the silly girl to fall into place like the others. But the little thank you cards for a job well done, flowers or chocolates for her birthday, Clive could now see only served to give her false hope, although he had treated her no different than all the other female staff.
Perhaps she was inexperienced, and she certainly wasn’t attractive, or rather, she didn’t make the effort to gild the lily like the other females. Her skin had a pale, sallow dullness that she could have enlivened by the usual makeup tricks. While her hair was straight in the prevailing fashion, it did not suit her thin features and only served to accent her long face.
However, it was her manner he found most difficult. She had become proprietary when around him, and it was obvious that she had begun to believe there was something between them, and she became intent on letting everyone know.
Even though Clive watched the other girls in the office shaking their heads and quietly giving her advice, she persisted. That was her main trait—her persistence—and he had the feeling that it would get her or him into trouble, especially now that she had something to hold over him.
Clive arrived at the Harrogate conference just as the coffee break had finished and the delegates were shuffling unwillingly back to the conference room. Pleading motorway problems, he opted for sympathy, giving the woman instructor his most apologetic smile. She patted him on the arm, said he could take five minutes, get himself a cup of coffee, and recover from his ordeal before joining the rest of the group. He was just about to thank her when he heard her whiny voice.
‘Oh, Clive, thank goodness you have arrived safely. I was so worried in case you had had an accident. I told them it wasn’t like you at all. That you are the most utterly reliable person.’
He turned to face Anne while trying to wipe the shock from his face, aware that the instructor was only a couple of yards away. Anne came towards him and before he could stop her, she gave him a hug in thankfulness that he was safe. Clive was aware that this was Anne’s way of telling the instructor that she should keep her hands off, and it seemed to have the desired effect.
‘I’ll leave you in Anne’s capable hands then. See you in five.’
As the instructor left, he fought to compose his features into something resembling pleasure that he was going to have Anne’s company for the entire day.
‘This is a pleasant surprise. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I talked Mr Hill into letting me come. I knew you would rather have company. It’s such a long way to come on your own. And, well, I thought it would be rather lovely if we had dinner on the way home. I’ve checked out some places and marked them on a map. Shall I show you at lunchtime?’
‘How did you get here?’ He tried to keep the roughness out of his voice, knowing it held dread that she was expecting Clive to drive her home. Her reply confirmed his fears.
‘I came by train. I did ring you several times last night but got no answer.’
She wouldn’t have reached him, even though she had managed to acquire his mobile number, since he always ignored her calls. He had to think fast.
‘I always go to silent in the evening. Mother thinks mobile phones are the work of the devil, sorry.’
‘I thought that might be it.’
‘Anyway, you are here now and it will be good sharing the day with you,’ Clive said, back on track. He would have to play her game today but he could see that she was becoming a problem.
Even with his late start, the day dragged endlessly on and he didn’t remember anything of the content. Anne insisted on sitting next to him, even when the instructor tried to divide everyone into different groups.
Lunch was a nightmare with Anne chattering on incessantly, enjoying her belief, and parading it front of everyone, that they were an item.
Clive was dreading the journey home and wondered if he could bring out his usual excuse of needing to get home to Mother. However, as they walked to the car, he realised that Anne was way ahead of him.
‘Will someone be with your Mother today?’
‘Yes, I have a housekeeper. Well, a sort of companion really for Mother.’
‘It must be a great comfort to have her there when you are away, like today.’
‘Yes.’
‘And to know you don’t have to rush back. I mean, after that terrible journey this morning you need to relax.’
He may have imagined it but she
seemed to emphasise the words ‘terrible journey’ and he had the feeling she hadn’t believed him from the start. She had it all worked out, and he had to give her credit.
Stifling his excuses, Clive realised it would be best to suffer her for a few more hours. He decided to put a brave face on it and play along with her, just for now.
‘That’s true. Let’s enjoy our dinner. It will be such a nice change for me. Where would you like to go? You choose, Anne.’
He could tell this is what she wanted and she looked pleased as they made their way across the car park. As they approached the car, one of the men from the course stopped to talk to Clive. Anne had gone ahead to the car, so he clicked it open for her in case she didn’t want to wait. Normally he would have opened the door for her. Mother always insisted on good manners.
Finishing his conversation, he turned towards the car to see Anne opening the boot intending to stow her briefcase. By the time he got to her, it was too late, and she was gazing down at the costumes.
‘Oh.’
He closed the boot fast, grasping her arm to lead her around to the passenger side. He wanted to push her roughly inside, but instead waited patiently while she arranged herself, all the time thinking of how to explain the costumes, until he came up with, ‘Some show of Lizzie’s. I didn’t have time to drop them off to her.’
‘How exciting. What is the show and please say we can go and see it?’
‘No way. It’s just some scrappy thing they are doing at university.’
‘But surely you will be taking your mother?’
‘Not if I can help it. I’ve sat through too many of these things already. Mother fell asleep during the last one. Now where are we going?’
She dropped it then, intent on deciding where they should stop for dinner, but he knew she hadn’t given up on the idea and was seeing herself taking his arm for what she imagined would be a family occasion.
During dinner, Clive acted the perfect gentleman, pulling out her chair and pouring her wine, even though the restaurant was not up to his usual standards. As he smiled at her across the table, his mind was racing, and he knew this couldn’t go on. He would have to do something about Anne.
Now he was forever hearing her screechy voice saying things like, ‘Clive and I drove down together,’ or ‘Oh we had such a lovely dinner.’
He tried confiding in his strongest ally in the office, the receptionist, Gloria. She was in her mid forties and treated him differently from the other girls. For one, she had no designs on him, due to her already running a hot affair with one of the town councillors under her husband’s nose.
Gloria was the unofficial confidant for most of the girls in the office. In the past, when one of the girls became over enamoured and believed she was on the way to becoming Mrs Clive Draper, and he shuddered at the thought, he turned to Gloria.
Gloria would have a quiet word and the miscreant would fall back into the pool of rejects and cause him no further bother. Of course Clive was adept in not ruling out hope altogether, just to keep them in line. One never knew when someone might be useful.
Anne though was another matter. She and Gloria hadn’t got on from the start. Anne tended to see Gloria as a mere receptionist and thought she was somehow better being one of the junior programmers. She refused to accept Gloria as the Mother Hen and would look down her sharp nose at Gloria and take no notice at all.
Yes, something would definitely have to be done about Anne.
CHAPTER 16
Matt hunted for a reasonably clean mug, and made himself a cup of instant coffee in the small kitchen, which doubled as a staff room. He wasn’t looking forward to his meeting with Professor Derek Meredith at eight a.m. sharp. He had been told that, since the professor was such an important person, he should fit in the appointment to suit him.
As he stirred the coffee, he wondered again what so irritated him about the man. Maybe it was his arrogance. Or was it the way he dismissed the victims of a brutal murder? To the professor they were mere objects, to be coldly discussed and forgotten, the perpetrator being his main fascination.
It made Matt uncomfortable, as despite the need to keep a professional distance, he never allowed himself to forget the real people who were affected by violent crimes. Images of the victims, Gracie foremost, and those left behind, kept him going against the odds when everything seemed to be working against him.
Placing the mug beside the reports that were building into a precarious pile on his desk, he sat down and started to read.
It was only five minutes later that he was interrupted by a young uniformed constable who announced in a somewhat reverential tone that Professor Meredith had arrived for him. The PC then stood aside to usher the esteemed professor into the office. Matt could have sworn that the constable gave a slight bob of the head as the professor strode in, as if he were paying honour to a football hero.
With a glare, he dismissed the young man and rose to greet the professor, offering him a seat and coffee. With a glance at Matt’s tatty mug, the professor declined the coffee.
To foster cooperation, Matt moved from behind his desk and joined the professor, sitting opposite him across the small coffee table, taking his notebook with him.
‘Thank you for coming, Professor,’ he said.
‘My pleasure, my boy, my pleasure,’ the professor purred.
I bet it is, thought Matt, and so is the cheque at the end of it. ‘You have the briefing?’ he continued, keeping his voice civil.
The professor took a folder out of his battered briefcase and nodded whilst opening it. ‘Very interesting—this chap is making a bold statement, a very bold statement indeed.’
‘So what is he saying?’
‘Well…’ the professor paused as if cogitating, ‘Well, I would say that he is trying to tell us something about his childhood. He probably wasn’t a very happy little boy, not happy at all. Probably felt he didn’t belong.’
Great, thought Matt, any one of his team could have worked that one out, but he pressed on. ‘So he was unhappy as a boy. But why has he started killing now?’
‘Now this is most fascinating.’
Again, the maddening pause that Matt was sure he did for effect. He waited, trying not to let the impatience show on his face.
‘Yes, intriguing. I believe there may have been some life event. Not necessarily catastrophic, but everyday, like death, birth, redundancy, a trauma say or the ending of a relationship. The sort of thing that happens to us all. However, in the case of this damaged individual it acted as a catalyst.’
Matt thought that any one of those events could push someone closer to the edge, but not into committing such a bizarre murder.
‘Damaged in what way, Professor?’
The professor paused again, and this time, Matt was certain it was because he wasn’t so sure of his ground.
‘As I said, this person is damaged. He will probably have been coping, possibly coping well. However, some event has reawakened an inner turmoil and brought all the painful feelings to the surface, as it were. Killing may be the only way he can externalize these feelings. It may be a release. A most wonderful release.’
Matt felt as if the professor was contemplating some release of his own. ‘So why choose a young woman?’
‘He probably sees her as an ideal object upon which to express himself. Again, she could be related to his childhood.’
‘He is trying to tell us something about his childhood?’
The professor nodded wisely, fingers together in the classical thinking pose.
‘So what is he trying to say?’
The professor dropped his head onto his fingers before replying. ‘Although it will be very clear to him, he will want us to work it out, to understand his pain. This will be part of his task, his enjoyment.’
‘So we are looking for someone who is coping well in society, who wouldn’t stand out? Who is clever and well organised and had a disturbed childhood? How the hell are we going to f
ind him?’
‘Ah, now that is your job, my dear boy, your job,’ the professor intoned.
Matt wanted to shout at him.
‘He will probably live alone.’
‘I take it he is likely to kill again?’ Matt asked, keeping his voice level.
‘Oh yes, almost certainly. He will feel empowered by the process. Highly excited, like a hound that has tasted blood. He will want to recapture that feeling as soon as possible.’
‘The victim. How will he select his victims?’
‘I would assume that the chosen victim may be on the periphery of his acquaintances. In effect, they are standing in for those he would really like to kill but dare not.’
Matt felt his heart sink. If the professor was right, there would be no way to link this killer to his victim, or victims. With no obvious motive, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. If Matt and the team didn’t move fast enough to stop him, he would kill again and again.
Although the professor continued, he gave Matt little insight into how they could catch this murderer, and Matt thanked him and brought the interview to a close.
With the interview out of the way, Matt hoped that the morning would bring in some good news, some progress on the many leads the night team had been working on. The murderer had provided enough evidence, so he was either a fool or confident his props wouldn’t lead back to him. If it was the latter, then Matt had to hope that he would become too sure of his own power and eventually trip up.
As he joined the team, Sam was already half way through the briefing and had just asked Wendy to bring them up to date. Wendy hated speaking in front of everyone, so instead of going to the board, she stood by her desk. However, her report was concise and, as he listened, Matt blessed her for her thoroughness.
