Hunting Abigail: Fight or Flight? For Abigail, it's both!

by Jeremy Costello

  Newport glanced down.

  ‘I’m fine, Charles, really.’

  ‘And how about you, Holly?’ the pathologist asked, redirecting his attention. ‘My word, if only I was younger. You really are quite lovely, aren’t you?’

  Newport couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m very well, Charles, thank you. Which is more than can be said for these two.’

  The three of them moved over to the steel slabs.

  ‘You’re right about that, my love,’ Kilroy agreed. ‘These two were dealt the Devil’s hand, no question.’

  ‘They were playing the Devil’s game, it’s what happens.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’

  York had fallen silent. Newport took the lead. ‘So what can you tell us about them?’

  ‘Actually I can tell you very little you won’t already have guessed.’ He pulled the sheet back exposing Harriet Fuller’s naked torso, a fatal black abyss where her heart should’ve been. ‘I ran the tissue comparison on the two hearts, and they do indeed belong to our two vics, no doubt about it. What worried me were the teeth imprints.’

  ‘What about them?’ York muttered.

  Kilroy looked back to York. ‘Are you sure you’re okay, Nicolas? You look positively awful.’

  Newport turned to her partner. The doctor was right, he’d turned bed linen pale, his face moist and clammy.

  ‘I said I’m fine!’ he snapped. ‘Why does everybody keep asking me that?’

  ‘I’m just concerned, my boy.’

  ‘Can we just crack on? Thank you,’ York said firmly. ‘How were they subdued? Can’t be easy to incapacitate two targets at once.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Kilroy acknowledged. ‘But there was nothing in the bloodstream of either of them, no toxins whatsoever. My guess is they were chloroformed. Heavy anaesthetic. If you apply enough to the facial orifices, you’ll down an elephant.’

  ‘What about sexual abuse?’ asked Newport.

  ‘Nope, nothing. I checked the walls of the female’s vagina, and the anus of both vics, and there’s no evidence of tearing or forced entry anywhere.’

  ‘So we’re back to basics. What were you saying about the teeth imprints?’

  ‘Well…’ Kilroy hesitated.

  ‘Charles, what is it?’ Newport pressed.

  ‘It’s quite disturbing, but the teeth marks are human. I ran it twice, there’s no question. I sent it off to the lab for the boys to make a mode-imprint. Hopefully we'll get a dental match.’

  Unexpectedly York stumbled backwards, falling against Michael Fuller’s cadaver.

  ‘Guv?’ mouthed Newport. Running to her partner’s aid, she pushed her weight under him. He was too heavy and he was going over one way or another. He looked gonzoed, totally out of it.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Charles, help me!’

  Charles came limping hurriedly around Harriet Fuller’s block, but it was too late. Newport danced out of harm’s way, and York went down like a sack of potatoes.

  25

  ‘Where the hell is York?’ Mason growled.

  Standing with her arms folded to the rear of the briefing room, Newport shrugged. ‘Don’t know what happened, guv. He just collapsed.’

  Mason rubbed her eyes. ‘For the love of..! Where is he now?’

  ‘Left him in the Dungeon with Kilroy. Said he’d take care of him.’

  ‘Kilroy specialises in corpses, Holly. Are you sure your partner was still breathing?’

  ‘He’s still breathing,’ she confirmed.

  ‘Good, you can brief him later, presuming he’s still alive. Moving on. Will Graham and CSU are still on scene, we’re waiting for their report to come in. The girl’s body has been cleared by the coroner and is on its way to the Dungeon. We’ll know more once Charles has had a look at her. Holly, without me reading the official autopsy report, what can you tell us about Michael and Harriet Fuller?’

  Stepping up to the table Newport reeled off everything Charles Kilroy had said, right down to the human teeth marks in Harriet Fuller’s heart.

  Jonathan Wheeler physically shuddered. On the opposite side of the table was the station newbie, Tony Braddock, a criminal psychologist transferred in from MI5. Mid-forties and more serious looking than a dose of Hep B, the man never flinched. ‘Kilroy said with confidence that the MO is not sexual?’

  ‘There’s no evidence to suggest it, Newport confirmed.’

  Mason nodded. ‘Then until we know more, we have to assume the new vic will be consistent. Jonathan, what about you?’

  The large man rose to his feet and slid the plastic evidence bag into the centre of the table, a small voice recorder sealed tightly inside. ‘York was right, the recorder was in the light fixture.’

  ‘And?’ pushed Mason.

  ‘Again there wasn’t much to clear up, the recording is impeccable.’

  Wheeler sat slowly back down, avoiding eye contact with everyone. The room intolerably hot, Newport noticed fresh sweat marks at the man’s armpits again.

  ‘Well, Jonathan,’ urged Mason,’ are you going to mince around all day or are you going to play the bloody thing?’

  Displaying no reaction, Wheeler leaned forward and hit the play button, introducing the familiar static preceding the calm, calm voice…

  ‘Hello again. I’m going to assume I’m addressing the same officers, or I might just get the impression you’re not taking me seriously.

  ‘Firstly, I’d like you to know that I did not enjoy taking the life of Janine Bluestock. It made me feel somewhat cheated. She was a charming young girl. Very promising law career ahead of her too, until you failed her. Nevertheless, I do feel a valuable lesson has been learned. Maybe now you’ll realise just how grave your situation is.

  ‘Because of your perpetual errors, a paedophile is still walking the streets. I’ve been watching him. He’s trying so hard to be something he’s not, but it’s only a matter of time until he abducts another little girl. His resolve is wearing somewhat thin. How does that sit in your stomachs?

  ‘The next riddle will be more difficult and the same rules will apply. If you solve the riddle within twelve hours, I will kill a wrongly acquitted gang member responsible for the death of a garage worker. And if you fail, I will kill a police officer. This time if the messenger is pursued, I will kill them both. The rules are simple. How simple will be down to you.

  ‘Have you decided yet if I’m insane? Ooh, exciting. I almost wish I was in the room. I mean, come on, am I the only one having fun? Oh and FYI, you don’t need to worry about Abigail Fuller. I didn’t hurt her when I dropped her parents' belongings round to their flat, I’m not going to hurt her now. What kind of monster do you think I am?

  Static…

  ‘No legs have I to dance, no lungs have I to breathe, no life have I to live or die, and yet I do all three.

  ‘If anybody was wondering, the answer to the first riddle was the letter “a”.

  ‘Kicking yourself, Nicolas?

  ‘Tick tock…’

  Silence fell like a thick duvet over the room.

  Pushing the hair from her face, Newport exhaled heavily. It was the second time her partner had been singled out. She could feel the anger rising inside. Why York? Why now?

  Mason pushed herself up from her chair, steely eyes scanning the room. ‘I don’t like this guy,’ she declared sharply. ‘Janine Bluestock, name mean anything to anyone?’

  It didn't.

  ‘No one?’ she pursued. ‘So she’s a random. Holly, find out who this girl is, where she lives, everything, you know how it works. Then get Nick out of bed and get round to her house. If she lives alone or with a partner, make the personal trip to the parent’s home and inform them.’

  Newport nodded, wide-eyed. She wanted to smash something.

  ‘Anybody else?’ Mason added. ‘Let’s start being a little more vocal, people.’

  ‘He sounds different,’ Wheeler offered quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Braddock agreed. ‘And you know wh
at it is?’ The question was directed to no one in particular. ‘He sounds jovial. In the first recording he sounds more philosophical. Now he genuinely sounds like he’s having fun. And I don’t think the amusement comes from taking lives, it comes from mocking us. This man like is likely to be suffering from some form of childhood deprivation.’

  ‘Leading him to dress up in his mother’s clothes kind of thing?’

  Braddock didn’t laugh.

  ‘So the murders are just to get our attention, is that what you’re saying? His actual purpose here is just to fuck with us?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Braddock, ‘there’s definitely a more potent issue at work here than that. I think this guy craves attention, probably didn’t get it from his parents growing up, or got too much. One thing’s for sure, he’s incredibly smart.’

  ‘Nick said the same thing, smart, smart, smart,’ blurted Newport. ‘I’m tired of hearing this crap over and over. We know he’s smart, we know he’s ten steps ahead, and we know he seems to have a hard-on for my partner. How about something solid, Braddock, something we can go on. Like what’s the significance of the hearts? Why does he take them, why does he return them, why does he fucking eat them in between?’

  Braddock shrugged, unphased. ‘Perhaps some failed surgeon out to get even, thinks the world owes him a favour or a career? Or an underground ring selling organs on the black market? Who knows until I begin building a profile?’

  ‘So start building!’ she snapped. ‘What else do you have to do?’

  ‘Holly, right?’ asked Braddock rhetorically. ‘I understand your anger, I really do. Your partner’s name has come up a couple of times now and no one knows why, including me. But pointing fingers isn’t going to achieve anything. I’m here to help, that’s all. I’m not the all-seeing eye, Holly, I’m just a psychologist.’

  Newport glanced away. Braddock never raised his voice, never lost his cool. Smug prick.

  ‘Okay, that’s enough,’ said Mason. ‘Braddock, start your profile. And while you’re at it, look into any gang members who escaped jail time after killing a garage worker recently. There can’t be many. Maybe we can get a heads-up on his next target.’

  Braddock shifted his ample shoulders to the right. Was that his affirmation?

  ‘I have to go and issue a statement’ said Mason. ‘The press have got wind at last, the fucking vultures. Apparently they’re already naming the killings “The Valentine Murders.”

  ‘Inventive,’ said Newport.

  ‘Isn’t it!’

  26

  Frasier.

  Leanne.

  From the inky blackness they emerged, disappeared.

  Emerged.

  The images of their beautiful, anguished faces swam in and out of focus. In and out.

  He wanted to reach for them. But they were hazy, distant and insubstantial. He cried their names but his voice was thin, weak. They didn’t know he was there. Nobody knew. And he understood. It was not his wife and son who were vapour. It was him.

  In the darkness he waited, his patience undeterred. He couldn’t bear to look upon Leanne’s features, twisted and torn, Frasier’s likewise.

  He had failed them.

  Where was he when his wife was being beaten and hogtied? Where was he when his son was being sold to some rich Arab for amusement?

  He reached out again, could feel his outstretched arm plunging into the dense blackness, searching, groping, the feeling of solitude inching in again like slowly seeping cancer. Leanne was gone. Frasier was gone. And he was entirely alone.

  *

  Groggily his eyes peeled open and the blurry angles of the Dungeon edged into focus. Charles Kilroy was standing over him, peering down like a concerned father.

  ‘Welcome back, my boy,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Rubbing his eyes York pushed himself into a sitting position. He was on a transfer gurney tucked stealthily into the corner of the room. ‘Like I’ve been hit by a bus,’ he grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Head clearing up?’

  York coughed. ‘No, not really. Where’s Holly?’

  ‘She’s gone to the briefing. Something about another recording. She helped me load you up here first. Stronger than she looks, that one.’

  ‘Shit,’ York cursed and tried to push himself off the gurney.

  ‘Whoa, whoa.' Kilroy laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. ‘Just a sec, Nicolas.’

  ‘I have work to do, Charles, I feel fine.’

  For an infinitely long moment, he was penetrated so intensely by Kilroy’s gaze he didn’t know where to look. ‘How long?’

  York frowned. ‘Come again?’

  ‘I’m not kidding, Nicolas. How long have you been using?’

  York paused, a phantom itch breaking out in the crux of his arm. ‘Using what?’

  Kilroy sighed. ‘You think I don’t know the signs, son? I was in this game before you were a twinkle in your mother's eye. The second you walked in here today I saw the jolts of pain, the shakes, the sweats. Want to tell me what’s going on?’

  York looked down at his dangling feet. ‘Did you tell Holly?’

  Kilroy shook his head slowly.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Why are you using, Nicolas?’

  York rolled up his sleeve and found a freshly wrapped bandage over the bruised puncture marks. Kilroy had administered a patch job while he was out. ‘Why do we do anything?’

  Kilroy raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘What makes you think something’s wrong? I’m an addict, Charles, plain and simple.’

  Kilroy watched him carefully. ‘Nope, you’re too smart for that. Try again.’

  York didn’t know where to start. Lots of people knew about his family, but only Tank Henderson knew about his addiction. Until now. He scanned the room. Kilroy was not going to let him off the hook, that much was evident. ‘Do you remember Jack the Stripper?’

  ‘Jack the Stripper, should I?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ York murmured. ‘Jack “The Stripper” Devlin. We were running surveillance on him a couple of years back. Owned two high-end strip clubs, one in Chelsea, one in Kensington. We got an anonymous tip that he was using the clubs as a front for dealing smack. It was an organised operation. Devlin never went near anything, his hands were clean, had a bunch of kids running for him.

  ‘Anyway, this local kid, Robbie Plank, supposedly one of Devlin’s runners, turns up dead one afternoon. Some poor bastard walking his dog came across him, two bullets in his heart.’

  ‘Robbie Plank,’ Kilroy cut in, ‘I do remember him. I took the fragments out of his chest.’

  York nodded. ‘Once it was conclusively a murder, the drugs bust was no longer just a drugs bust. That’s when I was brought on board. I was to go in, become friends with Devlin over time, gain his trust. Hopefully if we became tight, he'd tell me all his dirty little secrets.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘Oh yeah, we got him, but it took seventeen months of staying undercover. He had a one-point-eight million quid a year business going off on the side of his clubs. Robbie Plank had been taking the stuff himself, with no means to pay off what was owed. That's what earned him the two bullets.’

  ‘So how do you end up with needle marks?’

  ‘As part of keeping up my cover and building Devlin’s trust, I had to hit it. I went in as a buyer, so there was no way around it. Like any buyer I had to test the authenticity of the product. I would have been transparent otherwise. I thought I had it under control, I did have it under control, but a week after the collar my family disappeared. That’s when the control slipped. I’ve been hitting it ever since.’

  ‘Jesus, Nicolas.’

  ‘Don’t judge me, Charles, you don’t know what it was like, what it’s still like. I’m living in a fucking nightmare.’

  ‘You think I don’t know?’ Kilroy pushed. ‘I had two daughters, now I have one. Julie
was thirty-two when cancer took her. Hannah is battling it now, twenty-nine. We all have our ways of dealing with tragedy, Nicolas, no human goes unscathed.’

  York shifted uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t know, Charles, I’m sorry.’

  Kilroy glanced down to his shoes. ‘Yeah...’

  ‘So how do you cope?’ York detected an almost needy edge to his question. ‘What’s your way of dealing with it?’

  ‘I haven’t coped, my boy, I’m just a master at disguising it. But I do still find moments of alleviation. We just have to dig deep. It is within you, Nicolas, I promise. It’s within us all. Some of us just need more guidance than others. Opiates may offer you a temporary reprieve, but that’s exactly what it is: temporary. Real guidance comes from the people who know, the people who’ve been there, the people who have found that peace.’

  York jumped from the gurney. ‘And I thought you were going to say women.’

  ‘Them too,’ smirked Charles. Then his smirk transformed into an infectious laugh and suddenly York couldn’t help joining in. It was what he needed. When the laughter died down, he plucked his hat from the side and rested it on his head. ‘So what do I do, Charles?’

  ‘While you were out I administered a dose of Methadone. That should help with the cravings for a while. Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll give you some in tablet form. And look, I’m here if you need me. I can always use a conversation. I don’t get much down here.’

  ‘Charles, about the Methadone…’

  ‘Off the record, Nicolas, you have my word.’

  ‘I appreciate it,’ he murmured.

  Then he was gone.

  *

  Roy Sunnily had disappeared from the room. Abigail Fuller was alone. Roy said he’d gone to fetch some water. Perhaps he had.

  Abbey shifted uneasily on the seat and fingered the pages of a tattered celeb magazine. She’d heard them talking in the background about packing her off to some facility until they could relocate her, but she didn’t fully understand what that meant. It sounded okay, though. Maybe there’d be others there who she could be friends with.