by Karen Botha
Five minutes later though, the door flies open, and Eric is out of breath having just bounded up the staircase.
He’s waving one hand at me. “Lucy come on, he’s here.”
“Huh?”
“Brian, he’s arrived.”
Paula
Mo and I have taken over a room in a country police station. It’s the type that has remained unchanged since the turn of the century. The stone detached building is the same size as a standard two-up two-down mid-terraced house which stands by the curb of a lane in the middle of the countryside. I turn on the doorstep and admire the spectacular views from all around: rolling green hills and, even though the sun could be out a little more, it’s still picture perfect. I take some snaps on my phone to show Lucy when I get back. See if she knows where I am. I’ll be damned if I have a clue.
The view from inside the station is less attractive. The damp is atrocious. It’s not only the smell which makes me fear for the state of my lungs, but also, an overall ramshackle feel. The paint on the walls is not only peeling, but is bubbling free from the damp plaster in places.
There’s no formal manned desk. Any visitors must ring a buzzer on the outside of the building. If someone is available inside, they'll be answered and shown into a makeshift lobby. It's as far removed from the hullabaloo of the city as I can imagine and I wonder about the character of a person who would be equally comfortable in both environments, such that they’d know about locations this far off the beaten track.
Hey ho! At least we’re here and making progress. Mo is bent over me and we’re studying a map of the UK waterways.
“Look, there are a few routes from London to Yorkshire via boat, but the best one is this.” I trace my finger across to the centre of the screen and north until it reaches our present location.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“And what’s more, I’ve checked how long this route would take. It’s a little over five days.”
“Five bodies, five days.” Mo nods, and stands, his flagging energy renewed.
“Exactly. I’ve got Christine working on boating licences, if we’re lucky, our man will have it registered. Jim is looking at nationwide deaths with the rest of the team.”
“Yeah, I’d be willing to bet our chappy killed one person a day and kept them on his barge until he could dump them all here.”
“Indeed. So we need to look into missing persons on his entire route.”
“That’s going to be no easy task.” Mo rubs the stubble on his jawline.
“It also means that our bodies in London may not all be from the local area. We should check whether the older ones were also shipped in. See if we can’t get a handle on his routes. I expect he was planning to hang around here for a while. If we’ve disturbed him, then what will his next move be?”
I trace the map. “There are a few options, but look, if he travels up here,” I point towards the right of the country, “he will meet more dead ends. That doesn’t seem like a bright choice. I’d put my money on him heading towards Huddersfield. Then he has two options: either the larger waterway towards Manchester where I suspect he’ll assume it’s easier to get lost, or down here, in the middle of nowhere on the Huddersfield Narrow Canal.”
“What would you do?” Mo asks.
“I’m not sure, I think we need to check both. At least the pathways have some CCTV, so we’ll be able to start working back once we catch a break. I’ll let the team know we want some of them to split off and start work on this.”
Mo nods, but doesn’t say anything. He’s hovering, his energy feels awkward. He’s just staring at my screen as I type, tapping the desk. It’s distracting. When I finish up with my email, I ask, “What’s eating at you?”
“How did we find out about this one?”
“We received another anonymous call. Why?”
“Now, we assumed our East London location was someone that just came across the warehouse by accident and called it in. But what if it’s more than that? What if someone knows what he’s doing, wants him stopped, but can’t confront him for whatever reason?”
“I don’t know, does it make a difference?” I consider what Mo just said, speaking to fill the blank air between us. I rest my elbow on the desk and chew both edges of my thumb nail.
“It could mean it’s not your usual suspect. Our guy could have had something happen to him that pushed him over the edge.”
“Yeah, I guess it could,” I agree, “but does that make a difference to how we conduct our investigation?”
“I’m not sure. I just don’t want to miss anything. It could be important later on when we start narrowing down suspects.”
“Please God, let that be sooner rather than later.” I am not comfortable knowing our man is on the hunt for another victim to kill in less than twenty-four hours.
Lucy
Brian is bigger than I expected. Although I’m not great with ages, I think he’s about fifty, and looks as though he was fit in his day. Any remaining muscle is covered by a layer of fat. He’s sitting at the blackjack table with a can of beer in his fist. He’s not playing yet, just observing. He’s one of those guys who looks permanently angry. His dirty grey hair is mussed, above a forehead which has frowned more than it’s smiled. I wonder about his temperament.
I leave him be. I’m not comfortable jumping on him as soon as he walks in, so I float around. Tom and his group are still in, so I stand and watch their game for a while. I’ve learnt quite a bit from working for Bright Nights about how gambling works, so I can at least follow what’s happening and why.
I mill around, giving a few more massages and waiting until Brian, who is now playing, decides to pause for a bar stop. It’s difficult to tell the time, but I’m guessing we must be approaching my break time. Brian has been dealt a new hand, so I reckon I’ve time to nip upstairs and send Adam an update. I don’t want him to worry if I don’t message him during my next scheduled break if I’m onto something I’ll work through.
It was a good move, because upon checking my phone, I see it’s only ten minutes before I’m scheduled to grab a cuppa. When I return downstairs again, Brian is in the bar with Tom and his cronies.
“Would you like a shoulder massage, ease your muscle tension from the game?” I ask him. His head shoots round and beady eyes study me. “It’s free, a new trial the house is running. I’m qualified.”
“She’s good.” Tom nudges him.
“Uhh, I don’t know...”
“I’m used to this. I work for a Bright Nights, the big casino in London, and I have my own private practice as well. I’m good.” I tilt my head, waiting whilst I try and make my face relaxed and friendly. I hadn’t anticipated Brian not wanting a massage. Who doesn’t want a shoulder rub?
“Oh, go on then.” His voice is gruff.
“Great.” I move so I’m standing behind where he’s perched on the stool and press my thumbs around his shoulder blades.
“Ow, that hurts,” he moans.
“Sorry, you’re really tight, what have you been up to?” The guy needs me to get him on the table and dig my elbow in. Instead, I wrap my forearm around his front to stop him melting forwards and dig in with my opposite elbow.
“Ow, I thought you’d stop when I complained.”
I laugh. “I’m used to complaints. I just carry on.”
“I can see.”
“So why are you so stressed?” I try again.
“Life.”
Tom sees the funny side. “Bollocks, it’s cos you got made redundant and you hate your new job.”
“What the hell do you know about it?”
“I know more than you think. I wouldn’t see your ugly mug in here the whole time, when you should be out working, if you liked your job,” Tom retorts.
“Oh, leave it. You wouldn’t see me if you weren’t already in here, so it’s not like you’re any better.”
“I’m not saying I am, but at least answer the chick properly. She’s here to
help you.”
I’m not sure helping is my role today and shame creeps up to colour my face. Hopefully they don’t notice. Nevertheless, I shove it aside. I am here for a reason and I need to do my best. “So, you’re down on your luck at the moment then, Brian?”
“We’re all down on our luck!” Tom replies for him.
“Hey, butt out, you! How can I answer the lady if you keep chipping in?”
The group with Tom laugh at him being put back in his place, Tom for his part holds both hands out. “Sorry Brian, go ahead.”
I wait.
Brian raises his jaw, creasing the back of his neck where his hair is short, thinking.
Even the boys are quiet.
“Tom’s right, we’re all down on our luck dear. I don’t think any of us can see a way out of it. You get a windfall and you blow it right back in again. It’s never enough for you to catch back up.”
“Did that happen to you?” I ask, wondering if this was the reason for him spending time here, instead of him securing the warehouse where the bodies were found.
“Oh a few times!” I hold my breath, wanting more. He obliges. “But yes, I’ve had a horrible reminder recently.”
“What you won big here and ploughed it back?”
“No, elsewhere, a private windfall.”
He buttons down and I know not to press. Instead, I reply, “I guess a place like this can make you do that.”
The young guys are otherwise occupied now. Piss-taking amongst each other, Brian’s demise forgotten. I leave him be for a few minutes, but when he doesn’t continue our conversation, I push him again.
“How did you get into gambling?”
“I started when I was about thirty.” He pauses, and I leave the space hanging, waiting for him to further expand.
He doesn’t. “Did you start small and build up?” I ask.
“I’ve never bet huge amounts, but it’s easier to get in over your head when finance companies fall over themselves to lend you what you’re short.”
“What do you mean? You lost more than you had spare, so you borrowed?”
“Yeah, and easily.”
“Wow, that’s rough.”
“Hmm, lost the house in the end, and my family. It’s not uncommon in here.” He waves his arm around the room and his shoulder shifts under my thumb.
“Oh, no, that’s really tough. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for me, gal. Like I say, most of the blokes in here will tell you a similar story. There’s nothing special about me.”
“Yeah but it still sucks though. Just because other people are in the same position, it doesn’t mean it’s any less tough on you.”
He tilts his head, considering what I said. “No, I suppose not...”
We’re quiet for a while and I continue kneading at his shoulders. He looked threatening from a distance, but what I’m learning, and fast, is that these people have a lot to be serious about. Genuine problems. I’m reminded that appearances can be deceiving, I bet Brian is a real softie under that facade. I wonder if that sensitivity is what pushed him to gamble in the first place.
Without thinking, I blurt out another question. Not because I’m intent on finding out more about him now, but because I’m Lucy the massage therapist, chatting to a client who interests her.
“Where do you live now then?”
“Only, down the road, I’ve rented a tiny place by the old Docker’s yard. Being on my own, I don’t need anything big.”
“Sounds cosy.”
“Yeah...” He’s quiet again and I leave him be as I concentrate on a knot that is about to release. It pings free.
“You feel that? You’re unravelling nicely.” I smile and although he can’t see me, I know he can hear it in my voice.
“Hey, don’t do that, I’m trying my best not to unravel every, single, day! I can do without any help from you.”
I allow a chuckle to pop free and it fills the serious air that is otherwise drowning the room.
A few minutes pass. And then Brian remarks, “I did stop for a while, you know.”
“That’s great, so you know you can.”
“Well. Kind of. But I got an online betting account so I could join some of my workmates who all put in and had a weekly punt.”
“Oh, OK. Where do you work?”
“Ah, I’m not there now, that’s the place Tom was talking about - those who made me redundant. And that’s where the problems started.”
“Too much time on your hands?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
“But you’re working again now, aren’t you?”
“Well, of sorts. I do security for some derelict warehouses. The rich sorts have snapped them up and want to make sure they stay vacant possession. They don’t want the hassle of squatters moving in, so I take a trip round and report back anything untoward.”
“Ah, sounds like a nice gig. Can you visit when you choose?”
“Yeah, as long as, it’s once a day. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s something. Keeps me from being in here all day, every day, although it’s not so much of a problem now; I have nothing left to lose.”
I’m not so sure about that. Surely having debts at a place like this will rack up more than a few letters from the bank, but I keep my thoughts to myself. “Perfect all round then,” I say instead. It’s often like that, you find people are standoffish when you first meet them, because life now is complicated and hectic and generally stressful. Once they relax, my clients welcome the chance to open up. It’s cathartic a few have said. I think Brian is no different and I’m warming to him.
I don’t think this chap has any real involvement. He’s probably just seen a load of police knocking around and is curious.
When we’re all wrapped up, I head upstairs to give Adam and Paula the good news.
Lucy
When I get into Eric’s office, he’s already sitting behind his desk, on his land line. My heart thuds. He was supposed to be watching my back, and I just left Brian. There’s no way for him to make it up here before me, unless he left me alone with Brian.
Hmm. I assume he must have briefed the security to keep an eye on me. I’m unsettled though, and my brain whirs through the whys and wherefores whilst my body performs a small curtsy and I point to my phone. Grabbing it whilst bobbed low, no idea why, I scramble out and close the rickety door behind me.
Just one message from Adam, “No worries darling, I love you x” in response to my earlier text to say I may be late and not to worry.
I head outside. I’ll call Paula first, get that out of the way so she can put into action anything she thinks is of use. It’s never the middle of the night, just the middle of a case, so I have no qualms about waking her up and she answers quickly.
“How are you getting on?” She’s never been one for small talk and her brusque familiarity makes me smile.
“I’m good, thanks.” I proceed to relay the details: Brian lives nearby in an old rented Docker’s house. He now works in freelance security for a company which could be the same place Paula visited in Canary Wharf who specialize, amongst other things, in supplying freelance security services to owners who prefer this to hiring dedicated employees. “Is that enough to find him with?” I ask when I’ve finished, strolling around the side of the building, walking and talking.
“Do you know anything about his personal situation, last names, etc?”
“No last names, but it sounds like he’s single. He split up with his wife. Why don’t you just come down here and arrest him now?” I ask, “You know he’s here.”
“Because we don’t want to alert the killer if they’re connected. This way we get to dig before raising awareness that we might be onto him.”
“So, you don’t think that Brian is the killer then? Cos I’d be wary if it were me, of leaving someone out there who I suspected of murdering people.”
“Personally, I think the killer has moved on and he’s up here, in Yorkshire somewhere. Th
is way, we get to bed our intelligence down, so when we interview suspects we have all of our facts straight.”
“OK.” I guess taking people in for questioning half-cocked does mean you can’t hold them as long as you could if you had evidence against them, and then, as soon as they’re released, they’re free to run their mouth off - or for their lives. “How are you getting on up there?” I ask.
Paula tells me about where she’s staying and says she’ll send me a picture to check, see if I recognise it. I doubt it. Yorkshire is a vast area, and it’s unlikely I’ll be familiar with the little village she’s calling her home for the next few days.
Hanging up I spin round, ready to give Adam a quick call before returning to my new job.
Brian is standing there. Stock still. Staring, hands balled into fists at his side.
“Who were you talking to?” His voice is low, his gaze steady, pale blue eyes piercing through me.
“Oh, just a friend. I was telling her about tonight.” I whip eyes upward, checking for cameras down the side alley I’ve inadvertently strolled down. Nope.
“Why were you giving her details of me?” He growls this and I take a step back, deeper into the alley.
“I was just chatting about my day, Brian. Why are you so concerned?”
“It didn’t sound like that to me. It sounded like you were suggesting I get arrested. I heard everything.”
“No, I wasn’t. My friend is a police officer. She was telling me all about a case she’s working on. When I discussed the arrest, I was talking about her case then.” I put my hands up, pleading with him to believe me.
He doesn’t.
His huge hand grips my neck, slamming my head against the warehouse wall. The pressure builds in an instant and I feel my head swimming as I choke, gasping for air.
“I came out here to make sure you were OK. You shouldn’t be alone at night in a place like this. And you were screwing me over the entire time.” His spittle lands on my face, but I’m more concerned with not passing out.
