“Got a cigarette on ya, guv?” he asked, spittle flying from his mouth.
Prosper cringed as he saw a fleck of the man’s saliva land on the table and he felt slightly nauseous. He wanted to wipe it away, but he didn’t have a cloth, and he certainly wasn’t going to touch it with his bare skin.
Ignoring the No Smoking sign on the wall, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and tossed it onto the table. Jill frowned at him but didn’t comment.
The tramp opened his chapped lips and clamped the cigarette between them. “Got a light?”
The smell grew worse when the tramp leaned closer and Prosper held his breath, extending the lighter at arm’s length, momentarily afraid the flame might ignite the noxious fumes surrounding the man. The tramp sucked noisily until the cigarette lit.
“You’re a gent, that’s what you are,” the vagrant said, sucking on the cigarette like a baby on a dummy.
Prosper pulled out a chair and sat on the other side of the table. He leaned back, trying to take shallow breaths.
Jill sat next to him and he saw her blanch, lips pursed. Her asbestos constitution didn't seem to protect her from the smell.
“I believe you’ve got some information for us,” Prosper said.
The tramp nodded his head. “Yes, guv.” He spoke without removing the cigarette, rolled it to the corner of his lips, closed one eye, leaned to his left, and pulled one of the sheets of insulating newspaper from his coat, fanning another wave of odour through the room. Jill coughed and turned her head.
“This ‘ere girl. Her with the funny face.” He unfolded the newspaper, smoothed it out on the table and stabbed a dirty finger at Jane Numan’s visage. “I seen her.”
Prosper arched his eyebrows. “When was this?”
“Before the man got her.”
“Man! What man? Where?” Despite the smell, he leaned forwards, teeth clenched.
Something green and revolting dribbled out of the man’s nose and he snorted and sucked it back into the nostril it had escaped from.
“You know, the man.” He shrugged.
“You saw all of this?”
The tramp nodded.
“Are you sure it was this girl?” Prosper pointed to Jane’s picture.
“That’s her. Funny face.”
“Right, let’s start at the beginning. Do you know what day this was?”
The tramp whistled and wagged his finger. “First things first. Says there’s a reward,” he rasped. “In the paper, it says there’s a reward.”
Prosper leaned back, eyeing the man warily. “If your information leads to an arrest, then there is a reward.”
The tramp’s eyes twinkled. “It were around three weeks ago I think. Don’t rightly know which day – they all blur into one when you ain’t got anything to measure them with.”
“What was the girl wearing?”
“T-shirt. Yellow T-shirt.”
“How did you see all of this? Where were you?” Jill asked.
“Trying to sleep, that’s where I was. Bloody buggers woke me up.”
“Where were you trying to sleep?” Jill prompted.
“In the alley, where I always sleep.”
Prosper felt a glimmer of hope. As of yet, they didn’t know where any of the victims had been snatched. If the tramp was telling the truth, then it might help track down the Oracle, but he could easily have read what Jane had been wearing in the newspaper. Prosper put a lock on his burgeoning excitement.
“Tell us exactly what happened,” Prosper said.
“Well this here girl, she runs into the alley. Starts screaming ... it were loud enough to wake the dead. Woke me, that’s for sure. Well I were lying in my bed, got the shock of my life when she started like that.”
Perhaps she did wake the dead, Prosper mused, thinking the tramp possessed more than a passing resemblance to a zombie.
“I were going to tell her to keep quiet, as folk, namely me, were trying to sleep, but then this man follows her in.”
“What did he look like?” Jill asked.
“Couldn’t rightly tell.”
“How tall was he?”
The tramp shrugged and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “How should I know? Everyone looks tall when you’re lying in the gutter.”
“What did they say?”
“The girl didn’t say nothing. She were screaming. I told you that.”
“Why didn’t you help her?” Jill clenched her jaw, accentuating her fine bone structure.
“None of my business to help her.”
Prosper could see Jill was going to lecture the tramp, so he held a hand up and cut in.
“Tell me about the man you saw.”
“He had something in his hand. The girl were struggling, but he put it over her mouth. That made her struggle more, but eventually she stopped struggling.”
“Did the man say anything?” Prosper asked.
“Nowt.”
“Prosper frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Course I’m sure. I ain’t ruddy deaf.”
He prayed the man was telling the truth, and that there was some evidence at the site that led them to a suspect.
“And can you can show us where this happened?” Prosper asked.
The man nodded.
“Then what are we sitting here for. Jill, get the car.”
CHAPTER 18
Prosper surveyed the alley, the police incident tape flapping across the entrance behind him. Bright spotlights on extendable poles illuminated the place, the hum of the generator that powered them shattering the silence. Scene of Crime Officers scoured the area, photographing and then bagging anything and everything for analysis. It was a slow and tedious process.
Unable to assist with the search, Prosper turned and slipped back underneath the tape, shielding his eyes from the bright glare of the overhead lights.
“How’s it looking?” Jill asked.
Prosper lit a cigarette. “Nothing significant so far.”
A wracking cough drew Prosper’s attention. “Hang about,” the tramp said, nudging past Prosper, “what they doing with all my stuff?”
Prosper watched the officers bagging a bottle of cider that they pulled out from behind a couple of wooden pallets leaning against the wall.
“Are you sure that’s where you saw them from?” Prosper asked, ignoring the tramp’s question.
“Hoy, that’s me medicine,” the tramp shouted.
Prosper edged away from the man so that he could breathe fresh air. On the journey over, they had had to roll all the windows down, the man’s pungent aroma potent enough to knock out an elephant.
“Ruddy put it back! Now what they doing? That’s me bloody bedroom they’re pulling apart.”
“They’re looking for evidence,” Prosper said.
“Well they won’t find it in me bed, will they.” The tramp moved forwards to break through the tape, but a uniformed officer barred his path, his face a mask of revulsion as he wrinkled his nose.
“Tell ‘em to leave me stuff alone,” the tramp said.
“They’re only doing their job,” Prosper said. “Now is that where you saw them from?” He pointed towards the pallets.
“Yeah, that’s where I was.” He scrunched his face up in disbelief as he watched the officers in their white overalls demolish his home. “Wish I’d never said nowt now.”
Prosper turned towards Jill. “Well that explains why the killer didn’t see anyone. You wouldn’t expect anyone to be living in there.” He nodded back towards the alley.
“What you trying to say?” the tramp asked. “We ain’t all got enough money to buy no fancy house. Oi.” He pointed an accusing finger at the officers as they plucked a dirty blanket from the pallets. “Be bloody careful with me bed.”
“Now go through it again,” Prosper said. “Tell me everything you remember from that night.”
“I already told you everything I knows.”
“Well being back here at the scene might
jog something that you’d forgotten. Think. It’s important.”
The tramp snorted indignantly, then said, “I woke up when she ran into the alley. Thought she were probably a prostitute, waiting for a punter. Get a lot of them using the wall there as a bleedin’ bed. Should charge them ruddy rent.” He coughed into his closed fist then pointed at a spot around which used condoms littered the ground. “How would folk like it if I came and threw used rubbers in their house? Anyway, the girl, she kept coming down the alley, towards me bed. I didn’t say nowt though. Lots of dangerous folk out here at night, know what I means.”
Prosper tried to imagine the scene. A young girl, tired after a day working in the burger joint, is chased by an unknown assailant, then finds herself in a dead end alley. Nowhere to run, she moves further back, hoping to hide in the shadows.
“Well, before she reached me,” the tramp continued, “this here man runs in after her.”
“Try to remember what he looked like,” Jill said.
“I were still half asleep, and I didn’t want ‘em to see me, so I hunkered down, you know.”
“Just think about it,” Prosper said. “Try to remember. It’s important. He killed that poor young girl in cold blood.”
“Probably with that knife,” the tramp said.
Prosper bristled. “Knife, what knife? You didn’t mention a knife.”
“’E ‘ad a knife. Long bladed thing that ‘e pulled out of his trousers.”
“And you saw this knife clearly?”
The tramp nodded. “Aye, it sort of winked when he moved it around, catching the light. Looked like a kitchen knife this long.” He opened his hands about eight inches.
“So you saw the man was armed, and you still didn’t think to help the girl,” Jill said, her voice rising.
“What could I ruddy do? Man were built like a shithouse. I wanna going to ruddy risk my neck.”
“So he had a stocky build? Is that what you’re saying?” Prosper asked.
“Twice as wide as the girl he was, that’s fer sure.”
“What happened next? You mentioned earlier that he used a rag across the girl’s mouth.”
“Yeah, the girl put up a fight, but the man covered ‘er face with a cloth. The girl struggled even ‘arder then, but after a while she stopped struggling.”
“She was probably unconscious,” Prosper said. “Rather than killing her here, he probably knocked her out in some way and then removed her body so that he could kill her somewhere else, and avoid leaving a trace at the scene.”
“Threw her over his shoulder like a sack of spuds he did,” the tramp said. “Then carried ‘er away.”
“Do you recall anything else?” Prosper licked his lips in anticipation,
The tramp shook his head.
Prosper turned to look again at the crime scene and noticed local gang graffiti on the walls lining the alley, the stylised tags painted in large multicoloured letters. “Do you remember seeing anyone else around on the night the girl was abducted?”
“There’s always folk around, you know, kids and such like. Don’t know what their parents think, letting ‘em out at that time of night.”
“Well do you remember anyone in particular?” Prosper waved his hands as though trying to draw the answer out of the tramp. “Local kids. Pimps. Prostitutes. Drug users. Anyone you know that frequents the area regularly at night that might have seen something?”
“Them kids is always around.” The tramp snorted loudly. “Ruddy little shits, always messing with me stuff. Throwing things at me. Swearing.”
“What kids?”
“They hang around in that derelict pub down the road.” He pointed into the distance. “More than likely broke in.”
“Did you see them around that night?”
“They’re always there. Some of ‘em probably live there. Runaways probably. City’s full of ‘em.”
“Thank you for your help,” Prosper said. “Jill, come with me.”
“Is that it?” the tramp said, incredulous. “What about me reward?”
“That goes to the person who leads us to the killer.”
“Well what about me ruddy home? Can I go back in?”
Prosper shook his head. “It’s now a crime scene. Sorry.”
“Sorry! You don’t know what ruddy sorry is. Where am I going to sleep tonight?”
“Why not try the hostel on
Vine Street?” “Hostel. I don’t need no hostel. I have a ruddy bed … at least I would have if I hadn’t tried to help.”
“Well you can’t go back in there.”
“That’s just typical. Think you’re ruddy helping and now I’ve lost me house.” Without another word, the tramp turned and hobbled away, grumbling to himself.
Prosper looked at Jill and rolled his eyes. He turned to one of the uniformed officers. “Go after that man. Make sure he’s got somewhere to sleep tonight, and make sure he’s somewhere that we can get in touch with him if we need him to I.D. a suspect. And get him a hot meal and a drink … a non-alcoholic one.”
Unable to do any more for the man, Prosper headed towards the boarded up public house he had spotted on the way to the alley with Jill keeping pace beside him.
The pub was a three story redbrick structure, blackened by grime. A faded sign above the door indicated that it was called, The Old Star. Graffiti stained metal sheets covered the windows, and it appeared to be sealed pretty tight from the front. A solitary streetlight cast a net of radiance across the road outside the building, catching moths within its periphery.
The whole area was run down; rats the only residents that would feel at home.
“At least we know he’s a large man. But what do you think the rag the tramp mentioned was used for?” Jill asked.
Prosper’s brow furrowed. “He probably used a cloth impregnated with some substance to incapacitate his victim.”
“And we now know he uses a knife, probably to intimidate the victim as he didn’t kill them where the assault took place or there’d be blood,” Jill added.
“It’s not a lot, but it’s more than we had. Anyway, let’s look around the back,” Prosper said, leading Jill through a wooden gate at the side of the building. Empty beer crates and takeaway food cartons littered the cobbled floor. Prosper studied the windows, but the metal sheets appeared intact. He tested the one across the door, tugging on it, but it was fastened tight.
About to turn and leave, he noticed a metal trapdoor on the ground that would lead to the cellar. He crouched down and tugged one of the doors open, easing it aside as quietly as he could.
Putting a finger to his lips, he stared down into the blackness, then withdrew the compact LED Lenser torch from his pocket. Turning the torch on, he shone the bright beam down the well-worn concrete steps, shivering as the light chased shadows into the depths.
He hated small dark spaces. Too many creepy crawlies lurked in them.
Preparing himself, Prosper descended, ducking his head beneath the entrance to peer around the large bare brick cellar that appeared to run the entire length of the building.
The room looked to have been partitioned off into small annexes that the torch beam couldn’t illuminate. The air smelled of piss, mouldy food, and stale beer that turned Prosper’s stomach, forcing him to hold his breath as he descended.
Something scurried across the floor, avoiding the light and Prosper swung the torch around, scanning the darkness. Commonsense dictated it was either a mouse or a rat, neither of which he found particularly appealing.
The cellar felt cool and damp, which was the only plus. Signalling Jill to follow, Prosper started walking across the room, his cautious steps loud in the bare room. The light from Jill’s torch combined with his own as she hurried down the steps and he winced as her footsteps joined his.
At the end of the room, a set of stairs led up, and Prosper kept his back to the wall as he ascended. A door stood ajar at the top of the stairs, and he shone the torch through to illuminate the c
orridor beyond. The walls were decorated with flowery wallpaper, yellowed with age and cigarette smoke from the days when you could actually light up in a public place without being lynched.
Seeing no one, he continued with Jill bringing up the rear.
The sweet, tangy aromas of cannabis and glue filled the air, and Prosper’s guts tightened. He didn’t want to walk into a room with a bunch of kids all off their faces who might think he was raiding them, but he didn’t have any choice.
As they progressed, the fumes grew more potent and Prosper felt himself getting light-headed.
In the distance, he heard the sound of voices, and masking his torch beam with his hand, he saw flickering light emanating from a doorway up ahead.
Pointing forwards, he whispered, “They’re in there.”
Then bracing himself, he walked towards the room and pushed the door open, shining the torch around to illuminate a number of teenagers lying in drug induced stupors on threadbare furniture that appeared to have been salvaged from rubbish dumps. Prosper did a quick headcount. Five boys and four girls. Sputtering candles dotted the room, the dancing flames reflecting from empty cans of beer and cider. Take-away food cartons decorated the floor.
A lad wearing a hooded top stared up at Prosper and shielded his eyes from the torchlight, the joint in his fingers almost spent. “What the fuck,” he said.
“This is the police,” Prosper said. “Everyone stay where they are.”
Some of the teenagers jumped to their feet, while others didn’t bat an eye as they remained comatose on the ground where they lay.
“Fuckin’ pigs,” someone said.
Prosper illuminated the speaker with his torch. “I just need to ask you all a few questions about a girl who was abducted near here. Jane Numan, you might have read about it in the papers or seen it on the news.”
Prosper Snow Series Page 8
