Prosper Snow Series

by Shaun Jeffrey

Klement sat back, elbows on the chair rests, hands linked together underneath his chin. “And you’re basing this assumption on?”

  “I’m basing it on the fact that it would be the best way for you to test your subjects.”

  “That’s quite an accusation. I hope you’ve got something to back it up.”

  Prosper leaned forwards. “Not yet, but when I do, I’m going to be coming for whoever did it. You’ve created a monster. Just not the one you intended.”

  CHAPTER 42

  “You can’t go harassing Klement and accusing him like that,” Lester said. He walked around his desk and placed a hand on Prosper’s shoulder. “Casting unsubstantiated accusations won’t help anyone.”

  Prosper pursed his lips. “It’s only unsubstantiated until I get the proof, and believe me, I’ll get it.”

  “Well next time, get the proof before you go accusing people. I’ve covered your arse this time – there won’t be a second. We may operate outside the law, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still have rules to follow.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts’ Prosper. I make the rules. You follow them. It’s called protocol. But …” he leaned close, “If you get proof, then my door is always open.”

  Prosper wanted to say he thought there were no ‘buts’, but he just nodded.

  Lester walked back around his desk and sat down. “Don’t get me wrong, I like your gung ho approach, but just rein it in a little. Remember, we’re a team.”

  Prosper stared past Lester and out of the window. It looked like a storm was brewing, dark clouds billowing like the sails of a ship.

  “I understand.” He turned and walked out of the room. Out in the corridor, he started chewing his fingernails, lost in thought. He’d find the proof alright, even if it killed him. But for now, he’d have to play it safe. He didn’t want to antagonise Lester.

  Brundle and Williams were waiting in the cafeteria, a place in which the aroma of cooking food permeated the air 24/7. One thing Prosper had to admit was that the organisation certainly looked after their staff. The food was top notch.

  His partners were sitting huddled together at a table in the corner. Two cups and a small plate dotted with pastry flakes sat between them. They looked across as Prosper approached.

  “So did Lester chew your ear off?” Williams asked.

  Prosper shrugged. “He was a little pissed.”

  Brundle picked her cup up and took a sip. “I hear you were getting a little practice in the shooting range this morning.”

  “Well I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t taking this seriously.”

  Brundle narrowed her eyes, lips sucked in. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

  “What’s not to believe?”

  Williams shook his head. “For the sake of the job, can’t we just get along?”

  “For the sake of the job, I am,” Brundle said.

  Prosper sighed. “Look, I understand you have issues with me, but there’s a killer out there, and we need to catch him. I had some ideas about the case, and perhaps I went about it the wrong way by confronting Klement, but can you honestly say this doesn’t stink to high hell?”

  Brundle shrugged.

  Williams nodded. “Sorry, but I agree with him.”

  “Oh great.” Brundle looked up at the ceiling. After a moment, she looked back at Prosper. “Okay, just suppose your theory’s right. How can you prove it?”

  Prosper pulled up a chair and sat. “We find the one person who can confirm it. Peter Clarke.”

  Brundle rolled her eyes. “Hello. Isn’t that what we’ve been trying to do?”

  “Yes, but that was before the hunted became the hunter.”

  Brundle frowned. “You’ve lost me.”

  “I’m saying that we don’t go looking for Clarke, we wait for him to come to us.”

  “And why would he do that?”

  “Because we’ll give him something he wants.”

  “Which is?”

  “A victim. If he’s conditioned to kill, the urge to carry it out will be too strong to resist for long, so he’ll want to strike again.”

  “You mean we use someone as bait?”

  Prosper nodded.

  “Who on earth would volunteer for that?”

  Prosper swallowed. “Me.”

  Brundle grinned. “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard you come up with. But how will he find you? How do we go about it?”

  Prosper put his elbows on the table. “Please, don’t try to talk me out of it,” he said, conveying his irritation that she had accepted his plan so readily.

  Brundle chortled. “I’ll give you one thing, you’ve got balls.”

  “Well if I’m putting my life on the line, I need you and Williams to shadow me like ghosts.”

  “We can do that,” Williams said.

  “But you need to put yourself out there,” Brundle said. “You’ve got to put yourself in risky situations, otherwise he won’t strike.”

  Prosper stood up. “Well, there’s no time like the present. I’m going to drive to the prison and start searching the surrounding area again. If Clarke’s watching, then it’ll give him chance to make his move.”

  “Then let’s hope he does.” Brundle stood as well.

  Prosper parked outside the prison and then made his way underneath the arch. Brundle and Williams were out there somewhere, keeping watch, but that didn’t make him feel any safer. He was putting his life on the line.

  “Testing, can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Williams responded through the earpiece.

  “Right, I’m going to head out along the street. Just make sure you stay close, but not too close.”

  Goose bumps travelled along his arms. He shivered. The grey clouds started to shed fat tears. Prosper pulled the collar of his jacket up and headed along the road.

  The gun was strapped underneath his arm and its presence made him feel a little more secure, so despite the cold, he didn’t fasten his jacket, just put his hands in the pockets and held it closed.

  Rain peppered the ground. Prosper hurried to a doorway to seek shelter. He shook himself down, ran a hand through his hair to sluice off the rainwater, then flicked his hand out to remove the residue.

  The weather seemed to mirror how he felt. Depressed.

  He tested the door, found it locked, so he leaned against the wood, but the rain still hit his feet, his jeans now darker at the bottom and making them look two-tone.

  He thought about Natasha. She had been through so much already. Perhaps he should let her go. He was no good for her. If anything happened to a member of his family because of something he did …

  He heard an engine and watched as a car drove by, tyres hissing as they left tracks on the wet road. After a moment, the sound of the engine faded into the distance.

  The rain didn’t show any sign of letting up; Prosper folded his arms across his chest. Staying where he was wouldn’t help. He peered out, looking for somewhere else to hole up, and noticed the door to a derelict building a little further along was open.

  “I’m heading across the road into that building with the open door,” he said, trying not to move his lips too much or talk loudly in case he was being watched.

  He ran out into the rain and headed for the door. Once he reached it, he pushed it open and stepped inside. Rain drummed on the roof overhead and spurted from a down pipe on the far wall, the surrounding bricks green with algae. The room was about fifty feet long, the roof supported by girders.

  Water dripped through holes in the roof, creating patterns on the concrete floor. Light was provided by overhead panels in the corrugated roof. The panels were dirty, and with the grey clouds overhead, the light they let through was diffused, giving the room a sombre atmosphere. The air smelled fungal and damp.

  Prosper stepped further into the room and shook himself down. His clothes were soaked, making him feel uncomfortable. A trail of wet footprints surrounded by splatters lay in his wa
ke.

  Prosper sighed loudly, the sound drowned out by the thrum of the rain overhead. He rubbed his face, wiping rainwater out of his eyes, and for the first time in ages, he felt like smoking a cigarette. He unwrapped a piece of chewing gum instead and popped it in his mouth, then he went and crouched by a girder.

  Time ticked by. He could see the inclement weather beyond the door, and didn’t fancy venturing back out just yet. The sound of the rain pattering overhead proved to be hypnotic and Prosper found his eyes growing heavy. His head lolled forwards and he jerked upright, had to force himself to stay awake. This was not the time to lose concentration.

  Shadows hung around him, impenetrable curtains. For the first time, he questioned the practicality of entering the building. No, he’d stick it out; wait for the rain to stop and then leave.

  A scuffling sound caught Prosper’s attention and he turned his head, saw someone heading towards him. He jumped to his feet, struggled to pull the gun out of the holster, his hands shaking as he backed away.

  The figure was dressed in shadow. Prosper’s jaw dropped; the gun snagged on the jacket lining; his breath hitched in his throat.

  Prosper caught sight of more movement from the corner of his eye. “Hold it,” Brundle shouted as she ran forwards, gun drawn.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  Prosper recognised the voice, saw Klement walk forwards into a patch of light, his hands held aloft.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Prosper snapped.

  “I saw you park outside the prison. Thought you might have a lead on 142345 so I followed you.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Prosper stuffed his half withdrawn gun back into its holster and sucked in deep breaths, his heart a big bass drum. “You could have been bloody killed.”

  “Sorry! Can I lower my hands now?”

  Williams suddenly appeared through a door at the back of the room. “What’s happening?”

  “Another fuck up, that’s what’s happening.” Brundle lowered her weapon. “Okay, put your bloody hands down.”

  Klement lowered his hands. Looked at Prosper. “Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  “Too late for that,” Prosper snapped.

  “Well let’s search the area,” Brundle said. “We might get lucky, he might be here.”

  Prosper nodded, but he knew that if Clarke had been in the area, he would be long gone by now. They had lost the initiative, and with it, perhaps their only chance to get to the killer and the truth

  CHAPTER 43

  The killer watched Prosper Snow walk along the street. They had tried to trick him, but he wasn’t falling for that. How stupid did they think he was?

  It would have been so good to kill Snow though. To see his lifeblood drain away, proving to them all that he was smarter and more powerful than any of them.

  Smart

  Hurt

  Pain

  Inflict

  Terrorise

  Mutilate

  Never mind. There would be another chance. There was always another chance.

  He sank into the shadows and retreated. To do anything else would be foolish, but now he had the bloodlust, and it needed sating.

  The killer hurried away, headed towards the city where the streets were full of victims, people who deserved to die because they were weak. They infected the gene pool with their sickness, so killing them was doing the world a favour.

  A train sped along the track to his left. A high spiked fence separated the track from the road. Up ahead there was a bridge, underneath which the trains travelled. Another train went by, blue sparks shooting from where the pantograph connected with the wet overhead wires.

  The killer walked onto the bridge and looked down, watched a train rattle by underneath, more blue sparks shooting out, the air full of the smell of ozone and electrical residue.

  Terraced houses stood sentinel beyond the bridge; a man walked out of one of the houses and headed towards the bridge, his head bowed, hands in the pockets of his jacket.

  The killer acted nonchalant, leaned against the bridge, chin resting on his elbows as he looked along the line.

  As the man passed, the killer grabbed him around the throat, gripped one hand with the other and squeezed tight. The man choked, arms flailing in the air. He tried punching over his head, but his shots were ineffectual. After a couple of minutes, the man slumped and the killer rested him on the bridge, his arms dangling over the edge. Then he grabbed his legs and tipped him up. The man sailed over the edge, hit the overhead wires and then crashed to the tracks.

  The killer looked down, saw the man stir, his legs twitching. Then he struggled to sit up. Next second a horn sounded, and a train slammed into the body, leaving behind a red mist.

  After the train had passed, the only sign of the man was a shoe with a nub of bone sticking out of it. The killer smiled to himself and then wandered away, his bloodlust sated for now.

  CHAPTER 44

  Brundle disconnected the call on her mobile. “There’s been a report of another body. We don’t know whether it’s connected to Clarke, but we’ll have to go and check it out.”

  “So where’s the body?”

  “On the railway.” Brundle turned and walked towards their vehicle.

  Prosper and Williams followed.

  Williams drove them to the scene and parked up at the side of a bridge. Prosper exited the vehicle and stared at the terraced houses in the distance. Prosper’s old partner, Mike Holmes, was standing by a gate at the side of the bridge. He was talking to some railway workers dressed in orange.

  When he saw Prosper, Mike nodded, his lips pursed. “The place hasn’t been the same since you left. No one’s died.”

  Prosper rolled his eyes. “Droll as ever. So what’s happened here?”

  “Don’t see why you’re bothered. Looks like a jumper. Went over the bridge in front of a train. They’ve closed the line. Trains are backed up now and the railway honchos want us off so they can reopen and get the trains moving.”

  Brundle stepped forwards. “The line won’t reopen until we say so. We’re here because we have reason to believe the victim didn’t jump, he was pushed.”

  “Well isn’t that a regular police matter?” Mike asked.

  Brundle shook her head. “There have been a spate of recent … events that have called for our services, so until we know otherwise, any local incident is being investigated by us. Now if you can just keep the crowds back.” She walked past and went through the gate that led to a set of steps.

  Mike’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows met in the middle. “What’s her other job, ball breaker?”

  Prosper walked past. The steps had been hewn out of the earth and fashioned from wood inlaid with gravel. At the bottom, Prosper followed Brundle across the ballast, each step on the uneven surface jarring his ankles.

  Where the train had struck the man there was a red splash across the sleepers, stones and the rails, and as Prosper got closer, he saw white blobs of fatty tissue. The smell of blood permeated the air, thick as molasses.

  “Train hits a person at over a hundred miles an hour, the body literally explodes.” Brundle pointed. “Look, there’s a hand, but you’ll find the body parts will be strewn hundreds of feet along the track and most won’t be recognisable.”

  “So what are we looking for?”

  “Anything that can tie our man to the victim, or at least proof that he was murdered”

  Prosper put his hands on his hips. “And what, you expect us to sift through all of this?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “That could take forever.”

  “Then the sooner we get started the better.”

  Prosper wrinkled his nose and looked at the globules of fat stretched along the track.

  “Here’s the head,” Williams shouted.

  Prosper and Brundle walked across.

  Wedged in between the workings of a set of points was a head and part of the man’s upper torso. Str
ands of flesh hung down where the body had literally been torn apart.

  Prosper gulped, felt bile travel up his throat.

  “Look at this,” Williams said as he crouched down. “Red marks around the throat, probably caused by strangulation.”

  “Or a train travelling at over a hundred miles an hour.”

  Williams shook his head. “No, these are consistent with strangulation. You see the scratch marks around the throat, that’s where the victim probably tried to claw their way out of the stranglehold.”

  “So the man was definitely murdered,” Brundle said.

  “I’m pretty certain,” Williams replied. “Probably strangled and then thrown over the bridge in front of the train.”

  Brundle stood up straight and wiped hair out of her face. “And considering the time the incident occurred and the proximity to the prison, it’s easy to conclude that it was perpetrated by Clarke.”

  CHAPTER 45

  “Thunder, come back here,” Alison Clump shouted as she watched her Doberman Pinscher chase a squirrel up a tree. The dog started barking, the loud sound giving testament to its name.

  She shook her head, long black hair swishing across her face as she watched the dog try to climb after the squirrel, jumping up at the trunk. The dog was crazy, uncontrollable. Whoever said that dogs took after their owners was miles off the mark in this case.

  She slapped the lead against her thigh. “Thunder, get here now.”

  The black and tan dog looked at her with what appeared to be a grin on its face, and then resumed barking. Alison exhaled loudly, her breath misting in the early morning air. She stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. She had only just bought the coat, taking advantage of her staff discount at the clothes shop, but she was glad she’d worn it this morning, its padding helping keep her warm.

  The path continued ahead through the trees and ferns, and she knew if she continued walking, Thunder would be none the wiser. He would stand underneath that tree all day if she let him.

  She jogged across and grabbed the dog by its leather studded collar. “It’s only a squirrel. What’s it ever done to you?”