by Adam Croft
“And you bought it for her?”
“Yes. I just wanted her to leave me alone. I couldn't risk her going to the police, even though I was innocent. I know what the law is like in cases like that and I couldn't risk it. I guess today just goes to prove it.”
“It proves nothing, Mr Ludford. Why didn't you go to the police?”
“Look. I didn't know what to do. She kept blackmailing me, wanting more money and more expensive gifts.”
“So you decided to kill her?” Culverhouse asked.
“No! I haven't killed anybody!”
“So who did?”
“I don't know. I had mixed emotions when I heard that Nicole had been killed. On one hand, I hated her for what she did to me and how she was so prepared to ruin an innocent man's life and I was glad she was out of my way. On the other hand, of course, two parents just lost a daughter. You have to believe me. I did not kill Nicole Bryant.”
“And what about Grace Norris?”
“No. I haven't killed anyone, Inspector.”
As Ludford sat stewing in his cell, Wendy and Culverhouse planned their next move. Step one would have to be to ring Ludford's friend in New Zealand in order to confirm his story. As they were buried deep in thought, Culverhouse's phone rang.
“Yes? Ah-ha. Right. I see. And you're absolutely certain of that? Right. OK. No, no, that's fine. Thank you.”
Wendy cocked her head to the side and waited for Culverhouse to explain.
“That was forensics. They've checked the fingerprints on the knife.”
“And?”
“Ludford's aren't on it.”
“So I'm free to go, Inspector?”
“Not quite, no.”
“But I thought you said my fingerprints weren't on it?”
“They aren't. But that doesn't mean you weren't wearing gloves.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake!”
“Besides, you still need to explain why the knife was found in your flat.”
“I've already told you – I don't know why! I didn't bloody put it there!”
“Listen, Ludford. Your prints not being on the knife don't get you out of trouble quite that easily. We've got a lot to pin on you so you've got some explaining to do if you want to wriggle out of this one. Now, where were you on the night Ella Barrington was killed?”
“Jesus, I don't know! I didn't exactly bring my diary down here with me, Inspector. All I know is that I haven't killed anyone.”
“Well, you're going to need alibis for the dates of the murders, Mr Ludford, or it's not looking very good for you at all. Maybe we'll try a more recent one. Where were you on the night Grace Norris was killed?”
“Jesus... probably either at work or at home. I don't know. I'd have to check my diary. Probably at home, though. Work has been quiet recently.”
A sudden realisation hit Wendy. She knew exactly where Ludford had been the night Grace Norris was killed. He had been with her! It all came flooding back now; she kicked herself for being so reckless and not spotting it sooner but she had found herself so wrapped up in coming to terms with Ludford as a suspect that she... Shit! It couldn't be him!
“Guv, can I have a quick word outside, please?”
As they stepped outside the interview room, Wendy was quite unsure as to how Culverhouse would react to her new development. She was pretty sure she knew, though.
“Guv, I know where Ludford was the night Grace Norris was killed. I was at his flat. All evening.”
“You were at his flat? All evening? And you've only just bloody remembered this?”
“I'm sorry, guv. I got caught up in everything that was going on and I didn't realise the connection between the dates.”
“You're going to have to get used to being caught up in things going on if you want to make a CID copper, DS Knight. What time did you leave Ludford's that night?”
“I didn't. I was there until the morning.”
“And you were with him all the time?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure he didn't leave the house during the night?”
“Let's just say we weren't exactly asleep.”
“Too much information, Knight. Too much – fucking – information.”
“You asked!”
“A simple yes I'm sure would have sufficed. So what does that prove anyway? So he didn't kill Grace Norris. That doesn't mean he's clear of all the others. And if that's the case, it certainly doesn't mean that little slag Bryant is any less the hooker I always thought she was.”
“Guv! Listen to me! You know as well as I do that these murders were all carried out by the same person. Forensics have said as much. Nicole Bryant was not a prostitute and the same person who killed Grace Norris killed all the other girls too. And that person couldn't have been Robert Ludford.”
“I'm going to need more convincing than that, Knight.”
“For Christ's sake! Why do you always get a bee in your bonnet about these things? Ludford is not the killer! We can't keep him under arrest any longer without infringing what human rights the poor man has left.”
“You listen to me, DS Knight. I've been in the police force a bloody long time and I know when I'm right about something. Hell, I've not been wrong yet. My instinct is my biggest virtue and I'm telling you now that I am not letting that man go until I've pinned every single bloody one of those murders on him.”
At that moment, a young female Constable with long, blonde flowing hair jogged down the corridor towards them, being careful not to trip over in her short heels.
“DCI Culverhouse, we've had a call come through. There's been another murder. It's the same as all the others. Thing is, the guy reckons he saw the killer running off from the scene about fifteen minutes ago. The body's still warm.”
Wendy glanced sideways at Culverhouse with a wry smile.
An hour later, the SOCO team had confirmed without a doubt that the new body had been dead no longer than an hour or two, thereby proving that Robert Ludford could not have been the killer. Wendy did not know what to feel: a torrid mix of private relief and elation mixed with professional anger and desperation washed over her.
The anger and desperation had spread elsewhere in Mildenheath, although the family of Barbara North could not be said to have experienced the relief and elation in tandem. Wendy sat and flicked through the manila file as she read the forensic report on Barbara, barely thirty-six years old, and the savage way in which her life had been cut short. She noted something rather odd about this one, though. The forensics report stated, quite clearly at the bottom of the third page: EARLOBES AND EXTERNAL EAR FLAPS NOT PRESENT. BITE MARKS APPARENT – CONFIRMED HUMAN. MISSING PIECES NOT PRESENT. Jesus Christ! He'd bitten off and eaten her ears! As she turned to the next page, the words burned into her eyes: NO TRAIL OF BLOOD APPARENT. MURDER AND REMOVAL OF EARS ASSUMED TO HAVE TAKEN PLACE AT THE SCENE. He'd killed her and eaten her ears in broad daylight! The very fact that the dog walker had found Barbara's body just after the murder had taken place went to show just what lengths the killer was now going to and what risks he was willing to take to ensure he got away with murder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wendy collapsed with hysterical sobs as Michael comforted her. Her body heaved under the pressure of her rhythmic convulsions as she tried to explain the source of her desperation.
“It's OK, Wend. Just calm down and catch your breath. Then you can try and tell me what's wrong.”
Wendy took a few moments until she was sure she could speak without interjecting with squeaks and Michael Jackson-esque yowls.
“It... it isn't Robert. He's not the killer, Michael!”
“He's not? Wow. Well, surely that must be a good thing, then!”
“It is! It is!”
“So what's the matter, Wend?” Michael's old self had come out in a way that almost took Wendy by surprise. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she had seen him not under the influence of narcotics.
�
�Now we're back at square one! We have no idea who the killer is or where to even start looking. There's no pattern whatsoever other than the way they were killed and he's killing more and more often. All this rests on my shoulders and my stupid idea that Robert might have been involved. If it wasn't for me, we might have caught the killer earlier and saved Barbara North from being killed!”
“But you said yourself that you had no idea who it might have been other than Robert so you would have been no further along if you hadn't arrested him, surely?”
“It's wasted time, Michael. And we don't have any time to waste!”
“Surely Culverhouse has got an idea up his sleeve? He's always so cock-sure he knows exactly what he's doing.”
“All we have at the moment is the witness.”
“Witness?”
“Yeah. The guy who found Barbara North's body reckons he saw a man running away from the scene.”
“Did he get a good description?”
“No, he just saw him in shadow. Couldn't even tell us his height or what he was wearing, but we're working on him. Hopefully we'll be able to get some sort of vague description and work from that.”
“Was there any CCTV?”
“Usual story. It was facing the other way.”
“And what about the knife in Robert's drawer? How was that explained?”
“I don't know. He reckons he doesn't know of anyone who'd have a grudge against him. He reckons he's going to go to a hypnotist to try and access his 'innermost thoughts' and come up with some names for us to pursue.”
“Wow. Bit of a stab in the dark, then.”
“This is no time for puns, Michael.”
“I'm sorry; I didn't mean it. I didn't even realise until after I'd said it. Listen: I'll run you a nice hot bath with that lavender oil, OK? I want you to spend the evening in there relaxing and forgetting all about this case until the morning. You're not going to get anywhere without a clear head. Alright?”
“Alright. And Michael?”
“Mmmm?”
“Thank you. Thank you for being there.”
“You were there for me too, Wend. Just paying back the favour.”
Little more than an hour later, the lilting scent of lavender wafted through the air as Wendy sunk her shoulders back into the warm water. She let out an almighty sigh from a breath she didn't even remember taking in and tried to think just how long she had been holding on to this tension. Michael was right – she'd relax and de-stress as much as she could and go back to work tomorrow with a clear head; the clear head which was needed if she was going to finally make tracks and stop the killer ending more innocent lives.
As she began to drift off to sleep, she was woken by the ringing of her mobile phone.
“God, damn it!” Fumbling her hand along the bathmat, she finally found it and slid her finger across the screen to activate the call.
“Robert? What is it? I'm in the bath.”
“I... I need to see you, Wendy.”
“What's up, Robert? You sound edgy.”
“Wendy, will you come over, please?”
“Robert, it's quarter-to-eleven. Can't we talk on the phone?”
“I need your help, Wendy. It's important. Please... please just come.”
Wendy heard Robert's voice trail off into a desperate sob.
“Yes, OK. I'll be right over. Just wait for me.”
With that, Wendy hauled herself out of the bath, regained her exhaled tension and dried herself off before throwing on some clothes.
“Got to nip out, Michael. Back soon!” Darting down the stairs, she threw on her shoes, grabbed her car keys and jogged to her car as she felt her wet hair soak through the back of her blouse top.
Less than two minutes into her journey, her phone rang again. Without thinking, she answered the call.
“Robert?”
“Almost. It's me.”
“Oh, guv. What's up? I can't talk – I've got to be somewhere.”
“At this time of night?”
“It's a long story; and even I don't know what it is. Ludford's asked me to come over. He sounded panicked.”
“Are you sure that's wise?”
“No, but I need to do it.”
“Right, well I think I should come with you.”
“Honestly guv, there's no need. I'll call you if anything happens.”
“Well I hope you're not going to be late or hung-over tomorrow. I'll catch up with you in the morning.”
Wendy hung up the phone and continued the seemingly endless drive to Robert Ludford's house.
The house was eerily silent as Wendy's car coasted into the driveway. There were no lights on; no signs of life.
She switched off her car engine and made her way towards the building before reaching the front door. She made to ring the doorbell but something made her change her mind: female instinct, if you will. She tried the doorknob: the door opened. Inside, the lights all seemed to be switched off.
“Robert? Robert, it's me – Wendy.” She fumbled in the darkness as she made her way through the hallway and into the kitchen. She almost stumbled as she kicked something left carelessly in the middle of the floor. Cursing to herself, she made her way to the living room. As she entered the room, she felt the presence of another person – Robert must be in here. As she switched on the light, she saw exactly who it was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Wendy stood, surprised but unsure what to make of the situation.
“Michael? What are you doing here? Where's Robert? He called me a few minutes ago. He sounded panicked. I don't know what's going on, Michael.”
“Oh, there's a lot you don't know, Wend. I'm afraid Robert can't be here right now, so you'll have to make do with me.”
“What's going on, Michael?”
“Oh, come on, Wend! Surely you must have worked it out by now! You and the great Magnifico down there! But, just in case you haven't...”
The force of Michael's fist jarred Wendy's head back, smashing the glass pane of the photograph which hung on the wall behind her.
As far as she was concerned, she had only blinked and suddenly she found herself sat in Ludford's kitchen, her hands and legs tied to a wooden chair.
“Nice of you to rejoin us, Wend. As I was saying... Just in case you haven't worked it out yet, I've brought along a few clues. Buzz in when you think you know the answer! I give you, DS Knight, exhibit one!” With a flourish, Michael pulled a pair of gloves from the inside of his jacket pocket. “A little bit bloodstained, I grant you, but an excellent clue nonetheless. Still no closer to the answer? Let's try exhibit two!” With the grace of a game-show host and the subtlety of a brick, Michael pulled a length of rope from the other jacket pocket. “Now, the eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed that this is the same rope that you are tied to that chair with. Not only that, but it's tied with a couple of very handy bowline knots. The same rope, too, that was involved with one or two murders which I believe you have been investigating. Is any of this starting to ring a bell, Wend?”
Wendy nodded, cautiously, trying to judge Michael's next move. She felt strangely calm.
“Now, I would have had an exhibit three but unfortunately someone seems to have a certain bloodstained knife in their custody down at the police station. Never mind – I'll move straight on to this week's star prize!”
Wendy dared not avert her gaze from straight-ahead as Michael walked behind her chair and fumbled around on the floor before making his way back to his original vantage point in front of the door.
“Recognise this, Wend?”
Wendy screamed at the top of her lungs, the masking tape cutting into the sides of her mouth as her body rocked and convulsed at the gruesome sight of Robert Ludford's dismembered head swinging before her. Michael let rip with an almost falsely maniacal laugh as Robert's death mask dangled just inches in front of her face, suspended only by Michael's grip on its hair. The glassy eyes stared through her as the look of terror burnt itself on
Wendy's vision.
“Say hello to your sweetheart!” Michael, his menacing grin turning into a vicious scowl, jumped forward and pushed his face and Ludford's death mask in front of Wendy. “Do you want to fuck him now? Do you? I bet you do, you little slut! I bet you'd still fuck him even now! You're nothing but a cheap whore! The ultimate cheap whore!” Michael released his grip on the red, sticky hair and the bludgeoned head dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. A strange thought went through Wendy's mind: Ouch! That'll bruise!
“I bet you'd still suck his cock too, wouldn't you Wend?”
Wendy shook her head nervously, tears and sweat running down her face.
“Let's not be coy, Wendy! Suck his cock!” With this, Michael ripped the masking tape from Wendy's face and forced Ludford's warm, blood-soaked, dismembered penis between Wendy's teeth. “Suck it, you bitch! Suck it, you slut!”
Wendy sobbed tears of terror; tears of desperation as she spat the blood-soaked tissue from her mouth.
“That's all you are, isn't it? Just another little slut. The ultimate slut, in fact! Oh yes, you're worse than the rest. You're ten times filthier than Barbara North and a thousand times filthier than Ella Barrington. Top-class prostitute, they called her! Fucking clueless piece of shit, more like. Now, that Barbara – she was a bit of a goer for an old bird. Filthy as you like! Had her on a recommendation, as it happens. I've a feeling, though, that my favourite is going to be you, Wendy. Oh yes – you're the next and final one. It's you and then it's me. The world will be rid of all its filth and all its sluts and I will die a hero; a martyr to the cause! Do you remember the boyfriends you used to bring home from school, Wend? Hell, I do. I remember every single one; I remember their names; I remember the dates. I remember the bang-bang-banging against the wall; the screams and moans coming from your filthy, slutty little gob and I prayed from that moment that every horrible little slag on this planet should pay the price. If they want other men to use them as objects of play and gratification, why not me? Why can I not do as I please? Well, I think you'll find I have! And now I'm going to die a happy man, Wend. I'm going to die a happy man, being the last person ever to fuck your filthy, slutty little body. Seeing as you're my sister, though, I'll treat you with a little extra respect. I'll wipe my dick for you.”
