Saxon

by Stuart Davies

  Jenner banged his cigarette on the table near the ashtray and moved towards the door. Parker called him back.

  ‘Not so fast, Mr Jenner – I want the address and phone number of your slag, if you don’t mind.’ Jenner scribbled it down on a piece of paper and pushed it across the table. He then left quickly and without a word. But they both heard the outer door slam. The interview room was supposed to be soundproof.

  Saxon slouched back in his chair and lit one of Parker’s cigarettes. He wondered idly if Francesca smoked. He hoped so.

  ‘Delightful chap, Mr Jenner,’ he said to Parker. ‘But it’s obvious he didn’t do it. For starters, he’s not clever enough – the man’s a Neanderthal. He certainly doesn’t fit Ercott’s profile.’ He tossed a copy across to Parker.

  Saxon blew smoke contentedly into the air above his head. He leant back and watched it disappear.

  Parker looked up from the report. ‘So, we should be looking for a professional man between the ages of thirty-three and fortyfive, boss,’ he quoted.

  Saxon nodded. ‘How the hell he came up with those numbers I’ll never know, but I guess he knows what he’s talking about.’

  Parker ran through the points Ercott had suggested. ‘Right, apart from the age group, he’ll likely be an educated, even cultured type, exceptionally cunning.’

  ‘How do we spot cunning, I wonder, Parker?’ Saxon mused.

  ‘Says here that’s he’s possibly very right wing,’ Parker added.

  ‘And he would seem to be someone who has his life in good order,’ Saxon interrupted. ‘In good order, that is, apart from this little quirk which prompts him to murder people from time to time.’

  ‘What did it say about medical knowledge? I know there was something,’ he asked.

  Parker found the place. ‘Yes, the professor says he will almost certainly have medical knowledge of some kind. Also that he’s physically very strong. And obviously, he has a big grudge regarding gays.’ He read on in silence.

  ‘I was interested by what Ercott said about the killer’s attitude to his victims,’ said Saxon. ‘The method he uses to kill them indicates that he likes to attack them from the front, and that’s a dead giveaway, apparently.’ He stubbed out his cigarette and kept crushing it even though it was never going to smoulder again.

  ‘So,’ he went on, ‘what are our possibilities? Could it be that our killer is gay but not out of the closet yet? Or maybe gay, but brutalised by his parents as a result. Or maybe a close relative of his has either contracted AIDS and is sick or has already died from it.’

  Parker had a suggestion. ‘Maybe we could contact all of the hospitals in the area and start looking for men who have lost either a wife to the disease or even a child?’

  Saxon nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘But to start with, we’re only interested in men who fall in the age group that Professor Ercott has suggested.’ Parker was thinking as he went along. ‘It could be that the killer himself has the disease from a blood transfusion, or possibly, he is a doctor or male nurse and has been accidentally pricked with an HIV-contaminated needle.’

  Parker stubbed out his cigarette and stood leaning against the wall. ‘It won’t be easy though, the hospitals and hospices don’t like to give out that sort of info.’ He lit another cigarette after Saxon declined one. Parker inhaled deeply. ‘If the killer is big and strong, that excludes that tosser Marks then, doesn’t it, boss,’ he said.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He may be tall, but he’s built like a right nancy,’ said Parker, in a tone that expected no disagreement. None was forthcoming.

  ‘Which reminds me, sir, isn’t it time we went and had a few words with him? He probably can’t believe his luck – he must have seen the news by now surely. There’s got to be some major movements going on in his bowels at the moment.’

  Saxon laughed aloud. ‘You’re right, Parker, although it hardly seems worth it – we know he didn’t do it. The only good thing that could come out of talking to him is that he may have seen the man with the hat and glasses just before he did his Jack the Ripper routine on Lucas. We’ll go and talk to him this evening at seven. I think it’s only fair that Mrs Marks knows what her husband gets up to in the evenings.’

  They left the police station and wandered down to the promenade looking for a suitable fish and chip shop for a real policeman’s lunch. It was the high season for tourists and the queue at the fish and chip shop was heaving, so they found a pub and settled for a sandwich and a couple of pints instead. Saxon bought the first two and carried them out to Parker who was sitting under a parasol, but still baking.

  ‘Any bright ideas on what to do next?’ said Saxon, as he sat down heavily, exhausted by the heat. He put away most of his pint in one swig.

  Parker looked lost. ‘I’m sorry to say I haven’t the foggiest idea what we can do. It’s really frustrating; we’ve absolutely nothing to go on. It’s as I feared, we have wait for him to kill again, and hope for him to make a cock-up. Not the most proactive way to go about things though, is it, sir?’

  Saxon sat sipping his beer and looking out towards the Palace Pier. ‘And if he stops killing, we will never know who he was. And that would never do, would it, Parker?’

  Tuesday, May 21, Wychwood Cottage, Sewel Mill, 6.55PM

  Saxon’s Land Rover crunched over the gravel drive to Dr Marks’ cottage, slowly coming to a halt in front of the garage. The surroundings were idyllic, Sussex Weald with the South Downs as a backdrop. The cottage – built during the reign of Henry VIII, had stood the test of time well. The only sign of any interference by modern man showing on the roof – the thatch was just a little bit too new.

  They walked across the drive to the front door and Saxon tried the doorbell, but got no response. Several loud law-enforcement-style knocks on the door proved fruitless too, so they followed the path around to the back of the property. The garden was extensive and well-maintained, covering roughly four acres of well-tended lawns and flowerbeds.

  They found Marks and his wife lounging on sun beds, on a large patio, next to an impressive swimming pool.

  Mrs Marks was a slim attractive woman with jet-black hair; she was forty but looked a young thirty. Saxon noticed at once that she appeared shaky and withdrawn. Her hand, holding a very large gin and tonic shook as she put the glass to her lips.

  Marks saw them before his wife, and sprang to his feet with a look of dread on his face. Saxon didn’t waste any time, and before Marks could introduce his wife, Saxon launched his attack.

  ‘Dr Marks, where were you last night? Think carefully before you answer.’

  Marks stood his ground and decided that attack may be his best form of defence. He shouted at Saxon.

  ‘How dare you come here and talk to me in that manner. I will not tolerate this sort of treatment. I am not a criminal and I refuse to be treated as one. Now, please leave.’

  Saxon remained calm. ‘I repeat, where were you Dr Marks? If of course you refuse to answer my questions, we can discuss this matter at Brighton Police Station.’

  Marks remained silent as if he couldn’t bring himself to speak in front of his wife.

  Saxon turned to Mrs Marks, who appeared to be in a semi-drunken state, with the intention of introducing himself. She got there first.

  ‘Clive, who are these people, and what do they want?’

  Marks looked down at his wife. ‘Nothing for you to worry about, darling. You sit there and relax. I’ll go inside and talk to these gentlemen – I won’t be long, I’ll bring you a cold drink.’

  ‘Clive, you haven’t been naughty again, have you?’

  This comment from Mrs Marks stopped everyone in their tracks. She looked up at Saxon and Parker, with a slightly confused expression on her face.

  ‘Police, you’re policemen aren’t you?’

  ‘I am Commander Saxon, and this is Detective Sergeant Parker, we are investigating several murders, the one that we wish to talk to your husband
about happened in a gay pub in Brighton – we know that he was in the pub in question, at the time of the murder. The victim was a police officer and your husband may have been the last person to speak to him. We are here to talk to him, not to arrest him.’

  Mrs Marks’ face took on a stunned disbelieving look with considerable anger beginning to boil up.

  Saxon turned to Marks, whose face was growing redder by the second. He continued. ‘Dr Marks, I don’t really care what you get up to in your private life, I just want to catch whoever it is going around chopping people up. You can answer my questions here or we can go to Brighton. Here is much more pleasant, believe me. You decide.’

  Mrs Marks hurriedly put down her drink, stood up, stripped off her gown and dived into the pool.

  Marks sat down and motioned the two policemen to sit.

  ‘Okay, what do you want to know, Commander?’ Please excuse my wife, she’s been rather unwell. She seems to live on booze and tablets at the moment. She had a nervous breakdown a few months ago, never really recovered. She has boyfriends, you see. The latest one turned out to be a bit of a pain. When she tired of him, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and he started to stalk her. It all got a bit nasty, and she couldn’t cope with it. And before you ask me why she has boyfriends, I suppose I’d better tell you. You’ll find out anyway I suppose.’ Marks paused and looked down and said nothing for too long.

  ‘Yes, Dr Marks, we’re still here waiting for you to tell us something earth-shattering. But I think you are about to tell us that you are gay…is that right?’

  ‘No, Commander, bisexual would be a better description.’

  ‘Amounts to the same thing if you ask me,’ interrupted Parker.

  ‘Well, we are not asking you, are we, Sergeant?’ Marks spat.

  Parker backed off, but was unable to hide the slight smirk on his face. Saxon shot him a glance, which clearly told him to shut up.

  ‘This is all very interesting, but I need some answers regarding the night of the murder. First, I think we have established why you were in the Speckled Cat pub – what I want to know is if you spoke to him, what did Constable Michael Lucas say to you during the evening, and did you see anyone who looked out of place?’

  Saxon took out a picture of Lucas and pushed it under Marks’ nose.

  ‘Did you speak to this man?’

  Marks studied the picture, but showed no reaction at all.

  ‘Yes, Commander, I did. He didn’t say much at all really, just that he was wealthy and didn’t need to work, and he said he was unsure of his sexuality – huh, times I’ve heard that one. I had no idea that he was a police officer, Commander, none at all. Anyway, we sat talking for a while and he said that he wanted to go to the toilet. That was the last I saw of him. He didn’t come back and I got tired of waiting, so I left. And no, I didn’t see anyone with a badge that said “murderer, pay attention”, written all over it.’

  Saxon rolled up his shirtsleeves another couple of inches, wondering if Marks would offer a cold drink – he didn’t.

  ‘Dr Marks, why didn’t you come forward and talk to us sooner?’

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, grow up, Commander, what would you have done in my shoes? I’m a GP in an English village. There are Victorians alive and well still living in Sewel Mill you know. If word spread that I’m bisexual, where do you think all of my patients would go? They would go to the first doctor they could find who was straight and who wouldn’t infect them with gay diseases with just one touch of his hands – Christ, people are so stupid, and I would be out of a job.’

  Saxon admitted to himself that Marks was right.

  ‘Why does your wife tolerate your lifestyle?’

  ‘Are you going to charge me with anything, Commander Saxon, because if not then I would like you to go now.’

  Marks suddenly changed from being cooperative, to sullen-faced and withdrawn.

  ‘You have to understand a few things about police work, Dr Marks – we collect facts and information, then we put it all together and see what it all adds up to. So, as I said earlier, we can talk here in these pleasant surroundings, or I can charge you with leaving the scene of a crime. Perhaps I could try to get you on wasting police time, or maybe withholding evidence. The list could get longer during the drive to that rather unpleasant smelly interview room at Brighton Police Station. You do get my drift, don’t you Dr Marks? Talk to me now and the village may never even know about you private life. Give me all the information you can and I may forget about you being in the pub in the first place – you have to admit that’s a good deal. But don’t lie to me, I’ll know if you do.’

  Mrs Marks finished her swim and climbed out of the pool, picked up her drink, smiled at the three of them and said that she thought she may have caught a little bit too much sun and was going to go inside and lie down. Saxon and Parker tried not to stare too much at her not-too-shabby figure as she tottered by and disappeared through the French windows.

  ‘Up to you, Doctor, what do you want to do?’ Saxon was becoming more impatient and finding it harder not to show it.

  ‘You don’t really give me much option, I’ll have to take you up on it, Commander,’ Marks said admitting to himself that it was a good deal. ‘My wife, Anne, likes the lifestyle – the house is paid for. I inherited some money and bought it outright, so no mortgage worries. A GP’s salary isn’t too bad, plus I do some consultancy work, four days a month, which almost doubles my money. Anne knows that if she left me she would get nothing, one of the advantages of a good solid pre-nuptial agreement, I suppose.’

  At last, Marks asked Saxon and Parker if they would like a drink, and went into the cottage to fetch some iced water. From the garden, they could hear a heated exchange of words flying out of the sitting room. After a couple of minutes, Marks returned with a large glass jug tinkling with ice cubes. He looked angry.

  Saxon downed his first glass in one gulp and as Marks filled it up Saxon started to work on him again.

  ‘Did you murder Christopher Janson?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not a killer, I’m a doctor!’ shouted Marks.

  ‘So were Crippen, Mengele and Shipman,’ Saxon shot back.

  Marks scowled like a spoilt child and took a sip from his drink.

  ‘Dr Marks, did Janson know that you are bisexual, and was he perhaps blackmailing you? You have to admit that if that were the case then you would have a pretty good motive.’

  ‘No, Commander, I haven’t killed anybody, next question,’

  ‘In Barbara Jenner’s house I found a book of names and phone numbers. Your name is in the book with the number seven next to it. Can you perhaps tell me why that seven is there?’

  Marks stiffened and tried to look deeply uninterested. ‘I have absolutely no idea, Commander, perhaps you can tell me.’

  ‘I hope I will one day.’ Saxon and Parker stood up, finished their drinks, and turned to walk away. Saxon turned as he spoke. ‘That will do for now, but I want a piece of paper delivered to my office tomorrow morning with all of your alibi’s very carefully listed. Don’t get it wrong, Dr Marks, we will be checking it thoroughly.’

  As they climbed into Saxon’s Land Rover trying not to burn themselves on the hot interior, Parker turned to Saxon. ‘He didn’t do it – the only thing he’s guilty of is being an idiot. If he intended to bump someone off he’d use poison, the man is too much of a wimp to use the kind of physical strength our killer has used.’

  ‘Agreed, but I thought he may be able to give us more useful information than he did. Maybe I’m clutching at straws, Parker, I think I’m losing my touch. We are getting fucking nowhere. I’ll tell you what’s bugging me right now though – the number seven next to his name in the book. What the hell could that mean?’

  Parker’s mobile rang with a sound similar to a very loud frog croaking, and he answered it as quickly as possible when he saw the look of disbelief on Saxon’s face. ‘Sorry, sir, kids have been playing with it – DS Pa
rker, yes, Jim.

  ‘Shit, how many?’

  Parker listened for almost a minute, ‘Thanks, Jim, I’ll pass on the good news, bye.’ He flicked the phone off and sighed.

  Saxon gunned the engine and they started to move off slowly down the driveway. ‘Break it to me gently, Parker.’

  ‘Sergeant Groves has been in touch with all of the hospitals in the South East of the country. They gave him a few statistics – do you have any idea how many people became infected with HIV in this country, during the last year alone?’

  Saxon looked left and right, and pulled out into the lane. ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Nearly three and a half thousand, that’s how bloody many – so if we go back say four years, well we don’t need a calculator to work that little lot out. Then I suppose there are private clinics, and if we want to make it even more depressing, maybe we should look into all the AIDS-related suicides. Sorry to sound so defeatist, sir, but it would be a never-ending task.’

  ‘I know, Parker, I know,’ was all Saxon could say as he pulled into a lay-by and dialled Francesca’s number.

  ‘Am I too late for that dinner you promised?’ He paused. ‘Sounds good to me…see you in about forty minutes. Bye.’

  Parker looked out of the side window and smiled.

  Chapter 11

  Saturday, May 25, 11.15PM

  Andy Pike drove slowly across the furthest of his fields from the house. It made him feel like a real landowner when he patrolled his small estate. His old Land Rover had admittedly seen much better days, but he was confident it still exuded effortlessly an image of ancient, solid, county aristocracy.