Saxon

by Stuart Davies

  ‘Why do you say that?’ said Saxon, moving forward to take a closer look.

  ‘It’s simple – if you stretch a piece of tape and then cut it with a pair of scissors, the cut will be straight. If you do the same thing, but use a blade – like a scalpel for instance, the cut will have a slight wiggle in it. Believe me, I run tests like that in my spare time…and before you say anything, Sarge, yes I know I need to get out more.’

  Parker didn’t react. ‘What about the lettering on the envelope?’

  ‘It looks like the sort of typeface you’d get built into a computer; it’s called a System Font. It’s called Courier. It could have come from any computer, but the good news is that it can only have come from one particular printer. If you can find the printer, there’s a chance I may be able to match each individual letter – could be his first mistake.’

  Saxon was hearing the sort of news he had been waiting for and was impatient to read the note inside the envelope. ‘Sorry, Commander, I don’t think I should open it here; there’s too much chance that the evidence could become contaminated. I should bag the whole thing up and take it back to the lab.’ Reluctantly they could only agree and they helped him to bag it.

  Saxon took Parker to one side. ‘Get some uniforms out here and have them do a house to house. I want to know if any of the local curtain twitchers saw our friend delivering the wreath.’

  Back at the police station, the first thing on Saxon’s mind was to check on Francesca. He found her sitting in the canteen with WPC Jenny Hedges and Ralph, one of the largest German shepherd dogs he’d ever clapped eyes on. Saxon asked her to finish her lunch and then he would be back to figure out a better protection plan for her. Francesca smiled as he put his hand on hers. She looked up at him and said, ‘And I feel safer now I know you are here.’

  Saxon blushed and smiled back. As he left the canteen, he thought he heard Jenny laugh, followed by, ‘I can’t believe you said that.’ But he wasn’t sure.

  He went back to the lab where Pinky had already unwrapped the wreath and laid it out on a large sheet of white paper. He gave it a gentle shake to see if anything fell out. There was nothing to fall out. As Saxon and Parker looked on, he opened the envelope using two pairs of tweezers. Inside was a sheet of A4 paper. On it, a few lines of writing. But no ordinary hand had written it. It was in reverse.

  Pinky checked it for prints, but it was possibly the cleanest piece of paper in the country. ‘The problem with this writing is that it isn’t written with ink – not this copy anyway,’ Pinky said leaning over a light box and gazing through a small magnifying lens.

  ‘Run that by us again, but in English this time,’ said Saxon, feeling that it was time to make progress a little faster.

  ‘It’s a photocopy of some writing, so we can’t check each stroke of the pen. With handwriting analysis, it’s important to see the ink build-up on each side of a stroke of the pen as well as the overall character of the writing. By making a copy of the text, he has wiped out any subtleties. All we have are solid black lines.’

  ‘And the fact that it’s written in reverse – what does that tell us?’

  ‘Commander, I think you’ll need to get a shrink to answer that one. But at least we can read it.’ Pinky flipped the paper over on the light box and, as if holding it up to a mirror, the words became legible.

  Commander Saxon,

  By now you have surely realised that when I decide to act, then nothing will stop me. You are meddling in my affairs. Obviously, you can have no concept of the importance of my mission, but listen well, Commander, no matter where you put your new friend I will find her. I could have killed her today, but I am willing to give you one more chance. It is within my power to grant you that. It would be hard for me to kill you or your friend, as neither of you is a carrier – it causes me physical pain, to cleanse a non-carrier. But if you force me to do it, the responsibility will be yours. Believe me, I have suffered immensely to attain the level that I have reached. Any more meddling and I will systematically wipe out you, your new friend, and the rest of them.

  ‘Wow, sicko bastard or what,’ exclaimed Parker.

  Saxon poked the wreath with a pencil. ‘Looks as though it’s seen better days.’ He moved his face closer. ‘Looks like mud and a few blades of grass here.’ He teased the grass out of the wreath and it fell onto the paper. ‘The clever bastard must have picked this up in the cemetery, so there’s no way we can trace it to him. God, this shithead is pissing me off – why can’t he just slip up once?’ Saxon turned to Parker. ‘Get on the phone to Prof Ercott, tell him what we’ve got here and fax a copy of the note to him, he may be able to see things that we can’t.’

  Pinky photocopied the note onto a sheet of clear film, and then from that, back onto a piece of paper to reverse it. Fifteen minutes later Ercott was on the phone to Saxon.

  ‘Hello, Paul, well, one thing I can tell you is that he is showing all the signs of paranoia. The main one being, excessive self-importance – he isn’t interested in the truth. Do you see how he’s shifting the responsibility onto you? He’s without a doubt…completely barking.’

  ‘What about the fact that it was written in mirror writing?’ added Saxon.

  ‘Now, that is interesting, your sergeant didn’t mention that – but, you’ve told me now so don’t reprimand him too much. This phenomenon is very rare indeed, very rare. I’ve only come across it once or twice and that was years ago. Children can quite often do it, some of them don’t realise that they are doing it. Sometimes the ability carries over into adulthood and when it does, the person is usually ambidextrous, and has a high IQ. But we already knew that he was clever anyway.’

  ‘What about the writing itself, I suppose I’ll need to find a handwriting specialist for that? I don’t suppose you can recommend one?’

  ‘Sure can – me. I spend a good chunk of my time nowadays, working for multi-national companies, checking job applications from people who have applied for top executive positions – sort of, spot the crook before he’s in control of your finances stuff. Before I can do anything more I’ll need to see the actual document though; the fax you kindly sent me isn’t good enough to do a proper analysis on. Be with you in about half an hour.’ Click, and he hung up.

  ‘Oh okay, Prof, see you soon,’ Saxon said to the dead phone in his hand.

  Saxon made his way back to the canteen. Francesca was still in the same spot, sipping a cup of what they called tea. Ralph sat at her feet with one paw on her lap and his chin resting on her knee.

  ‘Lucky dog,’ muttered Saxon as he sat next to her. She giggled quietly.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t let anyone see you laugh – if they start to think I have a sense of humour, they’ll never take me seriously again,’ he said in a mock serious voice…but not too loudly.

  Then he became genuinely serious. ‘Right, Francesca, I understand WPC Hedges has made it clear to you why you couldn’t go back to the safe house.’ She nodded.

  Saxon continued. ‘The problem, as I’m sure you know, is that we’re dealing with an immensely dangerous man – he’s not just one step ahead of us, he’s about ten at the moment. Now, the reason the bastard’s after you, is to get at me. He thinks that if he threatens you, I will stop going after him. He doesn’t seem to realise that if it weren’t me, it would be someone else. My problem is that I’ve always had more faith in myself than in other people, so I thought that if the nutter is going follow you then maybe, if we stick together, I would be there to protect you. Along with Parker, who would play a minor role in the background of course. How does that sound to you?’

  ‘You mean I’m bait?’

  ‘Sort of. But I have got this.’ He opened his jacket enough for her to see the gun.

  ‘Now you’re talking, Commander. I’ve always thought it was a daft idea to give policemen sticks to defend themselves with.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Uhm, I was wondering, is Guy Parker’s gun bigger than yours?’

  ‘I�
��ll talk to you later,’ he said as he left the canteen – trying as hard as possible not to laugh.

  The phone on Saxon’s desk rang just as he was about to start wading through a well-earned cup of tea. ‘Professor Ercott in reception, sir,’ announced Sergeant Ian Dowling.

  ‘Good, show him the way to Pinky Palmer’s office please. And tell him I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.’

  Professor Ercott was leaning on the desk with his arms folded, peering through the bottom of his bifocals and nodding his head gently. He stood up when Saxon walked in. The two men shook hands. Ercott’s manner was friendly but businesslike and he greeted him with a friendly respect. Rather as if, it occurred to Saxon, they were wearing the same old school tie.

  ‘Good to see you again,’ started Ercott, before Saxon had a chance to say a word. He held the photocopy of the killer’s message out in front of him. ‘I’ve had a quick peek at the note you gave me.’ He looked up and nodded at Saxon. ‘And it tells me all kinds of very interesting things.’

  Saxon was relieved but still anxious that the information should turn out to be useful, and even more; he needed it to stand up in court. ‘Glad to hear it, Roger,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking forward to getting some feedback from you. What can you tell us about our man?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, even though it’s written in reverse, you’ll see that it’s amazingly tidy. Most people don’t have particularly clear handwriting, do they, even when they’re just writing normally.’ He raised his eyebrows, and Saxon nodded to show he followed.

  ‘But what…?’ Saxon started to ask.

  Ercott interrupted him. ‘Legibility is a good thing, of course, but sometimes it can mean that the person who wrote it is trying to be a bit of a goody-two-shoes. In other words, the person can be a bit of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.’

  ‘So our man isn’t necessarily walking around with “KILLER” printed on a tee shirt, but we didn’t think he would be. This guy’s no idiot, is he.’ Saxon was disappointed, he’d been hoping for some new light.

  Ercott went on, hardly noticing Saxon’s reaction. ‘There are certain traits that are quite evident in the writing. For instance, the way that it seems to jump about rather than follow a definite base line indicates what we call a hysterical personality – by that I don’t mean the person is funny. Quite the reverse in fact; it usually means the person is out of control and is on the edge of some kind of manic breakdown. One other thing, which is quite obvious to me, is the backward slant of the letters. This tends to show that the writer literally spends most of his time living in the past. An event in his past has had such a profound effect on his personality, that he can’t forget it.

  ‘Now, I could rant on for hours about this writing. But that would of course be a waste of time, wouldn’t it. What I can’t do is give you his name and address, based on the note you have here.’ He chuckled. ‘But,’ he went on, all humour disappearing from his manner, ‘if you find the man and give me a sample of his handwriting, then I’ll be able to match it to this. I don’t think the writer realised that mirror writing doesn’t disguise the writing; it merely reverses it. Could be his one fatal error.’ He stood up. ‘Let’s hope so. Anyway, I’m off, got to buy some food from the supermarket. Hettie, my housekeeper, normally does it for me, but lately she’s been coming back with all kinds of foreign stuff that even I can’t recognise.’ The two men shook hands again.

  ‘Thanks very much for that, Roger,’ said Saxon. ‘It was helpful. And we’ll bear in mind what you said about comparing the handwriting if we get a serious suspect.’

  Ercott started to move toward the door, and then stopped. ‘By the way, Paul, I understand you know Dr Richard Clarke quite well.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve known him for a few years, why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, just wondered, no particular reason. Other than, I used to know him years ago. Nice chap, really good actor, he used to belong to his local theatre group, as did I at one time. I was wondering how he’s doing. He wasn’t very talkative when I bumped into him the other day while we were examining the unfortunate Mr Pike’s body.’ Ercott paused. ‘You know, he used to do some wonderful things with makeup; he had this latex stuff, which he plastered on his face. He would completely change his features, and some of the other players let him do their makeup as well. Yes, he was quite a leading light in our little acting world.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought we might lose him, you know. I was glad to hear he was working and doing well for himself.’

  Saxon was puzzled but not particularly interested. He held the door open for Ercott, his mind already racing ahead to what he would be doing in ten minutes.

  Ercott put his hand on Saxon’s arm. ‘Tragedy sometimes does it for people, and other times they survive. You can never tell how it will work out. But Richard and Helen were so close, an ideal couple, it was hard to imagine how he would pull back after she died. It was so tragic.’

  ‘Really? I’d no idea. What happened?’ asked Saxon.

  ‘Well, he withdrew for ages, you know. We hardly saw the man, he stopped coming to rehearsals altogether. Incidentally, he is a member of the same club as that poor Judge Mancini and me. Although I haven’t seen him there for a long time.’

  Saxon froze. Ercott didn’t realise it but he had Saxon’s complete attention. ‘His wife died?’ asked Saxon.

  ‘Yes, very tragic it was. Such a shame.’

  ‘And what did his wife die of?’ asked Saxon, almost in a whisper.

  ‘It really was very sad. She was a lovely girl; like a breath of fresh air, it was as if she was always pleased to see you. It seemed as if she was well one day and then suddenly she was gone. We hardly had time to realise she was ill before we heard she had died.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Saxon. ‘I can see how that would have been very sad. But do you know what she died of, Roger?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure of all the details, Paul. And poor Richard was in such a terrible state that nobody liked to press him too much at the time. From what I remember, she had a problem with her stomach – I don’t know all of the details, but the long and the short of it was that she needed a blood transfusion, and that’s when it all went wrong.’

  ‘It was infected blood?’ asked Saxon. ‘She was given HIV-positive blood?’ His flesh was crawling.

  ‘Well, screening then wasn’t what it is today. Yes, that’s exactly right, the blood was indeed infected with HIV. She didn’t last long after that.’ Ercott sighed.

  ‘AIDS,’ breathed Saxon. ‘Good God, AIDS.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ Ercott patted his arm and turned back towards the door. ‘Such a tragedy. Such a waste.’

  Saxon was almost speechless and his heart was thudding in his chest. Suddenly, out of nowhere, had come the biggest lead in the case. ‘Roger, I can’t thank you enough,’ he said. ‘You’ve been a great help.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, my boy.’ Ercott raised a hand in farewell. ‘Glad to have been of help.’ They shook hands again. ‘And do give my regards to Richard when you see him. I really am glad he’s all right now.’

  The door shut behind Ercott and the two policemen looked at each other. Pinky stood transfixed. ‘It all adds up, doesn’t it, Commander?’ he said slowly. ‘It has to be him, it feels right – you can’t beat that old gut-feeling.’ He patted his stomach.

  ‘I know exactly what you mean, Pinky – I have the same feeling.’ There was nothing slow about Saxon’s response. ‘Find Parker for me. Meeting in my office. Now.’

  Thursday, June 20, 9.00AM

  ‘Could just be circumstantial,’ exclaimed Parker. ‘It all sounds too good to be true, and what do we do now? We have no evidence, and as for the motive, we might as well put him in the list of thousands of other people who have lost family or friends to AIDS as well. Anyway, he seems so normal…’

  ‘Quite,’ interrupted Saxon, ‘he does, doesn’t he? I want to know where he was at the times of all the murders, but I don’t want him to think we’re on
to him – he mustn’t get a sniff that anything is going on, and that is going to be bloody difficult.’

  ‘Where does he live, sir?’

  ‘He’s got a huge detached pile over in Rottingdean. I’ve never been there, but he mentioned it to me once. I think, Parker, that it is time Richard Clarke and I had another game of squash,’ said Saxon as he picked up the phone and dialled the number of the mortuary. He got through to Clarke’s secretary who told him that Dr Clarke was on holiday.

  ‘Oh, of course,’ said Saxon as if it had slipped his mind, ‘and just remind me would you, he did say he was going abroad – is that correct?’ he added.

  The secretary told Saxon that Dr Clarke definitely wouldn’t have been leaving the country, because whenever he did that, he left it up to her to organise his itinerary for him. She was sure that he said he would just be travelling around Britain, staying in guesthouses and doing a bit of sightseeing. Saxon thanked her and asked to speak to Dr Jake Dalton.

  ‘Jake, how’re things?’

  ‘Fine, you’re not going to arrest me again, are you?’

  ‘No, don’t worry. But I do need you to come to the station for a chat – how about this evening at six?’

  ‘Sounds intriguing, I’ll be there.’

  Saxon hung up the phone and looked at Parker. ‘Hopefully, he may be able to give us a few pointers into Clarke’s movements over the last few weeks.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Parker like a small boy who was contemplating something naughty. ‘If Dr Clarke is away supposedly travelling at the moment, and someone thought they saw a shifty-looking devil climbing in through one of his windows, then that someone should be a good citizen and call the police to check it out. Now, if you and I were the only two officers available – then I guess we would just have to drop everything and get out to Rottingdean as fast as possible.’