Stone Game

by J. D. Weston

  Harvey stared as if waiting for a third.

  "She doesn't have a phone," said the man. "She's too young. Take them and go."

  Harvey bent to collect the two phones, and then tossed them in the river.

  "It's not what it looks like," he said.

  "Please leave us alone. We don't care what it looks like."

  The sound of Melody arriving in the motorhome and honking the horn distracted Harvey. He turned back to see Boon jumping up at the driver's door to reach Melody.

  "Go," he told the family without turning. "Leave, now."

  7

  Dark Days

  Melody parked the camper in a supermarket car park and sat back in the seat. She pulled her phone from her pocket, found the recently dialled numbers and hit Reg's name.

  He answered after one ring.

  "Melody," he said, "how did I know you'd be calling?"

  "Something's wrong, Reg," she said.

  Reg knew that when Melody omitted the pleasantries, trouble was afoot.

  "Talk to me, Melody. What's up?"

  "He's acting weird. He's quiet, like something's on his mind."

  "Isn't he always like that?" asked Reg.

  "This is different. Something's very wrong. And I can't help thinking about what you said."

  "We've been running our own investigation here," said Reg. "Jess and I-"

  "What did you find?" asked Melody, cutting him off. She'd known he wouldn't be able to help himself. He was one of the best researchers she'd ever come across; if there was something to be found, Reg would find it.

  "Remember I told you about that search?" he asked.

  "Yes, it's all I can think of, Reg."

  "So it turns out that some detective in Essex somewhere has entered the information of a few recent murders, brutal killings, Melody, and the search has flagged previous similar murders, all unsolved crimes."

  "So?" said Melody.

  "Identical murders that were carried out by none other than-"

  "Harvey? No, it can't be true, Reg."

  "Hey, I'm not making any allegations here. I'm just-"

  "I know, I know, but I can prove it wasn't him."

  "Have you been with him the entire time, Melody?"

  "Well no, of course not, but a lot of the time."

  "And where exactly is it you've been?" asked Reg.

  "Are you questioning me, Reg?"

  "No, Melody, I'm helping you," said Reg. "What route have you taken on your travels in the past couple of weeks?"

  "We came from France," said Melody, "into Dover, and then up to the lakes."

  "Did you stop along the way?"

  "Of course we stopped, we're on holiday, enjoying the peaceful countryside."

  "Okay, Melody answer me this, did you stop in a little village called Queensbridge, just outside Canterbury?"

  Melody was silent for a few seconds then, "How did you know that?"

  "Just a hunch, Melody," he replied. "Then you went to the Lake District?"

  "Yes, we stayed for a while. We moved about a little, did some hiking."

  "Did you go and stay in the village of Little Broadwater?"

  "What are you getting at, Reg? You're scaring me," said Melody.

  "Little Broadwater, Melody. Did you stay there or not?"

  "Yes, we did. But nobody's ever heard of it. We found a little campsite and parked up. How did you know?"

  "And, from there, you drove across to Norfolk?"

  "Reg, stop it," snapped Melody. "Just tell me what you know."

  Reg took a deep breath of air. "Melody, about ten days ago, a man was found brutally murdered in the village of Queensbridge, outside Canterbury."

  "No," said Melody. "That's where we were."

  "There's more," said Reg.

  "Go on then."

  "A week ago, a woman was found murdered in a forest in Little Broadwater. A couple of hikers stumbled on her body, what was left of it."

  "Reg, stop."

  "And last week," Reg continued, "a man was found in King's Lynn, Norfolk, with his arms and legs burned off."

  "Reg, no more," cried Melody. "I said stop."

  "You need to hear this, Melody. You need to know the truth."

  "I can't handle the truth, Reg. It can't be-"

  "Yesterday, a man was found glued to his bathtub in Dunmow. He had his gut slashed open, and his balls cut off and stuffed in his mouth."

  Melody began to sob. She couldn't reply.

  "Get yourself out of there, Melody."

  "It can't be him," she said. Her voice whined as she fought to hold back more tears.

  "I'm sorry, Melody," said Reg. "The database pulled out unsolved crimes then the results were whittled down to disregard shootings, stabbings, and what you and I might regard as ordinary murders. The data they fed in was matched and every one of the results was nearly identical to the records that Frank made of Harvey's old crimes. Luckily, the database did not match Harvey's name, just the crimes that Frank tagged as potentially his."

  "But he was pardoned. He can't be found guilty of those crimes now, surely. Even if they did match his name."

  "He was exonerated, Melody, for the older crimes. But these recent crimes?" Reg paused and searched for the words. "They're his style. He might as well have signed them. If Frank was here, he'd called it the methodology. They have Harvey written all over them."

  "But why?" asked Melody. "Why would he need to do any of this?"

  "Every one of these victims was on the sex-offenders list, Melody."

  "The recent victims?" she asked.

  "Old and new," said Reg. "They're not just common in methodology. They have the same motivation."

  "And Harvey had the means," said Melody.

  "Now," said Reg, "what are you going to do?"

  "What can I do? I'm marrying a murderer," said Melody.

  "Melody, come on. We all knew he was troubled. Come and stay with us. You'll be safe here."

  "Safe?" said Melody. "You think you're safe?"

  Reg didn't respond.

  "None of us are safe, Reg," said Melody. "If Harvey knows that we know, that's it, game over for you and game over for me."

  "You think he'd go that far?"

  "He spoke to me the other night, Reg," said Melody, calmly and with the unemotional, flat tone of acceptance. "He told me he'd been having dreams."

  "Dreams?"

  "Yeah, but that was it. It's not like he's sleepwalking and doing this. But he woke in the night, he was upset, so we talked."

  "And?" prompted Reg.

  "He said he..."

  "He said what, Melody?"

  Melody was silent.

  "Melody?"

  "He told me he enjoyed it."

  "George, let's go," said Harris. "There's been another one. Meet me downstairs."

  He let the door close and took the two flights of stairs to the ground floor.

  "Ground units are already on site, sir," said a female officer behind the central desk of the police station as Harris approached. She handed him a sheet of paper. "One body, male, early twenties. Sounds like he had his throat cut."

  "Forensics?" asked Harris.

  "En-route," came the reply. "Uniforms are already on site closing the crime scene down."

  George came bounding down the stairs and joined Harris.

  "Ready for this?" Harris asked.

  George nodded softly then followed Harris through the door to the station car park.

  "If it's him, he's close," said Harris as he pulled his BMW onto the high street, "and if he's close, we can nail him."

  "Do we have a description?" asked George, scanning the report Harris had given him. "Who called it in?"

  "Some bloke out for a walk with his family made a call about a strange man running after a dog with blood over his shirt and on his hands."

  "And who found the body?"

  "A couple of kids out playing in the forest." Harris breathed out loudly through his teeth. "They'll
need a bit of therapy after this."

  "How did he die?" asked George, flicking through his notes.

  "He had his throat slit, according to the report."

  A cog clicked in George's brain.

  "Was he pinned down with stakes through his wrists?" he asked.

  "I don't know. Read the report," said Harris.

  George began to compare the report against his own notes.

  "Jesus, it's the same," he said finally. "Benjamin Green from Southend-on-Sea. Released from prison for sex offences, and found three days later pinned to the ground in a forest with stakes through his wrists and ankles. That was five years ago." He continued to flick through the notes. "It says here that his throat was cut and he drowned slowly in his own blood. The killer was never caught."

  Harris indicated and put his foot down. The BMW shot past the traffic that had slowed for the traffic lights and into the wide country lane ahead.

  They found the crime scene a few minutes later. The road had been cordoned off, and the entry to a small picnic spot was awash with glaring blue flashing lights atop local squad cars.

  An officer stood taking statements from a few cars parked to the side of the road, a workman in his unmarked van, a family in a large car, and a woman with her dog in a camper van.

  Harris slowed for a police officer to lift the red and white tape over his car as he passed under. He nodded his thanks before stopping on the shoulder of the empty road.

  Ten minutes later, they were both stood looking down at the body.

  "See how neatly the stakes have been carved?" said Harris. "It's like he selected the branches and took time to carve them."

  "So he was planning this?' asked George.

  "Either planning or watching and waiting," replied Harris. He looked about him. They were stood at the top of a small hill. A river cut through the ground below them, and a small forest stood to their right. Long grass grew wild and free around the edges of the hill, but the middle was soft, lush grass, recently mowed by the local council.

  "There," said Harris, pointing to a spot a few meters from the body. "Something's flattened the grass. It looks as if somebody laid there."

  "Why would they lay beside someone they just killed?" asked George.

  "Tell me more about the victim," said Harris, ignoring the question. "Was he on the list?"

  "Actually, no, sir," said George. "No previous, no history of anything. He was a local boy."

  "So why him?" asked Harris to himself. "Why change the motivation now?"

  The sound of an approaching helicopter drew near then faded as the police chopper flew in concentric circles around the area.

  A police photographer stood patiently nearby, waiting to photograph the scene before the body was removed. A hundred yards away, a few locals were being held back by uniformed police. A couple of boys with a football had obviously seen the action and come to see what was happening.

  "Are you waiting for us to leave?" called Harris to the photographer.

  "Take your time, sir," said the man. "He's not going anywhere fast."

  "Can you get a shot of the grass there?" Harris pointed to the flattened spot that lay a few meters away.

  "Yeah, no problem," said the man as he came closer.

  "Get a tape measure on it too. I want to know how tall the person was who lay there," said Harris. "Let's go digging, George." He walked off towards the few locals that stood behind the red and white tape a hundred yards away.

  He was met with a greeting nod from the uniformed policeman and then he approached the boys with the ball.

  "Hi boys. Any of you know who that is?" Harris said, pointing up the hill.

  "That's Liam, mate," said the boy with the ball, a ginger-haired kid with a face full of freckles.

  "Last name?" asked George, making a note on his pad.

  "Liam Charlton."

  "You knew him?" asked Harris.

  "Come on, boss. They're just kids," urged George. He was not keen to get a bunch of underage kids involved in a police investigation without their parents' consent. The backlash would be unbearable.

  "It's okay, mate," said the ginger kid. "Yeah we knew him, but he's a bit of a loner."

  "Is he okay, mister?" asked another kid beside him, a smaller boy with a mass of shiny brown hair and two missing front teeth.

  "No, sonny," said Harris. "He's far from okay."

  "Right, that's enough," said George. "Thank you, boys, on your way now." He pulled Harris' arm and led him away. "What are you trying to do, land yourself a court case?"

  "They're just boys, George," said Harris. "They know more than you think. They've see worse in films these days."

  "That's right, sir, they're just boys, and they don't have their parents with them. So anything they say that you try and use as evidence won't stand up in court anyway."

  "Stop fretting, George," said Harris, taking one more glance at the body, the trees and the river. "Why don't you make yourself useful and go find out what the uniforms found out on the roadside."

  Harris began to walk down the hill to the river.

  "And what about you, sir?" George called after him.

  "It's a bit hot, George," said Harris over his shoulder. "I might soak my feet in the river."

  8

  Release the Monster

  Melody parked the camper in the picnic area where she'd left Harvey and Boon. Movement in the corner of her eye caught Boon tearing along the path up to the van. He jumped up and pawed at the windows for Melody, so she opened the driver's door and let him in. Instead of jumping across to the passenger seat as he usually did, Boon sat on Melody's lap with his ears pinned down flat as if he'd been naughty.

  Melody searched through the windscreen for Harvey and saw him a hundred feet away stood beside the bridge. Even from afar, Melody could see his hands and arms were bloodied and hung loosely by his side. His white t-shirt had a red stripe across the front. The tone of his gaze was the eerie stone cold look that Harvey was known for.

  Sirens sounded in the distance, and the whomp of an approaching helicopter grew closer.

  Melody's eyes locked onto Harvey's.

  She shook her head.

  "No," she said disbelievingly. "No, you can't have." Melody looked harder at the blood on his hands and up his arms. It was as if he'd butchered somebody.

  The sirens grew louder and the helicopter began to creep into view from the far fields. Melody chanced a glance up into the sky and behind her to see if the police had arrived. But when she looked back, Harvey had gone.

  Melody's mouth hung open. It couldn't be possible. What had he done?

  The sirens were fast approaching now, so Melody turned around in the car park. She hovered by the exit for a moment, half expecting to see Harvey run from the trees and climb into the van as he'd done when they worked together. But this time he didn't appear.

  "Is this goodbye, Harvey Stone?" she said softly to the rearview mirror, and then slowly pulled out of the car park onto the road.

  She was stopped fifty yards later by one of two police cars that had been tearing down the hill from the town centre. The first car drove past, and the second stopped to let an officer out before parking across the road to stop any traffic from passing.

  The officer on foot guided Melody to the side of the road, and soon after, stopped a family in their MPV and a man in a plain white van.

  Melody knew the game. She'd wait in the camper for the officer to get to her. The others would climb out of their cars and become aggressive with the officer for delaying them. He would then make them wait longer.

  Her mind spun at dizzying speeds. What had Harvey done? Was Reg right? Was Harvey was up to his old tricks again? She felt the dull stab of loss in her heart, and her breathing quickened. She cracked the driver's window ajar and rested her head on the steering wheel.

  "You okay, miss?" said the officer who stood beside the camper.

  Melody didn't react.

  The officer tappe
d on the window, and Boon began a low, menacing growl.

  Melody sat up straight. She stared ahead and composed herself. Then she lowered the window.

  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle, ma'am," said the officer. He then turned away and spoke into his shoulder-mounted radio.

  Melody opened the door, moved Boon off into the passenger seat, and dropped down to the ground. She held onto the door for balance. Her head still span with the suddenness of it all. Thirty minutes ago, she'd heard that the man she loved might be a serial killer; that news had been bad enough. But she had been able to defend him, even if not wholeheartedly. But now she'd seen the blood on his hands, and how shaken Boon was. Then the look on Harvey's face had confirmed her darkest thoughts.

  "Ma'am?" said the officer. "Are you okay? You look shaken."

  Melody looked despondently at the officer's uniform, from his polished boots to his immaculately pressed trousers and shirt, to his shiny shoulder IDs.

  "Ma'am?" he said again.

  "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

  "Can I ask you what you're doing out here?" he asked.

  Melody heard his voice but was lost in her own world. She imagined Harvey killing a faceless victim, his control and calm making the job seem effortless, his stone cold gaze watching with evident joy at the suffering he was causing.

  "I need to know what you're doing here," said the officer.

  Melody snapped out of it and focused on the officer once more.

  "I'm walking my dog. I was walking my dog," Melody corrected herself.

  "Have you had some bad news?" asked the officer. "Would you like a female officer to talk to you?"

  "No," she said, "no need." She took a deep breath. "What's wrong anyway?"

  "Who said anything was wrong?" said the officer.

  "I sensed something was wrong when you and your mates came tearing down here and pulled me over," said Melody. "I'm on the force. Well, I used to be anyway." She offered a weak smile.

  "You're not anymore?" asked the officer, suddenly interested.

  "Special Intelligence," said Melody.

  "Oh, I see," said the officer. "Well, if I could just take your details, I'll see about getting you on your way."