There was a gentle knock at the door as Jenny timidly entered the office. Ben smiled at her sadly.
‘Jenny, please take a seat. I’m afraid I have some bad news…’
Chap XVIII
‘Oh Ben, Fuck off!’ Louise cursed as her mobile phone vibrated on the table next to her for the third time in half an hour. She moodily shoved the device into her handbag, not wanting to talk to Ben yet and figuring that if the phone was out of sight, she would feel less inclined to answer when he called back, which she knew he would.
Louise guessed he was calling to find out how she’d got on at the doctor that morning and she wasn’t quite ready to lie to him yet, although in theory it would only be a half lie. After all, she had been to the doctor’s - she just hadn’t physically seen the doctor.
After leaving the GP’s surgery, Louise had headed to her local library determined to research for herself what could be causing her hallucinations. What could a doctor really tell her that she couldn’t find out for herself through books and the internet? Without wanting to trivialise the years of training and academic studies that GP’s had to undertake, they were not specialists. They would have to perform tests, maybe refer her to a psychiatrist, ask her loads of questions relating to mental health, work/life balance, diet and God knew what else, and Louise would have to answer truthfully if she really wanted their help. She could just imagine the conversation:
Doc: ‘How many units of alcohol do you consume each week Ms Jackson?’
Louise: ‘Oh really, hardly any doctor! Probably two glasses of wine a week, what’s that? A unit or two?’
Liar, liar, pants on fire! Try a bottle a night…
Doc: ‘And what about sleep? Do you sleep well as a rule?’
Louise: ‘Oh like a baby. Always get my eight hours.’
More like four if you’re lucky.
Doc: ‘How about eating? You eating ok? Regular, healthy meals?’
Louise: ‘Yes doctor, of course. Plenty of fresh veg and fruit. I understand the importance of my five a day.’
Usually, left overs for breakfast, like pizza… well it has mushrooms on it, they’re veg aren’t they?
Doc: ‘Well Ms Jackson, there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong with you.’
Louise: ‘That’s great, sorry to have wasted your time.’
Louise had been at the library for just over an hour. After spending ten minutes trying to find the relevant book section, she had instead settled for a bit of internet research to get her started. The library was quiet with few people, and Louise found the peaceful atmosphere relaxing. She also knew that library protocol meant she shouldn’t answer the phone to Ben whilst within the premises, providing her with the perfect excuse to appease her conscience when she had to explain to him why she had been ignoring his calls.
So far her internet research had proved very interesting and somewhat alarming. As far as she could tell, she was either suffering from psychotic depression, had eaten something that had poisoned her, was developing Parkinson’s disease, was bi-polar or schizophrenic, had Hoigne syndrome, had taken narcotics, had epilepsy or was simply suffering from sleep deprivation. She liked the latter option best and it did kind of fit with her general lifestyle, she supposed.
Louise had always been a bad sleeper. From the age of thirteen she had suffered from night terrors, waking up in her dreams, her brain thinking she was awake although she was actually still asleep. The terrors would range from thinking she was being suffocated by paranormal forces, whilst feeling actual pressure on her chest as if she was being pinned down, to seeing white shadows at the foot of her bed and hovering above her.
The only commonality was that she could never turn on her bedside lamp despite her fingers jabbing furiously at the ‘on’ button, and she could never vocalise the screams that were desperately trying to escape her. And she always tried to scream for her mother to come and save her.
Steve had said that sometimes she would just thrash and thrash in the bed and that when he put his arms around her she would go limp, as if all the fight had suddenly drained out of her. He also said that sometimes she made gargling noises which were pretty horrific and had scared him shitless the first time he’d heard them as he’d thought she was choking.
The frequency of the terrors had diminished over the years, and now she didn’t experience them more often than maybe once or twice a year, but she still had nightmares or immensely vivid dreams almost every night. Louise had just come to accept them as part of her normal nightly routine, but she knew that her brain was staying far too active to be healthy. Could this really be the reason why she was having these visions?
She felt immensely relieved to read that this could well be the case. It would mean that she wasn’t a nutter like her mother, even though lunacy was supposed to be hereditary, at least in part. It would mean that she could sort the problem by herself without having to consult with the medical profession and have them judge her, test her, analyse her, treat her like an object to study and pick apart.
It also meant that she was not broken and therefore, did not need fixing with drugs or behavioural therapy. Louise felt like laughing. All she really needed was to stay off the booze, learn to chill out and perhaps pop the odd sleeping pill now and then.
Louise was smart enough to know that not everything you read on the internet was true, but when there appeared to be an over-arching consensus between sources, confirmed or not, you could pretty much guarantee that there would be at least some kernel of truth in what was being said.
With the sleep deprivation hypothesis firmly rooted in her mind, she disconnected from the library internet and headed towards the book shelves indicated on the screen for further research. She felt her bag buzz as her phone went off again. She knew it was Ben without even looking.
Just give me a few more minutes and I’ll be all yours Mr Matthews…. Now though, I have some reading to do.
************************************************
Sweat was dripping from Elizabeth’s brow, trickling down her forehead into her eyes. She quickly grabbed her gym towel and rubbed it over her face, not even breaking her stride as she continued to pound on the treadmill. She was seven kilometres in and only had three to go until her run was complete. She’d set the gradient to 1 so as to recreate the outdoor running experience and was running at a speed of ten kilometres an hour, not that fast but not bad for someone who had just finished a ten hour shift and had very little sleep the night before. This was her release; it was how she got out pent up anger and energy. It was her opportunity to gather her thoughts, process the day and settle her mind.
Today had been nuts. James Wilton, hot dog man, had come in to the station and given a statement, after giving her some bullshit excuse about not being able to make it in on Sunday because his dog was ill and he’d been trying to find a vet. Elizabeth had told him to cut the crap and concentrate on remembering Tuesday night.
She’d pushed him hard, testing his recall, trying to get as much detail as possible without making him feel pressured into giving her an answer which could have caused him to resort to false memory. The difficulties of eye witness testimony were well documented and Elizabeth had wanted to achieve best evidence.
An E-fit had been considered, but Mr Wilton’s recall of the suspect’s features wasn’t good enough and so the idea had been dropped. After all, an artist’s impression was only going to be as good as the detail provided by the witness.
Once Mr Wilton had gone, his statement had been copied and distributed amongst all the detectives on the team. They’d gone through it line by line looking for clues and avenues for exploration, brain storming and discussing theories.
During the evening briefing, as ideas and hypotheses were being bandied around, Elizabeth had told the team what she had read about female killers, including Mary Bell, and had suggested that some digging could be done around historical cases of serious sexual abuse against female children reported around twen
ty-five or thirty-five years ago.
She was working on the premise that killer’s usually stick to an area they are familiar with when committing their first murders and the notion that most serial killers are in their twenties or thirties when they start their murderous activities proper. She was also assuming that this was a serial killer in the making given the removal of a ‘trophy’ from the scene.
The anticipated torrent of arguments had ensued: there was no evidence this was a serial killer, but if the murderer was a serial killer, they couldn’t know for sure that this was the first murder and if that was the case they couldn’t say where the killer’s ‘comfort zone’ would be; without further details, any checks on child abuse cases would be futile as there would be no variables with which to wheedle out the ‘potentials’ from the ‘definitely-nots’. How could they try and guess an approximate age for the killer on which to run the checks?
Elizabeth had suggested that it still couldn’t do any harm to have a look to see if any of the girls in question were traceable, residents in the area, were known to police or had other details linked to their names. She would only look at those who had a date of birth that put them in the age range of twenty-five to thirty-five years of age and she could eliminate any victim that wasn’t white; James Wilton had noticed the killer’s skin colour from her hands.
DI Scott had supported her and said she could pursue that line of enquiry if she wished, but he didn’t want her wasting too much time on it, as per the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Elizabeth had been happy with this and had felt somewhat vindicated at having the DI’s support. She knew it would take her ages to get hold of and sift through the names; she suspected there would be hundreds, maybe even thousands, but what else did they really have to go on at the moment? And what harm could it do to obtain this information alongside other investigative avenues?
Then the conversation had turned to the bondage club seemingly frequented by David Saunders, The Garden. They’d performed the usual checks on the business, including a good old-fashioned internet trawl, and had discovered that the club opened at 11pm every night, except Sunday and Wednesday, and continued into the early hours.
According to the Garden’s website, some nights there would be guest performers and there was a diary of events. Every night of business club-goers could expect a ‘BDSM play area’, a comfortable, laid back atmosphere to be enjoyed with like-minded people and an array of alcohol from around the globe.
‘What does BDSM actually stand for?’ DC Matt Awcock, had asked.
‘It stands for Bondage, Domination and Sado-Masochism,’ DC Tony Jessop replied, ‘I only know that because I did a bit of research on bondage after this case began.’
‘Oh yeah? Sure you did!’ joked Elizabeth, ‘you look like a bondage freak to me. Reckon you’re wearing PVC underpants.’
The team had all laughed and cracked a few jokes at Tony’s expense.
‘Well, we do have to visit the club for a witness trawl. I don’t want us to go in heavy handed though, so I only want a few officers to actually go into the club. I think this would be a good assignment for Tony and Elizabeth, given that you both seem to know so much about the alternative lifestyle,’ DI Scott said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
‘What?’ the detectives had said in unison, Tony looking horrified.
‘I’ll do it guv, no problems. I’m always up for broadening my horizons.’ Elizabeth had said cheekily, once she had recovered from the shock, then to Tony ‘Don’t worry Tone, you can be my ‘plaything.’’
She lent in to him and gave his knee a squeeze. The team sniggered.
‘Good. The club doesn’t open until eleven as you know, so I’m going to dismiss you two now, go and chill out for a few hours, then come back here for ten thirty. Greg, Matt you two can come back as well. We’ll trawl the punters going in and out of the club. The rest of you, go home and get some quiet time. We’ll hand over any actions to you in the morning so I want you fresh.’ Robert declared, a plan of action clearly formulated in his mind.
‘Er, guv, one small thing,’ started DC Julian Bradshaw, who was still looking at the club’s website.
‘There is a really strict dress code. People in normal clothes, i.e. our two adventurous detectives, won’t get in unless they’re wearing something that is either ‘rubber, PVC or in keeping with the alternative lifestyle,’’ he read off the site.
‘No fucking way! I am not doing that,’ Tony stated, ‘I am not walking about in public dressed up like a bloody freak from the circus.’
‘That seems a bit close-minded Tony. Do you always judge people so superficially?’ Elizabeth asked challengingly.
‘I don’t care what you say about diversity and ‘alternative lifestyles’, this is not something I believe in or understand or want to be involved in in any shape or form.’
Robert intervened: ‘No one expects you to go in dressed like the regular clientele and Elizabeth was just teasing I am sure. Just badge it and explain what you’re doing to the manager or whoever is in charge. I’m not going to force you Tony, but I do need two detectives to go into the club and trawl for witnesses. Who’s up for it?’
‘Guv, I’ve already said I’ll do it,’ Elizabeth replied, slightly surprised by Tony’s strong reaction.
‘Thanks Elizabeth, who else?’
‘Count me in Guv. I don’t mind, I’m not easily offended and actually find all this quite interesting. It‘ll be something to tell the wife!’ Julian Bradshaw, or JB as he was usually known, declared, ‘besides, I would be more than happy to accompany the delightful Elizabeth,’ he smiled at her and she blew him a kiss.
‘Great, that’s all sorted then. Greg and Matt can witness trawl outside the club with me… Actually Tony, you can come on that too if that doesn’t offend your sensibilities?’ Robert asked, a little annoyed at the detective’s recalcitrance.
‘Fine,’ Tony said sullenly.
‘Ok sorted. In that case go off and do whatever it is you’ve got to do. Elizabeth, JB, Greg, Matt and Tony, back here for 22:30hrs please. The rest of you, have a good evening.’ Robert had concluded the debrief.
It was now 18:30hrs. Elizabeth only had one kilometre to go until her run was complete. She glanced down at the treadmill’s console and noticed that her work phone which was balanced on it in front of her was ringing. She hit the stop button on the machine, tugged her headphones out of her ears and answered the device. She suspected it was probably JB wanting to discuss their evening assignment, but it wasn‘t; it was DI Scott. He sounded irate.
‘Elizabeth, I need you to come in ASAP. We’ve got another body and it looks like it’s our bondage killer’s handy work.’
He’d barked out the address to her, which she had committed to memory, and then hung up.
Holy shit, another one.
Elizabeth dashed off the treadmill and bolted into the changing room, ignoring the wobbliness in her legs. She knew she didn’t have time to shower, so in less than five minutes she was out of the gym and running to the tube, heart pounding and mind racing. This, she knew, was bad news. Two murders so close together, if they didn’t catch this killer soon, Elizabeth knew there would be more bodies. It was only a matter of when.
************************************************
‘I come baring gifts!’ Louise said to Ben as he opened his front door to let her in. She was holding two shopping bags containing dinner and wine.
After eventually leaving the library, Louise had finally returned Ben’s calls and asked if she could come round to see him in the evening. As a sweetener, and a virtual guarantee that he wouldn’t say no, she’d told him she would prepare dinner and bring suitable refreshments.
Ben had of course agreed. After the day he’d had, he could really use some friendly company, he’d said, adding that he also wanted to know how she’d got on at the doctor’s. Louise had stayed quiet on this subject whilst on the phone; she still wasn’t quite sure what she was
going to say to him about that.
‘Hello you,’ Ben said, adding, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see your smiling face.’
He put his arms around her and hugged her to him, Louise’s arms stretched out to the sides as she tried to hold onto the shopping bags whilst being subjected to Ben’s bear hug.
‘Ah Ben, you missed me, huh?’ Louise replied into his chest, thinking to herself how strong he felt and how surprisingly comfortable she was in his grip. She was disconcerted by the feeling and broke free from his grasp, slipping past him into the hall way. He closed the door behind them and followed her into the kitchen.
Neither Louise nor Ben had noticed the black car parked a short distance away, or the occupant sitting in it, observing them from the shadows.
Chap XIX
Elizabeth made it to the crime scene in good time, arriving simultaneously with the scenes of crime officers. She gave them a quick wave, noting that once again Becca was on shift. This would be nice for her, she mused, two crime scenes relating to the same killer. Several uniformed officers were standing at the entrance to the block of flats, taking details from residents as they came and went, and Elizabeth could make out at least three marked police vans parked in the vicinity.
She approached the officers and flashed her warrant card, identifying herself to them. The officers looked at her somewhat quizzically, noting that she was red-faced and sweating but Elizabeth wasn’t bothered and didn‘t feel inclined to give an explanation; she was used to people looking at her strangely.
She hadn’t exactly been popular at school; too many brains and too many looks her mother had said. She’d always had an athletic build, was never able to gain weight and had always far surpassed her peers in intellect. unfortunately, her fellow pupils had not admired these qualities but had resented them; Elizabeth had been a threat and had subsequently been bullied for pretty much all of her school life. Quizzical looks were, therefore, nothing to her.
Sweet Oblivion Page 14
