by CM Thompson
Madison Albrook finds she has the day off because of a girl she has never heard of. She decides to use the time wisely and effectively. She isn’t going to do her coursework or the small mound of washing that now covers most of her floor. Instead she is going to do something she has been putting off for a while now. Something she has wanted to do since she came to university and got away from her mother’s hawk eyes. She is going to get her clitoris pierced. She thinks it will make an amazing story to frighten her grandchildren with one day. Also it will scare the beeswax out of Mrs Chalmers, the old lady in the flat below, the lady who opens her door every time Madison leaves her flat. Always to ask Madison, “What are you doing to protect yourself from this monster? You must take more care my dear. Would you like me to get Augustus to escort you?”
Madison knows that this is all a pretence. Mrs Chalmers’s thirty year old son Augustus has a crush on her, and he has made the ultimate mistake of admitting so to his mother. Now the old bat just won’t stop trying to push them together, refusing to believe that Madison does not want to go out with a man ten years older, a man who stinks of sweat and cat pee.
Gleefully she tells Mrs Chalmers exactly where she is going and hopes the look of disgust she receives means Mrs Chalmers will stop trying to hook her up with her darling Augustus. It is turning out to be a good day, despite that girl’s death.
She is excited, she is going to do something daring! Something her mother would forbid. She smiles to herself, something that could be easily undone if she doesn’t like it. Unfortunately the only people who get to see her brand new piercing are the overworked coroner and his assistants. They are only a little shocked, however they have seen worse.
November 11th 3.05 pm
Madison Albrook’s body is found, face down in a sea of blood red memorial poppies. She lies dead centre in the display. This image will scream across the front page of every newspaper the following day. What doesn’t make the papers is the number 36 felt-tipped across her right hand.
Fletcher had gone home at two am, after well over an hour spent talking to Frank, Izz’s boyfriend. Or rather, trying to talk to him. For a long time it was impossible to even get through to him. Fletcher suspected the man would return to drinking as soon as they left.
Fletcher had wearily hit the bed, closed his eyes and slept until a piercing shrill shook through him, breaking through the exhausted sleep. His eyes slowly opened, his mind unable to grasp that buzzing sound, the insistent squeal, echoing. His hand clumsily reaches out, banging down hard on the snooze button. But it isn’t the alarm clock. Finally he realises it is the phone and that he has overslept, really overslept.
“Hello?”
“We need you in, there has been another one.”
“I’ll be thirty minutes.”
Bullface hangs up without even as a much as a goodbye.
Fletcher quickly showers, pulling on his favourite green jumper. He likes the way he looks in this green jumper, to him it said ‘yes, I am an officer, I am looking pretty sharp but you can still trust me!’ He admires the way it fits over and hides the slight puffs of his abdomen, it is a good jumper he decides. Even its familiar sweet smell of laundry detergent and cookies comforts him. Everyone who sees him today, won’t be able to take their eyes off the green offender, wondering what had possessed the man to buy such an ugly jumper. Fletcher tries to keep his thoughts and feelings focused completely on the jumper, trying hard not to think. Where is Claire? Is it her this time? No, no Bullface would have told him, then again she might not know. No no, Claire would be at work, there is no reason it could be her. There is every reason it could be her. Fletcher’s fingers hover anxiously on his mobile, there is no harm in just checking right? Under the pretence of telling her he will be late home again. Depression slinks in, the green jumper just isn’t as comforting as it used to be.
Florescent lights glare accusingly above Bullface. The room is silent apart from the chorus of office sounds breaking through when someone softly opens the door and solemnly takes a seat. Bullface does not turn around to meet them nor even acknowledges them. Instead she continues to write on the board in front on them. Neatly, carefully printing every damned word. The computer next to her projects a screen-saver on the awaiting screen.
2- Jane Doe 217 (Deceased between two to five years)
Age 17-25 (estimated)
Trauma to the left hand
C.O.D - Unknown
22- Fran Lizzie Taylor (March 9th)
Age 22 (and 22 days)
Number inflicted on left hand
C.O.D – Throat cut
Number Not Known – Adelina Sasha (August 21st)
Age 38
Trauma to the left hand
C.O.D- Throat cut
Trauma inflicted to face, stomach and arms
28- Stella McQam (August 24th)
Age 37
Number inflicted on right hand
C.O.D – Stab to the heart
30- Shannon Leona (August 30th)
Age 29
Number inflicted on left hand.
C.O.D – Exsanguination
Trauma inflicted across the body
Here her writing becomes heavy, she presses down so sharply on her marker pen, willing it to break in her hand. Creating a squeak that makes the other members in the room look up sharply.
34- Isobel Hilarie (November 11th)
Age 19
Number inflicted on left hand
C.O.D – Throat cut
36 – Madison Albrook (November 11th)
Age 20
Number drawn on right hand
C.O.D – Throat cut
“Shall we begin?” She asks quietly to the assembled room, checking for any missing or unwelcome faces. But where to begin? All of the assembled have been briefed before, everything she knows about the first few deaths, they already know. But now they have two more. Start from the beginning, she tells herself, but what was the beginning?
“This morning, the body of Isobel Hilarie was found. She had been dumped on a quiet street.” She clicks the computer, projecting the image onto the screen. The assembled detectives see a young girl with dyed purple hair, lying down on the grey pavement, haloed in red. Despite the cold weather she is wearing a short purple top and a bright blue skirt. The multi-coloured drawings can clearly be seen on her revealed skin.
“The drawings are self-inflicted.” Bullface says, knowing that someone is about to ask. “High levels of alcohol were found in her blood. The victim’s boyfriend said she had left to buy food, the cashier confirmed seeing her at ten forty nine p.m., which is ten minutes before that store closed. The area she was found in was on her route home.” She pauses, allowing the officers time to scribble down the details. “This was not a usual pattern for her, the assailant may not have been targeting her specifically. It is possible he noticed her going into the store and then waited for her to come out.”
“Do you think he was waiting in that particular area?”
“It is possible. We don’t know anything for certain at the moment. I have two officers going through the CCTV footage for both attacks. See if anyone was caught waiting around or for matches to the footage from the other attacks. Madison Albrook was killed and placed in a very busy area, there is a high chance that he has been caught on camera.”
Murmurs drift across the room.
Bullface waits, glaring at them to be quiet.
“Who found Isobel Hilarie?”
“Someone called in from a nearby pay phone. I have the message here.” With the image of the fallen Isobel still on the screen, she presses play and the message blares through.
“999, What’s your emergency?”
Silence.
“Caller? What’s your emergency?”
“There’s a girl lying on the pavement. I think she is hurt.” The voice is calm. Barely above a whisper. The line is crackly, making the voice barely audible.
“Is she bleeding?” The caller ID has picke
d up the area, Dispatch is already issuing an unneeded ambulance and squad car.
“Yes.”
“Is she still breathing?”
End of recording, silence in the conference room.
“The victim was lying in full view of the phone box.” Bullface explains quickly. “Dispatch sent an ambulance to the telephone’s location, that’s when they found Isobel. I have had an investigation team process the pay phone. She was still warm when they found her. Coroner estimates that he called as she was dying.”
“That’s a little sloppy.”
The glares force the speaker to elaborate.
“The ambulance may have been able to revive her.”
“It could be more of a taunt than being careless.”
Bullface decides it is best to ignore them and continue with the briefing.
“Madison Albrook is different.” She loads the next image on screen. The photo of the twenty year old criminology student is an artistic print in a sick way, the photo has captured Madison surrounded by a sea of memorial poppies. Face down so no-one can see the ugly slit across her neck. Her light blonde hair obscures her face completely. Madison had been wearing dark black jeans and a dark grey sweater, contrasting harshly with the sickening bright poppies.
“As you can see, she was dumped in the middle of Westgate’s Park’s Memorial Gardens. Her throat was cut in a similar fashion to Isobel Hilarie, Adelina Sasha and Fran Taylor. But as you can see here, her number was not cut into her hand. Instead the killer used a felt tip marker. Now,” Bullface hurries before anyone can get a question in. “There are a number of possibilities. This is a busy park, even in November, particularly because it was Remembrance Day. Madison was found within an estimated ten minutes of her death. There is a possibility he switched to felt tip for this kill because he knew he would not have the time to carve the number in. This would mean that this murder was premeditated, he had chosen the park and waited for the right victim. Other possibilities include the most obvious, that this is a copycat, although the mutilations on the previous murders were not released to the press officially, perhaps word has leaked.” Bullface feels tired, very tired, her face a heavy mass of worry and anger. She didn’t go to bed until three am and her husband accidentally woke her at seven. Bullface is fighting the urge to drop, drop right there in the conference room, or to yell at one of the less senior officers present, ‘You, you have disrespected me since you arrived here, how about you do my job for a while. Huh? See how well you can do this.’ She swallows quickly, trying to bury the tension before continuing in her dry dull tone.
“However the number inflicted on Madison Albrook continues in the sequence, if this was a copycat, it would have had to have been a lucky guess to get the number right. Or one of our earlier theories included a possibility that the assailant has a partner due to the inconsistency in the kills, the difference between Madison’s and Isobel’s death could also imply this.”
“What kind of inconsistencies?”
Bullface hated when they didn’t do the pre-reading.
“As you can see from this,” Bullface gestures to the written board. “Stella McQam’s number was carved in to the right hand, so was Madison Albrook, whereas all the other victims had their numbers carved into the left hand. This could indicate a second killer if this is deliberate. Stella McQam was stabbed in the heart whereas the other victims had their throats cut.”
Bullface hates herself right here, for just being able to talk about the victims in such a way. She doesn’t see them as humans anymore, they are just victims.
“I know we are tip-toeing around Shannon Leona’s death but …” It almost seems like a crime to say Shannon Leona’s name out loud. No one wants her to be called a victim. “Both Shannon and Adelina had been stabbed repeatedly whereas the other victims were unmarked. This indicates that the killer went into a frenzy with these two women but not the other victims. Maybe an individual factor about these particular victims prompted this or maybe it was because with the other victims he … they had less time.”
“So you think there could be two of them?”
“Right now, there is no evidence to suggest there is just one killer or that there are two or even three killers. We need to consider all possibilities.”
“Have you researched into the victimology?”
“So far we cannot find a connection between the victims, they all vary in appearance, age, profession and hobbies. His youngest victim was nineteen, his oldest has been thirty-eight. None of them shared similar facial structures, hair styles or colours.”
Bullface has the victim’s profile pictures on screen now, flipping through them slowly. First comes the artist’s facial reconstruction of Jane Doe 217, then a blurred close up of Jane Doe’s face, taken from the only photo they had. Jane Doe had long black hair and evident bruising across her face. Then the picture of Fran Lizzie, a young girl with short brown hair and big green earrings. Then the older Adelina Sasha, still a striking face with long brown hair and green eyes. Stella McQam scowled at the room, from a photograph taken by the police, an ugly figure with false dyed blonde hair and sharp cheekbones. A flash of ginger hair as Bullface quickly shows Shannon Leona’s face to the flinching officers. Isobel is a smiling crazed contrast, pulling a face into the camera. Then the serious face of Madison Albrook stalks into view, the picture had been taken of her studying, glancing down at a book through thick glasses.
“Visibly, these women have nothing in common, both Shannon and Madison wore glasses, Fran Lizzie wore contacts. The victims Jane Doe and Adelina Sasha show that he is not sticking to one race either. All these victims had different jobs, Fran Taylor worked as a sales assistant, Adelina Sasha was an office clerk, Stella McQam was a prostitute, Shannon Leona …” Her voice drops slightly. “Isobel Hilarie was a first year art student and Madison Albrook was a second year criminology student. Though they studied at the same university, so far they appear to have no other connecting factors. The assailant may not have even known that they were students. None of the victims lived in similar areas or were members of the clubs or societies. The only thing that these victims have in common is that they are all female. I would also like to mention here, that so far every single one of these victims have had the contents of their purses taken. Since the credit cards have not been used, I believe he is taking these items as trophies. It is possible that when we arrest the assailant that he may have these items in his house or nearby. He has also taken photos of a least one of his kills, maybe more. Anyone searching a house of a suspect should look for these items.
“I think we are looking at an assailant or assailants who kill when the opportunity arises. They don’t pick a victim but rather they pick a location, the dump sites have been mostly isolated areas implying the assailant has knowledge of the area. These victims were just in the wrong place at this time.”
She pauses, taking a sip of water, allowing a brief moment for questions. The officers continue to scribble furiously at their notes, no one so far is challenging her. She wants to be challenged, she wants a chance to strike.
“The other factor that ties these victims together is that they have all had a number engraved or written on their hand. The most likely conclusion is that the assailant is numbering each of his victims, but then that would also imply that in the space of one day he has killed at least three more victims. Since Isobel Hilarie was number thirty-four and Madison Albrook was number thirty-six, it could imply that there is also a number thirty-five out there. Since victim number twenty-two Fran Taylor was killed in March, it would also imply that in a space of nine months, twelve victims have been claimed and we have only found six.”
“Twelve victims in nine months?”
“It is not that unbelievable. Steve Wright, the Ipswich killer killed five women in three months. Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer was suspected of killing over ninety victims in sixteen years. Ted Bundy was suspected of killing over thirty-five victims in four years. John W
ayne Gacy was convicted of killing thirty-three men in six years. Jack the Ripper is suspected of killing eight prostitutes in under a year and may have continued operating without our knowledge. Richard Chase killed six victims in under a year. Harold Shipman killed over two hundred victims in twenty-three years.
“If he was working with a partner then maybe that would be a little more credible, but we can’t underestimate this assailant,” She pauses, not wanting to say this. “He was able to lure away a special constable, in an area surrounded by our volunteers with no one noticing.”
There is a hiss of displeasure, more heads bow down not wanting to meet Bullface’s eyes.
She continues. “We may not be looking at twelve victims or thirty-six victims but we cannot assume otherwise. Serial killers don’t stick to rules or regulations. They are driven by something that not one of us can comprehend. It is possible that he has increased his kills and that he has now killed thirty-six victims but then it is still possible that he is using some kind of code and there have only been six victims so far. Without any other evidence, we cannot assume anything or underestimate just what he is capable of.
What we do know is that he has killed two victims in less than 48 hours before, as Adelina Sasha was killed on August the 21st and Stella McQam on the 24th, now he has killed two victims in less than twenty-four hours. Something is making him speed up. These kills are well planned and well executed so it unlikely that he is devolving. I think we can expect for him to continue at this pace and he won’t stop until he is caught.”
Chapter Seven
“There’s something you should see.” Fletcher stands over Bullface’s near-pristine desk. He had given her ten minutes after the meeting to breathe before daring to venture over. He knows the meeting had not gone spectacularly well, he could tell by the downcast pessimistic faces that had followed her out. Bullface, well she is called Bullface for a reason, her face is always impassive and stony but Fletcher knows the truth. At least he thinks he knows the truth, Bullface will never be one for a heart to heart chat.
