by Amy Cross
“Alright,” Stuart continued, “maybe not a thousand, but a lot. There were cuts all over her where someone had stuck a knife into her body.”
“Did they find the knife?” Oliver asked, turning back to him.
“Nope. It’s still out there somewhere, so someone could still use it on you!”
“Shut up!”
“She’d lost most of her blood,” he continued. “I heard Mum telling Dad that they had to take all the black bags out of the bin, and then they had to tip the whole thing over and pour the blood into a bucket. That’s how much had leaked out of her through all the knife cuts. They had to empty the bucket, like, loads of times.”
¨How many?” Lucy asked.
“I dunno. Ten?”
“That’s gross,” Oliver replied, looking a little paler than before.
“Her eyes had been gouged out, too,” Stuart added, using his right hand to mime the action. “Like, someone had put a knife into them and then slowly turned it, and then tilted it and used the tip to lift her eyes out, and then he’d used scissors to cut the optic nerve and he’d thrown the eyeballs into the bottom of the bin, and then he’d scraped out the sockets to make sure there were no more bits of her eyes left. I don’t know why he’d done that, but he had, and then he’d cut out her tongue.”
“No way!” Oliver said, clearly shocked.
“Yes way,” Stuart continued, “and he’d tossed that too, and then he’d cut off her nose and her ears and put them in her mouth.” He turned and saw that Lucy was staring with rapt attention. She was barely blinking, and her mouth was hanging open. “He took her nails off, too, on her fingers and her toes.”
He waited for Lucy to react, before turning back to Oliver.
“He’d also taken off all her clothes,” he added, “and done some really bad things to her. Mum told Dad that the killer had taken a broken beer glass, and he’d got the sharpest bit he could find, and he’d -”
Suddenly Oliver leaned forward and threw up, splattering the sand with vomit.
“Loser!” Stuart shouted, as he and Lucy stepped back to avoid getting splashed. “I know you’d do that!”
“Shut up!” Oliver replied, wiping his mouth before retching and then throwing up again, although this time it was mostly liquid. “You’re sick! I’m gonna tell Mum and Dad all the things you said!” He turned to Lucy. “And I’m gonna tell your Mum too, and she’ll be really mad at you!”
She paused for a moment, before turning back to Stuart. “What did he do with the broken glass?” she asked finally.
***
“Here,” Jack said, placing another cup of coffee on the kitchen table, in front of Jane. “Drink this.”
“Thanks,” she replied, forcing a smile as she waited for him to sit down. “I’m fine, I swear.”
“You’re not fine,” he said firmly. “Jesus Christ, Jane, you had to pull a dead body out of a bin, there’s no way you can be fine.”
“Isn’t there?”
“You’re in shock,” he added. “You’re probably not capable of processing everything right now. You need to take a few days of work so you can deal with what you’ve seen.”
She shook her head.
“Jane -”
“I can’t leave Alex in the lurch like that,” she replied, straining to remain patient. “He needs me. He’s there right now, I only came home to get some food. I’m going back in an hour.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“Jane, you have to look after yourself!”
“Let her get on with things,” Beth said suddenly, before taking a sip of coffee as she sat on the other side of the table. “For God’s sake, Jack, stop telling the poor woman how she should feel. You care, we get it, I’m sure Jane appreciates the fact that you’re being all touchy-feely and caring for once in your goddamn life. You’ve shown that, now back off and let her get on with her job.”
“Thanks for the sisterly advice,” he said dourly. “I’m just trying to be emotionally supportive for my wife.”
“Beth’s right,” Jane continued, reaching over and putting a hand on Jack’s arm. “Thank you for your concern, honey, but I can deal with this just fine. It’s not the first dead body I’ve ever seen. I can’t just be a cop when everything’s rosy and sunny. This is part of what I signed up for too.”
“Yeah, but -”
“And it won’t be the last body I ever see,” she added. “Probably not, anyway. I mean, yeah, I’m a little shaken, but I’ll push through it. One thing I certainly won’t be doing, however, is letting Alex down. Or Mel. She’s on a cold slab somewhere, and she deserves justice.” She took a sip of coffee. “I have a job to do.”
Sighing, Jack looked out the window and saw the children playing in the garden. He frowned as he watched Stuart making what appeared to be stabbing motions against Lucy’s belly.
“Imagine if this had happened a week later,” Beth said suddenly.
Jack turned to her.
“Or if Ben had come a week earlier,” she added.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Well,” she continued, “imagine it. The whole thing would’ve fed right into…” She paused. “Well, you know, the thing with Ben. You’d have got your knickers in a twist about it all, running around asking everyone if they thought there was a connection while trying to plant the seed in their heads. At least this way, with him not arriving ‘til Monday, we know we don’t have to get into any of that bullshit. Hell, it’s kind of a relief in a sense.”
“Do you really think that’s what I’d do?”
“Blatantly.” She turned to Jane. “Back in the real world, do you have any suspects yet?”
“We’re waiting on forensic reports,” she replied. “Alex is leaning toward the idea of a drifter, someone who came to town for the night, killed Mel, and then left, even though -” She caught herself just in time.
“Even though what?” Beth asked.
“I can’t say. There are some things that can’t be made public yet.”
“About her injures?”
Jane nodded.
“Any sign of a robbery at the bar?” Jack asked.
She shook her head.
“Any sign of a sexual angle?” he added.
“Not so far, but we’ll know for certain tonight.”
“And Greg didn’t see anything?”
“He just turned up this morning and went to open the place as usual. He said he found the back door unlocked, which was unusual, and then he realized Mel hadn’t finished taking out the trash. He went to dump the last bag, and that’s when he found her. He called it in as soon as he’d finished throwing up.”
“And what time was that?”
“Jesus,” Beth muttered, “Jack, do you have to switch into journalist mood so goddamn fast?”
“I need to know what I can print in tomorrow’s paper and what I can’t,” he pointed out, before turning back to Jane. “I need you to tell me what parts of this can be out into the public domain.”
“Everything I’ve told you so far is fair game,” she replied, taking another sip of coffee. “I’ve already left out the things that can’t become public knowledge yet.”
“You -” He paused, seemingly a little put out. “You’ve been filtering what you’re telling me?”
She nodded.
“So what else is there?”
After taking another sip of coffee, she got to her feet. “Rules are rules,” she replied, patting him on the back as she headed to the door. “I need to shower and get changed, so could you stick something on for dinner? Anything’s fine, even if it’s just beans. I don’t have time to wait for takeout to arrive.”
“What haven’t you told us?” he asked, turning and watching as she headed to the bathroom. “Jane? Come on, seriously? What else do you know?” Hearing a sniff from Beth’s direction, he turned and saw she was grinning as she sipped from her coffee. “Something funny?”
“Yeah
,” she replied. “You, big brother.”
“Care to tell me why?”
“You’re so desperate for her to fall apart, aren’t you?” she continued.
“I’m just worried about my wife. She’s seen something pretty horrific today. It has to have affected her.”
“Oh, it has to,” she muttered, taking another sip of coffee. She paused for a moment, as if she had something on her mind but wasn’t sure about speaking out. “Do you want to know something awful?” she asked finally.
“Not really.”
“I mean really, really awful?” She paused again. “Something that might make you think I’m a terrible person?”
“I already think you’re a terrible person, Beth,” he replied. “Out with it.”
“It’s just -” She glanced at the door, as if she wanted to make sure that Jane couldn’t overhear, before turning back to him. “When I heard about that woman’s body being found today, one of my first thoughts was a kind of relief. You know, that even though it’s horrible and I feel really bad for her, at least it proves… Well, you know what it proves.”
He stared at her. “What does it prove?”
“About Ben.”
“What about Ben?”
“That you’ve been wrong all this time. That he doesn’t have anything to do with the bad things that happen.” She waited for him to reply. “Think about it, Jack. Finally something bad has happened when Ben isn’t in town. End of story, right? I mean, Jesus, you’re the one who had all the wild theories.” She sighed. “I always knew you were wrong, I knew, deep down, that even though Ben’s a little odd, he’s not…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “This proves it. Ben’s just a weird guy. He’s not some kind of monster serial killer.”
Hearing the children playing outside, Jack glanced at the window.
“You accept that now, right?” Beth asked. “You have to. I mean, hell, I just feel bad that I let you persuade me. Not that you did persuade me, not totally, but you got me doubting Ben sometimes. At least that part of it is all over. At least when Ben comes this time, we both know that he’s not dangerous. That’s a relief, right?”
Again, she waited for a reply.
“Right, Jack?”
He paused for a moment, before getting to his feet. “I have to fix dinner.”
***
“Eggs are good,” the stranger muttered as he used the back of his fork to break the yolks. “God, after a hard night, all you need are a few good eggs.”
Smiling, he glanced over at the counter and saw that the waitress had noticed him talking to himself.
“Rough night,” he explained.
She nodded, before heading through to the back. She’d been acting a little awkward ever since he’d walked in, but he was used to that. He knew he had a tendency to put people off their stride.
“Rough old night,” he continued, as he started to cut into the bread. “Rough as a can of -”
Hearing the door open, he glanced over just in time to see a young woman stepping into the diner. In her early twenties, she seemed a little lost and vacant, although her haunted expression hinted at something deeper. Unable to take his eyes off her, the stranger watched as she made her way to the counter and placed an order, and he couldn’t help but notice the thick bundle of cash she quickly rifled through as she headed over to take a seat in the corner.
“You wanna sit with me?” he asked.
No reply. She was clearly lost in a world of her own, too intent on counting her money to even notice that he was trying to get her attention. For a moment, he simply watched her, struck by the contrast between her businesslike way of handling the notes and the fact that her hands seemed to be trembling. A few seconds later, she cursed under her breath and started counting again, and then the same thing happened not long after, as if she was having trouble concentrating.
“Hey,” he said, waving at her, “you okay over there?”
She glanced at him, and for a moment she seemed a little defensive, almost as if she was startled that anyone had noticed her.
“Sorry,” the stranger continued, “I didn’t mean to pry, I just…” He paused, watching as she stuffed the money back into her bag. “It’s just a little quiet in here, don’t you think? I can actually hear myself think for once, which isn’t much fun, I can tell you. The stuff I’m thinking is… Well, it’s not particularly fascinating. I never knew I was such a boring fucker.”
“I’m fine,” she said quietly, before setting her bag on her knees and starting to root through the contents.
“You should get a note-counter,” he added.
She glanced at him.
“You know, a money counter? Like they have in banks. One of those’d whip through a little stack on notes in no time.”
No reply.
“Just a suggestion,” he told her. “I thought I’d be helpful, that’s all.”
Without saying another word, she looked back down into her bag. After a moment, it became clear that she was trying once again to count the money, this time while keeping it out of sight.
“Can I ask you something?” the stranger continued, leaning so far back on his chair that it seemed in danger of tipping over. “Serious question. Do you know where the action is around here? ‘Cause I went to the only bar in town last night, the Monument, and it was dead as all hell. Like, there was only one other guy in there, and trust me, he wasn’t in the mood for talking. Seemed to have a rod up his ass, actually, about this dead chick from a few years back. So is there some place that I don’t know about? You know, somewhere all the interesting and cool people hang out?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied, taking her phone from her bag and checking for messages.
“Huh,” he continued, “so there’s no like… underground clubs in town?”
She turned to him.
“Somewhere interesting,” he added. “I don’t care if it’s edgy or modern, or old-fashioned, or full of posers, or real grubby, or what kind of music they play, I don’t care about any of that, all I ask is that it’s interesting in some capacity. I mean, the bar on the town square is fine enough, I guess, if that’s what you’re looking for, but sometimes a guy wants something more… Yeah, more interesting.” He waited for her to reply. “Then again, maybe this is the wrong kind of town for interesting nights. Maybe I’m flat out of luck.”
“Maybe,” she replied, before looking back down at her phone. She clearly didn’t want to talk, as she tapped away at the screen and carefully avoided looking back at him.
“You’re bleeding,” the stranger said suddenly.
“What?”
“Your leg.” He pointed down, to where a trickle of blood had run from under her trouser-leg, onto her ankle, and over her sandals until it reached the floor. “Sorry, you just… You didn’t seem to have noticed, but you’re definitely bleeding.”
“Katie!” the waitress called out. “Food’s up!”
“Thanks,” Katie replied, getting to her feet and hurrying to the counter. Once she’d placed her food on her table, she turned to the stranger as if she was about to say something, and then she paused for a moment before heading through to the bathroom.
“Huh,” he muttered, turning back to look at his food, and then glancing out the window at the town square, where people were already out and about in the crisp morning air. “Well this place doesn’t change much, does it? No matter how much of a chance you give it.”
VII
“That’s not what I meant,” Jack replied, following Jane into the driveway as she headed back to the car. “I just thought you might want to talk about it a little more.”
“I don’t have time,” she said, opening the door before turning and quickly kissing him on the cheek. “Sorry honey, this might be an all-nighter, I can’t let Alex deal with it all by himself, not when it hits so close to home. You know what he’s like when anything to do with Caitlin Somers comes up, he takes it very personally. Thanks for making dinner, thou
gh. Those were some damn good pancakes.”
“You need to slow down or you’re gonna crash,” he told her as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re pushing yourself way too hard.”
“I’m pushing myself just the right amount, thanks,” she replied, pulling the door shut and, a moment later, starting the engine. She waved at him as she reversed onto the street, and then she drove away, heading back to the police station.
“Great,” Jack muttered, turning and making his way back inside. “Once again, I’m gonna have to pick up the pieces when everything goes to hell.”
***
“There were fourteen separate knife wounds,” Doctor Tomlin explained as he made his way around the table, where Mel’s naked body lay following the autopsy. “Five in the head and neck, four in the upper torso, and five in the belly and groin areas.”
Staring down at the corpse, Alex couldn’t help but look at the thick Y-shaped cut on the dead woman’s chest, left behind after the autopsy. He’d seen plenty of bodies in the course of his career, but somehow the younger ones were always the worst, and at just twenty-six years of age, Mel Armitage was the second youngest he’d ever witnessed. Only Caitlin Somers had been younger, all those years ago, and he still saw her dead body every time he closed his eyes. Sometimes, even when his eyes were open.
“Have you had any…” He paused, before turning to Tomlin. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what he was about to ask. “Uh…”
“Any what?”
“Any…” Still struggling, he tried to think of something, anything he could ask. These blank moments had been happening more frequently over the past few months, and he was still learning to cover them up. “Have you had any luck identifying the weapon?”
“It was a knife with a serrated edge,” the doctor replied, as Jane hurried through from the next room. “Based on the size of the entry wounds, I’d say around five inches long, maybe the kind of thing you’d use for hunting. The attack was quite frantic, some of the wounds have tear marks from where the killer hurried to pull the knife out again and it got snagged on her skin. I imagine he broke a sweat, at least.” Reaching down with a latex-gloved hand, he slipped a fingertip into one of the knife wounds on Mel’s belly. “See? More of a tear. Our guy obviously isn’t a surgeon.”
