by Tim Ellis
‘Rebecca and Andrew?’
‘Yes.’
‘Andrew’s dead, you know?’
‘Yes, we know.’
‘Who are you?’
‘We’re part of the legal team who are constructing Rebecca’s defence.’
‘Defence! How does that work? I didn’t know there was a defence for killing someone . . .’ He squinted. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better come in then.’ He moved back along the hallway shielding his eyes from the light. ‘Come inside quickly and shut the door. Don’t let too much fresh air in – it makes me ill. I’m allergic to fresh air. And excuse the smell, the darkness, the litter and anything else that doesn’t meet with society’s norms – I’m a gamer.’
‘A gamer!’ Joe said. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ve heard of people like you, but I never thought I’d meet a real gamer in person – you’re an urban legend.’
‘Maybe, but there are sacrifices you have to make to reach legendary status. Fresh air and light are only two of them. There’s also real food. I can’t remember the last time I had anything other than a home delivery in a bag, box or carton. And relationships . . . Oh man! Relationships are the worst. She doesn’t understand that I can’t talk, interact and have sex like normal guys. I’m not interested in visiting places of interest, going out with friends, showering, sleeping . . .’ Yeah man! Sacrifices have to be made. So, why are you here did you say? I only ask, because I’m on PAUSE at a crucial part of saving humanity from the faceless aliens in BATTLEFIELD EARTH.’
‘Rebecca and Andrew,’ Joe reminded him.
‘Weird! Hey! If you want a drink or something you’ll have to find the kitchen yourself . . . I don’t know where it is anymore. The last time I tried to find it, I ended up in a strange place and slept for four days straight. Of course, Andrew’s dead now, you know? Yeah, I didn’t see much of them . . . Well, I don’t see much of anyone really. Bovine comes in to annoy me sometimes . . . Bovine’s my girlfriend.’ He let out a wild laugh. ‘She doesn’t know I call her Bovine because I think she’s a cow . . .’
‘Good one, man,’ Joe said.
‘I like to think so.’
‘Can you tell us anything about Rebecca and Andrew?’
He rubbed his chin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. ‘Mmmm! Let’s see . . . No.’
‘Did you ever see them arguing and fighting?’
He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I did. I heard ‘em though.’
‘Go on?’
‘Helluva racket! I’m trying to cheat my way out of the dungeons in SORCERY 52 . . . You do know there’s no way out of those dungeons, don’t you?’
‘I had heard.’
‘Well, I found a way, man. There’s a cheat code . . . Anyway, I had to PAUSE. I mean, it’s not something you want to do when those hybrid trolls are chasing you, but I didn’t have any other choice.’
‘What was the noise about?’
‘That Rebecca had a voice on her.’
‘What was she saying?’
‘She wasn’t saying anything – she was shouting it. I got the feeling she’d come home and caught him in flagranti delicto . . . You do know what that means, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ Jerry said.
He licked his lips. ‘Yeah, I can imagine you would.’
‘Keep going,’ Joe pressed.
‘Well, she threw his things out of the window – shirts, pants, boxers, socks, porn mag’s . . . ‘Cause I was on PAUSE I could hear things hitting the pavement outside. I thought it might be hailstones or frogs maybe, so I looked through a crack in the curtains. Nope, it was his shit spread all over the sidewalk. I felt sorry for the guy. I mean, Andrew was a decent sort. Next thing was, Andrew was out there begging her to let him back in. I had to laugh though. Rebecca threw the other woman out without any clothes. Wouldn’t even let her have a sheet. She had to walk down the street naked as a jaybird, but I formed the opinion that Andrew had good taste in women. I’d say she was probably a seven, or maybe an eight.’
‘And did Rebecca let him back in?’
‘Well obviously, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to kill him now, would she? In hindsight, he’d have been better picking up his shit that day and walking away. Trouble is, we don’t possess any hindsight until the fat lady has snuck out the door.’
‘Anything else you can tell us?’
‘I expect there’s a whole load of things I could tell you, but as I said, the fate of humanity is in the balance and I’m the only guy who can save your sorry arses. All I will say, before I push you two normals out the door, is that Rebecca did a lot of shouting.’
‘Not screaming or crying?’
‘There might have been some of that in-between, but mostly shouting. God! She was one shouty bitch. Is that even a word?’
‘I only ask because she said she killed Andrew because he used to beat her.’
‘Yeah! Bovine was saying something like that. She didn’t live with me at the time, but she’d read something along those lines in the newspapers. I couldn’t swear to it – who knows what goes on behind closed doors, but Andrew didn’t seem like the type of guy to beat women up. Although, does anyone really know anyone? You know where the door is. I won’t come with you, I have to protect my eyes if I’m going to wipe out those alien shitheads.’
‘Thanks for your help, man.’
But the gamer had already gone back into the darkened room and shut the door behind him.
‘What do you think of that, Mrs K?’
‘I think I need some fresh air.’
‘Yeah – there’s definitely a whiff of something in here.’
***
He parked his car in a side road outside Chigwell station. Woodford station would have been nearer, but he was planning ahead because Chigwell was closer to home.
He caught the Central Line train to Stratford, which took him forty minutes and he arrived with five minutes to spare.
As promised, Bronwyn was waiting for him outside the station. She wore a black canvas coat with more pockets than a fishing jacket; a pair of black jeans that needed some serious repair work carrying out on them; black army boots and one large silver spiral drop earring. He guessed she must have mislaid the other one.
‘You’ve had your hair cut,’ he said.
‘What do you think of it?’
‘The left side looks good, but the butcher didn’t finish the other side.’
‘It’s meant to be like that.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s called the half-shaved style.’
‘Maybe I’ll get one.’
‘It’d suit you.’
‘I’ll obviously need to speak to my fashion consultant before I commit myself to something so extreme.’
‘I would expect nothing less from you, Kowalski.’
‘So, are we going to stand out here freezing our nuts off until the last train leaves?’
‘I will if you will?’
‘Let’s find a cafe, or something?’
‘For an ex-copper you’re such a limpdick.’
‘And you’re such a joy to be around.’
‘I know. I should charge a fee.’
‘There are some women who do that, you know.’
She picked up the black rucksack sitting on the ground between her feet. ‘So I’ve heard.’
They walked along the road until Bronwyn spotted Millie’s Cookies. ‘What about there?’
‘Coffee and cookies would be good.’
Inside the cafe a waitress with long black hair, green eyes and a chin that seemed to be too pointed to be real appeared at the table where they were sitting. ‘Have you had a chance to look at the menu yet?’
‘Just a coffee for me, please,’ Kowalski said.
‘I can recommend the old-fashioned doughnuts.’
‘Not for me, thanks all the same.’
‘Madam?’
‘Two giant chocolate cookies, three sco
ops of chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce and an iced chocolate latte, please.’
‘Certainly, Madam.’
The waitress left to fulfil their order.
‘I’ve never seen anyone overdose on chocolate before,’ Kowalski said.
‘Watch and learn.’
‘Well, shall we get to the business of why you dragged me all the way down here?’
‘Wait until the waitress has brought our order. I have graphic photographs to show you. And, I’d like it noted as a matter of historical record, that I didn’t drag you anywhere.’
The waitress brought their drinks and food. ‘Enjoy.’
Bronwyn got stuck into the ice cream immediately. ‘Chocolate ice cream is better than sex.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. Well?’
She opened up her rucksack, slid out a file and passed it to him. ‘Take a look.’
‘What’s this?’ he said, pulling out a folded piece of paper that had been stuck together with tape.
‘The beginnings of a murder map. It’s fairly big, because I had to print it out in sections and then stick it together. I didn’t know where some of the places were in relation to the UK, so I had to locate and mark them on a map.’
He left the map for the time being. Instead, he began rifling through the photographs, which was a mix of newspaper articles and crime scene pictures.
He screwed up his face. ‘The articles are in foreign languages.’
‘There’s a reason for that.’
‘Don’t tell me, it’s because they’re from foreign countries?’
‘You’re not as stupid as you look, Kowalski.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I haven’t had time to translate them yet, but I will. I’ve written on the back where they’re from.’
He turned each sheet of paper over and found a place and date written on the back:
Visakhapatram, India – February 11, 1999
Karlskrona, Sweden – April 27, 2002
Dohar, Qatar – September 9, 2010
Colombo, Sir Lanka – 15 December, 2012
Jebel Ali, Dubai – May 02, 2013
Karlstrom, Sweden – January 19, 2016
‘There’s six here.’
‘You can count.’
‘Which of them were the last two ports HMS Westminster visited?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know! Presumably you’ve checked the details of the murders in the last two ports to confirm what Perry has told you?’
‘No.’
‘I’m confused.’
‘Perry won’t tell me which ports they’ve visited. He says he can’t divulge any secrets because he’s signed the Official Secrets Act. If he did, he’d be hung for treason.’
He put the pictures face down, picked up his coffee and took a swallow. ‘At the very least, we’ll require a list of all the ports the ship has visited since 1999 . . . and possibly longer.’
‘I know.’
‘And?’
‘I’ll get it.’
‘You’ll torture him?’
‘I have my ways.’
‘Like Mata Hari?’
‘Who?’
‘She was a Dutch exotic dancer and courtesan who used her powers of seduction to extract military secrets from her lovers and was executed by firing squad in France for being a German spy during World War I.’
‘You think I’d stoop so low?’
‘Yes.’
‘Damned right.’
‘Anyway, without a list of the ports . . .’
‘I know.’
‘Good. If he’s not willing to give us everything he’s got. Well . . .’
‘I understand.’
‘So, this Perry is suggesting that while the ship is in port his superior officer goes on shoreleave, finds a prostitute, rapes and sodomises them, strangles them, ties a black skinny silk scarf around their necks and leaves a flower in their hair?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Let’s, for arguments sake, say that Perry is right – why has no one identified the pattern before?’
‘I was thinking about that myself, so I did some research. Do you know that in the past twenty years in this country alone, the murders of over two dozen prostitutes have not been solved by the police? And the figure could be much higher because women have gone missing, but their bodies never found.’
‘I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me.’
‘The murders of individual prostitutes are rarely reported by the press and tend to get ignored or overlooked by the police. The public aren’t interested unless there’s a series of murders, because people still hold negative attitudes towards women who sell sex for a living. Many people think that the women deserve what they get, and some of the police simply shrug their shoulders as if the murders were inevitable.’
‘And your point is?’
‘He’s killing one prostitute in each port, and because it’s only one nobody’s particularly interested. Not only that, these countries aren’t like the UK. The murder of prostitutes are very rarely reported in the press, because as far as the establishment and decent society are concerned, prostitution doesn’t exist. The police don’t waste time, effort and money on investigating a crime that never happened. The murders are swept under the proverbial carpet and ignored.’
‘An interesting theory.’
‘I only found three murders that had been reported by the press and another three that had been investigated – and I use that term loosely – by the police, but I bet there are lots more.’
‘I feel as though you’ve dragged me down here under false pretences.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, based on the say-so of Perry the Seaman, who you’re having a long-distance relationship with; who you barely know; who thinks his superior officer is a serial killer because he grows plants in his cabin; and because you’ve undertaken some dubious internet surfing and found six murders of prostitutes in six ports half-way across the world that might or might not be similar . . . Need I go on?’
‘If you’ve got something to say – say it.’
‘It’s all a bit flimsy, isn’t it?’
‘Flimsy!’
‘If one of my detectives had come to me with what you’ve cobbled together, I’d have transferred them back to community policing.’
‘I’ll do some more research, shall I?’
‘Or, I could use company funds to fly out to these exotic destinations and investigate the murders properly?’
She pulled a face. ‘Like that’s going to happen.’
‘If you want to waste your time doing more research, I suppose I can’t stop you. Do you even know the officer’s name?’
‘No.’
‘If you’re going to waste company time and resources on this, I suggest you get Perry to tell you everything he knows, otherwise you should inform him that you’re not interested in helping him.’
‘I’m not wasting any company time or resources on this.’
‘Are you employed by Abacus Investigations?’
‘More like a partner, or an equal shareholder.’
‘Do you get a monthly salary from the company?’
‘More like a pittance that a starving mongrel couldn’t survive on.’
‘Which makes you one of our most valuable employees. Have you been conducting research into Perry’s fantasies during the hours of nine to five Monday to Friday i.e. – during company time?’
‘You have no evidence of any such illegal activity.’
‘Unless, of course, you’re telling me now that your time is your own and I was right all along when I was working on the assumption that I’m the only company employee who does all the work and generates the income, whereas you’re the one who fritters it all away on handbags, half-shaved haircuts, threadbare jeans and pointless research that doesn’t lead anywhere?’
‘You’re a bastard, Kowalski.’
�
��I’m merely being practical. If you want me to look seriously at a proposition to do some pro-bono work for a man who you’ve accompanied to the gym once, then you’d better give me something I can investigate.’
‘So, that’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I spent ages on the map and you’ve not looked at it.’
‘What’s the point? Unless we know which ports the ship has visited since 1999, and when it was there, then they’re just places on a map where a prostitute might or might not have been murdered.’
‘I’ve provided documentary evidence.’
‘You’ve provided copies of articles in foreign languages that may or may not provide details of a series of murders.’
‘I bet you were the most hated copper in Hoddesdon, weren’t you?’
‘The whole Essex Police Force.’
‘I thought so.’
‘I’m going to leave now and catch my train back before the rush hour gets in full swing.’
‘You won’t be missed.’
‘Please feel free to contact me when you have something more substantial.’
‘I’d rather sleep with a horde of zombies.’
‘Have a nice evening, Bronwyn.’
‘And don’t forget to pay on your way out.’
After paying, he made his way out and headed back towards Stratford station. As he passed the cafe window where they’d been sitting, he smiled. Bronwyn had turned her chair so that she didn’t have to look at him as he passed.
Chapter Nine
‘Okay,’ Xena said. ‘We need to do our homework. Are you sure there’s nothing in the file about boats on the river?’
‘As I recall, the River Stort was mentioned, but dismissed as a possible lead.’
‘That beggar’s belief. Let’s go back to the station.’
They began walking along the track, under the railway bridge, through the field and towards the public footpath between the two houses. All the while, the wind and rain continued to batter them as if they were merely matchstick figures in one of Lowry’s paintings.
‘I’m soaked through to the bone,’ Stick said. ‘Maybe we should call it a day?’
Xena turned her head to stare at him. ‘To the bone!’
