Fallen Heroes

by Amy Cross

  “I'd like a car,” said Kathy suddenly. “Has it got heating?”

  Ophelia nodded.

  “I could go somewhere with a car,” Kathy added. “It'd be the best thing ever.”

  “Hang on,” Josephine said firmly, keeping her eyes fixed on the vehicle. “I know people. Lots of people. I could maybe get them to let me know if they spot anything suspicious. People like us, we tend to notice things going on in places where other people don't even look.”

  “Just tell everyone to keep an eye out,” Ophelia continued, waiting for Josephine to agree. “This is important. People could die. Are you going to help me or not?”

  ***

  “I disagree,” said the man on the radio, “I think in the next three to five years, there could be a real change in public opinion. I'm not saying it's probable, but I wouldn't rule out the death penalty being brought back in this country.”

  Sitting in his car in a dark corner of the parking lot, Daniel Gregory carefully rolled up his sleeves. His arm was dotted with red pinpricks, remnants of previous injections, and it took a moment for him to trace the lines of his veins and find a suitable spot for the latest boost. Just as he was about to get started, however, he spotted movement nearby, and he turned to see a vagrant approaching the car.

  “Get out of here!” he shouted. “Go on, fuck off!”

  The vagrant stopped, with a startled look in his eyes.

  “Go!” Gregory shouted.

  At this, the man turned and scurried away.

  “Fucking losers,” Gregory muttered. “He's lucky I don't...”

  “This debate has been put to bed,” said another voice, part of the same radio panel show. “The British people aren't going to vote for a step back into the past. This is the twenty-first century, we're a civilized -”

  “They still have the death penalty in America,” pointed out the other panel member. “Are you saying America isn't civilized?”

  “It's legal in some states, but that's America. This is Britain.”

  Holding up the syringe, Gregory tapped the side for a moment. A siren could be heard in the distance, and the nearby wall briefly flashed blue as a police car sped past, rushing toward some emergency. Gregory didn't flinch, didn't even glance over at the far side of the car park, as he tied a black cord around his upper arm and pulled it tight.

  “I think you're underestimating the change in public opinion in this country,” the first panel member continued. “Attitudes are hardening. Austerity -”

  “Let's not bring austerity into this.”

  “It's having an effect. It's changing the mindset of large swathes of the population!”

  Sliding the needle through his skin and into the vein, Gregory took a moment to make sure everything was in order and then finally, with studied delicacy, he pushed the plunger down. Leaning his head back, he waited for the rush to kick in. He counted out loud, and sure enough he felt the first tremor of pleasure before he got to eight. He kept the needle in his vein for a moment longer than necessary, before slowly pulling it out and tossing it onto the passenger seat.

  “Britain is changing,” a voice said on the radio. “Fact. People are wondering if this country has moved in the right direction over the past fifty years. Going back to past methods doesn't mean embracing the past wholesale. We need to -”

  Reaching out, he switched the radio off, preferring silence. He took a series of slow, deep breaths, enjoying every second of the rush that was filling his body. Closing his eyes, he let out a faint gasp as he realized he was ready. At that particular moment, he felt there was nothing in the world that could hold him back.

  “You're the best,” he whispered, as he took a moment to slow his breathing. “You're the best there's ever been, the best there ever will be, and tonight you're going to prove it.”

  Opening his eyes, he reached over to the back seat and grabbed the black suitcase he'd prepared for the occasion. Resting it on the next seat, he flicked the case open to reveal a pristine set of knives, the first three of which were smeared with blood. He picked up the fourth and examined the blade for a moment, before unlocking his car door and stepping out into the cool night air.

  “Spare some change?” asked a voice suddenly.

  Turning, he saw that the vagrant was still loitering in the area, watching him with an expression of hope and fear.

  “Change?” Gregory replied, stepping toward him. “You want change?”

  “Well -”

  “Try this.” Without giving the man a chance to run, he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer before forcing the knife into his stomach.

  The man cried out, but Gregory quickly stabbed him several more times, launching into a brief, frenzied attack that lasted just a few more seconds before the vagrant's lifeless body slumped down to the ground.

  “There,” he muttered, stepping over the body and continuing on his way. “Is that enough change for you?”

  ***

  “Leaving?” Mrs. Jenkins said, following him into the room at the far end of the landing. “Well... I did say when you moved in that you'd need to give a full month's notice.”

  “This has come up rather suddenly,” he replied, unlocking the door and heading into the bare room he'd been renting for the past few months. Having spent little time in the place, he had nothing more than a few books and a suitcase to collect. Turning to look back at the door, he saw that Mrs. Jenkins was watching him with a hint of suspicion. He glanced down at his shirt, worried that he might have some blood showing, but there was nothing.

  “Well...” She paused. “I mean... Are you sure you wanna leave?”

  “There's really no need to stare at me with that gormless expression,” he told her, as he pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and tossed it onto the desk. “I'm going to pay you in full. It's not like you'll be out of pocket.”

  “That's very good of you,” she replied, hurrying over and picking up the cash, which she proceeded to count. “Of course, you didn't have much choice. The contract you signed would've held up in any small claims court, you know.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “But it's all here,” she added, stuffing the money into her pocket, “so I don't suppose there's any need to get our knickers in a twist, is there?” She paused, as if she was still a little worried. “Got called away urgently, did you?”

  “I did.”

  “And what did you say you did for a living again?”

  “I didn't,” he replied. “One of the reasons I was so willing to pay a high price for this damp little room is that you claimed you wouldn't pry. I hope you won't change that policy now that I'm on my way out.

  “Oh, no,” she said, clearly a little frustrated, “it's just... Well, you have to be careful, don't you? You never knock what people get up to these days, there are some queer types around.”

  “There certainly are,” he replied, pulling the suitcase toward the door. “I don't need this room anymore. It's served its purpose and -”

  “What about us?” she asked, putting a hand on his arm as he passed. “You said maybe we could try it again.”

  Stopping, he turned to her.

  “I mean...” She paused. “That night, I don't know about you, but I thought...” She paused again, as if she was waiting for him to take the initiative and say something. “Maybe I wasn't at my best. Maybe we could do it again, and this time... I was useful to you, wasn't I? That time, when you wanted me to distract the weird girl at the train station so you could nip out of the loo... And when she knocked on the door...” She waited again, as her eyes seemed increasingly desperate. “I'd like to think,” she added finally, pressing herself against him, “that we had a little spark going on.”

  “You did?” he asked, with a faint smile.

  “I thought... Well, you know, I thought maybe you might want to stick around, even if it's not as a lodger.” Running her hands up his arms and onto his shoulders, she felt his firm, muscular physique. “I'm not despe
rate. I just thought you and I might have something together, and maybe -”

  She hadn't even seen the knife in his hand, so when the blade pierced her belly, she let out a gasp of shock. She looked down, as if she was trying to understand what was happening, and it was only when he pulled the knife out that she saw a torrent of blood running onto his hands.

  “Quiet, now,” he whispered, placing a hand over her mouth before she could scream.

  A few seconds later, as he lowered her lifeless body to the floor, he took care to get as little blood as possible on his hands. He took a step back, before taking hold of the curtains and using them to wipe blood from around his wrists. He had no concern regarding fingerprints or DNA evidence, he knew full-well that his identity wouldn't be in doubt. All that mattered was that he was one kill closer to the record.

  In fact, he was ahead of schedule by nearly an hour.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Mum!” Laura shouted, clambering out of the car and racing along the dark street. Ducking under the cordon, she made her way past one of the fire engines before a crew member stopped her and held her back.

  “You can't go in there!”

  “Did you get her out?” she stammered, watching in horror as flames roared from the upstairs windows, filling the night sky with thick black smoke. “My mother was in there!”

  “We're working on it.”

  “She's not out?”

  “As far as I know, we're still assessing the -”

  Pushing him away, she ran past the second engine, reaching the front gate before two more officers pulled her back.

  “You can't go inside!” one of them shouted.

  With the heat of the fire on her face, Laura watched as two firemen made their way through the front door. Looking up at the bedroom windows again, she realized there was so much smoke, no-one would stand a chance if they were still inside. For a moment, she tried to work out what her mother would have done if she'd realized the house was burning, and with a sense of horror she realized the old woman was as likely to simply go to bed as she was to get out.

  In the distance, a car horn was being honked repeatedly.

  “My mother was in there,” she said, trying not to panic as she turned to one of the officers. “She's seventy-nine years old, she has Alzheimer's, she -”

  “We're working to -”

  “Are you sure she isn't out yet?” Laura asked, as pure panic began to rise through her chest. With tears in her eyes, she turned back to look at the house. “Please, you have to find her!”

  Over on the other side of the road, the car horn was still going.

  “We're doing everything we can,” the officer told her. “We haven't managed to get anyone out yet, but two of my men have just entered the property and they're going to do their absolute best.”

  Staring at the flames for a moment, imagining her terrified mother trapped in one of the bedrooms, Laura barely realized that her phone was ringing. Pulling the device from her pocket, she looked at the screen and froze as soon as she saw the name of the person who was trying to get in touch.

  “Ophelia!” she shouted as soon as she answered.

  “Do you ever pay attention to car horns?” Ophelia asked.

  “What?” Realizing she could hear a horn nearby, she turned and looked along the street, only to spot a figure waving frantically from a car parked a little way along.

  “What else do I have to do to get your attention?” Ophelia continued. “Seriously, get your whiny ass over here!”

  Stumbling past the fire engines, Laura made her way across the street. As she got closer to the car, she saw that not only was Ophelia in the front seat, but there was a figure in the back. She began to run, before finally seeing that her mother was in the back seat, smiling back at her.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Laura shouted, pulling the door open and climbing in. Throwing her arms around her mother, she hugged her tight. “I thought you were still inside!”

  “Still inside where?” Maureen asked. “Can we go home now? I'm tired.”

  “You're welcome,” Ophelia said with a faint smile.

  “What are you doing here?” Laura continued, turning to her.

  “So far,” Ophelia replied, “saving your mother just before a certain Mr. Daniel Gregory turned up and torched the place. Sorry I couldn't stop him, but the timings didn't quite overlap properly. Still, I managed to get your mum out, which isn't bad. Oh yeah, and there's some more good news.” Reaching over to one of the other seats, she held up a small model of a pink flamingo. “I also saved this from the table in the hallway.”

  “Daniel Gregory was here?” Laura asked, her mind racing as she looked back toward the burning house.

  “I think he wanted to send you a message,” Ophelia replied. “Tonight's his big night.”

  “There was no post today,” Maureen told them, trying to be helpful. Glancing out the window, she stared at the flames for a moment. “Oh dear. That looks bad. I wonder who lives there.”

  “There have been two more murders tonight,” Laura said, turning back to Ophelia. “Two more, just like Natasha and Sarah Jenkins.”

  “There'll be more,” Ophelia replied. “Have you ever heard of Howard Mehlman?”

  “No. Should I have?”

  “Yeah, you should,” Ophelia continued. “On November 8th, 1959, Howard Mehlman murdered fifteen people in one night across London. Fifteen separate, unconnected people, I might add. It was quite the killing spree, and it only ended when his brain tumor finally felled him on Southwark Bridge while he was on the way to number sixteen. By the time he died, the guy had become a complete psychopath.”

  “And how is that relevant to what's happening now?” Laura asked.

  “Don't you get it?” Ophelia replied. “Howard Mehlman holds the record for the number of separate murders in London on one night, and I'm pretty sure that's a record Daniel Gregory wants to break.”

  “But that would be -”

  “He mentioned Mehlman yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Laura paused. “You've seen him?”

  “While he had me tied up at the farmhouse.”

  “At the...” At this, Laura frowned. “Rewind. He had you tied up where?”

  “The farmhouse.”

  “What farmhouse?”

  “The one where I was held for more than a decade.”

  “Hang on -”

  “Long story,” Ophelia replied, “and I'll tell you all about it some time, but right now Daniel Gregory's back in London and if I'm right, he's aiming to hit that record of fifteen murders. He wants to be recognized as a genius, and since murder's his thing, this is how he's gonna go about it. If it wasn't for the context, I'd almost be impressed.” Turning the key in the ignition, she tried to get the engine started. “Damn it,” she muttered, “the hardest part of driving is definitely the launch.”

  “Where did you get this car?” Laura asked.

  “Oh, it's Joe Lewis's.”

  “Joe Lewis? The reporter?”

  “Don't worry, I tied him up.”

  “But -”

  “Not here. In the middle of nowhere.”

  “And -”

  “The police have probably found him by now.”

  “So -”

  “And look!” she added with a grin, as she opened the glove compartment and pulled out a gun. “The guy even -”

  “Jesus!” Laura shouted, grabbing the gun and pulling it out of her hand. “Stop waving that thing about! No offense, Ophelia, but you're the last person who should have one of these things!”

  “Have you ever fired one?”

  “Once. During training.” Setting the gun down, Laura took a deep breath as he tried to assimilate all the information that had been thrown her way. “Okay. Explain to me why Joe Lewis had a gun in his car, and why you tied him up in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Outside the burning farmhouse.”

  “Explain!”

  “Very
long story,” Ophelia added, finally getting the engine started. “I'm sorry about the other day, by the way. Maybe I overreacted just a tad.”

  “Maybe, but -” Hearing her phone ringing yet again, Laura answered. “Tricia, I -”

  She paused for a moment, listening to the message, before turning to Ophelia. “Another body's been found.”

  “Number three,” Ophelia replied, taking hold of the gear-lever and trying several gears before finding the right one. “Where? I'll get this thing launched and then we can go take a look!”

  ***

  “This is exhausting,” Maitland said as he looked up from the body on the bed. “Laura, you -”

  “I need to know the time of death,” Laura replied, hurrying over to the bed with Ophelia and Maureen right behind her.

  “What's she doing here?” Maitland asked, eying Ophelia with suspicion.

  “Contaminating a crime scene, apparently,” Tricia added as Ophelia stepped past her.

  “We don't have time to preserve the scene,” Laura replied as she took a look at the wounds on the dead woman's back. “That's exactly what he wants us to do. He wants us to move slowly so we don't have a chance of catching him. That way, he has a chance of beating Howard Mehlman's record.”

  “Welcome back, Detective Chief Inspector Foster,” Tricia replied with a faint smile.

  “Mehlman?” Maitland said. “The man who killed all those people in the fifties?”

  “Daniel Gregory wants to beat the record of fifteen in one night,” Ophelia explained as she pulled the pink flamingo from her pocket. “He doesn't care about getting caught once he's done that, in fact he wants to get caught so he can enjoy the glory, but for now he's just working as hard as he can and as fast as he can.” She tossed the flamingo at Maitland. “Dust that for prints.”

  “Why?” Maitland asked, as he caught the statue.

  “Because it was inside Laura's house before the fire started, and I guarantee you it's got Daniel Gregory's prints on it. I saw him, briefly, when he was there. I was watching through the back window and I saw him pick that thing up and take a look at it. Probably because it's so hideous.”