Death Day

by Shaun Hutson

  Debbie leant over him and kissed his chest before looking into his face. He smiled up at her and stroked her cheek with one hand.

  'Maybe cataloguing isn't so bad after all,' she said and they both laughed, holding one another tightly.

  They lay there on the floor, naked, for a little while then Debbie said: 'I wonder what it's like to go through life without someone to love. Without someone who loves you?' She twisted the hairs on his chest into little spirals with her index finger.

  Lambert shrugged, 'I've never thought about it.'

  She smiled, 'What was it Shakespeare said, "It's better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." '

  'Something like that,' said Lambert, trying to suppress a smile.

  'What's so funny?' Debbie wanted to know.

  'You're very philosophical.'

  'Am I getting boring?' She looked into his eyes.

  He tutted and sighed, 'I might have to give that some thought.'

  She pinched him.

  'Ouch,' he said, sitting up, 'you bitch.'

  She giggled.

  'Assaulting a police officer is a very serious offence,' said Lambert in an officious voice. 'You have been warned.'

  'And what if I do it again?' she asked, teasingly.

  'I shall have to consider my verdict carefully.'

  Debbie kissed him on the cheek, 'How about an early night?'

  He agreed.

  * * *

  Lambert sat up, sweat coating his body. He stared wildly around the room, his breath coming in gasps. Glancing down at the alarm clock he noticed that it was four A.M. The luminous arms of the clock glowed like gangrenous glowworms in the darkness. Beside him, Debbie stirred, murmured something in her sleep, and was silent again.

  As carefully as he could, Lambert swung himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He turned on the cold tap, filled the basin with water and splashed his face. As he looked up, a haggard face stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. The dark lines under his eyes looked as if someone had drawn them with charcoal. He peered down into the clear water and splashed more onto his face.

  When he was sure he had calmed down, he let the clear liquid out of the basin and padded back to the bedroom, pausing on the way to look out into the night. He could see nothing. Not a light anywhere, just the watery moon slowly being smothered by banks of thick cloud. He shivered, realizing that he was still naked, and hurried back into bed.

  He closed his eyes and waited for sleep, but it wouldn't come. No peaceful oblivion, just that same stubborn image. The one which had woken him in the first place.

  The car careening towards the lamp post, smashing into it. His brother hurtling through the windscreen, while he sat in the road watching.

  Morning was a long time coming.

  * * *

  Maureen Bayliss piled the last of the breakfast dishes in the sink and looked at her watch. She sighed. Time to get the kids off to school. The washing up could wait until she got back.

  'Mum. Mum, I can't find my boots,' shouted little Ronnie Bayliss from the living room.

  Maureen hurried to the door and pressed a finger to her lips. 'Don't shout,' she rebuked. 'Your Dad's trying to get some sleep.'

  She looked up at the ceiling as if fearing that her husband, Jack, had been woken by their son's frenzied howlings. Jack worked nights at Medworths Foundry, and if he was disturbed while trying to sleep, he'd be like a bear with a sore back for the rest of the day. That she could do without. She told Ronnie that his football boots were in the kitchen and he pushed past her to find them, eventually stuffing them into the red vinyl bag along with his other games equipment.

  'Is Carol ready?' asked Maureen, glancing once more at her watch. 'We're going to be late.'

  A moment later, the hall door opened and Carol Bayliss emerged. She was a year younger than Ronnie, about six, and Maureen was pleased that they went to the same school so that the boy could keep his eye on her. Carol was a quiet child, withdrawn. Exactly the opposite of Ronnie. Just the type of child whom other kids seem to find a source of amusement. She herself had been to the school twice to report instances of Carol being bullied by older girls and she didn't intend letting it happen again.

  Now she helped the child into her navy blazer and straightened her pig-tails, kissing her lightly on the top of the head.

  Maureen peered out of the living room window and saw that the sun was shining, but she put on her leather coat just in case. There were dark clouds gathering to the east and she didn't fancy getting caught in a shower on the way back from the school. She struggled with the buttons, horrified to see that she was indeed putting on weight as Jack had told her. She breathed in and managed to button it, hardly daring to exhale for fear of the buttons flying across the room.

  'Everybody ready?' she said, and the kids scurried out of the front door before her.

  She followed, closing the door as quietly as possible so as not to wake Jack, and headed up the garden path. As she turned the corner, she couldn't help but notice that the curtains of the Mackenzie house were still drawn. It was unusual for June to be so haphazard, thought Maureen. She was usually a stickler for detail. They had lived next door to one another for the last ten years and had become close friends, both of them having their children about the same time. Now they walked, with the kids, to school every morning, did their shopping together and generally went about their business as one.

  Ronnie opened the gate which led down the path to the front door of the Mackenzie house and, as Maureen followed him, she saw that upstairs curtains were drawn as well. They've probably slept in, she thought to herself and reached for the brass knocker, smiling to herself, imagining June's panic when she realized what had happened.

  Maureen struck hard, stepping back in surprise as the door swung open. Ronnie was about to dash in when she grabbed him.

  'Let's go and wake them up,' he said, leering mischievously.

  Maureen suddenly felt uneasy. Why should the front door be open when all the curtains were drawn? Perhaps Ray had gone out early that morning and forgotten to close it behind him. Perhaps they hadn't locked it the night before, there had been a strong wind after all.

  Perhaps…

  Perhaps what?

  Maureen took a step back, pulling Ronnie with her. He looked up at her, 'What is it, Mum?'

  'Come on,' she said, trying not to convey the note of anxiety in her voice. No, why lie to yourself Maureen Bayliss, she thought, for some unknown reason you are scared. There's something wrong here.

  She locked the gate behind them and told the kids to stand still while she went and fetched Jack. She fumbled in her purse for the front door key, went in and rushed upstairs. She pushed open the bedroom door, waking Jack immediately. He rolled onto his back, his eyes bleary.

  'God, what is it, love?' he said, trying not to sound irritable.

  'It's next door,' she told him. 'The curtains are all drawn and there's no answer when I knock.'

  'They probably just overslept.'

  He tried to roll over again but she pulled him back, 'Jack, for Christ sake, the front door is open.'

  'So what?' He was losing control of his temper.

  'There might be something wrong,' she persisted.

  He snorted, 'Like what?'

  'You never know, you read of all sorts of things happening these days, they might all be dead. Burglars or something.'

  He waved her away, 'You're going to have to stop reading The News of the World. Things like that don't happen around here, love. This is Medworth, not bloody New York.'

  'Then I'm going to phone the police,' she told him, heading for the landing.

  He swung himself out of bed and caught her at the bedroom door. She could see that he was angry. 'All right, I'll go and look.' He pulled on his dressing gown and stormed off down the stairs.

  'You're not going like that?' she asked.

  He turned as he reached the front door, 'Why not? They're going to thi
nk I'm off my bloody head when I walk in there and they're all tucked up in bed anyway. I might as well look the part.' Muttering to himself, he headed out into the street.

  Ronnie and Carol saw him coming and started to laugh.

  'You can shut up too,' he said and headed down the path towards the Mackenzie house.

  Maureen ran after him and he paused at the door, still open. 'You'd better wait here,' he said, sarcastically. 'I mean, if they have all been butchered, the killer might still be around.' He shook his head and banged on the open door.

  'Ray,' he shouted.

  The house greeted him with silence.

  Mrs Baldwin from across the road passed by, giving Jack Bayliss a funny look. She turned her nose up and walked on. He bowed mockingly and the old lady hurried past. Ronnie and Carol laughed again.

  Jack took a step inside and shouted once more. There was no answer, no sound of movement. Nothing. The hall door to his left was closed, the staircase straight ahead of him. The curtains at the top of the landing were drawn, plunging the house into a kind of murky twilight. He walked into the hall and pushed open the door. Christ, it was dark in there. He swallowed hard, squinting into the gloom, and called again.

  Silence.

  He took a step into the room, casting a furtive glance around. Jack could feel the tension building within him as he padded towards the closed kitchen door and, he almost hit the roof when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  Scarcely stifling a yell he turned to find Maureen standing there.

  'Did you have to do that?' he panted, his heart thudding against his ribs.

  'I told you there was something wrong,' she persisted.

  He peered into the kitchen and found nothing, discovering his scepticism rapidly draining away. His tone, when he spoke again, had lost its flippancy.

  'I'm going to look upstairs,' he told her. 'You wait in the hall.'

  As he ascended the stairs he looked around. Nothing had been disturbed; whatever had happened it hadn't been a visitation by burglars.

  He reached the landing and looked around. There were four doors facing him, set in a kind of L shape. He leant over the banister and saw Maureen looking up at him. Angry with himself for allowing the atmosphere to affect him, he opened the door nearest to him and looked in.

  A child's room, he realized from the scattering of toys on the floor and the flowered bedspread. No sign of anyone. He closed that door and moved to the second. It was an airing cupboard. He tutted and was about to open the third door when something caught his eye.

  It was lying outside the door of the fourth room, which was, itself, slightly ajar. He crossed cautiously to the discarded object and picked it up. It was a toy, a stuffed animal. Of course, Carol had one. It was Snoopy.

  He dropped it when he noticed the blood which covered its floppy head.

  His eyes suddenly darted round the darkened landing, flitting from door to door. Fear and anger vied for control of his emotions. He slowly pushed open the door to the fourth room.

  From her position in the hall, Maureen Bayliss heard her husband scream. A sound which was rapidly choked away as he vomited.

  She called his name and raced up the stairs taking them two at a time. As she reached the landing, he staggered drunkenly from the room, waving her back. His face was the colour of cream cheese and thick mucous was dribbling down his chin.

  'Jack,' she said, terrified.

  'Call the police,' he gasped, struggling for breath.

  'What is it?'

  'Do it,' he roared at her, dropping to his knees, his entire body shaking. He tried to control his heaving stomach but, as the door swung back gently on its hinges once more, he couldn't. For although he had his back to the horror he had discovered, the thought alone was enough to make him throw up again. He reached back and slammed the door shut, listening as his wife dialled 999 and babbled out her message. He heard her put the receiver down and then he fainted.

  * * *

  Sergeant Vic Hayes stood in the bathroom of the Mackenzie house and drank down another tumbler full of water. He stood against the sink for a moment, regaining his composure, then, taking one last mouthful of water, he walked back into the bedroom.

  At fifty-two, and with more than thirty years experience on the force, he had seen some sights. Road accidents, industrial accidents, baby batterings. But never anything like this and in Medworth, of all places. He'd been a sergeant here for more than fifteen years and there hadn't been anything worse than a bad case of G.B.H. in all that time. The offender was doing five to ten in Strangeways; Hayes had given evidence at the trial. The man had attacked his girlfriend's father with a spanner. Made a right mess of his face too.

  But never anything like this today.

  He entered the bedroom and saw Doctor John Kirby leaning over the first of the bodies, just as he had been doing when Hayes had left the room. Hayes didn't care for Kirby much. He was good at his job, but a bit of an arrogant little bastard. He'd come straight from medical school to his position as Medworth G.P. and he also doubled as Police doctor. Not that his services had been needed until now.

  Two ambulancemen stood by the door with a stretcher, their eyes looking at the floor. In fact, looking at anything other than at what Kirby had at his feet.

  Hayes took a deep breath and leaned over him.

  'Whoever did this was a very strong man,' said Kirby, matter of factly. 'It's difficult to tell of course without an autopsy, but, I'd say these cuts are nine or ten inches deep.' He pointed to the throat. 'This particular blow practically severed the head.'

  'And the little girl?' asked Hayes, not daring to look behind him. Lying beside the open door was the body of Michelle Mackenzie, her tiny form disfigured by a dozen wounds.

  Kirby nodded. 'The injuries are the same, so is the disfigurement.' He stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Strange.'

  Hayes nodded. He knew of which 'disfigurement' Kirby spoke and it was that final touch of horror which had forced him out of the room when he had first seen the two bodies.

  Both had had their eyes torn out.

  'As I said before,' said Kirby, 'without an autopsy it's difficult to give precise details, but from the scratch marks on both of their faces and…'

  Hayes cut him short, 'All right, doc. I'll wait for the reports.' He walked out, leaving the ambulancemen to load the bodies onto their stretchers. Kirby followed them out. Hayes watched him leave. He stood on the deserted landing for a moment then wearily made his way down to the living room. Through the open front door he saw the two bodies loaded into the ambulance which, after Kirby had climbed into the back, drove off. Hayes took off his cap and flopped into one of the arm chairs. Where was Ray Mackenzie? Could the husband be the killer?

  'Find anything?' he asked, wiping his forehead.

  P.C. Gary Briggs nodded and lifted a plastic bag from the coffee table. It contained the jewel box which had belonged to June Mackenzie. Hayes took the box out and opened it.

  'We found it upstairs,' Briggs told him, 'under a pillow on the bed.'

  Hayes looked into the box and saw the medallion. He studied it a moment then looked up at Briggs. The youngster shrugged. 'It's bloody old, whatever it is.'

  Hayes handed it back. 'Take it down to the station. Lock it in the safe.'

  Briggs nodded and dropped the medallion back into the jewel box.

  'Did anyone talk to the woman who reported this?' asked the sergeant.

  'Tony did,' answered Briggs, nodding out of the window, indicating P.C. Walford standing outside the front gate talking to a group of people who were trying to see into the Mackenzie house. 'Her husband found the bodies. She reported it straight away.'

  'Poor bastard,' said Hayes, quietly, 'it must have been quite a shock for him.'

  Hayes struggled to his feet, feeling more aware of his ample stomach than usual, and replaced his cap on his balding head.

  'What do you want us to do, Sarge?' asked Briggs.

  'Just keep this quiet. I
don't want word getting about, understand? This is a nice town. The people aren't ready for this sort of thing. If any reporters turn up, tell them to fuck off.' He paused as he reached the door. 'I'm going back to the station, I'm going to get in touch with Inspector Lambert. I think we need him on this one.'

  He walked out into the fresh morning air and inhaled deeply, allowing the crisp wind to wash the stench of blood and death from his nostrils.

  He nodded to Walford as he passed, on his way to the Panda car parked across the street. Hayes slid behind the wheel and started the engine, picking up the car's two-way radio as he guided it out into the street. He flicked on the transmitter and spoke through the crackle of static, 'Puma One to base.'

  The static crackled more fiercely.

  'Puma One to base, move your self, Davies.' There was a buzz as he flicked to receive and a metallic voice came through, 'Sorry, Sarge, the kettle was boiling, I had to turn it off.'

  'Well, put mine out, I'll be back in two minutes and Davies, remember, one sugar, I'm trying to slim. Over.'

  'About time, Sarge.' A giggle. 'Over'.

  'Fuck off. Over and out.'

  * * *

  Lambert heard the phone ringing as he stepped out of the Capri. He hurriedly locked the door and sped towards the house, wondering who was calling and hoping they wouldn't ring off before he got to the phone. He fumbled out his front door key and dashed in, snatching up the receiver in the nick of time.

  'Hello,' he said, breathlessly.

  'Hello, sir.'

  Lambert recognized the voice immediately as Hayes. 'Sergeant. What can I do for you?'

  'I've rung twice before, I didn't think you were there.'

  'I was at the…' Lambert's voice trailed off and Hayes realized that his superior had been to the cemetery. 'What's so important Sergeant?'

  'Well, sir, you asked me to tell you if anything happened.'

  'Yes.' Lambert suddenly felt excited.

  'I'm afraid we've had a double murder.'

  'Where, for Christ's sake?'

  'Elm Street. Number…' Lambert heard the rustling of papers at the other end of the line, then Hayes came back on, 'number twelve. The wife and daughter. The husband is missing. We're treating the husband as prime suspect.'