by L M Krier
It was a pleasant sitting room, with an attractive bay window, in which stood a small but beautifully decorated Christmas tree, its lights flickering merrily. Presents were piled underneath it, and Mrs Bailey was sitting in a wing chair, facing the windows, fiddling to tie the ribbon of a small gift in her lap.
She looked up hopefully when the door opened but her face immediately fell and her hand flew up to her face when she saw the two officers. Her husband quietly crossed the room, sat on the arm of her chair and placed a protective hand on her shoulder.
'This is the inspector, love,' he told her, motioning the two officers to sit down.
Mrs Bailey's head started to shake vigorously from side to side and she began a monotone 'no, no, no,' as if she felt somehow that would ward off the bad news she knew was coming.
'I am very sorry to have to inform you both that Tina's body was found early this morning,' Ted began. 'She was close to the police station, her car was nearby. I'm afraid she was murdered. I am so sorry. I wish I did not have to ask but I am going to need one of you to come in to formally identify her body.
'I know it is of no consolation to you at this moment but I promise you now that I will get the person who has done this to your daughter.'
PC Heap now switched into professional mode. 'Shall I make a cup of tea for you both, Mr Bailey? Don't worry, I'll find where everything is.'
'Coffee,' the man said in an expressionless voice. 'Coffee for the wife, she doesn't drink tea in the mornings.'
He now had both his arms around his sobbing wife and was rocking her gently to and fro. He looked shell-shocked.
'When she didn't come last night, we thought she'd been held up at work,' he said blankly. 'We were surprised when she didn't phone us, she's always such a good, thoughtful girl, our Tina. We thought she'd be turning up any time now. The wife was just wrapping some silly little extra presents for her, for her stocking. We always do that, every year, even now she's all grown up.'
'Mr Bailey, is there someone who can come and be with your wife? I hate to press but we really will need you to come in and identify Tina,' Ted told him. 'I'll arrange for a car to pick you up when you feel ready, but it does need to be soon, please, so we can carry on with our investigations.'
'Good work, Susan,' Ted told the constable as he drove them back to the station. 'You held it together well.'
'Thank you, sir,' she said and blurted, 'Tina said you were the best boss on the force and I think she was right.'
'Sir, we've got an ID on victim number three, at last,' the DS told him as Ted trudged wearily upstairs into the office.
He sank into the nearest seat. 'Tell me,' he said.
'Nicola Parks. Started out as another runaway. Reported missing from her home on a farm at Sabden, in the Ribble valley,' DS Hallam read aloud from his notes. 'Disappeared just before her sixteenth birthday, never been back in touch with her family. Twenty-two when she died. Been in our area a year or so. Known as a drug user and small-time prostitute. No fixed abode, used to flit from squat to squat.
'Got form for minor offences like shoplifting and handbag snatching. Did a couple of short custodial sentences. She seemed to regard that as a good way to get a few hot meals and some showers.'
Ted sighed. 'So many runaways. Right, get onto the local nick – where the hell IS the local nick for up there? - and get them to send someone round to inform the family. But not today. She's been missing for six years, one more day is not going to make much difference in the greater scheme of things. Let them at least enjoy their turkey dinner and Queen's speech before they get the news.
'Where is everyone and where are we up to with Tina?'
'I've got Sal taking statements from everyone, sir, he has a good eye for detail,' Hallam told him. 'I said he should use your office, I hope that's all right? Virgil's been on to the AA, no call from Tina last night. He's gone back onto the streets to see if anyone saw anything.'
'Good work,' Ted said shortly. 'Right, here's the plan. There is no overtime available, so it's a case of juggling everyone's hours to give us the cover we need. Get everyone together and split the time up between you. Half on, half off all the time until further notice.
'Let me see Sal's witness statements as soon as possible. I can do some alibi checking, free someone else up. I can do it on the basis of ringing round with festive greetings.
'I'll be in tomorrow early but not around – it's Tina's post-mortem. Professor Gillingham has cancelled his skiing trip so he can do it himself.'
It was the dark of early evening when Ted got back to the house. Inside the warm and festive sitting room, Trev and Willow looked cosy and contented, sitting close together on the sofa, buried under a heap of cats, watching television.
'Hi, Willow, Happy Christmas,' Ted bent over the back of the sofa to plant a kiss on each of their cheeks.
'So sorry, Ted,' she said. 'Must be really dreadful for you.'
Trev untangled his long frame from its covering of cats, followed Ted into the kitchen and gave him a hug.
'Long day,' he said, 'and probably one of your most difficult ever, I imagine. Do you want to eat? There's plenty of food left over.'
Ted gently pushed him away to arm's length so he could see his face and said, 'Not over yet. I need to go back out and I need you to do something for me.'
Trev immediately looked suspicious and a little worried. 'What is it?'
'First, I need you not to ask any questions. Please?' Ted looked at him earnestly. Reluctantly, Trev nodded his agreement.
'I need to borrow the bike,' Ted said. 'I'll be back very late, but I will be back, so I need you not to worry. Enjoy your evening with Willow. Watch Downton, like we planned to do. I will be back.'
Trev adored Downtown Abbey. He hung onto every caustic word uttered by Maggie Smith as the Dowager Countess. It was probably the part of a traditional Christmas he enjoyed the most, watching it with Ted.
'Please stay safe,' Trev told him. 'Any problems at all, phone me.'
Ted nodded. He went to find his motorcycle leathers, his kitbag and the bike keys, then he was gone into the cold frost of Christmas night.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Ted kept the powerful bike to a sensible speed as he wound his way through the quiet streets, heading for the motorway.
His emotions were boiling to such a point that he doubted his ability to control them for much longer. He was in a state where he badly needed to hurt and be hurt.
There was only one dojo in the country where he knew he could find what he was looking for, and it wasn't close to. Even on Christmas Day, a couple of quick phone calls had been all it took to set things up for him.
He was going somewhere there would be no referees, no rules and no quarter given. He knew he was taking an enormous risk, not just with his career. But he needed to find an outlet so he could keep control in front of his team and find the clarity of mind to bring the investigation to a successful conclusion.
Once onto the motorway, almost deserted at that time on a Christmas evening, Ted opened the big bike up and let it have its head until it was nudging close to the ton and more it was easily capable of.
He knew it was only a matter of time before the blues and twos of a patrol car caught him up. He just hoped he could retain sufficient control of himself to get to his destination without being arrested or decking some poor officer who tried to stop him.
He obediently pulled onto the hard shoulder in response to the signals from the patrol car which came up behind him. But it was his warrant card he fished out from inside his leathers, rather than his driving licence.
Ted didn't think he could despise himself much more than he already did by playing that trick. He detested officers who pulled rank in any circumstances. He felt he could just about justify to himself doing it in this instance.
He could see in his mirrors that the driver was staying with the car, no doubt checking the bike's registration, while the passenger was approaching him slowly
along the hard shoulder, easy to spot in his fluorescent stab vest.
'Good evening, sir,' the constable began. 'In a bit of a hurry tonight, are we?'
Ted had peeled off his helmet and his eyes were blazing angrily.
'May I see your driving licence and documents, please, sir?' the constable was still polite and correct.
'You can see my warrant card, constable,' Ted snarled, thrusting the document into the younger man's face. 'And if you have any degree of common sense about you, you will not delay me.'
The PC snapped to attention and looked extremely awkward. Right now, Ted loathed himself even more.
The officer wasn't done with his attempt yet, and Ted admired his courage and his commitment to his job.
'Please, sir, will you at least slow down?' he said. 'Riding like that, you're going to kill someone, and probably not just yourself.'
'Thank you, officer,' Ted growled, replacing his helmet. He roared off before the PC had even had time to get back to the patrol car.
'What the fuck?' his colleague asked him, when he got back into the vehicle.
'A very bad tempered DI on some sort of mission,' his oppo said. 'I can think of lots of ways of committing career suicide that would be less painful than tangling with that little bastard in a mood like he was in.'
His mate laughed. 'Just let him go, then, and hope he only kills himself?'
'All three wise monkeys rolled into one, me. See no evil, hear no evil and speak not a fucking word about apeshit crazy DIs roaring round our patch like Easy Rider.'
Even keeping the Triumph to a ten per cent margin of error above the speed limit, it ate up the miles over the Pennines towards their destination. Ted was a competent biker though lacking any of the flamboyant flair of Trev. The dojo Ted was heading for was in an extremely rough part of a
city's outskirts.
He was not remotely worried about leaving Trev's precious bike outside. Even without the goon on the door, whom Ted could see as he pulled up, no one, without a death wish, would dream of nicking or damaging anything from that location.
The door guard had folded arms across a thick barrel chest, bushy eye brows which merged as one, pulled down in a permanent scowl. He made Giant Haystacks look like he was into serious crash dieting. Ted knew he was there to ensure they were not disturbed, under any circumstances.
It had been a long time since Ted had been on the floor as often as he was in the next forty minutes or so, not since his school days as a runty kid, the target of all the bullies. Both his body and his morale were getting a good kicking.
But slowly, doggedly and against all the odds, he kept picking himself back up until he was, literally, the last man standing. And each time he got back up, he felt his drive and determination coming back.
His self-confidence had been badly dented this morning with the news of Tina's murder. He had been in a bad way, a low place. Now, finally, self-belief was starting to creep back and he felt able to get back on the proverbial horse and ride into battle.
By tacit agreement, there was not a single mark on his face, but most of his body was covered in red marks and he suspected that, by tomorrow, it would look like an abstract work of art. His right hand was so sore he could barely bend his fingers. He just hoped he would be able to control the Triumph on the journey home.
He was pleased he had had the presence of mind to put a zip-up fleece-lined hoody and sweat pants into his kit bag. There was no way he could get his customary polo neck on with all his muscles screaming at him for mercy. Somehow he managed to get into leathers and boots. His socks utterly defeated him, so he simply screwed them up and stuffed them into his kitbag.
He was also thankful he had thought to put a back support into his bag. From the way his kidneys felt, he suspected he might be peeing blood for a few days.
He didn't think anything was actually broken, at least not badly, just perhaps redesigned a little. Like himself, his opponents had all been extremely skilled martial arts fighters. Despite breaking all the normal rules, they were sufficiently in control to inflict pain yet stop short of serious injury. Ted had found what he'd come looking for.
The Triumph had never been ridden as slowly and carefully as it was on the way back, which seemed to take at least three times as long as the outward journey. Ted strongly suspected that if he happened to meet the same patrol car as before, they would pull him again, convinced it had been stolen by someone's granny for a geriatric joyride.
He was freezing cold and starting to stiffen up all over by the time he arrived home. He only just managed to open and close the garage door, to make sure that Trev's baby was safely locked away for the night. It was late and there was no sign of life about the house. Just a few disgruntled cats, waiting up for him, opened reproachful eyes when Ted came in as quietly as he could, dumping his kitbag in the hall.
It seemed to take him forever to peel himself out of his leathers and boots but he somehow managed it, although he had to leave them in a heap in the hallway. Bending down to put them away was just beyond him.
He limped painfully up the stairs, slipping out of hoody and sweat pants as he went. He had no intention of taking pain killers. His body needed to hurt a little, to give him back his focus.
Trev stirred and went to sit up as Ted padded into the room.
'Don't put the light on,' Ted told him quietly. It even hurt him to speak. 'It's not pretty. But I'm all right.'
He sat carefully onto the bed and eased himself painfully under the duvet. The bond between them was so strong that Trev knew instinctively what had been going on.
Gently and carefully he folded his arms around Ted, who surprised both of them by quickly falling into an exhausted sleep which was peaceful and untroubled.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Ted was awake well before his usual time, knowing he had an early start for the post-mortem, and that it was going to take him a long time to manage to get dressed. Trev had slept fitfully. He kept checking to make sure Ted was all right, and he woke the minute Ted started to move.
'Can I put the light on?' he asked quietly, not wanting to wake Willow in the next room.
Ted started to laugh, but revised his plan as pain shot through his battered body. 'It might put you off your breakfast,' he said. 'I'm fine, honestly. I'm sorry I worried you. Go back to sleep.'
He took a long shower, as hot as he could stand it, trying to ease stiffened muscles. His body was starting to turn some rather impressive colours. Dressing was hard but he managed it, just, opting for wide neck T-shirt and sweatshirt as the polo neck was out of the question.
He received a text from Hard G saying he was ready to start. He headed straight for the hospital and pulled on coveralls, after a struggle, before joining the Professor, with Tina's body laid out on the table in front of them.
He'd been to more post-mortems than he cared to count and, armed with his menthol sweets, had a great track record of not being ill. As the Professor made the first incision into Tina's skin, he only just made it to the nearest sluice before he lost his green tea, the only thing he'd had that morning, apart from the sweets which joined it.
The Professor gave him a surprisingly sympathetic look. 'It's hard, I know, old boy, when it's someone you know, and someone I suspect you were fond of. I'm afraid this is going to be very difficult for you. I made a brief examination before you arrived and it's not very nice.'
He began to speak for the tape, mentioning Tina's age, height and weight, then added, 'Light brown hair, blue eyes. Does that mean that all four of your victims now were blue-eyed? Did the young lady who had them removed have blue eyes and was that significant in some way?' he asked.
Ted nodded. 'She did and it's one possible link we've been looking into. But aren't blue eyes the most common? It may be merely a coincidence.'
'Nearly fifty per cent of people in Britain have blue eyes, dear boy, so good luck if you do try to make something of that route.'
He continued with his
observations, noting aloud that the wound to the throat was once again a left-handed cut, made with a thin blade like a scalpel. Once again, he remarked, there were signs that the body had been thoroughly cleaned, making any chance of detecting the killer's DNA extremely slim.
'There's this same little scratch on her right buttock,' he pointed it out to Ted,' just as we found on the last victim. I'm sorry to say I have not yet had the blood analysis results back on that victim so I'm not in a position to tell you what it was. It seems lab technicians have to have their festivities, resulting in a backlog, which is very inconvenient for us.
'I will send Tina's blood for analysis and will try to get the results hurried up a bit. My best guess still remains some sort of powerful intra-muscular sedative.
'Now for the bit you're not going to like Ted, and I will try to break it as gently as I can, without my usual vulgarities, which I know offend you at the best of times.
'There was, as before, evidence of some very rough sexual activity. There was vaginal penetration pre-mortem and there was this.'
He picked up a clear plastic evidence bag from one of the nearby surfaces. 'This is a butt plug, and a particularly formidable one. It was inserted anally pre-mortem and I can find no trace of any lubricant being used. All I can say is that if Tina was not sedated and was not used to such things, it would have been extremely painful.'
Ted didn't think he had anything left to throw up. After several minutes of dry heaving over the sluice, he was convinced he had lost part of his stomach lining.
'If you were in any doubt, Ted,' the Professor continued, 'I would say you are dealing with one extremely sick individual and that the sooner you get him – or her – off the street, the better.'
'Her?' Ted echoed, aghast. 'You're surely not remotely suggesting that a woman would be capable of doing this?'
'Physically? Yes, almost certainly, with the formidable array of sex toys on the market these days,' he replied. 'Psychologically? Emotionally? Don't make the mistake of thinking women cannot commit heinous crimes as well as men. There is precedent – look at Rosemary West. One of only three women in Britain sentenced to die behind bars.
