Devil's Demise

by Lee Cockburn

  Taylor showered quickly, sad that the scent covering her body had to be washed away, the evidence of the night swirling down the drain. Thoughts gripped her insides; she was moved by what she had felt tonight, stronger emotions than she normally felt or allowed. She got dressed into a stylish professional three piece suit that fitted to her like a glove, her blouse cut low enough to please, but not enough to be unprofessional. Her boots were heeled, lengthening her already long legs, giving her presence and even more appeal. She shook her dark hair out and as it cascaded down her shoulders it shone brilliantly in the light. She sprayed herself with a sweet unisex eau de toilette, the scent a pleasure to both men and women. She stood in the doorway pleasingly picturesque, a handsome woman, captivating beauty oozing from her. Kay looked at her from where she lay and could not believe how the woman looking at her had made her feel. Taylor smiled at her and said, “See you at work, I’ll be discreet, I promise.” She blew a kiss in Kay’s direction. The door slammed behind her, her departure apparent, loud and inconsiderate.

  Marcus had received a similar call; he had been asleep for several hours and greeted the news somewhat more enthusiastically than Taylor. He quickly showered and dressed with no time to shave, leaving him looking slightly dishevelled, but ruggedly handsome. Maria turned over in bed and held her hand out to him. He leant over to her, kissed her tenderly on the lips and stroked her hair. She spoke to him. “Be safe, I love you.”

  He smiled at her and whispered, “I love you too.” He left the room and paused at his son’s room; he went in and kissed David softly on the head, smiling down at him with the warmth which his child brought him; a love that shone deep within him. He then left the house quietly, always mindful of those he loved the most.

  Chapter 4: Discovery

  The police resources gathered at the location of the incident, with the Scenes Examination Branch already in the house, combing every inch of it for vital evidence. The POLSA (police search advisor) leading the search team was standing outside, waiting to enter the house once the forensic examination was complete. The search officers, who had been called out in the middle of the night, were instructed by the POLSA to carry out an initial search of the garden and any outbuildings adjacent to the house, prior to entering the house itself. They formed a line, shoulder to shoulder, and walked through the grounds slowly and systematically; it was still dark and they worked under strong beamed specialist dragon lamps. They searched thoroughly for any minute trace of the suspect and anything left by him of evidential value.

  As they turned slowly round the side of the house, the first officer stopped dead in her tracks. She smacked the cop beside her in the ribs. He winced and started moaning at her but then stopped too. He could not believe his eyes either. They were looking for a possible weapon or any discarded clothing, not for this, not for a dog that had been brutally slain and a man, presumably the owner, lying dead by its side.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Who the fuck would do this kind of shit? SERG, SERG, COME LOOK AT THIS, you’re not gonna like it!” he yelled out into the night, with a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  The Sergeant turned and came round the corner; his jaw dropped as he took in what lay before him, he rasped his fingers over his stubbly jaw looked to the sky and shook his head at the scene. He had been in the force fifteen years and things like this didn’t happen in Edinburgh. This was more like something out of CSI on the television. He immediately got on his radio and contacted the Senior Investigating Officer, informing him of the disturbing further developments. Numerous cordons were placed round the outer perimeter of the garden, tents were erected to protect the corpse of the man and the body of the dog, preventing the prying eyes of the innocent public as they walked by going about their business in the morning. The man and dog would remain in situ, to allow forensic tests to be carried out on their bodies and the ground around and beneath them.

  Marcus and Taylor arrived at the scene and suited up, putting on white overalls, latex gloves, over shoes and masks - the full works, preventing themselves leaving their own DNA at the scene of the crime. They talked at length with the SIO at the scene and listened as the gruesome details of what lay upstairs were revealed to them. Taylor strode up the stairs, Marcus close behind her, both eager and repulsed to see Susan’s bedroom. Taylor stopped at the door and spoke with one of the scene examiners who was still present, swabbing every sample left behind, fully examining the room, making sure every tiny droplet was photographed and swabbed and its location documented. He informed Taylor that the culprit had boldly and arrogantly left his mark all over the room; blood, sweat, semen, hair and saliva on the floor, the walls and the bed covered with his perverted seed. These were signs of a depraved man with a sense of invincibility, taunting them with his conceited disdainful behaviour. A beast that had brazenly left his mark everywhere, with no fear and a belief he couldn’t be caught, his whole DNA profile left at the scene with no attempt to hide it or remove it from those who would soon be hunting him.

  Taylor stood with Marcus just inside the doorway, both frozen still, statuesque, mouths open in disbelief staring at the bed. Taylor turned to Marcus and exclaimed, “Whoever did this is a totally foul and sinister person, an absolute demon. Just think of what that poor woman went through. It looks like he spent hours here.”

  Marcus replied, “He’s bold as brass. He’s left so many biological samples behind him, it seems that he truly believes that we’re that stupid we won’t be able to catch him.”

  Taylor stared back at the blood on the wall and stated, “We’ll catch him all right. He’ll have missed something somewhere that will help us nail him - they always do, fucking cocky bastard. He’s not getting away with this kind of shit in our city, no way. He makes me physically sick, fucking treacherous coward!”

  Marcus walked further into the room. He crouched down at one of the numbered pieces of evidence. It looked like a bit of flesh on the ground. He looked at Taylor and said, “What a beast, this is one cruel and vicious son of a bitch.”

  The scene examiner turned and told them, “That’s a piece of her neck. It’s covered in saliva, which I’m guessing is his.”

  “I take it there is no way that it could have been stitched back on to the victim?” Taylor exclaimed.

  “No, it’s been lying there too long and it’s no longer viable, I’m sure if they could have they would have done, although they may not have seen it! They worked on her for a long time I believe, I think that was the least of their worries. I heard they lost her a few times before being able to stabilise her. She’s apparently a complete mess.” Taylor’s eyes were welling up a little with the thought of what the victim was forced to endure over a lengthy period.

  Marcus walked the room, careful not to disturb anything; he looked at the bed frame and spotted a tooth embedded in it.

  “Bloody hell, look at this! That tooth is jammed right into the wood there. Some force would be needed to do that. God, that poor woman, she must have been terrified and in agony.”

  “This guy is not going to be happy that Susan’s still with us you know! That’s his first mistake.”

  Taylor spoke with the SIO, voicing her concern for the victim in the future, explaining to him that if the suspect found out that she was still alive, which he would, then she wouldn’t be safe.

  “She wasn’t supposed to live. He’s made a fatal error; she’s seen him and can identify him, heard him and that wasn’t supposed to happen. He’s arrogant but not that stupid.”

  The SIO agreed with Taylor. “What can we do though? Are we able to hide the fact that she is still alive from him? Could we print some false information and trust those in the know to keep their big mouths shut?”

  The SIO replied, “I doubt it. There’s always someone out to make some cash, blabbing to the press, spilling their guts for a back hander.”

  “Are we able to protect her though? Will they part with their precious cash to look after that poor soul -
properly I mean? Not the usual half-hearted shit where they make false promises. I mean really protect her, the full bhuna!”

  “I’ll get on to it, there’s already a cop at the hospital. I’ll see if armed officers are an option, but I know what the answer’s gonna be - namby pamby chicken shits, frightened of the day they’ve never seen. Politics gone mad, eh?”

  Taylor questioned the SIO, “I take it there are no witnesses?”

  “Yes, but I think they’re the dead ones in the garden,” he replied in a defeated tone.

  “What about CCTV - buses, taxis, ANPR?”

  “Nothing so far. He’s like an invisible phantom.”

  Taylor asked, “How did the dog get on?”

  The SIO replied, “They lost the scent three streets away. There must have been a thoroughfare of people walking there after he passed; concrete is not easy for the dogs to track on, if others have been there.”

  “He’s a clever boy, or so he thinks.”

  “He’ll do it again, you know!”

  “I know and we’ve got next to nothing,” Taylor replied bluntly.

  Taylor and Marcus left the crime scene and headed back to the office; stunned silence filled the car as they drove through the affluent areas of Edinburgh, areas where those wealthy enough to live there expected to be safe in their own homes. The properties had large gardens filled with old trees, perfectly cut grass, rockeries, expensive decking and high walls, walls which ensured privacy. For the predator, such premises were perfect: walls to hide behind, privacy to watch the victims with minimal interruption, a perfect place to wait before callously taking their innocent lives.

  Chapter 5: Unforeseen News Flash

  He turned over restlessly in his filthy, sweat-stained bed sheets, the stench of unclean flesh filling the room. His brow was sweaty as he turned to look at the clock. It shone brightly in his darkened room, 11.45 am boldly showing in red digital lettering. Too early to get up, he thought, as he was not working today. He decided to take the time to enjoy his thoughts, recapping on every vile detail of the night before; he looked at his fingers, still stained with Susan’s blood and other fluids invisible to the eye. He swithered whether to watch a DVD from his vast collection of sadistic porn, which he regularly imported from Amsterdam, or to just put the TV on. His mind was made up by the six foot journey to the closest porn DVD, which was lying on the floor, buried in old fast food cartons, dirty stale washing and months of grime, and he elected to watch TV. With the remote he flicked through the channels to find BBC News 24, hoping his little escapade last night would rightfully be headline news.

  Reaching under the bed for his cigarettes he froze, his ears fully alert to the words he was hearing from the screen as he turned his head to see the headlines.

  “A WOMAN ESCAPES WITH HER LIFE, AFTER HORROR ATTACK IN HER OWN HOME.” The story went on to state that a man and his dog were slain within the grounds of the property, possibly having disturbed the suspect whilst waiting for his planned victim. The story went on to list Susan Hamilton’s injuries, stating that several of them had been life-threatening in their own right. The news reader added that the knife used in what was believed to have been the intended final and fatal blow had only just superficially cut into the victim’s heart muscle, narrowly failing to rupture any of the chambers within, but that if hit would have guaranteed her certain death.

  He lay there totally shocked, just staring at the ceiling; his breath rasped into his lungs before his fury escaped in a loud wail. It went on and on until there was no longer any air to carry on. He stood up, his tall frame spoilt by his soft belly hanging over his sagging unclean underpants. His arms were extremely hairy, but still noticeably strong from his years of manual labour; his chest still showed the remnants of what was once a very muscular and well-built man. He punched the door, his fist creating a hole right through to the hallway. He didn’t even flinch as his knuckles started to swell and bleed, the pain almost giving his anger some sort of outlet to escape. He could not believe after all his good work last night that the fucking bitch had survived; she was so small, insignificant and defenceless and he had totally underestimated her, and her will to live.

  John Brennan was a 48 year old recently divorced man. He had worked as a scaffolder for 20 years and had recently taken a job in the City Centre, City and View, the Capital Cities’ CCTV hub, which covered all the known troublesome areas of Edinburgh and the busy city centre night spots. He worked there four days on and four days off, leaving him plenty of time to devote to his new project. He was unimaginably punctual and managed to fulfil the requirements of his job, knowing that was how he could manage to appear normal. He could fly beneath the radar and remain unnoticed by the ever present and prying eyes of the police. He was also very aware of the areas not covered by the police’s vital source of evidence, the city’s CCTV. He knew where big brother could not see him and he intended to make full use of this privileged knowledge.

  John pulled out his laptop angrily and started surfing the web for his next important lady. He thought to himself, isn’t freedom of information a fantastic tool for people like me? This was an unguarded window into the private lives of so many people, with lots of helpful information about all of these wonderfully successful women. His deep rooted bitterness, hatred and anger towards the fairer sex radiated from him, his need to erase his recent misjudgement at the front of his mind. He had spent a lot of time with the last one and didn’t feel that he could wait too long to get his next fix, his rage spurring him on and his desire visible.

  Last night had made him feel so powerful, totally in control; he didn’t have to listen or agree to anything she said, didn’t have to do anything she wanted, just stamp his authority all over her, which he had done, over and over with such venom. She had had to listen to him, she had to do what he told her to do. He was much stronger than her, totally superior to her through strength alone, and he made sure she knew it by his merciless relentless savagery. He showed no sympathy, no remorse for the sadistic way he acted out his fantasies upon her. He used her like a sex slave and had deliberately prolonged the torture before he butchered her. He looked skyward, at the thought she had seen him. “She fucking saw me, that fucking dirty bitch can fucking identify me, ffuuuccccckkk.” His voice bellowed out from within his house, easily audible out in the street but he didn’t care.

  Chapter 6: Groundwork

  Taylor and Marcus headed out to take a statement from Mrs Forrest, the wife of the deceased found in the garden of 15 Grainger Loan, Edinburgh. They were aware that the incident was so recent that getting the information they needed would be difficult, as the pain of her loss would still be clouding her senses, and her emotions would be raw. Marcus sipped at his coffee, as Taylor drove; they were both really tired as sleep was way down the list of their priorities. They worked countless hours to enable the continuity of their enquiries, hours required for everybody to get positive results.

  They pulled up at the house and as they walked up the driveway a slight looking, well dressed older woman opened the door in front of them. She knew that they were coming, as Taylor had arranged the visit earlier in the day, to prevent her being needlessly alarmed. Mrs Forrest welcomed them in to her home, a single-storied bungalow two streets away from Susan’s house. She led them through to the sitting room where a dog basket lay noticeably empty in the corner of the room. The room was smartly furnished, everything was neatly in its place, with beautiful ornaments in the cabinets, well polished and obviously well cared for. There were two single chairs, very upright and high off the ground. They were close by one another. The sofa looked rather redundant, unused and in perfect condition compared to the two chairs, their position sad to look at now, with one never to be filled again.

  Mrs Forrest offered her guests a seat on the sofa before sitting down on one of the single chairs. She lowered her head and looked at the empty chair at her side, his chair, her beloved loyal friend and loving husband’s chair. She raised a hankie t
o her eyes as tears began to roll down her flushed cheeks. She spoke in a quaking voice. “He never came back. He was always on time. He was only out for his usual walk, same time every night just before bed.”

  Marcus asked, “What time was it he left the house?”

  “About 10.30 pm, he just gives Angel, that was our dog’s name, a stretch of her legs before we usually go to bed. He follows the same route every night. It’s quiet around here, there’s never any trouble! I phoned the police an hour after he didn’t return and they sent someone round a while later, not immediately though, because I told them there would be some sort of logical explanation and I suppose I made it seem that he was in no immediate danger, well I didn’t have any reason to. If only I’d known!”

  Marcus spoke softly to Mrs Forrest; his tone was comforting and reassuring, and he tried to let her know she wasn’t alone.

  Taylor on the other hand cut in asking about the dog. “Would your dog try to protect both of you if any of you were in any sort of danger?”

  “She was a kind dog, strong and loyal. We never really had a situation where she would have to protect us, but she might do,” Mrs Forrest said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think your husband and your dog may have disturbed our suspect while he was waiting for Susan!”

  “Oh that poor girl, I watched the television you know, what she went through. My Arthur was lucky in a strange sort of way, compared to her demise anyway, at least his death appeared to have been quick, but still very cruel and merciless.” Her head shook back and forward, her hands visibly shaking, and tears welled in her eyes with a stray tear visible on her cheek.