by Lee Cockburn
He looked around the room. The lighting was subtle and warm, the colour scheme sensual, very fitting for a beautiful woman’s bedroom. The bed was luxurious and the room full of expensive ornaments. A deep pile soft rug covered the solid wood floor and a whole wall was taken up with a row of deep wardrobes, ample room for storing vast quantities of designer clothing and a petite, terrified woman.
John’s eyes narrowed as he looked toward the first set of doors, his mind focused on what came next. Anna’s hand tightened round the baton, the other hand covering it to strengthen the grip. The door opened beside her. She was aware that he was looking in the first cupboard and hers would be next. He moved across. She could hear his breath. The door opened slightly and she pressed her back further into the wardrobe, her heart pounding, waiting for her moment, waiting to strike. He hesitated too, knowing she could have a weapon and may actually be able to hurt him. Neither one of them was breathing, both suspended in animation, one in fear of her life and the other in fear of the unexpected. John’s anticipation quickly turned to rage, hostility beyond restraint. He swung the door wide open, allowing the light to flood in. Anna’s vision was momentarily affected but he couldn’t see her yet, all he saw were her clothes. Two seconds later, as he pulled the clothes roughly to the side, he felt a painful jab pushing in under his chin. It was all Anna could do; she wasn’t able to swing her arm round to strike with any force from her crouched position. John stumbled back holding his throat. His breathing was disturbed as the pain shot through him, stopping him momentarily. Anna leapt out of the wardrobe, her arms raised above her and she swung again with all her might. This time she hit him full on, right on his temple. He reeled backwards as she ran past him and down the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her. John was momentarily stunned but being a strong man was not easily stopped. He turned and gave chase following Anna down the stairs. She was at the bottom and trying to get out the front door, but there were so many locks to keep her safe in her own home that she couldn’t manage to undo them all before he was bearing down on her. He grabbed her hair tightly and pulled her to the floor, viciously dragging her backwards towards the kitchen, her feet scraping along the shiny flooring, her heels squealing as her skin burned with the friction. Blood oozed from her fingernails where they were ripped to the quick as she frantically tried to claw at the oak floorboards in a desperate attempt to stop him pulling her towards him. His face was now horribly twisted with rage, a red swelling above one eye with blood on his face and in his eyes making him look even more sinister, his expression dark and lacking any emotion. His fist twisted her hair tightly round and he pulled her up onto her feet, before slamming her face forcefully down on the breakfast bar. Papers and fruit spilled onto the floor as Anna fought with all her might to try and free herself. He simply yanked up her night gown exposing her bare backside. She screamed and struggled even more ferociously knowing what was coming next. She would try like hell to stop him. She kicked out at him, over and over screaming, “Leave me, leave me alone, please, please. I beg you. Please don’t, not that, please not that!”
He undid his trousers. He was rock hard, her struggle for survival arousing him like never before. He held her still with ease and forced himself deep into her as she screamed out in agony. Her cries pierced the night air and he slammed her face down hard onto the counter to silence her, her teeth smashing against it, three scuttling onto the floor, blood now pouring from her broken face. Harder and harder he thrust in to her, rage spilling over as he bit her savagely on her back, tearing her flesh while pummelling her body with his flailing fists. She tried in vain to scream again but she was so winded she couldn’t draw breath. He pulled out of her and she gulped but the attack continued. He began to molest her anally, her thoughts now dulling as they became tangled up with the floods of pain coming from all over her.
Spent, he withdrew from her, shoving her hard onto the floor, his hatred spilling over as he walked over to get his bag and pulled out some rope, Anna lay still trying to gather herself, trying to catch a breath. He looked over at her, making sure she wasn’t about to escape. Their eyes met and he growled towards her, “Take a good look, cause I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.” She closed her eyes, not daring to incite another onslaught from him. He looked down into his bag and Anna noticed her spare phone lying on the chair in the corner of the kitchen. She saw her chance. She looked up at him; he was taking a large hunting knife from the bag, a huge sex aid and a scalpel. She couldn’t stop herself vomiting and he just laughed at her, his eyes filled with disdain. “You pathetic cow! I’ll be through in a minute, don’t be so impatient,” he said, smirking at her.
She quietly but efficiently moved toward the phone. Fingers trembling, she dialled 999. “HELP ME! 4 Dean House,” was not heard properly as the call was answered.
“Police, what is your emergency?” came over. Anna gave a guttural howl as the knife was plunged deep into her back.
“Hello, hello, I’m still here, are you alright?”
Anna was thrown over the floor as he smashed the phone off the wall. “You stupid fucking bitch, I was going to have so much fun with you, and now you’ve gone and spoilt it. You bitches are so fucking lazy.”
The call taker quickly rewound the tape to hear the initial call, got the address from it this time and immediately despatched a set to check it out. Only one, however, because numerous crank calls were received daily and the nature of the call was yet to be confirmed.
John pulled Anna’s head right back, yelling at her, “Open your fucking eyes you slut, open your fucking eyes, bitch,” and as she did, he showed her the large hunting knife and whispered in her ear, “I had so much more to show you, to give you and now it’s all over.” The knife sliced deep into her neck, the downward pressure so immense that arterial blood sprayed round the room, her carotid artery severed as he started to savagely stab her in the back, again and again; she was still aware of what was going on, her pain now beyond belief. He stood over her and looked down. The pool of blood was growing round her, flowing and gently spurting as her blood volume rapidly dropped. Unable to move, Anna simply sighed in defeat, her eyes bulging at the inevitability of her own death, sadness filling her head at the way her life had been taken from her as one last breath gurgled from her throat.
He was smiling as he grabbed his things, a little tense that her call might have been received. This was confirmed when he heard sirens in the distance. He fumbled with the zip of his bag as it jammed preventing it from closing. “Fuck!” he exclaimed in anger and frustration. He threw the bag away and climbed up over the rear fence, knowing the cops would go to the front door first. He knew where he was going and the route he must take to avoid any attention or trail.
Officers arrived a minute after John had left the scene; the dispatcher had had the foresight to have a free dog van sent there as well, and as the first officers at the scene shouted through the letter box, the dog handler and his dog went round the back, the dog barking furiously towards the rear fence, a scent driving it crazy. The two officers at the front made a quick decision to force the door. They had already brought the equipment from the car, and started to swing the ram at the door. It took several attempts to break it open as it was a solid wood door. On entry they turned on the lights, checking the living room first and then the hallway. There were signs of a disturbance leading to the kitchen, and once there both stopped dead in their tracks. The scene before them was horrific, like something from a horror movie. Blood was spattered all around the room, and on the floor was a small framed woman drenched in blood with a gaping wound to the front of her neck. They raced towards her and dropped to their knees to check for signs of life, shouting to the cop in the garden that there was a body inside. “She’s still warm. I’m calling an ambulance. He can’t have had that much time to get far.” They began CPR, hoping and praying there was a chance although the injury and the blood told its own story. Every compression created a fresh spurt of blood from Anna
’s neck; the officers did not bother about the blood covering the woman’s face, they just wanted to save her.
The dog handler had found the bag and the dog took a deep sniff at it. It growled towards the back door and made for the rear fence. The handler lifted the dog over into the next garden with the extended lead on and, following her over, they sped on to the next garden and the next, eventually coming to a high brick wall. The handler looked up. “No fucking way did he get up that!” The dog pulled towards an open gate that led to the road; there were still people about and the dog had to remain on the lead for their safety, unable to differentiate between good and bad people. It ran up the street for a further fifty metres, nose to the ground, stopping dead at another garden, high fenced with spikes on the top, a jacket strewn over them to prevent injury, a sign that this was where he had gone. There was no other way through so they made their way to the other side of the vast property and garden. A gate to the rear opened into the street. The dog stopped. The street was a thoroughfare to the town and at least five or six people had just walked down it, spoiling the scent and confusing the dog.
“Fuck! Fucking lucky bastard. Good effort girl,” the handler said as he leant down to praise his dog.
Out of breath, John crouched down further along the road, watching the copper look around him, the dog circling on the lead. He thought to himself, fuck me, that was close, too fucking close! He knew that scent could be spoilt by others walking over it. Luckily for him the bars in town created a constant flow of pedestrians in the area at that time of night. He stayed put as the sound of sirens filled the air. He knew the streets would be searched by numerous police vehicles passing by; he couldn’t risk being seen this close to the scene, his clothes had blood spray all over them. He made his way through the rear gardens, trying not to make any noise that would bring him unwanted attention; not his plan, but it would have to do as he moved quickly and discreetly through the night.
He had to duck down several times when he saw open curtains and people near to their windows and as he crossed over streets; every second vehicle driving past was a police car. They were hard at it but the trees and bushes gave anyone in dark clothing a chance of concealing themselves from view; their chances of finding him were now unfortunately low without a helicopter and that would have to fly from Glasgow.
Home at last, his body shook, every fibre touched with the thrill of the evening. Nearly being caught was exhilarating, totally exquisite. He leant on the table on top of the barrel, and started to talk to his wife in a low voice, “Look what you’ve started. This was your doing. If you hadn’t left me I wouldn’t have to teach them respect, but I’m not finished yet.” He patted the surface of the table and took a beer from the fridge. Slumping onto the couch, he gulped greedily at the drink. His head rolled back and his eyes closed.
Chapter 13: Searching
The Major Crime Unit, CID, uniformed officers and an ambulance crew were at the scene. The Scenes Examination Branch was also there, busy suiting up for the night ahead. Taylor and Marcus were also present in their white suits. They stood in the hallway, staring dumbfounded into the kitchen, Taylor looking at the horror scene before her, her hands trembling with rage and sadness. The feeling of failure inside her was now overwhelming. “He’s laughing at us you know, he’s taking the fucking piss, the arrogant savage.”
“We’re doing everything we can, Taylor!” exclaimed Marcus. “We’ll get him. He’ll make a mistake sometime; these assholes always do!”
They went up to the bedroom, wardrobe doors open, bed unmade, an open book at the end of it. Taylor instantly noticed the baton on the floor and a couple of dots of blood on the carpet and the wall. “She hit him and it must have injured him. There’s blood here and a bit there, showing that it was a decent shot. Poor soul - she fought hard to survive.”
“There’s DNA evidence in abundance again, enough to open up his own lab, and not a thing we can do with it until he fucks up or we catch him.”
As Taylor walked around the crime scene her eyes watered with the grotesque signs of savagery all around her. She tried putting herself in Anna’s place, the terror she must have felt, as something, someone, that beast took her life from her. The signs of her struggle for survival, to try and escape from her captor, were everywhere. There was blood spatter up every unit and a pool of blood on the floor. His tools for his night of crime painted vivid, cruel and painful thoughts; Anna’s death had been hideous but all the things he had planned for her would have been even more horrific to endure, and then certain death anyway.
Taylor and Marcus left the scene and headed back to the office, silence taking over as they drove the short journey down to Fettes headquarters. The atmosphere was tense as the cobbled streets rumbled beneath them, the car tyres bouncing over them and giving therapeutic vibrations. Old four and five storey town houses rose above them, curtains drawn from the horrors of the night and those inside feeling safe within. With wealth surrounding them, it was a place that the people who lived there believed to be safe, but evil was just next door.
As they waited at the security gate, Taylor turned to Marcus staring at him, eyes filled with despair and emotion. “I can’t believe this is happening in our city. Things like this only happen in the States and in the movies. He’s not going to stop you know. We have to stop him. This is just the beginning and it’s just going to keep on happening.”
“I think we need to push the missing person thing further, we need to get a break at some time,” Marcus said wishfully.
“I feel useless, totally helpless. We’re failing the women of this city and there is fuck all we can do about it apart from sit and wait for this asshole to fuck up. We’re doing all the usual things but he seems to be one step ahead.”
Once inside the building, Taylor slumped down at her desk, her trays laden down with paperwork relating to the many other poor souls waiting to be helped. She cupped her face in her hands, eyes shut, head forward, her mind racing round everything that had happened and the ton of shit from the bosses that was heading her way. Things like this hit the press like a freight train. The people of the city would not feel safe in their own homes and they’d want the police to reassure them that this man would be caught, which was something they weren’t able to say without embellishment. Marcus planted a coffee beside her on the desk. His eyes looked tired, his five o’clock shadow very obvious as it was nearly morning.
Workers on the early shift started to come into the building. They nodded their heads at each other as they passed the office, some would make the usual sarcastic comments about milking the overtime, others would show a little more sympathy for them, as they both looked totally exhausted. The stress of the enquiry was visibly taking its toll on them.
Kay entered the open-plan office, her hair a little windswept, her eyes bright and alert. She looked over at Taylor’s desk, something she could not help herself doing these days. The sight she saw was not one she expected; Taylor looked like shit. Her hair uncombed, she had obviously been up all night. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, the whites of them were bloodshot and expressionless, her face painfully etched with sadness and stress. Taylor looked up slowly to see Kay looking directly at her. Her heart throbbed as their eyes met but she did not react. Her tired frame and worn out mind were unable to visually respond; her thoughts were too scrambled at the uphill struggle that lay ahead to stop this guy.
Inspector Findlay stormed in to the main office a few steps behind Kay, his stare directed at Taylor, his hand gripping that morning’s Scotsman newspaper with the headline, KILLER STALKS THE CAPITAL, THIS TIME HE SUCCEEDS”. The story captured the terror of the attack, the sadness at his success on his second attempt and the fraught battle that Anna Watt had braved to try to stay alive. The paper was always ahead of the game, the reporters knowing a little more than they should and were given because of some money-grabbing fool looking for a quick buck, risking their careers to expose just a little more information than
initially offered and sooner than it should have been released. It would all be shared in good time, just not at the crucial investigation stage. Unfortunately, such articles gave the weird and disturbed cranks of the world the information they needed to make false claims, taking ownership of another’s deviance. Findlay, although blustering with rage, still had time to look down at Kay’s pert little bottom as she left the office through the other door. This was noted by Taylor who shook her head in despair that he was her boss.
The inspector strode over to Taylor’s desk and stood directly above her, staring down at her oppressively, trying to intimidate; not a wise thing to do with Taylor, especially not that morning. She looked up at him with disgust etched in her face. His eyes were filled with anger, an expression of blame on his face - blame for Taylor, not himself. What! What the fuck are you staring at, she thought angrily. “Yes,” she said in a slightly disrespectful tone due to the body language he was displaying.
“Have you seen this, this fucking piece of shit? Who the fuck in your team opened their big fucking traps? This is a piss poor outfit, filled with loose mouthed fucking arseholes that have exposed every fucking minute of our progress, or lack of it, in minute detail. You better find out who the fuck it was or else. Find out who can’t keep their god damn gobs shut around here. No fucking wonder he’s fifty steps ahead of us every time. Useless twats.”
