Faceless

by Rob Ashman

  I relax my grip, forcing the sodden cloth over her nose and mouth. Her chest heaves as she draws the vapour deep into her lungs and into her bloodstream. I feel her body melt into mine. My head is buzzing on a cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins.

  After a while her hands start to twitch as she comes back to the surface. I remove the cloth and lock my arms around her neck again. Two, three, four – and she’s out. The cloth is back in place. The cold liquid doing its job. Her soft body is limp.

  By now I am tripping out as the excess nitrogen and carbon dioxide surges through my body. The thick plastic clinging to the contours of my features. With my spare hand, I tear at the plastic bag and heave air into my burning lungs. She is lying on her back on top of me, both of us staring at the ceiling. My breathing is short and erratic. My face damp from the condensation. The familiar feel of a sticky mess in my pants.

  I lie there in the afterglow, the bag discarded on the floor. Her body twitches again. My arms lock in place. Two, three, four – and she’s out.

  It’s playtime.

  33

  Kray found herself stuck at the hospital reception desk talking to what looked like a fourteen-year-old boy in a suit.

  ‘I’m sorry but Dr Aldridge is unavailable,’ he said replacing the receiver.

  ‘But I called yesterday, spoke to someone and booked an appointment with him first thing this morning.’ It was bang on 8am.

  ‘We are trying to locate him. If you would take a seat.’

  ‘This is a police matter.’ She flashed her warrant card in frustration, the lad looked unimpressed.

  Kray did not want to take a seat, she wanted to talk to Aldridge about Suprane. She sloped off and sat on a plastic chair against the far wall.

  By the time she had got home the previous night, the events of the day had all but wiped her out. She was emotionally drained. She had held it together until she opened her front door. Then she had collapsed onto her knees in the hallway and burst into tears. She couldn’t contain the outpouring of emotion and time after time she leaned forward, slapping her hands against the wooden floor. This wasn’t crying, this was wailing.

  She remained that way until exhaustion overcame her and she could wail no longer. The palms of her hands were red, and rivulets of tears streaked the floor. She had curled up into a ball in her hallway and prayed for numbness to set in.

  After ten minutes she pulled herself together and went to find the one thing guaranteed to bring on the numbness. With a bottle of Pino in one hand and a glass in the other, she headed for the bathtub.

  An hour and a half and three refills of hot water later, the wine had gone and she was feeling much better. She had forced the meeting with Rampton to the back of her mind and had given herself a stiff talking to. The clock was one hour slow because … it just was. Don’t know why, don’t know how … it just was. And the conspiracy theories about someone breaking into her home and altering it were the product of her galloping paranoia. She had also realised that in her eagerness to concoct elaborate theories around why the damned thing was slow, she had conveniently ignored the fact that there had been no evidence of a break in. She had berated herself with every swear word she knew. She had to get a grip, she had a case to solve.

  She squirmed around on the hospital chair clutching her takeout coffee that had cost her nearly four pounds and was feeling rejuvenated. Today was going to be a good day, or at least it was until Aldridge started playing silly buggers.

  The receptionist beckoned her over.

  ‘He sends his apologies and said he would give you a call.’

  ‘But I phoned ahead and spoke to one of the lab techs, he told me he was free this morning. He told me to come over.’

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey. Dr Aldridge is a very busy man.’

  ‘Yes I’m sure he is, but I was told he wasn’t busy this morning and that’s why I’m here.’

  ‘I appreciate that, but things must have changed. Maybe you can reschedule when he calls.’

  Kray was not happy at being given the brush off. She left the waiting area without thanking the poor boy. She rounded a corner heading for her car and caught sight of a familiar looking bald head dashing across the car park.

  ‘Dr Aldridge!’ she called after him. ‘Harry wait, I need to talk to you.’

  He looked back and cursed under his breath.

  ‘Oh, DI Kray. Sorry I have an urgent meeting.’

  ‘I spoke to your lab technician and he told me you were free this morning. Did he mention that?’

  ‘Err yeah, he did. But I got a call and have to shoot off I’m afraid. Can we do this at another time?’

  ‘I guess we have to if you’re not going to be here. I need to talk with you about Suprane.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Who supplies it? How do you lay your hands on it? Things like that.’

  ‘Yes that would be fine. Now if you’ll excuse me I do have to rush.’

  ‘Could a member of the public buy it?’

  ‘No you would have to be a licensed practitioner. Look I’m terribly late, can we do this another time?’

  ‘Do you stock Suprane at the hospital?’

  ‘Yes we do, under a strict stock control regime. Now if you don’t mind, I really do have to dash.’ And with that he hurried to his two-seater sports car, revved the engine, and was gone.

  Kray was back at the station sifting through the license information, supplied by the council, identifying the people who kept dangerous animals. The same thought barged into her head every time she read the scanned documents. Why the fuck would you want one of those?

  The clock in the office ticked over to midday and in walked Tavener wearing another one of the shirts he’d shrunk in the wash.

  ‘Hi, Roz.’

  ‘Hey, Duncan, how are you doing?’

  ‘Pretty good, better than Lucy it would appear.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She called in sick this morning, didn’t sound at all well, apparently.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll give her—’

  ‘It looks like Gorgon likes baseball,’ Tavener interrupted.

  It took Kray a while to cotton on to the change of topic. ‘Well, he wears a baseball cap but that doesn’t necessarily mean—’

  ‘The Blue Jays,’ he interrupted her again.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The emblem on the back of his cap, do you remember the circle with a bird’s head in it? It’s the symbol for the Toronto Blue Jays.’

  ‘How did you find that out?’

  ‘I drew a complete blank with the sports shops around here so went online and chatted to a bloke in London. He knew straight away when I described it to him. What about you?’

  ‘I had a meeting with Dr Aldridge at the hospital first thing this morning to discuss Suprane and he ran away from me. And this lot …’ She pointed to the documents on the screen of her laptop. ‘Do you know that within a thirty-mile radius of where we are right now, there is one King Cobra, two Capuchin monkeys, six wild boar and an ostrich.’

  ‘An ostrich?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Why the fuck would you want one of those?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So we pay the King Cobra guy a visit?’

  ‘We can but it’s the wrong snake. The cobra produces a neurotoxic venom which attacks the nervous system. What we are looking for is hemotoxic which attacks the blood.’

  ‘Ah, not that simple then, eh?’

  ‘Nothing ever is.’

  Tavener laughed, slung his jacket over his arm and walked towards the door.

  ‘How do you mean ‘it would appear’?’ said Kray.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said you were better than Lucy ‘it would appear’.’

  ‘Yes that’s right, she called in sick.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her, did she say?’

  ‘I didn’t talk to her. The desk sergeant downstairs handed me a note when I arrived this mo
rning. She must have rung the station.’

  ‘Why would she do that? Why didn’t she call one of us?’

  Tavener shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Don’t know Roz, I was going to give her a bell later.’

  Kray dialled her mobile. ‘Her phone goes through to voicemail.’

  ‘I’ll catch up with her this afternoon. Right now, I’ve got an appointment with a drag artist who wants to educate me in the finer arts of theatrical make-up.’

  Tavener turned to leave and almost crashed into a man coming the other way.

  ‘Hey Roz I got a present for you from BT.’ It was Alex Devereux, a new addition to CID. He was waving a small clear plastic bag.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A bloke from BT was in reception asking for you. He was about to leave this behind the desk marked for your attention.’ He handed her the bag.

  Kray held it up to the light, inside was a pound coin.

  ‘He said it’s the money from the phone box.’

  ‘What phone box?’

  ‘He said something about recommissioning a public pay phone and finding this in the cash drawer, so he thought he’d better hand it in. He said he picked it up using gloves and put it straight in the bag. A BT engineer with CSI skills, whatever next.’

  ‘But we already have the pound coin from that call box. It’s been through the forensics lab,’ said Kray.

  ‘Presumably this is a new one,’ said Devereux.

  ‘Are you sure? Did he specifically mention Albany Road?’

  ‘That’s the one, found it this morning.’

  ‘But that phone has been cordoned off with police tape for days.’

  Devereux shrugged his shoulders and raised his hand in a gesture of goodbye. Kray reached for her mobile and pressed redial, toying with the coin on the desk. The phone clicked through to voicemail. Kray’s head spun and her whole world went into free fall.

  34

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Tavener said, hanging onto the dashboard with one hand and the seat with the other.

  ‘No, that’s why it’s just me and you,’ answered Kray, her eyes fixed on the road.

  ‘Shouldn’t we call it in?’

  ‘Wacko Jacko already thinks I’ve lost the fucking plot. This isn’t going to help.’

  Kray jumped her second red light of the trip and hurtled around the corner, the tyres screeching on the tarmac as she juddered to a stop. Kray and Tavener spilled out and scanned up and down the street.

  ‘Which one?’ Kray asked.

  ‘This one.’ Tavener pointed to a new build conversion about thirty yards away.

  They burst in to find flat five. It was on the ground floor at the north corner of the building. Tavener got there first and banged on the door. There was no answer. He banged again. Nothing. Kray held her hand up for him to be quiet and dialled her phone. She put her ear to the door.

  ‘I can hear it ringing.’

  She stepped back and nodded to Tavener.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’ll pay for the damage myself.’

  Tavener’s size eleven boot crunched against the front door. It shuddered on its hinges but stayed in place. He took a step back and thudded another boot against the wood. The door bounced back. The third stomp shattered the lock from the frame. A neighbour opened her door to see what all the commotion was about. Tavener went to reassure her. Kray was first into the flat.

  The door opened up onto a short corridor with an archway leading into the lounge. It was the middle of the day but the flat was in darkness. Kray hit the light switch on the wall – nothing. Her stomach turned over. She made her way through to the living room, a small space comfortably furnished with a couple of two-seater sofas, a TV and a sideboard. The mobile lay on the coffee table. The kitchen was off to the left. Kray stepped around the table and flicked on the torch on her phone; the bright cone of light cut through the gloom illuminating a wide hallway with three doors leading off. There was a bathroom situated to the right. Kray pushed open the door, it was empty. She stopped in her tracks. She could hear a buzzing sound coming from the room opposite. Kray eased down the handle and as the door cracked open, the sound grew louder. The bottom of the door skimmed across the carpet as she opened it up. The curtains were shut and the room was bathed in a purple glow as sunlight fought its way through the drapes. Flies were everywhere. Clouds of them billowing in the air. They landed on her face, neck and hands as she tried to swat them away. A double bed with a white duvet commanded the centre of the room. The shaft of light from her phone landed on a stool lying on its side next to the dressing table. Flies pitched into her hair, fighting to free themselves.

  As she skirted around the bed, Kray saw a pair of feet. Then the shins, then the thighs. Laying on the floor was the body of a naked woman. Flies danced off her skin, swirling in the bright light. Kray clasped her hand to her mouth. There were no marks on her body, no signs of a struggle. She was stretched out with her arms by her sides. Kray could hear the sound of Tavener entering the room behind her. Kray dabbed away the tears clouding her vision with the back of her hand.

  ‘Get SOCO and Jackson here asap and lock down the area,’ she said.

  The sound of buzzing raged inside her head. Her skin crawled with the touch of marauding insects. The woman lying at her feet had no face. On the bedside table was a family picture taken in a Christmas setting. Nestled among the smiling faces was Lucy Frost.

  35

  The office was filled with a crushing silence. Tissues were being plucked from a box sitting in the middle of the table by male and female officers alike. Kray stood out front with her hands locked together behind her back. The fingers of her right hand spun the ring round and round. She gazed into the faces of ten members of the Lancashire constabulary, each one of them in a state of shock.

  Twenty-four hours had passed since the discovery of Lucy Frost’s faceless body. The forensics had yielded a set of results that were a carbon copy of the killing of Madeline Eve. The cause of death was massive organ failure brought on by her blood coagulating to the consistency of raspberry jelly. The post-mortem had revealed a single needle mark piercing her jugular vein and slight bruising around her neck. Her finger nails were scraped clean and Suprane was found in her lungs. Her face had been removed with a series of clean incisions made by a sharp scalpel-like blade. The flies had not yet had time to putrefy her body.

  All eyes were on Kray as she stood in front of the evidence board which was now adorned with photographs depicting the horrific murder of one of their own. Jackson was absent. He was with the Chief, meeting the parents.

  ‘Do I need to run through the details of Lucy’s death? I think you are all well briefed but I want to be sure.’ Kray looked around the room at ten shaking heads. ‘Okay I know this is difficult but we have to stay focussed. If anyone feels the situation is too much, you can talk to me or we have a liaison officer you can speak to. Is that clear?’ The heads nodded. ‘Right, the clock is ticking. Following the death of Madeline Eve, the killer impersonated her and picked up a man named Joshua Wilson in the Purple Parrot. He then proceeded to drug the victim with Rohypnol and bludgeoned him to death with a lump hammer in an alleyway.

  ‘Our working assumption is that he will follow the same pattern. Joshua Wilson was killed one week after the death of Madeline. The time lapse might be significant but we cannot rule out that he might kill sooner. The killer used the call box on Albany Road to phone the station in the same way he called Madeline’s place of work. So, what we can assume is that he’s working through a predetermined game plan. We have a lot of ground to cover if we are going to stop that happening.’

  A young man at the back of the group raised his hand.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kray.

  ‘I read in the briefing notes that Gorgon used articles of Madeline Eve’s clothing to impersonate her. Are we expecting the same thing again?’

  ‘That’s a good point, which leads me on to the tasking fo
r today. I want three teams – the first will make an inventory of Lucy’s clothing. I want it cross-referenced with her friends and social media photographs. If he’s going to follow the same MO, we will find items missing. The second team, I want you to focus on finding a connection between the two women. The killer does not choose his victims by accident, it will be against a specific set of criteria; find out what that is. I want the third group to bang on the doors of all the clubs and bars in the area and circulate Lucy’s picture. Set up a hotline for them to report anything suspicious. Stress to these guys if they see anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, they must call in. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ was the unified response, apart from Tavener who called her Roz.

  ‘You have each been allocated to a team and Duncan Tavener has the tasking list.’ Everyone got up and converged on Tavener. ‘And I will be talking to the hospital about how the killer might lay his hands on Suprane.’ Her words were lost in the hubbub of anxious chatter. More specifically I’ll be pinning a bald doctor to a wall.

  Kray entered the reception hall at the city hospital and strode right past the fourteen-year-old behind the desk. He looked up without a flicker of recognition.

  She reached the bank of lifts, pressed the second-floor button and exited into a mass of people staring at a board listing the whereabouts of the various departments. They parted enough for her to squeeze through and she headed down a walkway signposted ‘Mortuary, Bereavement Office and Pathology’.

  After several more doors she entered a corridor with the faint-but-familiar smell of rotten chicken and disinfectant. Kray was just about to shoulder open another door when she glanced through a glass panel and saw who she was looking for – Dr Harry Aldridge.

  He was sat with his spectacled face glued to a VDU screen, his fingers tapping away at the keyboard. She barged in without knocking. Aldridge nearly fell off his chair.