Crime After Crime

by Crime After Crime (v5. 0) (mobi)

  Payback wasn’t long coming.

  “Time for CID to take over, kids, but don’t worry, we got a juicy job for you.” Henderson grinned at Guy, who was oblivious, still focused on Sara.

  “I want every bit of CCTV footage at the abduction site – shopping centre, car park, surrounding area. Every car is to be accounted for – owners’ names, addresses – plus I need details of all credit/bank transaction made there today, and I want them on my desk by end of shift. Think you can handle that… Dick?”

  It was a mammoth task with an impossible deadline, but Dickie wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of complaining. “Piece of cake, Piles.”

  He looked on the bright side. Maybe he’d have time to nip home, get Ally’s t-shirt and return it. The refund should pay for a couple of years of college, at least.

  Famous at last

  Her pain doesn’t move me, her blood gives me no pause, rather, it excites me. I am pumped, ecstatic.

  My latest Thing has been alive for two days and it’s amazing what the human body can endure. I lower the drill. Maybe I should let her live? That way she can be a testament to my craft.

  “Should ’a thought of that sooner,” I mutter. She’s seen my face. I could cut out her tongue, mash her brains a bit more, and even then she might still be able to identify me. I can’t take the risk, plus, she won’t stop screaming. She’s unconscious, and I can still hear her irritating wails, begging for mercy.

  God, she disgusts me. I want to hurt her some more, but she won’t wake up. I pace the shed, my blood on fire, like a colony of ants marching under my skin. I’m running out of time. Bert isn’t coming back, but someone will check in sooner or later.

  “Wake up!” I kick her, hearing something break, not caring. She flops like a rag doll, blood trickling onto the wooden floor. The trickle eases, stops. I know what that means. God damn it. Why can’t they last longer? Other killers make their Things last weeks, months, even years; my two days are nothing in comparison.

  Frustrated, I pick up the paper I’d bought earlier. I was saving it, but now I need all the kicks I can get. I open it, savouring the moment, the sound of my Things’ names as they roll off my tongue: “Kimberly, Natasha, Olivia, Evie,” I trace their faces with my finger, “Chloe, Lucy, Krista.” The list seems endless, even without today’s offering.

  I feel a thrill reading about the lives they lived, the hopes they had for the future. And each snippet, each little nuance of the pain I’ve caused them, and those around them, makes my heart leap and the ants cease their marching.

  “I did that.”

  As much as I want to shout the words aloud, I’m glad there is no one but me and the Thing to hear.

  I have to be careful.

  After all, I have a reputation to protect now.

  Getting nowhere – fast

  It was four days since Krista Conwell had been abducted and murdered, and forty-eight hours after a second girl, Alicia Stinson, had gone missing. The faces and voices at the twice-daily update meetings became longer and louder as tempers flared and fear escalated. No one said it, but they all knew we weren’t looking for a kidnap victim anymore.

  Eight girls had gone missing in seven weeks. None had been found alive. As Alicia was the second girl taken this week it appeared the killer was accelerating his schedule.

  “We should be out there doing something,” Sara said, her frustration clear.

  “Like what?” Dickie asked her. “Kicking in doors? A high-speed car chase or two? This isn’t the movies. Policing is thankless grunt work, but it’s the grunt work that solves cases, never forget that.”

  “As if I could,” Sara muttered. Having checked and cleared every car owner in the shopping centre on the day of the murder, they were now working their way through the credit/bank card list. They were down to the last five.

  “I like this guy,” Dickie tapped a name near the end of the list. “Herbert Townsend. I have a copy of his driving licence here somewhere.” He rummaged in his desk. “Ah, here it is. Says he’s forty-two, 5ft 8, fifteen stone, bald. Lists his occupation as farmer, status, single.”

  “And him sounding like such a stud too.”

  Dickie grinned.

  “Why do you like him?”

  “Apart from his record, which shows he’s done time for assaulting a minor – there was a whiff of sexual abuse, never proved – look at his credit history. He buys on line, gets everything delivered. He’s used his bank card twice: when he got it three years ago, and the day before yesterday.”

  “Could ’a been stolen?”

  “True, but that would still give us something. Mr Townsend is bound to know who had the opportunity to steal his card.” Dickie scribbled the address on a piece of paper and grabbed his coat. “Either way, he’s the best lead we have.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Henderson said behind him, plucking the paper from his hand. “Guy and I will take it from here.”

  There was nothing Dickie could do. Henderson was within his rights to take the lead. Still, it rankled.

  “One less for us,” Sara said, sounding cheerful. “We might actually get to clock off on time for once.” She smiled at Guy, who winked as he left. “It’s the weekend and I’ve got plans.”

  Dickie hadn’t missed the little by-play. “You got a date?”

  Sara blushed. “Maybe.”

  “Bit of advice – if he asks you to go back to his place, say no.”

  “Not that I’m admitting anything, but why not?”

  “’Cause he lives with his mum.” Dickie guffawed. “And three is definitely a crowd.” He hunted through the file. “Got it.”

  “Got what?”

  “There’s a sister, Nancy Palmer, she lives just a few miles from Townsend with her kid. She might be worth a visit, if the rest don’t pan out.”

  “Today?” Sara looked at her watch.

  “Yes, today. You’re the one who wanted to do something. This,” Dickie held the paper aloft, “is doing something.”

  Sara wisely kept her mouth shut and went back to her list.

  Mummy Dearest

  I’m almost sorry to say goodbye to this Thing. Yes, she has irritated me with her constant screaming, but I’ve spent the longest time with her, learned so much.

  For instance, she’s afraid of the dark, of being alone. I never knew that… whatchamacallit… psychological pain, could be almost as much fun as physical pain. It adds a whole other level to my game.

  I figure she deserves a little something in return. Burying her on top of Bert might not be her idea of a reward, but at least she won’t be alone.

  “How’s it feel to have a woman on top for a change, you old perv,” I shout into the grave. Anger burns inside me, consumes me. I should have killed the bastard years ago, when he first touched me.

  I rush to fill the grave, wanting him out of my sight, my mind. The sound of cars turning into the yard and doors slamming finally breaks my concentration. Who would be visiting Bert? Everyone hates the old buzzard.

  I hear voices, loud, officious. My heart jumps. It can’t be. I drop the shovel, running to the side of the barn, peeking out. Ahead are two cars, one unmarked, the other flashing blue and red lights.

  How have they found me? I am at once incensed and fearful. This is my place. It isn’t fair.

  Mind in a whirl, I slip away. I go through the fields, keeping low as I run for home.

  * * *

  “Whas’a matter?” Nancy blocks my path, her breath sour, the stench of her unwashed body overpowering.

  “Move!” I am breathless, frantic. Do the cops know about me? Will they be here next? How much time do I have?

  “Don’t speak to me like that.” Nancy fumbles, grabs my arm.

  “Why not?” It can’t be over, not yet, not so soon. I think of my next Thing, refusing to give up. I have to have her. I have to finish what I started, but I have to hurry.

  “Because I’m yer mum.”

  This strikes
me as funny. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, you old bat.”

  “Why you worthless lump of…”

  “I don’t have time for this.” I push past her.

  “Ungrateful little bastard.” Voice slurring, spittle flying from her lips, Nancy pushes back.

  That’s when I lose it.

  I hit her, striking out over and over. She sinks to her knees, arms raised to cover her head. It’s easier to kick her in that position.

  I kick her for a long time, until she shuts up – for good.

  Bells will be ringing

  “What’s the deal with you and Henderson,” Sara asked, as they drove towards Nancy Palmer’s address. As they’d suspected, their other leads hadn’t panned out; this was their last hope of finding Alicia Stinson.

  “What happened to rule number two?”

  “I’m guessing it went the same way as my plans for the weekend?”

  She had a point, Dickie conceded, and figured he could give a little in return. “My ex, Rachael, ran off with Henderson, lives with him now.”

  “Ally’s mother? She’s still alive?” Sara sounded stunned, “I assumed…”

  “See, this is why I have rules. Yes, she’s alive. No, she doesn’t want to see Ally, and no, I don’t understand why. Anything else?”

  Sara shook her head.

  “Good. Is this the place?”

  She checked her map. “Yup.”

  “Doesn’t look like much.” Dickie got out of the car.

  Sara had to agree.

  Together they approached the dilapidated house with its peeling paintwork and grimy windows. Dickie knocked the door. No answer. Just as he was about to knock again, his mobile rang. He looked at the display, tempted to ignore it when he saw Henderson’s number.

  “Your hunch was right, O’Neil.”

  The voice belonged to Guy, Henderson’s partner. He sounded excited. “We’ve found two bodies. You got any background on Townsend we can use?”

  “There’s a sister,” Dickie read out the address. “We’re there now.” He could hear Guy regaling this to Henderson, heard Henderson’s muttered oath. He hid a smile and handed the phone to Sara. “It’s for you.”

  He knocked the door again, knowing it was a lost cause. Empty houses had a distinctive echo. He turned the handle. The door opened. Motioning to Sara, he stepped inside.

  The smell hit him first: decay, dirt, and the unmistakable odour of blood.

  The body lay in the living room. Not Townsend, female. “Get Guy to call it in,” he told Sara, who was still on the phone. She nodded, face ashen.

  “Done.” She handed the mobile back to him and together they searched the house. It was empty. When his phone rang again Dickie answered it straightaway. This had gone beyond his feud with Henderson.

  “Yes?”

  “What have you got?”

  Dickie filled him in. “Body is female, best guess middle-aged. I figure Henderson’s sister, but the face is too badly bashed in to be sure. Luckily, we have her prints from a drink/driving conviction a few years ago. What about you?”

  “A male and female. No firm ID, but I’m guessing the female is Alicia Stinson. Clothing matches the description we have on file for what she was last seen wearing. The male is late thirties, early forties, bald… sound like anyone you know?”

  “Damn! So Townsend’s not our man?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “There’s got to be a link. Townsend’s dead, so is his sister, and her kid, Chris, is missing.”

  “Another kidnapping?”

  “Could be, although it doesn’t really fit the M.O.” He heard Henderson groan, echoed it. When would this madness end?

  “Get an alert out.”

  “Already done.”

  “Good. We’ll be there ASAP.”

  Dickie closed the phone. In the distance he could hear sirens. Backup would be here soon.

  “This is odd,” Sara said.

  “What?”

  She held up a fistful of receipts. “They’re all from the same place – Le Chic – that pricy shop in the Odyssey. It’s just… Nancy Palmer doesn’t strike me as a Le Chic kind of person.”

  “Me either.”

  “Could they belong to Chris?”

  “Doubtful,” Dickie looked around. “I just don’t see them having that kind of cash.”

  “Then how did they get them?”

  “Probably stole them.”

  “Why steal receipts, return receipts by the looks of it?”

  An alarm sounded in Dickie’s head. “Let me see.” He grabbed the receipts, flicking through them. “Because these are the shop copies, they list the customer’s name and address.” Something else caught his attention. “Check out these dates. March 10th… that’s when Kimberly Evans was abducted. March 17th… Natasha Bloomfield went missing that day. The 24th… Olivia Meriwether.” He read them all; every receipt matched a missing girl. The last receipt was dated Monday of that week, and was for the return of an expensive t-shirt. A t-shirt just like the one he and Ally had fought over, the very same one that a shamed Ally had taken on herself to return before he could.

  He dropped the receipts and sprinted for the door.

  “Dickie?”

  “Rule three,” he yelled over his shoulder, “If I run, run!”

  Revelations

  Sara shouted directions into the radio, trying to make her voice heard over the roar of the engine. Dickie was oblivious, chanting a silent mantra, the words running together in his mind. Please let me be on time. Pleaseletmebeontime. Visions of the murdered girls, beaten and mutilated ran in a macabre loop in his head.

  He took the corner to his house on two wheels; saw that Henderson had arrived before him. He screeched to a halt, bolting from the car, not waiting for Sara.

  “Dic…”

  “Don’t,” he told Henderson. “Don’t even think about stopping me, that’s my daughter in there.”

  “Wasn’t intending to,” Henderson said. “After all, she’s Rachel’s daughter too.”

  If Dickie had been stationary he would have punched Henderson there and then. As it was, he needed both arms to propel him up the driveway. “Nice of you to finally remember?”

  “Always did,” Henderson panted, “it’s Rachael who doesn’t.” He paused, as if making up his mind. “She’s in Arbour House,” he said, naming a famous clinic, “has been for almost a year,” he was breathing hard, trying to keep up with Dickie, “complete… mental… breakdown.”

  Dickie was stunned into immobility. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Ally at least deserved to know her mother didn’t abandon her.”

  “She didn’t want you to know.” Henderson passed him. “Can we… talk… about… this… later?”

  Dickie sprinted after him, overtaking him. He had his key out and in the lock by the time Henderson caught up.

  From upstairs a scream rang out, high pitched and fearful.

  Dickie made to dash up the stair, but Henderson held him back. “Could be a trap,” he hissed.

  “I don’t give a fuck.” Dickie shook him off. “I have to get to Ally.”

  “Get her killed, more like. Don’t be an ass. We have surprise on our side, let’s use it.”

  Much as he hated to admit it, Dickie knew Henderson was right. On silent feet, they climbed the stairs. As they crested the staircase Dickie felt his resolve crumble. Ahead lay a trail of blood, leading towards Ally’s bedroom. Another scream rent the air. It didn’t sound like Ally; then again, he’d never heard his daughter being butchered before.

  Dickie forced himself to stay calm, kept his eyes focused on Ally’s door. It didn’t seem to be getting any closer, then, all of a sudden, they were there. He took a deep breath, trying to control his breathing as Henderson started the countdown. He held up his thumb.

  One.

  An index finger followed.

  Two.

  On the count of three they burst in to the room.

&nb
sp; Dickie had tried to prepare himself, psyched himself up, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes.

  Act 1, Scene 1

  The next one was my undoing. I can admit that. I was too eager, rushing in without evaluating the situation properly – not something I am likely to repeat. However, in my defence, there was no way I could know she was a copper’s daughter, not so easily taken.

  Cameras flash as I mount the steps to the courthouse, voices calling out.

  “Why’d you do it, Chris?”

  I don’t reply. They could never understand.

  I consider my options as the door to the courthouse moves closer. It’s been two months since my capture. I’ve had plenty of time to work out my defence. I go straight into Act 1, Scene 1.

  Doing my bidding, my green eyes well with tears; I drop my head, hunch my shoulders, acting contrite. I catch a few sympathetic glances.

  Yup, tears might work. I’ll have to try them on the judge. Maybe I’ll get a Thing – Things like me, in the beginning anyway.

  I catch sight of a familiar face in the crowd. The cop dad. He is surrounded by other coppers, their gazes cold and hard, but his eyes hold me. They are the closest thing I’ve found on this earth to what I carry in my heart. In their darkness I remember his daughter’s fear, can almost taste her fury on my tongue. I touch the scars on my head, my neck, my arm, remembering what it felt like to lose that much blood, remembering how it felt to be on the other side.

  I don’t intend to be there again. Ever.

  I am ushered through the vaulted doors and he is lost to sight. I smile. No, it is more a smirk, but I am too clever to let it be seen. It isn’t so bad. I’ll be out in a few years – they can’t hold a ten-year-old much past that. And next time… well, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be wiser in my choice. Police officers’ daughters are out – unless, that is, I learn a bit more inside.