Hunting Angels (Box Set) (The great horror writers (Masterton, Saul, Herbert) and now Jones)

by Conrad Jones

  “Yes please. I would like to do that if you can arrange it.” I wanted to look at the files on the Pauline Holmes case. I wanted to prove to myself that the cult she had joined slashed her throat, not Jennifer or her pimp. If there was any evidence that she had joined a cult, then the marks on her chest meant that she’d been murdered for turning away from them.

  “It’s already done. I cleared it with the Superintendent. He wants as much good publicity as he can muster. He thinks you following a murder case, which was solved overnight, can only be good for the division. And he wants to speak to you about these cults. You’re on-board if you want to be.”

  “Any chance I can look at the Holmes case files?” I asked. I had no idea of the danger I was walking into.

  “I can’t see why not. That’s in the bag too.”

  “Did they find her pimp at the scene?” I asked. I was still looking through the glass into the empty interview room.

  “Not quite.” Peter opened the door and waited for me to walk out. “He was cowering in a bus stop nearby when they arrested him. When they approached him, he punched the glass so hard that he broke the bones in his hand.”

  “Did they arrest him straight away?” I asked. He wasn’t found next to the body, which told me that her pimp might be a scapegoat just like Jennifer. I wanted to know in my mind that Jennifer didn’t kill the prostitute. I wanted to know that she hadn’t killed anyone.

  “Yes. He was covered in her blood.” Peter opened the door and we walked out of the room. He ground his teeth as he spoke. “He flipped out in the custody suite. We had to send a tornado team into his cell. He banged his head on the cell door so hard that he knocked himself unconscious. The doctors interviewed him too, but he was sane. He was an aggressive, drug-dealing pimp, but sane. They charged him that night.”

  “How can you explain the sexual assault on the Stokes woman if you think Jennifer did it?” I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that earlier.

  “There are plenty of sexual assaults carried out by women, Conrad,” Peter tutted. Maybe I was being naive. “Until we get the forensic report, we’re guessing. Don’t be blinded by beauty. She’s probably insane, and the evidence points to the fact that she’s a vicious killer. She was found kneeling over the body with blood all over her face.”

  “Okay, I take your point.” I didn’t, but I said I did. I did not want to believe it. I couldn’t understand why I was so convinced that she was innocent. She was obviously mentally disturbed.

  The doctor walked towards us as we were talking, and at the same time the detective came out of the interview room. Both of them looked pissed off. The doctor spoke first: “Sergeant Strachen, I need a word with you please.”

  “Me too,” said the detective. He glared at me as he spoke. I didn’t know what his problem was, but I had the feeling he thought it was my fault.

  “Who was in the observation room?” The doctor raised his eyebrows in a patronizing way. He looked at his watch and pointed to the dial. “That was a waste of my time.”

  “Myself and my colleague,” Peter answered. The doctor looked me up and down. I was suddenly glad that I’d opted for the suit.

  “We haven’t been introduced; you are…” The doctor glared at me.

  “Conrad,” I said. I held his gaze and stood my ground. In my mind I had done nothing wrong. “Conrad Jones.”

  The doctor removed his glasses and wiped them on his tunic. He tilted his head and smiled. “Are you a detective?”

  I looked at Peter and he nodded for me to tell the truth. “No, I’m a writer.”

  The doctor raised his voice. “Who the fuck told her that Conway was in that room?”

  “Conrad,” I corrected him.

  “What?” he sneered.

  “Conrad. My name is Conrad.” I looked at the detective. He was still glaring at me.

  “I really don’t care whether you are Conrad or J. K. Rowling with a cock! What I do care about is the fact that somebody told my patient you were in the observation room. The entire interview is not worth a flying fuck now. She was telling the truth. There was a writer in there and his name begins with C. This is a joke.”

  “What are you saying? We don’t know who told her,” Peter retorted. “We don’t know who told her, but obviously someone did.”

  “We will have to conduct the entire interview again, without an audience this time.” The doctor held his hands up. There was no other option. “No wonder she was traumatized, she knew you were in there and I ridiculed her.”

  “Great,” the detective mumbled. He turned and walked back into the interview room.

  “I want whoever is responsible for this reprimanded.” The doctor pointed his finger at Peter and stabbed the air. He stormed off down the corridor to have his patient brought back down.

  “I’ll look into it, doctor.” Peter looked at the two constables who escorted Jennifer to the asylum as he spoke. They had their arms folded and they looked annoyed. They didn’t look guilty to me, but then neither did Jennifer, so what did I know? Peter was right. I would not make a good police officer. “You two are in trouble,” Peter growled.

  One of the constables stepped forwards and pointed to me. “Listen Sergeant, I knew Shakespeare here was tagging along, but the last book I read was at school. I haven’t got a clue what his name is.” He sounded sincere enough to me.

  “That goes for me too, Sergeant,” the second police constable said. “I knew he was coming along, but I didn’t know his name either.”

  Peter look perplexed. His men sounded like they were being sincere and he believed them. I shrugged my shoulders as a silent question formed between us. If the officers were telling the truth, how could she have known I was there?

  Chapter 4

  The Fallen Angel

  Pauline Holmes was born Julia Kenworthy in the Brixton area of London, notorious for teenage gangs, drugs, guns and tit-for-tat murders. Julia was beautiful and she was the apple of her father’s eye. He was sixteen when she was born, still a child himself. Her mother was fourteen. The teenagers tried hard to bring up their daughter, but the dice were loaded against them. They never had a chance. Her father was on the periphery of the Green Street gang and a rival gang murdered him on his doorstep. Julia was two years of age, fast asleep in her bed upstairs.

  Her mother was young and vulnerable. She clung to every man that showed an interest in her and opened her legs to anyone that turned up at the door with a packet of cigarettes and some drugs. She gave birth to five more children in six years and Julia spent her childhood mothering her siblings while her mother tripped out on the settee or entertained men upstairs. When she was ten the Social Services appeared at the door and whisked the children away into care homes. It was in the care system that the Nine Angels first spotted her. They use institutions to spot both their victims and potential members while they are young and easily influenced. The care system homes are like battery farms for the feeders.

  Julia was separated from her brothers and sisters and she didn’t gel with any of her foster parents. Instead of going to school, she spent her days shoplifting in order to buy booze and weed. They changed her real name several times to give her a fresh start and there was some debate as to whether Holmes was her name at all. The last set of parents she had reported her missing and the police investigation discovered that she had joined a group on the south coast; because she was an adult, they left it at that. She had a history of running away and eventually, because of her age, they stopped looking for her.

  The Niners baited the trap with the offer of her own room in a big house near the seaside. She’d never had her own room growing up and they let her pick her own bedding and furnishings. They were charming at first. Pauline enjoyed her time with her new family at first. They spoilt her, bought her clothes and makeup and she had her own music system. As time went by, the sinister side of the group revealed itself. She was encouraged to join in their ceremonies. They seemed odd but not too bad. There w
as some chanting and a few strange rituals, but after a few months they explained that her initiation was due.

  Then it became bad. As her new family stripped her and tied her up, she realized that all the presents and kindness came at a price. The price was her body and soul. Pauline lived with the abuse and pretended to enjoy their ceremonies until the night she watched them kill a man in cold blood. He was an ex-member accused of blabbing in a local pub about the group sex sessions he’d had with other members. They tortured him for hours, raped him, burnt him with a soldering iron and finally removed his genitals with a hacksaw, stuffing the bloody organs into his mouth before stitching his lips together while he bled to death. Pauline fled and contacted her foster parents and the police. Her parents were wary of her coming home and she didn’t trust the police. There were police officers in the nexion she joined. She couldn’t trust them.

  The only option she had was to head north and start again. Life on the streets of a big city like Manchester is no fun. An older girl, Susie, who had a bedsit near Piccadilly Station, befriended her, and within a month she was turning tricks to pay the rent. She’d been having sex with the cult members; having sex with strangers for money couldn’t be any worse. Susie and Pauline looked after each other for a while, but her friend went with a client one night and never returned. The police carried out a cursory investigation, which turned up nothing, and Pauline never found out what happened to her. She struggled to survive on her own until she met Eddie. Eddie Duncan was black like her and he was a pimp. He took care of her and offered her protection. In return, she slept with him whenever he wanted her and he took a cut of her earnings. It was the closest she would get to a real relationship with a man. What she didn’t know was that the Niners had tracked her. Her time had come.

  On the night she died, Eddie took Pauline to the railway arches near the rear of Piccadilly and dropped her on the corner where she worked. He parked his Subaru down an alleyway and checked on his other girls before returning to look for Pauline. When he reached the corner, she was gone. Eddie guessed that she had gone with a client. He was correct, but it would be the last client that she ever serviced. As Eddie drove by, Pauline was across a dual carriageway in a small park frequented by addicts and prostitutes. The park was dark that night, so dark you wouldn’t believe it. The only light was cast momentarily by the moon, as it was shrouded with thick clouds.

  Pauline walked in silence with her client. Some of them were chatty, but most of them were quiet. This man seemed preoccupied. He was looking over his shoulder constantly and he kept loosening his tie. His suit looked expensive and his cologne was subtle. It wasn’t her favourite aftershave, but at least he didn’t stink of sweat. Some of her clients made her gag. Despite the air of normality, there was something strange about this man.

  She was uncomfortable. She had never liked the dark. She couldn’t see the sky, not even a glimpse of a star in the blackness. She couldn’t see the moon either but she knew it was up there somewhere. Her client didn’t quibble at the price she’d quoted so there was no reason to worry, but something niggled at her mind. He wanted full sex and Pauline took the forty pounds from him when they reached the park.

  “Are you here on business?” she asked as they stepped out of the glow from the streetlights.

  “How far is the place we’re going to?” he grunted. His voice was tinged with a southern accent, though he sounded well-educated.

  “Just through the trees here, it’s not far.”

  “Do you work with anyone else?” he asked. The question seemed unusual.

  “How do you mean?” Pauline asked as she weaved a path through the undergrowth. “Through here.” She guided him to a clearing in a rhododendron bush. A thick oak tree towered above them.

  “I just wondered if you worked with anyone else, that’s all.” He glanced around nervously. “I know some of you pair up. You know what I mean; to look after each other.”

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be disturbed,” Pauline reassured him. Nervous clients sometimes struggled to get an erection. She didn’t want to waste any time trying to get him hard. “So are you up here on business? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

  Pauline pressed her back against a tree and pulled up her miniskirt. “We can do it here. Put this on the end of it.” Her client undid his trousers and pulled his boxer shorts down. His skin looked pale. He fumbled around with the condom and Pauline sighed while she waited for him. There was a scuffing sound somewhere in the bushes but she couldn’t see anything. She guessed it was either a pervert sneaking a look or an animal. “You’ve paid for straight sex, okay, so no funny business. I don’t do anal stuff and I’m not going to touch yours either, so don’t ask.” Pauline went through the usual spiel.

  The client ignored her. He pushed up against her, squashing her against the tree. His breath was rank and it evoked bad memories. She took a deep breath and turned her head away from his face. Some clients wanted to kiss her while they fucked, but Pauline didn’t do that. It was far too intimate. He bent his knees and roughly forced himself into her. Even though it was dark she noticed the expression on his face. His mouth was twisted into a sneer. He began ramming his hard penis into her. Every thrust crushed the air from her lungs.

  “Take it easy. You’re hurting me,” Pauline gasped between thrusts. She tried to push him away, but he was too strong. His grip on her was frightening.

  “Shut up, you slut.” Her client continued to thrust. He put his left hand over her mouth and squeezed, biting her neck hard. “Do you like that, eh? Do you like it rough?”

  Pauline couldn’t breathe through her mouth and she sucked air in through her nostrils. It wasn’t the first time a client wanted rough sex. It happened every day. She decided to let him finish. He wouldn’t last long at that rate. He slid his right hand behind her and forced his index finger up her anus. Pauline tried to wriggle free but it was pointless. She decided to let him get on with it. She found anal sex painful, humiliating and abhorrent. The cult members loved her distress when they used her back passage for their pleasure. When she ran from them, she vowed that no one would ever abuse her body in that way again.

  She heard another rustling sound in the bushes as her mind drifted away from her body. Pauline had learnt to ignore what was happening to her body by travelling to a bright place in her mind. It was her coping method. Her clients rarely took long to satiate their needs.

  The rustling became louder. She couldn’t move her head to look towards the noise. She hoped it was a mugger and that her client was the target. Watching him being attacked would make her night, but no such luck came forth. The man continued to pump her. She could feel his saliva dribbling down her neck as he nipped her skin with his teeth. He whispered obscenities in her ear as he fucked her. Most of it was incoherent, but some of it sounded vaguely familiar. His voice was a rasping whisper, but she picked out some of the words. “You love it don’t you, you slut? You love it rough. You’ve been fucked like this before in front of her. You’ve been fucked in front of Baphomet.”

  The name Baphomet sent a jolt of fear through her. He was a Niner. She began to struggle violently. There was another shuffling sound, closer this time. She thought that it could be a rat rustling through the undergrowth, but she prayed for it to be another human, anyone who could help her. Suddenly a shape emerged from the darkness of the bushes. Pauline was frightened at first but then she realized it was a woman. She struggled against him but he was too strong. Pauline tried to scream but the hand over her mouth reduced it to a gurgling noise. A blonde woman came into view over his shoulder. Pauline relaxed a little and wondered if she had misheard his rambling abuse and panicked unnecessarily. The woman didn’t look surprised to see them fucking against the tree, and Pauline thought she was probably another hooker on her way back to the arches or a crackhead looking for a hit until she realized that she wasn’t passing by, she was staring at them. The punter didn’t stop thrusting, in fact he became mo
re frantic. Pauline was pinned to the tree. She couldn’t believe how strong he was.

  “Go on, do her now,” he gasped. Pauline tried to move but she was helpless. His hand tightened over her mouth and the air hissed from her nostrils. “Do it now.”

  Pauline was confused. He was talking to the blond woman. He moved his body away from her slightly as his excitement grew, but Pauline still couldn’t break free. The clouds shifted and she caught a glimpse of the woman. She was beautiful but her eyes were as black as the pit of hell. They seemed to hypnotize her and she stopped struggling. The woman tilted her head slightly and she smiled as a mother would at her newborn baby. Then her smile turned into an evil sneer.

  “Did you think we would let you walk away?” She tilted her head to the side again and closed in on Pauline. She caught a glimpse of steel in the moonlight and there was a flash of light as the woman pounced. The man groaned and climaxed as the woman thrust the knife into Pauline’s chest. Pauline tried to scream but she couldn’t. She felt the coldness of the blade inside her and the warmth of her blood as it poured down her torso. The woman thrust the blade into her chest so hard that she cracked her ribs and shattered her sternum. The man pushed her head backwards and smashed it into the tree. As his semen shot into the rubber, he pushed his pelvis upward and lifted her off the floor. Pauline’s feet danced in the air as the woman ripped out her throat from ear to ear with the knife. She sawed through flesh and sinew, almost decapitating her. Blood sprayed her killers as her life expired and the world became nothing but blackness. They licked at her life blood and then kissed each other deeply as the clouds covered the moon once more.

  Half an hour later a concerned Eddie stumbled across her body. He knelt down and touched her cheek with his fingers. She was already cold to touch. Her head was hanging by a few sinews. Only the spinal cord held it to the body. Eddie was stunned. Pauline was special. They’d hit it off straight away, and he planned to take her off the streets and settle down to have a family with her. He held her dead body close, her head dangling against his thigh. A junkie staggered through the trees as he cradled Pauline’s body in his arms. The clouds parted and the gruesome scene was illuminated by the moon. Eddie panicked and ran like a greyhound to the main road and called the police. As he ran, he heard a woman laughing in the bushes behind him, and realizing Pauline was gone he followed the sound of laughter, but there was no one to be seen. He was angry and distraught. Before he knew what was happening, he was on the main road near a bus stop. Grief and shock gripped him and he fell to his knees. When the police saw him, he realized what they would think. He was her pimp. He was soaked in her blood and a witness had seen him holding her. As they approached, he lost the plot and punched the bus stop so hard that he cracked three bones in his hand. It was four days later when he calmed down. He began to deny murdering Pauline Holmes, but by that time no one was listening.