All Saints- Murder on the Mersey

by Brian L. Porter

  “I do know that one, though, Bren. It's called Blue Moon isn't it? You used to tell me it wasn't really blue, more a sort of pale mauve really, but it was the nearest that growers had ever come to growing a real blue rose. I've never forgotten that.”

  “You know she's never going to answer us, don't you?” the man finally spoke as he carefully, lovingly, used his fingertips to push a lock of hair away from the patient's face, where it had been blown by the wind, slightly obscuring her view of the garden. Whether she acknowledged them or not, he did nevertheless feel, or rather hoped that she knew where she was, and could see and perhaps deep down in her subconscious mind, still take some pleasure from her surroundings.

  “You never know. They said there's always a chance she might just snap out of it one day. Something might just shock her back to reality. We can't give up hope.”

  “That was over fifteen years ago. For crying out loud, you have to be realistic. Yes, there may have been a chance she'd suddenly snap out of it back then, maybe in the first year or two, but I've long ago accepted reality, even if you haven't. This is Brenda, as she is today, and will be every day for the rest of her life.”

  As he spoke, tears ran down his face, and he knelt down in front of the woman in the wheelchair, his hands gently stroking her hair and then tenderly touching her cheek as his body shook with emotion.

  “Oh my darling, Bren,” he sobbed. “You're still as beautiful to me as you were back then. I've never stopped loving you, and never will. If only we'd married as we planned. We'd at least have had some time together, time to love each other before…before…”

  The words dried up, choked by his emotions and the woman in the chair continued sitting there, her face a blank canvas, devoid of emotion, as he poured his heart out knelt there on the hard tarmac, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and with sunshine pouring down on them, with a warmth he couldn't even be sure she could feel any more.

  A hand on his shoulder snatched him back to reality.

  “We should be getting back,” said his companion. “You know they don't like her being out too long.”

  “We've only been here for ten minutes, at least let her have a little more time in the garden before we go.”

  “Okay,” she replied. “You see, you do hold out hope, don't you? You might not admit it, but you do still hope she'll come back to us.”

  “Don't be fooled by my tears. Oh, yes, they're real alright, but like I said, I'm a realist. I know she's never coming back to us and that's exactly why we're doing what we're doing, isn't it? It's time they paid the price for their actions, and we're the ones to exact that payment, that retribution from them.”

  The woman took a step or two back from the wheelchair, as if not wanting the other woman to hear her words.

  “So, when do we start again?”

  “Soon, number three returns from holiday in a day or two and I want him to establish his routine again before we strike. I don't want to get caught out by him making changes to his previous routine after the holiday. Let's be sure he's sticking to everything as before.”

  “Alright, though I can't wait to finish what we've started. I must say, my nerves were on edge when the police were crawling all over the school and orphanage the other day. I thought they could see right through me, and knew exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Of course you did. That's only natural, but you have to stay strong, remember they have no real idea what it's all about. They have no way of connecting us together and are probably still working on all sorts of wrong theories, connected with religion, the Catholic Church versus the Church of England. Using a Catholic and a Protestant churchyard for the first two should act as a good smokescreen. As long as they keep working the religious angle they'll never work out what we're really doing.”

  “You're sure about that?”

  “Yes, of course. Trust me. We've waited all this time. I'm not going to allow the prospect of vengeance slip by now we've started.”

  He turned to the woman in the wheelchair once again, this time taking her left hand in his own.

  “Brenda, beautiful, gentle Brenda, you'd never hurt a fly would you? Those bastards did this to you, and now, at last, they're going to pay the price. I know you don't know what I'm talking about, but in God's name, the others will suffer as the first two did before we've finished with them.”

  He stared into her face, her eyes, eyes that once sparkled with the love and energy of life, but now stared out blankly at the world, stripped of every sign of emotion and feeling. A single tear now ran from his right eye, down his cheek and dripped on to their joined hands. He slowly drew his hand back and took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, using it to gently wipe Brenda's hand.

  “I think it's time,” he said, and slowly he turned the wheelchair around and began a slow walk back though the garden, out of the decorative gates, retracing their path through the tree-lined arbour, returning Brenda to her room some ten minutes later.

  “How was she today?” asked a nurse, as the pair walked along the corridor towards reception after getting Brenda settled comfortably in the armchair in her room before leaving her.

  “Oh, you know, the same as always,” the man said.

  “I thought maybe she might give us a sign today,” the woman added. “You know, like the doctor said, one day, if we hope and pray?”

  “Yes, of course,” said the nurse, whose name badge identified her as Registered Psychiatric Nurse Paula Dale. “You should never give up hope.”

  “I won't,” said the woman. “Is Doctor Feldman here today? I'd like a word with him if at all possible.”

  “Oh, no, I'm sorry. Dr. Feldman is consulting at the Royal today,” said Paula Dale, referring to the Royal Alexandra Hospital in Rhyl. “He'll be there until around four o'clock but he will be checking in here afterwards. He always comes back here before going home, to check on his patients after a day at the Royal. If you like, you could come back a little later. I'm sure he'd be happy to talk with you about Brenda.”

  The man reached out and placed a restraining hand on her arm. He spoke quietly but firmly as he addressed the nurse.

  “I don't think we can hang around that long, but thank you Nurse Dale. Perhaps you can tell Doctor Feldman we were here today, and we'll try and catch him next week?”

  “Oh, right, I see. Yes, I'll do that.”

  “It's time we were going now. Thanks again for all you're doing for Brenda.”

  “You're welcome, I'm sure,” Paula Dale replied as the man turned and began to walk away towards the exit doors. The woman appeared to hesitate for a second or two, as though unable or unwilling to leave her sister, until the man looked around, saw her lagging behind, and called to her.

  “Vera, are you coming? Vera…

  Chapter 24

  Mykonos

  The sun was just reaching its zenith on the tiny Greek island of Mykonos, one of the brightest jewels in the Aegean Sea. Poolside speakers at the small but well-appointed Hotel Sunbird played a continuous loop of music, alternating between traditional Greek and the ubiquitous and at times annoying Europop sounds. For those relaxing on the hotel's sun-loungers, strategically placed around all four sides of the pool, the hotel owners thankfully kept the volume at a manageable level, so it was never overly intrusive.

  Back home in Liverpool, where it would just be approaching nine a.m. the temperature was a comfortable sixty degrees Fahrenheit, but on the sun-drenched island the mercury had just passed eighty five degrees and was steadily rising. The island itself seemed to bask in the sunshine, it's white-walled houses, set against the backdrop of surprisingly lush and verdant trees, shrubs and olive groves reflecting the glare of the sun and appearing as tiny, pristine jewels to anyone approaching the island from the stunningly azure blue waters of the Aegean. The little island's idyllic charm was disturbed only by the influx of summer visitors who might provide a good source of income for the locals, but whose presence was still resented by a few.r />
  The ever popular Cotton Eye Joe by Swedish group Rednex, had just begun a new round of Europop emanating from the speakers as one guest tried his best to ignore the sound of his mobile phone, which began to ring from its place in his poolside bag, containing the phone, his cigarettes and lighter, and just in case he ever got the opportunity to use it, his personal CD player and a small selection of discs he'd brought from home to keep him entertained. So far, he'd only used it while lounging on the beach, no chance of being able to hear anything properly over the constant throb from the hotel's sound system.

  The ubiquitous sound of the Nokia ringtone finally died away and the man closed his eyes and let his mind take him back to the previous night. One of hotel's young maids had succumbed to three days of careful 'grooming' and an offer of one hundred dollars in American Express travellers cheques and joined him in his room late at night, where she participated in what he described to her as his 'rape fantasy,' nothing nasty he'd said, and he'd kept to this promise, for the most part. He smiled to himself at the still fresh memory of seeing the girl, hands tied to the metal bed-head, her ankles secured to the legs of the bed, her legs spread invitingly. Her only complaint had come when he'd begun to take photographs of her in her spread-eagled position. Whether she thought he'd show them around at the hotel and that word would reach her parents of what she'd done, he didn't know, but her shouts had become dangerously loud and he'd given her a quick slap across the face, the only thing that marred the evening. He'd taken the girl three times and then released her from her bonds, apologised for the slap, not wanting to draw attention to himself in the last days of his holiday and handed her an extra fifty dollars in travellers cheques to ensure her silence. In truth, he shouldn't have done it, and should have simply concentrated on improving his tan and enjoying the last couple of days of his time on the island, but his sexual urges had got the better of him. In the end, no harm had been done, he decided, and turned his attention to trying to decide what to have for lunch. The Sunbird's poolside bar did a mean cheeseburger with fresh salad, and just as he was about to rise from his lounger and look for a waiter to call and order his burger, the phone in his bag began ringing once again. Irritated, but deciding he should answer it in case the caller kept up a barrage of calls through the day; he reached into his bag, pulling the phone out just in time, before it rang off automatically. With little or no time to look at the number of the incoming call, he pressed the green button to accept the call.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “It's me,” an instantly recognisable voice came though the phone's speaker.

  “I can hear that,” he replied, anger evident in his voice. “What the fuck are you calling me for? I'm on holiday, trying to get some relaxation, and this call will be costing you a bomb.”

  “Look, I know you are, and I didn't want to spoil your holiday, but there's something you need to know and it can't wait any longer.”

  “What the hell is it, then? It had better be friggin' important.”

  “There's no way to put it any other way. Someone's on to us, they know about the club.”

  “Don't talk soft, man. What the fuck do you mean? Have the bizzies been sniffing around?”

  “No, it's not the cops. I almost wish it was.”

  “Well, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  The caller took a deep breath, clearly audible over the phone and then said, his voice dropping to a quieter tone.

  “Razor and Mark are dead.”

  “What?” How the hell…?”

  “They've been murdered, man, both of them. Whoever did it slashed their throats and mutilated their bodies, really badly, including sexual mutilation, according to The Echo.”

  He didn't mention the sexual mutilation in detail because the press had been asked not to reveal the exact nature of that side of the killings. The term, 'sexual mutilation' could mean anything and for now, the press were content to use the all-encompassing term that gave their stories on the killings sufficient sensationalism and dramatic effect.

  “Fucking hell!” the man on the lounger exclaimed. “Have the bizzies caught the murdering bastard who did it yet?”

  “No man, they haven't. Don't you see, whoever did it must know about us? Some bastard's decided to take revenge on us, man. We could be next.”

  “You need to stop panicking. Their murders might have nothing to do with us. You know as well as I do that they've both got up to enough tricks of their own over the years. Mark was lucky. No one ever fingered him to the cops so how the hell could someone suddenly crawl out of the woodwork and start killing any of us?”

  “I don't know, but I'm scared, looking over my shoulder all the time. I'm thinking of leaving town for a while. Maybe for good, you know? Even if I have to live rough, change my name, just do what it takes, like, if it means staying alive. Maybe you should just stay out there in Greece for a while. They can't get to you there.”

  “Are you totally stupid?” said the man on the lounger, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. “I'm on a fucking package holiday, you moron. I have to leave my hotel in less than two days time and fly home. You can't just extend your stay when you're on a package. And what the hell would I do out here? Do you seriously think I could just hide away on a Greek island for the rest of my life, just in case some nutter comes looking for me? I'll tell you now; it won't pay anyone to try it on with me. I can look after myself. I'll kill any bastard who thinks they can take me down. If you want to run, you run, but don't expect me to do the same. Listen, we'll get together and talk about this when I get back, okay?”

  “Yeah, right, okay, if you think that's best.”

  “I do, and try to stay bloody calm until I get home, and one more thing.”

  “Yeah, man anything you say.”

  “Don't ever let me here you mention the club over an open telephone line again, you got that?”

  “Yeah, right, sorry man. I was just kinda panicking, you know?”

  “The only people who call it that are you, me and the others. It's just our own little in-joke name for it, isn't it?”

  “Of course, like I said, I'm sorry.”

  “Okay. Now, are you going to let me enjoy the last couple of days of my holiday? I'll call you when I get home. Don't worry. We'll get it sorted. No one's going to get you or me, Johnny boy, got that?”

  “If you say so,” said the worried man back home in Liverpool. “Sorry about spoiling your day. I'd better go. Need to get to work, but I don't feel like going to be honest, you know, just to be on the safe side.”

  “Go to work, Johnny. It'll look suspicious if you suddenly stop turning up.”

  “Yeah, right, I suppose so.”

  “I'm going now, get off to work and stop your worrying.”

  With that, the man on the sun-lounger pressed the 'end' button on his phone, cutting his friend off. Despite what he'd said to Johnny, the news from home was indeed seriously perturbing. There was no way he was going to derive much enjoyment from the next two days on Mykonos. If indeed someone had uncovered his secret life and embarked on a mission to eliminate the members of his very special, very private and exclusive 'club' he knew there was only one way to stop them. He'd have to identify and eliminate them first.

  Chapter 25

  A Good News Day

  “Come in, Izzie,” Ross called from within his office, recognising her distinctive knock on his door.

  Izzie Drake walked in and closed the door behind her.

  “Something wrong?” he asked her. “What happened to your usual knock and walk right in?”

  “Well, it's more personal than business, sir, so I thought it best to wait and see if you were free.”

  “Oh, for God's sake, Izzie, what is it? You look like a cat on hot bricks, and your face is red as a beetroot. Don't make me guess at whatever it is.”

  Izzie Drake took a deep breath, and blurted out her news before she changed her mind about telling her boss.

  “I'm get
ting married,” she said, “Peter proposed, and I said yes.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Ross relied with a smile on his face. “I had an idea something like that was coming from the way you've been acting for the last day or two.”

  “You knew all along then?”

  “I'm a detective, remember? I guessed.” Ross grinned from ear to ear.

  “And here's me, getting all worked up about telling you.”

  “Why, Izzie? You don't me permission to get married, and Peter's a great guy. Congratulations to you both.”

  “Thanks, sir, that's a bloody relief,” and the two of them laughed together.

  “Listen,” Ross said. “I'll have a word with Maria and the two of you can come over and we'll have a bit of a celebration dinner for you.”

  “Wow, yeah, that'd be great sir, thank you.”

  “Right then, that's sorted. Now, Sergeant, do you think we can get back to the business of catching killers?”

  “But of course sir, any time you say,” she smiled at her boss, breathing a big sigh of relief at the same time. She didn't know why she'd got so worked up about telling Ross about Peter's proposal. After all, the two of them had worked together long enough for her to have known her boss would be pleased for her. Anyway, it was done now, and he was pleased, she was happy, and it was time to get back to work.

  She didn't get off quite so easily however, as Andy Ross began the morning briefing with an announcement of her engagement. Five minutes of celebration followed with one or two ribald comments thrown in for fun.

  “Did he propose, before, during or after, Sarge?” Curtis asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “Bollocks, Tony,” Izzie laughed, picking up a pencil from the nearest desk and throwing it at the grinning Curtis.

  As the laughter and congratulations flowed, Ross felt grateful for the distraction brought about by Drake's news. It had, temporarily at least, given the team a chance to release some of the tension that was gripping them all with each day that passed without an arrest. The door to the conference room opened and D.C.I. Porteous walked in to see the team engaged in their light-hearted banter.