In Love with Richard

by Paul Kelly

  “Proposal... Propose to your sister. I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. I’m a married man, for God’s sake and your sister must be soft in the head if she thought I intended to marry her. Yes, I know Maya alright, but who doesn’t?

  I think she’s had more men than I’ve had hot dinners... Now fuck off and tell your story to some other idiot...”

  Richard was furious with the message he received from Mr. Bertrand and he was sure he needed to make a visit to number 43 Grosvenor Street, before very long and before not very long indeed, as he went back to the house a couple of days later, but when he approached Mr. Bertrand again, this time knowing what he would do and not expecting any resistance from his victim, he got a volume of verbal abuse as soon as Bertrand opened his door and Richard could hear someone in the back ground enquiring who the visitor was, as well as a dog barking ferociously, somewhere inside the hallway.

  “Get the fuck”, but that was more than Richard could stand and the conversation, if you could call it that, was ended within a few moments, with Joseph Bertrand sliding down the wall outside his front door, with blood sprayed everywhere across the walls and with the dog leaping wildly over Bertrand’s body and lounging himself at Richard. Richard lost balance for a few moments before he took to his heels with the dog racing after him and after a chase of about five minutes... the dog gave up and returned to Bertrand’s house.

  Richard went into a telephone booth to make sure that he was intact and that there was no blood stains around him for Fiona to notice, but there was nothing that he could see.

  ***

  “You’re late this evening Richard,” Fiona called out as he came into the flat, “I think they should pay you overtime for all the long hours you work,” but Richard pulled his jacket from his shoulders and spread it across the settee to make a second check to see that it was ‘clean’...

  “I get paid well enough for what I do,” he answered, “I’m only a shelf stacker, not the Managing Director. I thought you knew that.”

  Fiona laughed as she asked Richard if he was ready to eat.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he replied and tucked into a plate of lasagna and chips.

  ***

  “Another victim to the serial killer,” Fiona read in the paper “Last night the serial killer struck again and with the same pattern as always. A sharp cut to the jugular. There were no witnesses, but the victim’s wife said she heard an argument before her husband was struck down... and that their pet dog, a large German shepherd had chased a man into the darkness.”

  “This is a terrible thing to be happening around these parts, isn’t it Richard?

  Fiona said as she was drinking her coffee, but Richard didn’t seem to hear anything... “These murders,” Fiona repeated, “It’s not safe to walk out in the streets after dark with this maniac around, is it?”

  “No... I don’t suppose it is, but how do they know this person, man or woman whoever they might be, is a serial killer? It could be a one-off act of revenge or anything like that,” he said, but Fiona was sure there was more to the story than Richard supposed...

  “I think it very strange,” she went on, “That all the victims with their throats cut are men. There doesn’t appear to be any women, does there?”

  “Only those few girls who...”Richard stopped talking suddenly and Fiona looked up at him from her newspaper.

  “What girls?” she asked and Richard sipped his coffee without answering. “Oh! I suppose you are referring to those girls who were strangled recently,” she went on, “but that was a different type of killing. They were strangled. No knife was used on them and this man, or woman... goes around with a sharp knife attacking people around the throat... Aiming for the jugular, it seems and so ensuring a quick, clean death... if you can call it that. Ugh! I think it’s terrible.”

  Richard smiled. It was a pity they couldn’t put a name to this ‘maniac’ who was roaming around the streets at night. It would be excellent publicity for some poor old sod... he thought before he slipped his jacket over his shoulders and left for the supermarket.

  As he went, he could hear the Salvation Army singing at a street corner. They had strong lusty voices for what they believed. “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war,” they sang and one of the choristers came up to Richard, shaking a tin that obviously contained some money “Are you saved Sir?” cried one young girl from the front row of the singers and Richard sniggered as he raised his eyes to heaven.

  “I hope so darling,” he replied, “but you can pray for me, if you like.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Good evening. Is that 020 494 6767? I would like to speak to Mr. Abbot, if I may?”

  Richard put on his best accent and strained hard to stifle the stammer.

  “I am sorry...”a thin little voice answered... “I think you have the wrong number. What number did you want?”

  “Oh! Mr. Abbot doesn’t live there then?”

  “No there is no-one of that name here. This is a private address.”

  “Thank you. Good evening. Sorry to have troubled you.”

  “No trouble at all... Good evening, Sir.”

  Richard was about to score through the name of Abbot in his little book, but before he did, he decided to try another option and use the telephone numbers in a different way, reflecting back on his dyslexia, which hadn’t given him any trouble in the past.

  “Is that 020 494 7676,” he asked and the answer came back to him in the affirmative, with just a simple, “Yes.”

  “Oh Mr. Abbot... I think I may be in some way related to you and I’m trying to trace my family tree. Would you know if you originally came from Devon?”

  Richard thought he could hear someone giggling in the background as he waited for his answer and this annoyed him greatly.

  “No... I don’t think that’s possible darlin’... You see, my name is... or rather WAS Abbot, but I’ve been divorced for over four years now and I don’t know where my husband is. He was a bastard anyway,” she added hastily before she continued to speak... “Where did you get my telephone number? It must be an old directory. I’ve been using my maiden name since we parted. My name is Winters, darlin’ not Mrs. I can assure you. I’ve finished with that entire bloody lark... Avis Winters and you can always get me on this number. Bye for now.”

  Richard breathed a sigh of relief that he had only spoken to the dear Miss Winters on the telephone. God knows how he would have reacted if he had met her in the flesh... He was about to put the matter to rest and take the name Abbot from his little notebook when a thought suddenly occurred to him and he scratched his head...

  “Winters... Winters, he repeated aloud... AVIS WINTERS... It couldn’t be, could it?

  Two days later, Richard met Avis Winters at a restaurant quite near where she lived. He had presumed correctly when he rang her number for the second time that she would accept any invitation to dinner from any stranger... at any time... and he was right. He remembered how she had asked him if he wanted to fuck her when he was a boy at school and he smiled... “Of course, my darling, of course,” he whispered into the air... I’ll fuck you alright...

  ***

  “Well, that’s a turn up for the book,” said Fiona as she prepared breakfast the following morning. Richard yawned and threw his arms up in the air.

  “What’s that?” he asked and Fiona gasped as she started to read the newspaper with its startling news. “The serial killer has struck again,” she said, “And this time it IS a woman... would you believe it...”Richard raised his eyebrows and yawned again, but he didn’t show any particular interest in the latest news as Fiona read the details to him as she munched her toast. “A young woman was found dead outside the ‘Scarecrow restaurant last night just as it was getting dark. She had been savagely strangled and her body was stripped of her
clothes. This is the first woman to be murdered in this way and there is no sign of any sexual involvement, but the police are investigating the possibility that this woman was murdered by the serial killer of recent dates...”

  Richard sipped his coffee and rubbed his hands together.

  “Chilly morning... isn’t it...”he commented before he rose to go to the toilet.

  ***

  “Is that Mr. Murphy? Mr. Patrick Murphy?”

  A very Avish voice answered when Richard asked his question.

  “Junior or Senior,” the woman asked and Richard was perplexed for the moment before the woman allayed his fears, “Because Junior is seven and the other has done a runner.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow... I just wanted to speak to Mr. Patrick Murphy and now I presume it must be the senior Mr. Murphy I’m looking for.”

  “You’re not the only one mate... My old man took off with a girl younger than his own daughter, just about six months ago to the day. Silly old bastard, he was and she’s welcome to him. Couldn’t even piss straight, could that one. No catch for any girl, but she’s an old... or rather young bag, anyway, so it doesn’t matter much does it?”

  Richard wanted to smile. His efforts were aborted, but not without a laugh as he put the phone down after apologising to the lady, whose husband had a twist somewhere in his water works.

  Richard sat comfortably in his arm chair at Fiona’s flat, feeling quite pleased with himself and with a certain pleasure in his ‘doings’ or ‘goings on’ since Maya had died. He still missed her and became angry when he thought of the other men who had been with her. They could never have loved her as he did and he had proved that time after time. With an angry thought, he felt around his jacket pocket for his Michael knife, but without success and then he remembered the struggle he had with Avis Winters... or could it have been lost with his affray with Bertrand’s giant of a dog. He began to get worried as he was always most careful where he put that knife and had always wrapped it in a leather scabbard for safety.

  “I must have dropped it when I ran away from that bloody beast,” he whispered hoping that Fiona hadn’t heard what he had said, but Fiona was singing in the bath upstairs so he was quite safe. “I’m sure I didn’t have it with the Winters girl... No, I didn’t use it on her...”he concluded with a smug grin and a nod of his head.

  “It’s the girls who drove me to it,” he said making every excuse for his recent actions. “Yes, it’s the girls who started all this trouble,” he muttered under his breath and decided he could do without the Michael knife for the time being and that in the fullness of time, he would get another one.

  ***

  “Is that Wendy Valentine?” he joked into the line, knowing full well the response he would get... or what someone else would have got?

  “Sandy... oh Sandy darling... I thought I’d never hear from you again. Yes this is your own Wendy Valentine... Throw me a kiss darling.”

  Richard smiled. He was dyslexic but there was nothing wrong with his memory and the thought of Wendy Boscombe and Sandy Worthing making eyes at each other in the classroom and then doing whatever they did behind the school toilets... before they told him what an idiot he was... Yes, he would remember... It made him feel sick to think of it, as it had done before. He had heard that they had split up, but when you are desperate, you can’t rely on hunches and what a man has to do a man has to do...

  “Meet me tonight then, darling... At Morley’s Night Club... You remember that don’t you?”

  “Of course I do, you wicked bastard. How could I ever forget... Love you darling. See you tonight.”

  Richard put the phone down and licked his lips. This vengeance was getting more exciting by the minute and he was looking forward to a snog at Morley’s before he did what he knew he had to do. He took out his fiddle and played a few notes.

  Later that evening at the arranged time of the meet, he could see the lovely Wendy preening herself and adjusting her tights. It was time to strike and he couldn’t wait as he whistled softly into the dark and watched Wendy as she pricked up her ears.

  “Is that you darling?” she called out softly into the night and Richard whistled once more, to see his victim rushing towards him and to a moment she would never experience again. This love meeting was beginning to excite Richard. It was death he wanted and sex was only a second fiddle... if that.

  The embrace was quick and Richard could smell the cheap perfume and toothpaste as Wendy slowly fell to the ground. Her legs fell out onto the pavement and he kicked them back into the shadows near the Club. No need for anyone to be disturbed until the morning... was there? Everyone should enjoy a good night out when they attend Morley’s, but he laughed aloud when he thought of what some poor sod was going to find in the morning...

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  A murder enquiry. June 2003

  “There’s someone to see you Richard,” Fiona called out as Richard came through the front door of the flat. He looked around, wondering who on earth would want to see him and then for a moment, he panicked thinking it might be his mother, but as he walked into the lounge he got quite a shock to see Tommy Gardner sitting, leg-crossed and smoking a cigarette.

  “Hi Richard... Long time no see. How are you, young man?”

  Richard was more than surprised to see his visitor. Chief Inspector Tommy Gardner was the last person he had thought he would ever meet again as he looked from Fiona to Tommy as if between them he would find out the reason for the unexplained visit.

  “Hello Mr. Gardner, I’m fine. How are you?” he asked, but there was a serious doubt in his mind as he thought over his recent past...

  “Just a social call, Richard... Just to recap... You went to St. Michael’s school didn’t you?” asked Tommy as he blew a smoke ring into the air.

  “Yes... That’s right. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you see. It’s like this... Oh... by the way, how old are you now Richard? It must be a couple of years since I last saw you. We’re making a lot of enquiries at the Station and I was wondering if you could help us, with you having been a pupil at that school yourself,” said Gardner with a wicked smile on his rugged face. “St. Michael’s I mean... Not the police station.” Tommy laughed again, as he often did at his own corny jokes.

  Richard went pale and Tommy Gardner could see that his enquiry had made some impression.

  “I’m twenty-three and I’ll do what I can, but I don’t remember much about my days at St. Michael’s, as it’s been quite a long time now,” said Richard with alarm as he could sense what Tommy Gardner was getting at and he didn’t like it.

  “Can you remember any of the pupils who went there with you, Richard? Any of the girls for example... I thought you might as you did tell me that you didn’t like them giggling at you. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I hated that.”

  Well now... Do you remember a girl named Frankland? Lisa Frankland?”

  Richard felt faint when Tommy mentioned Lisa’s name. How could he say that he could indeed remember her without incriminating himself and he knew by this time that Tommy knew all about the murders, but he was aware of the fact that he would have to be very careful in the answers he would give to the police officer and he thought a little flattery might just help... It certainly wouldn’t go amiss, he felt sure of that with his knowledge of the cocky policeman who was sitting looking into his eyes...

  “Yes, I think I remember Lisa,” he replied as he squared his shoulders and sat upright in his chair,” but haven’t you been promoted since I last saw you?”

  The policeman raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Yea... that’s right. What a good memory you’ve got, Richard.” Reg. Gardner replied as he dusted his cap with its obvious promotional status wrapped around it, “but I asked you
about Lisa... Lisa Frankland... Did you know her...”

  Tommy shifted his legs and put his right foot down on the floor as he scratched his left ankle. “Just a name that’s come up in our enquiries, that’s all,” said Tommy and Fiona looked strangely from Tommy to Richard, waiting for any further answer her friend might give, but Richard stared ahead into the room and swallowed hard.

  “Do you remember a girl named Heather Ramsay and another called Moira Bancroft?” Gardner went on as he studied his nails and Richard pretended to rack his brains with effort as he rubbed his fingers over his brow.

  “Can’t think that I do... I remember a girl called Moira, but I’m not sure of her surname. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  Tommy Gardner stubbed out his cigarette on an onyx ashtray and smiled.

  “They didn’t make you wild with their giggles, by any chance, did they... when you killed them... strangled them with your own fair hands, eh... did you Richard?”

  Fiona jumped up when Tommy Gardner made that accusation.

  “You must be mad to say these things, Mr. Gardner. Richard would never do such a thing... I know he wouldn’t.” she screamed, but Gardner ignored her protest with more accusations as he jumped up and stared at Richard Bright with an accusing finger

  “But you didn’t strangle Mr. Barras... did you?” he shouted, “Nor Sharma, Moffat and the others. You were kinder to them, weren’t you Richard, if you can call kindness using this...”At this point Tommy Gardner produced something shiny from his coat pocket. “Would you recognise this?” he asked as he produced Richard’s Michael knife and continued to stare into Richard’s eyes.

  Richard stared at the knife, unable to believe what he was seeing and then he remembered that he had lost it the night he was chased by the Bertrand’s Alsatian dog. It must have been on that occasion... he recalled again... and he smiled sarcastically at Gardner before he looked at Fiona and she stared in horror at the look in his eyes.