by Luca Veste
He eyed the cross trainer in the corner, an extravagant purchase, for what was more or less running in mid-air. It had made him a little fitter though, made him feel less guilty for eating meals intended for more than one person. He turned his attention back to the TV.
The words from the letter found on the victim kept coming back to him, circling his mind, stirring up memories. He attempted to shut out the dominant thoughts but he was failing. Memories mingling with the present overpowering him.
Then there was Sarah, not letting him go. Forever trying to get back in.
Who was he kidding. She’d never left. A parasite in his head he couldn’t shift. A tapeworm that wouldn’t leave his gut.
Murphy winced at the imagery. Had it come to that? Was that all she meant to him now?
He thought back to the time when all was good. It was supposed to be that way forever. People would tell him how happy they seemed together, that they were made for each other. And it was like that at first. The love was different, strong. Just not strong enough, he guessed. The anger which had clouded him only months earlier was dissipating slowly over time.
She was still his wife.
He went back to eating his food, finishing the plate soon enough. He picked up the glass of Coke he’d poured himself, deciding not to drink anything stronger in order to keep his mind clear for the next day.
It wasn’t though, not by any stretch. It was on auto-play now, flicking through memories like a flip book.
Some good, mostly bad.
The day his dad had bought him his first car, a shitty little banger that barely lasted a year or so. His mum singing along to the radio as she cooked a Sunday roast. The night he came home to find Sarah crying in the bathroom, the baby she’d been carrying inside her for nine weeks gone.
Walking into the other house, a few days after consoling a devastated Sarah, finding nothing in the kitchen, and everything in the living room.
He screwed his eyes up, willing the images away. Stopped them before they all turned red, black, angry, hateful.
Dead.
He lost himself in the blinking images from the flat box in the corner, his eyes dropping as tiredness overtook.
He woke hours later, rubbed at his eyes and yawned, the tired feeling still not shaken. He could hear his mobile ringing, incessant noise drilling into his ear canal and rattling his sleep-muddled brain. He wanted to ignore it.
Did he even want this any more? He looked around his nicely decorated home, which always felt empty. No photographs on the walls, just the occasional piece of ‘art’ which he’d picked up from Homebase. It was all for show. A part of the façade he had built around him in the previous few months.
His phone had stopped ringing.
Murphy dragged himself upright, checking the arm of the sofa for his phone. It had slipped down the cushion and whilst he was digging it out, began ringing once more. He grabbed it, trying to answer it at the same time.
‘Damn touch screen, useless piece of shite,’ he said as he attempted to pick up the call, noticing it was Rossi calling as he did so.
‘Murphy,’ he said, finally answering.
‘Sir.’ Rossi was panting, out of breath. ‘We’ve been trying to get hold of you. We’ve … we’ve got another one.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve got another body. Found earlier. Near the lake in Newsham Park. Same posing, and another letter. I’m just on my way there now.’
‘I’ll meet you there.’ Murphy said, ending the call.
Another one. That couldn’t be right. He’d felt so sure, so convinced it wasn’t going to be something like this. One murder, one victim; nice and easy. It had to be.
Or the first letter was real and he was already making mistakes.
‘Focus, you need to focus.’
He needed this. He couldn’t make any mistakes. People relied on him for answers, all looking up to him.
And Murphy didn’t know if he could provide them.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
She was posed like the first victim, but that was where the similarity ended.
In the late night darkness, the large lights erected around the body illuminated the area, casting shadows around. There was no mistake as to where the attention of the couple of dozen people scattered about the place lay. The body was entirely lit up, stark and bright. The lake was to the left of them, silent and still. There was a hush as bodies passed each other with barely a raised voice.
Newsham Park, just past Kensington, a mile or so from town. The West Derby Road leading a path straight to it. A flat green space with a large lake at the top, surrounded by trees. Invisible from the road.
Again. Same type of scene.
They say you get used to it. One victim becomes another. An endless array of body parts lit up, wounds, scars, blood. If you deal with death all the time, you develop a gallows humour, dark jokes passed around.
Murphy knew differently. When it was bad as this, there was no levity to be found. You got on with the job, and hoped to catch whoever did it before it happened again.
She was laid out with her arms and legs outstretched, the same as Donna McMahon, but as Murphy got nearer he winced as he saw what had been done to her.
Large gashes were open on each cheek. She was topless save for a black bra. Numerous slashes to her skin, stab wounds.
Murphy stopped counting them at eleven. One in particular would live with Murphy for a long time.
Her neck, opened up, deep.
It was difficult to see a patch of skin which wasn’t covered in blood.
So different.
Her face was a mask of red. Dark, dull, almost brown. The features were unrecognisable. Her nose was almost level with her face. The mouth a grotesque open wound, stretching outwards towards her ears.
Once he’d brought her here, he was calm enough to lay her out, and disappear into the night.
Murphy stepped back allowing a SOCO to pass. ‘Is this what he wanted to do, another experiment or something?’
Rossi looked from Murphy down to the body. He tried to work out what was happening behind Rossi’s eyes, but failed.
‘Second one in three days. Either someone is trying to cover his tracks from the Donna McMahon murder, or we have a serial,’ Murphy said, moving out of the way. Putting distance between him and the body. ‘Witnesses?’
‘Just the one so far. Someone walking through the park on their way home from seeing her boyfriend. Young girl, seventeen. She’s being treated for shock apparently. Doubt she’ll be walking this way again any time soon,’ Rossi replied, gesturing towards a path which led from the lake, a few hundred yards towards the main road. ‘We can talk to her later if she’s calmed down. Don’t think we’ll get much though.’
‘Okay, we’ll let the SOCOs work, check to see if CCTV covers any of the area. We’ll wait for, let me guess, Houghton?’ The look from Rossi confirmed it. Murphy rolled his eyes and continued. ‘For now, we canvass the area, knock on doors.’ Murphy looked at his watch. ‘Wake people up.’
‘This is nothing like the first one. This is … just unbelievable.’ Rossi coughed, looked away before turning back to him. ‘He must have dropped the victim here earlier though. She was found at just after two a.m. Maybe midnight, just after?’
Murphy pointed towards the main road. ‘He could drive up that path from the road, and no one would think anything of it. The park is dead this time of night, no lights at this end. Wouldn’t be much of an effort at all.’
Murphy looked around; the wind whistled through the trees, sending a chill through him.
‘Haven’t been here since I was a kid. Not changed much,’ Rossi said, following Murphy’s gaze.
‘Only been here as a PC,’ Murphy said. ‘Cleared out the drunk teenagers at the weekends. Couple of bommy nights. We had the Venny when we were kids. Didn’t need anything else.’
‘The Venny?’
Murphy patted his pockets. ‘Yeah, the Ve
nny. Adventure playground in Speke. Was well good when we were kids. Not been there for a while though. Hope kids still go there.’ Murphy found what he was looking for, popped a cough sweet in his mouth and offered the pack to Rossi.
‘Sore throat?’
‘No.’ Murphy sighed, put his hands in his coat pockets. ‘What the hell is going on here, Laura?’
‘Victim has been dead between eight and twelve hours. Not killed here. Again, she was moved here.’
Murphy watched as Dr Houghton shifted the victim onto her side. ‘How long has she been here?’
‘Hard to say. Lividity suggests she has been on her back between six and twelve hours. However, if she’s been moved, it’d be difficult to determine for how long she’s been lying in this position.’
‘Can you put a rush on the PM?’
Dr Houghton pushed out a sigh. ‘Won’t be until the morning of course. But we can move some around for you. As a favour.’
Murphy snorted. ‘Thanks for that.’
Dr Houghton muttered something under his breath and Murphy took his cue to leave. They’d never got on. Worked together for years, but it had always been that way. There was something off about the good doctor that Murphy had never been able to figure out. Houghton’s attitude towards him was that of general dismay, bordering on disgust. Obviously not old school enough for him.
He found Rossi talking to some uniforms and waited as she gave out instructions.
‘Anything?’ Rossi asked when she’d finished. She had dark circles under her eyes, but still seemed to exude energy, bouncing from one foot to the other.
‘Not really. She’d been moved here, as we thought.’
‘Post-mortem?’
‘In the morning. Until then, let’s try and find out who this girl was.’
He watched as they moved around his handiwork. Assured of their roles, of the tasks they had to do.
He had to hide a smile from the other gawping passersby who had stopped at the police cordon to see what had happened.
He knew.
The two officers in uniform, their big flak jackets beaming fluorescently in the dark night.
They knew.
But this was power. Standing here in plain sight. No one had the first idea it was him who had brought them all here.
His work.
He’d waited so long, and then two in the space of a few days. All that planning, now coming to fruition.
What one person can do to another. Fascinating.
The smaller of the two officers in bright uniform, a hardnosed female, wearing no make-up, her hair hidden by her hat, was scanning the small crowd. The man with her seemed more interested in what was going on behind him in the park.
He’d wait a little longer and then leave. See if he could catch a glimpse of who was investigating.
Not too long though.
13
Tuesday 29th January 2013
Day 3
Murphy’s eyes stung as tiredness threatened to overwhelm him. The long night drifting into the early mist of a late winter morning.
The picture of the new victim, fresh in his mind, made him push forward and carry on.
So different to the first victim.
The thought of her grieving parents came back to Murphy, and he pushed it down. He couldn’t deal with what came with those thoughts. His mind was racing, the coffee he’d been downing at regular intervals taking effect.
It had been bitterly cold out there at the scene. Murphy was glad to be in the relative warmth of the major incident room at the station. It was quiet, the early morning changeover hadn’t kicked in yet. Rossi had been wearing the same smart trouser suit as the previous day and Murphy thought she’d probably ended up at her parents’ the previous night. They hadn’t worked together as much as others had, but he knew some of her habits.
He’d sent her home in the early hours to get some more sleep, but decided to stay on himself at the station waiting for a copy of the latest letter to arrive.
Murphy busied himself going through missing person reports, finding preliminary matches. He looked at the description Rossi had noted down of the woman again. The victim had been around twenty-five to thirty years old, five foot five inches, dirty blonde hair, dressed in black bra and jeggings. Whatever jeggings were. He sent a text message to Jess, his usual contact for anything modern he didn’t understand.
‘What in the name of fuck are Jeggings, Jess?’
Send.
He put his phone back in his pocket, and continued going through the list. Local reports first, discounting the long list of teenagers instantly. They had south of fuck all to go on and her face wasn’t going to help much in its present state. The rest didn’t match any last descriptions of what women the same age had been wearing before going missing. He wondered if those who’d cared enough to report them missing would ever get resolution. A lot did; most missing persons turn up within seventy-two hours. Too many don’t.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and Murphy took it out.
‘Like leggings but they look like jeans, numb nuts.’
Murphy shook his head and left his phone on the desk, putting off the reply for later. Once he’d gone through some more possible names.
He reached over and turned his computer on as fresh faces arrived in the room, taking coats off, chatting animatedly with others. The room was shared across the whole of CID for Liverpool North. One whole floor of the building, most walls knocked through. At that moment, as well as the two murders which had occurred in the area, they were also dealing with a spate of armed robberies in off-licences in the area, various sexual assaults, and two stabbings, both victims thankfully on the mend in the Royal Hospital. Neither saw anything, meaning it’d be pretty difficult to get a conviction.
Murphy wished he was on those cases. At least they were alive.
‘Have I missed anything?’ Rossi said, appearing at his desk.
Murphy jumped a little when she appeared. ‘Can’t you wear a bell or something, Laura, announce your arrival. Fuck’s sake.’
She was carrying two cups of coffee in paper cups. Costa Coffee rather than canteen downstairs. Which meant they’d at least be palatable.
‘Sorry.’
Murphy shook his head, taking the proffered cup from Rossi. ‘We’ve got the PM at nine, so we best make a move.’
‘I’ll drive.’
It was the smell, as clichéd as that was, which always bothered him about these things. The cold, hard air which inhabited the room only conspired to make it worse. Sterile, absent of anything real. He had the same feeling about hospitals, but at least there was life in a ward or bay almost all of the time.
Here, there was only death.
They’d stood back as numerous photographs had been taken, every inch of the woman captured over and over.
Murphy watched as Dr Houghton gave way to his assistant, who was around Murphy’s age but with a better tan. He was studious looking, stern, thin as a rake. Houghton introduced him quickly, Murphy only hearing his surname. Lawrence. Listened to Houghton’s instructions carefully as they meticulously circled the body, taking fingernail scrapings and more.
Much more.
Murphy turned away when it became more intimate.
‘Hmm. Difficult one,’ Dr Houghton said without looking up. ‘No distinguishing features, birthmarks or tattoos. We’ve taken some scrapings which could be of interest. We’ll send samples off to see if it’s of any use. There are thirty-one stab wounds inflicted on the body, all with the same weapon. Numerous bruises. Defensive wounds to both hands, but only bruising and what appears to be a fractured wrist. Nothing from the weapon used to the rest of the body.’
‘That’s interesting,’ Murphy said, moving a few steps closer. ‘He beat her up, and then what? She was unconscious and he stabbed her repeatedly?’
‘Possibly. There are no head wounds consistent with a brain injury. It’s more likely one of the stab wounds inflicted was incapacitating e
arly on. My money is on the one to the neck.’
Murphy went to rub his beard, but thought better of it. ‘Type of weapon?’ he said instead.
‘Looks like a standard knife wound. Could be a typical household implement. You find the knife, David, I’ll match it.’
Murphy nodded. ‘We’ll get right on that. We can take a copy of the letter with us?’
Dr Houghton looked up from the body. ‘Leaving us so soon? You know you’ll have to get over yourself at some point. It’s just a dead body. You scared or something?’
Murphy smirked, not rising to the bait. ‘I think we’ve got all we need for now. Laura, you need anything else?’
Murphy turned to Rossi, who was looking ten shades paler than when they’d entered the room. ‘Let’s go,’ Rossi replied, already turning to head out.
EXPERIMENT FOUR
Detectives,
Do we call you detectives in this country, or have I been watching too many American cop shows? Never mind, that’s what I’ll call you until I find out your names. I assume there’s more than one of you, in fact I imagine there’s a whole team. A whole team tripping over themselves, trying to find any rhyme or reason for two young lives snuffed out.
Two now. In just a few days. Unfortunately, unlike the first body you found, I can offer no grand announcement to the nature of this one’s death. No results to share, no past experiment improved upon, expounded research … nothing.
She just is.
I had plans for her of course. You may want to Google ‘Unit 731’. The books are surprisingly light on the subject and I can’t imagine you have a very sufficient library there (think Josef Mengele on a far eastern tour! Ha Ha!).
If you’d like a suggestion, the library at the City University has a vast selection of psychology books.
Alas, I couldn’t do what I wanted to with this subject.
Far too much racket, screaming and yelling, she even tried to bite me. No respect for others these days. What has this country come to? Distressing to say the least. She had to be terminated I’m afraid to say.
I may have to revisit this experiment with a new victim at some point. I so want to find out how that would pan out.
