by Matt Shaw
“Probably the cold weather and rain. My car doesn’t start sometimes. Gets damp. Usually the spark plugs.” I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to be helpful or just irritating. If he was being helpful then he was failing. I considered leaning forward and yanking the steering wheel from his hands, forcing the car from the road into one of the many trees which lined the tarmac. The only reason I didn’t was because I’d have come off worse than him. “A cheap fix if it is that,” he continued.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I lied.
“Much planned in town then?”
He was starting to irritate me but I slipped the social mask on because the police knew what I looked like as well as what I drove. I was pretty sure I had removed any photographs of me from the apartment (not that there were many) but, even so, they might have been able to do a police sketch of what I looked like and release it to the public. Worst case scenario they’d track down where I worked and I was one hundred percent sure there was an image of me on their computer system. A picture taken when I’d first gotten the job. Identification purposes. The one loose end I was unable to tie up, much to my disappointment. If I was rude to the taxi driver there was more chance of him remembering me. Yes I was buried under a hood and a scarf but, even so, there could still be a chance he’d spot a similarity to a picture in the news if it came down to it. I couldn’t take that chance.
“Shopping.”
“Nice. Early start of Christmas presents?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied.
I was actually heading for the sex shops. Nothing to do with my awakened, horny urges and everything to do with it being the best place to secure some much needed restraints. If I wanted to start collecting specimens for the rest of my projects then I’d need something to keep them all secured with until I was ready to work on them. Unfortunately, I’m sure not all of my subjects were going to come as easily to me as the pretty runaway girl had.
“Good for you. I always say I’m going to start my shopping early but never do. Christmas eve soon comes around and I find myself snowed under with work and go panic-buying around whatever shops are still open!” he laughed, “Last year some of the presents I bought ended up coming from petrol stations. Have to say, the wife wasn’t too happy.”
Had I not had a scarf covering half of my face I’d have smiled at him out of politeness. Luckily I didn’t need to.
“Any ideas what you’re looking for?” he continued. Jesus, he’s relentless.
“Nope.” I just wanted to tell him to shut up. I wanted to ask whether there was any medication he should have been taking for his constant verbal diarrhoea but I knew I couldn’t. The most frustrating taxi ride in the history of bad taxi journeys. Before now I’d been on long rides where the driver wouldn’t even grunt at me. I wanted some peace and quiet, to get my head around what else I needed to do and here I was, stuck with the most chatty fucker I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.
“Well so long as you avoid the petrol stations, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Much to my relief we both slipped into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the drive into town. Perfect time for me to sit back and consider the many things I still needed to obtain for my prestigious art gallery.
The electricity, water and gas had come back on yesterday but most of the bulbs had blown, so I definitely need to get some of those. I want the guests to have a clear view of my works after all. So I needed bulbs, and restraints from the sex shop for starters. Handcuffs would do. Maybe some under bed restraints if they’re cheap enough. I paused a moment as my mind wandered back to the idea of bulbs. I need some for the house - definitely - but what about extra spotlights too? Portable ones? Something which could help me play around with light and shadows? Yes, definitely a good idea and something else to invest in. After all, it made no sense sparing any money if I want to make the most striking exhibition possible. I also needed to get a van from somewhere - some hire company I guess - so I could pick up my latest specimens. I didn’t dare risk doing so in my car. I’m more than ninety percent positive they aren’t looking for it - just me being paranoid and probably still slightly regretting sending the parcel. A little bit anyway. Part of me still feels proud about that move.
Anyway, put that from my mind. Keep focused. I needed some restraints and bulbs, plus a new suit so I can look good for the opening night of the gallery. I didn’t want people taking my picture with me looking a wreck. That wouldn’t do at all. And I should get a decent tool kit, something to help sculpt my pieces. Some metal poles from a D.I.Y store, perhaps, and fishing wire in case any of them need support. It wouldn’t look professional if any of them fell over.
And more food. As a rule, I don’t eat loads but I’ll still need to pick some extra up. Could even get some frozen, or chilled, bits and pieces now that the fridge-freezer is back on. So much to do in so little time. The thought of putting more pressure on myself, by sending the package to the police, sneaks into my mind again. I shake it off.
Other than those things I think that’s it, other than the required people, but I won’t be getting them until I know for sure that everything else was ready and, more importantly, I had a plan on how to get them without causing alarm to anyone who could be passing by. Whoever these people end up being, I just need to be able to make them disappear quickly and quietly. My mind kept warning me that, when I start, everything will fall into place extremely quickly and I need to be ready for anything and everything.
CHAPTER 15.
SATURDAY
Walking around town I couldn’t help but feel as though people were looking at me as if they recognised me. A feeling of paranoia flowed through my veins. I couldn’t help wondering whether they knew me because of what I’d done at the hotel and what I’d sent to the detective. Had word got around already? No. It couldn’t have. Besides, in the unlikely event the police had put two and two together already, I’m sure people would be screaming rather than just staring. Ignore them. They’re probably not even looking at me. It’s more likely to be a casual glance so as to avoid walking into me, the same way I looked at other people when I walked through crowded streets. Okay, mostly the same way I look at other people. After all, there were times when I looked at them and wondered what their head would look like on a pole. Mind you, they could be having the same thoughts. Nothing would surprise me anymore. Regardless, they’re not looking at me because they know me. They don’t. I’m nothing more than a face in the crowd. For now, at least. Put these poisonous thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on where I need to be.
The first store I walked into was the high street sex shop which hid its true intentions by selling some pretty lingerie at the front of the store. People knew it wasn’t a shop just for lacy underwear though and the ones who actually chose to visit the premises, well, they were mainly going in for the sex toys sold at the back. The further into the store you went, the more extreme the toys.
I walked through to the back, right by the cheerful assistant who greeted me as I’d come in. She wished me a good morning. I grunted at her. A fair exchange and one which didn’t stop her from following me to the more extreme of the sex toy range.
“Was there anything in particular you were looking for?” she asked. I looked at her. I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of woman would choose to work in a shop like this. Would mummy and daddy be proud of their little girl? I could hear the conversations now...
And how’s your daughter? What’s she doing now?
She has a job selling plastic cocks.
Oh marvellous! Can she get me a discount?
“I’m good thank you,” I told her. I’d hoped that would have been enough for her to leave me be, but she persisted in standing by me as I browsed the shelves of artificial cocks and other instruments meant to enhance one’s sex life. The whole thing was foreign to me and, thankfully, one that I didn’t need to worry about. I knew what I was after.
“If you’re looking on behalf of
your lady, I recommend this one!” The shop-girl reached across to the third shelf down and selected a large purple vibrator. Supposedly one of the top-sellers according to the label next to the price ticket. “I have one of these at home and it really hits the spot.” She turned it on. “You can see how powerful it is just by pressing it against the tip of your nose.” She held it up for me to put my own nose against it. I declined.
“Sorry - that’s what I’m after...” I pointed to the restraints which hung to the side of the sex toys. There were normal handcuffs, furry handcuffs, the under bed restraints that I’d previously considered, ball gags and a few bits and pieces which I didn’t recognise and certainly wasn’t about to ask about having seen the girl’s enthusiasm at demonstrating the vibrator. She raised her eyebrows and made a funny ooh noise from her mouth, as if she hadn’t expected me to have chosen such items. Did I really not come across as the sort of person who’d buy this kind of thing? I’m not sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“A fun choice!” she said with a knowing smile. Of course she knew. I wondered whether there was anything in here she hadn’t sampled and experimented with. “Anything specific in mind?” I pointed to the classic handcuffs. Metal. Lockable. Nothing fancy needed. She smiled and pulled a pair off the display hook for me. As she handed it to me she asked, “Is there anything else?”
I looked down at the handcuffs. They’re definitely rigid enough. “I’ll take all of the pairs hanging there,” I told her. For the first time since meeting me she looked startled. I quickly adjusted society’s mask for her, “I run a brothel. They’re a popular choice!” I flashed her a smile. She nodded, smiled back, and handed me the rest of the handcuffs. “I think that’ll do for now,” I told her.
CHAPTER 16.
SUNDAY
The digital clock told me it was 4:17am. The alarm wasn’t due to go off for another hour or so, but I’d snapped awake nonetheless. That thing... the thing which had been bothering me, that niggling bit of information that just wouldn’t present itself, chose 4:17am as the moment to make an appearance. The room was dark and draped in shadows, I could hear the steady probing tap of drizzle on the windows punctuated by Lucy’s steady breathing next to me, but more than that, I’d connected the dots. Scored a goal. Dotted the I’s and crossed the T’s.
That familiar surge of adrenaline and fear raced through me, and I knew then that my previous half-hearted attempts to convince myself I wanted to change jobs was never going to happen. We were slaves to each other, like the snake eating its own tail. We were one, we were the same.
The epiphany was so obvious, so blatant that I didn’t know quite how I’d managed to miss it. Maybe the stress of the situation had been a factor. Either way, I knew now and had to act.
I slid out of bed and dressed in the dark, an act that I had become so accustomed to over the years that it barely slowed me down. Hurrying to the bathroom, I kept repeating the connection over and over and over in my head.
They were the same. They were connected.
The girl in the hotel had been on display. And the box which had been left for me with the note saying ‘See me’ had come from the same person.
Had whoever done it expected fanfare? Or perhaps worldwide news coverage of his despicable act? Had he, upon seeing that his handiwork had been ignored and gone unreported felt compelled to send another message, one that would be much harder to shove away.
Was 'see me' a question posed by someone looking to toy with the police, or was it the frustrated command of a man furious that his work had gone unnoticed?
Yes.
It all made sense now. One by one, the pieces were starting to fit.
It was him.
The man who had driven past the hotel. Not to assess its suitability for him and a girl, but to check on why his carefully placed (displayed) creation wasn’t being acknowledged.
The man who, when questioned, had seemed so calm and assured, but also could not have known he’d made an error. He didn’t know that he was, so far, the one and only person who had been questioned as a possible suspect, and as a result the only person who knew that I was in charge of the case.
I even gave him a card so he knew where to find me.
I always liked that Sherlock Holmes quote from ‘The Sign of Four.’
‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’
If it was good enough for Arthur Conan Doyle, it was good enough for me.
I think I have him.
I think I’ve found our killer.
* * *
A lot of police officers would tell you that the idea of getting scum off the streets is the best thing about being on the force. It wasn’t. It’s the moments like this. These adrenaline-fuelled breakthroughs. The euphoria which comes with it always made me wonder if we were as addicted to that high as some of the scumbags we locked away. They called it chasing the dragon, but now I was chasing something altogether more violent. I know it’s stupid, and I should have phoned it in, but I had to know for myself. I had to prove I was right before I let Patterson in on what was happening. So, instead of racing off to the station like I knew I should, I went to Benton’s flat. I had to do it. If only this was America. I could have gone in with my trusty firearm blazing. This being England, however, we didn't arm every police officer to the teeth and give him a license to maim at will. Consequently, I went up there with nothing but my anger that this prick had seen fit to try and terrorise me. Not the greatest idea I’d had, but sometimes good sense takes a back seat.
I reached his door, and that was the first time my anger subsided long enough for the fear to take hold. As harmless as he looked, if this guy was the one responsible for the hotel murder, then I had to acknowledge that he was dangerous. I wanted to kick the door down, and it took a huge effort not to do it. Instead, I put my head to the door and listened, all the time shooing away images of him on the other side, jamming a knife through the flimsy wood and into my brain. I couldn’t hear anything. No TV. No sounds of anyone shuffling around in there. My instinct was screaming to be heard, telling me to go to Patterson and get a warrant to search the place. It was the next logical step, but logic and I had never been the greatest of friends, so I did something that would have my academy instructors shaking their heads. I pounded on the door and waited to see if he would answer.
I stood there for a full minute in that piss-stinking corridor before I calmed down enough to realise that wherever he was, he wasn’t home. That was actually a good thing, as it meant that my initial burst of anger (and yes, stupidity) could be rectified. I wasn’t sure if I had enough evidence, but I had to approach Patterson about a warrant. If we could get inside, I was sure we could find something to tie the prick to the hotel murder at the very least. Taking a last look at the door, I headed for the stairs, quietly confident that Patterson would see that I had good cause for the warrant and make it happen.
* * *
“What do you mean, no?”
I couldn’t believe the words coming from Patterson’s mouth. I could only glare at him across the desk, clutching the arm rests hard enough to turn my knuckles white.
“We don’t have enough Martin. Not for a warrant. We can’t do it on a hunch. Granted, it’s a strange coincidence, but no more than that.”
“Come on boss, nobody but Benton knows I’m running point on this. It has to be him.”
“I can’t just let you do this, there are rules and…”
“Fuck the red tape,” I spat. “This prick is threatening me personally. What if it was you?”
Patterson fidgeted. He looked flustered and, for a split second, I felt sorry for him, then I remembered the package, and knew I’d have to push for this if I wanted to put an end to it.
“Look, Martin, I can’t just give you free reign to go search the place. We need something, some connection other than instinct.”
“Can’t you bend the rules? Especiall
y considering how personal this has become. I thought I could rely on you.”
I regretted saying it immediately, especially when I saw the pained look flash on Patterson’s face.
“Martin, try to understand…”
“No, you try to understand! This prick is coming after me, and you sit there and talk about red tape!”
Patterson's face flushed an angry red at that. “I’m still your superior, and you will address me with the proper respect!”
We were both shouting, and it was a relief when Wyatt knocked on the door and stuck his head in the room. I could tell by the look on his face that he had heard it all and hadn’t wanted to disturb us.
“What is it, Wyatt?” Patterson spat.
“Sorry to, err, interrupt boss. Phone call for Martin.”
“Take a message and say he’ll call back. We're in the middle of something here.”
“I did say that boss, but… they insisted. Said it was urgent.”
I wondered if it was Lucy, and I half stood. “I’ll come and get it,”
“You can take it here,” Patterson snapped, sliding his phone towards me. “You and I aren’t finished talking yet. Patch it through here Wyatt.”
“Yes boss,” Wyatt said giving me a quick glance before ducking out of the office. A few seconds later, the phone rang. Under the watchful eye of Patterson, I picked it up, and in that instant, everything changed.
“Hello?”
“Detective Andrews?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
“I need help...”
“Do I know you?”
“I just can’t control myself. This isn’t who I am...”
My stomach tightened and started to roll as realisation dawned on me. I hoped I was wrong, but that was put to rest with the next words which drifted from the handset.
“Last night I cut her skin off, that pretty little girl. I used a kitchen knife. It wasn’t as perfect as I had wanted but it served a purpose...”
