by steve higgs
‘What makes you think the man tried to defend himself?’ I asked pressing for more information.
‘The presence of the bat and its proximity to his body coupled with traces of wood that match it alongside the driver's seat. My guess would be he kept it for dealing with problem customers. It could be that the killer brought it with him, but so far, he has left no trace of himself and never used a weapon. Leaving a bat with his fingerprints on would seem clumsy. Also, there is no blood on it, so it was not used by the attacker.'
Reasonable enough, I thought. ‘What do the throat wounds look like?’
Amanda paused before answering, possibly to order her thoughts so that she could answer the question accurately and without opinion, or possibly because it was gruesome stuff and she didn’t really want to remember at all. I gave her a few moments, but she started speaking before I felt the need to prompt more from her. ‘They seem to fit the pattern of the first three victims. Forensics will need time to confirm whether it is the same mouth that inflicted the bite to the earlier victims, but I would say it is the same person. Same murderer.’
‘Did the attack seem frenzied?’ The murderer was killing people in quick succession, five now in seventeen days, three in the last four days and with no apparent connection between the victims. Was the killer acting out a sex fantasy? Meeting a pathological need of some kind? Were the five victims we knew of the only ones he had killed or were there more elsewhere? The questions were piling up and answers were proving elusive.
Amanda had taken time to consider her answer again. ‘I don't think so. The girl's clothing was a bit skewwhiff as if she had been having sex in the taxi. Bra undone, but not ripped, skirt pulled right up, but there were no obvious bruises on her arms and legs, so it is unlikely she fought much, if at all. If I had to guess I would say there was a second passenger that was known to the girl. They were travelling together, and he bit her throat in the back of the taxi while it was being driven. The taxi driver careened off the road as the blood started squirting, coming to rest where we saw the car this morning. He then either took the bat and attempted to stop the attack or panicked and fled only to be caught and overpowered. Does that sound plausible?'
‘I think I need to give that some thought, but I don’t see any immediate holes. It is probably close enough for now.’
The conversation had taken us back into Maidstone town centre. I was on the one-way system and it was 1145hrs. I needed breakfast and a cup of tea. Amanda took that moment to yawn and stretch and in doing so pushed her shoulders back and her chest out. The fullness of her shirt filled my vision, involuntarily I stared at her fantastic twin mounds of swollen flesh and my thoughts turned from crazed vampire murders to the potential future nakedness of my companion. Mr. Wriggly instantly stirred, which when stuffed into trousers and jammed into a bucket seat was not comfortable. He was endeavouring to stretch out and in doing so was tugging on some pubic hairs that were probably tucked underneath him. Now distracted by a pinching sensation coming from my groin I remembered why I was having trouble in the first place and flashed to another image of PC Hotstuff, this time reclined in lingerie on my bed.
‘Nice car,’ she said breaking the spell like a pin to a bubble. I twitched the wheel as my focus returned and I realised I had not paid the slightest attention to the road for the last few minutes.
‘Thank you. It is a little impractical, but I love it.’
‘Do you put the dogs in it?’
‘Yes. They sit on the passenger seat quite happily, although I never take them very far. To the park and back or the vets when their jabs are due. Mostly they curl up and go to sleep.'
Amanda lapsed into silence, her line of conversation seemingly exhausted and we finished the short journey back to my house without speaking again.
My House. Sunday, September 26th 1215hrs
The dogs performed their usual routine of barking excitedly as we entered the house, followed by tearing off towards the back door. I let them out and shut the door, the sound of their feet on the decking ceasing as they hit the grass.
Back inside, Amanda was leaning on my desk looking at pictures pinned to the wall. I had printed off several I got from Liam Goldhind.
‘Tempest, where did you get these pictures?’
‘Liam Goldhind, the man that found the second victim. Whoever the police had conduct the investigation and deal with the crime scene, failed to confiscate his phone, or whatever it is the police do, because he had over a hundred pictures of Mrs. Hancock on it.'
‘These should be in police hands; they may be important.’
‘You can have copies of everything. I assumed the police would have their own pictures.’
‘We will have. Every bit of evidence though…’
‘Well, just let me know what you want or if you want to get someone in to make copies. Whatever.’
Bull, then Dozer appeared at the back door looking to come back in. It was nearing lunchtime, so they would try to convince me that they needed something to eat. My own stomach rumbled lightly at the thought.
‘I’m going to put the kettle on and make a sandwich, can I interest you in anything?’ I asked Amanda over my shoulder as the dogs whizzed between my legs.
‘Both sound great,' she replied. She was still looking at the pictures of Mrs. Hancock, her hands tucked into her back pockets as she leaned forward to scrutinise something in one of the photographs.
I passed her on my way to the kitchen where the dogs were excitedly dancing in front of the fridge looking hopeful. As I strode past them to the kettle, they swivelled to maintain eye contact and began dancing again once I had filled the kettle, switched it on and turned back to face them.
‘Carrot?’ I enquired.
No answer came, but I assumed, based on experience, that they would eat anything that came out of the fridge, so fished out a decent sized carrot, snapped it in half and chucked the two pieces into the lounge. Their paws slipped a few times as they propelled themselves from stationary to full speed on the stone floor. As I snagged the milk from the fridge door, I could hear crunching from the next room.
Amanda wandered through from the dining room/office just as I was pouring hot water into two mugs.
‘Two sweeteners, right?’
‘Yes, please.’
Tea on the breakfast bar, I gathered bread and butter, ham and cheese, lettuce and pickles and the general accoutrements and tracklements that made sandwiches so very interesting.
‘Help yourself, please,' I invited, as I cut several slices from a farmhouse style loaf and furnished her with a plate.
As Amanda began to butter some bread, I fetched an A4 pad and pen and began to make notes of what she had already told me about the latest murder victims. Where they had been picked up, where they had been found, the probability of a third person in the Taxi who was most likely the perpetrator.
I had lots of questions which I now started to jot down.
Names of victims?
Any connection between them? – seems unlikely
Witnesses to the taxi driver making his pick-up? – interview other taxi drivers from last night to see if anyone saw them
Is there CCTV outside the club? – probably
Did it catch a view of the killer?
I could have kept going for quite a while.
‘Do you need to be anywhere this afternoon, Amanda?
‘There is nothing I can’t cancel,’ she answered without answering the question.
I had several simultaneous lines of thought. The first thought was that I could get Amanda to supply me with information from the investigation since Darren Shrivers was out of town and thus not available, then it occurred to me that it was Sunday and I might be able to get Amanda to stay for dinner, which was a pleasing prospect as I could not deny my attraction to her.
However, before any of my thoughts could coalesce into a sentence, I heard the front door handle turn. The dogs heard it too and were up and off and running
through the house to see off the intruders… who turned out to be my parents.
‘Ah,’ I said to no one, rather brainlessly.
Mother was in the house now and pulling off her coat and bending down to undo the laces on her walking boots. ‘Yes, yes. Hello, Bull. Hello, Dozer. No, I don’t need a wash, thank you,’ she advised the dogs.
‘Move your bum please, Mary. So, I can get in, would you?' This from my dad.
‘Give me a moment Michael. I’m taking off my boots,’ she answered with a little impatience and irritation.
‘Well then, shut the door, Mary. You are letting all the cold air in. It's not like I can get around your bum, is it? It fills the door.'
‘Shut yer face,’ she replied instantly, accompanied by a punch to his ribs.
Dad made a suitable ouch noise to placate his wife but shoved her over the threshold and into the house anyway. The door slammed shut behind him.
‘Amanda,’ I whispered. ‘Their eyesight is largely based on movement. If we stay still, they might not see us.’
‘Hmm?' Was all I got in reply accompanied by a single raised eyebrow. She had no idea what I had just referenced. I felt a little disappointed.
‘Hello, mother,’ I called through from the kitchen.
‘Hello, Tempest,' her reply drifted back through. She had still not looked across to see that I had company. ‘We thought we would stop in on our way to pick sweet chestnuts, see if you wanted to join us. You did say you might not be in, so we were just going to get the… oh.' Having finally finished faffing with coat and boots and looked in my direction, mother had spotted Amanda. That she had been silenced mid-flow was something to make a note of.
‘Michael.’ Mother was staring at Amanda and I and motioning desperately behind her for her husband. Dad was taking his boots off and paying no attention.
‘Michael!’ this time with a bit more insistence behind it.
I was clearing the chunk of sandwich from my mouth so that I could speak when Amanda beat me to it.
‘Hi. I’m Amanda,’ she said advancing across the room to shake my mother’s hand.
I saw dad jerk his head forward to look past my mother’s legs having heard Amanda speak. Mother had taken Amanda’s hand and was now examining her like one might a prize sheep before buying it.
‘How you doing, kid?’ asked dad from the floor.
‘Fine, dad,' I called through, not taking my eyes from my mother and Amanda.
‘Mother, Amanda is a police Officer, she is assisting with a case I am working on, nothing else.’
‘So, you didn't stay the night?' my mother asked Amanda like it was a perfectly normal thing to enquire.
‘Mary!’ cried dad from the floor. ‘You can’t ask such questions.’
‘Why ever not, Michael? It is a simple yes or no answer. How am I ever going to get grandchildren if he never has a woman stay over? Besides,' she said, turning her attention to me. ‘I thought you and Deborah hit it off last night.'
Amanda had retrieved her hand and had taken a step back to get some room between her and the crazy woman. ‘Well, I have to say that I did not spend the night last night or any other night I’m afraid. Of course, Tempest hasn’t gotten around to asking me yet.’ On saying this Amanda turned around to grab her tea from the breakfast bar behind her and winked at me with an amused smile. I could not read the wink. My brain told me she was winking to say that she was playing along, and the wink was conspiratorial, the voice in my pants was utterly convinced the wink meant that she was instructing me to get on and invite her for sex because she was only here for that and growing impatient. Amanda was clearly quite entertained by my plight and mouthed in mock anger, ‘Who is Deborah?’ Well, at least I had discovered that Amanda had a sense of humour, even if it was at my expense.
I had to bury my face in miserable exasperation at this point though. I was going to try very hard to explain to my mother that Deborah was a whale and that there was no way on Earth I would entertain a liaison with her. I knew, however, that it was a futile endeavour.
‘Mother I will make this as clear as I can and hope with an absolute desperation that you listen to the words I am saying: I have no interest in Deborah. I did my best to be pleasant to her while she was a guest at your house, but we did not exchange numbers.'
‘I already gave her your number,’ she replied.
‘I won’t be making any plans to see her, and I implore you to stop ambushing me with blind dates at your house when I come over for dinner.’ I turned to Amanda wearing a weary expression. ‘Sorry about this.’
‘Whatever is wrong with Deborah?’ demanded my mother.
‘Leave the boy alone, Mary,' demanded my Dad, knowing of course that my mother would completely ignore him.
‘Mother,’ I started. I had my hand on my forehead wondering how to explain this in terms that she would understand. ‘Mother Debbie and I are incompatible.’
‘You mean you don’t like her because she is fat?’ Mother had pursed her lips now and was looking annoyed.
‘Mother, Debbie is overweight.’ I didn’t want to fall into the bait of labelling people as fat. ‘Ignoring that element though, we have nothing in common, she already has a handful of children and she is not the type of woman I am looking for.’
Mother stood still in the middle of the kitchen and seemed to be considering my last statement. Amanda was sipping her tea, I was trying to work out how to get mother away from the subject, but thankfully dad came to the rescue. ‘I need a cup of tea,' he announced loudly.
‘Good idea, dad,’ I said, turning to refill the kettle. ‘Amanda if you had not already gathered these are my parents. They are both a little odd.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Amanda said.
‘Are you single then?’ asked my mother, sticking with the same singular line of thought. I rolled my eyes, thinking I was probably lucky that she had not yet asked if she is ovulating.
‘Erm, yes, actually.’ Amanda then did her best to deflect my mother by speaking to my dad, ‘Did I hear your first name is Michael?’ she asked. ‘Which makes your name Michael Michaels. I’ve never heard that combination before.’
‘Well, Tempest's middle name is...'
‘Danger,’ she completed his sentence. ‘Dare I ask what your middle name is?’
‘You can my dear, but I’ll never tell. At least not while the lights are on.’ Dad’s cheeky smile was short lived as mum flicked her hand at his spuds and struck home.
Dad instantly sagged against a kitchen cupboard, one hand on the counter, one hand on his nuts. Mother had turned her back on him and was moving to the cupboard where I keep the tea and cups.
‘Sorry about this, Amanda,’ I managed. ‘I would like to claim that this is unusual behaviour, but I can’t.’
The kettle flicked on behind me as my mum busied herself making tea. Dad was recovering and managed to straighten himself to get to one of the breakfast bar chairs. Amanda had to take a sidestep so he could sit.
‘Amanda, shall we take our sandwiches and retreat back to the study?’ I asked already gathering my plate and mug.
On the way to the study, which is just about ten paces, my phone rang. I juggled my tea and plate, trying to free a hand to fish for my phone, but had to accept defeat and dump the tea mug on the first available surface I found, which was a stair. I had long ago given up putting anything edible on the floor as I always found a Dachshund on it or in it a few seconds later. Tea was an absolute favourite of theirs and I had been mugged while watching TV on the sofa before; eyes on the box, the Dachshund would take advantage of my distraction and dive headfirst into the mug resting on my leg. I would only discover my tea was beyond saving when the sound of frantic lapping reached my ears.
Hand finally available, I retrieved the phone from my back pocket, saw the name Jagjit on the screen and pressed the answer icon.
‘Hey, man.’
‘Dude! What are you up to later? I got a cool movie to watch and a pack of bee
r.’
‘It is Cobra?’
‘Suck it, douchebag. Just because I am Indian, it does not mean I have to drink Indian beer.'
‘It’s Cobra, isn’t it?’ I said laughing.
‘You are such a dickhead, Tempest.’ His voice now whining.
I said nothing, forcing him to answer the question.
‘Okay yes, it is Cobra, but that is just because it’s what my dad bought.’
‘You want food? I have some T-bones in the freezer I can take out.’
‘You know it, man. Six o'clock work for you?'
‘You mean 1800hrs? Sure.’
‘1800hrs? You are such a robot.’ He disconnected.
‘So, where were we?’ I asked Amanda, who had now finished both her sandwich and her mug of tea and was looking over some of the printed pages I had on my desk.
‘The Brotherhood of the Dead? This is an actual thing?’ she asked, holding up the club flier I had.
‘Apparently so. I did some research and found that there is a whole vampire-wannabe network of clubs. Each has a founding member that is supposed to be an actual vampire and they meet and dress up and pretend to be vampires, do LARP and that sort of thing. It is probably not connection to the recent murders; it was just something I stumbled across when I was poking around.’
It was time for me to press Amanda for some help. I was a little uncomfortable asking her as I had no favour to offer in return at this time, but I needed better information than I was getting.
‘You remember that you offered to help fill in the blanks in my investigation?’
‘Yes. I think I can do that.’
‘Well, I guess it is time to earn your keep.’
I explained as best I could that I was used to getting information from a friend at the Maidstone station without giving away any details about the person. Amanda said that in principle sharing information, if it was not sensitive or personal to the victim was permissible and she would see what she could do.
I asked her specifically for as much detail as she could give me regarding the Brian Grazly murder and outlined what I already knew, which was what the papers had reported only.
