Time to Play (North East Police)

by K. A. Richardson

  It's probably a good thing I hadn't handed Elvie off - she might end up being useful on this case.

  He knew he would bring her to the station the next day and question her in an official capacity. He needed to know as much as possible about these girls.

  Glancing up, he saw the RIB coming closer to the shore with body number four.

  16th November, 2105 hours - Ryhope, Sunderland.

  James Maynard made his way down to the shed at the bottom of the garden. It had always been his refuge, up until now. He'd had it installed when the kids had moved out, a few months before Sheila had been diagnosed with the Alzheimer's. He liked the quiet solitude it gave, and no one ever bothered him there.

  His head hung low as he turned the key in the lock. The kids would have had a heart attack if they had known what was inside, what he did inside. He'd had about eighteen months’ worth of girls in there now. Girls he'd thought he could help but it turned out all he'd done was hurt them, causing them the pain he'd been so desperate to escape himself.

  He hadn't slept since taking Nita to the reservoir. He had dark circles under his eyes and every time he closed them, he saw her battered face, bleeding and crying. Pleading with him not to hurt her. He felt her feeble attempt to survive every time one of his hands touched his own skin.

  Tears streamed down his face.

  He was a monster.

  The realisation had been slow in arriving, but when it did, it had hit him like a tonne of bricks. He'd hurt people, hell, he'd hurt and killed children.

  There was no sugar coating, no attempt at denial. He'd been to see Fred who’d been only too happy to oblige, and then he'd tortured them and then murdered each and every one of them. Without intending to, he’d turned into the brother he so despised.

  He closed the door behind him and sank to the ground in the darkness, his head dropping to his knees as he began to sob.

  He’d never felt like such a failure. It was like everything that had happened since Sheila’s diagnosis had been leading him to this point. He'd promised to love her in sickness and in health, and he'd been driven to the point where he had struck her. His own wife. He'd gone and done the very thing he'd always sworn he'd never do. And then Connor had gotten in the way and he'd hit him, too.

  James knew there was no way he was coming back from it all. He had travelled through the range of emotions before finally arriving at acceptance.

  Acceptance that he wasn't worthy to grace this earth any more. He didn't deserve to live. Everyone in his life would be better off without him. He needed to get everything organised first, then, well, then he’d see – there was no way he could go on as he had been. It was time to sort himself out.

  16th November, 2225 hours – Crankle Reservoir, south of Sunderland

  After a whole day of diving and pulling bodies out of the water, the dive team was finally calling it a night. Connor navigated the RIB back to the shore line, each member silent and lost in their own thoughts.

  Who did this? Who beat up and killed girls like that.

  Connor had no idea, but he hoped to God they’d find enough evidence to catch the guy. There was enough crap going on in the world without that kind of monstrosity. For the first time in his career, his stomach had turned somersaults at the sight of the victims. Not from their varying stages of decay, that was a given with bodies that had been under water; it was more to do with the age and how innocent they’d looked. Each one of them beaten to a bloody pulp, but their faces peaceful, as if they were happy with their lot.

  He wished he was at peace.

  Connor didn’t even know how to describe what he was feeling. It was like an emotional overload. First finding out that his dad wasn’t his dad, then finding out it was Fred – it had all just been too much. So when he’d reported to work that morning, his mind had decided to shut down and ignore it all.

  Now though, as he guided the RIB up onto the gravel shore, it all came flooding back. What good can possibly come out of this situation? Marie’s gunna be devastated. Or maybe she won’t, maybe she’ll understand. Fuck knows how though. I don’t care how desperate for kids Mum was, in Dad’s shoes I’d never have allowed it. And why, for bastard fucking fucks sake, did it have to be him.

  Connor shook his head – he couldn’t do this now. Right now, he needed to get his head back in the game. This shit could wait until later, much later preferably. Like after he’d downed at least half of the bottle of single malt he had stowed away in the flat.

  Shitty fucking day.

  ‘Shitty fucking life,’ his mind argued back.

  Agreeing with himself, he nodded.

  ‘You OK?’ Marlo’s voice beside him startled him and he jerked the rudder slightly. Rectifying, he nodded, then realised she probably couldn’t see him.

  ‘Yeah, long day is all,’ he said.

  ‘The longest. Can’t wait to sit in a hot bath full of bubbles. It’s bloody freezing.’

  Connor watched as she blew air from her mouth into her cupped hands. He was surprised to feel nothing. He’d always been a little in awe of Marlo. Her easy manner made her impossible to dislike, and at some point he’d realised he found her attractive. And his emotions became unsettled when she was around, until today.

  Doesn’t matter, anyway: she’d never go for an arsehole like you.

  Ignoring Marlo, he turned and jumped out of the RIB, dragging it with Mac further up the shore, then made his way over towards the edge of the trees.

  16th November, 2230 hours – Crankle Reservoir, south of Sunderland

  Marlo stared after him, a little confused. He’d been a grumpy sod all day; any attempts at conversation had been met with cold, unfeeling, one-syllable answers. She wondered what it was that was bugging him, but knew she wouldn’t press. If he wanted her to know, then he’d tell her in his own time.

  She shivered as she walked over to the 4x4. She hadn’t been lying, it was freezing. All the vehicles that had been there longer than a few hours had a sheen of frost that sparkled under the artificial lights like the dust of a hundred fairies. Despite being cold to the bone, she smiled. She’d always loved the idea that frost was left by fairies. Stupid, but it allowed belief in something magic, something other than the real stuff like pulling six bodies out of the reservoir.

  The sonar hadn’t shown any more in the immediate area, but it didn’t mean there weren’t more. Sharpie had already given orders that they would be out scanning the reservoir again tomorrow. The area itself would be retained with cops standing guard for at least a couple of weeks, regardless.

  It should have been creepy. Someone had used the area for dumping bodies after they’d had God knew what done to them, yet the location still felt serene. The wind whistled lightly through the trees causing the branches to stretch and whisper to each other softly. It was idyllic. It didn’t feel like a crime scene.

  Now you’re just babbling on about nothing.

  Giving herself a shake, she pulled open the door to the 4x4, activating the internal light, and methodically stripped out of her suit. The vest and shorts she wore beneath were thin and offered no protection against the chill of the breeze. Pulling the bottom of the dry suit over her legs, she stepped out with one leg then repeated the motion on the other side, wincing as it scraped down what felt suspiciously like a bruise. Remembering bashing her leg whilst she’d been in the water, she glanced down to assess the contusion. Only it wasn’t just a bruise. Blood had smeared over the whole front of her shin, drying and congealing around a large scrape and cut.

  She looked up with glazed eyes as Ali came up behind her and started speaking. But his words swam together, blurring into a mess of garbled nonsense.

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ she whispered, her face going pale.

  16th November, 2233 hours – Crankle Reservoir, south of Sunderland

  Ali couldn’t say the specific moment he’d realised something was off. One minute she’d been stripping in front of him and he’d been babbling as he tried no
t to stare at her stepping out of the figure-hugging suit, and the next her eyes had rolled back in her head as she looked at him.

  He barely had time to grab her as she fell toward him, but awkwardly he managed and lowered her to the ground. ‘Is Nigel still here?’ he yelled in the general direction of Sharpie.

  Both Sharpie and Nigel Evans were at his side in seconds.

  ‘What the hell’s that on her leg?’ asked Sharpie, bending to take a closer look. ‘Bloody idiot, she didn’t tell me she’d banged herself. She’ll be fine. Anything recovered she can handle, no matter what the condition, but the first sniff of her own blood and she’s out like a light.’

  Nigel agreed, checking her pulse and feeling it beat strongly beneath his fingers. ‘Easy, Marlo, you’re going to be just fine.’ She groaned, opening her eyes and staring up at the three worried men.

  Realisation dawned, and she blushed bright red. ‘Aw shit, not again.’

  ‘The sight of your blood that bad, Buck?’ joked Sharpie with a grin.

  Ali felt the gravel dig into his knees as he knelt beside her, but held his arm out to help her sit when she reached for him. She blanched again as she caught sight of her leg, and swayed towards his chest.

  ‘I think maybe you should stay lying down,’ he said.

  ‘I usually deal with dead people – less arguments that way – but what say we get this patched up so we don’t have any more fainting issues?’ Nigel’s voice was good humoured.

  Sharpie handed him the first aid kit and left Marlo with Ali and Nigel.

  ‘I don’t do blood,’ mumbled Marlo, her cheeks still bright pink.

  ‘Heard a rumour it’s more your own blood you don’t do,’ said Ali with a grin. ‘I don’t do it either. Mine or otherwise. Once had a murder scene in Edinburgh where arterial spray had hit the rotating ceiling light. Needless to say I walked in and turned the light on. I was laughed at for months – passed out in front of all the uniforms and fell out of the front door.’

  ‘Oh God, you didn’t? That’s awful!’ Her sentiment was there but she couldn’t stop the wide smile. ‘Bet you were mortified!’

  ‘All done,’ said Nigel from beside her. ‘Keep it clean and change the dressing every day. Now, get some clothes on young lady, before you catch your death of cold.’

  As Nigel walked off, Ali held out his hand and pulled Marlo to her feet. ‘Never thought I’d see the day I told you to get your kit on,’ he said before adding, ‘your skin’s already turning a pretty shade of blue.’ As the words left his mouth he struggled not to let his feelings show. Yeah that’s the perfect time to come onto someone. Idiot.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  17th November, 0005 hours – Marlo’s apartment

  Marlo was so tired she felt like she could sleep for a month. But she was due back at work at 8 a.m. so a month was definitely not on the cards. She rested her head against the outer frame of her front door, almost too tired to turn the key and step over the threshold.

  Hearing a noise, she turned towards the stairwell.

  ‘Hey,’ said Ali with a weary smile. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever felt so bloody knackered.’

  ‘You do look pretty shite, like, but then I’m pretty sure I do too, so who am I to judge?’

  Ali smiled, not disagreeing. ‘How about a hot chocolate before bed?’

  ‘Hot chocolate sounds amazing. Have you got some pods for the machine? If not I’ve got some Oreo ones if you fancy a try?’

  ‘Aye, why not,’ replied Ali, following as Marlo unlocked the door and stepped inside her flat.

  ‘Am just gunna go get changed – would you do the honours? The pods are right by the machine.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Ali made his way into the kitchen. The flat was designed exactly the same as his, though the décor differed. It was still neutral colours, but was more feminine with pictures of flowers and metal wall art mounted where he had photos.

  Marlo was back in seconds, dressed more comfortably in jogging pants and a T-shirt. ‘Sorry, I don’t normally wear my uniform to come home in but to be honest I was ready to get out of there today.’

  Ali handed her a cup, and made his way into the living room. ‘Mum rang me a couple of hours ago, said she and Elvie were going to bed so it looks like I’m on the sofa when I get back in. The bairn isn’t looking forward to tomorrow.’

  ‘Crap, Elvie didn’t even cross my mind. That’s awful of me, isn’t it? Is she OK? Wait – tomorrow? I thought she was seeing immigration today?’

  ‘Not awful, but completely understandable after today. She was – but I was at the reservoir. I rescheduled. I don’t want her going through that alone. She’s fine, love. I must take her to the station tomorrow though, can’t keep pretending it’s all OK. I’ll give her a statement towards her asylum, but it’s overdue time to get this sorted out.’

  ‘I know,’ said Marlo, her voice sounding small. She was mortified when she felt tears well in her eyes.

  ‘Hey, come on, love. It’s OK, she’ll be alright,’ Ali was startled, she could tell by his face, and that just made the tears want to come even harder. What the hell is the matter with me? I’m not this sobby, emotional mess. Get a grip!

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, putting her cup down and wiping her eyes with her hands. ‘Dunno what the hell this is all about.’

  ‘We all need a good cry every now and then. Come here.’

  Marlo felt herself stiffen as he pulled her into his arms. Her tears refused to listen to her logic, and fell for a few more seconds, her mouth nuzzled into his neck. His arms felt good wrapped round her like that. They were warm, and made her feel like nothing could touch her as long as she stayed there. Sniffing, she let him hold her for a minute. It had been a long time since anyone had done that, just been there at the right time and held her just because she needed it.

  The air shifted, moving from comfort into something else. Suddenly his arms weren’t just protective, they were muscular and made her skin tingle. Her mouth was so close to his neck that she could feel his pulse jump against her lips, and not thinking, she leaned further in and kissed him there. He froze, but didn’t object, and not quite ready to stop, she kissed his neck again, this time flicking with her tongue as her lips closed. He tasted like sweet and salt at the same time, and she pulled back to look at him.

  Her mind didn’t have time to forge any arguments as Ali leaned forward and his lips met hers, hard. She groaned into his mouth, and he deepened the kiss, pulling himself around and over her in one motion. She almost didn’t recognise herself as her hands pulled at his shirt frantically, eventually ripping the last couple of buttons off. Her neck arched towards him as he nipped at her neck and closed his hands over her breasts.

  Marlo had no idea how she became naked and was glad she’d kept the box of condoms in the drawer on her coffee table. As he pushed into her she felt herself open and move to meet him with the same enthusiasm. She gasped as he sank deeper into her, and he captured her mouth with his again. Her nails scratched down his back as they met each other’s rhythm, both getting harder and faster until her orgasm broke around him, causing him to follow suit.

  His chest was crushing her breasts, every sense tingling as he lay on top of her, spent for the moment. And then, ultimate tenderness, as he shifted his weight, and kissed her, more leisurely this time. His fingers played along the length of her arm, and she turned, snuggling into his chest, silent as he kissed the top of her head.

  Ali reached up with one hand and pulled the mink effect throw down from the back of the sofa and covered them both. Tomorrow would be soon enough to wonder what the hell had just happened; for now, they were warm, comfortable and absolutely exhausted.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  17th November, 0240 hours – Connor’s parent’s address, Sunderland

  James Maynard sat himself in the chair in the room. It was almost dead silent, the padding on the walls blocking out any sound from outside, not that there was much at this time of
the morning. The ticking of the clock was irritating, though: he’d never realised how loud it was when that was the only noise you could hear. How the girls had put up with it he didn’t know.

  Because you never gave them an option, dickhead. They didn’t get any choice in what happened to them.

  It wasn’t right, what he’d done. The more he thought about it, the more he understood that there would be no explaining it away. There was no magic ‘forget’ pill, nothing that would ever make these feelings of desolated worthlessness and guilt disappear. And why should there be? He’d done the most horrible things to those girls. Unspeakable things that belonged in late night crime shows and documentaries.

  He’d thought he understood at first, figured by teaching them pain that they would go on to survive and be stronger. But he’d never actually let them go so they could even try to survive. He’d played God, decided when things weren’t going so well. He alone had made them cry and weep with pain and anguish, had terrified them every time he’d entered this forsaken room. He’d even had the forethought and planning to soundproof the walls. And he’d decided when to clasp his hands round their throats, and squeeze every inch of life from them. Except for Nita – she had been the exception.

  James knew he deserved everything he was going to get.

  His whole life had turned to shit. It had happened so gradually he hadn’t even seen it coming, hadn’t noticed its approach. How could he fuck everything up so royally?

  He didn’t even deserve to be on this earth. He was utterly useless, a waste of space and time.

  Fred had told him often enough, always rubbing it in as he’d slunk into the whore house to pick out his latest girl.

  He should have stopped ages ago, not given Fred the satisfaction of seeing him return time after time. Shouldn’t have let his own brother see just how low he’d become.

  For some reason, Fred had always seen himself as better than him, had bigged it up even as a kid when his knobbly knees knocked together as he ran through the fields they’d called home. And James Maynard had always just put up with the bullying, never moaned when he knew that it was Fred who had killed Stinky, didn’t grass him up when their dad had found weed in the bedroom they shared so had ended up getting the blame as the oldest, and had coped with Fred kicking and punching him out of utter meanness.