by Conrad Jones
Desolate Sands
Conrad Jones
Cover Image by Darrell Bate
Darrell Bate
https://www.flickr.com/photos/29452563@N08/
Copyright © 2014 Conrad Jones
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 978-1495297304
ISBN-10: 1495297306:
Prologue
As the sun melted into the sea at the horizon, the sky around the dazzling orb turned red, with hues of orange and streaks of yellow. The sea became almost colourless and the tips of white horses reflected the dying rays like diamonds twinkling on the waves. The North Star was climbing and Venus was shining brightly where the sky began to merge from blue to black. It was a vista that no camera could give justice to; that magical time when day turned to night. Sunset here was his special place. The jibes and taunts couldn’t reach him here. Here, he was at one with the Iron Men, cold and emotionless, almost indestructible; almost.
The artist who built the iron men had called it ‘Another Place’ but it wasn’t; it was his place, his desolate place. He first visited the statues out of curiosity, but as soon as he saw the figures on the sand, his heart broke as he wandered from one to the next, laying his hands on each one as if to say hello. They accepted him without question or reason. He didn’t have to impress to belong. This was the reason he did what he did. He hadn’t realised for a long time that there was a point to it. At first it was just something that he had to do, but then when he first saw them, his purpose became crystal clear. Suddenly all the blood and all the screams had a purpose. It was like a bolt of lightning striking him. Lights came on in the dark places of his mind and he realised what it was all for. It was for them.
Seagulls circled and soared above and the familiar smell of the sea filled his senses. The birds dive-bombed the litter on the sand dunes, the squawking and the flapping of their wings would reach a frenzied pitch as nightfall closed in. Then they would fly home to roost. As the sun sank lower, the iron men were in different stages of submergence. Some were completely gone, others were waist deep; only the statues nearest the dunes were left untouched by the advancing waves, but he knew it was simply a matter of time before they were engulfed by the sea once again. His heart ached as he watched them suffer the relentless tide overwhelming them. Day after day, tide after tide they endured their watery burial. The men nearest the dunes were virtually consumed by the sand. He wasn’t sure which was worse, engulfed by the waves or buried by the shifting sands. Although they were many, each was desperately alone. Their cold iron companions gave them no comfort. They were many, yet tragically alone. They were frozen in time, staring out to sea for eternity and their plight tortured him. Their loneliness drove him insane. Or was he insane before he saw them? He couldn’t remember a time when he was sane. What he did know was that his soul was like theirs; made from iron and hollow inside. He felt no empathy or sympathy. The screams of the dying excited him; their begging made him prolong their agony, not bring it to a speedy ending. His victims were the flotsam of life. They were nothing and nobody, not missed by anyone and so it was apt that they suffered in the sand as the iron men did. He had to find others for them, others who were lost and alone. He could help them bring solace to each other. He looked across the beach and scanned the miles of dunes. The last of the sightseers and dog walkers had gone. It was time to act, time to create. The girl would be awake soon and when she did, she would panic. They always did; especially when he made the final alteration to their bodies. It was painful for them, but they lived longer so that they had time to appreciate what he was creating. They had more time to endure their inevitable, unavoidable death. He had listened to them and heard them suffer. When death came, it was a blessing. It was time to cut and stitch before he had to dig again.
Chapter 1
Richard Tibbs sipped his tea. It was flavourless and the plastic cup barely warmed his flaky wrinkled fingers. Blue veins threaded the back of his pink hands making peaks and troughs beneath the liver spots. He was younger than he looked and they were still strong. He looked at his upturned left hand for a nail to nibble, but they were bitten to the quick and engrained with dirt and sand. Despite being desperately nervous, the nails were unappetising so he decided to leave them alone for now. If the detectives didn’t appear soon, he planned to leave so that he could have a cigarette. He felt uncomfortable as if he was being watched. The two-way mirror always made him feel paranoid.
“Nervous are we, Tibbs?” The interview room door opened and Anne Jones walked in. “I’m DI Jones. My friends call me Annie but you can call me DI Jones.” She smiled revealing slightly oversized front teeth, white but naturally so. The braver members of her team affectionately called her ‘Bugsy’ but not to her face. When she was riled, she had a stare that Medusa would have been proud of. “You look worried, what’s the problem?”
“Have you been watching me through the mirror?”
“Of course we have,” she replied coldly. “I want some idea of who I’m talking to. Why are you so nervous?”
“You bloody lot,” Tibbs muttered and slurped the tepid liquid. His thin lips quivered as he watched another detective squeeze his huge frame through the door. Tibbs’ watery eyes darted around the room. Annie thought that he looked older than his file indicated that he was. “This place makes me nervous. Every time I come here, you lot stitch me up.”
“Maybe you should make a point not to be here at all,” Annie advised, sarcastically. Beneath his scruffy exterior, his frame looked strong for his age. His loose fitting clothes disguised wide shoulders and a narrow waist. “There are two types of people here, good guys and scumbags. If you’re not in the first group, it is best to stay away.”
“Oh, I do try to stay away, believe me I do, but you lot hound me regardless.” He winked sarcastically.
“Really?” Annie flicked through a thick brown folder and raised her eyebrows, “Two shoplifting convictions, two charges of assault and you were charged with the sexual assault of a minor, and let’s not forget that you were found in possession of fifty indecent images. Exactly which of those crimes were you stitched up on?”
“I was found not guilty of the sexual assault charges,” Tibbs’ oversized ears flushed purple as he spoke. Long grey whiskers sprouted from them and mingled with his sideburns. Dark red blood vessels in his cheeks looked ready to burst. “That was all a mistake; I wouldn’t touch those young ones that way. The images on my computer weren’t random kids. I’m not one of them kiddie fiddlers and I resent you implying that I am one, when you don’t know the full story.”
“You were released with no further action, Tibbs.” Annie sat down and smiled thinly. Placing the file on the desk between them, she smoothed the grey material of her trousers and crossed her legs. Her black hair was cut short around her face giving her an elfin look, boyish but attractive. “That is not the same as a not guilty verdict and if the information in this file is correct, some of the images on your computer were borderline at best, so you can resent the fact if you like but you resemble the fact more. Now what do you want to talk to me about?”
“If you’re going to grill me again, then you can bugger off,” Tibbs began to tremble. “Smug cow. You think you’re so special don’t you with your posh suit and your shiny shoes. I’ve come here to help you out so I don’t have to say anything to you. If you want to patronise me, then I’ll just go now!”
“Calm down, Tibbs. I’m DS Stirling,” the male officer said in a harsh scouse accent. His close cropped hair a
nd broken nose gave the look of an aging pugilist. “The DI just needs you to know that at this point in proceedings, we’re viewing anything you say as suspect. You’re on the sex offenders register.”
“I came here voluntarily.”
“Yes,” Annie said. “Why?”
Tibbs eyed the big detective through weary blue eyes. The whites were crisscrossed with red. Years of whisky and wine had rotted him from the inside out. “Get this straight, Posh, I never harmed those girls,” he pointed a shaking finger at Annie. “You don’t understand what happened.”
“Do you think my suit is posh, Sergeant?” She asked sarcastically. She didn’t like Tibbs but if he had information then it would be foolish not to listen to him. She decided to change track and try to diffuse the situation.
“Primani at a guess?”
“Bang on.”
“I think DC Cooper is wearing the same one today.”
“Well, I bought mine first.” Annie shrugged and pretended not to be concerned about her, suit but the corners of her mouth turned downwards giving her true feelings away. “You can’t buy anything from there without four other people turning up for work wearing the same thing.”
“Pile it high and sell it cheap,” Stirling went along with her ploy. “Do you know the place?”
“What is it called?” Tibbs relaxed a little.
“Primark.”
“It’s a new one on me,” Tibbs commented. “The city centre has changed so much recently. I hardly recognise the place nowadays. You can’t stop change.”
“Change is for the better though,” Annie said. “The city centre looks so contemporary now.”
“Anyway,” Stirling shrugged and sat back in his chair. The bolts which held it to the floor restricted its movement. The tiny interview room wasn’t designed for men of his size. “Enough of this chitchat. What can we do for you?” He folded his arms across his chest stretching the seams of his leather jacket to the limit. “Make it quick, Mr Tibbs.”
“Like I said, I have some information.”
“About what?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but it’s important.”
“You’re not sure what your information is about?” Annie repeated.
“Well, I know what it’s about, obviously, but I’m not sure what category it slots into.”
“Tell us what it is and we’ll sort that out.”
“I need assurances first.”
“About what?”
“I had two police officers at my door last week.” Tibbs scratched an itch beneath his arm revealing a rent in the material. Annie imagined a colony of lice nesting in there. She watched him with her alert brown eyes, analysing every inch of him. His matted grey hair was thick with grease. Large flecks of scalp clung to the roots refusing to leave their host. She didn’t think that a shower would dent the grime. He would need to be wheeled through a car wash, slowly. “Second time this month.”
“We know that, it’s in your file,” Annie said, irritably. “That’s what happens when you’re on the register.”
“Its harassment,” Tibbs waived his finger again. “They have no right knocking on my door every time something happens. I didn’t touch those girls. Not the way they said that I did, anyway.”
“They have every right. That’s what we do,” Annie sighed. “We have a list of bad guys and when something happens, we go and talk to them. You’re one of them. Now if you’re here to make a complaint, then you’re wasting your time and ours.” Something flickered in the scruffy man’s eyes. Annie wasn’t sure if it was anger or hatred or something else. He looked wounded by her remarks. Genuinely offended. She had seen fake innocence and manufactured pride a thousand times but Tibbs was different. His eyes looked at the floor and then at the two detectives as if he was debating something in his mind. He looked troubled indeed. “Is that why you’re here? To make a complaint about harassment?”
“No.” Tibbs looked unwilling to explain. His hands trembled as he stared at the table.
“What do you want, Tibbs?” Annie pushed. “Our time is valuable.”
“I want to get you lot off my back. I want to show that I’m a good man really, by helping you,” he swallowed nervously and licked his thin lips, “I’ve got information. Valuable information, but I want assurances first.” His eyes narrowed, looking from one to the other.
“Assurances about what?” Stirling asked suspiciously. “We’re not here to make deals, Tibbs.”
“Then I’m not saying anything.”
“In which case, you can spend the night in the cells for wasting police time.” Stirling sat forward intimidating him.
“Won’t be the first time I’ve seen someone locked up for nothing, Detective,” Tibbs shrugged. Stirling tutted audibly. “I’ve seen the inside of more cells than you have, trust me. What I have to tell you is important but it could also get me killed.”
Annie studied his face. His record said that he was a tired old offender, a liar, a thief and a sex offender. Normally she wouldn’t give credence to a word he said but his eyes were telling the truth. “Okay, Tibbs.” Annie tilted her head as she spoke. “Whatever you tell us, is in confidence for now.”
“And no tape recording?”
“No tapes.”
“And you’ll have a word with uniform to leave off me?”
“Don’t push your luck, Tibbs,” Stirling growled. Annie shot him a glance and he backed off. He looked confused. Annie Jones had seen something that he hadn’t but then that’s why she was the boss.
“You’re on the sex offenders list and there’s nothing we can do about that.” Annie smiled thinly. “No tape recording and providing you’re not involved in anything illegal that you tell us about, we’ll keep our source hushed up.” Annie put out her hand and she quivered in disgust as he shook it with a grimy hand. Annie was surprised by the strength in his grip. “Be warned that if you’re involved in anything, then all bets are off.” Tibbs nodded silently. “This had better be good.”
“I know that you’re looking for Lacey Taylor.” Tibbs slurped his brew noisily. His eyes didn’t move from Annie’s. There was intelligence behind his stare. “I saw it on the telly. She’s been missing for a while now hasn’t she?”
Annie looked at Stirling and raised her eyebrows. “Over a week but it’s hardly been kept a secret. Everyone in the city knows that she’s missing. She’s a high profile community activist.”
“Is that what you call her?” Tibbs scoffed. A globule of spittle hit the desk and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. He wiped his mouth before speaking. “Nosy busybody, more like,” he laughed dryly. “She is a first class pain in the arse for some people.” He winked knowingly. “I could name a few people who won’t shed any tears about her disappearance.” A sly smile showed crooked yellow teeth with more gaps in them than a council fence. “Certain members of the community that she championed wanted her to retire early, shall we say?”
“Listen to me, Tibbs.” Annie leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. She sensed that Tibbs knew something. Something important. “If you know something about the disappearance of Lacey Taylor, then spit it out.”
“Can I have a hot cup of tea?”
“No.”
“Cigarette?”
“I’m losing my patience.” Annie glared at him.
“You’re a hard woman.” Tibbs smiled and sighed. “I think I know who took her.”
“You think that you do?”
“Yes.”
“I’m listening,” Annie tried to keep her voice calm. They had been waiting for a break in that case. The investigation into her disappearance had no leads to follow and their interviews had hit a wall of silence. “What have you heard?”
“Heard?” Tibbs frowned dramatically. “Nothing. I haven’t heard anything. Nobody is saying anything and that’s why this information is so valuable.” He winked again.
Annie breathed in deeply and remained quiet. Men like Tibbs liked it when t
hey were in control of an interview. It was usually the other way around. The shoe was on the other very smelly foot today. She waited. Sometimes, silence prompted them to speak. Tibbs coughed, his lungs sounded flooded with phlegm. Annie grimaced as he cleared his throat to speak.
“I haven’t heard anything, but I’ve seen something.” His yellow smile appeared again but was met with icy stares. The detectives didn’t look impressed, yet. “Something that I think is very important.”
“Get on with it,” Stirling snapped. “Personally, I think you’re full of crap.”
“Do you?” Tibbs reached into his pocket. “Take a look at this.” He dropped a plastic bag onto the desk. “I think this belongs to your missing lady.” The bag was a white nondescript carrier bag. Tibbs tipped out the contents. “I haven’t touched it,” he grinned. “I didn’t want to damage any forensic evidence. There could be prints on it.”
Annie picked up a decorative dog collar with her pen and looked at it. “Pink leather, Cilla written in diamante studs and Lacey Taylor’s name and address on the tag.” She looked open mouthed at Stirling. Granules of sand dropped onto the table top. “This is her dog’s collar. Get it to forensics immediately.”
Stirling picked up the collar with the bag and walked to the door. “Can you get this to the lab please,” he said to the uniformed officer who was outside. “Mark it as a priority in the Lacey Taylor case.”
“Guv.”
Tibbs waited until the big detective returned to his seat. He had their attention and that’s what he wanted. “She went missing with her dog, didn’t she?” Tibbs grinned from ear to ear. “As soon as I saw it I knew it was her dog’s collar.”
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it in a litter bin.”
“Where?”
“Crosby Beach.”
“The dog?”
“She wasn’t attached to it I’m afraid.”
