Killing the Beasts

by Chris Simms

  'Bad news, Jon. Another body has just been discovered. A Gabrielle Harnett, same MO as all the rest,' said the officer back at Longsight.

  Jaw set tight, he speeded up, anxious to get to Trafford Park and start making phone calls. He pulled into the car park about a quarter of an hour later. Without bothering to get out of the car, he called back the incident room at Longsight.

  'DI Spicer here. The victim who's just been discovered – what type of property did she live in?'

  'Some sort of flat complex.'

  'Can you give me the phone number of any officer attending the scene?'

  He jotted the number down and immediately called it. 'DS Moffatt? DI Spicer here. Where are you exactly?'

  'Outside the victim's flat.'

  'What's the parking situation like?'

  'Bloody nightmare. Half of Manchester's newspaper reporters are already here. I don't know who's got more vehicles in the vicinity

  – us or them.' 'I mean for the residents. Is there private parking for them?' 'Oh, hang on. 'There was a pause. 'Yeah, I'm standing in a kind of courtyard. It's all little one or two bedroom flats, residents-only parking. Each slot is allocated to a flat.'

  'And what's parked in the slot for the victim's flat?'

  'Hang on,' he said again. 'Flat six, here you go. It's a Mini – one of those new BMW ones.'

  'Registration?'

  Jon noted it down, then called the incident room at Longsight again. 'Hi, DI Spicer. Can you run me a vehicle check?' He read out the registration and waited with his crossed fingers resting on the steering wheel. 'Please don't let it be Gabrielle Harnett's,' he whispered to himself.

  'Here we go,' said the operator, 'Gabrielle Harnett, flat six, Richmond Court...'

  'Fuck!' He thumped the back of his skull against the headrest.

  'You just crashed?' came the alarmed voice.

  'No. My fucking theory has, though.' He hung up, got out and walked over to the prefabricated hut in which the rubbish had been laid out on long trestle tables. Standing outside the doors were a couple of uniformed officers getting a last cigarette in before having to don rubber gloves and start sifting.

  'Morning,' said one, seeing Jon approaching.

  'Morning,' Jon grunted. A couple of seconds' silence followed before the officer produced a packet of cigarettes and held one out.

  Jon realized his eyes had been fixed hungrily on the man's lit cigarette. He hesitated for a second, then sagged a little and took it. 'Cheers. This case is doing my head in.' He leaned forward to take a light as Nikki Kingston stepped out of the hut. Her face had brightened on seeing Jon but, on spotting the cigarette in his mouth, her smile died. Their eyes met and with a sigh Jon pulled the cigarette from his lips. 'Bad day, all right?'

  'Here,' she said and gestured him inside. They walked along the side of a table scattered with a layer of mouldering food scraps, old tea bags and crumpled packaging. 'What's up?'

  'Another body has just been found.'

  'Oh, Jesus.' She picked up her handbag and took out a pack of chewing gum. 'Try one of these. I'm not sure about the flavour, but it's got to be better than going back to smoking.'

  He conceded with a half smile and slid a stick from the pack. After popping it into his mouth, he said, 'What is it? Lemon flavour?'

  Nikki looked at the pack and with a lofty tone said, 'Actually, it's citrus flavour with extracts of energy-giving guarana. Limited edition too, so count yourself lucky.'

  Jon was shaking his head. 'What is it with these limited edition sweets? They were doing mint-flavoured Kit Kats the other day. Meddling with a classic. Go on, let's have a look.'

  She handed him the pack and he looked at it with a cynical expression. Alongside the spiky yellow lettering spelling 'X-treme' was a yellow lightning bolt that zig-zagged down the ice-blue wrapper, its point entering a cartoon-style lemon sitting on a bed of what he guessed were guarana leaves. His eyes narrowed and he looked at the rubbish on the trestle tables.

  'What?' said Nikki, watching him closely.

  'I've seen a pack of this stuff before. Where did you get it from?'

  'Some freebie handout,' she said, putting her handbag back on the chair.

  'No, I've seen it somewhere else. Not in a shop, either.' He searched for the memory and started seeing all sorts of images. A white-painted room, crushed packets of cigarettes, cups stacked up in a dirty sink, rows of tins in a cupboard, empty beer cans piled high in a waste-paper basket, a drawer slightly open with the contents neatly arranged inside.

  He knew that he had two strands of memory twisted together: one suggested cleanliness and carefully controlled behaviour, the other disorder and abandonment. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed against them with a forefinger and thumb, trying to make sense of the opposing images. Polly Mather's kitchen? No, her place was a tip. Must have been Mary Walters' kitchen. Then the memory of the discarded chewing gum wrapper sprang up in his mind and he saw the distinctive diamond pattern of the carpet surrounding it. 'Polly Mather's floor. In her front room,' he said, certainty filling his voice. With that strand of memory established, he was able to concentrate on the one suggesting a well-ordered living space. He clicked his fingers and opened his eyes. 'And in Mary Walters' kitchen drawer.'

  Nikki looked at him in silence with her eyebrows raised.

  'Have you got any gloves?' She handed him a pair.

  Jon walked round the tables, stopping at the one marked 'front room'. The waste-paper basket was lying on its side and next to it crumpled beer cans, cigarette butts and torn-up packets of Rizla covered the surface. With a forefinger, he poked around, suddenly stopping and holding up a loosely folded rectangle of paper. Straightening it out, he said, 'Bingo.' It was the outer wrapping from a stick of X-treme gum.

  Nikki was standing next to him. 'Yes?'

  'I'm sure there's also an unopened pack of this stuff in Mary Walters' kitchen drawer.'

  She turned her hands outwards. 'So? There's probably tins of baked beans in both their flats, too.'

  'Yes, but this is unusual isn't it? A limited edition – part of a relatively small batch.'

  Picking up on Jon's line of thought, she clapped her hands together in excitement. 'I saw it for sale just the other day!'

  'Where?'

  'One of those dodgy stalls in the Arndale Market that sells end-of-line and out-of-date stuff.'

  He put the gum wrapper in an evidence bag, then yanked his gloves off. 'Come on. I'd like to know how the stallholder came by it.'

  He parked next to the incident van outside forty-six Lea Road and got out. Nikki stayed where she was. 'You coming or what?' he asked, leaning in through the open door.

  'I can't enter another crime scene that's part of an investigation I'm involved with – it's regulations.'

  Jon nodded. 'OK. I won't be long.'

  The crime scene manager was inside the vehicle drinking a cup of tea. Jon signed his name in the log book and slipped on a crime scene suit. Squeezing past a couple of forensics guys in the hallway, he followed the footplates into the kitchen, going straight over to the second drawer down. There amongst the other odds and ends was the pack of X-treme chewing gum.

  He dropped it into an evidence bag and returned to the incident van. Placing it on the table in front of the crime scene manager, he peeled off his suit. 'Could you catalogue that, please? Recovered from the second drawer down in her kitchen.'

  Back in his car he said with a grin, 'Next stop, the Arndale.'

  The shopping centre was crowded with the usual array of people. Young mums wheeled their pushchairs aimlessly around. Clusters of teenagers shuffled into the computer games shops, their nylon shell suits swishing as they went. Jon and Nikki headed straight for the escalator, taking it down to the lower level and walking past rows of shop fronts. At the end of the corridor they turned left, the tiled floor sloping down into a tunnel, cramped shopping units on each side. The air was coppery with the aroma from a butcher's stall selling cleaved-up
chunks of meat, slabs of tripe and anaemic-looking sausages. They had entered the centre's economy shopping zone.

  Emerging into the main hall, Nikki led Jon past a stall piled high with baby clothes and another almost buried under rolls of material. Next they passed one selling jokes and adult novelty toys. 'Fake dog turd?' asked Nikki with a grin, before stopping at a stall crammed with assorted items of food – bags of slightly damaged jaffa cakes for ninety-nine pence, dented cans of fizzy drinks for twenty pence, bottles of ketchup with German labels for seventy-five pence.

  Nikki scanned the front of the stall. 'There,' she said, pointing to a tray of X-treme gum.

  Jon nodded then looked at the stallholder. 'Excuse me?'

  The man looked up from his newspaper to find a warrant card inches from his face.

  'DI Spicer, Greater Manchester Police. This chewing gum you're selling – where did you get it?'

  The man closed one eye, as if trying to recall. 'Probably from the cash'n'carry on the Oldham Road. That or a wholesaler's.' He waved a hand to signal that was the best he could do.

  Jon knew the man was being deliberately vague. 'Listen mate, I'm investigating a murder. Do you think it will jog your memory if you close up for the day and come down to the cop shop with me? Bring all your books as well. We'll go through everything and make sure all your accounts tally up.'

  The man folded his paper. 'OK. It was a one-off. This guy, he's always coming round with stuff.'

  'So if it was a one-off, what's he usually selling?' The man looked uneasy. 'This and that.'

  Jon leaned forward, 'Fuck me around any more and you're coming to the station. What does he usually sell?'

  The man raised a hand to run it along his top lip as if in thought. From behind his fingers he mumbled, 'Car stereos.'

  'Selling to you?'

  'No! What would I want with them?' He gave the slightest of nods in the direction of the stall behind. 'Ed's Electrical Emporium. Behind you. Just this one time though, he had a few boxes of that chewing gum. I took the lot off him, ten quid cash I think.'

  'What does this person look like?'

  'I don't know. Always kitted out in designer stuff. Wiry ginger hair, top teeth stick out a bit. Thin.' His eyes shifted to the side of Jon's head and his words dried up.

  Jon glanced over his shoulder, saw the Ferret sauntering across the hall. He looked back at the stallholder. 'That's him, isn't it?'

  Reluctantly, the man nodded. Nikki started to turn around but Jon hissed at her to keep looking at the stallholder.

  'He's coming in this direction?' asked Jon.

  The stallholder watched from the corner of his eye. 'Yes... no... he's going over to Ed's. Looks like he's got some more stuff to sell.'

  Jon took another glance over his shoulder. The Ferret was approaching the electrical stall, a sports bag in one hand.

  'Who is it? Do you know him?' asked Nikki.

  Jon nodded his head in reply, slipping his mobile out of his pocket, but the market was below ground and his mobile was flashing red. 'No bloody reception.' He thought for a moment. 'Right Nikki, I'm going to lift him. I want you to stand behind him and put on your stern face.'

  Nikki took a deep breath. 'Oh, Jesus.'

  'Don't worry,' Jon whispered. 'I'll do everything.'

  Jon walked over to Ed's Electrical Emporium. The Ferret was talking to the stallholder with quick snatches of speech, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  Jon stepped up behind him and raised his warrant card. 'Excuse me.'

  The stallholder's eyes went wide, his expression saying it all. Without even turning his head, the Ferret dropped the bag and bolted to his right, slamming directly into Nikki. Their bodies were in contact for an instant before she flew backwards to the tiled floor, head cracking against it. He stumbled into the corner of the stall, toppling a couple of CD players to the floor before regaining his balance and starting to run.

  Jon took some stuttering steps after him, looking down at Nikki and shouting, 'You OK?'

  Keeping her eyes closed, she yelled, 'Go!'

  Jon was off. The Ferret had about twenty metres on him as he ran towards the steps leading up to Cannon Street. Jon kept his head bowed and pumped his legs, taking smaller steps to get his momentum going, only lengthening his stride and looking up when he hit sprinting speed.

  By the time the Ferret reached the bottom step Jon was less than ten metres behind him. Halfway up, the man's toe caught and he half fell, scrabbling up to the top. But Jon had closed the distance and, after taking the first four steps in one bound, he dived upwards, shoulder connecting with the back of his quarry's knees. Jon's arms then wrapped around his legs, bringing him crashing down in a classic rugby tackle.

  Keeping his arms locked, Jon yanked him halfway back down the steps. As soon as he released his legs and reached for his collar, the Ferret whipped an elbow up at Jon's face. He saw it coming and, rather than lean back and expose the underside of his chin, Jon dipped his head into the blow so it glanced harmlessly off his forehead. He replied with a powerful jab to the man's right temple that sent his molars clacking together and the side of his head bouncing off the edge of a step.

  Jon's vision had narrowed right down: his sight was completely filled by the man beneath him, the man he had been chasing for so long. He was so pumped, everything happened a fraction slower than normal. His right hand shot out and closed around the Ferret's elbow as it rose up again, fingers crushing the soft flesh on the inside of the joint. As he let out a howl of pain, Jon's left fist cracked into the back of his head. The man's mouth was wide open as it connected with the top of the step and a fragment of tooth flew out followed by a spray of blood. Jon let go of his elbow, grabbed two handfuls of lank gingery hair and got ready to smash his face back down again. 'Jon, stop!'

  The scream brought him out of his rage and he looked down the steps, eyes blazing.

  Nikki shrank backwards and said more quietly, 'You've got him.'

  Suddenly Jon became aware of other shoppers. They hovered behind Nikki, looking shocked.

  'He was resisting arrest,' Jon growled. Yanking the Ferret to his feet, he whispered in his ear, 'That was for knocking my friend over back there.'

  'I've done nothing,' the man gasped, blood dribbling down his chin. 'I'll fucking sue you for this. It's assault. 'He began to struggle again.

  'And this,' said Jon, putting him in a thumb lock, 'is for nicking my girlfriend's handbag.' The Ferret cried out as his knuckle was bent back.

  'Shut it,' said Jon, forcing his arm upwards so he had to bend double to avoid more pain.

  Marching him back to the main hall he said, 'Let's see what's in your sports bag. My guess is that, by the end of today, I'll be charging you with a fuck of a lot more than petty theft.'

  As soon as the Ferret was safely locked up in a cell at Longsight, Jon raced upstairs to the incident room. He'd phoned ahead from the Arndale centre, requesting that the third and fourth victims' houses and bins be searched for any evidence of X-treme chewing gum.

  Walking into the incident room, he was immediately waved over by the office manager.

  'I hear you've got someone in the traps downstairs.'

  'Yeah,' replied Jon, suddenly loving every second of his job. 'Could be significant; we'll know more once his house has been turned over.'

  'Well, I've just received a call from the crime scene manager at Gabrielle Harnett's place. A wrapper of something called X-treme chewing gum with energy-giving guarana has been recovered from the waste-paper bin in her front room.'

  Jon raised a clenched fist and shut his eyes for a second. 'Fucking win! Can I take that?' he asked, looking at the memo.

  'Be my guest. The gum wrapper is being driven over now.' Jon walked into McCloughlin's office, gathering quizzical looks from everyone in the room as he went.

  'Come in and close the door,' said McCloughlin as soon as Jon appeared in his doorway. 'Who've you got downstairs?'

  'A nasty little shi
t,' replied Jon, taking a seat. 'He's a general scrote

  – snatching handbags, taxing the city beggars for their pitches. He's also peddling car stereos and other bits and bobs, including a few boxes of a particular brand of chewing gum. X-treme citrus flavour with guarana.' 'Never heard of it,' said McCloughlin.

  'It's one of those limited editions they do. However, wrappers and packs of it have now turned up in three of the victims' properties.'

  McCloughlin blew out a thin stream of breath. 'Carry on.'

  'I arrested him in the Arndale Centre, where he was trying to sell on a couple of car stereos. The serial numbers are being checked as we speak, but I'd bet a month's salary they're stolen.'

  'Very interesting,' said McCloughlin. He got up and reached for his coat. 'Have you got his name and address?'

  'Right here, along with his front door key,' said Jon, holding up a plastic bag with a smile. 'His name's Ashley Charlton, but he goes by the name of Sly.'

  McCloughlin looked up at the Urban Living flats and said, 'A bit upmarket for our little toe-rag don't you think?'

  They buzzed the manager of the complex to be let in and less than thirty seconds later eight plain-clothes officers were standing in Ashley Charlton's flat.

  Surveying the room, McCloughlin's eyes settled on the tarantula's vivarium. 'Never mind bringing in national ID cards, if we could keep tabs on every misfit who keeps snakes and spiders, there'd be a lot less crime committed. Right, specifically, we're looking for packs of X-treme chewing gum, but shout if you see anything else.'

  Seven of them began rummaging through the flat while the last officer started sweeping all the electrical items and ornaments with a UV light. At the same instant he announced, 'Boss', another officer in the kitchen said, 'Got something here.'

  McCloughlin called towards the kitchen, 'What's in there?' 'One box of X-treme chewing gum. Limited edition citrus with energy-giving guarana. Thirty-six packs originally inside, now about a dozen left.'

  'Bag it,' said McCloughlin, turning to the officer with the UV torch. 'You?'

  He turned the art deco lamp to the side so McCloughlin could see its base. Shining purple in the invisible glow of the torch was a series of numbers and letters. 'Postcode. Looks like Altrincham, sir.'