by Leona Turner
Loretta opened the door to a very weary-looking Jimmy Holt.
“Jimmy, come in.”
Holt did as he was bid.
“Have you had any news on the first victim’s identity yet?”
“No, I’ve got people trawling through the missing persons file as we speak.”
“What about Matt Reynolds? Do you know why he was targeted?”
“Well, not really; all we know is that he had a slightly chequered past as far as his relationships were concerned. He had been arrested for domestic abuse; we spoke to an ex of his, and apparently he was, shall we say, a difficult man to live with.”
Loretta nodded at this. She still wasn’t sure how much she could trust Holt as far as her patient files were concerned, and as he’d found out about Matt’s questionable personal life, she didn’t feel she needed to break a confidence.
“Although…” Holt leant towards Loretta for emphasis.
“We think his past may have had something to do with his selection.”
“What makes you say that?” Loretta rose to the bait as was expected.
“Part of his heart had been removed.”
“I didn’t read about that in the papers.”
“Well, you wouldn’t; we didn’t release it. The press are hysterical enough at the moment.”
“What do you mean ‘part’ of the heart?”
“Well, whoever did it certainly wasn’t an expert. It had been hacked at using whatever tools they’d found in the toolbox.”
“Was the heart removed from the scene? Is it a trophy?”
“No, it was found a bin in the corner of the room, in the chest cavity where it had been there was a note, the note read ‘heartless’. According to Dennis Grant—that’s our coroner—Matt had been dispatched with the drill and the heart had been removed post mortem.’
Loretta looked amazed for a moment.
“Heartless. The killer felt that as he hadn’t used it during his life, he had no need for it in the next.”
“And again, the scene was set to make it look as if escape had been a possibility. There was an alarm clock on the table next to the chair that Matt had been taped to. The door keys were found just behind it, obscured from view of whoever was in the chair. While Matt was secured in the chair, it appears he had two holes drilled through his ankles. The tape had then been deliberately cut away, and he had attempted to drag himself to the door. He made it, as well; his fingerprints along with his blood were found on the door handle. But the door was locked, and I imagine that’s when his time was up. The alarm was set for nine thirty, and that pretty much sits exactly in the estimated time of death bracket.”
Loretta took a minute to digest what had been said.
“You know, I’m not so sure about the ‘possibility of escape’ thing. I think it may go deeper than we think.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s a bit tenuous, isn’t it? Almost as if it’s been thrown in.”
“I thought we agreed that the killer was organised.”
“Yes, but I don’t know. It’s starting to feel a little like it’s been put in to distract us—sorry, I mean you.”
“But you’re the one who brought it to my attention.”
“Yes, but now I’m not so sure. It’s quite clumsy, and I’m starting to think the whole idea of a possible escape may not be a part of the ritual of the kill, but the psychology behind it that is being called into question.”
“What?” Holt was starting to feel annoyed. How was he supposed to catch this person if the goal posts were continually moving?
“I think the idea of escape isn’t to ridicule the victim as much as it’s ridiculing psychology in general. The killer’s not trying to help the victims; instead the killer is showing us that some people can’t—or more likely choose not to—be helped. Hold on.’
Loretta got up and started rustling through papers on her desk.
“Here it is.”
Passing a crumpled piece of paper to Holt, she sat back down to give him time to read it.
It was an article on paedophiles in the prison system. Holt scanned the page and looked back up at Loretta.
“It says here that ninety percent refuse counseling for their crimes when they go in. Is that true?”
“Near enough. The thing is they don’t recognise their actions are wrong, only that society deems them wrong. And how can you rehabilitate someone who refuses to acknowledge they were wrong to start?”
“You don’t, I suppose.”
“Exactly, so they sit in there and serve their time, all the while in the company of like-minded people, until their release date.”
“But at least they are registered, then.”
“Yes, but I imagine that’s cold comfort to the families who live near them.”
“So what you’re saying is that the victims may have been offered professional help at some point in their lives, more than likely due to unsavoury actions on their part.”
“Possibly, although it may just be an insult aimed at the justice system as a whole.”
Holt looked deflated.
"Look, have you eaten yet?”
“No, I was just going to grab a sandwich on the way back to the station.”
“Well that settles it, then, you can stay here. I’ve got a casserole in the oven, and it should be ready about now.”
“I can’t, really, I’ve already annoyed Henson…” Holt paused and thought for a moment.
“On second thought, the little snot deserves it. Yes, I’d love to stay, thank you.”
Loretta smiled and went to the kitchen to sort out the food. Holt took the chance to reflect back on what Loretta had said. The country, as Holt had seen it, had been in the midst of a swing towards civil liberties for the last fifty years, and now it was time for the backlash. And the backlash here in his quiet little town was a maniac with a vendetta.
When Loretta came in and started laying out food on the little dining table next to him, he barely registered her presence.
“You look lost in thought.” Looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, he moved his elbows off the table to allow her to put the placemats down.
“Oh, I hope you’re not going to extra trouble for me.”
“Trouble? No, no trouble, I always eat at the dinner table.” She finished laying out the serviettes and walked back into the kitchen. Holt watched as Loretta brought a casserole dish in and placed it on the table. Since the divorce he had lived alone, surviving on little more than take-aways and foodstuffs that came in a can. If he sat down to eat the meal, it would be a miracle if it were served on a plate, let alone accompanied with placemats and serviettes.
“How much would you like?” Loretta’s voice drifted through into his consciousness.
“Sorry?”
“Casserole—how hungry are you?”
“How it comes would be fine, thank you.”
Loretta plated the food up carefully and wiped the edge of his plate with a clean napkin when she’d finished, placing his plate in front of him. Looking down, he noticed he’d left the photo of the late Tom Reynolds in full view on the table. Quickly he scooped it up and put it back in his briefcase, but luckily Loretta didn’t appear to have noticed. She continued to plate up her own meal and Holt waited until she had finished before he started his own food. He did not want to appear uncouth to Loretta; she already managed to make him feel like a dinosaur, as it was.
When they had both finished their meals, Holt went to pick up the plates and clear the table.
“Oh no, you don’t. You’re a guest here. Go and make yourself comfortable while I take this out. Would you like anything to drink?”
“A cup of coffee would be great, thanks.”
“Ok, I’ll be two minutes.”
Holt sighed contentedly before getting up and making his way back over to the armchair. This wasn’t something he’d be telling Henson about; he was hard work at the best of times, but if he foun
d out Holt had had a meal, there he’d be, ribbing him all the time.
Loretta came back into the room with two mugs of coffee, and Holt grabbed a couple of coasters and placed them on the coffee table. He was starting to understand this woman a little more now, or at least he liked to think he was.
“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have some decent food for a change. I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.”
“You are more than welcome.” Loretta smiled at Holt.
“It’s also nice to have someone intelligent to talk to.”
“What about DC Henson?”
“Are you kidding me?”
Loretta chuckled.
“Yes, he is a little overzealous at times, isn’t he? Not a great thing, considering the sensitivity of the case.”
“You’re telling me. Anyway, I’d better get back to the station. Thanks again for everything, especially the lunch—it’s been a while since I’ve eaten that well.”
“It was my pleasure; it was nice not to be eating alone again.” As Loretta opened the door for him, he paused briefly and turned to look at her.
“Have a good afternoon.”
Loretta stood for a minute watching his retreating back. As Holt walked away from Loretta’s apartment he found himself deep in thought.
Had Matt Reynolds attended anger management classes?
Holt grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly punched in a number.
“Hi, it’s DI Holt. Is there any way of finding out if Matt Reynolds had any counseling or anger management classes?”
Holt went quiet as the desk PC pulled up the file.
“There’s nothing on here that I can see. Hold on, DC Henson’s just come in.”
Holt waited patiently as the officer on the line spoke with Henson. Then Henson came on the line.
“Hello, sir, I’ve just gotten back from speaking with Matt Reynolds’s ex, Rebecca Lowes, or, rather, her family. It’s strange that you would ask about the counseling thing; apparently he was offered it after he was arrested for being violent towards her. He agreed, went twice, and never went back.”
“OK Henson, I’m just heading back now.”
Without waiting for a response Holt hung up.
Chapter 12
Dean woke up and lifted his head gingerly, as if any sudden movement might cause it to explode. He looked down at his crumpled shirt and found it covered in dried vomit. After Clare and he had split up, he hadn’t spent a single night in. His mate from the garage, Pete, had ensured that.
Last night had been no different; he and Pete had gone out, and judging by the state of his clothes, they had gotten absolutely hammered. He thought he’d enjoyed it at the time, but now, covered in his own sick and with the mother of all hangovers, he wished he hadn’t bothered. But the biggest regret Dean was having at the moment was not being able to call Clare. He looked over at his alarm clock and realised he’d forgotten to set it. Realising he was going to be late for work again he jumped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Peeling last night’s clothes off and dumping them on the floor, he got into the shower. As he stood under the shower his mind his mind crept back to Clare. Why had she dumped him so fast? She had completely freaked out when he’d suggested that they move in together. He tried to force his mind back to last night. There had been women there, but he hadn’t been interested.
Getting out of the shower he dried himself off quickly and dressed. In his bedroom his phone started to ring, running into his room he grabbed the phone from his bed. Seeing it was Pete, he allowed himself a moment of disappointment before answering.
"Hi, Pete, what’s up?”
“All right, mate, you coming in to work today?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way; tell Jon I’ll be in within the hour.”
“You better get here quicker than that, he’s going ballistic.”
“All right, all right, I’ll see you in a half hour.” Dean hung up his phone. Dashing down the stairs he grabbed his jacket. Charging out of the door he ran to the bus stop and managed to get there just as the bus arrived.
Dean arrived at the garage within the thirty minutes he had promised.
Pete wandered over to Dean when he arrived.
“Jon still doing his nut?”
“Nah, he’s calmed down now, had a phone call from the missus.”
“Real or slag?”
“Slag, of course, his real missus hasn’t so much as coaxed a smile from him in years.”
“Are you coming out later? I’m going down the Rose and Crown later to enjoy my last hour or so of freedom before the weekend.”
“Yeah, all right, haven’t got anything else planned.”
“You never do these days, you’ve got to get yourself a woman, Dean, someone closer to your own age this time.”
“Give it a rest, Pete. I’ve told you, I’m all right as I am. You fancy going and putting a few bets on Saturday?”
“I’d love to, but Collette’s got me retiling the bathroom Saturday.”
“What about Sunday, then?”
“Nah, I’ve got to put the lino down, and once the bathroom’s finished I think she’s targeting the living room. At this rate I won’t have a weekend free for the next six months.”
“One chat with you and you could put most men off women for life.”
“It feels like I’ve got a life sentence sometimes. Bloody hell, maybe I should bump her off; at least I could get parole at some point.”
Dean started to laugh.
“Still, I shouldn’t moan, she’s not a bad old girl, really, and there are compensations.”
“So I’ve heard.”
As Dean spoke a Mini Cooper pulled into the forecourt.
“Ok, this is mine.” Dean motioned for the driver to bring the car straight into the garage. As the driver vacated her vehicle she passed the keys to Dean and Dean explained the work should be completed within an hour.
Dean got into the Mini, parked it over the inspection pit and started work. Fifty minutes later Dean dropped the bonnet and jumped in to take it over to the collection bay. As he parked, he noticed Pete coming toward him, coat in hand. Dean dropped the keys back in the office and the two started toward the pub.
“I’ve only got until six. Collette’s actually cooking from scratch tonight, and God only knows I don’t want to be late for that.”
“She’s got you well trained.”
“So she thinks, but I’ve been out with you most nights recently. Really this is just a strategic move to ensure my clothes aren’t on fire in the front garden tomorrow. Besides, she’s quite a good little cook when she puts her mind to it.”
As they neared the entrance to the pub, they noticed a group of lads loitering around outside. The Rose and Crown had benches outside for smokers. A couple of lads were sitting on the benches. As Pete and Dean walked past them, Dean nodded slightly in their direction. As soon as they were inside, Pete spoke up.
“Friends of yours?”
“Kind of, I know them from school.”
“Well, if I were you I’d keep your distance; right little fuckers, the lot of them. Remember I told you about all the smash and grab car incidents up round mine? Well, I heard it was down to them lot.”
“Come on, mate, you don’t know that.”
“I’m telling you, and they deal.”
“Deal?”
“Yeah, coke, heroin, skunk, whatever they can lay their hands on—my sister won’t take her kids down the park anymore cause there’s always some crack addict milling about. Take it from me: stay away from them, they’re bad news.”
Dean thought back to his school days; they had been the reason he’d been kicked out of school. He’d been caught with half a dozen ecstasy tablets on him. Funnily enough, the school wasn’t keen on having a drug dealer as a pupil, and he’d been shown the door.
Getting their drinks, the pair moved towards the pool table.
After three games of pool and several p
ints, both Pete and Dean were a little worse for wear.
“Your missus is going to do her nut when you roll in.”
“Nah, she’ll be all right, she’s good as gold, really.” Pete was busy trying to fit both his arms into the same sleeve of his coat, and Dean got up to give him a hand.
“You staying here for a bit?”
“Yeah, might as well finish my drink; I haven’t got anybody cracking the whip.”
“Collette’s not cracking the whip; there’s only one person wears the trousers in my house.”
“Yeah, that’s true, and at least she can work the zip on hers properly.”
Pete looked down and hurriedly did himself up.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you Monday, then, me old mate.”
“Yeah, will do.” Dean escorted Pete to the door. As he opened it for him, one of the lads who had been sitting outside walked in. After watching to make sure Pete navigated the road safely, Dean went back to retrieve his pint.
“Still whipped, then?” The voice was loud in the bar.
Swinging round to see where it had originated from, Dean recognised the culprit immediately: Mark Prime. Mark had always been the leader of the group, and now here he was, calling him out. Dean smiled, and taking the remnants of his pint, strolled toward him.
“All right, Mark, mate, long time no see.”
“You ain’t kidding, Deano, how’s that bird of yours, then? Last thing I heard, she was wearing your balls as earrings.”
“If you mean Clare, we split up, and for the record I was never whipped.”
“Well you knocked the old dope on the head for her, and the party powder. I heard you’d become a real hermit.”
“It was fuck all to do with her; I guess I just grew out of all that shit.”
