‘But we got lucky,’ she would say.
‘You make your own luck,’ he would argue.
He reminded her that finding Ben Green was down to her instinct, and her persistence led them directly to his mother, Mrs Green, aka The Phantom.
Watts had visited Summers once, telling her that she was in absolutely no hurry to come back to work and that she should take as much time as necessary to recover fully. He was very happy that the case of The Phantom had been solved, and had to try hard not to smile too much in front of his star detective, as she was still clearly in pain and traumatised by the preceding events.
Kite had kept Summers up to date with how things were going with the case against Mrs Green, which was looking good in respect of her never being free to harm anyone again.
Mrs Green had at first tried to deny any involvement in the crimes, then she heard the tape that had been recorded of her and Ben discussing the murders. Kite was relentless in the interview room and eventually broke her down.
She admitted to all the twelve murders that occurred in the crime hot spot, plus the murder of Charles Peacock. She adamantly denied knowing anything about the other murders in the five other cases, so Watts would have to admit defeat with these and send them off to the cold case department for the time being. How truthful she was being was hard to judge, as her mental health had seriously deteriorated.
Kite had managed to get a signed confession from his suspect, but on the advice from her lawyer, she would plead her case of insanity. He knew it was true, she was mad, how can anyone take the lives of others and be labelled as sane?
Summers had asked Kite what happened when he went upstairs at the house.
Kite explained that he followed the noise and saw Ben with a rope around his neck. He had turned to the detective as Kite entered the bedroom, tears streaming down his face and he mouthed the word, ‘sorry.’
‘Don’t do it,’ Kite had yelled, but it was too late. The troubled Ben Green had jumped out of the window and killed himself. The rope around his neck had snapped numerous bones and Ben died instantly.
Kite had frantically pulled him back inside the bedroom, only to see he had the dead body of a multiple murderer in his arms. Kite had wiped the tears from the deceased face and had to wipe his own eyes, which had begun to fill with drops of sadness. He had seen many dead bodies before, but to see someone alive, hear them say sorry and then to have them dead in your arms moments later, there was no police training to prepare you for that.
Summers had read a copy of Ben’s suicide note, a mixture of confession, explanation and hopes of forgiveness. He had confessed to the murders of Ricky Robinson, Alexia White and last but not, his fiancée, Natalie.
Something that struck both Summers and Kite was the fact that Ben had confessed to the murder of Natalie before it had taken place. Of course, this was a premeditated murder, but the belief that Ben had, that she was pregnant with his child, a child who would no doubt carry the same destructive gene that he and his mother had been inflicted with, gave the impression that Ben had truly believed he was doing the right thing.
What a twisted world we live in.
Kite confirmed to Summers that Natalie had not in fact been pregnant, which led them to the conclusion that she had lied to Ben, for what reason they would never know, although it was clear that in this way she had been directly involved with the reason for her death, even if she was oblivious to the terrible things that were happening around her fiancée and his family.
Summers had felt sorry for her, be it only briefly, as Kite had something to say regarding Natalie. Nobody had yet claimed responsibility for the murder of David Reynolds, who was so closely linked to recent events that Kite had refused to believe his murder was just coincidence.
As it turned out, Natalie and David had exchanged numerous text messages and phone calls over the last year or so. Also, a routine search of the home of Ben and Natalie lead to the finding of a metal bin in the garden, with remnants of a females clothing, which in turn had traces of blood on them. The blood was from David Reynolds, and part of the sweatshirt appeared to match one that Natalie wore in a photo hanging on the wall in their front room. This was good evidence, and had been put forward to superiors to decide whether it was enough to close the case.
‘Good work, detective,’ Summers had said to Kite. ‘Everything seems to have been tied up nicely.’
‘Not quite,’ he had replied.
Ben had left a letter to Eve, and a cheque, leaving her his inheritance money. The envelope hadn’t yet been given to her, as Kite remembered Summers was asked to deliver it personally. Also he thought that she may want to do the last task related to the case before it could be firmly shut forever, as she was the one who solved it, even if a bit of luck was involved.
The nurse finished with the sling and tidied up all the materials she had used and left, passing the arriving Kite as he walked into Summers’ room.
‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
Summers was happy to be leaving the hospital, to get outside and breathe some fresh air, stretch her legs and so forth. But what she really looked forward to, was putting this whole episode behind her and moving on, which would begin when she had given Eve the letter from Ben.
She grabbed her bag of medication, which consisted of painkillers and sleeping tablets, and gestured for Kite to pick up the rest of her things. He did so with a smile.
‘Welcome back, boss,’ he said.
51
Kite pulled the car up outside the flats where Eve lived.
‘Are you doing this on your own?’ he asked Summers. ‘We ran a check on her, she seems to a good citizen.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘And boss,’ said Kite, ‘you think you’ll be staying on in the force? Now that you’ve, you know, done what you wanted to do?’
Summers smirked.
‘Are you after my job already, DC Kite?’ replied Summers. ‘To honest, I don’t know what I’ll do. But if I go, I’ll put in a good word for you, I promise. You wait here, I won't be long.’
She awkwardly lifted herself from the car and closed the door behind her. Kite smiled to himself as he watched his boss hobble to the front door. She was buzzed in and Eve was stood at the door to her flat to welcome her in.
Summers looked at Eve and saw how pale and tired she looked, maybe a consequence of discovering the man in your life wasn't quite who he seemed. She introduced herself, and Eve replied that she had read a lot about her and asked how she was feeling after the attack.
The small talk didn’t last long. Eve sat down on the bed. Summers opted for a wooden chair, thinking it would be easier to stand up afterwards with her injuries.
‘Would you like a cup of tea or something?’ asked Eve.
Summers shook her head, and pressed on with the reason she was there.
She explained what Ben had done, of course Eve had seen all this in the papers, but then Summers pulled out the envelope and gave it to her. It was already torn open, as the police had wanted to know exactly what was written and as was their right; there was potentially something in there to help with the prosecution of Mrs Green.
Eve found the cheque, her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She reached back into the envelope and pulled out the letter.
'My dearest Eve,' she read to herself before the first tears welled up in her eyes. She shook her head and held the letter out towards Summers.
‘Could you please read it to me?’ she asked, ‘I don't want to do it on my own.’
‘Of course.’ said Summers. ‘Can I ask... was it a full blown affair you were having with Mr Green?’
Eve shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks, she managed half a giggle.
‘I knew him just a couple of days,’ she replied. ‘Bit of a whirlwind romance, really. Then he just said it had to stop. I thought he'd just used me for sex, but then it didn't ring true because it felt so much more than that. I bet I sound a r
ight naïve idiot?’
‘No, I don't think you do.’
Summers adjusted in her seat, cleared her throat and began reading the letter Ben Green had written to say goodbye to Eve.
My Dearest Eve,
Never in my life have I met someone like you.
You were the first person to make me laugh out loud for longer than I can remember. I used to be happy, I used to laugh so hard that my stomach would hurt and I couldn't breathe. Thank you for giving me a taste of that again.
I know we didn't know each other for long, and there is a chance that the way I feel is not reciprocated. Maybe I am wrong about you, and this was just a fling, but I don't believe that to be true.
When we talked, about everything and anything, I saw glimpses of a lost soul, an innocent person struggling to make her way in this god awful world. Don't worry. I know you'll make it. You question everything, and it’s only a matter of time before you find the answers you are looking for.
I'm sorry that I had to leave you the way I did. I wish you had walked into my life years ago, I can only imagine how different things would have been. Truth be told, if I'd met you even just a few days ago I would have run away with you and given you the world.
I'm sure by now you have read in the papers, or seen the news, and know what I have done, and what I really am. You are probably relieved that you didn't come to any harm, but I assure you, you will live a long and happy life, so don't go through it carrying fear, just be your beautiful self and everything else will fall into place.
I have written a cheque for you. It is a lot of money; it is for you to do as you choose.
It was from the will of my father, and I have the right to give it to you, so if the police give you any trouble then give them some trouble right back! Maybe you'll go back to university and study something that'll help you make the world a better place, or maybe you'll give it to a charity. You're a bright girl, I'm sure you'll figure out what best to do with it.
I wish I was stronger and could stay to face the punishment that I so obviously deserve, but at the same time, I have grown to understand that I carry a genetic malfunction, like my mother, who you have probably realised by now is the dreaded Phantom killer. I am so embarrassed. I am actually mad! How’s my luck?
I have been hearing voices, like my mother does, for a while now, but recently it has become more and more frequent. I see things, I hear things, I have dark feelings flow through my body and I fear for the safety of myself and those around me. This is why I know I have to take my life.
After my mother dies, our family will no longer exist, and I hope that along with us, this monstrous gene will die and never walk the earth again.
I have to go now. I have to do this before I lose my nerve.
Thank you, for making the last days of my life bearable, those moments of sunshine will be with me forever.
I love you.
Ben x
Summers folded the letter and placed it on the table beside her. It was a sad moment. The girl sat on the bed in front of her clearly had feelings for Ben Green, although surely the fact he was a murderer would soften the blow after losing him.
‘Are you going to be ok?’ asked the detective.
‘Not really,’ said Eve, shaking her head, tears now streaming down her face. ‘This genetic problem he had, and his mother, was it really what made him mad?’
Summers thought back to her days at medical school.
‘Well, yes, in a way,’ she responded. ‘Sometimes certain genetic weaknesses will be passed down generations, just like tall parents will likely have tall children; the same principle applies to other things such as the mind. Not always, but it’s certainly possible, yes. But don't worry, it isn't contagious.’
Eve looked deep into the eyes of Summers.
‘Oh, I know it’s not contagious,’ she said, ‘but I'm pregnant.’
THE END
If you enjoyed ‘Son of a Serial Killer’ please leave a positive comment on Amazon. Thank you.
For details on upcoming releases,
Follow my blog… http://jamsnroses.wordpress.com/
Or @JamsNRoses on Twitter
Or visit my author page… amazon.com/author/jamsnroses
Also available now on Amazon…
‘Get Clean’ by Jams N. Roses: A plot-driven, crime/thriller novel.
Sample Chapters
1 - FRIENDS
So there I was, Jimmy Walker, on my last night out with the boys, marking the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.
I sat at the same table, at the same pub, surrounded by the same friends, drinking the same drinks and talking the same drunken nonsense we'd been talking for as long as I can remember.
Habits, we're creatures of habit, us humans, some more than others.
It wasn't long before Scott offered me a line of Cocaine, or 'Trumpet,’ as he preferred to call it. Although I was feeling a little tipsy, I'd made a promise to myself that I wouldn't be doing any more of those little white lines, so I declined. Sure, it had been one of many promises I'd made concerning that moreish Colombian export, but at some point you've got to just say no, like those kids from Grange Hill (although I have heard a few of them were a little self-indulgent, at times).
‘Come on, Jimbo,’ said Tommy, sliding a small, round tablet along the table and tucking it away behind my drink, ‘this'll get you in the mood. It's your last night with the boys, mate, get involved.’
'Bastards,' I thought.
Why is it that some people always find themselves spending time, even wasting time, with people that really aren't pulling in the same direction?
I took a gulp of lager, washing down a dose of ecstasy as I did so. I felt the familiar lump of synthetic enjoyment bump its way to the back of my mouth, down my throat and into the pit of my stomach, only to feel it work its way into my bloodstream, up from my feet, through my leg and body and down my arms before pulling my cheeks apart and forcing a smile on my face within minutes.
‘So how long d'you reckon you'll stay in Spain then, mate?’ asked Lee.
‘He'll be back in three weeks, tail between his legs, begging for a couch to sleep on!’ interjected Dave, always the loudest of the group. He managed to get a laugh on this occasion as well.
Little did they know that there was a part of me that did worry about failing completely on my new adventure at the first obstacle, and having to come back and swallow the abuse that these guys would thoroughly enjoy dishing out to me.
I tilted my head back against the wall, and gave Scott a nudge with my elbow.
‘I wouldn't mind that upper now, mate.’
I followed Scott into the men's room.
We walked past one of the old alcoholics who was pissing into a urinal, or at least had been at some point, and had near-enough fallen asleep whilst standing with his head pressed against the cold wall tiles. We stepped into the same toilet cubicle, locking the door behind us. If the old boy had noticed us was debatable, but sadly irrelevant too.
Between us, and all the others who took drugs on a regular basis like us, thousands and thousands of lines of Coke must've been ‘racked up’ on the toilets in this pub. Fat lines, thin lines, long lines and those ridiculously short lines you get given when whoever's got the Charlie isn't feeling overly generous; an end of the night at the end of the month kind of situation.
No more cash, no more Coke, may as well go home then.
But it wasn't one of them nights, far from it, in fact. Scott had taken to buying 'eighths' at a time nowadays, three and a half grams, with the purpose of it lasting longer, and his money going further. But it never worked out like that.
One problem with Cocaine, as many a user can testify, is that when you start, stopping is a really difficult thing to do. In fact, after your first line, then your sixth and seventh line, stopping isn't really an option anymore. It almost seems like a bad idea.
In my opinion, this isn't the 'long term addiction' that'll get
you robbing your neighbours or even your family so as you can afford to buy your next hit, it’s just that while you have the drug flowing through your blood, you are constantly chasing the high it gave you during those first minutes.
With Cocaine, the high really doesn't last that long, not for the price, certainly. Thankfully, after a good night’s sleep and a good feed, this 'short term addiction' wears off and you become yourself again, forgetting that line sniffing, snot dribbling, Coke monster until the next time you decide to, or can afford to, get high again.
As Scott tipped out enough Trumpet for a 'proper' line each, almost perfectly measured by eye, like an old-school cocktail barman who refuses to use the optical measures out of professional pride, I took out the first note I came across from my pocket and began to roll it into a straw-like object, until I noticed that the fiver was old and a bit flimsy, so I changed it for a newer twenty-pound note that was crisp more practical for the job in hand.
‘So, you're really going through with this?’ Scott asked.
‘Yeah, man,’ I replied, ‘I just need to get away, you know.’
‘And you're sure this ain't 'coz Colleen got with that mug from Watford? It won't last, mate.’
He took the makeshift straw and sniffed up his line up Coke in one, short, powerful sniff, then handed it back to me.
‘Listen, Scott, you know it got me down. But she left me before he came along. She left me because I drink too much and I'm half a Coke-head who's going nowhere in life. And we both know the misery she’s been through because of me.’
I rubbed my left nostril and snorted, clearing any obstacles my nose might've had concealed that could potentially block my line of happiness from reaching its destination. Then I leant forward and cleared the tiled surface of Powder.
Son of a Serial Killer Page 14
