Kissing a Killer

by David Carter

  ‘Gibbons and Hector?’

  ‘No, send Jenny and Nicky. Corla might be happier to see another woman on the team.’

  ‘Okey-doke. I’ll fix it.’

  Outside, in the general office, Walter filled the team in on developments. Hector was assigned the job of finding two ringers, Jenny and Gibbons the duty of making sure everyone else attended.

  ‘Don’t forget,’ said Walter. ‘They must all wear dark trousers, short casual jacket, gloves, and no hat.’

  As it turned out Derek Nesbitt had come back bored and early from his fishing trip, and actually said he was looking forward to it. Miro, Speight, Flanagan and Donaldson all moaned like hell about it, but agreed that if it finally put them in the clear they would attend, albeit under protest.

  Walter phoned Gareth Williams and mentioned he was out of order in putting up a reward. Gareth advised Walter that he had indeed put up a reward, and would continue to do so, and as he believed he knew and understood the law at least as well as Inspector Darriteau, that was how it would remain. The reward stood, and at least that might encourage Corla Rev. Walter was too busy and too tired to argue, at least Williams had agreed to attend, though he too protested long and hard about it.

  Everyone went home a little earlier than usual, all hoping and praying that the next day the quaintly named Corla Revelation would steer them towards a positive result.

  An hour later Walter threw a beef curry ready meal into the oven and slammed the door. He squished a can open and sipped direct. He thought about Corla Revelation and her offer of a consultation. She hadn’t mentioned anything about a discount, but surely that would be forthcoming if she collected cash on the case. He’d be flavour of the month. It might be worth thinking about. What had he to lose?

  And he thought about Carlene Henderson and how nice it would be if she came round, though right there a phone call would have done, but nothing like that happened, and he wasn’t going to weaken and ring her, not yet a while, at least. And he thought again about the neat woman in yellow, Nesbitt’s neighbour, what was her name again? Mary Warner, that was it, he wasn’t losing his memory yet. What was it she had said? Every woman knows you now, Walter; you’re quite famous around Chester these days, something like that.

  She had a way of speaking to men that pleased them, that much was obvious, and when the case was over he might just go round there, by way of thanking her for her assistance, and see what developed from there. Seemed like a plan to him. He turned on the TV and watched an old black and white war movie staring Kirk Douglas, or was it an anti-war movie; he was never quite sure with some of those too clever by half pictures, and after that he went to bed earlier than usual, and slept surprisingly well.

  Karen lounged on her sofa and ate a lightly done tuna steak with an avocado on the side, and thought about David Baker. He would fit right in amongst the planned line-up, but how could she suddenly blurt out that she knew who the fifth man was, that he matched Corla Rev’s description spot on, and don’t mention the tiny fact that I happen to be dating him. It wasn’t going to happen. She simply hoped that Corla would pick someone out, finger the killer, and anyone would do.

  Her mobile on the coffee table rang. Her heart skipped a beat. She reached across and grabbed it. It was him. She smirked and smiled and felt good about life, and took the call.

  It was a long call, and a warm call, but in truth one that consisted of trivia and gossip, a typical conversation between two people who maybe cared about one another, and maybe thought they could care about each other a whole lot more. He had a nice telephone voice, she thought, manly yet soothing, clear diction without any discernable accent, as similar thoughts swirled through his head about her.

  It was only afterwards she realised she knew so little about him. Where he came from, what his parents were like, what they did, how he’d fallen into the job he said he adored, and so much more. How had all that been overlooked and neglected?

  Had he been deliberately cunning in steering away from discussing such things? They always seemed to talk about her, but rarely him. Fact was, she still knew very little about him, and that would have to change, and had he shielded his background for fear of incriminating himself in ways that made her shudder. That didn’t bear thinking about either, yet she did, for several hours, her mind racing to improbable places she would rather not have visited.

  What was it that Walter had said about the fifth man? Karen thought hard, it was something like: Our man is smarter than the ordinary Joes we have in the frame, much smarter, and more dangerous with it. He’s a cunning foe to be reckoned with.

  A cunning foe to be reckoned with, a phrase that would stick in the mind, but was David Baker a cunning foe, or the cunning foe? The following day might shed some light on that crazy idea, but if it didn’t, what then? The only thing for it would be to set a trap. She could be cunning too, she had always known that, maybe it even came with the job. She would have to set a trap that only the killer would know how to trigger, but how, and where, and when?

  It wasn’t an easy problem to solve. She would much preferred to have bounced ideas off Walter about that, but for now that wasn’t possible. Later, much later, she came to a decision. If the ID parade produced no definite result, and no clear trap plan presented itself by close of play, she would miraculously uncover the identity of the fifth man in Bel’s technology, as if for the first time, and tell Walter everything. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress, and she would stick with it, and that certainly brought her a better night’s sleep than had seemed remotely possible.

  Thirty-Three

  He sat alone, late at night, in his modern apartment. The TV was off, he didn’t often watch television, but the music was on, loud. Occasionally it brought strife with the neighbours; that late night music listening thing, but this time he was in the clear, the sound was muted, headphones only.

  He reached forward and slightly increased the volume. Holst’s planet suite, Mars to be exact, the bringer of war, thundered into his ears. It relaxed him, cleared his mind to the point of making thinking easier.

  He had always thought that two would be enough, that he would have been sated by now, but recently he’d had reason to question that judgement. Truth was, he did not feel as fulfilled as he’d imagined he would, as he wished to be. There was still something missing. A measure of dissatisfaction was slowly growing within him. He was now sure that a third incident would finish it off. A third one would signal the final end of things, closure, as the people who know about these things, liked to say.

  Yes, that all seemed to fit together so well. A third one it would have to be, but who? And where, and when, that was the greater question. Who, where, and when? He reached out again and turned the volume up high as to be unbearable, thinking that it might drown out such complicated and difficult thoughts, yet it did not, not completely, for they refused to go away. They were growing still, those dark thoughts, like dry rot, as if they were some kind of alien creature that could never be slain.

  In his mind he began sorting through potential suitable candidates, and that brought a smile to his handsome face, and satisfaction to his soul. If only they knew what he was thinking, wouldn’t they be surprised, and terrified too. They damned well should be.

  There were several women in the frame, and the thing was, this time the lucky one, or unfortunate one, depending on your line of thinking, would also want to kiss him, or so he imagined, or be kissed by him, which was almost the same thing.

  The faces slid through his head, one to six, like slides slipping through an old fashioned projector, click bang show, click bang show, and there were pros and cons for each of them, so much so that it made it hard to choose. But a decision would have to be made, and soon. He knew that now. It had to be done.

  Click bang show, was a maybe, click bang show, perhaps not, this time, click bang show, another maybe, click bang show, a definite possible, click bang show, a maybe/maybe not, click bang show, oh, right up there,
for sure, in fact the favourite to date, definitely, and back to the beginning again, without any resolution in sight. Perhaps a second screening might clarify things. Click bang show, and off we go. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would bring clarity to the mind. That seemed an appropriate thought.

  Mars came to an end. His favourite part. He reached forward and switched off the sound technology. In his brain he switched off the slide projector too. He wouldn’t think about number three again until the morning. He could do that, switch things on and off at the touch of a button. It was a rare talent that he didn’t know he possessed, until recently. Not many people could do that, turn things on and off in the mind at will.

  He stood up and turned everything off, switched the light out and headed for the bathroom. Undressed and jumped under the shower, admired his fit and taught body, flexed his muscles, washed and gently dried himself, and went to bed, and dreamt the dreams of a God.

  The whole team was in early again for they all understood the importance of the day, the entire team that is, with the notable exception of Mrs West, who had succumbed to one of her occasional and very frightening migraines.

  On hearing that news Walter and Karen shared a look as if to say, someone must be looking down kindly on us today. There would be no need to explain to Mrs W the reasoning behind an ID parade containing not one but six suspects, and by the time she returned, the whole pantomime would have been played out.

  Perhaps inevitably, the morning and early afternoon dragged by, as they do when something significant, something important, something exciting, was planned for late afternoon. But it gave Karen the time to check on Corla’s history. She had indeed attempted to claim rewards before, so that looked like her bet had lost, but she had been unsuccessful, so that muddied the waters sufficiently to maybe get her off the hook. They’d have to look very carefully at the terms and wording of the bet, and that brought some temporary merriment into the office when she informed Walter of the news.

  At two o’clock Karen said, ‘Shall I ring Mrs Rev to tell her everything’s on track?’

  ‘No, I’ll do it, and it’s “Miss”,’ and he pulled her card from his desk drawer and picked up the phone and gently dabbed in the numbers.

  The phone rang four times and then picked up.

  ‘Amazing Revelations,’ said the voice in a singsong fashion.

  ‘Corla Revelation?’

  ‘That’s me, Inspector. Have you rung to book an early appointment?’

  He laughed and said, ‘No, not today, just a quick call to advise you that we’re all arranged at this end. Everything’s on track. Jenny and Nick will call for you at 3pm, for you to be here in plenty of time, so we can prepare you, and explain the procedure.’

  ‘It all sounds very daunting.’

  ‘It’s not. It’ll be a cakewalk, and I’ll be by your side every step of the way. You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘We’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Yes, Inspector, you will.’

  Everything started at half past two. Hector was sent off to the local Job Centre to pick out two smart looking guys who vaguely fitted the bill, guys who’d imagined they were there for a job interview. They were in the police station by ten past three, being briefed about the ID parade to come, just as fillers, you understand, and reasonably happy about collecting thirty quid expenses for their trouble. Hector had a dental appointment after that, and went off to visit the killer driller fiend for urgent attention.

  Jenny and Nick departed on the short ride to Warren Drive to collect Corla Rev, and they returned with the star guest by half past three. She looked pretty smart too, in a long fitted beige raincoat and good white shoes. Walter greeted her and asked if she’d like a tea or coffee. Corla declined and muttered something about getting it over with as soon as possible.

  They took her downstairs to view the set-up. Firstly, Walter took her into the interview room itself. All the furniture had been removed and along one wall was a large mirror.

  Walter first beckoned to the floor.

  ‘See the line,’ he said, ‘the men will all stand on the line. They’ll be holding number cards.’ He turned back to the mirror. ‘You’ll be on the other side of the glass, safe with me. No one in here will be able to see you or hear anything you say, but you’ll be able to see them and hear everything.’

  Corla nodded and went to the glass. Put her hands around her eyes and peered through from right up close. She couldn’t see a thing.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ said Walter. ‘It’s a tried and tested system. None of the men will ever know your identity. There’s nothing to it. You walk up and down the line, take as much time as you want, go back and forth as often as you like, and only when you are ready, and only if you are certain, you indicate to me who you think the man is who you saw coming out of Belinda’s house on the night of her murder. You do that by saying his number. Is that clear?’

  ‘Perfectly. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘I know that, Miss Revelation, there are just certain procedures I have to follow by the book.’

  ‘I see. Sorry, if I was a little brusque. And please call me Corla.’

  ‘Not a problem, Corla. Do you have any questions?’

  ‘I feel as if I should have, but I don’t.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘How many men will there be?’

  ‘Eight.’

  ‘And are they all criminals?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to discuss the men involved.’

  ‘I see, makes sense, I guess.’

  ‘Let’s go into the other room,’ and they went outside and into the viewing room.

  Walter pointed at the glass and said, ‘You’ve a great view from here.’

  ‘It’s amazingly clear.’

  ‘It is, perfect vision, and the glass has been freshly cleaned today.’

  ‘And they can’t hear a word we say?’

  ‘Not a whisper.’

  ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘Good. That’s the way we like it.’

  ‘Thank you for putting my mind at rest.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Anything else?’

  Corla shook her head.

  ‘Okay. We’re done here for now. Karen will take you back upstairs and we’ll wait there until everything is ready.’

  ‘Do you know what this reminds me of?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘An American prison movie.’

  Walter grinned knowingly and said, ‘I can see what you mean, we’re both law enforcement agencies, after all, but the similarities stop there. We’re not American, and we’re not in a movie.’

  ‘No, pity,’ she said, grinning.

  The guys in the line-up had already started booking in. Michael Flanagan was in first, grizzling that he was losing vital fare money, and who was going to compensate him for that? Derek Nesbitt, chipper and happy and confident, for he had never done anything remotely like it before. He’d once considered becoming a policeman, though the thought of wrestling with vicious armed thugs had persuaded him into another career path, though just for a moment he was having second thoughts about that.

  Next in was Iain Donaldson. He’d taken the afternoon off work, and Andrea Dennehey had come with him for moral support, and to act as a witness, so she said, in an overloud voice, though she was miffed when informed that she would not be allowed to witness events. She would be held in a holding room for friends and family upstairs until it was all over.

  A subdued Miroslav Rekatic was next up. He listened hard and said little, and both Walter and Karen were surprised at his subdued demeanour, and wondered if he’d been interrogated and rebuked by his fine wife, and if that were the case, it was the least he deserved.

  Gareth Williams turned up next, looking confident, freshly preened bouffant prominently on display. He moaned a minute or two about the ludicrousness of the whole exercise, but soon settled down, realising that the quicker the c
harade was completed, the sooner he could get out of there, and back to his hectic office.

  Ronald Speight was late, and no one in the station was surprised at that. The first thing he said was, ‘I didn’t think I was going to come. I shouldn’t be here at all because I’m completely innocent of any crime, but if this is the only way to prove it, then so be it.’

  Bob Barnes, an avuncular old bloke of fifty-three, though he seemed much older than that, was the on-duty station sergeant, and it was his responsibility to get the scene set up and ready to go. All eight men were present in the cleared interview room, and all stared at each other and gazed down at the line on the floor that Bob pointed out. Bob grabbed the two ringers and set one at either end.

  The other six were invited to stand in any order, and as usual, much to-ing and fro-ing took place before they settled into final positions.

  ‘Now gents,’ he said. ‘Are you all comfortable where you are before I give you your number placings?’

  ‘I’m not comfortable being here at all,’ moaned Speight.

  ‘I second that,’ said Flanagan.

  ‘Let’s just get on with it,’ said Gareth, ‘and then we can all get out of here,’ and that advice had some merit, and the grizzling stopped, and finally the line-up was ready to go.

  Bob took the large square white number cards from the top of the radiator and passed them out, left to right, numbers one to eight. He took a step back and made a mental note. From the left, a Job centre ringer, Nesbitt, Speight, Miroslav Rekatic, Williams, Iain Donaldson, Flanagan, and the second Job Centre fella.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘No more changes, let’s get the show on the road,’ and he picked up the internal phone and dialled upstairs.

  Karen picked up.

  ‘Bob here, we’re ready for you now.’

  ‘Be down in five,’ and she set the phone down.

  Walter glanced from Corla and back to Karen.

  ‘Are they ready for us?’

  ‘They are, ready and waiting.’

  Corla stood up and pulled a face.