‘Did you hear that?’ asked Dave.
‘No. What did you hear?’
‘Just a car or something, outside,’ said Dave. ‘Sorry.’
Shirley looked worried.
‘It’s nothing, don’t worry. I think I’ll have a shower. We should go to the station and see where the investigation is at,’ said Dave.
Shirley let him go.
In the bathroom mirror he saw himself for the first time. The bruise was amazing, deep purple and violet colours. He tried to lift his bandage a little to see the wound but then thought better of it. Out of sight out of mind.
The shower was refreshing. It had been a long time since he’d been clean.
‘I’ll drown you,’ said Richie.
‘You are just in my head,’ said Dave. ‘You can’t do anything.’
Dave found his old army handgun in its locked case and put it in his pocket.
A little later Dave arrived at the station with Shirley. He felt wobbly on his feet but focussed on walking through to the office. When he walked in, everyone cheered.
‘They’re cheering in irony,’ said the voice of Richie. ‘They hate you.’
Dave looked at the floor. Was this voice correct?
Geoff started singing, ‘Staying alive, staying alive...’
‘No Bee Gees near me, thanks,’ said Dave.
He shouldn’t listen to Richie’s voice. People were smiling. That showed they were happy he was back.
‘How are we getting on?’ said Dave.
Everyone looked at each other. No one replied. The Chief patted him on the back.
‘So we haven’t found him, and he might kill again. Are we keeping an eye on care homes?’ Dave asked.
‘Patrols going round,’ said the Chief ‘Unfortunately we have had another victim. The owner of the boat Shirley saw was found floating in the Thames.’
‘He’ll kill again,’ said Dave. ‘We need to know his area.’
‘The thing is, he grew up in care homes. He’s lived all over, all his life. He has also been on the streets before. We’re checking all homeless hostels. We have given a photo to all of them.’
‘Where might he target next?’
‘We don’t know. We think the elderly. We know he targets hospitals. We also know he came back to kill the warehouse victim. That means he might come back for you.’
‘Can I be bait?’ said Dave.
‘I’m not sure,’ said the Chief. ‘He didn’t kill the younger victim at the warehouse. We think he might target the elderly. We think he may have been at the hospital at the same time you were.’
‘Really?’ said Dave.
‘The CCTV shows someone in a hoody avoiding the cameras. It may not have been him but matched his height and ethnicity.’
Dave looked at Shirley. She shrugged. She hadn’t known this, he could tell.
‘I’m concerned about Betty,’ said Dave.
‘We have her under guard. Your mother too,’ said the Chief.
‘My mother?’
‘As she was at the hospital with you, we are concerned she might have been seen. We have taken her to a safe house. Just for now.’
‘Poor Mum,’ said the voice of Stephen.
‘I’ll find her,’ said the voice of Richie.
Dave shook his head sharply, as if that would stop the voices. It just made his head hurt. Ignore the voices, ignore the voices, he repeated over in his head.
He sat down because his legs felt weak.
‘By the way,’ said Geoff. ‘You’ll need to get a photograph taken.’
‘What for?’ said Dave. ‘I thought they took photos in the hospital.’
‘For your police badge. Yours was found in the car Mr Henders dumped.’
‘The sports car?’
‘Yeah. It’s taken as evidence now. Had his finger prints all over it.’
‘Good job you found it,’ said Dave.
The Chief’s phone rang. Everyone looked over, waiting to hear.
‘OK, what is the address?’ said the Chief. There was a pause. He looked over at Dave.
Dave jumped up.
The Chief hung up the phone.
‘My mother?’ asked Dave.
‘No. An elderly lady who lives at 45 Elm Grove.’
‘My Elm Grove?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said the Chief.
So Richie knew his street. He knew his address and he’d murdered his neighbour.
‘You next,’ said Richie in his head.
‘Sir, I think I need to be armed,’ said Dave.
‘Where’s your sick note?’ said the Chief.
‘I haven’t got one,’ said Dave.
‘Good,’ said the Chief. ‘We need to find his latest hideout. How well do you know your area?’
Dave thought about how often he was home. Not a lot.
‘I’ve lived there ten years,’ he said.
‘Ever had a dog,’ said the Chief.
There were titters around the room.
‘Not that kind of dog,’ said the Chief.
Dave didn’t laugh. He rolled his eyes at Shirley. She smiled conspiratorially. She knew he hated the banter in the station.
‘I’ve never had any kind of dog, sir,’ said Dave. ‘But I can ask a few dog walkers on the street. I know a few faces. They might know the area better than me.’
‘Sergeant,’ said the Chief to Shirley. ‘Go with him. And don’t let anyone hit him with a hammer this time.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Shirley.
Dave smiled and they set off back to his place. In his head Richie said, ‘You’re next.’
Chapter 12
Just opposite the policeman’s house, I spy a granny. I’m a road sweeper today. I’ve got my orange jacket and my mask. I’ve been cycling up and down the policeman’s road and no one has noticed a shitting thing. Ha. I’ve been scoping out the road a while now. The policeman’s in his house with his fancy policewoman. And I’m across the road, breaking into Granny’s house.
I go round the back and open the window. I climb in quietly. I’ve not been in before so I don’t know the layout. Don’t want her calling 999 now.
‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
Fuck, she’s not a deaf one. I stand like a statue in her kitchen. There’s a knife on the sink. I wait.
She doesn’t come in. I can’t hear any movement. Shitting old biddy probably can’t move anyhow. I walk slowly, silently. I stand in the doorway. She’s got her back to me, sitting in a sweet old armchair with her feet up and the telly on. You’d think she was an innocent lamb. I’ll have her dead in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.
I walk up behind her. I put the knife to her throat.
‘Don’t make a sound,’ I say.
She presses a button on the arm of the chair.
‘Shush,’ I say.
A voice comes through, sounds like a Martian voice.
‘Mrs Bolton? Are you there?’
I put the knife closer to her throat. She winces but makes no sound.
‘Mrs Bolton? Can you hear me?’
I come round to the front. I pick up the machine. I throw it across the room. It continues.
‘We’ll send somebody out,’ says the voice.
Shitting alarm. I need to work quick. I walk backwards to the front window.
‘Move and I kill you,’ I say.
I look out. I’m in luck. Policeman and his fancy woman are getting in a car. God is on my side. Thanks Mum.
By the pissing granny’s chair is a table stacked up with medication. I walk towards her, knife facing her face.
‘Take your pills now Mrs Bolton. Take your pills now dear.’
She looks pretty scared.
‘Now I want you to take all of them, dear. All of them.’
She has shaky hands. She’s going to take ages. I tip out her dosset box. I stuff a handful in her mouth.
‘Swallow,’ I say.
I give her the cold mug of tea from the table.
‘
Drink,’ I say.
She swallows, tears falling down her wrinkly old face.
‘Want a biscuit with it dear?’ I ask.
She’s crying now.
‘You’re that man, aren’t you,’ she says.
‘Sure am,’ I say. ‘I’m the vigilante getting avenged for your crimes.’
She’s coughing now. Her face has changed colour to a nice shade of death. I run over to the window. No sign of the paramedics. There’s a patrol car outside the policeman’s house. I reckon I can get past it.
I lift up the shitting old woman. I take her out the back. There’s a wheelie bin. I put the woman down. I tip the rubbish out of the wheelie bin. Ha. In goes granny. I roll her out the back gate. My fluorescent jacket and cycling mask make me look like I’m a bin man. I reckon the police will have no idea if it’s bin day.
I roll shitty granny along. I walk along the road and down the alley at the back of the houses. I’ve checked this out already. There’s a policeman at the back gate. He looks like a dick. I’ve got my knife still. The policeman paces up and down. I wait. He’s got his back turned. It’s noisy with the wheelie bin. He might turn round. I wait. He’s at the far end. I rush the wheelie bin down and into the back garden. I wheel the shitting bitch in the garden. There’s no police here. I use the knife to unlock the back door. Easy peasy. In goes the bin. I wheel her in no problem.
I open up the wheelie bin. She’s almost dead, frothing at the mouth. I tip the bin. I drag her out. I pull her along the floor. I check out the living room. Ha, that one’s got to be it. A nice worn armchair. That’s his favourite for sure. Looks well comfy. I drag the shitting pissing granny over the floor. I’m getting good at this. She’s got puke all over the floor but none on my jacket or jeans. I’m a fucking pro.
She’s on the armchair. What shall I do with her? I get out the knife. Her best kitchen knife I’m sure. It’s good she can’t speak any more. I think she’s unconscious because her eyes have rolled. I hope she doesn’t scream. I put my hand over her mouth. I use my other hand to cut the veins on her wrist. She coughs all over my hand. Disgusting woman. I’ll have to wash them with something strong. I cut the other wrist. Blood pours all over the armchair. He’ll need to throw it. No more nights in with the telly and the armchair. No. He’ll have to get a new one and they don’t make them that comfy any more. That’s if he lives long enough to watch the next episode of his best soap.
The blood is down the arms of the chair. I want more. She needs to be really really dead. Not like the other one. I tip her forward. I cut her throat. She’s like a pig at the abattoir. Blood is on the carpet now. Ah, new carpet too. It’ll cost him a bomb. I stick her head back up. It lies back with the slice through the throat throbbing. She’s got to be dead. I put her hands on the arms of the chair. I make her fingers into fists and put the thumbs up. Ha thumbs up mate. Thumbs up to Richie. I’m going to warn him. It won’t be long before he’s dead.
I leave the wheelie bin. No need to worry about fingerprints. They know who I am. It might be harder getting out than in. I can’t see over the back wall to where the policeman is. I can see over the fence to the next door house. Looks like no one is home. Reckon people who live in these houses work nine to five jobs. They’ll be out. I jump the fence. I open the back door with the knife.
In the front room I can see there’s an ambulance and police everywhere. That alarm. She must have been a bigwig to have one of those alarms. It probably went straight to the prime minister’s office. I’ll see what’s in the wardrobe in this place. I’m not sure how to get out of here.
Chapter 13
Shirley drove back to Dave’s house with the police radio on high.
‘I can’t believe she’s my neighbour,’ said Dave.
‘We’ll check your house carefully first. He might be hiding there,’ said Shirley.
‘Has anyone been in yet?’ said Dave.
‘I don’t know. I think they’re still over at the lady’s house according to the radio. You listening?’
‘Trying to,’ said Dave.
He seemed weary and distracted. That bruise across his face was ageing him.
‘They’ve found his fingerprints,’ said Shirley. ‘It was less than an hour ago so we might still find her.’
‘In my house,’ said Dave.
‘No. Your house is guarded. He couldn’t get in. We’re looking at stolen cars in the area.’
It was strange. Dave was usually the one who was on the ball. Here he was, with the radio on, and he hadn’t heard a thing they’d said.
‘Dave are you alright?’ asked Shirley.
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I can’t shake the feeling he’ll be waiting for me in my house,’ said Dave.
‘He wouldn’t. It would be too dangerous for him. There’s police back and front. No, he’s got another hideout. We need to find it.’
She drove down Dave’s street. It was cordoned off and there were police cars wall to wall.
‘I’ll have to double park,’ she said.
She parked next to a van. She got out of the car.
‘Crime scene?’ she asked Dave.
‘No, I want to check the house first. I want to see he’s not there.’
‘OK,’ said Shirley. ‘Whatever you think. You’re the boss.’
Dave didn’t reply. He walked slowly up to his front door. He fiddled with his keys.
‘Let me,’ said Shirley.
‘I can do it. I’m not an invalid,’ said Dave.
Shirley let him struggle a little longer before he found the right key and put it in the lock. His hands were wobbling.
‘I’m worried about you,’ she said.
‘Let me get in the door,’ said Dave.
He opened it and went in.
‘I’ll check upstairs,’ he said.
‘OK,’ said Shirley.
She opened the door to the living room.
‘Oh sweet Jesus,’ she said. ‘Dave!’
She got on her radio immediately.
‘Get to Dave’s house now. All officers. There’s blood everywhere and a lady dead. Need ambulance, need forensics, need people here now. He might still be here.’
She turned round and nearly bumped into Dave. He stood behind her, looking straight ahead with glazed eyes.
‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you some water.’
‘I’ve seen a dead body before,’ he said.
‘Not in your own house you haven’t. Sit down. I’ll stay here with you.’
As she said it, she heard officers coming through the front door.
‘Check the house,’ she said.
She sat next to Dave on the sofa. They faced the dead woman. An officer came in and checked for signs of life. He shook his head.
‘Didn’t think so,’ said Shirley. ‘That slice through her neck looks definitive.’
She put her arm around Dave’s shoulder. He hung his head. He seemed to be whispering to himself, murmuring something.
‘What are you saying?’ she asked.
He looked up and his eyes seemed so far away.
‘Are you here?’ she said.
‘I don’t know where I am,’ he said.
An officer came into the room.
‘Sir?’ he said.
Dave looked up.
‘He’s a bit shaken,’ said Shirley. ‘What have you found?’
‘A wheelie bin. It has the lady’s house number on the side.’
‘Here?’
‘In the kitchen, on its side.’
‘How did he get in?’
‘The back,’ said the officer. He blushed.
‘Who was on duty at the back for God’s sake?’ said Shirley.
Dave made a noise. They looked at him.
‘Don’t be cross,’ he said.
‘I am cross. There were officers on the front and the back. He came from the front, round the back, in the back door for fuck’s sake, J
esus.’
‘The officer said he did hear a rumbling noise but he thought it was a nearby lorry.’
‘I’m sick to death of this,’ said Shirley. ‘Are you sure he’s not still in the house?’
‘We think he went over the fence. There’s footmarks on the fence.’
Shirley got up and paced the room.
‘Has anyone checked the neighbour’s house?’ said Dave.
‘We’re doing it now,’ said the officer.
Shirley looked at Dave. He seemed like he’d come back to the room a little.
‘You want to come next door?’ she asked.
He nodded.
Shirley seemed to be the one giving the orders here. It was strange. Dave wasn’t himself at all.
They walked round to where the police were checking the back door of the neighbour’s house.
‘I’m going to need to move,’ said Dave.
‘Scared of ghosts?’
‘Ghosts?’ Dave looked at her, startled.
‘Joke,’ she said.
‘I am scared of angry neighbours. I’ve always got on well with these neighbours but they won’t be happy about some crazy guy breaking into their house.’
‘Some crazy guy the police can’t catch for no apparent reason,’ said Shirley.
‘Calm down,’ said Dave.
‘I’m actually really angry,’ she said. ‘I am sick of police incompetency.’
‘Ah,’ said Dave. ‘I wondered when your honeymoon period would be over. You can stop worrying about procedure now.’
Shirley glared at him. He made her out to be some stuck up rulebook police officer.
‘Look what happened last time we disobeyed procedure,’ she said.
‘What happened?’
She looked around to see if anyone was listening.
‘You got hit by a hammer because we disobeyed the rules,’ she said.
‘Really?’
Shirley realised from his blank look that Dave didn’t remember that night. She wondered how else his memory was affected. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t hold the radio information in his head.
‘He’s not in the house,’ said an officer.
‘Did he leave by the front or the back?’ asked Shirley.
‘We don’t know yet,’ said the officer.
‘If he left by the front, someone must have seen him,’ said Dave.
Only the Good Die Young Page 10
