Deadly Obsession

by Michael Kerr

  Even as he saw her try to push herself up from the small flagstone patio, he leaned over, grasped her long hair, wound it tightly in his hand, raised her head up and slammed it down, once, twice, hard enough to render her unconscious. He then took the time to look around and listen. No lights had come on in response to the cat’s loud wail.

  Scooping Anita up in his arms was like lifting a large bag of wet and heavy cement. She was not overly big, but slack bodies were awkward to manhandle.

  He’d decided that the death scene would be played out in the bathroom, so dragged her up the stairs by her ankles, to position her kneeling over the side of the bath, before reaching into a side pocket of his jacket for the duct tape. Within less than a minute she was gagged and blindfolded, with her wrists bound behind her back. Her head was bleeding profusely. He used a gloved finger as a brush, her bloody scalp as the palette, and the mirror over the sink as his canvas.

  Anita began to move and moan. It was time to start in on the wet work.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “JB with ice?” Lisa said.

  “If you’ve got it, I’ll drink it,” Jack said.

  They took their coats off. It was cosy. The central heating was on a timer, and the boiler had kicked in over an hour before Lisa got home.

  “You look different, Ryder. The words cat and cream spring to mind.”

  “We lifted a Mr Big today. A Rasta by the name of Randy Gant who is, or was responsible for the importation and distribution of more hard drugs than any other single firm in the city.”

  “Why were you involved in a drug bust?”

  “Because Gant had a teenager, Joey Lewis, topped for stealing from him. It hit the headlines as a racist murder, remember? The powers that be wanted all hands to the pump, to prove it was black on black. My team got roped in.”

  “And you solved it?”

  Jack told her of how Gant disfigured Kelly Davis, and of all the successive twists.

  Lisa frowned.

  “What?” Jack said.

  “I find it hard to see how you can give immunity to this Tyrell guy. You know he was the one who pulled the trigger and murdered Joey Lewis.”

  “It’s prioritising, Lisa. We need to put Gant and a lot of his associates away. Tyrell is the only way we have to do it.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that a known killer is to be rewarded with his freedom and a new start in life?”

  “You have to take what you can. Gant will reach out from prison. There’ll be an open contract on Tyrell. The world isn’t big enough for him to hide in. He’ll be looking over his shoulder until someone puts a bullet in his head.”

  “And what about Kelly Davis? Is her future as bleak as Tyrell’s?”

  “No. She needs constructive surgery to her face. And we’ll give her total anonymity, with a new ID to go with her new looks. She should make it, if she keeps a low profile.”

  “Doesn’t that mean having no contact with family or friends?”

  “Yeah. She has to leave everything behind and build a new life.”

  “It’s a dirty business.”

  “All part of life’s rich tapestry.” He changed the subject. “How did your meet with Dawn Turner go?”

  “She’s scared out of her wits. Whoever this stalker is has her convinced that he knows every move she makes. She believes that he’ll know she contacted you, and that he will kill her for betraying him.”

  “Did she tell you anything that might help?”

  “Nothing new. But it’s apparent she’s the motivational force behind everything he does.”

  “So you were right about him?”

  Lisa nodded. She was. He was primarily a stalker, who also committed murder. There was a kill factor incorporated that was a result of childhood patterning, and a rage that he was finding increasingly difficult to control.

  “How does she feel about being bait?”

  “Frightened but pragmatic. She has the sense to know that until we get him, her life’s at risk. She’s been between that rock and hard place people talk about for a long time now,” Lisa said, walking across the kitchen to look out through the window. She didn’t want to talk about it any more. Not now.

  Jack sensed her mood. He set his tumbler down and stepped up behind her, to put his arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck.

  She wiggled her bottom against him. “Frank’s looking a little worse for wear,” she said, leaning forward, putting her face up close to the glass and cupping her eyes with her hands to reduce the reflected light.

  Jack left her for a few seconds, switched the light off and retook his position, up close and personal.

  The snowman was half the size he’d been. The baseball cap was at a crazy angle, now far too big for the melting head. And the bent twig mouth, red plastic nose and stone eyes were on the ground.

  “Nothing lasts, does it, Ryder?”

  “No, but don’t get melancholy on me. Next time it snows we’ll sort Frank out. We have the technology. We can rebuild him.”

  Lisa grinned, turned in his embrace, and they found more important things to concentrate their minds on than senseless murder and a vanishing snowman.

  “You got any plans for Sunday?” Jack asked over an hour later, as they lay back hip to hip in Lisa’s bed.

  “Just church in the morning. Then a drive out to Windsor for afternoon tea with my eccentric old aunt, Virginia. She has a fine view of the castle’s round tower from the balcony of her flat.”

  “Church?”

  “I was kidding. But I do have a mad aunt in Windsor,” she said, turning and reaching out to rest her hand on his chest. It was slick with a sheen of perspiration. She put her leg over him and raised herself up into a sitting position. Waited for him to grow hard again.

  “Why did you ask what I was doing on Sunday?” Lisa said breathlessly when they had once more returned from a place that can only be experienced, not adequately described.

  “I was about to tell you, before I was so rudely interrupted.”

  “So tell me now.”

  “I’m picking Danny up. I thought you might like to meet him.”

  “Could be a bad idea. He probably wouldn’t want to share that special time with a third party present. He might resent me.”

  “He’d like you a lot. Nothing ventured...”

  “Where’re you planning on taking him?”

  “Last time I was with him, he mentioned the London Dungeon.”

  “Likes scary stuff, eh?”

  “Yeah. He isn’t old enough yet to appreciate the reality of real suffering and death.”

  “What about your ex? Won’t she be a little put out if you roll up with me in your car?”

  “I thought we’d use your car. Danny would like the Lexus. And as for Sharon, don’t let’s forget it was her that kicked me out and filed for divorce. My life hasn’t been any of her business for four years. She’ll most likely think that you’re as crazy as your aunt for getting involved with me. So what do you say, can you handle me and junior for a few hours?”

  “Oh, I dare say I can put on a brave face. As long as you take us to Duke’s Diner after we’ve seen waxworks being stretched on the rack, beheaded and disembowelled.”

  “Duke’s Diner?”

  “Just opened. It’s a western-themed hamburger joint. An All-American place with a great junk food menu, and memorabilia and posters from old cowboy movies. Do you think Danny would like it?”

  “He’ll love the food. And I’ll enjoy the atmosphere. I’m a sucker for Wayne and Eastwood. I’ve even got a Hopalong Cassidy wristwatch.”

  “Who?”

  “Hopalong Cassidy. He was played by William Boyd. Used to wear a black outfit and a white hat, and had a horse called Topper. The watch was my Dad’s. I kept it, and it still works after more than sixty years.”

  “You want to go down and have a cup of fresh brewed coffee ’round the campfire, pardner?” Lisa said.

  “Sure do, ma’am. But don’t
worry yourself none over it being fresh. I like it stale as year-old buffalo chips.”

  “Last of the romantics, huh?” Lisa said, watching Jack pull his shorts on, before she slipped into a robe and went to the bathroom.

  Jack’s mobile began to trill on the top of the cabinet next to the bed as they negotiated the spiral staircase. He went back upstairs for it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “RYDER.”

  “It’s Phil, boss. I know it’s late, but we just got an email. You want I should read it to you?”

  “It would help, Phil. Or phoning me in the middle of the night might turn out to not be one of your better ideas.”

  “Uh, right, it says: ‘Like surprises, Ryder? Then run down an address in Kilburn for a brunette by the name of Anita Brewster. She’s literally dying to meet you. And be advised that I’ve crossed Dawn Turner off my long list of potential victims. This is my game, my rules. And I change them as and when I see fit’. That’s it, boss.”

  “You got the Kilburn address?”

  “Yeah. The nearest patrol car is on its way as we speak. And I’m leaving now with Donna.”

  “Give me the address, then get hold of Mike and Eddie. I want them at the scene.”

  Lisa found him a pen and pad. He took the details and rung off.

  “What’s happened?”

  Jack reached for his shirt as he answered. “The Mimic sent an email to the incident room; a message for me. He implied he’s attacked a woman at an address in Kilburn. And he knows Dawn contacted us. He wants me to believe that she’s now off his list. Said this was his game, his rules.”

  They dressed quickly and were in Jack’s car within five minutes. He drove fast but smoothly through West Hampstead and was soon on Kilburn High Road, looking for the street Anita Brewster lived on.

  There were two marked cars outside the house; roof lights flashing and painting the wet asphalt and hedges in eerie blue and white light that was also reflected off darkened windows. A few neighbours were at partly open doors, and curtains twitched.

  Jack angled to the kerb, braked, climbed out of the car and held his ID out for the approaching uniform to inspect.

  “What’s gone down?” he said.

  “There’s a...a young woman in the bathroom upstairs. She’s...Jesus, guv, what a mess.”

  “Dead?” Jack said.

  The young PC shook his head. He was almost in tears.

  “Talk to him,” Jack said to Lisa, and then ran up the short path. Another uniform was standing in the open doorway. Jack almost mowed him down. “Ryder, SCS,” he said, elbowing the white-faced cop out of the way and taking the stairs two at a time.

  Blood. He could smell it. The fluid was a significant part of his work. The scenes he attended usually had it by the bucketful. Violent death was one of the main features of the Serious Crimes Squad; an integral ingredient in the mix of what he did to earn his daily bread. A body and blood were almost always the initial starting point of the cases he investigated.

  Standing on the landing, he could see the back of one officer. And past him, another was knelt down next to a crimson spattered bath and tiled wall. In the distance, Jack could hear the two-tone wail of an approaching siren.

  “Thank fuck, an ambulance,” PC Ian Burns said.

  Jack squeezed past him. The officer kneeling at the side of the bath turned and stared at Jack with a wild look in his eyes. His hands and wrists could have been red gauntlets.

  “She still with us?” Jack said. The woman was now out of the bath and on the floor in recovery position.

  “Just,” PC Paul Blair replied. “But she’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t think she’s going to make it.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Paul inclined his head to the toilet bowl.

  Jack looked down into the pan. There was something breaking the surface that could have been a turd. It was awash with blood.

  “It’s her tongue,” Paul said. “Some mad bastard cut her fucking tongue out.”

  “Move! Move!” Two paramedics were at the door. One hustled the three cops out as the other took Paul’s place and examined the woman.

  It all happened in seconds. The two professional lifesavers assessed the inert, naked body. One of them retrieved the tongue from the loo, slipped it into a ziplock bag and pocketed it, before they lifted the woman up and rushed down the stairs with her. Jack was reminded of a war zone; a seriously wounded, maybe dying soldier being carried off, away from the field of battle. One of the medics held the limp body under the arms, his fingers interlaced over the woman’s breasts. The other held her by the legs. She was sagging between them, her bare bottom jouncing and catching several of the stairs as they descended.

  Jack and the two uniforms didn’t move until the siren once more broke the silence and the ambulance sped off.

  “What’s your first name?” Jack asked the PC that had been attending the woman when he arrived.

  “P...Paul, sir,” he said in a thin voice, staring down at his hands, which he held out almost at arms’ length, as if they were not a part of him, but rather obscene objects that he did not want to have any contact with.

  “Okay, Paul, let’s go downstairs and get you cleaned up,” Jack said, gently leading him out, down to the kitchen. PC Ian Burns stayed outside the bathroom door. It was a crime scene, and he knew not to allow it to be contaminated. The cop in civvies had given him the nod to stay put.

  Using a couple of sheets of kitchen towel as a buffer, Jack turned on the hot water tap and told Paul to put his hands under the flow. He could see the tension lose its grip on the man as the stream diluted and washed away the blood. He pumped liquid soap over the shaking hands, and as Paul frantically washed them, the coppery smell was replaced by a strong lemony scent.

  “Were you first up there, Paul?” Jack said, handing him a wad of kitchen towel.

  “Yeah. I thought she was dead, but then I heard a gurgling sound.”

  “Did you move her, or anything else?”

  “No...er, yes, she was already on her side. Her hands were tied behind her. I cut the tape. All I could do was hold her hand. I told her to hang on, that she was going to be fine. I don’t know if she was conscious or not. Ian, the other officer, called for the ambulance.”

  “You did good, son,” Jack said. “Did you notice if she had any other injuries?”

  “A lump on her forehead. It looked bruised and cut. I’m not sure. There was so much blood.”

  Lisa came in, followed by another three uniforms.

  Jack instructed them to wait outside, and to take Paul with them. He was in mild shock.

  Phil and Donna arrived as Jack and Lisa mounted the stairs.

  “What happened, boss?” Phil said as he and Donna followed them up.

  “The girl, who I assume is Anita Brewster, had her tongue cut out. She’s still alive, or was when they took her away. The sick sod is working us, Phil. I feel as though I’ve got a ring through my nose, and that he’s leading me by it.”

  PC Burns stood to one side, and Jack and Lisa entered the bathroom. Phil and Donna looked on from the door.

  There were pieces of twisted duct tape in the bottom of the bath. It was Lisa who looked around and saw what else had been left. She tapped Jack on the shoulder and inclined her head towards the mirror affixed to the wall over the hand basin. There was a circle drawn, with two dots for eyes, and an upturned line for a mouth. Streaks radiated out around the ‘smiley’ face to make it look like the sun. Underneath the simple drawing were the words, Speak no Evil. As at the other scenes, the message had been written in blood. Unlike the other scenes, the victim was still alive, and the message did not seem to be a cryptic reference to Bosch. The killer had changed his MO.

  Jack quickly prioritised. “Phil, get forensic out here. And I want a female technician at the hospital. Donna, find out everything you can about the victim, and make sure that uniforms go door-to-door. Neighbours may have seen someone hanging about.
Give me a bell if anything breaks, I’ll be at the hospital.”

  Anita had been taken to A & E at Willesden Hospital, which was only a few minutes drive away on almost empty pre-dawn streets.

  Lisa drove. Jack made calls. Woke Ken up at home to let him know the Mimic had struck again, and got hold of Mike, who was on his way to the scene. Ran through what they’d found, and told his DS to be noncommittal with the press, whom someone had already contacted. The first wave of news vans had been turning into the street as Lisa pulled away from the kerb. Jack despised them. He worked with them at times, using them as and when necessary as a conduit to channel information he wanted in the public domain. But he never lost sight of their goal; to sell copy. They thrived on all that was bad in society, and the sensationalism of murder, rape, war, and celebs’ infidelities. Misfortune was deemed as newsworthy. It was a reflection of a society whose interest was titillated by violence, sex and wrongdoing. Some of the worst villains he had helped to put away had been approached by newspapers, which were willing to pay a small fortune to serialise their stories. Even publishers had chased after infamous lawbreakers to offer them a book deal. Greed bordering on gluttony stoked the fires that turned the wheels and churned out a selective version of half truths. The law had now thankfully been modified to stop serving criminals from profiting in that way.

  “Anywhere nice?” Lisa said to him.

  “Uh?”

  “You were somewhere else.”

  “Just wool-gathering.”

  They pulled into a vacant staff slot at the hospital and walked over to the entrance of A & E. It was beginning to rain, and for some reason Lisa thought about Frank, and the fact that he would be little more than a pile of slush by now, almost fully transformed back to the liquid state of his origins. She realised that her brain was looking for distraction. She was trying to dispel the vivid picture in her mind of the toilet bowl, even though she had not witnessed the tongue floating in it. Was she now destined to forever think of toilets as blood-filled mouths? She doubted she would ever sit on one again without imagining a long, muscular organ breaking the surface to probe, flick, and stretch up to taste her.