The Sandman

by steve higgs

  Their comrades were either down or had thought better of it and chosen to run.

  As it turned out, I was wrong. The ones who were missing had gone to get weapons.

  Jane. Perseverance. Friday, December 23rd 1740hrs

  The rope finally broke. I heard it snap, but then I was listening for it and had been working on the last few strands for the previous five minutes.

  Exhausted, sweating, and with my abs and shoulders threatening to rebel, I slid myself back out from under the bed. Panting, I gave myself a minute to recover, shuffling my bottom around until I was propped against the wall.

  One loop of the rope was severed, the two pieces hanging loose and limp. I turned my hands over, inspecting the remaining loops, of which there were many, and shook my arms to see if the rope would begin to unravel.

  The loose ends unwound, giving me two feet of free rope on each side, but then they stopped. The rope passed back under the other loops at that point, vanishing up between my palms and then winding around somewhere and I suspected there were other knots hidden inside because no matter what I did, I could not get the loose ends to undo any further.

  My anger boiled over abruptly, the need to vent and shout and tear at the ropes too much to keep inside any longer. I thrashed, yanking my hands this way and that in a bid to get them free. They wouldn’t come. All I succeeded in doing was tearing abrasions into the skin of my wrists.

  When I calmed myself, sucking in fresh lungfuls of air and forcing myself to think, I could see what I needed to do. It wasn’t one rope I was dealing with. It was several. It appeared to be one around each wrist, which prevented me from slipping them off. They were then linked and drawn tight by a third rope. The one I cut through was one of the ones from a wrist. I couldn’t tell which one, but it hardly mattered. Now that it was loose, I needed to cut through another one. I would either get it right this time and sever the one that held my hands together, or I would get it wrong, waste half an hour, and then get it right the next time.

  I knew it was a positive philosophy to go with, but as I crawled back under the bed to find the tiny burr of steel again, I knew I would rather pleasure an entire polar bear rugby team than do this again another two times.

  Tempest. Wasting Time. Friday, December 23rd 1741hrs

  By the time the police came, I had Harry Hengist off the carpet and sitting in a chair. He was being surprisingly generous about the event. Hilary, on my instruction, had gone back to the car. He’d taken no part in my attack and the last thing I wanted was for him to get into any bother that might impact his Christmas.

  ‘I’m sure you meant me no harm, Tempest.’ Harry insisted on using my first name though I had not invited him to do so. ‘My bruises will fade.’

  Was he saying it like that to make me feel bad? It was working whether he intended it to or not.

  First on the scene was a squad car containing two officers I didn’t recognise. They knew me though. I have an iffy relationship with the local police. Habitually, I do what I think is right and never knowingly break any laws (unless I must), but it is not unusual for me to end up in cuffs.

  ‘Oh. It’s him,’ said the first cop as he exited the car.

  Donning his hat, the second officer left the passenger’s seat. ‘This should be good.’

  Having informed dispatch that I had a serial killer in custody, it came as no surprise when more flashing lights began to fill the night sky. By the time the first two officers were on Harry’s garden path, two more squad cars were pulling to a halt.

  Filling the doorframe as I watched them approach, I knew I was in for a dressing down or a mickey taking. One or the other, but just as I was about to step out to meet them on the path, Harry nudged my arm and came around me.

  ‘It’s all right officers,’ he expressed, his tone light and jovial. ‘I gave Mr Michaels cause for alarm. That’s why he called you. I’m not really a serial killer though. It’s kind of a funny story, actually.’

  The officers didn’t look like they were going to agree with him.

  ‘You’re the homeowner?’ asked one. Both officers were young white men in their late twenties and filled with the righteousness of youth.

  ‘I am,’ Harry replied. ‘Harry Hengist at your service.’

  I was being side-lined quite deliberately. The two cops were yet to make eye contact with me, no doubt hoping I would attempt to leave so they would have reason to stop me or force my way into the conversation so they could insist I keep quiet. The pressure to move on, to continue the search for Karen Gilbert and Jane made my feet twitch, but I stayed where I was, waiting for them to get to me.

  They introduced themselves to Harry as Constables Wainwright and Biggs, relaxing their postures a little but remaining all business.

  Still ignoring me, Biggs turned away, using his radio to speak with dispatch and report their call out as a fake. Actually, he used the word hoax and twitched his eyes to meet mine when he said it. It felt like he was choosing to goad me, and I gave him no reaction at all.

  The other cops, those who arrived in the second and third cars, were on the pavement outside the property and making no attempt to come closer. Wainwright had already informed them the call was a waste of time. They seemed content to chat about their day and take five minutes to relax before dispatch found them something else to do.

  In contrast, though the call out required them to do nothing now that they were here, Wainwright and Biggs were nevertheless going through the paces. They wanted a statement from Harry and asked that we both step back inside the house. It was the first time either cop addressed me.

  ‘What brought you to Mr Hengist’s house this evening?’ asked Constable Wainwright.

  I had nothing to hide so I went with the blunt truth. ‘There is a serial killer stalking women and murdering them.’ I got a surprised but bored expression, Wainwright dismissing my claim without giving it the slightest credence. ‘Chief Inspector Quinn is aware but only because I alerted him. You can refuse to believe me now, but you will hear about it from him soon enough.’

  Wainwright fixed me with an even stare. ‘That fails to explain your presence at Mr Hengist’s house.’

  ‘The house next door belongs to Karen Gilbert, a lady who is currently in hiding because the Sandman,’ Wainwright chose to snigger at the name we had given Karen’s stalker, ‘had targeted her. She reported her stalker to the police,’ I added, making a point and then driving it home, ‘yet you chose to ignore her claims.’

  Wainwright’s emotionless face became a scowl. ‘What evidence do you have of any of this and what does this have to do with your presence at the property of her neighbour?’ he was almost shouting.

  ‘The investigator from my firm who handled the case went missing earlier today and I am certain the Sandman has her.’ He was about to ask me another question, but I held my hand in front of his face to silence him. ‘You can just believe it because I have neither the time nor the patience to explain why I know what I know. Jane Butterworth has been kidnapped and will be murdered if we fail to identify the man behind the attacks. I came here looking for clues as to the whereabouts of Karen Gilbert. Mr Hengist knew things I felt he ought not to know and that caused my call to bring you here. It would seem I was wrong, and he knew about the Sandman because he overheard Jane say the name.’

  Wainwright’s willingness to dismiss what I was saying was evaporating fast. I was making sense and I was known for solving cases the police were not even aware of.

  ‘I think I need to call this in,’ he said, reaching for his radio.

  I took a step forward to make his hand pause. ‘And I need to go. This was a dead end, but I have a team working on this problem and a dwindling clock. The Sandman is unlikely to hold her for long – at least, that is our guess. Jane is going to run out of time and I cannot afford to waste my evening here with you.’

  Big Ben. Surrounded. Friday, December 23rd 1742hrs

  Emerging from the shadows at the edge of the
carpark in Aylesford, four of the fake monks returned, their hands loaded with bats, crowbars and at least one machete. Those I put down in the first few seconds were getting back up, all bar the one I hit first and most firmly. He was out for the count.

  All in all, even as good as I am, the odds were no longer in my favour. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I was in trouble. Even if I were also armed, the likelihood of surviving this encounter was now against me.

  Grins widened as the weapons were handed out, the original two I met in the alleyway smiled the broadest.

  ‘You should have just taken the beating,’ said Flat Top. ‘We only needed to take you off the playing board,’ he sneered. ‘Now we’re going to kill you instead.’

  His words confused me. He made it sound like bumping into me earlier was planned. However, there was no time for me to analyse what he meant or cross-examine him because they were coming for me.

  There were ten of them now, eight or nine of whom were armed with something that could do a lot of damage. I had little choice but to turn and run.

  I don’t turn and run though. I never have, and I never will. I’d rather go down fighting. So I faced them, raising my hands in readiness while vainly hoping they wouldn’t be brave enough to use the machete on me.

  I was almost surrounded, but they did not spread out to form a complete circle. Rather, they were in clumps, sticking together because it made them feel braver to have someone at their side.

  I picked a trio with bats and set my jaw as I readied myself to attack.

  Basic hit all three of them in the head with a wheelbarrow.

  A staccato dong, dong, dong noise filled the air as the galvanised gardening tool made short work of putting all three men down. Basic, in many ways, is the exact opposite of me. His body is made of huge lumps of blocky muscle and his head looks like a piece of granite. In a magical world, he would be a troll and live under a bridge. I have no idea how strong he is but would not be shocked to find he could bench press more than me. The biggest difference being he could then eat the bench.

  The wheelbarrow continued its swing to an accompanying ‘Hur, hur,’ from the man holding it by one handle. When the arc it prescribed carried him around in a circle, he launched it at another duo.

  They got a nanosecond to accept they were about to be in pain before it bowled them over like twigs in a tsunami.

  This was much more like it.

  Basic cheered and laughed and shouted to me, ‘I got der number! Granny found it on the fridge.’

  Armed with that fresh piece of information, I did what I knew I ought to do and chose to call it a draw. For now. They were still armed, there were still more of them, and Jane wasn’t getting saved while we were here fighting these idiots.

  Gritting my teeth because I really wanted to hand out a beating now, I shouted, ‘Let’s go!’

  Basic ran to my car, meeting me there as I yanked the driver’s door open and clambered in on top of the broken glass. The window could get fixed later, right now we needed to be elsewhere.

  Shouts and threats followed us as we ran away, my wheels leaving a trail of burning rubber when I stamped hard on the accelerator. I swear I almost stopped the car so I could return to finish the fight, and it was only the greater demands of the team that stopped me from doing so.

  Once clear of the carpark, I checked my rear-view to see if we were being pursued. It was a genuine disappointment that we were not.

  ‘Where do we go now?’ asked Basic, still fighting to get his seatbelt on.

  ‘Back to the office,’ I told him. ‘They will want that number. We just have to hope they can do something with it.’

  I allowed myself a moment to get my breath back – the inevitable adrenalin caused by fighting still coursed through my body, making my pulse rate high and my breathing fast. In that quiet moment, I thought more about what Flat Top and Smiler said.

  They not only made the chance encounter in the alleyway sound planned, but he also said we were all going to pay. What did he mean by that? Who were they?

  Tempest. A Breakthrough, Finally. Friday, December 23rd 1746hrs

  Having dismissed their colleagues within minutes of their arrival, Constables Wainwright and Biggs now wished they hadn’t. I was trying to leave, and they very much wanted me to come to the station with them. That just wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘Sir, you need to record an official statement and allow our detective branch to become involved. If, as you say, there are similar crimes going back years, and there is a serial killer in the area, they will need to know.’ Both officers were blocking Harry’s doorway to stop me leaving.

  ‘Gents, your own Chief Inspector Quinn knows what I believe. I already told you that. Now I am going to leave and the only way you are going to stop me is if you choose to arrest me. I have a friend in trouble, and I am going to do what I can to help her.’

  ‘I think you should let him go, chaps,’ said Harry helpfully. ‘It does sound like the police have been somewhat remiss in handling my neighbour’s reports. Besides, Mr Michaels has a tough night ahead of him tonight and no doubt about it.’

  My phone rang just as I was about to test the Constables’ resolve and I paused to check it.

  Seeing Amanda’s name on the screen, I stepped back a pace and answered it.

  ‘Amanda, have you news?’

  ‘Tempest where are you?’ Her voice came through loud and clear in the quiet hallway of Harry Hengist’s house.

  ‘I’m at Karen Gilbert’s neighbour’s house. I’m just about to leave,’ I flicked my eyes to the cops, daring them to challenge me.

  ‘Good. Big Ben and Basic just got back. They found all of Jane’s things in her car. It was parked in Aylesford right by her gran’s house, but it looks like that was where the Sandman grabbed her.’ The three men in the hallway with me were all silent, each straining their ears to be able to hear Amanda’s voice. ‘There was no sign of a struggle according to Ben and her car was left unlocked. There’s something weird though.’

  I hitched an eyebrow – weird was where we started, so what did Amanda have to report that was weirder than normal?

  ‘Go on,’ I prompted.

  ‘They were attacked.’

  I snorted a laugh, imagining the pile of bodies Basic and Big Ben might have left behind.

  Hearing me Amanda added, ‘According to Ben they only just got away. There were a lot of them, and they were armed. He thinks it was planned.’

  ‘Planned?’ I repeated, failing to understand what she meant.

  Big Ben’s voice suddenly filled my ear. ‘Tempest, I don’t know who they were, but I think they chose to pick a fight. One said something about making us all pay – I don’t think he meant just me and Basic. They also said they wanted to take me off the playing board. Any idea what that might mean?’

  I was silent for a beat, my brain whirling with different ideas.

  ‘Any idea who they were?’ I wanted to know. Big Ben and I had upset various and plentiful different groups in the last few months and any of them could have chosen to take action to even the score. It could be leftover bikers from Herne Bay, or vampire wannabes. It could be the Kent League of Demonologists who we recently exposed as utter nutters. The list goes on.

  Big Ben sounded disappointed when he admitted, ‘None at all. I didn’t recognise any of them and I didn’t get a chance to ask any questions. They looked like members of a cult. If I see them again, there will be a reckoning.’

  Amanda’s voice echoed through my phone once more. ‘Listen, we have Karen Gilbert’s number. I’m going to call her as soon as I am off the phone with you. If you are done there, come back to the office. We’ve uncovered a few things while you’ve been gone.’

  I sniffed in a deep breath, thankful that the other members of the team were doing better than me. The attack on Big Ben and Basic worried me but whoever his attackers were, I doubted they would be back to cause more trouble before we were finished with this case and t
hat was all I cared about. We could deal with them later when we had more time.

  As I hung up the phone, Harry clapped me on the shoulder. ‘It seems your team have come through for you, Tempest. There’s something I don’t understand though; why is it you want to find Karen anyway? Do you think the Sandman is still trying to target her?’

  The police officers were listening to hear my answer too. ‘He might be. That I cannot tell. What I believe though is that Karen Gilbert is the only person who has seen the Sandman and I want her help to identify him. Even though she was drugged when he sang to her each time, I expect her to be able to remember his face.’

  ‘Providing he wasn’t disguised,’ countered Harry.

  I huffed out a hard breath of frustration. ‘Provided a lot of things, actually. I won’t know until I speak with her.’ Switching my attention to the cops still blocking my exit, I asked, ‘Are you going to try to stop me?’

  They exchanged a brief glance, the two men silently asking a question of each other before Biggs spoke.

  ‘No, we’re going to return to the station,’ he announced. ‘Mr Hengist does not wish to press charges.’

  Free to go, I shook Harry’s hand and apologised once more for throwing him to the carpet.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right,’ he chuckled, being more generous than I believed anyone else on the planet would be. I clapped him on the arm and left his house.

  I had somewhere else to be and expected Amanda to call again any moment with an address.

  Amanda. Fingerprints. Friday December 23rd 1751hrs

  Big Ben’s arrival back at the office caused a fresh flurry of activity. Jane’s laptop and purse were laid out on Tempest’s desk, the contents examined by Jagjit and Alice while I made a call.

  Once I got off the phone to Tempest, I wasted no further time getting on with contacting Karen. This would be the first time I had spoken to her and I prayed she would answer the phone even though my number would come up as unlisted. Just as I was about to press the button to connect the call, I realised I was being dumb.