The Sandman

by steve higgs

  He was lying now about his reason for letting me go but I didn’t care. Right now I didn’t care about going to jail either. My mother would have a heart attack and most likely beg God to strike her down rather than face the looks she would imagine at Church on Sunday, but I was going to do what was right without concern for the personal consequences. Was he right that I would break the law? Very possibly. Yet I would do so in a way that would harm no one except those who deserved to be harmed.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ Quinn asked me, his own eyes narrowing. ‘Are you going to say something clever, Mr Michaels? I really do not have the will to tolerate any of your rubbish.’

  I took a step forward, getting into his personal space. The sergeant scrambled to intervene, but he was the wrong side of the table and couldn’t get to us in time.

  Not saying anything, I tilted my head to one side, inspecting Quinn’s face. When he twitched his eyes in annoyance, I said, ‘When you look back months or even years from now, you will wish you had chosen to do the right thing, not the thing that served your immediate ambitions.’

  His nostrils flared at my flagrant disrespect for his rank and authority, but he didn’t argue, and I think it was because somewhere deep inside he worried I was right.

  Ten minutes later, I arrived back in the processing area to collect my belongings. Big Ben, Amanda, and Basic were already there. They were still dressed in their clothes from last night, though they were carrying their Kevlar vests and combat gloves. They all had the dishevelled look of people who had to sleep in their clothes and were offered no opportunity to tidy themselves.

  ‘Everyone doing okay?’ I asked. I wanted to offer them a smile, to show the officers around us that we were unbothered by our night in the cells, but I couldn’t get my face to comply. While we were locked up what had become of Jane? If there had been a chance to save her before, surely it was long gone now. They appeared to be finished with the process of getting back their belongings; all three were waiting for me.

  Tempest. When the Truth Finally Dawns. Saturday, December 24th 1310hrs

  ‘What’s this?’ I asked as the sergeant behind the desk handed back all my possessions one at a time.

  He lifted his eyes, looking over the top of his reading glasses to see what I had in my hand. He shrugged. ‘It’s listed as an electronic device.’ Dismissing it, he slid the next item across the counter. ‘One G-Shock watch, black.’

  He droned on, listing the items as he handed them over. My attention was on the little metallic thing in my hands. It was roughly the size of a thumb drive, but it had no USB connector and no input or output port of any kind that I could find.

  I held it up for Amanda to see. ‘Any idea what this is?’

  She peered at it from across the room. The little electronic gizmo had to have been in one of my pockets though I didn’t recall surrendering it when they brought us in last night. Thinking back, I could recall digging my hands into my pockets to then spill everything in them onto the counter. It must have been in with all the other things I carry around.

  ‘Sign here,’ demanded the sergeant.

  Amanda shook her head. ‘It looks like a data storage device,’ she observed.

  ‘There’s no port,’ I pointed out, turning it over and then throwing it across the room to her.

  ‘Hey. Sign here,’ the sergeant was becoming insistent.

  I swivelled around, gathering the loose change, a handkerchief, and other items from the counter before squiggling my name on the screen to acknowledge receipt.

  Amanda and Big Ben were both looking at the gizmo when I got to them.

  ‘It’s not yours?’ Amanda wanted to know.

  ‘I’ve never seen it before.’ On a different day, with less on my mind, the unexpected presence of a small electronic gizmo might have triggered more questions. Today, I had entirely too many things to focus on, so I took it back when Amanda offered it and slipped it back into my pocket.

  I had a bunch of missed calls from my father and several from Jagjit but no messages. I knew I probably ought to call him back to see what he wanted, but heading for the exit from Maidstone police station, it wasn’t even going to make it into the top ten on my priority list.

  The door delivered us into a walled path that ran along the side of the station and back to the road at the front. It was designed like that to ensure miscreants and lowlifes being released would be kept separate from the decent people coming to the front reception to report a crime in person.

  Making our way along the narrow path, Amanda asked, ‘What do we do now? Is there a way to pick up the trail again?’

  ‘There has to be,’ growled Big Ben, sounding as ready to kill as I felt.

  Amanda voiced the problem we all faced. ‘But where is he? He wasn’t at his house and the police will have uncovered all his other properties by now. If they had caught him, Quinn would have rubbed our noses in it, which means he is somewhere none of us know about.’

  I sucked in a breath and started walking. ‘We have to go back to the start and work this again. If Jane is st …’

  Reaching the pavement at the end of the path, a bright light flared in my face, causing me to jump. Then automatic responses kicked in, driving me off my back foot and forward to attack.

  Amanda caught my right arm as it swung backward in readiness to deliver a blow, and in that moment, I saw what was happening.

  A microphone appeared under my nose.

  ‘Tempest tell us what happened last night,’ demanded a woman I recognised. ‘Are you investigating the Sandman case? What happened in Harrietsham?’

  My brain delivered the name I was trying to remember. ‘Sarah Gainsworth, yes?’ I asked, ignoring all her questions as I recalled the name to go with the face. Then her final question hit me.

  Before I could react to it, another microphone appeared, and then another. Cameras were going off, photographers climbing the railings that lined the street to get a shot over the heads of those in front. There had to be thirty or more reporters and journalists lining the street.

  ‘Mr Michaels,’ begged a man, ‘Are you The Sandman? Is that why they arrested you? Are you guilty of multiple homicides?’

  Another voice yelled, ‘How many victims are there, Tempest? Are you going to solve another crime the police are too dumb for?’

  Big Ben elbowed his way to the front, smiling for the camera and handing Sarah Gainsworth a card. ‘Here you go, babe. Big Ben at your service. The important thing to focus on is how good I look in front of the camera.’

  I elbowed him in the ribs and grabbed Sarah’s arm. ‘You mentioned Harrietsham. What happened in Harrietsham?’

  She was taken aback by my aggression, but I wasn’t letting her arm go until she talked.

  ‘Two people were attacked in their home and they said a woman was taken. They said there were men wearing robes and they took Karen Gilbert by force after they broke into her house in the middle of the night.’

  I felt my consciousness go iffy and started to hyperventilate.

  This was me! I led them to her. It had to have been me, and then with that thought came the revelation that I had been dancing to someone else’s tune the whole time.

  Sensing that my legs were going weak, I ducked my head and sucked in a few breaths.

  Amanda came to my aid, gripping both my shoulders and shouting for everyone to get back. She thought I was going to pass out and that made me clench my teeth and fight it.

  ‘How do you know about the Sandman?’ I snarled as I came back to upright. The reporters fell silent, keen to hear what I might say next though the cameras continued to click away. Fuelled by the likelihood that I already knew the answer, I shouted, ‘Where did you hear that name?’

  Shying away from the crazy man who was all but foaming at the mouth, Sarah mumbled, ‘It was announced at the press conference. Chief Inspector Quinn told us there is a serial killer in Kent and his team are hot on his tracks. He showed us photographs of the killer�
�s house with a macabre trophy room and said there were dozens of victims to be identified. The chief constable then explained it was Chief Inspector Quinn’s team who cracked the case and claimed it was through their diligent work that the Sandman was identified. He never mentioned you but … well, it was leaked that you had been arrested at the scene of the serial killer’s house.’

  Another reporter, a man, piped up, ‘Yeah, this has got spooky written all over it so we figured you must be involved somehow. The police are refusing to comment but the rumour is you blundered in and ruined the whole thing for them. It’s your fault the killer got away and was able to claim another victim. Can you comment on that?’

  Still reeling from the news about Karen Gilbert, the additional report that I was being cast as the fool spoiling the chief inspector’s perfectly crafted raid was the cherry on top.

  I wanted to set the record straight. I wanted to explain how Jane was the one who uncovered the Sandman and pieced together the case Quinn was now using. There was no time for that though because I had realised something else.

  The Sandman took Jane to lure me in and he had been one step ahead of me the whole time. He used Jane to involve me so that I would lead them to Karen. I’d been played like a fiddle, but if he was using Jane to make me dance to his tune, there was a very real chance she was still alive.

  I grabbed Amanda’s hand and swung around to face her while yelling. ‘Ben, make a hole!’

  As I started to explain my thoughts to Amanda, I got to hear Big Ben chortle, ‘Ha, ha! You said, “Hole”!’

  The kerfuffle behind me as Big Ben and Basic shoved bodies aside to clear a route for our escape did little to penetrate the hope I now felt.

  Amanda grasped it too. It is a dangerous thing – hope. We cling to it when we have nothing else, and risk being hurt all the worse when it proves to be a worthless strategy, yet it was going to drive us forward.

  Still holding my hand, Amanda tugged me through the widening gap, speaking over her shoulder as we hurried toward the busy road. ‘We need to get back to the office and start again.’

  Our cars were in the police station impound zone. We could get them back but it’s not exactly a valet service. They would make us wait, and there was no time for any of that.

  Big Ben leapt the railing ahead of us, landing in the road where he extended his right hand palm out in a classic ‘stop’ pose. The driver of a silver Mercedes convertible had to slam on the brakes to stop the car before it hit him.

  Behind it, dozens more cars all hit their brakes, the squeal of tyres and the smell of rubber filled the air.

  By the time Amanda and I vaulted over the barrier, reporters still throwing questions at our backs and cameras snapping as many shots as they could, Big Ben was dealing with the enraged driver of the Mercedes.

  Naturally, the driver just happened to be a sultry-looking redhead twenty-something. Her head was sticking out her window so she could fling insults and profanity at the maniac blocking traffic.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ she screamed.

  Running across the road, I couldn’t help but watch over my shoulder.

  ‘Hello, kitten,’ he purred at her, grabbing her roof with both hands, and hanging down so his head filled her window. ‘I’m Big Ben, I …’

  The red head shoved the door open, whacking it into Big Ben’s chest and shins at the same time. As he reeled backward in shock, she spat some more curses in his direction.

  ‘Big Ben? You ought to be in a mental asylum!’ I paused to watch the interplay, gawping with my mouth open because this was something I’d never seen. I mean, Big Ben doesn’t score with every woman he meets, but even those who refuse his advances are still wooed by his charming looks and personality.

  She stomped on the gas pedal, burning rubber just as he took a step back toward her car and she ran over both his feet.

  The cars behind hers all began hitting their horns, wanting to get to wherever they were going.

  Visibly trying to ignore the pain in his feet, Big Ben jogged across the road to join us.

  Amanda asked, ‘Magic wearing off, Ben? Finally, womankind has cottoned on to you? Maybe you shouldn’t treat us all like objects.’

  ‘Objects to be cherished,’ he defended himself weakly, rubbing his shins. ‘I think there might be something wrong with my aftershave.’

  Leaving him behind, I started running, a steady pace to get us to the train station where we would find a taxi. We needed new wheels and that meant calling in for reinforcements.

  My phone rang, as the traffic picked up behind us, cutting off the reporters though a few of the more determined ones continued to give chase by running to the nearest crossing point.

  The word ‘Mum’ was displayed prominently in the middle of my screen. There had been missed calls from my father already, so with a deep breath, I thumbed the green button to connect the call.

  ‘Mum, what’s up?’

  ‘Hello, Tempest. Your father claims that you are not answering your phone. Clearly, he was mistaken, or phoning the wrong number perhaps. His brain is getting a little patchy.’

  ‘No, I have a bunch of missed calls from him. I just haven’t had a chance to call him back. It’s kind of a busy day.’ I didn’t want to tell her about Jane, and it was going to be a long time (i.e., never) before I let her know I got arrested last night.

  ‘Why, what are you doing?’ mum wanted to know.

  ‘Um, it’s a bit complicated to explain,’ I attempted to misdirect her without actually lying. ‘I was planning to not work for the next few days, but something came up. Do you know what dad called for?’

  ‘Something came up?’ my mother repeated. ‘You mean you’re working a case?’ she demanded to know. ‘It’s Christmas, Tempest. You ought to be spending it with family.’

  ‘You are heading to Hampshire, Mother, and we agreed I would spend the time with Amanda and see you in a couple of days.’

  ‘Not if you are working a case, you won’t see her,’ she argued.

  ‘Amanda is with me, Mother, and this case really will not wait. Is dad there?’

  Her voice faded into the distance as she handed her phone to my father. ‘He wants to talk to you,’ she muttered grumpily.

  ‘Tempest,’ my father’s voice boomed in my ear with a jovial edge.

  Before he could get into a flow that might be hard to interrupt, I did my best to let him know the call needed to be a short one. ‘Hey, Dad. Listen, don’t tell mum, but Jane went and got herself kidnapped.’

  ‘Jane?’

  ‘Yes, Dad, Jane, the one I just asked you not to mention to mum. Amanda and I are tracking the person who we think has her, but there is … well, let’s just say I am worried and don’t have time to talk, okay?’

  ‘Sure thing, son. I won’t take up your time. Go do what you need to do.’ That was my dad. He needed enough information to grasp the gravity of the situation, assess it, and make the right decision. Which, in this case, was to aim for brevity and let me get back to what I was doing.

  ‘What did you call for anyway?’ I had to ask before I ended the call. He’d been calling me since breakfast according to my phone.

  ‘Oh, err. I’m not sure I should trouble you with it now. It’s about the Dickens Museum.’

  ‘Is this about the ghoul?’ I asked, latching onto the only recent story about the museum to have reached my ears.

  My father repeated, ‘A ghoul?’

  ‘Apparently so. I haven’t been engaged to investigate it, but there were a bunch of sightings right before the Dickens Greatest Works Theme Park shut its doors a month ago. I know that’s not the same place, but I figured the two have a lot in common. Why are you asking?’

  Dad took a moment to form a response. ‘I spotted something in the paper, a run of coincidences you might say. One of the shareholders went missing a couple of days ago, some things were stolen from the Dickens Museum, and the shareholder who went missing, well, your mum and I saw him i
n the bank last week and he was yelling blue murder about not getting a loan he needed. Also, I just met the museum curator and I’d bet my left nut he’s hiding something.’

  Honestly, if I hadn’t been throwing everything at trying to rescue Jane and catch the Sandman, I would have dropped what I was doing to help him. As it was, I couldn’t spare him the time. ‘Dad, your best bet is to talk with Frank.’ I shot my cuff to check the time. ‘He’ll still be working, I expect. Try calling him at the shop.’

  ‘I’m standing outside it now,’ he let me know.

  I needed to finish the call. ‘Dad, I’ve got to go. I’ll let you know when I get Jane back. Take care of mum and have a good time in Hampshire.’ I knew he would get the information he wanted and hoped that satisfied his curiosity. It wasn’t like I needed to worry about him getting involved in trying to catch the ghoul, mum would never allow it.

  Scurrying through Maidstone, my brain was whirling with possibilities that the Sandman case could still have an acceptable conclusion. However, there was no hiding the fact that we were a long way from knowing where to find our quarry.

  The Sandman. Valerie’s Pain. Saturday, December 24th 1327hrs

  Ramsey Mitchell was having a mixed day. He had Karen Gilbert back and that was cause for celebration. However, the news the police had raided several of his homes came as an unwelcome shock.

  It required a change of plans for he would not be able to return to any of his former aliases. Those identities would need to be burned, yet he felt safe where he was. No one knew of his current location and they never would; he’d buried the trail too deep for anyone to follow.

  They knew who he was now, he’d seen it on the news, but it didn’t matter. He’d been able to perform glorious works, yet he always knew what he needed to do for his Valerie would not be understood. He had failed her, that was the terrible knowledge he could never unburden himself from.