'No, I want to carry on like this forever, but the more I do as you ask, the closer the police will get to finding me.'
'And you don't want to be incarcerated?'
'I could never live that way, I just couldn't,' Foster whimpered as the tears flooded his eyes.
'Don't worry, when your time comes, I will tell you exactly what to do, there will be no jail for you, no confinement.'
'Thank you,' Foster gasped in relief.
'You will go out in a blaze of glory.'
'Yes!' Foster hissed in relief.
'Now, turn left and head for the canal. I shall ring you back in twenty minutes.'
'Anything, Master, anything at all,' Foster whispered, the feeling of liberation taking over again, allowing him once more to relive the moment when the blade slashed across the pale throat, the blood spraying out.
Red rain.
22
The man watched as Foster hurried away into the distance, he was sitting on one of the benches in the churchyard, phone in one hand, ice-cream cone in the other. When he spotted the dribble of raspberry sauce heading towards his fingers, he licked the juice from the ice cream and smiled.
Seconds later, the sound of another siren split the air, no doubt heading towards the park in the centre of town.
He smiled as he pictured the police gathered around the body, within the space of a few short hours there had been the acid attack and now a murder, two crimes that would be treated as separate assaults by the police. The man took another lick of the ice cream and thought about what to do next, the trouble was Foster was basically a weak man both mentally as well as physically.
He tried to imagine Foster strangling someone with his bare hands and found that he couldn't, the smile on his face faltered slightly as he realised that he would need to make the killing process as simple as possible for the man with the obese mother. Standing up, he dropped the cone into the litter bin and headed off along the path, moving beneath the lychgate to the car parked by the kerb.
Climbing behind the wheel, he slid the key into the ignition and started the car, the engine purred as he eased back and lifted the phone from his pocket, within seconds he'd navigated his way to the emails, the inbox contained one message from the one named Zero and he tapped it open.
'Please, you said you would help me and I'm desperate, I can't keep going on much longer. PLEASE. I need you.'
The man thought for a moment before tapping out a reply. 'You need to be patient, you need to trust me, I will not forsake you,' he sent the message and waited for a reply, the fingers of his left hand tapping at the steering wheel.
Sure enough, seconds later, the inbox flashed as the message arrived. 'Please hurry, I don't know what to do, I need your guidance.'
The man sighed, his finger stabbing at the screen. 'SOON' he replied in capitals before sliding the phone back into his pocket.
Checking the mirrors, he smiled as he drove away.
23
'His name is Mitchell Banks,' Spenner said as he came to a halt by Bannister's side.
They were standing ten feet from the body while the scene of crime tent was erected to preserve the immediate area where the victim lay.
The DCI had been studying the blood-coated knife in the evidence bag but now he glanced towards Spenner with eyebrow raised. 'How did you find that out?'
Lasser and Odette stood shoulder to shoulder, the sun filtering through the canopy above, hitting the woodland floor in a dusting of warm light.
Doc Shannon was with the body, bending down to study the wound in the dead man's throat.
'One of the rubberneckers knew him, he said Banks came here a lot to birdwatch, occasionally he'd stop at the café for a brew on the way home, and they'd talked a few times about this and that,' Spenner replied.
'''This and that''?' Bannister asked with a slight frown, before handing the knife over to Carl from the SOCO squad. 'You know the score, Carl, I want to know everything about the murder weapon ASAP.'
'Got you, boss,' Carl took the knife and moved away in a hurry, his paper suit rustling.
'So, what else did he tell you about Banks?' Lasser asked.
'Not much to be honest,' Spenner replied. 'I patched the name through to Roger and he's checking it out, but the guy who gave me the name owns the café in the park and he said that Banks had been coming here for years and that sometimes he would have his grandson with him.'
Bannister sighed heavily at the news.
'According to him, the two of them came here to walk through the woods looking for wildlife and then normally they would stop for a brew and a slice of carrot cake and then head off home.'
'How old is the grandson?' Bannister questioned.
'Around fifteen or sixteen,' Spenner answered.
'What about CCTV?' Odette requested as she slipped her hands into her pockets.
'They don't have any in the park,' Spenner pointed out.
'Typical,' Bannister complained.
Lasser glanced to the left where officers were moving through the woodland looking for further clues that he suspected weren't there. It was never that easy.
When he saw Sally Wright standing further along the path, a woman by her side, he frowned, when she beckoned him over the frowned deepened and he broke from the small group and headed over.
'Sorry to disturb you, Sarge, but this is Philippa Jennings.'
Lasser looked at the woman and smiled, she was in her early thirties, her blonde hair brushing the collar of her jacket, her blue eyes looking uneasy as she nervously returned the smile.
'Nice to meet you, love,' Lasser said.
Philippa's eyes widened and then she lowered her gaze slightly as if embarrassed by his turn of phrase.
'So, what's the problem?' Lasser asked as he looked back at Sally.
'Miss Jennings said she saw someone acting strangely in the park shortly before the attack,' Sally explained.
Lasser nodded. 'What do you mean by acting strangely?' he asked the woman.
Philippa Jennings raised her eyes, a hint of colour in her cheeks. 'Look, it could be something and nothing and I wasn't even sure if I should mention it but…'
'Well, whoever it was they must have stuck in your mind otherwise you wouldn't be concerned.'
Philippa sighed and closed her eyes for a couple of seconds. 'He was talking to himself and he just didn't look right.'
'And this was shortly before the attack?' Lasser enquired.
'Yes.'
'And where were you?'
'I work part-time over at the college, but I wasn't due to start for another hour, so I was sitting on one of the benches near the trees, reading a book, when I looked up and he was walking towards me.'
'And talking to himself?'
'Well yes, but it was like he was mumbling, I couldn't hear what he was saying until he was walking right past, and then I definitely heard him say, '''I think this is my only coat''.'
Lasser felt the frown of confusion slip onto his face. 'Anything else?'
'Not really but he just looked really agitated, you know like wired in some way.'
'And did you see which way he went?'
Philippa Jennings chewed her lips as she replied. 'He came this way into the woods.'
'What about his clothing?' Lasser asked as another magpie set off cackling in the trees.
'Well, I know this isn't politically correct, but to be honest he looked as if he'd been sleeping rough, his jeans were filthy and his shoes scuffed, and, I mean, it's warm today but he had on this dirty parka with the hood up and…'
'A parka with the hood up?' Lasser interrupted urgently.
'Yes, it had all this fur around the hood but even that looked matted with grime.'
Lasser glanced at Sally, her own eyes widening at the description.
Philippa looked from one to the other sensing the sudden tension in the air. 'Have I said something wrong?' she asked nervously.
Lasser managed to smile as he shook his h
ead. 'On the contrary, you've been most helpful, now if you could just give us a little longer, then PC Wright here can take your details and you can get to work?'
Before she could reply, Lasser had spun away and strode back along the path, his long legs eating up the ground.
Philippa Jennings watched him walk away, her cheeks still flushed with a hint of red.
24
Faith Hinton tried to quell the feeling of sickness that made her head whirl and her stomach cramp with pain. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply but the feeling of nausea remained, and she groaned as she opened her eyes and looked around the bedroom in desperation.
Rising from the bed, one hand clutched to her tender stomach, she shuffled across the room to look out of the window, the large garden looked pristine in the morning sunshine, glancing left she could see the hot tub standing on the patio, two tables were littered with empty wine bottles and glasses, the aftermath of the party her father had thrown the night before.
Faith had stayed in her room listening as the music floated through her open bedroom window, the conversation muted though occasionally she had heard twin sets of laughter braying out into the evening air. The laughter belonging to her father and his gold-digger girlfriend; she'd pictured them both filling the empty glasses of her father's business associates in the hope that they would get drunk and let their guard down or agree to some money-making deal.
She had sat beneath her open window trying to pick out snippets of conversation.
'Well, Jones always was a fool,' her father had delighted in telling everyone in attendance. 'I told him to sell the stock, but he was adamant that the price would rocket through the roof, and now look at him, completely broke and all because he failed to act on my advice.'
Faith had cringed at the snarl of glee in his voice, and then the sick feeling had returned, and she had dashed to her en-suite bathroom to throw up into the toilet, managing to hold back her long brown hair as she retched.
Now, she stood and looked out over the garden, her hands twisting and turning together, her face a mask of despair as the feeling of dread smothered her again.
She was pregnant, the test had proved positive and now she was trapped in a turmoil of fear. Closing her eyes again, she pictured her father's response if he ever found out about the pregnancy. All her life she had strived to achieve, not just academically but in every aspect of her young life, a never-ending pressure that had grown over the years. At first, her father had treated her like his princess, but as she grew all that had changed, and once she reached her teenage years then the love seemed to have vanished completely, leaving only the sense that she had to be the best at everything she undertook. She had lost count of the number of glowing reports she had received from her teachers at school, she could recall sitting with her father at numerous parents' evenings, the teachers heaping praise onto his daughter while he sat stony-faced as if none of her achievements were ever good enough for him.
'You only got a B in chemistry; a B is no good to anyone.'
She could remember her father spitting out the words as they drove away from the school, all the other A stars were disregarded, as far as he was were concerned, she had let him down badly by only getting a B in a subject she hated.
The misery weighed down on her and she opened her eyes, her life was in ruins, her future snuffed out.
Walking over to her dressing table she looked at the only picture she had of her mother, the sight of it bringing fresh tears to her eyes. She had been eight years old when her mother had died and even now, she could remember the pain of that loss. Her father had been driving the car when he had lost control on black ice, leaving the road and ploughing into a tree. Her mother had died instantly and then her father had started to change.
Over the years, a string of woman had come and gone, and Faith had basically been left to fend for herself while her father seemed to concentrate on work and womanising. The only time he took any notice of his daughter was when it was time to check her exam results. If her grades were excellent then he would simply grunt and leave the room without a hint of praise, but if he came across a B grade then he would lecture her at length, his voice harsh, his eyes crammed with disappointment as he ripped into her, leaving his daughter with tears of shame sliding down her cheeks.
Then he would walk out and get on with his life, a life that consisted of making money and sleeping around, until it was time once again to check Faith's reports.
Thankfully, her first set of university grades had all been impressive, leaving her father with nothing to complain about. Though now she knew it had all been pointless, all the years of trying to impress would count for nothing when he discovered she was pregnant.
Then she thought of his girlfriend Livy, and Faith felt the flash of hatred inside, picturing her smiling while he belittled his only daughter. It was as if the more he ranted at Faith the more she loved it.
With a quivering sigh, she glanced at the bedside clock, tears shining in her eyes she realised that she would be late for her lecture if she didn't leave within the next five minutes.
Wiping away the tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she crossed the room and grabbed her bag before heading from the room and hurrying down the stairs.
Outside, the morning sun beamed down on the drive as she headed for her car and climbed behind the wheel, with hands trembling slightly she drove onto the road, tears once more shimmering in her eyes as she tried to think of a way to put things right and yet instinctively knowing that she never could.
25
Back at the station, the mood was sombre as Bannister filled everyone in on the latest news about the man seen wandering around the park, a man who, despite the weather, was dressed in a filthy, shabby parka with the hood up.
Carole sat at her desk looking concerned as she listened to the DCI standing by her side trying to rally the troops.
Lasser and Odette were over by the door, Odette taking the occasional sip from her plastic cup of coffee as Lasser folded his arms, his face grave.
'Lasser found the knife and forensics are running tests on it, but considering the same man was seen in the town centre last night then we have to consider the possibility that this individual attacked Malcolm Marshall and is also responsible for the death of Mitchell Banks. If that's the case then the killer switched method to try and throw us off the scent, it also means that the bastard could strike again at any time,' he finished with a heavy sigh.
Carole glanced at him as he sat down with a thump, then turned back to wind the briefing up. 'The witness said that the man she saw in the park was talking to himself and he appeared agitated, she also got the impression with the way he was dressed that he could have been a rough sleeper.'
When Spenner raised a hand, Carole nodded for him to speak.
'Is it worth checking the mental health units, ma'am?' he asked.
'That will be looked into by DI Noble and DS Lasser, we have to consider that the killer could be on some sort of medication and is under the care of the health professionals.'
Inwardly Lasser sighed, over the years he had watched as people with mental health issues were given basic assistance before being sent back out into the world with a prescription to fill and nothing else to support them. It was yet another indictment of how this country was run, society no longer existed, people were simply left to fend for themselves in a world that didn't give a shit.
He glanced at Bannister and could see the anger smeared across his face; no doubt the DCI's train of thought matched his own.
'If it is the same man then, as DCI Bannister pointed out, he could strike again at any time and we cannot allow that,' Carole looked at each officer in turn making sure they understood that the clock was ticking on this one. 'Now, hopefully, forensics will find something useful on the knife, but we still need to be out there, we need to push hard to put a name to the image of the man on Market Street.'
Chairs were pushed back as people rose to their
feet and headed for the door, their faces stamped with determination, apart from PC Black who stifled a bored yawn as he sauntered past Lasser and Odette.
'Useless bastard,' Lasser mumbled from the corner of his mouth.
Black glanced at him, his face momentarily curdled with hatred as he pushed through the double doors and vanished.
'I heard that derogatory remark, Sergeant,' Bannister said as he approached with Carole by his side.
Lasser shrugged. 'I was only stating the obvious.'
Bannister thought for a moment before nodding. 'True enough.'
'What do we know about Mitchell Banks?' Carole asked, doing her best to pretend she didn't hear a sergeant insult a PC.
'Shaun Rourke followed it up, Banks had been married for over thirty years, his wife died last year of a heart attack, they had one daughter and a grandson,' Odette explained.
'So, a regular family man then?' Bannister asked.
'No record, not even a parking ticket, it just seems as if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time,' Odette offered lamely.
'And I take it there's nothing to link Banks with Marshall?' Carole asked.
'Nothing obvious,' Odette replied. 'It looks as if both victims were just random attacks.'
Carole looked even more pained as she nodded. 'Which only serves to make our job more difficult.'
The four of them fell silent for a moment as they tried to see a way forward.
'So, we have a total nutter having a conversation with himself whilst he looks for another random victim to attack,' Bannister grumbled.
Lasser fiddled with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket as he thought about the conversation he'd had with Philippa Jennings in the woods, the light lancing through the trees as she told him about the man in the dirty parka. 'Are we actually sure he was talking to himself?' he asked.
Bannister narrowed his eyes. 'What are you talking about?'
'Philippa Jennings stated that she only heard a few words and…'
'What of it?'
Lasser sighed at Bannister's interruption. '''I think this is my only coat,'' that was all she heard.'
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