The Final Alibi

by Simon King

  “Oh, Harry liked the classics. ‘There’s nothing wrong with reading the classics’ he told me. Moby Dick, Treasure Island.”

  “Clancy, did Harry ever ask you to do anything you didn’t want to?” I asked and his expression changed to one of fear in an instant. He slowly shook his head from side to side. “It’s OK to tell, he won’t hurt you anymore.”

  “No, Harry never asked me nothin like that. Never.” He spoke slowly, almost too quietly, for fear of anyone overhearing him speak. Steph leant a little forward, lowering her own voice.

  “Because if he did,” she said quietly, “it would be pretty important to tell someone. So that they could stop him. Are you sure?” For a moment, I thought he was actually going to say something. His mouth opened a little to let the words come out, but after a few seconds he closed it again, his gaze never leaving the table top. His head began to shake slowly from side to side.

  “No, Harry is a nice man. He never asked me nothin like that,” repeating himself.

  “OK, Clancy. It’s OK, mate,” I said to him. Steph gave me a little nod and I stood, holding out my hand. “Thank you for your time, buddy.” He reached out and shook it, smiling again.

  “And if you ever want to talk, Clancy, you just have to ask, OK?” Steph finished. He flashed her a big grin.

  “Thank you. I will.” And with that he trotted back to his bin cart, whistling as he went back to his work.

  3.

  Steph dropped me off at the hotel, then headed to the police station to update them of what we were doing. We agreed to meet at Mrs. Homestead’s Café at 1, which would give me a couple of hours sleep. I stood on the footpath and watched her drive off, the morning still young. Once her car rounded the corner, I headed into the hotel and bounded up the stairs, 2 at a time. As I reached the second floor, almost jumping up the final steps at a run, I rounded the corner and felt my heart leap out of my chest as I crashed into someone walking the other way. They went stumbling backwards as a tray of breakfast dishes went crashing to the hardwood floor in an explosion of porcelain. The woman let out a startled scream, just before hitting the floor with a painful thud.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said as I reached down to help the poor girl. A couple of doors opened further down the hall and I saw inquisitive eyes pop out, peering at the commotion. I looked back down at the girl, now trying to prop herself up. She began to apologize quietly, the shock and surprise evident in her tone, and I was about to say how sorry I was, that I was the klutz who was at fault, when she lifted her head to look at me. Our eyes met and instant recognition enveloped us both. Inside my chest, I felt my heart stop.

  4.

  “Hello Jim,” she said, holding a hand out. I took it and helped her back to her feet, my eyes unable to leave hers. I opened my mouth to speak but no words would come out. She giggled a little, then as she stood, winced and reached down, rubbing her knee. “You always did know how to make an entrance,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Hello Tami,” I finally managed, although it came out in an almost whisper. She began to pick up the spilled dishes, one shattered cup and a few bits of broken crockery scattered down the hall. The peering eyes had receded back into their doors as I retrieved the broken pieces of china. I brought them back to her, the tray now back to an almost pre-Jim state.

  “Tami, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for leaving?” she replied, cutting me off. I groaned inside, remembering our last conversation, 18 long years before. I nodded my head, my gaze now shifting to the floor uncomfortably. I’m hesitant to relive the events that shaped both our lives back in the early post-Lucifer days, but I will do my best to fill you in on a bit of back-story. It’s the least I can do, considering you’re reading my story at all.

  She began to walk past me and down the stairs, and would have continued walking if I hadn’t reached out and grabbed her arm. At first, I didn’t think she would stop, but she did, standing on the first step for a moment without turning around.

  “I would really love to catch up, Tami. Please?” I let go of her arm as she turned to look at me. She smiled again, that joy still in her eyes. Even after all these years, it was the one thing I could always picture when I closed my own. The happiness that lived in there.

  “Yes, that would be nice. I finish at 7, if you want to chat, I’ll be waiting out the front. Don’t be late.” And with that, she turned and headed down the stairs, the tray balanced on one hand, the other gripping the hand rail. Even though her face was smiling, her tone was as stern as a brick in the face. I watched her walk down the stairs then turned and slowly walked to my room. Given the events of the past couple of days, I hadn’t even considered running into her. I surprised myself with the realization that Tami Kennedy hadn’t even crossed my mind. She had been as distant from my memories as the rest of this town. After I left all those years ago, the nightmares eventually subsided into the fabled place of ‘best forgotten’, and her along with those memories.

  I unlocked my door and went into the small room that served as my temporary home for as long as I could make it work. For the time being, a room with a bed was all my wishes desired, and in the dark, gloomy room, the outline of the bed looked like paradise. I closed the door behind me, kicked off my shoes and fell forward onto the mattress. Without realising just how tired I was, I had time enough to remember her smile from a few minutes ago. Time enough to see her laughing eyes; to recall the sweet smell of her perfume; to see the lines of her face; her long brunette hair. Time enough to realize that I still loved her, before sleep stole me away.

  5.

  The dream that invaded my sleep that morning was a mixture of fact, fiction, horror and tragedy. None of it contributed to a restful sleep and all of it ensured I would wake in a hot and sweaty mess a short time later. At the forefront of my nightmare, every nightmare I had since my early 20s, was Harry Lightman. Although this was the younger more athletic version that I had chased along the Kennedy driveway two decades before. Harry was chasing me, carrying Tami’s severed head in one hand and my Mother’s in the other. And my Mother was calling out to me at the top of her voice, almost screaming.

  “YOU PROMISED TO PROTECT US, JAMES. YOU PROMISED!” she cried. I turned as I ran, seeing the bloodied spittle fly from her lips, her bared teeth snarling at me. Her hair hung in ragged clumps, blood matted bits clinging to her cheeks as the rain fell in biblical proportions. Occasionally, lightning lit the sky in great spiderwebs that sketched their way across the dark, the severed heads temporarily illuminated in all their revulsion. My feet tangle as I go sprawling into the mud, my hands coming to a halt submerged in a puddle. My face is mere inches from the water’s surface and as I’m about to lift myself out, Tami’s face surfaces slowly beneath mine, her eyes closed, her face peaceful as if in a deep sleep. I reach out to touch her cheek and as my fingers near her smooth skin, her eyes suddenly burst open as her mouth contorts into a horrible grimace. A scream, loud enough to wake the dead, comes coursing out. I scramble to my feet and turn to run, only to find Harry standing directly behind me, his teeth, pointed and razor sharp, bared and ready to snap into my throat. He grabs me by the shoulders, pulls me nearer, then whispers into my face.

  “Time to set things right, James.” He lunges forward and I feel his teeth sink deep into my neck as jets of blood warm my chest. I scream, a thick gargled disappointment as I try to push him away from me to break free. I try to scream again and-

  6.

  -wake to the sound of a knock on my door.

  “Jim?” I try desperately to climb out of bed, to wake myself from the dream still filling my mind, the world a murky mystery to me.

  “JIM?”

  “One sec,” I yell at the door and finally manage to wrench myself out from beneath the damp sheet. I check my watch as I take the five or so steps to the door and see it’s only 10.30. When I open the door, the look on Steph’s face is all I need to tell me the grim news she wants to share.

 
; “There’s been another one.” I groan as she confirms my hunch, walk back to the bed and begin to put on my shoes.

  “Did you get any sleep, kiddo?” I ask but Steph shakes her head.

  “It’s OK. I’ll sleep later.” I watched her look in the mirror as she spoke and saw the fatigue in her eyes. I finished lacing my shoes, grabbed a jacket and followed her out. A minute later she was behind the wheel of her car driving us to the latest crime scene.

  “Another teacher, Annie Wilcox,” Steph began once we were moving. “I was still at the station when the call came in. Her boyfriend made the find after she failed to show for class this morning. Pete and Lewis are already on their way to the house. Should be there by now, she only lives on Clifford Lane.” The car suddenly lurched to one side, tyres squealing. A dog had wandered into the middle of the road and thankfully, Steph still had quick enough reflexes to swerve around the little guy.

  “Dam dog,” she screamed as she fought the car back under control. I reached out and touched her arm. It felt cold.

  “Rademeyer is convinced it’s a copycat. Said Lightman is locked up as tight as a snare drum.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yup. He had another ‘chat’ with me just before the call came in. Told me not to waste all our time chasing a ghost. He said ‘follow your hot leads’, or something like that.”

  “I know what he’s saying, but what if he did find a way to get out of jail?”

  “And then what? Breaks back into jail when he’s done?” I hadn’t pondered that part of it but now that I heard the words, wondered.

  “What a brilliant alibi,” I finally whispered.

  “Alibi?”

  “Imagine if that was his plan all along. Imagine. He doesn’t mind prison, breaks out every so often to feed his hunger, then boom. Right back home each morning. I mean think about it.”

  “It would be a hell of a plan. If he found a way out of jail.”

  “Something tells me the key to everything is somewhere in that box we got from the jail.”

  “I hope you’re right, Jim. Otherwise we’re gonna end up chasing nothing but our tails. Anyway, Jack and Lester should already be at the latest. They were out in the car. Pete and Lewis left the station when I did.”

  “Wait, Lester? As in Lester Redding?” I asked with some bemusement.

  “The one and only. Why? You know him?”

  “Wow, I can’t believe he’s still around. He was like ancient when I was a cop.” Steph giggled a little.

  “Don’t let him hear you talk about his age. He gets pretty touchy about that.” She was about to say something else, but paused as she turned the car into Clifford Lane, two patrol cars visible at the far end. “There they are.”

  Like most country towns, houses that are more than a couple of hundred metres from the main street were spaced well apart. Privacy was a luxury many could afford and in Cider Hill, space was plenty. The road, still dirt, was about 700 yards long, maybe a couple of dozen houses in total. They were scattered, some with quite short driveways, some with quite long ones. Several had smoke slowly drifting out from chimneys, fireplaces alight, keeping whoever occupied those homes warm and toasty.

  7.

  The two officers that were leaning against the fence in front of 24 Clifford Lane looked as pale as ghosts. Jack Dunning was wiping his mouth, looking embarrassingly at the ground. I could tell he had recently bid his breakfast and/ or lunch farewell. Old Lester was leaning against the fence, one hand rubbing the back of the other, his face stern and pale. He watched us approach and I saw his face lighten a little as recognition crept in. He began to walk towards my door as soon as we stopped.

  “Jim, oh my God. How have you been?” he said, grasping my hand tightly as he pumped it up and down vigorously.

  “Lester, good to see you,” I replied with a smile.

  “I wish the circumstances were better,” he answered back, waving a hand at the cottage behind us.

  “How bad is it?” Steph asked. Lester frowned a little.

  “It’s not good. Prepare yourselves. She’s in the bathroom. Far end of the hallway.” He let go of my hand and opened the small gate that led into the front yard. It was a pretty white cottage, the two windows that sat either side of the front door, had their floral curtains drawn shut. The front veranda had a small round wooden table and two chairs sitting off to one side. There was a teapot vase on top of it, a small bunch of pink lilies sitting in it. I began to climb the three steps that led to the top of the decking, Steph following behind. Jack and Lester remained at the fence, both watching as we entered the house.

  8.

  As soon as we crossed the threshold, an aroma hit me that instantly raised my heart beat. It was the same metallic, coppery smell I remembered from the time I saw my very first Lucifer victim. I looked at Steph as she walked through the door, pointed at my nose and watched as she also recognized the scent in the air. The hallway was dark, the two doors either side of the entrance both stood open. On one side sat a bedroom, one small lick of light penetrating the curtain that blocked the window. It had a bed that my mother used to call ‘a bed with a lady’s touch’. It had a complete set of bedding including multiple pillows, cushions, a blanket and a cover, all in a pretty feast of flowers. In the middle of the bed sat a lonely teddy bear, its sad eyes looking out at us.

  On the opposite side of the hallway, the door led into a darkened living room where Pete and Lewis stood, looking dazed. Pete was leaning against a fireplace that sat on the far wall, its fires not likely to burn again for a while. There was a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table. A white mug sat on one side of the coffee table, looking like someone had a hot drink before bed. Several photographs hung above the mantle and hanging on the side wall, a painting of a river scene, a fisherman standing on one bank, flanked by bright trees. The room looked cosy and inviting. The other officer was sitting in one of the chairs and never took his eyes off the floor.

  There were two more doors, one on the left and one on the right further along the hallway, and right at the end, stood an open door that led into the bathroom. The light was on and I could see a shadow on the far wall, that had the unmistakable outline of someone suspended with their arms up over their heads. I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like a dry slate. I couldn’t muster any spittle and my throat burned a little as I tried to swallow a second time. The house was so quiet, I thought for a moment I could hear my own heartbeat. I could certainly feel it, beating hard and fast in my temples. That nervous feeling of adrenalin burning in the pit of my stomach grew stronger with each step I took, closer to the inevitable scene I was about to endure. I slowed a little and felt something brush my arm. I jumped to one side, a small scream trying to escape my lips. I looked down and saw Steph’s hand, the other over her own mouth. We looked at each other and let out a faint giggle. That small laugh relieved a lot of the apprehension that was gripping both of us.

  “OK. Let’s do it,” I said, and walked the remaining steps into the bathroom, and the horror that awaited within.

  Like so many homes in the 50s, the bathroom only had 3 things in it. A bath with a stand-in shower, a sink and a toilet. A small window sat above the toilet and I could see that it stood slightly ajar. The bath had a curtain rail that encircled it, the curtain pulled completely off and folded neatly, then placed on top of the closed toilet, as if waiting to be put away. Her hands were bound together then tied to the rail, her wrists not quite reaching high enough. She only stood about 5 foot 2 at best and the killer had to use a second rope to reach the rail. She was stripped naked, her black hair hanging down over her face. Although her face looked peaceful, as if sleeping, it was the horror below the waist that will forever fill my nightmares.

  The killer had chewed on both of her thighs. The front of her legs looked almost like ground hamburger, strips of flesh hanging this way and that in messed-up strands. There were bits of sinew that jutted out from exposed muscle and both legs looked like they were f
ed upon for a long time. He had plugged the bath so all the blood that the victim lost was now filled with it. By the look of it, the red puddle looked to be several inches deep. I wasn’t sure how long she had been hanging there, but it must have been for longer than a day. I could see maggots already consuming her, their writhing masses filling the open wounds.

  But it was the eyes that once again confirmed what we were looking for. Her index fingers had been chewed off and jammed into her eye sockets, the shiny fluid still glistening on her cheeks.

  We spent another twenty minutes or so carefully looking over the room, then headed out to look at the rest of the house. We were joined by more officers, as well as the coroner, and once finished made our way back to the police station. Rademeyer summoned us as soon as he became aware of our presence and we spent an hour or so going over what we had discovered. His ears pricked when we mentioned the index fingers. Rademeyer was convinced we had a copycat on our hands and said he had already assigned a number of officers to door knock the area. He wanted Steph and I to continue to build our own list of suspects and present it to him the next morning. By the time Steph and I came out from the station, it was nearing 4.30, sleep the furthest thing from my mind. Steph, however, looked ready to drop.

  “You need sleep, kiddo,” I said as we walked back towards her car. As if replying to me, she let out a huge yawn, her mouth almost obscuring her entire head. I chuckled a little and before she could finish, let out a snort. “I’ll drive,” I said and after considering for a moment, she handed me her keys.

  The drive back to her house was in silence, Steph slowly inhaling one of her cigarettes. I pulled the car into the driveway just as she butted it out.

  “You want to come in?” she asked, but I shook my head.

  “I can’t. I have to go see someone.”

  “Ah, yes. Tami Kennedy by any chance?” I was a little surprised.

  “What? How the hell do you know already?” I said.