“Sorry, sir, but I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. I’ll get dressed and be with you ASAP.” Signing off, he threw the duvet to the side and staggered to the bathroom, scratching an itch on his right buttock as he went.
***
Karl removed the photograph he had retrieved from below the counter at Jo’s. He looked at the two young men who stared back defiantly. “Tommy Goff. Just look at you there!”
The cottage was quiet as Karl moved to the front door and slipped the photograph through the letter box before knocking loudly. A curtain moved upstairs and Karl stood back to allow the observer to see him. He waved and smiled. Within two minutes Karl heard the door lock turn but then nothing. Cautiously he pulled down the handle and pushed the door fully open knowing he was silhouetted against the light. He said nothing, allowing his hand to move to his jacket pocket before he entered. The room was not only deplete of light, owing to the small windows and the low ceilings, but it also lacked the morning’s warmth.
“Close and lock the door.” The words came from the dark recess that led to another room. “I wondered how long it would take. Thought it was you the other day but obviously I was wrong.”
Karl closed the door and locked it as instructed but then remained by it.
“Not seen that photograph for years. You do keep some crap. Fucking Tommy Goff. Tommy Goff, the local’s nickname for that bloody snake you were handling. I remember. Hell, you frightened everyone shitless. The most dangerous and angry critter you could meet and you waltz in with it. A fucking pet you said.”
“Everyone wanted to be photographed with the most venomous snake in Belize, like the brave squaddies we were if I remember right. You included. The Fer de Lance, a stunning creature, they only kill to live unlike you. And yes, you’re right, known to the locals as Tommy Goff. Like all the animals you met out there you quickly killed it when I released it. I listened to your stories and escapades, Trevor, and knew one day the time would be right to bring about a change. The world is altering, it needs to as it’s been raped enough. I really don’t think you fully comprehend the passion people feel for the natural world. We witness the greed, the nonchalance or the cavalier attitude towards our environment, the casual way life is treated as if it doesn’t matter. I see and read the results of these so-called hunters killing in the wild, slaughtering creatures bred so the wealthy can come along and destroy them from a place of safety and are then photographed with their kill. You watch it on the Internet but now you see not only men but women and children too. I despise that, Trevor. There’s no chase, no fear, no them and us and worst of all, no hunger. They are not killed for food but purely as trophies ... for selfish pleasure.”
Trevor laughed and then grunted. “It’s always gone on and always will. Like fishermen and hunters here in this country, they protect the rivers and countryside. The landowners hunt but put so much back into the land. It’s a trade-off. You were naïve then,” he waved the photograph, “and you’re naïve now if you think you or some of these so-called animal rights people can help or even change anything.”
“We’re talking not only of the rights of human beings, but also about the rights of animals. You can see that vegetarians and vegans are growing in numbers, businesses are catering for them, plastics are now frowned upon and the government is beginning to heed the calls to protect this environment of ours. There will be change but the change is slow. Soon, we hear, there will be prison sentences of five years for illegal hunting in this country, not the paltry fines that are easily paid. You’re wrong to believe that as individuals we can’t change things. You don’t know this but after the army I went back to Belize and worked in a wildlife sanctuary. I then worked in zoos, caring for the very things you and your buddies enjoyed killing. But now, Trevor, look at your friends, Lyons, Peterson and Humphreys. Ask yourself if they’ll kill and slaughter again. The hunters became the hunted. You’ll never know the strength of feelings people have for animals. They would sooner see a man killed than an animal and, Trevor, so would I. They taught us well, her Majesty’s armed forces. They taught us to escape and evade, to seek and find. We both did that. Remember, Trevor? As I recall you were a shit then and from what I’ve discovered about you since, you’ve not changed. Did I kill them? Yes, like a spider with a web I threaded my way from one to the other, linking them all so that those that followed would know each was related. I led a path to the farm; the knife and the glove was genius even if I say so myself. I did it so that you would firstly be exposed for the shit that you are. I wanted them to discover more of your duplicitous ways and it’s worked, I feel.
Those here the other day would be the police. They know that you are the missing link but they are also unsure as to whether you’re the killer or the next victim. I felt sorry for Ted. I did when you talked about him way back then. You believed everything should be yours, being the elder. Ted was good, just like Eve, and you were Lilith, the sinful one. That came to my mind when you killed that snake, the one in the picture. You wouldn’t understand that. You never read, never learned other than to drink, shag and gamble and let’s not forget … to kill!”
They stared at each other in the gloomy light, both men taken back in time, one man confused as to where the future was heading.
“I remember you saying you’d come back and you’d take her from him. That he had taken the farm from you and you would take her, take Belinda from him, you would make him suffer. Your own flesh and blood. You would break him. Do you remember that, Trevor?”
Trevor moved quickly from the corner where he had remained since Karl had entered. He could run through the kitchen and out of the house but then what would be the point?
Karl removed a TT pistol from his jacket. “You’ll be familiar with this, used on the farms by you and your dead mates to destroy. I found this at Peterson’s. Well that’s not strictly true as it was in his car.”
Chapter Thirty
Owen went straight to Cyril’s office. April and Quinn were already there. A spare chair had been added. He checked his watch. It had been forty minutes since the early morning wake-up call.
“Thanks, Owen. Right.” Cyril pointed to the chair and Owen quickly sat. “DNA. The first link is fascinating. Saliva samples taken from the shop door, the counter and the floor are identified as those belonging to Leonard Ross.”
Quinn looked at April as if to say that’s hardly surprising as he was known to be there. Cyril glanced sideways catching the look on Quinn’s face. “We know he was there but what’s interesting is that there’s a match, a familial match to a Trevor Bostock.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room as Cyril glanced at each officer in turn. “We know that he was renowned as a womaniser in his youth. We know the father did a runner when the true extent of Leonard’s medical condition was revealed. I know that they were never married. He was the result of just another fling.”
“Does Leonard’s mother know this?”
“I’ve sent the same liaison officer round. Hopefully we’ll get some answers although what further we need to understand I don’t know. I’m sure of one thing, she’s probably not seen him since the early days after the birth.”
Owen stifled a yawn. “What about the other DNA that you mentioned at that ungodly hour this morning, sir? The one found at every murder site but not on the database and the one found at the shop?”
“Semen found on the sheets belonging to the shop owner …”
April immediately jumped in. “Karl … what was his name? Came to the shop early looking for Leonard, friend of the family but mentioned that he was Jo’s partner, the shop owner. Goodness I have the memory of a hen. I thought at first business partner, otherwise he’d have been there that morning. I looked him up. His address, if I remember, is on Cold Bath Road. Leslie, that’s it Karl Leslie. May I?” She stood and Cyril nodded. She left the office.
She looked through the notes on her desk before picking up a pink folder and returning. “It’
s here. Karl Leslie, sixty-six. Here’s the address. I checked. He has no previous. He owns an apartment in a retirement complex.”
“Quinn, take Nixon for a visit. I want him in here. I think he’ll have flown the nest by now if he’s the killer, so be careful. Owen get the car, we’re off to the cottage rented by Trevor Bostock. I want armed backup. In thirty minutes.”
They left leaving April nursing the pink folder.
“I find it strange, April. Call it copper’s nose or gut feeling but something’s not sitting correctly. I want you to see Penny, find out as much as you can about Karl Leslie, then go to the retirement place and see when she and Leonard first appeared. Find out if there was ever a carer involved for Leonard. All this time without a break I find difficult to comprehend. I want you to dig.”
April smiled and left. Cyril collected his jacket and tapped his pockets. The words spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch went through his head. If his assumption was correct, he was going to need some kind of divine intervention.
***
Quinn and Nixon discovered that Karl had logged out early that morning. It was nothing as simple as signing out, just a log of the activation of his alarm. Quinn called Owen who answered hands free as he was driving.
“Leslie checked out before five this morning and there’s no sign of his return. Want us to wait and see if he comes back?”
“Wait an hour, then leave an instruction for someone to call should he return.”
***
“I believe there’s something else that you’ve been running from, Trevor, from a time when you seduced young girls, girls who gave you everything and then you left them. I know of one such woman. You’ll have forgotten, as I’m sure each would blend with the other. That’s why photographs help us to recall. The races, remember the races? When was that?” Karl took another photograph from his pocket. “It’s a copy I’m afraid, but you’ll remember.” He sent it across the room.
Trevor picked up the photograph and smiled. “Ripon, 1986. I was twenty-three and care fucking free. Won a few bob that day. Went into Harrogate.”
“And in Harrogate, what?”
Trevor lifted his eyes to Karl and grinned. “Met a girl as cute as can be …” He hummed the words to the song.
Karl squeezed the trigger and the shot rang around the cottage as the bullet ran clean through Trevor’s right shoulder. His body was instantly thrown against the wall behind. Milliseconds after, the bullet embedded itself a metre away into the plaster. The released photograph fluttered to the floor. A stifled scream followed by a loud groan seemed to echo the fired shot as both sounds filled the claustrophobic room.
“That’s what you do to life, Trevor, you simply use it for your pleasure and throw it away. Do you remember the girl’s name, the cute one?”
Another groan emanated from the figure now sitting propped against the wall. A thin red line ran down from the bullet’s impact and continued as a smudged line against the rough plaster, marking the body’s slow descent.
“Shall I remind you? This was not one of your dumb animals. This was a girl of sixteen. You saw her a few times by all accounts, went for the same thing and when she was pregnant you hovered. I believe that you actually liked her. I know you told her you loved her, even bought her a ring, a cheap one granted, but at least it was a token. I’ve seen it. She kept it, Trevor, it was a token of your love for her and for your child. Did you know she treasured it? Do you care? She also told me that you promised her the world. Was that just to get into her knickers?” Karl paused, looking for any expression of remorse. There was none. “Were you shagging Belinda then too? And if so who else, Trevor, who else?” The second shot hit the sole of Trevor’s boot, the bullet removing his big toe before lodging in his lower hip. The devastation brought another cry of agony.
“Jesus Christ, man. I … don’t fucking know …” Trevor was now on the ground. His head on the floor. Blood pooled by his shoulder and the light reflected red. The blood flow throbbed through his foot, burning as it pulsed.
“Are you still with me?” There was a grunt. “Let me remind you. You told me all about her when you were drunk and boasting. Penelope, Penny to you, Penny Ross. And your son, what about his name? The poor unfortunate bastard. Bastard’s right isn’t it, Trevor? A bastard child formed from lust and not love. What is his name, the boy, the result of your wickedness? You see how you’re suffering now, your friends suffered too. Nothing quick. They didn’t know me. I asked. It was the last question they ever answered. No, they all said and even though that was the correct answer they still died. Why? Because they were all cruel … that was so true … but that was not the main reason, it was because they knew you and they knew what you had done. How did you feel as one by one they met their maker, Trevor? As the noose approached? As the hunter grew closer to the wounded and confused creature that you are.” He raised the gun again. “Well, your son’s name?”
Trevor spoke through clenched teeth. There was still a note of defiance. “Which one? I neither care nor fucking want to know. It was a long time ago.”
“Looked a bit like you but sadly the lad never stood a chance – father buggered off, scared I assume – Lilith took the oxygen from him at birth, caused dreadful cerebral damage. Lilith, the taker of the breath of the new born, you wouldn’t see the connection or the significance.”
Trevor lifted his head from the floor. “Lilith, I call all the girls by that name. Saves confusion at key moments … they hate it when you call out the wrong name when … need I say more?”
“Somehow I knew the subtleties of all of this would be lost on you.” Karl checked the pistol.
Chapter Thirty-One
Owen let the blue strobes flash as he parked the car a hundred yards from the lane where the cottage was situated. The police firearms team climbed from the van and moved quickly along the lane, taking cover behind the low hedge that ran to the side. The sun had brought shadows along the lane’s edge, offering cover for the black-clad firearms officers. Cyril followed, watching the lead figure. They used only hand signals as they split into two units, one taking the rear the other the front. They would now go onto coms.
The shot rang out loud and clear and Cyril immediately saw the group at the front of the cottage stiffen and then lower themselves.
“Armed Police!” The call was sharp, clear and decisive. It was repeated. Another shot rang out followed by another in quick succession. The officers, along with those in the rear, checked the door. It was locked. An officer removed a stun grenade from his jacket and threw it through the nearest window to distract those inside as the door was being forced. Cyril heard the multiple shouts, Get down, Police, Down! come from the confines of the building before one of the officers appeared at the door. Light grey smoke from the grenade curled round the intimidating masked figure before disappearing quickly. The officer signalled Cyril and Owen over.
The room’s opaque light still brought an eerie hue and the smell was pungent, causing a tightness to the throat and a sting to the eyes. A figure lay on his back, a pistol resting a short distance from his side. Owen leaned over and saw that the man’s lower jaw and the rear of the head was missing. The second figure had also been hit directly in the face. Cyril knew both. Glancing at the photographs he removed his phone and took a picture of each.
“Seen this image before, Owen. The races, 1986 if my memory serves me correctly.”
He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes before leaving the cottage. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. “I need to talk to April,” he informed Owen. Cyril thanked the firearms team and trudged down the lane. The building would be secured and Forensics called. He wondered if Julie would be the one to deal with the aftermath.
Cyril and Owen both sat in the car. A group of bystanders had already appeared but so too had three police cars. Officers were already setting up the cordon.
Owen spoke first. “You had an idea back at the station that Karl Leslie was involved. You had a su
spicion he’d be here too.”
Cyril nodded. “The DNA, Owen, the stained glass I mentioned. It allowed me to see the light, see what previously wasn’t there. What I don’t know is the true motive for killing four men and then himself. I can understand how people can be fanatical about animals and even put themselves in harm’s way to protect them, but to kill for that?”
Cyril’s phone rang. “Bennett.” He listened, occasionally nodding and looking at Owen. “Right. Dig more deeply and get back to me."
“Quinn. According to a man at the home, Karl Leslie served in Belize and on checking the records he was with Trevor Bostock for a time.”
“There’s an age difference,” Owen said. “A large one at that.”
“Not everyone is the same age. Some enter late, some early but they all find themselves posted together, but you’re right, Owen. You’re right.”
***
April arrived back at the station with Penny. She had volunteered to accompany her. She put her in an interview lounge with a female officer and a large mug of coffee. She had also called the duty doctor. It would be fifteen minutes before Cyril entered the station and signed in by tapping his finger on a fingerprint screen reader. He shook his head, never understanding why they employed expensive equipment when all that was needed was a pad and pencil. Grabbing his lanyard he popped it over his head. April was hovering when he arrived at his office.
“What about Penny Ross?” he asked as he hung his jacket behind the door. Owen came in with a cup and saucer and a mug, placing Cyril’s drink on his desk. He looked at April and pointed to the mug. She shook her head.
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