It didn’t feel like long had passed before the phone was shaking his hand and surfacing him from the depths of dreams. He blinked a few times to focus, then shot a look at the clock. It took a few attempts to focus on the numbers, but then his brain kicked into gear. 04:00.
“Officer Fuller?”
Chad sat up in bed and rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. “Yeah, I’m Detective Constable Chad Fuller.”
“I’m Monica Small.”
“Monica Small,” Chad said before grimacing. No memory sparked in his head, no matter how many times he inwardly repeated the name.
“You called a few weeks ago, asked whether I’d seen anything unusual on the road to Histon.”
“Yeah, that’s right, have you seen something?”
“There was no one walking along the road, but I was on the way back from my mum’s. She had a fall in the night, she’s fine, but I thought I better be sure—”
“Sorry, you were saying about the road?”
“Oh yes, that’s right. So I was driving back from my mum’s who had the fall, and I saw a man in Audrey Banes’s car, and it wasn’t her husband. I know it wasn’t him because he’s away with mine, fishing in the lake district—”
“What about the man in the car?” Chad interrupted.
“He was sitting in the back, hard to make out, but he had dark hair, and I think he was wearing a blazer, or jacket. I only saw a glimpse. They were going pretty fast when they passed.”
Chad swung his legs out of bed. “How long ago was this?”
“About an hour and a half ago. I saw, and was going to stay out of it, not get involved, but with the news, and the posters everywhere, it didn’t sit right with me. I called the station, but the receptionist said you weren’t there. Nice lad, Zac I think he was called, and he gave me your cell number.”
“Mrs. Small—”
“Call me Monica.”
“Monica, do you know Mrs. Banes’s address?”
“Yes, I know it.”
“When I hang up, can you send it to me?”
“Of course.”
“Many thanks, Monica, you’ve been a great help,” Chad said, then disconnected the call.
He hurried to his closet and yanked out a fresh shirt. He didn’t bother with a tie and picked a pair of creased pants from the drawer. Chad patted his hair down with water and scrubbed his teeth clean.
When he went back into the bedroom, the phone lit up on the bed. He swooped down for it and read the address.
“Right…”
Chad rushed down the stairs, punched his arms into his jacket, and shoved his shoes on.
“Neil, I’m taking your car,” he yelled up the stairs.
He didn’t wait for a reply but snatched up the keys for the Porsche. He called the station, relayed the situation to Zac on the front desk, then started the car.
****
Chad’s phone buzzed inside his pocket, demanding he answer. He pulled up on the curb not far from Mrs. Banes house, and finally answered the Chief’s call.
“Sir.”
“You better not be where I think you are…”
“I couldn’t just sit at home and do nothing.”
“You’re confined to the station.”
“And this isn’t working hours,” Chad argued.
“There are officers on the way to the property. They’ve got their own orders of how to handle the situation.”
Chad stared at the house in the distance. A small cottage on its own by the side of a windy road. When Chad squinted, he swore he could see the upstairs windows glowing.
“Do not enter that property, do you understand?”
Chad bit his tongue and didn’t answer.
“Do you understand?” the Chief repeated.
“I understand.”
“Stay where you are. Do not get involved.”
“How long until back up arrives?”
“Twenty minutes away, and I’ll be at the address as quick as I can be. Do not approach the house.”
The call disconnected, and Chad stared furiously at the screen before pocketing it.
“Come on, come on…”
Chad flared his nostrils and flexed his fingers around the wheel. He restarted the car, got as close as he dared, then parked on the verge. He could see the upstairs window clearly—the glow of the light suddenly went off.
The lights were never on when they found the victims. The killer’s fingerprint was always on the switch. Movement dragged his attention down from the upstairs window, and his heart missed a beat. Someone was leaving the property, closing the door slowly behind themselves.
Chad peered into the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. He could see the shape, the figure in the shadows. The automatic light from the cottage porch lit up. Chad could see him, slipping gloves onto his hands. He had a rucksack on his back.
He faced the opposite direction, hadn’t noticed Chad’s car but there was only a matter of time before he would look. Dark haired, wide build, tall, and smartly dressed. There was no doubt in Chad’s mind he was looking at the killer.
He turned and froze when he caught sight of the car on the verge. There was a hundred yards between them, Chad prayed the darkness was enough, but the killer tilted his head, still staring.
Then something seemed to snap in him. He jolted into action, running across the road into the sparse line of trees. Chad threw open his car door and gave chase. The killer had a hundred meters on Chad, but he was fast, determined, and in no time, he was up the road, bursting through the trees the killer had vanished through. There was only a thin line of trees. Chad squinted, staring across the field, but he couldn’t see any fading figure. He held his breath, listening for the sound of feet down the road, the killer having called his bluff and escaped behind him.
There was nothing but silence.
Chad looked at each tree in turn, only just visible in the light of the crescent moon. They were wide enough to hide behind, and Chad crept towards the closest one.
“Give it up,” Chad said. He reached for his cuffs hanging from his belt. “It’s over.”
A tut came from the darkness, and Chad hurried a few steps back. He pressed his hand to the tree behind him, steadying his nerves.
“Do your police buddies know you’re here? Are they gonna rush in and save you?”
Chad’s heart caught in his chest. The killer’s voice was deep, laced with anger.
“They’re on their way.”
“On. Their. Way…”
“Yes, come out. Show yourself.”
There was movement, swift, sudden, and Chad knocked the back of his head into the tree trunk. Another tut, followed by a slow bout of laughter.
“You’re scared.”
“Come out so I can see you properly.”
Visions of a sadistic smile, and wide-bulging eyes appeared in his head. Chad had met killers before, some that had killed in more despicable ways, but this was the first time he was alone with one, and he was completely unarmed. He needed to stay calm, but he heard the wobble in his voice, and his hands were trembling around the cuffs.
“Now!”
He had no authority despite his shout. He sounded afraid, and he hated it.
The killer stepped out from behind a tree and moved in Chad’s direction. It caught him off guard. He’d expected the killer to run, for him to give chase again. He preferred it that way, approaching the killer from behind, bringing him down with a hard tackle.
“Stop,” he said suddenly.
The killer did. He was three meters from Chad, standing in the dim light of the moon.
The suit fit his frame perfectly. His hair was swept back; it looked damp, and his stubble was neatly trimmed. He stood with an air of confidence, with his chin lifted and his shoulders back, and when he smiled dimples creased his cheeks. He smiled, but it was anything but friendly. His eyes blared with such an intense anger that Chad felt the cuffs slipping from his grasp. He remembered himself at the last
minute and clutched them harder.
“Am I not what you expected?”
The savage tone of his voice pumped adrenaline to Chad’s arms and legs. His body was primed to run. His subconscious had decided he should flee, not fight. Chad took in the size of him; it was a fight he couldn’t win. He knew it, and the killer must’ve known it. Chad prayed for sirens. Half convinced himself he could hear them in the distance, blaring, a faster tempo than usual, almost fluttering fast. He realized it was his pulse, pounding away his panic.
“Well?”
Chad startled, and words blurted from his mouth, ones he’d barely processed.
“I haven’t imagined how you’d look, other than the suit and the dark hair.”
“Surely you’ve imagined my hands.”
He lifted one, and Chad’s gaze locked on his gloved hand.
“Take the gloves off—”
“Oh, you wanna see them in the flesh.”
The killer slipped them off slowly as if teasing, then dropped them to the ground.
He wiggled each of his fingers. “Jazz hands.”
“Now turn around, hands at your back.”
The killer didn’t move. He smirked, looking at Chad as if he was completely stupid.
“I don’t hear any sirens yet…”
“They’re coming.”
“I wouldn’t have even known you were parked there, but the number plate…”
“What about it?”
“It glows. You must be stupid to forget that. Stupid to follow me into the trees. Stupid to come after me alone.”
“I’ve caught you, give it up. Turn around—”
“Who’s caught who exactly…”
The threat made Chad shiver, and the cuffs slipped from his hand, landing with a soft thud. He would not run. He’d fight, even with the killer taller, wider, stronger, crazier than him, he’d fight.
The killer closed the gap between them. Chad swung his fist, knowing he’d hit the target when a whoosh of air and a grunt passed his cheek. There was no time to feel any satisfaction, and the killer retaliated.
Pain erupted in Chad’s nose, and he cupped his face, swaying in the dark. Next was his gut, a punch landed that weakened his knees and robbed the air from his lungs. His arm was grabbed, twisted behind his back, and then he was forced to the ground, the weight of the killer pinning him to the dirt. He smelled earth, tasted mud and blood.
“Get the hell off me!”
Chad cried out when his arm was twisted.
“We’re gonna go for a little drive…” The killer tugged him over, until Chad was staring up at him. His ribs screamed in protest; his breath came in rasps. “But first,” the killer continued. “I need to knock that pretty face of yours, knock it the hell out.”
He lifted his arm in the air. Chad saw the rock, tried to struggle free, but the killer grabbed him by the throat, kept him still with a firm squeeze, then brought the rock down to meet him.
Chapter Nine
The headache grew with Chad’s surfacing from unconsciousness. It was dark wherever he was, and he only knew he was actually awake from the pain in his neck and shoulders. His cheek vibrated, as he rubbed his face feverishly against the fabric, trying to work out what it was. He sniffed, taking in the scent of petrol and dirt. The constant rumbling was a car engine, and the confined space crushing him was a trunk, but it wasn’t the Porsche.
The Porsche didn’t hiccup and splutter like this car. Neil had paid for a velvet interior, including the trunk. The car bumped up and down, and every ache and sore point of Chad’s body throbbed. He could still taste metal, and his cheek felt puffy, tight, as if it was swollen.
The car stopped, the engine stopped choking, and a car door opened. Chad held his breath, hoping to hear footsteps approaching, to at least know when to expect the trunk opening, but he heard nothing.
A loud bang made him jolt. He had no idea what it was, what it meant, but before his panicked mind could assault him with ideas, the lid of the trunk lifted.
Fight or flight were out of the question. Even with the trunk open, his crammed body couldn’t get out. He was still stuck, and after an impatient huff from his captor, his arm was grabbed, and he was hauled out. His shoes were gone, and he winced at the sharpness to his feet.
It was only when he hit the floor and tried to put his arms out did he realize they were cuffed behind his back. The killer had used Chad’s own cuffs to restrain him. Anger and embarrassment prickled his skin, but then he slumped, defeated.
A light illuminated the space, and Chad lifted his head to see where it was coming from. The killer had switched on a lamp. Its glare faced away from Chad, but it lit up the space well enough for him to take a good look. He saw straw scattered on the floor, huge wooden doors that looked rotten. There was a huge hole in the roof, and stairs led to a raised area for more straw to be kept. The straw wasn’t fresh though. It was green with mold, and the air smelled of damp, and decay. He was inside a barn. An old, decrepit barn that the farmer hadn’t used for some time.
A battered mini was parked in the corner. It had no number plate. Its paint had badly flaked, and its taillights were both smashed.
“What happened to the Porsche?” Chad mumbled.
The killer turned around slowly, then crouched down by Chad. “That’s your number one concern right now?”
“I just wondered.”
“I had to swap it for mine. Don’t worry, the police will find it in a few days … if they’re lucky.”
Chad licked his dry lips. “Did you…”
“Did I what?”
“Get your number two?”
A menacing smile spread the killer’s lips, and his eyes glowered. “Yes.”
Chad closed his eyes and took a deep breath of damp and decay into his lungs.
“I’m not gonna kill you.”
He got closer, and his eyes locked on Chad’s. They weren’t the glaring harsh eyes Chad saw outside the cottage. They were soft, with sparse brown lashes, and pale green irises. He was good-looking, with the body to complement it, and the suit to complement that.
“I had a long, hard think about it on the drive here … and I’m not gonna kill you.”
“Why not? You’ve only got one more to go—”
“But you’re not the one.”
“You’ve already got someone in mind?”
The killer snorted and shook his head.
“Why not me? Why not finish this?”
“You wouldn’t fit the plan. You wouldn’t fit the pattern.”
“Pattern.”
“Each victim is killed around two months apart. Each victim is killed in their own home, in their own bed. You don’t fit. And I won’t cheat myself.”
Chad dropped his head back to the dirt. “What are you going to do with me then?”
“Keep you here.”
“For two months?”
“And when I’ve claimed number one, I’ll anonymously let them know where to find you, and disappear.”
“They don’t know you’ve got me.”
“Not yet,” the killer said, wagging his finger. “But they’ll search the area around Audrey’s home. They’ll find my gloves, and a rock splattered with your blood, and put two and two together. How’s the head by the way?”
“It hurts.”
“I didn’t expect you to be unconscious for that long, thought you’d wake up in the Porsche, but you didn’t…”
“Who are you?” Chad asked.
The killer pouted his lips. “I think they call me the Countdown Killer…”
“Your name?” Chad asked.
“Do you think I ever told anyone my real name when they gave me a ride back to theirs?”
“Probably not.”
The killer nodded.
“But I want to know.”
“Why will it make a difference?”
“It just will.”
“There’s no guarantee the one I say is really it.”
C
had bit his lip. “Please.”
“Stanley Price.”
The name sparked no memories, no previous cases, or reports. Chad had no internal file on Stanley Price.
“Or Fredrich Right, or Benjamin Pollard.”
“You bastard.”
“You don’t need to know my name.”
Chad wriggled, but quickly gave up when everything ached. “But I do.”
“Is knowing my face not enough?”
“I want both.”
“No.”
“Why does it matter? If you get your number one, you’ll vanish, no doubt change your name—”
“Of course.”
“Then let me have it.”
The killer moved away, Chad tried to angle his neck to see what he was doing, but a shooting pain rushed up his spine, until he felt the angry jolt of a headache starting in his temples. He winced, gritted his teeth, and hissed as an outlet for his pain. The killer returned, a chain in his hand. He yanked it, and it pulled tight, attached to something firm.
“There must’ve been a dog here once…”
Chad rolled over, but all his feeble escape attempt earned him was cramp in his muscles and a mocking laugh.
“You can’t get away. You were in that trunk for quite some time. Fitting you in felt like a game of Tetris, Tetris with limbs.”
Chad groaned as he rolled on to his front. He tried to crawl forward, push with his knees while the side of his head scraped against the wooden floor. His cheek stung, sharp, biting, splinters from the unkept boards.
The killer was on him, pressing him down, making his cheek flare, and popping his shoulders out until they were on the verge of dislocation. He attached the chain to Chad’s cuffed hands, then stroked his hair, leaning closer until his lips rested on the shell of Chad’s ear.
“Good boy.”
“Get the hell off me.”
The killer stood up, then distanced himself. “I’ll be back to check on you later. I wouldn’t bother shouting. No one will hear you. If you’re lucky, I’ll bring you some scraps to eat later. Oh, and Chad…”
One for Sorrow Page 7
