Grave Decisions

by Claire Highton-Stevenson

  He picked his own mug up and took a sip. “I think it’s a possibility, and they probably won’t stop.”

  “Yes, a vigilante killer, someone who believes they are doing what is right. They’re not killing for fun, it’s not a compulsive need for them. Killing isn’t the aim. Righting wrong, that’s what they want to achieve.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but when I heard about your cases, I sent out a few feelers to some colleagues. Maybe we will get lucky and find out someone else knows something about this.”

  Dale finished pinning the photos up. Turning back to Whitton and Chivers, he added, “If we’re lucky, he wasn’t always quite so gifted in covering his footprints.”

  “Right, well you’re welcome to hang around, but I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you busy back in Croydon,” Whitton said, dismissing Chivers politely.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With Rachel showering, Sophie took the opportunity to check her phone. She pulled a vest on and picked the gadget up from where she had left it on the kitchen table. Rachel’s cottage was different now. Long gone were all the trinkets and ornaments of her past, things her brother had sullied when he had tried to kill her. She had needed some order, and where her home had once been a cluttered, lived-in abode, it was now a sterile and blank canvas ready to begin collecting new trinkets and memories. Rachel had tried to explain that she was exorcising demons. Sophie wasn’t sure why she stayed here at all anymore; maybe it was time they moved in together.

  There were no messages or missed calls, and she dropped the phone back down on the worktop, grateful that for once that she might get to spend an entire evening with her girlfriend that wasn’t interrupted by murder and mayhem.

  “Rachel, come on, we’re going to be late,” Sophie called out as she pulled on a pair of lightweight cargo pants. She could hear the hairdryer switch on and rolled her eyes. She checked her wallet and noted the lack of notes. A quick trip to the ATM would be delaying them even more. If it was just the two of them, then she would pay for it with her debit card, but they were meeting Becky and Dale, and her partner would insist on splitting the bill.

  They had been doing this almost weekly for the last six months. Ever since The Doll Maker case. Whitton and Saint had always worked well together, but something clicked between them on that case, and now Dale Saint was about as good a friend as Sophie had ever had. Becky and Rachel also worked together, and so the foursome had become something of an easy routine they all enjoyed.

  The restaurant was booked for eight o’clock. Usual time, usual place. It was now quarter to, and being late flustered Whitton. Rachel never seemed bothered if they were late, especially when Sophie had walked through the door and taken her straight to bed.

  In her last relationship, Sophie never felt like Yvonne was that bothered if they had sex at all. If they had plans, then the last thing Yvonne would consider was going to bed and working off some of the day’s stress. That made it easy for Sophie to just ignore it too. She became rigid and disinterested. With Rachel, things were different, and Sophie liked it like that. The power dynamics between them shifted naturally and easily, with the blonde easily circumventing any protest Sophie might put up.

  When Rachel finally sauntered into the living room a few minutes later, she found Sophie reading through a case file, her pen tapping gently against her teeth in no particular rhythm. Focused and intense, her brow furrowed as she read what looked like a medical report. This was what Rachel loved: the domesticity of their relationship. And yet, they still didn’t live together.

  “I’m ready,” she announced, standing in front of Sophie.

  Dark eyes looked up at the sound of the voice and widened. “You look…stunning,” Sophie said, pulling herself to her feet. Rachel had her hair up in a simple ponytail. Wispy bits of fringe hung down strategically. She wore a low-cut sleeveless top and a flared skirt with heels that would put her on a par with Sophie’s height.

  Rachel twirled and let her skirt fly up as she grinned. “Thank you.”

  “We’re going to be late,” Sophie mumbled, looking at her watch. Rachel bit her lip and grinned at the sudden change back to serious and surly.

  ~Grave~

  The local Italian restaurant they went to was one of a half dozen in the town centre. Like all of them, it was part of a larger chain, but it did a good meal, and often they got a discount with their phone apps.

  The staff knew them well by now too and welcomed Sophie and Rachel in, taking them straight over to the leather booth that was already occupied by Dale and Becky. Each of them had a brightly-coloured drink and a menu in front of them. Whitton wasn’t sure why they bothered to look; they always ordered the same thing. Dale would have the American Hot and Becky would go for the Caesar salad, dressing on the side. Then they would order a garlic bread to share and Dale would have onion rings. The drinks were an interesting element to the night’s events. Usually Dale had the obligatory one pint, and Becky would have a bottle of wine ready to share with Rachel. Clearly that wasn’t going to be the case this evening. Sophie’s brain began working through the options and reasons why tonight was different.

  “Hey, sorry we’re late,” Rachel said. She smiled at them both as she took her bag from off her shoulder and slid into the bench on the opposite side of their friends.

  Becky smirked. “We actually had a bet going. You’re earlier than we expected.”

  “We’re not that bad,” Sophie interjected. “Are we?” She laughed and slid in next to Rachel. The blonde’s hand moved to instantly rest upon Whitton’s thigh. “What’s with the funky drinks?”

  Dale blushed and looked towards Becky. “It’s a mocktail,” he mumbled, clearly a little embarrassed to be caught with one, and yet, he had ordered it. Whitton was intrigued further.

  “A Mocktail? Right,” Whitton teased. “Well, that shirt probably does deserve a little mocking.”

  “Hey, this is a new shirt.” He looked down at the short-sleeve cotton shirt with pink flamingos printed all over it.

  “And it’s still awful,” she replied.

  Becky snorted with laughter. “I told him, but he insisted that it was fashion.”

  The waitress came over and asked about drinks. Rachel pulled up the menu and picked a real cocktail. “I’ll have a lemonade, extra ice. Thank you,” said Sophie without looking at the menu herself. “So, what gives?” She indicated the drinks again once the waitress had walked away. Becky’s mum was babysitting, the same as she did every week when they went out. They usually both had a drink. “You pregnant, Dale?” She laughed at the joke until she noticed the stupid grins on both their faces. “No! Really?”

  “Blimey Dale, she is a good detective. Worked it out from one mocktail.” Becky grinned.

  “Congratulations,” Rachel said. “Do the girls know?”

  Dale shook his head. “Nah, not yet. We only confirmed it today.”

  Their drinks arrived and Rachel held hers up to initiate a toast. “To new life,” she said. Glasses chinked as they all repeated the words. “It’s so exciting.”

  They placed their orders. Dale had the Hot American, Becky had the salad, and Sophie grinned internally at the normalcy of it all. These were the nights she looked forward to now. The days when a case would get in the way and they’d have to cancel had become the one thing she dreaded. How much things had changed over the last few months.

  “So, I uh, didn’t get a chance to ask…how your day was?” Sophie spoke quietly to Rachel as she leant in.

  “Busy as usual. Sometimes it’s like rush hour in Piccadilly Circus in A&E, don’t you agree Bec?” Rachel smiled.

  Becky nodded and sipped her mocktail. “God yes, and it gets weirder every day. What about that old woman that came in; sat on her knitting needle.” She shook her head. “Nasty.”

  “That does sound painful,” Sophie replied, twisting her fork into her linguine.

  “Not as painful as that poor kid though. Did you hear about that one?” B
ecky asked Rachel. Rachel was still chewing on her piece of pizza, something with a lot of chilies on it. Sophie had no intention of sharing that.

  “Which one? We have so many,” Rachel teased.

  “Ain’t that the truth!” Becky answered with a giggle. Dale and Sophie exchanged eye rolls and grins. “The blonde kid - I say kid, he is in his twenties easily. Came in after falling off a ladder. Tim said it was bloody lucky, they could easily have missed it.”

  Everyone turned their attention to her.

  “Missed what?” Sophie inquired.

  Becky grinned. “Gangrene. Apparently, he’s been injecting between his toes. Of course, it was a fall so nobody was going to look at his feet, but they had to strip him off obviously. Gonna lose the toe, that’s for sure.”

  “Blimey.” Dale muttered as he took another mouthful.

  Nurses and police officers sharing a macabre sense of humour and an interest in the gorier details was pretty much the way of it, and nobody would be put off their food.

  “So, are you two allowed to say what case you’re working on?” Becky asked once their main meal was finished. Dale looked towards Sophie for confirmation that he could share the details. She shrugged and nodded.

  “Well,” he said, wasting no time. “We’ve got a strange one, actually.”

  Rachel leant her chin on the bridge of her hands and listened intently. Sophie hadn’t been forthcoming at home about her own work. She would sit and read her files quietly, but she rarely talked about her cases lately.

  “How strange?” Rachel teased. “Does it beat the woman that managed to lose a can of deodorant up her…”

  “Rachel!” Becky laughed.

  Dale blushed. “Uh, no, probably not that strange.” He laughed. “You’ve read in the paper about the grave murders, right?” He sat up straighter as he spoke. “We think we’re dealing with a vigilante.”

  “Really?” Rachel asked. She always got more information out of Dale than she did Sophie.

  Sophie interjected. “They do all seem to be connected.”

  The waitress reappeared. “All okay? Can I get anyone any more drinks? Would you like to see the dessert menu?” she rambled off quickly before they had a chance to answer any of her questions.

  “Uh, yes it was lovely, thank you,” Sophie answered for them. “Do you want anything else?” She asked the group.

  “Yes, I want to hear the end of this. I’ll have a coffee and the dessert menu, please.” Rachel grinned. Following a brief discussion, Dale and Becky both ordered further mocktails. With desserts ordered, Dale then filled them in on all the details he and Sophie were prepared to give.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The pub wasn’t that busy. It was a weekday, so most people were at work, but that didn’t seem to have any impact on the few occupants inside who clearly didn’t see the need for employment, and who shouted more loudly the drunker they got. The summer sun brought them all outside. Luckily for him, that meant that inside was virtually empty; just the way he wanted it.

  He stood beneath a grand oak opposite the building, covered by the greenery of low branches as he leant against the trunk and observed those lurking in the beer garden. The guilty one was laughing and clowning around with his friends; not a care in the world. He held a pint in his hand that slopped about with his movements, spilling over the rim of the glass while his friends got rowdier. A girl pushed him away and the crowd of men jeered and laughed as she got in his face and told him in no uncertain terms not to touch her again.

  And then his chance appeared. The kid swallowed down the rest of his beer and scrunched the plastic cup in his hand before flinging it at his friend. He leant in and said something that earned another raucous cackle before wandering inside, alone.

  This was his moment. The chance he had known would come if he was just patient enough.

  Stepping out from the shadow of the tree, he made his way across the pub carpark and inside the building unseen. Nobody paid any attention to a workman going about his business. The men’s toilet was tucked away in the corner; out of sight and away from the CCTV that covered the main bar.

  Opening the bag, he pulled out the Closed for cleaning sign and set it in front of the door. He brazenly then held the door for a man as he came out, still zipping his fly.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, paying no attention to his helper.

  Now he smiled; he was invisible.

  The small room stank of piss. The floor was wet with what he already knew would be a mixture of urine and alcohol. The short figure of Trevor Hayes stood in front of the urinal, left hand placed against the wall as he held himself upright. His cock, held in his right hand, sprayed the wall as he swayed drunkenly left and right.

  It felt like a lifetime as he waited for him to finish. His heart beat faster than ever before as he prayed that nobody else would wander in before he had his chance. This was the most brazen he had been. But the pub was quiet now; nearly everyone had left.

  Hayes looked up and noticed his reflection in the shiny metal that covered the wall. He turned slightly. “What you looking at? Fucking perv.” He turned and faced him. “You want some of this, do ya?” he said, wagging his penis at him and laughing. “Go on then, on ya knees. Suck it.”

  A grin appeared on the man’s face that made Hayes look twice. Hayes didn’t expect him to move forward and take him up on the offer. “I have something for you,” he said. Hayes’ eyes narrowed.

  “Fuck off, bloody faggot.” Tucking himself away and zipping his fly, he laughed in the man’s face as he passed him. He wasn’t laughing when he felt the prick to his neck and the woozy feeling that came over him in an instant.

  The man grabbed him as he slumped to the floor, lifting him up and tucking his arm under Trevor’s and around his waist. Just another guy helping his drunken friend home.

  He was sweating by the time he got him back to the car and pushed Hayes into the boot. But that didn’t matter. A quick glance around and he stripped off the boiler suit and pushed it into the black plastic bag he kept in the boot, along with the wig and gloves. All of it would burn. He grabbed a new suit and pulled that on.

  Climbing into the car, he caught his reflection in the mirror and smiled to himself, satisfied that once more, he had set the record straight. Now, all that was left to do was to drop off the body and let the world see that justice had been served.

  He checked his watch. Darren Barton’s funeral had finished an hour ago. Perfect timing.

  ~Grave~

  The church was deserted; nobody would be coming now. He parked as close as he dared and pulled the trolley out of the boot. It was one of those collapsible ones that folded almost flat but could carry upwards of 200 pounds, and it was big enough to drag Trevor Hayes’ unconscious body from the back of the car and sit him in it. A couple of bungee ties held Hayes’ back upright against the handles as the trolley tilted back and he pulled it across the grass.

  The grave site was still covered in beautiful floral wreaths, and he carefully moved them out of the way, leaning them up against others around the newly dug ground. It was a beautiful spot really, one that Darren Barton would never get to enjoy.

  It took a while for Hayes to come around. A little longer than he had expected, given the dose. He had prepared well, guessing him to be just shy of five feet, six inches and weighing no more than 130 pounds. But clearly, the alcohol had interacted with the drug, and he had to resort to slapping his face to bring him around enough to understand what was happening.

  It happened fast. A glint of something shiny and then Hayes screamed as something stabbed at him. Blood sprayed much like his piss had done earlier, and he fell to the floor, clutching his groin.

  “Why? I didn’t do nuffin to you,” Hayes sniffed, his eyes pleading for help.

  He didn’t speak, just turned his head to face the grave and watched as comprehension moved into place.

  “I didn’t…” He was almost there. Consciousness was slipping from his g
rasp, this time from the sudden drop of blood pressure.

  A blank stare and then it was done.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  DS Dale Saint had prepared well. On Whitton’s desk was a take-away cup of coffee and a salted caramel muffin from her favourite coffee shop. She raised a brow as the files she carried dropped onto the desk next to them. The main office had been quiet as she strode through, but she had spotted him at his desk. It was obvious that it was him who had brought the refreshments. Picking up the cup, she took a tentative sip; still hot. She winced at the heat of it hitting her tongue. Taking a seat, she noticed the envelope with her name scrawled across it in Dale’s handwriting. She smirked to herself, knowing there was more to it than just a nice gesture. He was buttering her up for something.

  She picked it up and spun it, corner to corner, between her fingers. It wasn’t the usual brown office envelope. This one was an expensive white one with tiny little embossed flowers around the edge. Something Becky would have chosen for sure.

  Her finger slid underneath the flap and pried it open, withdrawing a single sheet of paper that matched the envelope.

  Dear Sophie,

  There are times in life when you must pick out the people that will be there should the worst happen, for us, that is you. I know that you’re not the religious type, but we are. We go to church as often as we can and both Harry and Ella were christened, just as we plan to do so with this new life. Becky and I would be honoured if you would act as Godmother to our next child.

  Dale & Becky.

  She reread the note again. Being responsible for a child was a huge commitment to take on should the unfortunate situation arise, and a decision she wouldn’t take lightly. Her eyes closed and she found herself transported back to the previous year when her then-girlfriend, Yvonne, had wanted a child, a child she too had thought she wanted. But things hadn’t worked out that way.

  “You read it then?” Dale’s voice brought her from her thoughts. He stood in the door, leaning against the frame, fiddling with his ring.