The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Good. Take your best shot.’

  I bark a short laugh as he rolls up his sleeves and staggers towards me.

  ‘Don’t you want to know why I want you dead?’ I say as I slip past him.

  He emphasises every word of his message. ‘Because you are a sick, weird, little weasel. You’re not worth even half of her.’

  ‘Wrong, it’s because you are an interfering busybody.’ I step to his phone and slide it in my pocket. ‘You dislike me but, so far, you’ve had the good sense to keep your distance. However, lately, you are constantly in Claudia’s ear. That staged crap yesterday didn’t fool me, either. No one intrudes on my happiness. Claudia and I belong together. It simply isn’t possible for her to do better than me.’

  ‘She can. You are a waste of space.’ His shout fades into a wheeze. Even that little effort is almost beyond him.

  ‘I take it that’s a ‘no’ to the marriage, then.’

  ‘If you’re here to execute me, I’m ready. Do it.’

  ‘Oh, very courageous, and dramatic. Do you think I’m daft? I know how your mind works. You’re dying anyway. I murder you and get banged up for twenty years. Your daughter is then free to find someone who ticks more of your boxes. So, I think not. I want to get away with it. You, Donald, are going to kill yourself.’

  I take off my backpack, remove the noose I carefully made, and drop it over his head. He picks it off and stares at it in horror, before throwing it on the floor. ‘Never,’ he says. ‘That’s the coward’s way out.’

  I nod. ‘Here’s the deal. If you don’t do it, then I will. To you, that is. You couldn’t fight off a moth at the moment. But if you make me do it, there’ll be signs of a struggle. Unlikely, but it’s possible I might get caught. Prison is definitely not for the likes of me. I wouldn’t last five minutes. However, I belong with Claudia in this life, or the next. Perhaps she and I could have a pact. A suicide because of your suicide. Poetic, eh?’

  ‘Never. Even you aren’t that sick.’

  ‘There is another daughter, isn’t there?’

  ‘You wouldn’t. She’s trying for a baby.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the baby has to die. You have an easy choice.’

  He collapses onto the sofa with a gasp and shakes his head. He doesn’t look at me, but his voice is loud and clear.

  ‘You know what? I believe you’d do it. That’s the reason I dislike you. I’ve always recognised that something is missing in your make-up. The rest of us can all see it. It’s tragic Claudia can’t.’ He looks up then. ‘I believe she’s finally realising, though. You’re a busted flush.’

  ‘Rubbish. Maybe she sees qualities in me that you and your pretentious friends can’t.’

  ‘They’ll know you’ve been here. Everyone knows I’d never kill myself.’

  ‘No one will think I was here. If someone has seen me, I can say I popped around to make peace before the party. You were in such unbelievable agony that you’d reached your wits’ end. You hoped the doctor could increase your morphine dose, but it had become unbearable.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather see me suffer?’

  ‘You misunderstand. I don’t care one iota about you. Your happiness or pain are irrelevant to me. All I’m interested in is Claudia and me having a happy life. More time with you would be priceless to her. But I recognise determination when I see it. You’ve bitten your tongue too long concerning me. Your dying wish to her will be that she promises not to marry me. You’ll poison our relationship in the same way that cancer has destroyed you. From inside. I won’t allow that, so time’s up, Donald. Follow me.’

  I pick up the noose, put a hand under his shoulder and drag him to the stairs, leaving him clinging to the last step while I ascend to the first floor. The oak balcony looks down on the hallway and the Christmas tree. I tether one end of the rope to the bannister. It’s fairly easy to learn to tie a noose. I researched it online. Seems I’ll have to get rid of my phone. I wouldn’t want anyone finding that on my browsing history.

  He struggles to breathe at the bottom of the stairs. I wait, for over a minute. He stares up. It’s the face of a man resigned to his fate. I wonder if he’s also a little bit grateful. Surely, it is better this way. But then his expression changes. His eyes narrow and he shifts faster than I expect. He’s at the door and fiddling with the lock in seconds. By the time I’ve got down to him, he has one foot out of the door. I put an arm around his waist and pull him back inside.

  ‘Don’t fight it,’ I whisper in his ear.

  With the other arm clamping his arms to his chest, I lift his frail bones and carry him up the stairs to the balcony. He groans, but his attempt to escape has taken the last of his reserves.

  I place the noose over his head and bend him over so he looks down. I place my lips next to his ear.

  ‘There’s one final question.’

  ‘What?’ he gasps.

  ‘Short drop, or long drop?’

  He slowly shakes his head. Blood pours freely from his mouth.

  ‘The long drop will break your neck. The short drop will mean you hang around.’ I smile, he doesn’t.

  ‘Long drop,’ he whispers.

  ‘Get your leg over.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You will because you must. I’m giving you the chance of the ultimate sacrifice. You exchange your life for theirs. Now, what father wouldn’t take that trade?’

  ‘I can’t. I could never end it this way.’

  ‘Don’t you understand? It’s over. I can’t leave you alive here, not after this.’

  He still won’t do it, so I lift him as I would a fallen child. I stare at him with contempt. His chin juts forward. ‘Spare my girls.’

  ‘I’m not a monster.’

  ‘Do I have your word, as a man?’

  ‘I thought I was less than a man?’

  ‘Swear, by God.’

  ‘I thought your religion was family. Do you wish to be saved?’

  ‘I don’t believe in that rubbish. Promise!’

  It dawns on me that this isn’t the same as my mother’s demise. It’s not just his life that will finish this morning, it’s also his future, because he doesn’t believe. Perhaps that’s why he clings to life, because only oblivion awaits.

  ‘I promise,’ I say, and our eyes meet. ‘Any last words?’

  He takes a deep breath. Tears drip off his chin. It’s clear that he’s considered this moment – the end – already. It’s the only positive about a slow death. You can prepare and put your affairs in order. There is time for the last goodbyes, and time to tell family and friends that they are loved. In some cases, that is.

  ‘Please, tell Annabelle and Claudia that—’

  I rest him on the bannister and give him a gentle shove. He teeters, balancing almost impossibly for a few seconds, then he’s gone. ‘Time’s up.’

  I walk downstairs and peer up at him. His eyes bulge in my direction as he sways. He kicks out at the tree next to him, but there’s no venom left. It’s quiet, just a groan from the wood above at the unexpected strain.

  ‘I’m sorry, the balcony wasn’t high enough for your request of a long drop. I read online that from such a short distance, the result can be unpleasant. You will dangle alive at the end of that noose for as long as your neck muscles allow. That could be up to half an hour.’

  To his credit, he swings another foot at me, and I have to acknowledge his bravery. I’d planned to taunt him, as he did me in life, but it doesn’t feel right. In fact, at this moment, I can’t think of too many occasions where he was outwardly hostile, but I’m not stupid. What he didn’t say was just as important as what he did. It’s a shame. We should have been close. In time, maybe I could have called him Dad. An unpleasant smell reaches my nose and the struggles have stopped.

  ‘Goodbye. Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.’

  I’m starting to sweat in my gloves and hat but had better not remove them. The plain socks that I bought from the supermarket slide on
his clean floor. He has a similar pair on himself. As planned, I remove the back-door key and leave it on the kitchen table. I take the family picture off the wall and place it beside the key. I rest his mobile phone there, too.

  Using a different part of the handle, I open the door, step out, and swing it back so it closes of its own accord. I cross to the rockery and retrieve the spare key from under a stone. After locking up, I return it to its hiding place.

  The streets are still empty. I’ll knock on my neighbour’s door when I arrive at River End to cement another alibi. I believe I’ve done Donald a favour, in the same way I stopped my mother from suffering in this world. It’s a good feeling, helping others and helping myself at the same time. My life with Claudia stretches out ahead of us. No one shall get in our way.

  18

  DI Barton

  Cries of ecstasy woke Barton. Cries of ecstasy that could be heard in every household with kids under ten.

  ‘Father Christmas has been.’

  Barton lay there listening to the crinkle of plastic followed by the thud of gifts as his youngest, the only believer left in the house, upended his stocking. Footsteps thundered across the landing. Luke had inherited his father’s grace.

  Lawrence’s door opened first. Luke repeated the same words until Lawrence told him to clear off. Luke received a similar, but ruder, response from Layla. His father, however, sat up, ready to play the game, despite him realising, when he looked at the bedside clock, that it was a little after four.

  ‘Daddy, Santa’s left me loads of presents.’

  ‘That’s a big surprise. I thought you’d been too naughty.’

  Barton received a stern look as Luke puffed himself up. ‘This means I’ve been good, and you’ve been naughty for saying I haven’t. He isn’t as strict as you.’

  Holly rolled over. ‘Is that Santa now?’

  ‘No, Mummy. He’s long gone. He’ll be in Africa now, I think. He’s ever so busy. There’s lots of little children in the world, you know.’

  Experience had taught parents everywhere that there would be no going back to sleep now but life had also taught them to enjoy every second of this innocent stage.

  John and Holly had come into the marriage with slightly different traditions at Christmas and repeating them became part of the big day. Holly’s childhood experience had been waking to a stocking next to the bed, then rushing downstairs to look under the tree. Delayed gratification was unheard of.

  They had cooked the turkey together with a glass of port the night before to reduce the time stuck in the kitchen. The first Christmas they did that, Barton queried if reheating the meat would cause it to dry out, but Holly had explained that’s what gravy was for. She wanted to be in the lounge with the children.

  Barton ambled bleary-eyed to the kitchen and nuked the bacon, which had covered the turkey as it cooked, in the microwave. It came out with the consistency, texture and colour of large toenails from an unhygienic giant. Nevertheless, Lawrence and Layla made it downstairs within seconds of the ping. Present opening started at 9:00. Luke drove them crazy a long time before that.

  It was 6:30 when Holly couldn’t stand it any longer and said, okay, they could open one each, but she would choose which one. The kids glanced suspiciously at each other and couldn’t detect a ruse. Holly winked as she passed the two packages that contained two new tablets to the older children. They opened them, exchanged glances, and vanished to the dining room to use them while they charged.

  Luke opened a train set to great fanfare.

  ‘Look, Santa got me just what I wanted. I knew I’d been good enough.’

  He pulled the top off to reveal what looked to Barton like a thousand pieces of fiddly track and scenery. His heart sank as he understood that even today, he was about to be outmanoeuvred.

  ‘Daddy, set it up, set it up!’

  Holly yawned, patted him on the head, and winked as she left the room. ‘You boys will be able to play that for hours. I’ll just nip upstairs and make the beds.’

  Holly woke up at 9:00 and they all returned to the lounge. By 10:30, wrapping paper completely obscured the carpet, and the two older kids had escaped back to their rooms with their new stuff. Barton felt as if he’d pulled a double shift at work.

  ‘Where’s Luke?’ he asked.

  Holly lifted up a blanket to reveal Luke, cuddled up with his new fluffy Meerkat toy, fast asleep. Barton grinned as his phone rang. Holly pointed at him on the way out.

  ‘No sneaking out until you’ve carved the bird.’

  Strange’s name lit up the screen.

  ‘Kelly, let me guess. Fat man with beard suspected of reverse burglaries?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Leaving things instead of taking them?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Bit slow on that. Last I heard, he’d faceplanted a jumbo jet and Christmas was cancelled.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Control. It was an uneventful night. No majors in the cells. They have found a body this morning though.’

  ‘What?’ Barton’s ninth chocolate of the morning attempted to go down the wrong hole.

  ‘Uniform are with it. It looks like suicide.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have started with that bit?’

  ‘Sorry. The house is on the British Sugar estate. I’ll go on my way to your house. If it’s clear cut, I might still be with you on time.’

  ‘Okay, no worries. Ring me if you’re going to be late.’

  Barton glanced at his watch. It was a little early for drunken domestics. Saying that, Holly must have had three sherries already. Christmas was an unusual time of year for the police. Extra tensions kept it a busier time for certain crimes but not for others. Quiet roads meant fewer accidents and incidents, closed shops didn’t let in thieves or distracted shoppers who were easily robbed. Most people would be at home, so burglaries were rare, too. Maybe, for the sake of the kids, everyone tried to get along in the morning, until the alcohol came out.

  Barton had checked the log last year. There’d been eight domestic incident calls, four complaints of people being rowdy, six cases of concern for someone's welfare, four assaults, two minor car collisions, six reports of ‘suspicious activity’, one missing person, two antisocial behaviour incidents, a theft, a burglary and two hoax calls. As DI, he hadn’t needed to show his face at any of them. Zander, as DS, had attended some, but there had been nothing bad enough for Major Crimes.

  Usually, one terrible incident occurred over the two big days. Barton hoped that this year wouldn’t average out for last Christmas’s relative quiet. He decided he’d better get showered and changed, just in case.

  19

  DI Barton

  There was an air of inevitability when Strange rang at midday. Barton picked up.

  ‘Please, not a homicide!’

  ‘No, boss. Well, I don’t reckon so. Uniform agree, but it’s kicking off here. There’s a man hanging from the bannister. Very dead and has been for a few hours. A neighbour came over for a tipple and looked through the letterbox when no one answered the door. Seems straightforward to me, but the daughters have arrived. One’s screaming because he hasn’t been cut down, and the other’s demanding a murder investigation.’

  ‘I hope you’re out of earshot.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m outside. Another crime scene van has just appeared. There’s no sign of a break-in, well, apart from uniform using the enforcer on the front door.’

  ‘Okay, tell the sisters that the big cheese’s arrival is imminent. I’ll be there in fifteen. Is the out-of-hours doctor there?’

  ‘No, he’s on the other side of the county. Paramedics have said the victim’s been hanging there a while. The deceased’s GP is on his way though. Apparently, he’s a personal friend.’

  That would save them waiting for the official confirmation of death, but family GPs tend to be focussed on the relatives and that could be trouble.

  ‘Is the scene secure?’

  ‘
It is now.’

  Barton cringed and put the phone down. If a call came on Christmas Day, he preferred to be with an experienced sergeant. Uniform, on the other hand, had more of a give-the-bad-shifts-to-the-youngsters policy, especially at Christmas. Who knew what a couple of rookies might have done to the scene?

  Holly folded her arms in front of him as he stood looking at her. ‘I suppose I can’t complain too much. At least we got the entire morning.’

  He smiled. The present opening was the special part for her. She could cope with him missing the rest, even dealing with Barton’s mother’s imminent arrival.

  ‘It sounds clear cut, so hopefully I won’t be long.’

  She gave him a big hug and a slow kiss on the lips. ‘I’ve heard that before.’

  ‘Keep a leg for me.’

  ‘You’ve got no chance if you’re not here to claim it. The only leg you’ll be getting is if I’m still awake when you get home. Merry Christmas.’

  20

  The Soul Killer

  I arrive home around 9:30. Our little row of three houses on River End doesn’t look at all festive. It’s as though Christmas hasn’t reached down here. I have Christmas Day and Boxing Day off. I take them off most years in exchange for working long shifts on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. New Year is often bedlam, but I’ve never been too bothered about celebrating it, so I might as well be at work helping others.

  I knock on my neighbour’s door. He is a geeky, glasses type that looks as if he works in a computer room with no natural light. I only ever pass the time of day with him, so have no idea what he actually does. Mostly we moan about the music from the guy next door. His deafening tunes reached my bedroom the previous weekend, so it must have been even louder for Robin.

  ‘Hi, Robin. I thought I’d let you know I’ll be away until tomorrow. I’ve just packed.’

  He always looks pleased to see me. As always, he is well dressed and clean shaven. I even asked him who his dentist was as his teeth are so white and uniform.