The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  I think of the Sikh minimart at the end of the road that I went to yesterday. I wander there and detect thickening clouds overhead. I walk past a family in posh outfits leaving their house and clambering into a taxi. They’re full of high spirits. I wonder what amazing place they’re on the way to, while an empty day stretches out ahead of me.

  At the shop, everything’s overpriced but not so outrageously that I refuse to entertain buying it, and in the end I spend over a hundred pounds. Even carrier bags are a penny more expensive than in the supermarkets. The shopkeeper gives me a big grin when I leave. At least someone’s enjoying Boxing Day.

  I fill the cupboards and fridge to bursting. There’s a load of washing up from yesterday, so I start on that. Keeping busy is passing the time and helping me not think about Claudia’s message. I’ll go mad if I spend another day looking at my phone. After tidying the kitchen, I analyse the lounge with a shake of my head. I bet my mother was the last person to clean this place.

  The hoovering doesn’t stir Barney. When ‘Fairytale of New York’ plays on the TV, I turn it up. He chunters in his sleep but that’s it. I sing along to the lyrics when it gets to the bit about him spending Christmas Eve in the drunk tank and not seeing another one.

  It occurs to me then that Barney is unlikely to partake in next year’s celebrations. A surprising regret comes over me as I process that fact. He’s like I was: one of life’s victims. Well, no more, my failing friend. This time, victory will be mine.

  I debate cleaning upstairs, but the thought of tackling Barney’s bed is unappealing. I’m not a saint, so instead I wake him up with a cup of overpriced instant coffee. He beams. There’s real affection there, and I realise I don’t experience that much. My mind returns to Claudia. I need to get home to change in case she rings and wants my company for support.

  Barney leans against the doorway when it’s time to leave. His stubbly chin trembles. ‘Come back soon, won’t you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I mean that. It’s been great having some company. We’ll go out somewhere when you come again.’

  ‘Hey, maybe in the campervan?’

  He replies in a monotone. ‘I’ve not used it for quite a while.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed when I arrived. Those things go forever though. What else have you got to spend your money on? Just take it to a garage and tell them to get it sorted. They might only need to pump up the tyres and charge the battery.’

  He bites his lip. ‘And you’ll come back for a trip?’

  ‘Of course. Where do you want to go?’

  He touches his cheek. ‘I miss the sea. I’d love to feel the breeze one last time.’

  ‘We can go plenty of times.’

  He smiles, but his eyes remain dull. I haven’t got time for this. I bet he’s forgotten the conversation by nightfall.

  ‘Stay for another coffee. I’ll make it,’ he pleads.

  I stare at him as he holds his breath, and nod before returning to the lounge. His splotchy damp face shines when he returns. He places the cups on the clean table and snivels. Eventually, I can’t stand it.

  ‘The place looks much better with a wipe. You should stay on top of it.’

  ‘Thank you. I know I’m a mess. How about a New Year’s resolution, eh? I’ll lose some weight, get down the allotment, keep this place tidy, buy a pet or something. We can take it with us on our trips.’

  I notice he doesn’t mention stopping drinking.

  It’s mid-afternoon when I arrive back in Peterborough. The pedestrians I pass glance up at the funereal-grey sky and lengthen their strides. Robin’s vehicle’s parked up, but his house is dark. I assume he persevered with his hike, regardless of the forecast. When I crack open my car door, the idiot’s music booms from his lounge window. I check my mobile and see a missed call. Typical, she rang when I was on the country roads where the signal is poor or absent.

  I hit return call but her number rings and rings. I’m about to smash my phone on the floor when she picks up.

  ‘Claudia. Hi, how are you?’

  ‘Hey, you. Bad. I don’t know what to do with myself. We’re going to go to the cemetery and see Mum. Perhaps the thought of them together will give us some peace. I don’t even seem to be able to cry. I can’t believe he would do such a thing.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘He hung himself. It’s just so unlike him to do something like that.’

  ‘What?’ I cringe as I say it. ‘Why?’

  ‘His cancer was spreading like wildfire. The only thing I can think is that he gave up when it became too much.’

  ‘I didn’t know it had got that bad. I knew he’d lost a lot of weight.’

  ‘He convinced himself it was beatable and hated people’s sympathy. It was only a few weeks ago that they said there was nothing more they could do.’

  ‘He must have been in serious pain. Did he leave a note?’

  I don’t worry about probing. Nobody behaves the same with grief. I’ve even had people laugh when told their loved one has died.

  ‘No. He removed a picture of Annabelle and me from the wall. That’s something.’

  ‘Yes, that should be a comfort. Who knows what was going through his mind? You should have told me what happened yesterday.’ I am your boyfriend, after all.

  A deathly pause occurs. I need to speak to her face to face to convince her that we should deal with this together. ‘Shall I come over?’

  Another lingering nothing has me fearing the worst.

  ‘I really hope you can understand, but I need to be with Annabelle.’

  I choke back the surge of anger but can’t stop a hard reply. ‘Aren’t I family? Didn’t you say it was us against the world?’

  A further pause triggers high alert. I’ve pushed too far. Am I about to get dumped?

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m feeling stressed with everything. We haven’t been seeing much of each other as this is a time for family. You must have realised I’m not present even when I’m with you. I can’t think straight. I’m going to stay at my sister’s for a while.’

  Damn. I didn’t realise she was actively keeping me at arm’s length. I’m on thin ice. There’s no chance they’ll allow me around there. Backing down is the only option.

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Sure you don’t need me to get you anything?’

  ‘Malcolm’s not due back to work until early January. He’ll look after us.’

  Fucking Malcolm? Her sister’s husband is such a snake. He’s as bad as her father for interfering.

  ‘Okay. I’m thinking of you. You take your time and call me when you’re ready.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll ring in the new year.’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘You too.’

  The line goes dead.

  I get out and take my things from the back seat. Slowly, Claudia’s words sink in. New year could mean any time in the next few months. Why can’t anyone be on my side?

  The beat discharging from the house drives me further up the wall. I could cope with ‘White Christmas’ or something similar, but the deep bass grinds away at my last nerve. When I slam my front door shut, there’s still no escape.

  I step back outside and walk over to the source of my fury. He opens up in a short-sleeve, off-white dressing gown but wears a gaudy gold watch. It’s an unusual combo.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Hi, I live at number three.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I planned to have a nap, but your music is pretty loud for lunchtime.’

  ‘God, you’re as annoying as the poof next door. He’s always complaining.’

  I gasp. His front is incredible. ‘There’s no need for insults. You should consider your neighbours. Why do you play it so loud? Are you a bit deaf?’

  ‘That’s how I like my tunes. It isn’t against the law.’

  I rub the back of my neck. He’s chosen a poor time to irritate me. ‘You are breaking th
e law, in fact. I’ll ring the council.’

  ‘Like they’ll be answering the phones on Boxing Day. Face it, there’s not much you can do. Besides, it’s not that bad.’

  ‘I hear you’re moving out soon.’

  His eyes narrow. ‘Who said that? Oh, him next door again. No, I’m just going to a gaming conference in Huntingdon and staying at a lovely hotel, but I’ll be back. I told him a load of bollocks to shut him up.’

  That’s enough time wasted on this moron. I breathe through my nose and run my hands through my hair to calm myself. ‘I’d prefer you to play it quieter.’

  I haven’t been this close to him before. He’s a short, ugly, wiry thing. Like a piece of gristle. I struggle to decide if he laughs or leers. He has too many teeth in his mouth. I could help sort that out. I have a strong urge to slap his face and smash his watch but instead I give him my don’t-mess-with-me look – the one I use at work when I’ve had enough.

  ‘Okay, chill out. I’ll turn it down.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I’m halfway to the end of his path when he turns the volume up further. My skin prickles and I stop. Stalking back to the house, I knock on his door again. After all, with no party to attend, I have time to teach him a lesson.

  24

  The Soul Killer

  He smirks when he opens the door, but not for long. My frustrations burn and I hammer out my fingers, which spike his Adam’s apple. Stunned and choking, he falls towards me, and I catch him. Self-defence training at university helped with that one. Charlie made me go with her for a taster session and I enjoyed it so completed the remainder of the term after she quit.

  I stand him up in front of me and it suddenly dawns on me that I could lose my job if he reports me. I’m not sure what to do next. He’s wobbling and wheezing, so I escort him to his sofa. What am I doing? He slumps sideways on the low seat but gathers his composure. The sneer returns with his senses.

  ‘Prick. You won’t be so full of yourself when I ring 999 and scream assault.’

  An unplanned attack isn’t sensible. I search inside for a reason to let his comments go. He’s just another person taking advantage of my better nature. Why should he walk all over me? Why am I always the victim? My eyes refocus, and a grin creeps onto my face. His brow wrinkles as I lean forward to explain.

  ‘You don’t need to ring the police. They’re already here.’

  I can’t help but smile at his confusion. What a satisfying moment. Why do people like him think they can do and say what they like and have no comeback? The scorn in his expression softens to terror. I would be afraid, if I were him.

  He whispers, ‘No fucking way.’

  I slowly remove my warrant card from my pocket and show it to him. His face whitens, he stutters, and I taste the fear in the room. Maybe this is what the bullies at school fed on, because it is intoxicating.

  He knows it’s over for him now. He feebly attempts to dodge past me. With a violent barge, I batter him into the door jamb. He hits the floor for a second time, but desperation stops him from giving up. He crawls towards the front door, until I grab his ankles and pull him back into the room. Kneeling on his shoulder blades, I reach my hands around his throat and crush the life from him. A burst of energy flows through me. My eyes close tight.

  There’s a part of me shouting ‘stop’, yet I know I’ve gone too far for that. I carry on squeezing, teeth gritted and bared, for what feels like minutes, as I finish my gruesome task.

  Gasping, I finally loosen my grip as he stops moving and scrape my hands through my hair. The omnipotent euphoria fades into the horror of what I’ve done. What the hell was I thinking? It was his fault for provoking me. He deserved all he got, but I doubt the Crown Prosecution Service will see it that way. I stand and stare around the room. There are only a few splatters, but it’s tricky stuff, blood. Hard to get rid of and easy to spot. It’s lucky I’ve had involvement with how CSI work.

  A burst of annoyance hits me and I’m tempted to kick his head. How dare he make me lose control like this? I’m a detective, and a beat copper before that. Few escape justice after impulsive crimes. This mustn’t happen again, not unless there’s no risk.

  My mind whirs. I need to take care of the body and any evidence. I touched very little except him. I’ll wipe the doors, and I should clean the floor. My breathing speeds up as the seriousness of my rage registers. I could go to prison for the rest of my life. My mouth is bone dry, but I still detect the touch of joy, a thrill perhaps, that coursed through me. And, something more. It’s the sensation of being centred. Life has become these seconds. I release a slow breath. That’s all very well, but I have a corpse to dispose of.

  I bet those mindfulness types weren’t thinking of this when they said to live in the moment. Luckily, time isn’t my enemy. No one comes down our lane apart from us three. Robin is away for the rest of the day and most of the night. This joker was supposed to be elsewhere, too, so nobody will be coming to visit him. The lack of urgency enables me to pause and think. I see his packed bag on the bottom of the stairs with an envelope on top.

  I empty it out on the floor. Inside is the paperwork for an open-return train ticket to Huntingdon and a room at the Holiday Inn for Arnold Stone. There’s also a ticket for a toy soldier show tomorrow at nearby Hinchingbrooke.

  I look at the corpse and dismiss him with a shake of my head. What a lying muppet. He’s been swaggering around with a name like Arnold. And he mentioned a five star hotel and games convention. He really was a pathetic creature. Nevertheless, my actions were reckless and stupid. I should have ignored him. I wonder though. I can still feel the fading rush. I suspect that what I felt then might not go away. It’s me in control. My job gives me gravitas and I love that, but it pales compared to how I feel right now.

  It’s not easy to hide a body, never mind get rid of one, but an image of a hiding place appears in my mind. We had a training course on decomposition rates a few weeks back. Apparently there’s a field in America full of donated dead bodies, where they study them as they rot. Certain conditions accelerate the rate, others slow it. Barney’s allotment contains a compost heap. I’ll bury him in that, for a short time at least. Barney won’t sober up and get back into gardening despite his good intentions. I can throw away this guy’s things. I doubt he’ll be quickly missed because I haven’t seen many visitors over the years. Once he’s gone and the place is sterile, I’ll form a new plan. One that means the world forgets Arnold without a care.

  That said, my DNA, skin cells and the like, could be everywhere. I have a Tyvek suit in my car, which we’re sometimes required to wear at crime scenes, so at least I won’t add any more. The street is still empty, so, after collecting the suit, and some Marigolds and cleaning materials from my house, I slide Arnold, minus that nasty watch, into some large heavy duty bin liners and tape them shut. It’s always surprising how cumbersome dead people are. I check the road again and consider whether to put him on the back seat of my car or in the boot. I place him in the boot on a blanket, which will need to be disposed of as well.

  The bin liners will stop the little blood that came from his mouth spreading, and it’ll be at least twenty-four hours before any fluids start leaking out of him, but there must be chances of DNA moving with the body. Let’s hope they never get to the point of letting a cadaver dog stick his nose in my boot. If they suspect foul play, I’ll just have to dispose of the car altogether. It might not even be safe selling it, which is annoying. I can’t really afford a new one.

  I pop back to his house with another bin bag. Everything of value he owns fits in it, including his old laptop. I hold his cheap mobile under the tap for a minute and drop it in the kitchen swing-bin. I’ve only touched it with cleaning gloves and he’s never rung me on it, so there’s no connection. They’ll think he dropped it in water accidentally and will stop ringing it. With modern technology, they might even get the messages downloaded. Hopefully he’ll have been arguing with others by text.
>
  I scratch my head and try to relax. It now looks as if Arnold has deliberately vanished from the house. If he’s behind on his rent, and he seems the type, that will help. I drop the bin bag into the boot next to the body. I’ll find a commercial bin for it as they tend to be emptied faster.

  I return to his house and get out a pot of Vanish oxy cleaner. Bleach cleans blood splatters from the human eye, and ruins DNA, but it’ll still show up under luminol. Oxy cleaners ruin the test. If there’s anything left for them to find after all this cleaning, it’ll be marginal. Sneezes and coughs cause blood traces to enter the air, as well as unhealthy gums.

  It was a crazy thing to do. Imagine twenty years in prison while someone else screws my girl, or, worse, impregnates her. I couldn’t protect her from other men if I were on the wrong side of some bars. The thought of being so weak and vulnerable causes me to shiver. That will never happen to me. How would Claudia cope if I was gone, especially after what she’s been through?

  My heartbeat returns to normal. I’m pleased my mind functioned perfectly, even under all that stress. It’s why I’m good at my job. Now, how should I cover my tracks further? I stand outside in the spitting rain for inspiration. Looking next door, I see curtains billowing from the top windows of Robin’s house. My brain connects the dots. Robin was always at risk of burglary. I can help myself to whatever I want, or, I realise with a grin, I can leave whatever I please.

  25

  DI Barton

  DCI Cox had settled into DCI Naeem’s role smoothly. Barton couldn’t enjoy a laugh with her as he used to with Naeem, but their relationship remained professional and efficient. She accepted he knew his job and more or less left him to it. She liked her meetings, though, and called one for the day after Boxing Day.

  Strange attended, but Zander was still on his break. Strange and Barton hadn’t got away from the scene until late afternoon on Christmas Day, and she had decided to go straight home. Some people like company after seeing the dead, others prefer to get their head together, and Strange was the latter. Barton invited her for Boxing Day instead and she spent most of it helping Luke with his new Lego. Luke told Strange she was better at Lego than Daddy because Daddy had too-big sausage fingers. The rising smile on her face let Barton know that comment would come to haunt him.