The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Is there anything you know that might help? You haven’t given us much to go on,’ asks Strange.

  ‘You’ll need a picture. Hang on.’ She patters to the fridge. Strange and I exchange glances. With trembling fingers, the old woman pulls a photo off the side of it. ‘It’s the only one I have of him smiling. He was going to his first war battle or something. He couldn’t wait. And there, he has his father’s gold watch on. Jim didn’t leave much behind apart from six bottles of undrinkable home-brewed brandy and that watch. He had it engraved to Arnold. On the back it simply said, “My Boy”.’

  Strange stands and passes her business card to Mrs Stone.

  ‘Someone will call tomorrow morning from the family liaison team. They’ll help you with all the necessary arrangements and will be your point of contact. But if you think of anything that might help, then please ring me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  There is little else to say. I shake her hand with the thought forefront in my mind that I killed her son. The woman doesn’t release her grip. We look into each other’s eyes and I wonder if, on some level, she knows. I avert my gaze and see a crucifix hanging on the wall.

  It reminds me of my mother. She believed in God, Jesus and heaven, or at least her version of it. What exactly do I believe? I recall her lessons. She taught me to repent to save my soul. If you’ve erred from His lessons, you must seek forgiveness before the end. And the end is coming.

  ‘What do I do now?’ she asks.

  ‘Pardon?’ I forgot where I was for a moment.

  ‘Now what?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Your liaison officer will arrange for you to be picked up and escorted to the hospital for a formal identification. The remains, your son, will be released shortly so you can bury him. That might take a while, depending on the focus and direction of the investigation. We’ll get this photograph copied and returned as soon as possible.’

  ‘No, I meant with myself. He was all I had. I lived for his gifts and funny texts. This isn’t a life in here. I wish I’d died in the accident with his father, and that happened twenty years ago.’

  That’s a damning indictment of our care-home system, and also a resounding echo of what my mother believed with regard to being separated from her soul mate. There’s little I can offer to ease her pain.

  ‘We’re sorry for your loss. Here’s some leaflets on bereavement and there are charities such as Cruse who will be able to listen. We’ll get to the bottom of this for you. If you want to ring us, of course you may. Can we do anything for you now? Perhaps drive you to a friend or family. A resident in the office said she’ll visit you after we’ve gone.’

  The woman shakes her head. She seems to shrink as she closes the door on us.

  I knock on the window of the office and watch the old lady shuffle down the path towards Mrs Stone. Strange gawps at me as we get in the car. Her bloodshot eyes blink away tears.

  ‘Didn’t that affect you, David?’

  This world is full of suffering and sadness, but many deserve it. If that old lady had done a better job with her son, then things might have been different. Strange doesn’t want to hear that. The truth would chill her, even though deep down she may well agree.

  ‘I try not to focus on the emotion while I’m doing the job. It tends to bother me later, when I’ve had time to dwell on it.’

  She raises an eyebrow at me. ‘You’re a cool customer. That was brutal, even for me.’

  ‘Older people prefer their facts straight.’ I think back to what the woman said and shrug. ‘I kind of agree with her. If you’ve lost everything, what is there to hang around for?’

  ‘You have to start something new. Learn to live again.’

  ‘Very poetic, but really? At their age and in that place? People quit when they’ve had enough. Did you see the crucifix on the wall? If she has faith, then she believes something better is waiting for her. Some young people are prepared to die as martyrs knowing paradise awaits. Mrs Stone’s future on Earth looked bleak to me. Anyway, she didn’t give us much except the watch thing. A big, flash item such as that might have caught someone’s eye.’

  Strange drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘It sounds as if Arnold was hard to be around. Modern life is a bit like a pressure cooker. If he was continually antagonising people, being rude, playing his music too loud, perhaps it was only a matter of time before someone snapped.’

  I bob my head in agreement. It’s nice to hear some common sense. That was exactly what happened. This will be like a four piece jigsaw to Mr Barton.

  49

  DI Barton

  Barton trundled down River End. He tutted at the state of the road. Right at the bottom, he found three small houses in a row and stopped. A woman opened the door of the first one and stepped outside. Even though the sun had made an appearance, Barton thought it wasn’t warm enough for that much skin to be on show. She wrestled a pram through the doorway. Judging by the shaking, he hoped the baby wasn’t inside. He got out of the car and walked over.

  ‘Allow me,’ he said.

  Heavily made-up eyes glowered at them. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘DI Barton and DC Clavell. Are you Chantelle Bowden?’ he said as he lifted the pram up high and guided it out.

  ‘That’s right. What’s he done now?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’ve told you idiots before. We’re not together any more. I don’t speak to him. That’s why I’ve moved here. To get away from that clown.’

  Clavell tensed next to him. The younger man pressed forward.

  ‘We’re here about the person who lived here beforehand. We wondered if any of his things are still here, in the loft maybe. Crime scene investigators will need to have a look around and take some samples. I’d also appreciate you not calling me an idiot.’

  Barton shook his head as Clavell and Bowden glared at each other and debated if it was the start of World War Three or the beginnings of a beautiful relationship.

  ‘You should have said. Sorry, but I’m going to a new mothers’ coffee meeting with Saffy. I don’t know anyone here. Without friends, I’ll struggle.’ Her shoulders drooped. ‘Wait there a moment.’ She nipped back inside and returned carrying a sleeping baby. ‘Look, my ex was a thieving little prick, so I know the score. Come back at five, and you can come in and do what you want.’

  She locked the door behind her and, with an exhausted expression, set off down the street. Barton called out after her.

  ‘I don’t suppose you discovered a big bloodstain on the carpet when you moved in?’

  She finally smiled. ‘It was extremely clean and totally empty. The landlord’s due at half five to fix the tap. He should be able to help.’

  ‘Nice question,’ said Clavell, when she had gone.

  Barton knocked on number two without any reply, so they returned to the car.

  ‘There’s nothing to do for a while. A few hours aren’t going to make any difference to anything. If we come back at five, we chat to her, then the landlord, and finally the neighbour. It’ll make us a bit late tonight, so I can drop you at home for a while.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Clavell. ‘Although I don’t mind working through.’

  ‘I’ll drive you back. This job will burn you up if you let it. Try to keep some outside interests and stick to them. Do you have a girlfriend?’

  ‘No. I kind of focus on work. There was a girl at school. We dated all through the sixth form. I did a degree, then got a job while I waited for vacancies in the police. She travelled through America for a year, but I stayed as they said they were going to advertise for staff. It wasn’t easy being apart so much, but we stuck at it.

  ‘While I trained, she completed her last term at college in Bristol, so we saw each other even less. The next time we met, she seemed different. We struggled for things to say. She said she wanted to focus on her exams and we should take a step back, but she’d catch up with me after the term finished.’

  ‘Cool.’

&
nbsp; Clavell turned abruptly, and Barton noticed the memory was still raw to him. ‘I meant, as in frosty.’

  ‘Yeah. You can probably just about remember what training was like. It’s full on and exciting. I was swept away with everything. Before I knew it, six months passed by without contact. Next time I met her was the following Christmas. She happened to be in the same pub. When she stood up to leave, she had a bigger belly than Santa himself. I think she has three kids now.’

  Barton pulled up at Clavell’s address. He’d moved into a room in a big old Victorian house for his secondment. Landlords loved them for homes of multiple occupancy. ‘What’s this place like?’

  ‘All right, but there’s a lot of noise and it can be tiresome getting in the bathroom.’

  ‘You should be able to grab a shower now. I’ll pick you up at quarter to five.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You know you can always talk to me, about anything. On or off the record.’

  ‘I know.’

  Clavell looked as though he was about to add to that, but then leapt from the car. Barton watched him fiddle with his key at the door. He had the same defeated air that the young mother had displayed earlier. That was the first time Clavell had mentioned his past. This job ruined relationships, that was for sure. He remembered Ginger again. That man had lost everything. Barton hadn’t thought of him for a while, yet in the immediate aftermath he’d often been at the front of his mind. Once you’re gone, you’re soon forgotten.

  A light came on in the top floor. A cigarette butt sailed out of the window underneath. Barton had warmed to Clavell. It sounded as if he’d sacrificed a lot to get where he was. He hoped it’d be worth it.

  50

  DI Barton

  Barton pootled home. A shadow of gloom had descended, as it often did when dealing with others’ personal lives. The children would be back from school and some Holly-time would raise his spirits. An amazing smell greeted him as he took off his shoes. His mouth watered as he stepped towards the kitchen and discovered the three kids and Holly scraping their plates clean in companionable silence. Wrappers from the local fish and chip shop littered the work surface.

  ‘Uh-oh, we’re in trouble,’ said Luke.

  ‘That’s strange. This man looks a bit like your father. Perhaps it’s a hologram or something,’ said Holly.

  ‘I hope there’s a big plate for me in the microwave.’

  Lawrence took an apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and polished it on his T-shirt. ‘What kind of family would we be if we hamstrung your efforts at weight loss by dangling this fatty rubbish in front of your nose after a hard day of protecting the innocent?’

  With that, he handed Barton the apple. Lawrence, Layla and Luke all rose and departed in a well-practised move in an attempt to escape any washing up duties. Holly collected their plates and plopped them in the bowl. She threw a tea towel at her husband.

  ‘You can dry.’

  ‘Not on your nelly. It’d be like the final insult.’

  ‘You said you wanted to eat healthily.’

  ‘I meant we all should be good, not sneak around having takeaways behind my back. I feel as though I’ve come home and found you in bed with a neighbour.’

  Holly laughed. ‘No, you missed him by a few minutes. You know the retired postman from number nine. What did you used to call him?’

  ‘Hairy Harrison.’

  ‘That’s it. He’s my lover.’

  ‘So that’s why I keep finding furballs.’

  Holly snuggled between his arms. ‘It’s lovely you’re back early. You home for good?’

  ‘No, just an hour. I’ve got some visits tonight.’

  ‘We barely see you these days. Why don’t we go and have a few drinks down the road later? Lawrence can listen out for Luke.’

  ‘Because I’ll wake up tomorrow with a mini hangover and want to eat my bodyweight in processed pork products. I can’t consume calories when I’m working out.’

  ‘Really? I imagined you on the rowing machine leaning forward with Kelly firing Ferrero Rocher into your mouth with each stroke. How about the cinema? I’ll take some fruit.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll try to get away in time.’

  They caught up as they tidied. ‘Lawrence’s form tutor rang to say she was really impressed with the extra effort he’s been putting in. The other teachers have also commented. That’s why we bought fish and chips. It was his choice for being serious about his future.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Barton blew out a breath and wondered whether he had his own priorities mixed up. He should talk to Lawrence. Holly pushed him into a seat and sat on his knee. She chuckled as she pretended to look in his ear.

  ‘I’ve got everything covered here. We’ll catch up properly soon, when you’re not running at full pelt. A few hours tonight away from it will do you some good, maybe some distance from it will help.’

  He squeezed her in, happy that she understood.

  ‘Thanks, sweetie.’

  ‘I assume this guy in the compost heap was murdered.’

  ‘It looks likely. Although, it could be something else, like the prevention of the lawful and decent burial of a dead body. Anyway, I’ve got an up-and-coming detective on secondment. We’ll have this solved in no time.’

  51

  DI Barton

  Barton collected Clavell and arrived at River End in bright sunshine. Clavell said nothing at all in the car, as though the earlier conversations hadn’t occurred. Barton put his new sunglasses on as he stepped out of the vehicle.

  ‘Very Brad Pitt. Are they Ray-Bans?’ asked Clavell after pressing the bell.

  ‘They were a quid from Poundland.’

  ‘Come in,’ said the tenant. She’d removed her make-up and looked about seventeen years old. Barton peered over her shoulder at a clean house with little furniture. He and Clavell put on some boot covers and gloves but he detected a strong smell of bleach, a sure-fire DNA killer.

  ‘I notice you like the minimalist style,’ said Barton.

  ‘Yeah, I find it suits seeing as I don’t have any stuff. You want a coffee?’

  She turned the kettle on while she gave them the tour. They were finished before the water boiled.

  ‘You’ve been here two weeks?’ asked Clavell.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Where did you live before?’

  ‘Nottingham.’

  ‘Your boyfriend got a record?’

  ‘Correct.’ She tilted her head at Clavell. ‘My ex-boyfriend. Is he always this nosey?’

  ‘He’s usually worse. I think we can put you to the bottom of our list of suspects.’ He made a mental note to discuss Clavell’s direct questioning again. Barton found the occasional smile produced far better answers.

  The landlord arrived looking harassed. Barton asked him to step outside to answer the questions seeing as there wasn’t really room for four adults in the lounge.

  ‘I’m going to talk. You stop me if I have it wrong. Arnold Stone owed you rent. He was a little behind all the time, but not enough for you to chuck him out. Then, he disappeared. There’s nothing you can do for a while, apart from come around and keep knocking. The guidelines state you can’t enter legally if you believe the tenant still occupies the property. The rules are greyer on abandonment. After a while, you leave a note on the door and let yourself in a week later. If the authorities query it, you’re making sure it’s safe.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to agree completely with that. My tenants are treated with respect and dignity.’

  ‘I’m not the council. Your tenant turned up dead. Maybe you rowed about his arrears and cut his head off. Then drove to a friend’s allotment and hid the remains.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve got twenty properties and am well used to people doing a runner when they get too far behind. Decapitating them would be satisfying but running the business from prison would be tricky.’

  ‘Were there any signs of a struggle?’

>   ‘No. It looked like he’d just got up and gone. Most of his stuff was missing. There was nothing of value anyway. I cleared the remainder out. I’m only required to keep it for a short time, but being a reasonable man—’ he glanced from Clavell to Barton, ‘I kept them for a couple of months. Then I painted the walls magnolia, hired a cleaning company, and let it out again. I’ve still got a bin liner of what he left. It’s just clothing, old paperwork, and a mobile phone.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Clavell.

  ‘It’s back in my shed. I tried turning the phone on and charging it. Neither worked. Some water leaked out after I picked it up. I bet that was why he didn’t take it.’

  They peered out of the door as a red hatchback trundled past. A thin man with a pasty complexion and the beginnings of retreating hair jumped from the car and scuttled by with his head down. He didn’t look over at the three men on the path next to him. Barton spotted Clavell’s jaw bunching.

  ‘Don’t go anywhere for thirty minutes. We might have more questions,’ said Barton.

  ‘I’ve got things to do. That tap for a start.’

  Quick as a flash, Clavell replied, ‘The tap can wait until our crime scene people have had a look. Would you like to wait in our vehicle or your own, sir?’

  The landlord strode to his car. Barton and Clavell pressed the bell at the adjoining house.

  The door opened slowly to reveal a worried man who bit his bottom lip as he waited for them to speak. He stared directly between the detectives. Barton shifted his position so the man’s eyes were in line with his. The man lowered his gaze.

  ‘Robin Rowe?’ asked Barton.

  ‘That’s me. How can I help?’

  Heavy eyebags indicated a lack of sleep. There was something very off about his behaviour. Barton guessed this man would crack with minimal pressure.

  ‘Can we come in? Your neighbour has been found dead in suspicious circumstances. You need to answer some questions.’