The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  I never know whether to sit in the front or rear of these normal saloon car taxis, but the back will do this time. I’m not in the talking mood. There’s a whiff of petrol on my clothes as I get in. The guy is a grungy-looking, bearded fellow in his fifties. He probably can’t smell anything apart from himself.

  After thirty seconds, my breathing settles. My eyelids droop with the warmth. I need to be alert. There’ll be plenty of sleeping time when this is all over. I listen to the tune on the radio. It sounds like gospel rock. I smile at the positivity and find it soothing.

  ‘Are you religious?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m a Christian.’

  ‘Strange day for a Christian to be working.’

  ‘I follow my own path. Anyway, there’s nothing in the Bible about Jesus’s birthdate. From what I’ve read concerning shepherds watching their flocks, it’s more likely he was born in the summer. The sheep wouldn’t have been left out on those hills in the winter.’

  ‘Wasn’t he born in Bethlehem? I don’t think they have a cold winter there.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Something drops out of his beard as he scratches it.

  ‘But I get it. This day is commercial rubbish.’

  ‘Not at all. Anything that celebrates the Lord above can’t be bad. And I don’t mind working when the pay’s so good.’

  I wonder whether this man has been sent to test me. Although, it has to be unlikely that a messenger from above would smell so terrible.

  ‘What are your views on heaven?’ I ask.

  ‘Personally, I think everybody goes, whatever we’ve done. God knows we’re flawed creatures. He expects us to stray, but he loves us all.’

  ‘That’s a reassuring thought.’

  ‘Amen.’

  ‘However, I do have a question.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘If you have a girlfriend, whom you love very much, but you split up, will you see her again in heaven?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What if, after you separate, she gets married to someone else and has twelve children? She’s hardly going to want me grinning at her through the pearly gates fifty years later when the big day arrives.’

  ‘You obviously haven’t studied the Bible.’

  ‘I know a few stories.’

  ‘To be a Christian on this earth, you need love, faith and hope. When you get to heaven, you don’t require faith or hope because you’ve made it. Only love is left and there’s enough for everyone. Marriage is to make babies, educate them in the ways of the Lord, and attain holiness together. That’s useful on earth to help us reach paradise. Once we’re there, it’s no longer necessary.’

  ‘Then it wouldn’t matter if we didn’t find the one on this earth?’

  He turns back to me, and nods seriously. ‘In heaven, we’ll share a love more perfect than anything you can experience down here.’

  A glimpse of mother’s earnest beliefs flickers on his face before he returns his gaze to the road. In a way, she died a martyr so I could fulfil my promise. I suffered as a child, so I could understand His word.

  ‘How about those we’ve wronged? What about when we meet them in heaven?’

  ‘All mortal sins are forgiven and forgotten.’

  ‘That’s a relief, or I could have quite the welcoming committee.’

  I watch him lick his lips. ‘Amen,’ he whispers.

  His is an innocent view, but I prefer my version. I don’t relish eternity with Claudia’s family, however lenient they may have become. I prefer to think I took the gift of heaven when I answered to their interfering.

  ‘You believe our feelings will transcend human emotions and we’ll all be happy together like angels.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  I catch him looking at me in the mirror.

  ‘What if I only want one person?’ I ask.

  ‘Why not find someone new to spend your life with here? All will meet again in the merest scrap of time. After that, it’s eternity together.’

  ‘I only want her. Nobody else adds up.’

  ‘There isn’t much you can do if she’s moved on.’

  ‘Well, what if I killed her, and she went to heaven? Then she’d be there when I arrived.’

  He stills and his grip tightens on the wheel. His right hand slips down, and I catch a slight glow.

  His next sentence starts with a croak. ‘You’re him, aren’t you? The killer the police are looking for.’

  ‘I am him.’

  I watch him moisten his lips. After a lengthy pause, he asks, ‘Am I going to die?’

  ‘You might if you don’t hand me your phone.’

  We travel in a nervous vacuum for a few miles. Finally, he clears his throat.

  ‘Why did you do what you’ve done?’

  It’s time to be honest from now on; I have nothing left to lose. Nor does the driver if he believes everything he’s said.

  ‘I’ve never fitted in. I somehow convinced myself that I would find my soul mate and that would be it. I see life’s not like that now. Do you know what the vicar called me? A soul killer. Does that sound like someone who’s going to end up in heaven?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  He mumbles something else but stops himself.

  ‘What? Say it.’

  ‘You might well be a soul killer, but the only one that you’ve really destroyed is your own.’

  85

  DI Barton

  The drama of the chase and fire finally drained their last reserves. One of the nearby homeowners brought welcome cups of coffee out. Statements were taken from the site owners but there seemed little doubt when two bodies were seen in the front of the van. But it was hard to think analytically after what the team had seen. The smells that filled the air made it hard for Barton to empty his mind of anything else.

  It had taken an hour for the fire to be put out and then the fire investigator had allowed them close. There wasn’t much to look at, especially in the dark. The ARV was called back to Cambridge for a possible hostage situation. There seemed little point in staying longer.

  At 19:00, Zander rolled his head around his shoulders. ‘I think I’d like to go home and at least catch a few hours with the family.’

  Barton and Strange nodded at that. Barton spoke with the local DI who’d since arrived, explained they were leaving and exchanged contact details. But as they got in the car, Barton’s natural suspicions stirred.

  ‘Let’s run through things on the way back.’

  Zander drove to give Strange a break. She leaned between the seats as they pulled out of West Runton.

  ‘What are you thinking, Boss?’

  ‘This looks like a murder suicide by Whitlam with his girlfriend. Yet, I’m struggling to fit it to Whitlam’s personality. Those types of crimes tend to be really emotional. Like when a woman tries to escape a domestic abuser and he kills them both. The problem is I still can’t get a fix on exactly the type of guy Whitlam was.’

  ‘I don’t think I spoke to him about anything other than work,’ said Strange.

  ‘Are you thinking that it wasn’t him in that van?’ asked Zander.

  ‘Maybe. I was about to stand it all down, but what if he burned someone else’s body with Claudia?’

  ‘That’s possible. We still don’t know where Clavell is. Maybe he’s been cremated with his girlfriend. I’m more inclined to believe that, actually. Think. If he killed the lecturer and his girlfriend for getting together behind his back, maybe he did the same with Clavell and Claudia. But where did he go?’

  ‘I don’t know the area. Could he have just run along the cliffs?’ said Strange.

  The word ‘run’ caused them all to pause. Running was one of the few things they knew Whitlam liked. They travelled in silence for a minute.

  ‘The fire investigator said the remains won’t be much help. We might never know who was in that van,’ said Barton. ‘I’ll ring Cox. We’ll need to keep looking for him. If he ran to Cromer or Sheringham, try and think about
what he’d do on Christmas Day while I ring my boss.’

  Barton updated DCI Cox, while Zander and Strange discussed what Whitlam might do. It was a long call for Barton as he explained his hunches. It sounded to the others that Cox had information to pass on too because Barton did a lot of listening.

  ‘What have you come up with?’ asked Barton as he finished the call.

  ‘It’s possible he had a car stowed in either place or a hotel booked. I suspect he’s lying low, maybe running further up the coast. He might even have a tent in a field. We don’t know his state of mind, but look at the kills. They are cold-blooded and planned. If it wasn’t him inside the van, then he’ll have got away. He’ll have had a way out,’ said Strange.

  ‘Cox more or less came to that same conclusion. If there’s any chance of this lunatic still being out there, we’re going to have to keep looking. She’s speaking to the super to see if there’s any chance of a helicopter. It’ll be a struggle getting organised today. It’s the worst time of the year to conduct a manhunt.’

  ‘There goes my whisky by the fire,’ said Zander.

  ‘She also told me that they entered the property on Norwich Road to find information about Whitlam or the owner. I should have considered that. We didn’t know if Trimble was working with Whitlam. They could have discovered a gun case or cartridge boxes. Then we’d have really been in trouble.’

  ‘Did they find evidence of a weapon?’ asked Zander.

  ‘No, but they found a long-dead body.’

  ‘Murdered?’

  ‘They have no idea at this point. I assume it was Trimble. The man was dying when we saw him a while back.’

  ‘Cox has got some tough decisions to make. Is there any point in us driving back? Or might we be better going home and having some rest so we can start again in the morning?’

  ‘Yes, I thought the same. I was going to pull over and wait for instructions. The DCI said she’d ring when they decide where to set up a command centre. Most of the Norfolk stations aren’t twenty-four hours. She may keep it in Peterborough for the moment. We might as well carry on to Wisbech. There’s a twenty-four-hour petrol station there and I’m starving.’

  Barton rang the DI at the fire scene while they drove and spent twenty minutes updating him on their suspicions. Barton suspected that the Norfolk police wouldn’t be over-keen on hunting hard for Whitlam in the dark without any armed police.

  They’d reached the Elme Hall roundabout at Wisbech by then and Barton had an idea.

  ‘We’re only five minutes from Trimble’s house. Let’s go and have a look and see if we can see if Whitlam’s left anything behind.’

  ‘I’ve seen enough stiffs just lately,’ said Zander.

  ‘Haven’t we all? You stay in the car if you like. If Trimble’s been dead a while, then Whitlam had a base to operate from with no interruptions. I just want to see where Whitlam’s been sleeping, what he’s been eating or drinking, that sort of thing. Try to get in his mind a little. Whitlam’s an escalating serial killer. Who knows who else has upset him? If he’s not dead, it’s possible he’s on his way to his next kill.’

  86

  The Soul Killer

  I tell the taxi driver about my childhood. It’s another confession of sorts. I start with being dragged through every religion in the country, then my Easter basket and the cellar, and finally I confess to the wicked things I’ve done. I promise to be different in the future. He hopes there’s still a place for me in heaven if I truly repent.

  ‘Do you think when your time comes, you will regret your actions?’ he asks.

  ‘What do I have to regret? I’ve won.’

  After that, we travel in silence as my story is finished although I want to believe the taxi driver is right. My mother had two men in her life. It wouldn’t be right for her to be in heaven with her first partner and Barney have nobody waiting for him. It makes sense that everyone lives in harmony, with no lust or jealousy. It’s a purity that’s hard for me to comprehend because I don’t want to share Claudia with anyone. The Lord made us in his own image though. It makes sense that he would forgive our mistakes and save us all. Although it does give you a ‘get out of hell free’ card when you’re on earth.

  I’m tempted to take over the driving and keep going. Throw this strange man out and search for a place where your past doesn’t matter. I’m not entirely sure what I planned to do after all this. Then I remember, not only is Claudia at Barney’s place, but so are the objects I kept over the years: Donald’s ring and Charlie’s necklace, among others. I need those little things; they’re mine. I also know I want to talk to Claudia for one final time. Will this be our last goodbye? I had hoped she’d be willing to give us another go, but that sounds far-fetched now. The thought of her being with someone else makes me feel sick. The idea of her waiting for me in heaven sounds more appealing. It’s time I called the shots and others waited at my beck and call.

  I appreciate there’s risk in returning. There’ll be at least one officer protecting the scene, but they won’t be expecting me. They might have already gone inside and found Barney. If they’ve discovered Claudia, the place will be heaving with police. They’ll know I staged the fire. If that’s the case, I’ll just drive past.

  I get the driver to stop up the road from the Elme Hall roundabout. A path between two fields heads towards a thick wood. I heard that youngsters brought their girlfriends here when they had nowhere else.

  ‘Get out,’ I say.

  ‘Please, don’t kill me,’ says the taxi driver.

  I study his petrified face. ‘Not keen on experiencing everlasting paradise just yet?’

  ‘No, let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Please, have mercy.’

  A voice in the depths of me urges me to nod at him. I point to the path. ‘Run. Sprint down there as fast as you can, before I change my mind. If I see you stop, heaven will cease to be just a concept shortly afterwards.’

  He’s quick for an old guy. Yet, before I drive away, I think of what I’ve learned. Kindness doesn’t pay. He will go for help at the first opportunity. Mercy is weakness. I should have killed him, because I can’t be any deeper in trouble. There’s no difference between six life sentences and seven.

  His car drives well and it’s full of fuel. Large sporadic drops of rain splatter the windscreen, and I turn on the wipers. The darkening clouds bunch together. I wonder how long the driver will remain silent. Do I still have a chance to escape? Because I realise now that I do want to live, even if Claudia doesn’t. As long as I know she’s waiting for me in heaven, I’ll continue here on Earth. After all, I’ll be a long time dead and the way I feel now is incredible. No one can beat me. I’ve finally got what I never had, and that’s power. Power to give and power to take away.

  This world is full of those who need to be stopped. I can even visit those bullies from school and wipe Clavell’s old gang from the face of the earth.

  If I have the opportunity, I’ll swap the number plates with another car. Cornwall might be a great place to hide for a while. Realistically, the cameras will tag this vehicle as soon as it’s reported stolen, so I’ll need to lie low and use public transport. Barney has more money hidden in his wardrobe. It isn’t much, but every little bit should help. I also withdrew the daily limit from his bank card this week and buried it nearby. I should have started doing that earlier. Always thinking ahead is the way to stay ahead.

  Then I’ll lead a life without sin doing God’s work. I’ll save my soul by sending others to the abyss. Then, when I’m ready, I’ll take my place at her side.

  I stop outside the house. There’s a young policeman virtually standing to attention. He’s only a special constable. That’s perfect. I step from the car and look around the street. It’s quiet as only Christmas Day evening can be. I sling my bag from the passenger seat onto my shoulder with the baseball bat inside as I close the car door. I approach, showing him my fake warrant card.

  ‘I’m a detective. Who are you?’
<
br />   ‘Here protecting the scene, sir. What’s your name?’

  I hammer a blow into his face, but not too hard. The stun gun handle in my grip will make my fist less elastic and more effective. Too much, though, and I’d damage my hand. The impact is only heavy enough to break his nose.

  ‘Where’s your partner? Around the back?’

  He sobs confirmation through streaming blood. I grab his collar and drag him to his feet.

  ‘You know who I am?’

  He’s only just out of his teens. I spin him so we’re facing each other. Do I really instil such fear? The police must know nearly everything. I’ll need to be quick.

  ‘Keep quiet. You lead,’ I say, and shove him towards the rear garden.

  The other policeman is middle-aged and smoking near the back door. The cigarette slips from his fingers at the sight of his bleeding friend. I throw his colleague to the floor and punch the older guy in the stomach. It’s all too quick and too surreal for him to respond. My power overwhelms him as I grab his throat and place the stun gun to his neck. Part-time police don’t want to die, even if they must. That’s good, because it makes them weak and compliant.

  ‘Cuff yourselves together.’

  Their nervous fumbling hands make the process last longer than I’d hoped but finally they do as they’re told. I lift the lid of the coal bunker and stare into the darkness. I know what’s in there and it will break any resistance. Grabbing the torch from the older officer’s belt, I direct the beam into the black hole. Charlie’s severed head stares back at us. While the younger guy chokes and points with shock, the other shakes his head in disbelief.

  ‘No, don’t.’

  I smash the handle of the stun gun into his forehead and repeat the blow on his partner. I’d rather not use it for its actual purpose as it will lose power. It may come in handy later. I shove them in with a howl.

  ‘If this lid moves, I’ll open it, and batter you both to death.’ There’s still some defiance in the older one’s eyes. I simply do not have time for this. They must remain out of my way. Placing the bag on the floor, I show them the glinting baseball bat in the moonlight. For good measure, I give the bolder one a firm tap on the top of his head with it. This does the trick and I drop the lid down.