The Soul Killer

by Ross Greenwood

  It’s clear where the police entered as Barney’s back door has a foot sized print at waist height. There’s no time to lose. I place the two weapons on the kitchen work surface and pull open the drawer. The blade on the sharpest kitchen knife would struggle to go through butter. Using it would be too savage and unbefitting. I don’t want to remember her like that. The next drawer along has a Stanley knife in it. Perfect.

  I stride to the dining room, and listen. Nothing. I run upstairs and grab the box of my special things. Back downstairs, I open the front door and place it in the back of the car.

  I return to the house and pull the table away. After sliding the rug off, I lift the trapdoor and shine the torch that I keep on the side into the hole. Claudia’s still in the same position in which I left her. Bound that tight, I suppose she’d struggle to move. Barney’s sleeping tablets could knock out a rhino, but she is stirring now.

  Her left eye is inflamed from the impact of the fall in the cemetery. But the other eye is clear. It’s like staring at good and evil. To finish our relationship in this way is a shame because we could have made an excellent team. She coolly regards me. I jump in and remove the gag.

  ‘Claudia, I’m leaving now. I’m sorry about how things turned out. All the best for the future, but we’ll meet again. Of that, I’m sure.’

  ‘Where’s my sister, you sick fucker? Where’s my boyfriend?’

  ‘They’re safe from harm.’

  ‘You’ll rot in hell.’ She kicks out at my shin, but I simply block it. The loathing expression she delivers in return is impressive. She’ll understand soon. I stroke her cheek and pull the gag back into place. What a great woman. There’s no way I could let her go when the prize is eternity together.

  I check the blade and it’s sharp. A deep cut of a few centimetres will do. Her good eye rolls with terror. I pause with the blade against her throat. Is this the only way? It’s what my mother believed. This life hasn’t taught me any different from her lessons. I sense that a shady part of me is going to enjoy it. How dare she screw Clavell? She deserves to find out what happened to him first. I smile, but it drops as I hear a vehicle stop outside.

  Shit. A quick decision made, I replace the furniture and step towards the lounge window, my ears twitching for sounds. There’s nothing, but I must check. I slowly lift the blind a touch and peer through the gloom. It’s a police pool car parked just down the road. The windscreen is steamed up and rain hammers the glass, but I can make out two large shapes. I can see that one is black and one is white. I know them both.

  87

  DI Barton

  When the team were about thirty metres from the property, the heavens opened and raindrops hammered on the bonnet. Zander turned the headlights off and quickly killed the engine. They all felt a chill of foreboding. The next-door neighbour’s curtains billowed from an upstairs window, but the lights in that room were out. Trimble’s house, on the other hand, was lit downstairs. As they viewed the front of the building, they all saw the shadow of someone tall walking behind a closed blind in the lounge window.

  ‘CSI?’ asked Zander.

  ‘Coming tomorrow,’ said Barton.

  ‘I know it’s raining, but the guards are supposed to be protecting the scene, not clumping around inside with their size twelves on,’ said Strange.

  Barton rang Wisbech Control. Two minutes later he hung up. ‘Both scene guards should still be here. Neither are answering their radios or their mobiles. They’re recent recruits and only specials. They won’t be ready for this kind of trouble.’

  Strange leaned forward between Zander and Barton. ‘Whitlam’s been too smart for us all the way.’

  The shadow passed across the window again. ‘Do I need to ask who’s in there if it isn’t police?’ asked Zander.

  ‘It’s got to be Whitlam,’ said Strange.

  Barton asked the obvious. ‘What’s happened to the scene guards?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Zander. ‘Why the hell would Whitlam come back here? That’s madness. How would he get here on Christmas Day night?’

  Barton rang Control again. A minute’s conversation finished with, ‘Get all available to this location, immediately.’

  Strange waited for him to hang up so she could talk. ‘You know, I think I’ve got it. Remember we discussed how much Whitlam loved this Claudia? Most of his crimes stem from people getting in his way and trying to split them up. He’s taken everyone out, so why kill her at the end? I’d put money on the first person in the campervan being Clavell, and the DNA of the second body might tell us it’s Claudia, but only because she’ll have the same DNA as her twin sister, Annabelle.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said Zander. ‘Wait, the witness reported they were seen burning alive and surely Annabelle’s long dead?’

  Barton shook his head. ‘The fire investigator said they move into a boxer’s posture as they burn even if they’re dead. The muscles and tissues shrink due to dehydration by heating. They also may have appeared to struggle due to the moving flames.’

  ‘Who’s to say Whitlam didn’t keep Annabelle or Claudia alive somewhere?’ said Strange.

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ said Zander. ‘He brings his victims here. Then goes to the coast, sets fire to the van, and drives back in a car stashed away earlier. He might not be aware that we know about this place. This is where he keeps the bodies, dead or alive. He’s escaped after frying Claudia’s sister and Clavell. He couldn’t take Claudia with him as she’d have stopped him making a quick exit. Now, he’s back for her.’

  ‘Let’s make this a group decision. We can wait ten minutes for the cavalry to arrive, or we go in now,’ said Barton.

  ‘The risks of delaying are too big,’ said Strange. ‘What if he’s here to kill her? He murdered Charlie and everyone else who crossed him.’

  ‘I agree. He might be killing the scene guards and Claudia as we speak. Right now, he could be planning on setting light to the place before scarpering out the back way. He may even have planned another murder-suicide,’ said Barton.

  Zander popped the car door open. ‘John and I have twenty stone on this bloke, whatever weapon he’s holding. I say we surprise him. Kelly, you go around the rear. Don’t engage him, shout if he makes a run for it. Have you got your baton?’

  Strange shook her head.

  ‘Take mine. I heard you know how to use it.’

  They exited the car as quietly as they could. Strange sidled down the path to the rear while Barton and Zander tensed at the front door. Barton tried the handle. The door creaked open, revealing David Whitlam standing next to the window with narrowed eyes.

  88

  The Soul Killer

  They are a threatening sight together and all I can think is to back away. The Stanley knife isn’t much use against meat like these two, but it’ll be a nasty surprise that will give me the edge. I slip it in my pocket before they see it. Edging out of the lounge, I pause at the foot of the stairs where my mother died. The pair of them are too wide to come through at the same time. It’ll be the only chance I get. I stand up tall and relaxed, empty hands on display, but I’m poised inside. I speak calmly.

  ‘Careful of the stairs, they’re a bit of a death trap.’

  Zander can’t help glancing up them.

  I know that if you’re going to fight, hit first, so that’s what I do. One of the weaker points of a head is the jawbone, especially if the receiver doesn’t know it’s coming, so that’s where my shot lands, with everything I have behind it. Zander’s head whips around, and I imagine his brain bouncing off one side of the skull and slamming into the other. I read that such an impact causes a temporary state of paralysis.

  It’s lights out for Zander and he crashes to the floor. I’m tempted to drive the short blade into his exposed neck, but Barton moves forward. He moves well for someone of his age.

  Zander will be out for minutes with anything from a headache to cerebral bleeding and death. I just need to drop Barton and finish them off.

>   Barton steps over Zander and follows me into the dining room with a look of intent that I’ve heard others joke about from his younger days. He’s as tall as Zander but bulkier. It’s like circling a bear. He even growls, ‘David Whitlam, you’re under arrest.’

  ‘You can’t beat me. I have faith in my abilities. There’s still time for you to leave.’

  ‘What the hell happened to you? You were a great asset to the team.’

  I feel a twinge of guilt for letting everyone down. It was great to be part of a team, but time moves on. I have a new calling.

  A dull thud sounds from under the floorboards. Barton ignores the distraction, preventing me from taking a cheap shot. His stance is wide and strong as he edges towards me. I snap out a straight right, and he barely moves. My hand vibrates on his left eyebrow. It probably hurt me more than him, yet his skin splits and bleeds. Barton collapses forwards onto his knees. It’s clear he’s old now and not on my level.

  ‘You’re a big man, Barton. A giant, in fact. But who beat Goliath?’

  It’s my favourite story and I know who wins. Barton rises to his feet. I send a thunderous hook into his ribs. He flinches in agony as the air whooshes from his lungs. Zander groans from the stairwell beyond Barton and I cast an eye over as he rises to his feet. Using my momentum, I crash another blow into Barton’s other side. The audible crack shocks me and stuns him. I stare at him as he falls back. What should I do? Barton is why they’re here. I know he’ll never forgive or forget. Mercy gains me nothing.

  I take the knife from my pocket and push out the blade. Zander first because a kitten could claw Barton. The splintering sound of old wood crashes through the kitchen. I turn to see Sergeant Strange stride through the door. She doesn’t seem scared, only determined. It’ll be a shame and a pleasure to alter that.

  The woman looks tiny compared to the others but the stun gun and bat on the kitchen work surface are a similar distance between us. They are both great equalisers in the right hands. I lunge towards them.

  89

  DI Barton

  Barton attempted to drag some air into his lungs, but the pain was like nothing he’d experienced before. He struggled upright but his legs gave way under him, and he fell back onto his rear, banging his head on the wall behind him. A mighty stab of pain seared through his side. Taking short gasps, he moved his right hand to the left of his ribcage and could barely touch it without crying out. Whitlam stared down at him without emotion.

  Barton couldn’t move. He was going to die. A strange smile passed over Whitlam’s face, and he reached into his trouser pocket. Barton stared with absolute terror at the small blade, realising there was nothing he could do if Whitlam slit him clean open. He thought to kick Whitlam’s legs from under him, but just the act of tensing his stomach sent a bolt of agony up and down his torso. His breath wheezed from his body with the effort.

  A crash from the kitchen distracted Whitlam, who turned to the person who entered. It was Strange. Whitlam gave Barton one last glance, showing the glint of madness that must have been present for some time. He wanted to shout out, ‘Run,’ to Strange but even that was beyond him.

  Whitlam moved towards her. His hand snapped out towards the worktop. His arm whipped back as though it had been stung. Then Whitlam’s head reared away and twisted to the side, spitting liquid in Barton’s direction. Barton saw the baton whistle through the air on the third swing, hitting Whitlam on his right ear, and then on his wrist, knocking the Stanley knife from his grasp.

  ‘Argh,’ Whitlam screamed, and cowered back. Blood poured from his head and mouth.

  Zander staggered past Barton as the sound of sirens approached. His massive hands grabbed Whitlam’s wrists, held them behind his back, and slammed the man against the wall. Strange withdrew her cuffs and slipped them onto Whitlam. He winced, suggesting she had them too tight. Then Whitlam howled as Zander seized the link between the cuffs and rammed downwards, forcing him to his knees.

  If Barton moved, it would only have been a millimetre. Whitlam had cracked many of his ribs. If they were displaced, Barton knew he risked puncturing a lung. Zander shoved Whitlam over. Falling with his hands behind his back, Whitlam was forced to put his head to one side, so he didn’t hit the ground face first. Zander slumped next to him and rubbed his jaw.

  ‘Whitlam, I still don’t think we’re even,’ he said.

  Another, louder thud echoed from under the kitchen table. Strange pulled the table away and yanked a rug back. She fiddled with a catch and lifted up a trapdoor. Barton couldn’t see what caused Strange’s mouth to widen, but Whitlam’s presence hadn’t scared her. It must be bad. She reached into a pocket in her jacket, removed a Swiss Army knife, and jumped into the hole. She bent over and out of sight. A few seconds later, a long, high pitched shriek deafened him, and then a roar echoed around the room.

  Claudia’s wild eyed head rose up. Vicious, inflamed eyes bored into Barton. Dried blood covered her forehead, and red stained her white blouse. She hauled herself out of the hole and staggered towards the prone figure of Whitlam, who had an exhausted Zander leaning back on him. Whitlam turned to face her and grinned. She lurched closer, blinking wildly.

  Staggering past them, she grabbed at the kitchen work surface. Claudia spun on her heel. She brandished the baseball bat with a satanic snarl. Barton tried a final shout but keeled over in agony instead. He glanced up as Claudia brought the weapon down in a speeding arc. Strange cried, ‘No!’ from the edge of the hole.

  Claudia’s second blow shattered Whitlam’s skull. The third sprayed Barton’s face with blood. He tried to move as he felt it pour down his face, but a heavy tightness enveloped his chest. The room spun as a panicking Barton realised he couldn’t breathe at all.

  90

  DI Barton

  Steady beeps penetrated Barton’s unconsciousness. He attempted to clear his throat and whistled through his teeth with the pain. His mind caught up and he realised that it was the second time he’d woken in the high dependency unit. The first time had been after surgery for his punctured lung. He’d been groggy then but had still managed to get that he was going to be okay out of the nurse. She’d said he’d have been in the ICU otherwise. Regardless, they’d keep him in for a few days for observation and rest.

  His condition meant he had to remain sitting up. He stared at the ceiling and tried to drown out the sounds of the machines. The faces of those who’d lost their lives began to materialise in his mind instead. Clavell’s mischievous grin had appeared when he heard the door open.

  DCI Cox peered down on him and smiled.

  ‘Skiving?’

  He laughed and let a small yelp out.

  ‘Sorry, a bit too soon, maybe.’ She pulled up a chair next to Barton’s hospital bed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  Barton considered her question while watching her lips purse as she stared at the drains coming from his chest. He tensed various parts of the rest of his bruised body. ‘Like the entire world’s problems are pushing down on me.’ Barton winced. It still hurt to talk.

  She shook her head. ‘I’d never have believed Whitlam had that in him.’

  He took a few quick breaths. It wasn’t so painful if he did that. He glanced again at Cox. She had a twinkle in her eyes that he didn’t recognise.

  ‘The quiet ones, eh? Is he dead?’ he asked.

  ‘No, surprisingly not, from what Sergeant Strange said. He’s in a serious but stable condition in Intensive Care, although the doctor suspects he’ll spend the rest of his life in a vegetative state. Saves the cost of a trial, I suppose.’

  ‘How are the team?’

  ‘They’re fine. Strange did well. She never told me she’d worked the riots in London. I guess Whitlam didn’t know either. I’ve just been to see Zander. His face is a funny colour, but he reckons the impact sent his IQ up twenty points.’

  ‘Wow. Imagine having your IQ doubled with a single blow.’

  She chuckled.

  ‘And
Claudia?’

  ‘Surprisingly stoic. She refused medication and checked herself out. Said she couldn’t bear to be in the same hospital as him. She said there were no regrets about what she did in the heat of the moment.’

  ‘Nothing gets the message across like a baseball bat.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Thanks for coming to let me know.’

  ‘No problem. Strange is taking Zander home tonight. They’ll pop in before they leave to keep you company.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ve only just woken up, and already I’m bored.’

  ‘I also came to give you some other news. Great for me, good for you. I’m nearly four months pregnant.’ She gazed out of the window for a few moments.

  ‘That’s fantastic. Congratulations.’

  Her eyes refocussed on his. ‘It’s been a very, very long and expensive road. I’m not taking any chances.’

  Barton thought about her home life for the first time and blushed. You really never knew what folk were going through. He hadn’t even considered it. People show such strength to perform at work, when behind the scenes they’re under incredible stress.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll take maternity leave at the earliest opportunity and I plan to enjoy having the full time possible. Between you and me, who knows if I’ll be back? I recommended that you cover for me and the top brass have agreed. When all this Soul Killer business has been put to bed, we’ll work together until I’m gone.’

  ‘The Soul Killer?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what the papers have named him. There’s been pages and pages written about him and his motivation. The taxi driver made a lot of money if the first six pages of The Mail on Sunday are anything to go by. It’s certainly captured the nation’s attention. Apparently Whitlam believed this life was a rehearsal and he would end up in heaven at the expense of those who got in his way. It’s chilling stuff.’