Glimpse Read online

  Every reporter exploded at once shouting questions. Predominantly they wanting to know why it had taken four days to make the announcement. Monkton nodded to the DCI to take over. He raised his arms up and held his hands out to plead for silence and waited impatiently for it.

  “If you people cannot calm down, we can call a halt to this now. This is not a circus, it’s a murder investigation.” He couldn’t conceal the quivering of his voice, and the barely controlled temper that he was struggling to contain.

  “I can tell you we get crack pots confessing to crimes, and crank calls every single day, and if we came to you with all of them, you would soon get fed up. So far as we knew, it was just an anonymous call and note with no supporting evidence. We investigated it and came up with a list of missing persons that could be relevant. The man had sent us a picture, which could have been fake, of a woman, but her face was obscured making identification impossible. We must be mindful of families of missing persons and we do not want to spread panic. Until we had solid evidence and an identity, it would have been foolhardy to have gone to the press.”

  The general mumblings of the crowd appeared to Rick to be understanding, where before they had been outraged. But, he wondered how understanding they would be soon, with the news to come.

  “During the investigation we found a witness, Bridget Schaeffer, who gave a description of a man leaving the phone box at approximately the right time. The man was of slight build, wearing thick rimmed glasses, and thick blonde hair. Unfortunately, she was killed in an apparent home invasion that night, before we could get an identikit picture of the suspect. Investigations are continuing into her death. Today we had a new development, a parcel arrived, with a note, and a human finger inside it. We do not have DNA results yet, but we have matched the blood type and believe it to have belonged to June Daniels. The note is signed PPP, and he has threatened to send a piece of her body each day unless we acknowledge him in the media as being her abductor, and the murderer of Melanie Cartwright.”

  There was suddenly a cacophony of noise, and there was little point in answering questions until it died down. Eventually, like a bush fire, it burnt itself out. Colin Harris shook his head and visibly took a long slow deep breath. Then he began again.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this man, is playing the game of his life. He is a very clever, intelligent man, who has no morals, scruples, or conscience. He wants the adoration of an audience to show us all just how clever he is. We need witnesses, and we need them fast if we are to have any hope of saving June Daniels. We have several good lines of investigation which we are following, and naturally I cannot go into them. But we need more. We need anyone who saw anything, no matter how small, or that they think is inconsequential, to come forward, which is why we need your help here today.”

  “Our thoughts and prayers are with June Daniels, and her family. We hope for the public’s help to save her, before it’s too late. We will take questions, but I warn you there are elements we will not discuss.” He sat down, abruptly, and taking a handkerchief from his jacket pocket wiped the sweat which had beaded on his forehead.

  An overweight man, wearing an orange open necked shirt, stood up to the rear of the group, with his arm held high to gain extra attention. “Sergeant McCoy, Jim Nichols for Channel Nine News, you’ve been strangely silent, what’s your take on all this?”

  Rick stiffened, he had been dreading being singled out, but at the same time, he had wanted the chance to speak directly to the killer. He slowly stood to his imposing full height. “What’s my take? What’s my take on a man who is so low as to prey on defenseless women because he is such a weakling he can’t take on a man? He thinks he is clever, plotting and planning, but it’s not intelligent to terrorize a woman and cut her into pieces, it’s juvenile. Clearly he has never grown up. He is still the scared little boy who has been through a tragic life, and I feel sorry for him. But he lost any sympathy I could have had when he started murdering defenseless women.”

  “Why do you think he is doing it?”

  “Why? Because he likes it. It makes him feel important, to be in control. I think in his normal life; he is scared and far from that; a weak insignificant little man. He’s a bit like a wannabe super hero, he puts on a cape, and it makes himself feel special. But a murdering sadistic control freak isn’t a super hero, he’s a demi-God, a monster. Do I feel sorry for him? I feel sorrier for his victims. You know what I’d like? I’d like to sit down with him, and just talk, see if I could help him, maybe over a beer or two, see where he went wrong in his life. Then I’d arrest him and lock him away for fifty years so he would be too old to do this again when he gets out of prison.”

  There was a stunned silence among the most hardened of journalists. Then everyone had a question at once. But, Rick had turned on his heel and walked out, shaking his head, both enraged with the murderer, and self-recrimination, for possibly making a terrible situation, worse.

  ****

  At five-fifteen Rick rang Patricia Holmes’ doorbell, with a pile of files under his arm. She opened the door with a half empty glass of red wine in her hand. She was wearing a white long flowing bath robe, tightened at the waist with a belt and tied in a large bow. Just for a moment, Rick found himself wanting to reach out and yank the end of it, to see what she wore underneath, and was shocked at the thought.

  As if she could read his mind, she smiled, and bit her lower lip; her eyes twinkling, and she tilted her head to one side. “Hi, Rick,” she said. “How did the press conference go?”

  He shook his head and shrugged, “Oh, I opened my big mouth, and put my foot straight in. I tried to talk to him, reach out, tell him I wanted to talk to him about his problems over a beer, and help him. I also insulted him a bit.”

  “Oh, I see. Well I set up the video recorder so I can watch it later. Do you want to come in?”

  “I’d love to, but I can see you’re busy getting ready to go out. I just thought I would drop these off for you to have a look through. I’ve brought sixteen unsolved case files; I’ve discounted a heap of others. I’m not sure if he did any of these, but I thought you might be able to see something I missed. These are just the summaries, the witness statements, crime scene photos etc. can’t leave the office. But if you see anything and want to dig deeper you’ll have to come in to go through it all. As you can imagine, in an unsolved murder, there is a lot of paperwork. The top one, I thought was a likely candidate, missing person’s report basically, but the woman was last seen at a supermarket, and her car was left there in the car park, with shopping left lying on the ground by the driver’s door.”

  She nodded, thoughtfully. “I wish you hadn’t told me, now I’m going to be thinking about it at dinner. And, to be honest, the two couples we are going out with are quite a stuffy lot. I’d much rather be here, working through this with you. It would be a much more interesting night.”

  He smiled, and for a moment, wondered if she was now flirting with him. He discounted the idea almost immediately. A beautiful, sophisticated, university lecturer and a cop like me? Nah, I don’t think so. His very next thought was of Juliet waiting at home.

  “Well, you enjoy your dinner and I will chat with you tomorrow. Give me a call when you’ve found some time to have a look through. Oh, and you can also tell me off for trying to engage our PPP in conversation. I know you told me not to.”

  She nodded, taking the files from him, being careful not to drop them, or her wine. “Goodnight, Rick, I will talk to you tomorrow.” She looked deep in thought, troubled even, But Rick thought better than to ask why.

  He turned, giving her a little wave, then turned back. “Pat, something has been bugging me, why PPP? You’d think a serial murderer would come up with something more imposing than that, wouldn’t you? It’s hardly going to strike fear into the public, is it? I mean why not fluffy duck, or wilting sunflower?”

  She burst into laughter, and he joined her; a release from the stress of the day. As they slowed dow
n, they looked at each other, and started all over again. “Oh, sweet Jesus, I haven’t laughed like that in ages, she said a few minutes later, using one finger from around the wine glass to wipe her eyes.” Then she snorted, in a very cute way, Rick thought, then started laughing all over again. “Fluffy Duck the killer?” She choked.

  “Well, PPP, what a wuss name,” he said, bringing himself under control.

  “Honestly, I have no idea why he chose that. It’s an interesting question though. My best guess is that at some point in his life, a good point in an otherwise horrid one, someone nicknamed him PPP. It mattered to him at the time and made him happy. I think his childhood was far from joyous, so it’s a way of making him remember a time from his past without the horror that the rest of it brought.”

  It made sense, and he nodded thoughtfully. In the low light from the outside wall lamps, at the distance she was from him, even in a bath robe, Rick thought she was stunningly beautiful. Fuck, how can she look so damn sexy holding folders and wearing terry-toweling? “Good night, Pat, have a lovely dinner.”

  She raised her glass in a toast and smiled back. Rick turned away, reluctantly, and walked across the gravel driveway to his car without looking back. Driving to his home, he couldn’t help but think again of Patricia, and examine his feelings for her, which at best, he realized were confusing, at worst, dangerous. He realized, with a dawning horror, that not only was he attracted to her, but deep down, in a place he didn’t want to visit, he wanted to act on it.

  She intrigued, and possibly even beguiled him, and he had no idea why, or how he could even feel that way. He had made a stupid mistake with Angie, spent months separated from Amy and Juliet because of it, and miraculously had been given a second chance. Life had been fantastic as a family ever since. He loved Jules, and adored his daughter, yet there was no doubt he was attracted to Pat, why? And, even more troubling; he worried that possibly, she was attracted to him.

  Was it possible to have a professional relationship with a woman, where both had desires but it just stopped at being flirtatious? He thought it was, but could those feelings get in the way if one or the other wanted more? He shook his head, angry at himself; he did not need this sort of complication in his life. He was not going to risk losing Juliet again, no way. And, he shouldn’t need to remind himself; there was a woman’s life at risk too, she had to come first, and she deserved Ricks total focus.

  By the time he pulled into his driveway, he felt better about the whole situation, especially when he saw the time. Amy would not be in bed yet, and he would be able to read her a story.

  ****

  A little after midnight, Thomas Holmes, stood in the doorway of his wife’s study watching her reading files. He had a bad feeling about this police investigation thing she had been drawn into.

  He knew criminal psychology was her passion, and he had suffered through endless litanies of her postulating that someone like her should be attached to police departments to assist in tracking down serial killers and violent offenders. He found it tedious but had long since learned to keep his opinions to himself. Patricia was not backward in coming forward, when he dared to voice any opinion that differed with hers, about her career.

  He was angry with her. Not only had she seemed distant with him all night at dinner, but she had virtually ignored their friends, which was damned rude. Grayson, and Michael were not just friends, but work colleagues, and he was trying to get their support for the senior surgical residency at the hospital. He had explained to Pat just how important the night was, and she seemed to go out of her way to sabotage it for him.

  “Pat, when are you bloody well coming to bed? Do you know what the time is?”

  She glanced up at him, seemingly annoyed at the interruption, then the antique silver German timepiece on her desk. “It’s ten past twelve, Tom. I will come to bed when I’m ready. I’m not feeling tired now. I’m not stopping you though. I will be up directly.” She turned back to the open file.

  Her dismissal of him only made him angrier. “Now, look, Pat. What’s all this nonsense about? You’ve been like a moody cow all night, now this; staying up half the night.”

  She laid her hands flat on the desk and took a slow deep breath. “Nonsense? Did you call what I do nonsense? A woman’s life is at risk, and I have been asked to help. For once, the police have realized they need help in understanding a murderer’s mind. Don’t you dare call what I do nonsense.”

  “Now you listen here.” He stood up straight and pointed a thin finger at her from across the room. “I’ve put up with them consulting with you, and if you want to work with them fine, so long as it doesn’t impact on our life, or put you in danger. But you ignoring our friends over dinner and treating them like they are an imposition in your hectic schedule, is damn well interfering in our lifestyle. I won’t put up with it.”

  She stood up, palms still flat on the desk. “You won’t put up with it? Is that what you said? Since when do you determine my life for me? You better get out right now before I start throwing things. Don’t you ever tell me what I can or cannot do. Tonight, was fucking boring, Tom. I can’t stand your friends, but I put up with them for you. Usually I don’t show how tedious the whole thing is when I see them, and their boring wives. I should have feigned a headache and stayed home, if I have any regret it’s that. Now leave me alone, and let me get to work.” She picked up the clock and held it as if she was ready to throw it at him.

  Tom turned and left her to it, slamming the door behind him. She thought she could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face? Two can play at that game, bloody bitch.

  Chapter 12: My Memoir Entry - Graduation Day

  I admit it. I consider Angel, as she will always be to me, though for what reason I will never know, the point where I finally graduated from the university of life, and death. But, I must also acknowledge, in many ways it was amateurish.

  Understandable, I suppose. I rushed things, and she only lasted four days. I came home from work in a state of great excitement with plans for that night’s entertainment, only to find her hanging from the cuffs in the wall, lifeless. I had even brought her a hamburger, and the ungrateful bitch had given up the ghost. Well, it didn’t go to waste, I ate it while considering my next move.

  I had bought an even bigger chest freezer and put it in the shed when I had re-opened the business. I had checked out sizing because, unlike my father, I was not intending to put just the one body in there, but several.

  I had invested in some heavy-duty plastic drums, with lids and they would fit on top of each other two high inside the freezer. The drums were for the entrails and organs. The house had a septic tank for sewerage, so the blood would be flushed down the toilet, and I had been investing for a while in plastic drop sheets for wrapping the joints of meat up in, once I had butchered the corpse.

  I am not explaining all this to sicken readers with weak stomachs, and I apologize if that happens. The reason for pointing all this out is to highlight my planning skills. I had been working on this phase of my life for a long time; I had not hurried. Yes, finding Angel was fortuitous, but I had been ready for her for some considerable time.

  I decided to strip the meat from the choicest cuts, transport it to work and put it through the mincer. The idea had only become more appealing with time, rather than less, but the meat had to be fresh, of course I wanted people to somehow share in my work, yet not become ill.

  Is it a contradiction in terms to be having my ‘fun’ with women, killing them, but not wanting to make others sick from eating spoilt meat? Maybe it is dear reader. I will leave such judgements to you.

  As I am not a strong man. I had devised a pulley system to winch Angel upside down from her position on the floor when I undid the cuffs. Once suspended I could let the blood drain out, get rid of the messy bits into one of the tubs, and begin my human butchery lesson. I had, naturally, already done some studying of anatomy at the Midland Library and used their photocopier to rec
ord some of the diagrams of the more complex joints I would need to cut through.

  I didn’t finish until after midnight, and boy, was I tired? The last hour had been spent cleaning up, as every good butcher does at the end of his shift. The wooden block, knives, and floor underneath Angel all had to be scrubbed with boiling hot water and bleach. And, I needed a long hot shower before I allowed myself to go to bed.

  It was nearly one in the morning when I crawled under the covers, tired yes, but with a feeling unparalleled to any I had experienced before. I was already looking forward to the next time. I intended learning from my mistakes. it was going to last much longer in the future. I promised that to myself as sleep opened its golden wings and engulfed me.

  ****

  It took a few months before the next opportunity presented itself. I had spent some time out and about at night, looking for a playmate, but it hadn’t happened. I had become discerning, meaning that I didn’t want to kill just anyone, I had to want to do it, and the victim had to be appealing. It wasn’t as if I was compelled to do it, so by waiting it only increased the sense of anticipation. Some women I came across, I couldn’t see the attraction in them. One that I did see and like, was holding hands with a boyfriend or husband, so again she was lucky to have been out with him, rather than alone.

  I should at this point add that I had finished cutting up Angel’s body within a day, relayed the meat to the sausage mincer at work and neatly packed the bits that were left covered in plastic, inside the freezer.

  To the best of my knowledge, the sausages went down a treat, at least I never heard a complaint coming back from customers who had bought the ‘Old English Pork Sausages.’ Occasionally I would notice people through the windows out into the customer service area, pick up a cling wrapped pack, and it would be all I could do not to break out in hysterical fits of laughter.