Bad Moon Rising (#1 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) (16 page)

***

It was heading towards evening before he and Dave were both free to follow up on Sandra Massey. As they pulled up outside a rundown block of flats, Paolo took in the litter strewn road and graffiti covered walls. Two young women seemed to sum up that they weren’t possible customers because they immediately walked off as he and Dave got out of the car. A group of young lads, hiding their faces behind hoodies, congregated outside a rundown church hall situated on the corner of the street. Paolo hoped the place was being used as some kind of sports hall, but from the look of the youths hanging around outside, he seriously doubted it. The graffiti on the walls hinted at a different kind of meeting place.

“What’s the number of her flat, Dave?”

“According to the voters’ register, she’s lives in 413, sir.”

“She’s on the voters’ roll? People never cease to surprise me. I wonder who she voted for. None of the main parties seem to be interested in doing anything for this area of town.”

Paolo walked towards the communal doorway. The glass panel was shattered, but held in place by the reinforcing running crisscross through it. He pushed the door open, noticing that the security lock was no longer working. The intercom on the side wall had been attacked at some point by someone with a grudge, a hammer and, presumably, a lack of self-restraint.

“We’ll have to go up. There’s no point in trying to use that thing,” Paolo said, pointing to the remains of the intercom. “Fourth floor? What’s the betting the lift doesn’t work?”

Dave shrugged and walked over to push the button. Amazingly, the lift call light came on. The sound of machinery reached ground level and the doors creaked open. Paolo went to walk in, but staggered backwards as the stench of stale urine hit him.

“Jesus Christ, what is it with people? Come on, Dave, I’d rather climb four flights of stairs than travel in that thing. It’s a fucking health hazard.”

They went to the stairwell where the smell was slightly less offensive. Paolo tried not to breathe in too deeply as he climbed. He could hear by the strange noises coming from Dave’s direction that he was probably doing the same thing. As they stepped out of the stairwell onto the open balcony that provided access to the flats, he and Dave both leant over the edge and dragged air into their lungs.

“This Massey woman had better have something worth telling,” Paolo said as he turned to walk along the corridor.

They reached 413 and knocked, but no one seemed to be in. Giving a final rap on the door, Paolo was about ready to accept defeat when the next door along opened.

“What’s the fucking noise for? I’m trying to sleep.”

Paolo turned to see a woman of about thirty standing on the step. Black mascara smudges under her eyes and leftover lipstick gave the impression of a badly made up doll.

Dave took a step towards her. “We’re looking for Sandra Massey. Any idea when she’ll be back?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’m not her keeper. Who are you, anyway?”

Dave flicked his badge and introduced the two of them.

“Oh, that’s different. I thought you might be the bloke Sandra was avoiding. She got home last night in a right state. Came hammering on my door and said she was fucking off and never coming back.”

Paolo walked up to the woman’s door. “Friend of yours is she?”

The woman nodded.

“Did she say where she was going?”

“Nope just asked me to take her cat in.”

“Did she say why?” Paolo asked.

“Nope. All she said was that she was clearing off because she knew something that meant it wasn’t safe for her here anymore.”

C
HAPTER 
T
WELVE

No matter how many times he used the lash, still he trembled with lust. Was this it? Was he now tainted by those he’d saved? He remembered reading accounts of long-dead missionaries who had gone to save the souls of savages. In trying to bring God’s light into the darkest places, many of them had lost sight of their mission and fallen prey to the native way of life and the worship of false gods. Some had even taken native wives and lived in sin with them before remembering God’s message. Is that what was happening to him? Was he in danger of losing himself to the way of the flesh?

“Never, Lord, I promise I’ll never let this lust into my heart even if I have to destroy my body.”

He braced his back and lashed the whip again and again, as hard as he could, first over the right shoulder and then the left, but still his erection stood proud, taunting him with its power to seduce his mind. No matter how many times he used the scourge, it seemed as if his desire was stronger than his pain. It couldn’t be. He marked them only to save them, not for his own pleasure, so why couldn’t he control his needs?

Falling forward, he let the whip fall from his hand and clutched his arms around his body. He clung tightly, anything to keep his treacherous hands from giving him the release he craved.

Sin. It was sinful to lust in this way.

Please God, give me the strength to resist. How can this be happening? I haven’t even looked at the images on screen and yet I can see them in my mind, replaying that glorious moment when she went to meet you, Lord.

His hands moved of their own volition. He had no power to resist as the devil entered his soul and forced his way into his mind. He fell onto his ravaged back in an effort to raise his pain level, but that only heightened the sensations flooding his body. He gave in to temptation and caressed his erection. The devil’s hands took over his own and played the sweetest tune. He arched his back, squirming as the evil one brought him to climax.

“Sweet Jesus, it feels so good. So good. So... fucking... good.”

He bucked and thrashed as his seed spurted, wave after wave of pleasure flowing from his groin.

Then it was over. The pleasure faded, leaving a void for guilt to fill, taunting him with his weakness. As he lay spent on the floor, tears of despair ran in rivers from under his closed lids. He’d called out the Lord’s name. How could he have done such a thing?

What could he do to atone?

He already knew the answer.

***

Paolo looked up from his interminable paperwork as Dave came in. Throwing down his pen, he gestured for Dave to sit down.

“Any joy?”

“No, sir. We have a trace on Sandra Massey’s mobile, but it hasn’t been used. No one has seen her. No one knows where she might have gone, if she has any family – nothing. She might just as well not exist.”

“I’d love to go hammering on Azzopardi’s door asking if he’s missing a girl, but the chief feels we need something more tangible to go on than a missing person’s report phoned in by someone who then deliberately goes missing herself.”

Dave laughed. “When you put it like that, it does seem a bit of a stretch.”

“Okay, Dave, let’s recap where we are so far. Anything to report on Larry Harper?”

“Not a thing, sir. According to the surveillance he hasn’t stepped out of his pub all week apart from to go to the market for food supplies. His wife hasn’t been seen since Saturday, apparently. He’s been telling his customers that she has a nasty case of flu and will be staying in bed for quite some time yet.”

There was a knock on his office door and CC opened it. She came in before Paolo had chance to say a word.

“Sorry to intrude, sir, but you need to know. They’ve found another body. Badly beaten, wrapped in black plastic and dumped in with the garbage.”

“Where this time?” Paolo asked, feeling sick at the thought of another woman suffering as the others had.

“She was found at the landfill site, sir. One of the workers spotted her.”

Paolo stood up. “Come on, Dave, let’s go. CC, I want you to look into the background of Larry Harper. We’ve got someone watching him, but I want you to see if there’s anything in his past that we might be interested in.”

“Okay, sir, but what am I looking for?”

“Not sure. He’s taken to beating his wife to a pulp and paying for his thrills on the side. It might mean nothing, but we can’t ignore any possible lead. God knows, we have little else to go on right now.”

The landfill site was just over a mile south of the outer edge of town. When it had first opened no housing had been within three miles of the place, but the housing developers had been given the green light by successive councils to build more and more estates, until now some lucky residents had an uninterrupted view of the steaming piles of garbage from their upstairs windows.

Needless to say, the properties had been sold off plan and on a good day when the wind was in the other direction. From ground level the landfill wouldn’t have been seen by anyone visiting to choose the perfect plot. What none of the eventual purchasers had realised was that on a bad day, those living closest to the site would end up complaining of breathing in toxic fumes. Paolo thought they might be right and wouldn’t have lived in any of the houses if the developers had paid him.

Dave drove in through the gates guarding the landfill site and pulled up next to the manager’s office. Paolo stepped out of the car and tried not to breathe in. They headed towards the office, but stopped as a man came out and walked down the steps to ground level. He strolled over to Paolo and held out his hand.

“Michael McGuire. I run this place.”

Paolo shook the man’s hand and introduced himself and Dave.

“Your people are already over by where Del found the body. It definitely wasn’t there when we packed up and went home yesterday. I ask you, what kind of monster does something like that? Well, I just don’t understand the way some people’s minds work and that’s a fact. I don’t suppose Del will ever be the same again. Proper shook up, he was. Well, so was I if I’m honest. But there you go, that’s what management is all about. You’d know that, being in charge of folk yourself. You have to put your own upsets to one side and look after your staff, don’t you? Of course you do. That’s what I did for Del. He’s up in my office having a cup of tea. Poor bloke might never be the same again. It’s not the kind of thing you expect to happen when you come to work, is it? There he was thinking thank God it’s Friday and planning his weekend one minute and throwing up all over the place the next.”

“Thank you, Mr McGuire.” Paolo said, stopping the flow of the man’s verbal assault. “Would you please show my colleague up to your office and stay with him while he questions Del? Thank you.” He turned to Dave. “I’m going to see what the situation is with the body. I’ll meet you back here.”

He nodded to both men and headed in the direction Michael McGuire had indicated. Funnily enough, he was already getting used to the smell that permeated everywhere. He knew from past experience that the human nose was amazingly adaptable, but maybe he’d been spending too much time in refuse sites because he hadn’t expected such a rapid response.

Barbara was already there and busy with her team, so Paolo stood and waited for her to finish up. The body was lying on the edge of the landfill, so anyone dumping it could easily have driven in, thrown the corpse out of the car and rushed off. He pulled out his pad and made a note to ask Mr McGuire if the gates were locked at night, or just closed. If they were locked, then that might finally give them a few definite people to look at. It was also possible that someone saw or heard a car passing by the nearest houses. The most straightforward way into the site was through the Beckett Estate.

He flipped open his phone and tapped CC’s speed dial number.

“CC, send some uniforms to question the residents on Beckett Estate where roads runs through to the landfill site. No way could this body have been dumped here unless it had been brought in some sort of vehicle.”

As he closed the phone, Barbara rose and spoke quietly to her people, then she came over.

“It’s the same killer, Paolo.”

“That’s not like you, Barbara. I’m used to getting the ‘don’t ask me questions I can’t answer’ routine from you.” He intended to continue in that vein, but then saw the look on her face. “Sorry, Barbara, that was crass. I can see you’re more upset than usual. What is it?”

“Remember our conversation about Larry? I’ve realised that our killer is going after women who look like Sharon. I hadn’t realised it before, but it wasn’t that Sharon reminded me of them that upset me so much. It’s the fact that
they
all look like
her
. Same hair colour, same build, same bruises. The only difference between the bodies we’re dealing with and Sharon is that Sharon was still breathing when I saw her last and the other poor women weren’t. Catch him, Paolo. Catch him before he does it again.”

“I intend to, Barbara. Any idea on time of death?”

“I’ll know more when I get the body back to the lab, but an educated guess would be at least a few days, probably Saturday, but don’t...”

“Quote me on that,” Paolo finished, smiling at her.

She laughed and returned to her team. Paolo watched them as they worked. Quiet and efficient, just like Barbara. He automatically patted his pockets, reaching for his cigarettes and lighter, then remembered he’d given up. The patches were doing a great job of stopping the cravings, now all he had to do was find a way of stopping his hands from searching for the things when he was thinking. The chemist who’d sold him the patches had told him that the physical habit might be the hardest part to deal with. Right now, he agreed with him.