Dead Sweet: A D.I. Turnbull mystery (16 page)

Friday 12
th
July

12:00 hours

"When I was a child my mother's love was everything to me. If I was ever a little sad, bored or I hurt myself, she would give me a piece of cake or a biscuit and the hurt would go away. Did your mum do that to you?"

The girl's cries were muffled by the funnel sticking out of her mouth; tears ran down her face, mixing mascara and eye liner into a black sludge which crept slowly along the path of tears.

"I was a happy child, but then came school. Oh I don't mean primary school, where everyone still looks forward to going home. When boys didn't like girls and girls didn't care what they looked like. Fat, thin, ugly or pretty, it just didn't matter; we all got along. Yes there was the odd bit of name calling, but, 'That's just kids being kids,' my mum used to say. Do you know what I mean?"

The girl nodded frantically and the funnel began to jiggle in her throat before a steady hand pushed it firmly back into place.

"But then came High School. Oh what an eye opener
that
was. It was alright at first; I was just ignored. Nobody noticed the quiet fat kid in the corner. We were all still a bit too young to be considering anyone as a prospective partner. Then our old friend puberty comes along and girls like you suddenly exist. You with your perfect hair and straight teeth. You with your nice big tits." A blue, plastic-clad finger poked the girl hard in each breast, causing more muffled screams.

"Look at that stomach. So flat, it's disgusting, not normal." The hand slapped at the firm flesh.

"Suddenly I'm not ignored any more. Someone notices that I'm not the same as everyone else. I'm not desirable, I don't have perfect hair or teeth and oh look, if you ridicule me then I cry and everybody else laughs.
You
the perfect, popular, pouting princess, can get a whole class of children to laugh just by pointing out what a fat fucking freak I am."

Platinum blond hair flicked from side to side as the girl's head shook in denial.

"Not you? Oh come on, don't tell me you never joined in when you saw the boy that everyone hated or the girl who wasn't as pretty as everyone else. You know you laughed as they cried. You took pleasure that it wasn't you who was being picked on; thank God for the fat kid right? I hated you all at first, hated everything you stood for. I've seen you all in the magazines and on the television; showing off your perfect bodies, selling your image to the highest bidder. Making the people believe they should all be like you and if they're not, shame on them."

The blue hand produced a large bag of pink powder and began to trickle it into the funnel.

"But then I realised it wasn't hate you needed but love. Your real problem is nobody loves you; that's why you crave attention. That's why you're so thin and you parade yourself in public. What you need is the type of love that makes you whole, that fills the emptiness in your soul. I'm gonna love you like my mother loves me. I'm gonna feed you fat girl. Feed you love, ease your pain. You are a lucky girl because I've got a whole lot of love to give."

The sherbet continued to pour into the funnel and a quiet chanting was the only other sound in the room.

"Fat girl, fat girl, fat girl..."

"What the fucking hell..." a male exploded into the room. "What are you doing to Moira you sick fuck?" The male ran at the figure which had been standing over his girlfriend who was handcuffed to her bedstead. Grabbing at the grey suit material, he heaved the fat body away from where it stood. A blur of blue plastic was seen in the air and a glint of metal which was held in the gloved hand. The male gave a surprised yelp as he felt the punch to the side of his neck and put his hand up to the area, feeling something sticking out of his neck and a warmth from liquid which pumped out onto his fingers. He brought his hand up to his eyes and saw the bright red arterial blood. His legs began to weaken as his life's blood left him and his knees gave away, causing him to kneel on the floor.

"No need to bow, I'm just showing your Moira some love."

A beeping sound could be heard in the room and Terry noticed a mobile phone on the floor with the screen showing '999' had been dialled.

"Oh very clever, very clever indeed." Terry kicked the male hard in the head but it wasn't felt by the already dead man.

"Bye Moira, sorry I couldn't love you more and thanks for the chat." Terry grabbed the suitcase which had been intended for use during the evening and quickly left the building; police sirens already in the distance, growing louder with every step taken away from the building.

-x-

12:10 hours

"Tango x-ray 99 receiving base, over."

"Go ahead base." PC Putanowski replied over his radio.

"Yeah we have received an abandoned call, over."

"Location? Over."

"291 Twockford Lane, sounds of a disturbance in the background. Believed suspects are still on scene, over."

"On our way, over."

"Another domestic." Peter Crowther, a forty something, disillusioned officer commented as he drove.

"Better put your foot down, just in case." Marcin Putanowski, a twenty something, still keen and up for it officer replied as he reached over to turn on the two tone siren and blue lights of their police car.

Peter Crowther put his foot down on the accelerator, "Another waste of fucking time, nothing ever happens in Twockford Lane; it's always got paparazzi there. That's where that supermodel lives isn't it?"

"What one?"

"You know, Vixen, bit tits, has that show on telly."

"Oh is that where she lives?"

"Yeah, I've been there before when the neighbours have complained about the crowds hanging around outside."

"Oh I thought we might have had a decent job then."

"No, I bet you a fiver it's the same old crap or a domestic."

"Ok, I'll go with that, we're clear," Marcin called out as they reached a junction. "It's left, left." He advised Peter as they drove. A few minutes later the police car pulled up outside a corner house. Marcin could see the paparazzi Peter had been talking about a bit further up the road.

"Not her address then," he opined.

"No," agreed Peter as he got out of the car. "You go around the back, I'll check the front."

"Can't we just knock on the door first?"

"Well if it's being burgled, they might jump out the back when I knock on the door."

Marcin smiled, "Oh yeah, good thinking. Ok I'll go around the back." He took off stealthily and jumped over a short fence which separated the back of the house from the front. Peter began to walk towards the front door.

"Holy shit, Peter you need to come here now," Marcin called from the back garden. Peter heard the sound of smashing glass and quickly scaled the fence to see Marcin smashing in a patio door with his police baton.

"Ambulance required as soon as possible, two casualties," Marcin relayed into his radio.

"What are you doing? Have you radioed that in?" Peter shouted.

"No time, look." Marcin continued to knock away the smashed glass, making a hold in the door big enough so he could enter. Peter looked through the hole in the door and immediately noticed a semi-naked woman strapped to the double bed which dominated the room. Pink bubbles popped and fizzed from her mouth and blank eyes stared at him from a mascara covered face. A false eyelash stuck up at an impossible angle from the girl's eye, making her expression somewhat comical in what appeared to be its final expression. Blood splattered the girl's body and bed sheets, Peter's eyes travelled along her body down to the floor and onto a pool of blood which was now congealing under the neck of a young black male.

"He's dead," Peter observed.

"She's got a pulse," Marcin exclaimed as he felt the neck of the girl on the bed. "What the fuck is this stuff?" he asked, bending down and putting his face close to the girl's foaming mouth.

"It's sherbet." Peter shouted. "It's that killer; he's been here, quick get some water. We need to dissolve it or she's going to choke to death." Marcin ran through the flat, finding the kitchen quickly and rifling through the cupboards to find a plastic jug. He filled it with water from the tap.

"Cold or hot?" he shouted.

"That doesn't matter," Peter shouted back, "Just get it here quick, her pulse is getting weaker."

Marcin ran back to the bedroom where Peter was releasing the girl from her handcuffs with his master key. "Get her onto her side," Peter said. Marcin gently pulled the girl towards him so she lay on her right side.

"Try and keep her mouth open," said Peter and began to trickle the water onto the sherbet laden mouth. Small amounts fizzed and dissolved as the water went past the open mouth.

"That's not working quickly enough," Marcin said. "We need to pour the water into her mouth."

"But then she'll drown." Peter objected.

"It's the only way, if we leave her she'll die. At least if we flush it out we can turn her over and the water can flow out of her." Peter shook his head and continued trickling the water sideways along the girl's face.

"Look she's still got a pulse so there's a good chance we can save her, but we've got seconds left to do it. Come on Peter, we have to really pour the water in and shovel the sherbet out, it's the only way."

Peter hesitated once again, knowing that to pour water into anyone's lungs would almost certainly kill them."

"We have to clear her airway," Marcin insisted, "We can get her back, come on man, do it."

"Right, hold her down."

Marcin got the girl onto her back once again and Peter poured the water directly into her mouth; Marcin using his fingers to gouge out lumps of the sherbet. Once the mouth was clear they had to continue pouring water into her airways.

"Put her on her side so the water can come out now," Peter said. They continued for what seemed like an eternity; pouring in the water and then moving the girl onto her side so it could run back out again, each time bringing more sherbet with it. They entered an almost trancelike state, both silently focusing on the job of clearing the girl's airways. Marcin reached his two fingers over to the girl's neck and rested them there for a few seconds.

"No pulse," he murmured. Peter continued to pour water into her mouth.

"No pulse Peter, she's gone."

"Out of the way," came a shout from behind and both Peter and Marcin uttered a sigh of merciful relief at the sight of two paramedics crossing the threshold. One ran to the male on the floor.

"He's gone," Peter shouted, "But we've only just lost this one. Please," he begged, "Get her back."

"Move out of the way hun." The female paramedic gently took his arm. "We'll see what we can do." She pulled open a red box and took two paddles out after her counterpart confirmed no pulse existed. A high whine filled the room as the paddles charged themselves; two slabs of silicone were slapped onto the girl's chest and then her body arched violently into the air when the paddles were pressed against the silicone and fired.

"She's back," the other paramedic stated, beginning to remove other medical paraphernalia from his green bag.

Peter pulled Marcin over to the back door, "We better call this in now," he said, "I'll go out and do the necessary. Can you start thinking about scene preservation and cordoning off the area?"

"Yes no problem. Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah."

"He can't have been gone very long; I mean it only takes a few minutes for someone to die like that you know?"

"Could be him on the floor." Peter observed, "But yeah, you're right, get out to those paps and check if they've seen anyone going in and out of the property. If any description comes up, get it circulated as soon as possible."

"Ok," Marcin ran out of the broken door and back over the fence.

"Could have used the front door," Peter muttered as he took out his radio; moving himself to the front door and opening it. "Tango x-ray 99 to base, over."

"Go ahead, over."

"Yeah, can we get DI Turnbull on scene? Looks like another murder to the same as the other two girls, over."

"Oh my god," gasped the controller, "Yes, will get him straight away; and the Duty Governor, over."

"Yes, please, the whole shebang. Please inform them the girl is still alive, over. Repeat, girl is still alive, over."

"Do we have a description of suspect? Over."

"No, girl is alive but unresponsive; paramedics are with her now, over."

"Ok, over."

"One male on scene also, unfortunately deceased. Could be the suspect, over."

Peter ended, "At least I fucking hope so," he said to no one in particular, "For all our sakes."

-x-

D.I. Todd Turnbull was desperately attempting to look interested at the man who sat opposite him. The male, Mr Stoppard, was the owner of a small courier company in Elisworth. An audit had discovered that Mr Stoppard's personal assistant had been writing out cheques to her own made up company for many months; embezzling over £50,000 from the company. Todd was being shown each cheque and a catalogue was being made of dates and times. It was a necessary part of the investigation but one which Todd would ordinarily leave to his financial investigation team. Todd had come into the office early so he could work on his proposal to covertly watch Malcolm Chadwell, but had got roped into sitting with the trainee detective on this particular case. Five minutes into the interview and Todd was cursing his luck. Mr Stoppard spoke in a voice which was almost hypnotic in tone and rhythm; that mixed with a very boring subject matter made Todd's eyelids very heavy and his brain was wandering, going over anything other than the matter in hand. Todd's mobile phone began to ring, snapping his attention back into the room.