Grave Doubts (7 page)

‘Gone away forever?’ Bess’s voice had dropped to a hush. Chris was listening attentively.

‘Yes forever.’

‘Did you love them?’

Nightingale took a huge breath and Fenwick stared at her with renewed concern but she seemed to be in control.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘That
is
sad then.’ Bess trotted over to the other side of Nightingale and took hold of her free hand. Chris grabbed his father’s and the four of them walked along in silence, linked together, until they reached Fenwick’s car.

‘In the back, you two. Wellies off.
Now
Chris…no, don’t go in that puddle… Oh, I don’t know.’ He lifted his son up away from further temptation and pulled his boots off.

‘Can she come home with us?’ It was a strange remark from his distant and reserved son.

‘She’s
the cat’s mother, Chris. This lady’s name is Sergeant Nightingale and she has her own home to go to.’

‘Nightingale.’ They all stared at her. ‘Just call me Nightingale.’

‘Can Nightingale come home? Just for tea, Daddy?’ Bess was as insistent as her brother.

Fenwick retreated into an elaborate show of wrapping their boots and putting them away. It would be completely wrong. There was a clear boundary in his mind between work and his personal life, particularly where the children were concerned. Yet the idea of sending Nightingale home on her own when she was so vulnerable made him uncomfortable. She saved him the problem of a reply.

‘It’s very kind of you both but I need to get home. Perhaps another day when I’ll be better company.’

‘You promise, another day?’ Chris was looking serious and Fenwick wanted to warn her that a promise to his children was never a light undertaking.

‘Yes, whenever your daddy says it’s all right to come.’

He drove her around the forest to her car and watched as she unlocked the door.

‘Are you all right to drive?’

‘Yes thanks. Oh, here…’ She started to take off his jumper.

‘No, keep it on. You can return it any time.’

‘Thank you. Goodbye then.’

‘Goodbye, Nightingale. Look after yourself.’

He watched her reverse her car carefully and drive away into the dusk.

‘Come on then, you two. Do you still want those ice-creams?’

‘Shit!’

The man walked out from behind a tree and kicked a stone across the parking lot so hard that it chipped paintwork off the only other car in sight.

It had been easy to follow her and when he saw her take off into the forest he’d thought that his luck was in, but in the time it had taken him to park and remove his helmet he lost her. The bitch could run, he’d give her that. So he’d decided to wait for her return. Except that some do-gooding Sir Galahad had cocked it up and he was back to square one. Abducting a policewoman wasn’t easy, particularly one who had zero social life.

Normally he could rely on his charm to captivate them but this one was different and he could understand why Griffiths had found it hard to leave her alone. She represented the ultimate challenge. The woman hardly ever went out except to work and when he’d tried to talk to her as she shopped for an anorexic’s food she had looked straight through him.

Patience wasn’t his strongest suit. In other circumstances he would have given up and moved on to someone else, but she was not a random victim. Sergeant Louise Nightingale needed to pay for her temerity. She had outsmarted Griffiths, persuaded a jury of his guilt and in so doing destroyed a perfect partnership. For that she would die but he’d decided that he wanted her terrified first. It was an unusual twist and would be a test of his creativity as well as his self-discipline, but the thought of destroying her confidence and of filling her life with fear was sufficient compensation, so far.

It was very important to him that she became dead scared before she was dead. His game had been subtle to match her style but he thought now that he was being too delicate. She showed no signs of being concerned and hadn’t even bothered to report his stalking of her – at least no police had arrived at her flat or impounded her PC. Matters would have to escalate but first he needed to make poor Wayne’s life a little easier. Another trip north to prison-town was called for then he could concentrate all his attention on her without further distraction.

Wednesday evenings at the Bird in Hand were normally enlivened by the appearance of an exotic dancer. Sasha was Saunders’ favourite. He excused the wobble on her thighs because of her pendulous tits and the fact that she had once let him grope them when they had both of them been worse for wear. The idea that such a delight might happen again and lead on to more, kept him returning to the pub-cum-club when he wasn’t on nights at the prison.

Unfortunately for Saunders, on his first visit in June he found the tiny stage unlit with no sign of a dancer.

‘What’s up?’

‘We were raided.’ The landlord disliked Saunders but his money was good and he could be relied upon to spend until he was so pissed that he needed help to find the door; even better he had no sense that his drinks were costing him more as the night wore on.

‘Where you been anyway?’

‘Shift work. Needed the money and they’re short handed. But I was hoping to see some action tonight.’

He looked around as if contemplating leaving. A beer and whisky chaser appeared on the bar in a flash.

‘A round on me. Don’t worry, next week we’ll be back to normal.’

The landlord looked over his shoulder and spotted the new ‘hostess’ he had hired to pull pints and keep the customers happy until the stripper could return. He didn’t advertise for barmaids anymore. It was better that the girls knew what was expected of them.

‘Milly! Get your pert little arse over here and meet Mr Saunders, one of our most valued customers.’ He turned to the guard suggestively. ‘She’s new – you never know your luck.’

After four pints and as many whiskies, Saunders knew that his luck was out, although there was a hint of promise in Milly’s eyes that meant he would be back the following day. He had chain-smoked fifteen cigarettes whilst he had verbally abused her in the mistaken idea that he was chatting her up, and that his lewd innuendo was a certain turn on. He wet his shoes by mistake in the Gents and was ‘helped to the door’ when he decided that Milly should provide the striptease the evening was lacking. As he left the bar with some velocity, the landlord murmured, ‘fucking pig’ under his breath and patted Milly’s bum in thanks for keeping Saunders amused. She had expected something more rewarding and flounced off to the end of the bar and a more likely looking customer.

There was an Indian takeaway en-route from The Bird to Saunders’ house. He threw up in the gutter outside, felt better and went in and bought a beef vindaloo, rice, onion bhajees, spicy poppadums and two lamb Samosas.

He peeled the lids off in the kitchen at home and took the containers into the sitting room. Saunders subscribed to The Adult Channel for evenings such as this, and watched the screen fantasising about what he would do with the snooty barmaid next time, as he troughed through each of his cartons. By midnight the combined effects of the alcohol and heavy food had their traditional effect and he was fast asleep on the couch, head back snoring while the TV played on.

Outside, a tall, slim figure climbed over the wall in the yard, landed silently and moved to the back door unseen. It was unlocked, a laughable lack of security for a prison officer, and led into a small kitchen that stank of curry, a week’s rubbish and unwashed dishes.

The intruder was wearing a dark polo neck and black jeans. Both were expensive and in stark contrast to the cheap chain store trainers on his feet. He carried a long hold-all like an old-fashioned doctor’s bag that he opened silently. The sounds of soft porn and snoring came from the living room at the front of the house and painted a graphic picture of what he would find when he entered. He smiled. It was not a nice smile. It was the smile he reserved for night and darkened rooms. The people who saw it rarely lived to describe it.

He opened the bag and pulled out a black plastic dustbin liner that he unfolded with barely a rustle. The polo neck came off, as did the jeans, eased over the trainers. They went into the plastic bag for later. Underneath he wore a tight fitting rubber suit that stroked his skin when he moved. It too was black, unlike his skin-tone latex gloves but the anomaly was short lived as he pulled a pair in fine black leather over the top of them. Then he put on the mask, enjoying the smell of the leather as it covered his face. He looked around for a mirror. In bedrooms there were always mirrors in which to appreciate the final effect, not so in a kitchen but it was a minor inconvenience. He knew how he would look and the thought filled him with warm energy. He was death personified. He would be the last thing this pathetic specimen ever saw. He was God.

In the living room the curtains were already drawn, creating a cozy little hellhole. Saunders was sprawled like a beached whale on the sofa, his hairy white belly protruding from his open shirt, one foot collapsed sideways into the remains of a dark stinking curry. His belt was undone, his trousers splattered with some sort of brown gravy. A piece of burnt onion had wrapped itself around an upper incisor. The intruder stared at it in fascination as the pig of a man in front of him grunted and spluttered his way through who knew what dreams.

One sharp blow to the temple with a weighted cosh drove Saunders from sleep into unconsciousness and he set about his preparations with an economy of motion that suggested planning and practice. A strip of heavy tape went over Saunders’ mouth and he handcuffed his hands behind his back. He stripped Saunders below the waist, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the waft of body odour that emerged as he removed the man’s pants. Leaving the socks on was an amusing touch. They made the pig look even more ridiculous. One bare shin was tied to the front leg of the couch with nylon cord that would bite into the skin when he struggled. The other he tied with a long length of flex to a radiator beside the television.

Saunders lay on his back, legs splayed wide apart with his ample buttocks on the edge of the cushion. The man ran some more rope beneath his armpits and over the back of the settee so that he was pulled back tight and immobile. He didn’t want him to squirm too much, as it would make his work difficult. When he was certain that he was secure, he went into the squalid kitchen, removed the equipment he needed from the bag and set it down carefully next to his clothes, tutting at the layer of dust on the table. He threw a pile of washing up from the bowl to the floor and filled it with cold water.

Watching Saunders splutter and cough as he regained consciousness was a sweet experience. He loved this moment, when terror replaced confusion to be followed by denial, then fear again.

‘Ngh?’

Saunders struggled against his bonds, panic on his sweaty face. He pulled and twisted until the ropes bit into his flesh. When he collapsed back against the cushions, his skin was pale and greasy. For a moment the intruder feared that he was going to choke and he didn’t want him to die that way, but the moment passed and he relaxed a little.

‘Hello, Mr Saunders.’ His voice was conversational, mild even, but he knew that his eyes would betray his true feelings and he enjoyed this moment of play. ‘Now, you may not know me, but I know you through a mutual acquaintance who is very displeased with you. That probably leaves you with a long list but let me reduce it for you. This person is still inside.’

A look of confusion crossed Saunders’ face.

‘Still too many? Oh well, this is dull anyway. Do you know a nice boy called Wayne Griffiths? Yes, that’s right, funny little Wayne has friends in high places. I bet you didn’t count on that when you began to bully and abuse him.’

Saunders was squirming again now, his eyes bulging above the gag. The man laughed, enjoying the show.

‘I’ve been planning this little scenario ever since he told me about you and I’ve had plenty of opportunity to refine what I’m going to do. My only problem is that I have so
many
ideas and we have so little time. Ideally, we should spend a whole day together. I’d like that.’

Saunders tried to scream against the gag. With a superhuman effort the guard lurched upwards, rubbing his shins raw, and the settee jumped an inch in the air.

‘Hmm, tricky. You might be more agile than I’ve given you credit for. I’m going to need a little more help. Don’t go away.’

He sprinted out to the kitchen and rummaged in his leather bag, talking to himself.

‘My little bag of tricks. Ooh, Saunders, I bet you’d love to know what I’ve got in here for you. Here we are.’ He sounded like a little boy who had found a long lost toy.

He knotted a length of yellow climber’s rope into a noose and forced it over Saunders’ head. It tightened immediately and by the time he had secured the loose end around the bannister in the hall, Saunders was blue in the face and gasping for air.

He eased some slack through the knot and watched patiently as the cyanosis faded and his victim resumed the more normal pallor associated with terror.

‘That’s better. I don’t want you dying prematurely. We may not have a lot of time but what we have I want to enjoy.’ He glanced at his new Italian watch.

‘It’s almost two forty-five now and I very much doubt that you’ll be missed before the eight o’clock shift. What time do you normally arrive I wonder? Not early so that gives us six hours. Plenty of time!’

Saunders had subsided into a confused stupor, exhausted by his previous asphyxia and already terrified into some sort of dumb acceptance. The man sensed that further words, delicate, almost sensual threats that he had rehearsed silently so many times, would have little effect. He brought his accessories into the living room and started to arrange them on the carpet between the television and the couch. He paused to stare at the pornography on the screen and the sight of it made him grin broadly.

‘A fitting backdrop, don’t you think? If the pain gets too much you can always try and focus on the three of them. But first, I want to show you what I’ve brought for our mutual amusement.

‘I’ve chosen a simple theme – “do it yourself” – I rather liked that though I’ve never been much of a handyman so I’m afraid I haven’t had much practice but I don’t think that will spoil things.’

As he spoke he set out his props: three sharpened screwdrivers, two pairs of pliers, electric wire, a hammer, a hacksaw and small electric drill.

‘There. All set. We just need to decide where to start.’ He glanced over his shoulder, momentarily distracted by the sights on the screen.

‘Well, will you look at that!’ He said with glee. ‘Inspiration. Off we go then.’

He picked up the hacksaw and turned all his attention to the corpulent man on the couch.

Dawn was long past when he finally packed his equipment away. He’d made more of a mess than he had intended and it took a while to tidy up before he found the shower. His nose wrinkled in disgust at its filthy state as he chose an anti-dandruff shampoo from a surprising selection in the bathroom cupboard. The shower was invigorating and he enjoyed the sensation of slipping into his clean clothes afterwards. The dustbin liner was reused for his bloody rubber suit and tools. His gloves were still wet with drying blood and he was tempted to leave them behind but last minute caution stopped him. He felt incredibly confident, almost protected, but there was no point inviting problems.

He left the house at seven-thirty, slipping out through a strip of back garden that had been left to go to seed, rather like its late owner. His escape route was already planned and he caught the number 25 bus with ease. As it passed the prison he raised his newspaper in front of his face, not so much to hide as to conceal a smile of contempt. They would be starting to wonder about Saunders soon. What would they make of his murder? The idea of their confusion and horror was a powerful aphrodisiac and he scanned the bus expectantly. There was a nurse sitting in the front seat. He sighed deeply with contentment and an old lady opposite rewarded him with a quiet smile.

‘Dreadful place that,’ she volunteered and he nodded his head earnestly.

‘Full of terrible people,’ he agreed.

Something in his tone must have been wrong because the old woman peered at him curiously. Perhaps the bus had been a bad idea after all. He pretended to study a poster and the woman looked away but he could sense her snatching glances at him and he decided to leave the bus at the next stop. The nurse was out of the question anyway now.

He walked the remaining mile to a small car park that he had selected for its lack of CCTV and picked out his vehicle. Intelligence was his main weapon, or so he thought, and it amused him to consider how the police would try to think when they came to investigate his handiwork.

He had never killed a man before and it had been surprisingly satisfying. There had been no urgency, no desire that needed to be held in check, so that inflicting pain had been almost scientific. As he drove away he acknowledged that he had learnt a lot and it amused him to think about how he might apply it to the police bitch. Had he not been so sure that her evidence was going to be rejected he would have killed her before the trial. That had been a mistake; he had underestimated her, which meant that a simple death would not suffice. She deserved more.

The teasing was still fun and he thought that it was starting to work. She was losing weight and had grown even more isolated from her friends. He wanted her to suffer in the same way that Wayne was having to, to feel imprisoned in her own life before he ended it for her. But her time was coming. He was not known for his patience and normally thought self-control a waste of energy. As soon as she was truly scared he would kill her, right under the noses of her colleagues.

He stopped at a zebra crossing and waved a mother and child across, giving them a friendly smile as she mouthed a thank you at him before he drove on.