Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller (24 page)

The Ghost had one eye on the
television and one eye on the couple at the bar. The pub was busy; football
fans and families drank and ate their way through Sunday lunch while watching
Manchester United play Liverpool on the big screen, blissfully unaware that
they had a killer in their midst.

He sipped his drink and
looked at the people around him. No one caught him looking; they were too
fixated on the screen or their big plates of food. He watched them shovel meat
into their greedy mouths while feral children with gravy soaked clothes ran
amok and rolled around on the filthy carpet. He felt displeasure at the sight
of them but he couldn’t turn away, it was like watching a lesser species
drowning in its own filth and it gave him a clearer understanding as to why
people generally repelled him.

Something caught his eye.
A man sat on a stool at the end of the bar and his girlfriend – no
wedding rings he noted – stood between his legs with her back to him and
pressed her behind into his crotch. She was slim; vaguely attractive, she wore
a small T-shirt and black leggings under a tight short skirt. The man gripped
her hip and whispered into her ear – it was a tiny gesture, but it was
enough to catch the Ghost’s attention; a split second distraction before or
after and he would have missed it. Their eyes were focused on the football but,
he saw that while one of her hands was free to lift her drink from the counter,
the other was out of sight; hidden between her ass and his crotch. He could see
her shoulder move up and down as she caressed him. Her movements were subtle
but the Ghost was watching.

He watched them over the
course of an hour. People spoke to them and they gave all the necessary attention
but her hand remained in place. The man occasionally whispered in her ear and
they kissed lightly. They ordered more drinks and she skilfully ground herself
into him with the slightest but most deliberate of movements. His face grew red
and at one point he told her to stop and she laughed and flashed him teasing
glance.

Liverpool scored and
while all attention shifted to the TV screen she lifted her ass higher and for
a split second he saw the man’s hand appear between her legs as he took the
opportunity to touch her. It was at that point that the man and the Ghost made
eye contact over her shoulder. The man knew he was watching and the Ghost
glanced away and watched the TV for a time and when he looked back they were
both looking at him. The man was nuzzling her neck and kissing her ear and all
the while she looked directly at the Ghost. It was his cue to approach and
introductions were made, ‘Victor,’ said the Ghost when asked and the couple
introduced themselves, ‘I’m Gary and this is Caroline.’

They drank together for
many hours and later that evening the Ghost found himself in their bedroom.
Gary had two video cameras, one was on a tripod, the other he gave to the Ghost
who undressed and moved to the corner of the room. He watched silently while
the couple writhed on the bed and at one point Caroline beckoned him to join
them but he covered his face and told her not to look at him. He stood in the
shadows and masturbated. He liked to watch and they liked to be watched.

The trio spent many
evenings together over the next couple of weeks and on one occasion the Ghost was
drinking brandy with Gary while Caroline slept upstairs. ‘I’ve got a
proposition for you,’ said Gary, swirling the alcohol in his glass. ‘I normally
work the cameras myself but I like the idea of bringing you in.’

‘I’m interested.’

‘The money will be pretty
good.’ He passed the Ghost a handful of DVD’s. ‘I’ve done loads already; take a
look through that lot. Take them with you if you want.’

The Ghost took them and
put them on the table next to him. ‘Where do you get the girls?’ he said.

‘The community centre is
the perfect place to find messed up girls willing to get fucked in front of a
camera. They’ll do just about anything for fifty quid; you’d be amazed,’ he
said. ‘Tell you what; I’ll get you a job there so we can work them together.
I’ve got my eye on one in particular, she’s different to my usual catch and if
we manage to bag her it’ll be a real treat.’

The Ghost sipped his
drink in silence.

Gary continued, ‘What do
you think Victor, are you in?’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Caroline is much more
responsive when you’re behind the camera. You can join in whenever you want.’

‘I just watch.’

‘
Whatever you want to do Victor,’
he said. ‘Whatever you want to do. You’re a sick man.’

29

Simone heard movement behind her. She
spun around with the candle above her head but the gloom held nothing but
shadows, she wanted to blame her mind for playing tricks on her but she knew it
wasn’t her imagination, she wasn’t alone. He was stalking her and she knew it.
It wasn’t a case of
if
she was going
to be attacked it was a case of when it was going to happen.

She had seen the knife
and knew what he had in mind she just had to be ready for when he came for her.

As she continued to stare
into the total blackness for the source of the sound she was sure she could
make out the blurred shape of a white figure in the gloom. It was him, she was
sure of it. He was standing there like a ghost watching her as she stood
illuminated in the glow of her candle, peering back into the darkness.

‘Come on then!’ she
shouted. ‘I can see you down there. I’m ready for you.’

The figure moved fluidly
to one side and she lost sight of him as he slipped into the shadows.

She turned around and
pushed on, she was completely unarmed and it was only a matter of time until he
came for her. She whispered under her breath, ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ as she
walked. It was the only way to supress the feeling of panic that had begun to
rear its ugly head and grow inside her at the thought of having to fight him
naked and alone.

Simone was shivering with cold and
fear, one arm holding the candle above her head, the other outstretched,
sweeping at the shadows in front of her when she thought she heard someone
shout. A voice echoed as if from tiny speakers. She stopped to listen. There it
was again! She closed her eyes and concentrated only on sound. Short and abrupt
unintelligible words broke the silence. She continued, holding the candle aloft
while wax ran over her hand and tugged on her skin as it dried.

Suddenly someone called out, the
words echoing clearly through the tunnels. ‘Help me please!’

Simone snatched at the idea that it
must be Sylvia Croucher and the thought that she was alive not only gave Simone
a sense of relief but also the knowledge that she was no longer alone and together
they might stand more chance of getting out alive.

She turned her head and tried to
determine the direction of origin. Her heart pounded with excitement.

‘Somebody help me!’

It came from ahead; she was going in
the right direction. She walked faster than before and had to suppress the urge
to run. She didn’t want to trip and fall or be plunged into darkness if the
candle blew out.

She could she a hazy glow in the
distant depths of the tunnel and she called out. ‘Sylvia!’ The words left her
lips and she instantly regretted it. What if it was some kind of trap? What if
she had just given herself away? She looked around for a weapon – there
was nothing but useless splinters, crushed stone and few twisted nails.

‘Yes! Who is that? Oh God help me.’ The
reply confirmed to Simone that it was definitely Sylvia and hearing it was like
being rescued from a burning building – she no longer had to fight alone;
she had an ally.

Suddenly she saw movement in her
peripheral vision and turned to face it and he was on her in a flash. He had appeared
from somewhere unseen, she saw a terrible distorted face and flowing rags, the
glint of a knife and then the candle went out.

Simone threw a couple of punches, she
was sure she felt one of them connect with his chin and he backed away from her
just as she lashed out again. Her blows missed and swiping her fists into the
air threw her off balance.

‘That’s the spirit,’ he said in a
hissing whisper from the shadows and then he came at her again from an
unexpected angle and slammed her back into the wall.

Simone knew she had been stabbed in
the stomach because of the force of the blow not because it hurt how she
imagined being stabbed would hurt. It was like being punched. Like when Martin
used his fists on her but this was deeper and more penetrating. She lashed out
in the darkness at the silhouette before her but the knife went into her again.
Then she was on the ground and trying to protect herself with her arms but the
blade sliced easily into her forearms and hands and she felt it scrape against
bone and everything became slick with warm, slippery blood. He grabbed a
handful her hair and dragged her, open and bleeding towards the warm glow that
spilled into the tunnel. Her buttocks and legs scraped over the stones, the splinters
and the grit on the floor tore into her as all strength drained from her being.
She looked at her body and her feet as they bounced limply on the ends of her
legs; her once white skin was now shimmering black in the half-light. That’s my
blood, she thought, there’s buckets of the stuff – I think I’m going to
die.

The hand released her and she hit the
ground like a stack of wet clothes, her head crunched against the floor and the
impact made everything go dark. She slowly blinked clarity back into her vision
and looked down at her body. She was twisted in a gory heap of open flesh and
wetness that flickered black and gold in the candlelight.

I’m just a piece of meat, she thought
before she slipped away. Nothing but meat.

30

The phone on West’s desk rang and he
snatched it from its cradle.

‘West.’

‘It’s Jung, what church
were you at today?’

‘The St Peter and Paul
Church of England.’

‘Get a team to that
church and hit it with a wreaking ball. I’m five minutes from the station, be
outside when I get there.’

West was ready when Jung slammed to a stop with a screech of
hot brakes. The windows were down and Jung shouted, ‘Get in.’

Jung could see fractures in West’s usual cool, calm exterior,
he was clearly frantic, it was written all over his face and his eyes were
filled with pain.

‘Did you organise a task force to go to the church?’

‘We’re going in mob-handed,’ said West. ‘Do you think Simone
is still there?’

‘Yes I do, did you speak to Stevens?’ he said.

West started flicking the lid of a Zippo lighter open and
closed. Jung drove quickly but calmly and tried to imbue a calming influence
onto West. ‘I have a name,’ said West. ‘Victor James, also known as Sickman, he
was the one who attacked Stevens. Stevens managed to tell me that Victor James
wanted to know what he told us when we brought him in for questioning. His unusual
level of interest made Stevens suspicious and gave him away. When Stevens
realised Victor James had probably killed Victoria Redman it was too late,
James attacked him in the street. A passing car forced him to flee before he
got the chance to finish the job but he probably assumed he had done enough to
silence Stevens. He murdered Caroline before she worked out who had done it. He
also knew she was pregnant – the knife in the stomach wasn’t
coincidence.’

‘Victor James is on the list,’ said Jung. ‘They worked
together at The Shelter.’

‘Victoria Redman must have caught his eye there.’

‘And he wanted more than just to film her getting screwed by
Stevens.’

West nodded. ‘So what’s the deal with the church?’ he said.

‘Run through what happened while you were there.’

West kept flicking the damn lighter while he spoke;
click, ting, snap.
‘It was just after
the funeral. Simone told me Stevens was awake so I told her to go back to the
station, she said she’d get a cab and that was the last time I saw her. No one
knew she was missing until I started asking around for her.’

‘She’s still there, I’m sure of it,’ said Jung.

‘She left though. I saw her leave.’

‘I’ll wager you were mistaken.’

‘Why?’ he said.

‘Victor James is also the groundskeeper for The St Peter and
Paul Church of England which, incidentally backs onto Bishop’s Thorpe Wood.’

31

Simone was losing consciousness and
tried weakly to press against the wound in her stomach. Her intestines bulged
in slippery coils from the open flesh of her stomach and she couldn’t
understand why they slid between her fingers so easily when she applied
pressure to hold them back until she held her hands in the front of her face
and saw that the attack had left most of her fingers attached only by tatters
of skin and tendon. Before she passed out she heard someone say, ‘Oh my God!’
and when she looked she saw Sylvia Croucher lying on the floor. She was side-on
from Simone’s viewpoint, she was naked and ropes tied her arms by her side and
ankles together. Her head was turned in Simone’s direction and she was looking
at her with wild, desperate eyes while pulling helplessly at the restraints
that bound her.

Simone felt weak, her head lolled
drunkenly onto her chest but she managed to lift it for long enough to make eye
contact with Sylvia and whisper, ‘Sorry,’ before passing out.

It was the sound of Sylvia wailing and
sobbing and the killer shouting that drew Simone back from oblivion. Her head
was heavy; too heavy to move so when she opened her eyes that tiny movement was
the only one she made.

‘Shut up!’ A voice said.

She ran her eyes over her damaged body.
She was sitting in the dusty blood stained floor and by her thigh she saw something
in the mess. Something small, ordinarily it would have been insignificant but
to Simone it could make all the difference. It was a rusty spike about six
inches long, flat edged and tapered into a sharp point. She picked it from the
ground with her right hand with as much subtlety as she could muster. Her
little finger was missing but her thumb and other three fingers were okay. Her
left hand was ruined and useless to her, it was gummed to her torn stomach with
congealed blood and she couldn’t have pulled it free even if she wanted to.

Simone lifted her head and looked
towards Sylvia. The killer was bent over her and was now naked except for the
freakish hood he wore. He was pushing the knife into her forehead and screaming
at her with pure fury. ‘Stop fucking crying or I will cut you. I’ll cut your
fucking face off!’ He stood upright and Simone saw he was erect.

He turned to her and saw her blinking
in the half-light. ‘It’s alive,’ he said. ‘Good. I want you both side by side.’

He came over to her and grabbed a
handful of hair, dragged her across the floor and dropped her down next to
Sylvia. Simone nearly passed out again as the blood flowed evermore from her
body.

They lay side by side desperately
looking into each other’s eyes while he paced around them. When he stopped he
leant forward and grabbed Simone’s chin.

‘I want you to see this,’ he said to
Sylvia and quickly slid the blade of the knife up over Simone’s right temple,
across her forehead and down. Simone felt the sharp line of pain as the blade
opened her skin and she knew he was going to cut her face off. He stood up
straight again and addressed Sylvia. ‘Keep watching you fucker,’ he said. ‘You’re
next.’

Whatever small amount of strength
remained turned to panic and Simone mustered every ounce she had to drive the
rusty spike deep into his naked genitals. The force of the blow tore through his
testicular sack and beyond. The delicate skin opened and the contents
immediately spilled down his thighs and onto the back of Simone’s hand. His scream
was so high pitched it sounded inhuman as it filled the room. He tried to stab
Simone in the face but only managed to drop the knife to the ground before collapsing
onto his knees. The ‘O’ shaped mouth of the mask he wore suited the sound of
shock and pain that was coming from it. He stayed still for a moment and then fell
onto his back clutching his genitals.

‘Cut me free,’ said Sylvia.

Simone was already ahead of her, she
immediately began cutting into Sylvia’s bindings with the knife. It didn’t take
long and when Sylvia was free she sat up and cradled Simone.

‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’ She
made to stand up. ‘Come on we have to get out of here.’

‘I can’t,’ Simone said, ‘I’m dying
Sylvia. You have to go for help. Go now.’

‘But he’s still alive.’

Simone knew her only chance of
survival was to send Sylvia for help. She symbolically clutched the antique knife
to her breast as if proving to Sylvia it would be okay to leave her. ‘Go now
Sylvia,’ she said. ‘Hurry.’

And Sylvia did, Simone watched her leave
and then looked to the killer who lay motionless on the floor. Even if only for
a split second, Simone had seen the damage she had done to him, not only had
she ruptured his testicular sack, the spike had torn into the root of his
penis, almost ripping it free and when he reeled back he had taken the spike
with him lodged in his abdomen. She just hoped the damage she had inflicted was
enough to keep him in a state of disability until help arrived.

Simone was struggling to remain
conscious but she couldn’t allow herself to pass out with him alive and so
close to her. She considered killing him – she had reason to. He was a psychopathic
maniac and killing him would ensure her survival, assuming she lived long
enough for help to arrive.

He was breathing rapidly, the mouth-hole
of the mask flicked back and forth over his lips as he gasped for breath.

She spoke to him. ‘If you want to
live, stay down.’ His breathing hesitated for a second and then continued. He
was bleeding out and they both knew it. She tried to convince herself that if
he made a move for her she would go for the throat but deep down she knew that
the effort it took to take him down was more than her body could take and if
she tried to make another movement; especially a sudden defensive one, it would
probably be the last thing she ever did. She was close to the edge; she just
had to hang on a little longer. Help would be here soon. It had to be.