Saxon (28 page)

That power was surely working through him.

Rottingdean, Monday, June 17, 12.30AM

He had no time for sleep. A list had to be drawn up of the meddlers. But no, a list could be found – how would he explain that. Best to keep it in his head. These people would need to be removed, because they were unwittingly assisting the spread of the disease by attempting to stop him. A moment of panic overtook him. The thought of not being able to complete his work frightened him. Fear was an emotion he hadn’t experienced since his childhood – sweat trickled down from the back of his head and his hands grew moist.

It didn’t help that the weather had changed. The heat wave was losing its lust for life, making the air heavy and humid. For
the last couple of nights there had been faint, distant rumbles of thunder out over the Channel. But so far, there had been nothing with enough power to clear the air.

He wandered around his house. Twenty rooms in total – not large rooms, but still twenty of them just the same. At one time, when his wife was alive, the house appeared to be so much smaller. There were always friends dropping in for a chat, dinner parties that went on into the night. Sometimes the guests would stay overnight if the alcohol intake careered out of control. With twenty rooms, it was not a problem.

Even when he and his wife were alone in the house, working on the décor and in some parts, rebuilding it together, such was the size of her personality that the house, regardless of its size, seemed to shrink. Her musical laugh would echo from room to room. He and his wife were keen members of the village amateur dramatics society, both accomplished actors, both highly intelligent.

But now he was alone. If silence had a sound, it echoed around the house. The friends no longer came, and he couldn’t blame them – maybe they were more her friends than his, or possibly they were too embarrassed to come. Some people couldn’t deal with death. Or the change that he had gone through made others uncomfortable. He was different now, only smiling when it was expected and only with his mouth, never his eyes. He covered his true feelings with his brash personality, but he thought that maybe he was losing his touch; maybe he was no longer as convincing as he used to be. Whatever was going on behind his eyes was gradually becoming more evident in his expression.

His mental list was complete. But when and where, that was the problem that occupied his mind now. He just had to wait until the voice answered those questions.

Chapter 15

Wednesday, June 19, 8.50PM

The phone on Saxon’s desk rang. Parker slowly leaned over from his computer and grabbed it, ‘Commander Saxon’s phone, can I help you?’

Silence.

Irritated, he slammed down the receiver and moved back to his console. It rang again almost immediately. ‘Commander Saxon’s phone – who is it?’

More silence. ‘Whoever you are, this is a police line and the call is being traced; now talk to me or piss off, I’m a very busy man.’ Then, a second before he was about to slam it down again, he heard the mechanical voice. Instantly he hit the record button. The message was short. The second the caller hung up, he dialled Saxon’s mobile.
Shit, no signal
.

He quickly rummaged through his address book, and found Saxon’s home number and tried that one. Just an answerphone – but it would have to do. The phone beeped. ‘Sir, Parker here, call me urgently, we’ve had another message from the killer. It involves you. He has made threats against you. I’m sending some lads to your apartment to check it out. I will keep trying your mobile.’

He hung up the phone, and for a second he paused.
What if the killer is pulling the same stunt as he did on Mancini? What if he’s already got to Saxon?
As this thought struck him, he heard a long distant rumble of thunder.

It took several attempts but Parker eventually managed to get a signal on Saxon’s mobile. Relieved, he left pretty much the same message on his voicemail. The decision to be made was whether to stay in the office or to go to Saxon’s apartment. He opted for the apartment. On his way past Sergeant Dowling, he told him to patch any calls through to his mobile, and if Saxon was to call in
on the off chance, then tell him to watch his back as Mr Weirdo was out to get him.

As Parker drove into the square where Saxon lived, he immediately recognised the unmarked police car that seemed to be lurking in the shadows. Much to his annoyance, he had to park his car two hundred yards away as there were no free spaces. PCs Ryan and Ellis stood waiting for Parker to arrive and put out their cigarettes as soon as they saw him approaching.

‘Seen anything?’ asked Parker, gazing up at the elegant Regency building.

‘Not a thing, Sarge. Now, I hate to sound defeatist but how are we going to get in…have you seen the size of that door, and it’s rock solid,’ said Ryan, with more than a touch of despair in his voice.

‘That’s why I’m in plain clothes, Constable – why didn’t you ring one of the other door bells for Christ’s sake?’ Parker couldn’t believe how stupid some of the beat cops could be sometimes. He ran up to the door and pressed the button for the ground floor. After a few moments, the light came on in the hallway and a tired-looking late middle-aged woman half opened the door. She blinked a few times as Parker thrust his warrant card through the gap. She grabbed it and then closed the door. After what seemed like an eternity, she opened the door and was nearly knocked off her feet as the three officers pushed past her.

‘Sorry, love,’ Ryan called back to the grumbling woman who was fast disappearing back into her apartment. ‘Which floor, Sarge?’ shouted Ellis, as he started to run up the stairs.

‘Top,’ answered Parker, deciding to take the lift and at least be left with a little bit of strength by the time he got to the top. They all arrived at Saxon’s door at the same time – Ryan and Ellis gasping for breath. The first thing that sent waves of concern to the pit of their stomachs was the red cross that had been painted on the door, in what looked like blood. It was still wet.

Parker tried the handle, but it was locked. He hammered on
the door as loudly as he could. ‘Sir, Commander Saxon, are you in there?’ Silence.

‘Right, lads, let’s not fuck about, get this door open and fast.’

Parker moved out of the way. He was the taller, but the pair of uniforms were built like rugby fullbacks. It took three well-aimed kicks under the door handle before they heard the cracking of timber as the doorframe and hinges gave way. The door fell flat on the carpet of Saxon’s hall.

Cautiously, Parker felt inside for the light switch and flicked it on. No one there. Quickly, they went into every room, looked in wardrobes and checked the roof – the place was empty. Ryan and Ellis walked back to the hallway and stared at the demolished door.

‘The commander’s not going to be too pleased about that,’ said Ryan, picking up splinters of wood that had travelled to the sitting room.

‘I think the sodding door is the least of our problems at this point in time,’ said Parker sarcastically. ‘Right now I’d like to know where Commander Saxon is.’

‘Why would you like to know that, Parker?’ called a voice from what was left of the door. All three of them turned sharply to see Saxon standing in the doorway with Francesca. ‘And what the hell have you done to my door?’ he continued, kicking bits of wood out of his way.

Parker was almost speechless with relief. ‘Sir, thank Christ you’re okay…we were about to call out the helicopters and the dogs and start scouring the countryside for your body. Where have you been? I tried to get you on your mobile, but it was switched off. Didn’t you get my message when you turned it back on?’

Saxon walked through the hallway with Francesca following behind. ‘Flat battery, I’m afraid. But I’m here now so tell me what’s going on.’

Francesca started to walk to the kitchen. ‘Tea all round,’ she
said as she disappeared through the door.

Parker filled Saxon in on the phone call from the killer. ‘Basically, sir, he said that the time had come to stop the meddlers from trying to stop his mission and that number one on his agenda was you. He also said that it would be fruitless to try and stop him because higher powers were at work – usual loony stuff. I couldn’t contact you so that’s why we came here. Then there’s the symbol painted on your door.

Ryan and Ellis lifted the door up and leant it against the wall so that Saxon could see for himself. ‘Ok, your motives were good – I won’t sue you for damages this time,’ joked Saxon. Francesca appeared with tea for everyone. The two constables, who obviously had asbestos throats, finished theirs first and stood up.

Ryan’s radio crackled into life and he moved out into the hall to answer the call. He came back quickly. ‘Got an incident – sorry, sir, we have to go.’ They didn’t wait for permission.

Parker drained his cup and hauled himself up. ‘Right, sir, I’ll organise someone to keep an eye on your flat. I can get a uniform to sit out in the corridor all night if you want.’

Saxon interrupted him. ‘Absolutely not, Parker, the killer knows where I live, which is interesting in itself. How does he know my address?’ He pondered, ‘Does he know me, I wonder? What does worry me, is that if he’s been watching me, then he more than likely knows about Francesca.’

Parker looked at her sitting on the sofa next to Saxon – perhaps too close to be just friends he thought to himself. ‘Oh, sir, I er, see,’ he said, instantly regretting having said anything at all.

Saxon put him out of his misery. ‘Yes, Parker, we’ve been out to dinner and I suppose you could say it was a date – so end of subject okay?’

Francesca beamed a smile at Parker who was now blushing heavily, but managed to return it, albeit sheepishly.

Saxon continued. ‘As I was going to say, Francesca, before the
interruption from Miss Marple here, I think that you should stay in one of our secure houses for a while. It’s nothing special – just a house where you’ll live with a couple of WPCs until we can be sure that it’s safe to come back here. As soon as the door is fixed, I will be back in here waiting for the bastard to pay me a visit. What I don’t want is lots of obvious police all over the place frightening him away.’

Francesca turned to look at him and he could tell immediately that she was not going to cooperate. ‘But, Paul, what about my work? I’m a photographer. When I’m not out taking pictures, I live on my phone looking for work, and besides, all my equipment is downstairs. How am I going to earn my daily crust? It’s out of the question – I won’t be driven out of my home by some stupid nutter.’ Saxon knew he’d met his match when he first laid eyes on her.

Too damn cute, this one – she’ll always get her way
.

He couldn’t order her to move out. He had started to feel very protective towards her and thought maybe gentle persuasion would convince her. Parker, who was dog-tired, and really wanted no more than to get to his bed, decided it was time to make his contribution to the minor domestic argument that was unfolding before him.

‘Miss,’ he began…but she stopped him.

‘That’s okay, you can call me Francesca. You don’t have to be so formal.’

‘Thank you, Francesca; by the way, my name’s Guy. I’m sure that we can transport your equipment to the secure house, and any phone calls you make can be paid for by you, as the bills are all itemised as a matter of course. We would all be much happier if we knew that you were safe.’

Francesca thought about the situation for a moment. ‘Guy, you have a way with words. Let me just go downstairs and check my phone messages. I’m expecting a big job any day – my agent may have left the details for me. I’ll only be a minute.’ She stood up
and walked across the room. Parker found it impossible not to notice her trim figure. Whatever she had, she oozed it.

Saxon smiled at Parker. ‘Calm down, Parker. Don’t forget you’re a married man.’ Parker in turn was about to state the obvious, but thought better of it and merely nodded and grinned.

Two minutes later, Francesca suddenly ran back into the room, her face as white as chalk. She was trembling as she spoke. ‘Yes, okay, this secure house you were talking about sounds like a nice place – shall we go there now please?’

Saxon stood and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Fran, what’s happened? Don’t worry, we are here, nothing can happen to you.’

Parker had immediately dashed downstairs to her flat and reappeared a couple of minutes later. ‘Sir, you have to come and look for yourself.’ They all walked down together – under-standably, Francesca didn’t want to be left on her own. When they entered her apartment, Parker closed the front door. Written on the back of the door, again in what looked like blood, were the words “AND HIS FRIEND”. Underneath it was the same red cross as on Saxon’s door.

Saxon turned to Francesca. ‘Okay, well I think that just about settles it. If you don’t voluntarily accept police protection then I will arrest you for knowingly putting your life at risk. Can we do that, Parker?’

‘Oh yes sir, we can,’ said Parker slowly.

Francesca looked at them both and held out her wrists. ‘Cuff me.’

They hung around for a while as Francesca packed a few things into a suitcase, and left after a couple of PCs arrived to guard the building. The thunderstorm crashed and flashed as weeks of pent-up energy was released. Thunder spots splashed down on their heads as they ran to Saxon’s Land Rover. They drove down the road and stopped next to Parker’s car. He
jumped out and met up with them at the secure house later.

They stayed until Francesca was safely settled in with her two WPCs. One of them was a dog handler – she felt safe as Ralph, the dog, took an instant liking to her and after a licking frenzy decided that he wanted to sleep at the end of her bed. Then they returned to Saxon’s apartment. Parker told the PC who had been on guard duty to make himself scarce, and after he and Saxon had propped the door up to look as normal as possible, tried to sleep on the sofa.

The thunderstorm continued for most of the night, causing both of them to wake periodically. But eventually the sound of the heavy rain on the skylight lulled them into a deep, well-earned sleep.

Thursday, June 20, 8.15AM

Saxon walked into the canteen at Brighton Police Station. Several officers stood when they saw him, but he gestured for them to sit. One of the perks of rank, he mused. Parker was already there, tucking into the full cardiac arrest fried breakfast. Saxon was one of those people who didn’t need to eat sensibly. Anything was fair game to his stomach. Emma used to say that she could have fed him wire wool and it would have no effect on him. He pushed any thoughts of Emma to the back of his mind. She was making no effort to contact him, so why bother with her.

He loaded up his plate and sat next to Parker. ‘Heart attack by lunchtime then, Parker?’

Parker smiled, ‘Yes, sir, but bloody worth it…do you suppose we could charge the cook with murder if one of the people in here dropped dead from eating too much cholesterol?’

‘We’d never make it stick, Parker, unlike that blob of yolk you’ve got stuck on the front of your jacket.’

‘Shit, it was on clean this morning,’ cursed Parker as he tried to scrape it off with his knife, but managing only to spread it out a bit.

‘Right, let’s get down to business. I have some questions that urgently need answers. One: how did the killer know my address? Two: how the hell did he know about Francesca? Three: how did he get into the building? And four – and this one really disturbs me – is how the fuck he got into her apartment? Any ideas will be listened to.’

Parker finished a large mouthful of his breakfast. ‘The only answer for your first question, has to be that he knows you. Simple as that.’ He took another mouthful.

‘Not that simple…I know lots of people – call me foolish, but I don’t think any of them are killers. But then again, would I really know? Remember what Prof Ercott said, and I quote, “You will be surprised at his normality”. Tell me, Parker, what do you get up to in your spare time?’

Parker wasn’t sure whether to laugh or not, so he smiled nervously. ‘Sir, he must have been watching you to know about Francesca. I work with you, and I had no idea you had…er, started a relationship with anyone. I did notice that you seemed less grumpy lately though.’ Parker’s mind flashed,
Oh shit, why do I say these things?

‘Me, grumpy? I’m never grumpy,’ snapped Saxon.

‘Sorry, sir, anyway, as to gaining entry to the building – all he had to do was to either follow one of the other residents through the front door, or ring a bell and say the magic words “Gas Board, checking for leaks” and he could gain access to Hades if he wanted to. If brainless thick criminals can do it, then our killer who seems to have an IQ of about five hundred would find it a piece of cake.’