Saxon (32 page)

‘Bodies…right.’

‘Well, we didn’t actually see any bodies, but it’s evident that the floor in the cellar has been recently disturbed – and there’s the smell. The smell, which you and I have sampled too many times in our careers – you know the one, the dead body smell. Now to
move on a bit, did Clarke tell you where he would be going for his holiday?’

‘Not a word, he never tells anyone where he goes – and he never sends postcards to the office.’

‘If I give you a list of dates, could you tell me whether he was in the mortuary or not?’

‘Sure can, but I’ll need my diary to check it properly…I’m having trouble believing this. I’ve worked with the man for some years now and he always seemed so…’

‘Normal,’ added Saxon. ‘That’s the trouble, Jake, they always do. How about gays, has he ever mentioned gay people in conversation?’

Jake thought for a few seconds. ‘Once, he talked about Steve Tucker and said that he shouldn’t be working in the mortuary, because he was too bloody thick and he was a disgusting little shirt lifter. I was quite surprised when he said it because it was such a sudden outburst. Not his way to go about things normally. He’s usually very calm about most things – loud occasionally, but that’s only when he was feeling a bit theatrical.’

‘Do you know if he has girlfriends?

‘No, I don’t think he has any – I don’t think he ever got over the death of his wife.’

Saxon stood to stretch his legs and leaned against the wall. ‘Yes we know all about his wife. But I only just found out about that today. I wish I’d known sooner. I’m sure that’s what started him off on his killing spree.’

Jake helped himself to a drink from a water dispenser. ‘I don’t know if there’s any more I can say that will be of use to you. If you think of anything I can do to help, you will let me know?’

‘Of course…There are two things you could do which would be useful…I need a sample of his handwriting, because by the time I get pathology reports they are typed, and by the way, is he left-or right-handed?’

‘He’s both, I’ve seen him change hands often during a post
mortem.’

“Good, the other thing you will probably know is; does he have a laptop computer, and if so, what make is it and, where is it?’

‘I’m pretty sure it’s in the office and it’s an Apple Macintosh Power Book.’

Saxon was starting to feel as though he’d chosen the right career again. ‘Thanks, Jake. Parker will meet you at your office later – say about 9.30 when it’s dark – and pick up the computer and a sample of handwriting. Obviously, if Clarke phones in to the office or tries to contact you in any way, try not to show that you know anything. We have evidence that he’s still in the immediate area and is stalking someone he considers to be a hindrance to his “mission”, as he calls it. But as far as I know, he doesn’t realise we’re on to him. I want it to stay that way. I don’t want you to put yourself at risk – if you think he’s on to you, don’t hesitate – call me.’

‘I think I can manage that, Paul. Strange to think it was him who burgled my apartment so that he could frame me,’ said Jake as he made his way to the door. Saxon shook hands with him and suggested he leave by the back entrance.

Thursday, June 20, 9.30PM

Jake Dalton was apprehensive as he pulled into the mortuary car park. He noticed for the first time how dark the shadows were in the more badly lit areas. The small alleyway, where the rubbish bins were stored next to the side entrance, which the staff used, seemed to grow darker as he stood fumbling for the right key. Once through the door, he had to walk several paces to the light switch. Why didn’t they put a switch by the sodding door? Then as the lab lights flickered on, he wondered if he was being watched again. He felt like a goldfish in a lit-up bowl. Quickly, he found the computer and a handwritten note that Clarke had made for his secretary to type for a pathology report.

As he looked around for a large envelope, he thought he heard a noise from the corridor. Or was it from the cupboard next to the door to the corridor? The hairs on the back of his neck started to prickle. He was fit but had never actually been involved in any kind of combat situation.
Will I be able to defend myself?
He quickly looked around for something that would make a suitable weapon. If he had been in the surgical theatre there would have been an ample choice of hardware such as knives, hammers and saws.

But where he stood there were only chairs. That would have to do. Lifting a chair over his head, he positioned himself next to the door. The noise from the corridor turned into footsteps getting louder – but he was ready…tense, but ready. Parker started to talk before he appeared in the doorway…lucky for him.

‘You there, Jake…Oh, are you rearranging the furniture…and was that meant for me?’

‘Sorry – just a tad jittery,’ he said as he lowered the chair. Jake handed over the laptop and an envelope containing the note.

‘Whatever you do, don’t erase anything from it. There’s months of information on that thing,’ said Jake nervously.

‘Don’t worry,’ replied Parker. ‘The stuff I’m looking for will more than likely have been trashed. I’ve got some software that can retrieve information that’s been deleted – providing nothing has been written over it, that is. We’ll need to hang onto it for a few days at the most.’

Jake switched the lights out and they left together. Parker let Jake drive away first, neither of them noticed the man standing in the darkness of the alleyway.

Chapter 16

Thursday, June 20, 11.00PM

Saxon sat in the back of a transit van, parked in a muddy farm gateway two hundred yards along the lane from Clarke’s house. The exterior of the van displayed an interesting series of mid-sixties floral designs. Honeysett had told him, before he left to go and rig up the camera, that he was thinking of getting it resprayed, because he was sick of the traffic cops stopping it for spot drug searches.

The interior had no affinity with the flower-power era whatsoever. High-tech listening and looking devices from floor to ceiling hummed quietly in the background, as he sat looking at a small monitor, which at that time showed nothing but static. When Honeysett positioned the camera, and switched it on, Saxon should see the front of Clarke’s house, and with Saxon’s guidance, would fine-tune the exact angle so that they would have a view of the garage and front door.

Honeysett didn’t believe in using front gates – especially when there was a perfectly good tree to climb, which happened to be just the right height for the wall he intended to scale. He dropped almost silently behind some rhododendrons and waited for a minute without moving. Not that he thought he might have been heard, but he’d found through experience that if the lights didn’t come on during the first minute, then it was okay to assume that there was nobody home, or that they were asleep.

He unclipped the night-vision goggles from his belt and slipped them on. There was no moon that night and certainly no street lamps close enough to be of any help – not that they would have helped. The whole point of that kind of operation; is not to be seen. He was never happier than when a certain amount of crawling around in the undergrowth was called for. It brought back memories of his army days.

The extensive lawn in front of the house hadn’t been trimmed for some time, so it was important to keep to the edges. From the house, which was raised up slightly, anyone who looked out across the lawn would have seen his footprints the following morning, where he’d trampled on the grass. He made his way to the biggest fir tree and threw a rope up ten feet to the lowest branch, carefully, and without a sound, he hauled himself up and sat astride the branch. He opened his small rucksack and took out the camera, which was slightly larger than a cigarette box. Using thin plastic ties, he fixed it to the tree, called Saxon on his mobile for the final adjustments and shimmied down the rope.

Four minutes later, he was back in the van looking at the monitor, which displayed a grey picture with some detail picked out with a sort of greenish glow. Saxon studied the image. ‘Is that as good as we get, Mike?’

‘Afraid so, but it will be just like a normal picture when the lens switches over from night-vision during daylight. You get used to it after a while, and we don’t need to worry about the batteries because it’s solar powered.’

‘How about the range, can we monitor it from Brighton nick?’ said Saxon, hopefully.

‘Not really, Commander, the signal won’t reach that far. I’ll drive along the road and find a quiet spot and keep my eye on things until daylight, then I’ll get someone to relieve me.’

Saxon decided to walk down the lane to the town. He asked Honeysett to call Parker and tell him to pick him up by the yacht club. As Saxon opened the door to leave, Honeysett called him back. ‘Have a word with traffic for me – tell them to keep away and not to turn up in the wee small hours banging on the side of my van…it frightens the shit out of me.’

Parker was waiting for Saxon by the time he found his way down the lane. He told Saxon about the computer and how he’d managed to run the software and retrieve everything that had been trashed from the hard disc.

‘I’ve found the notes he keyed in regarding Mancini, and the one where he threatened you and Francesca.’ Parker could hardly contain his elation.

‘Parker, you are a fucking marvel – we’ve got the bastard, that’s all the evidence we need; all we have to do now is find him…Francesca okay?’ he added, trying not to sound too concerned.

‘Don’t worry, sir, she’s safely tucked up in a cell for the night, and she can’t go wandering off again, because I told the custody sergeant to lock her in,’ he said, laughing to himself.

Saxon smiled at the thought of the one person he truly cared about, being securely locked up with good, honest decent criminals.

Back at the police station, Saxon sat in front of the laptop and read the two documents that Clarke had written. He yawned. It had been a long day and he still couldn’t see an end in sight. He sipped black coffee as Parker copied the text from each document into Simple Text format, and moved the cursor up to the top of the screen. Under the menu, “Sound”, he selected “Speak all”, and there it was – the mechanical voice, the same as the three phone calls.

‘What’s more, sir, is that each of these documents has a date attached to them. The computer records when they were made. All we have to do now is contact the phone company, to find out when the first call was made from the marina to here. Then it’s just a case of proving Clarke was out of his office at that time. He has to have been recorded on CCTV at some time.’

Saxon stood up and put his hand on Parker’s shoulder. ‘You’ve done some good work today – now go home and get some rest before anything else happens.’

Parker gladly agreed and started to head for the door, but stopped and turned. ‘What are going to do, sir?’

‘I’m just going to go to my apartment and get a change of clothes and a shower – check my messages and possibly get a bit
of sleep.’ He knew what Parker was going to say about that.

‘I have to say, sir, with respect, that unless you have some kind of back-up, then that is about the most stupid thing I’ve heard, since I really don’t know when.’

‘I thought you might say that, but I can’t see how we can draw him out into the open. You have to realise, he’s got to believe that he can get to me without getting caught in the process. By all means, be in the area, but I know, Parker, that if he sees you, or anyone near me, then he won’t make a move.’

‘I don’t like this one bit, sir. If you get attacked in your apartment, it would take me several minutes to get to you.’

‘Give me a break, Parker, I’m not without a few physical attributes – I can defend myself you know…it’s one of the many skills they teach us in the modern police service, you know.’ He reached under his jacket and pulled out his gun. ‘And I still have Big Bertha here, so don’t worry – maybe he’ll try to get lucky…and make my day.’

Parker was hesitant about leaving. But he knew how Saxon worked, and he was also well aware of how stubborn he could be if he thought he was being pushed around. He decided that an argument wouldn’t solve the problem. And he thought maybe a night spent in the car munching on fast food and cigarettes, wasn’t such a bad thing. Reluctantly he agreed.

‘I’ll be just around the corner, sir, if you need help press speed dial on your phone and I’ll be there as fast as I can – just watch your back. That’s all I can say. But I still don’t fucking like it one bit.’

‘Thanks, Parker, I’m a big boy now, so just go and don’t worry.’ Saxon gathered some papers from his desk and shoved them into his briefcase; he slipped his mobile phone into his trouser pocket. As he walked past the duty officer, he stopped for a second.

‘Sergeant Dowling, please tell Miss Francesca Lewis that I will be back at about 7.30AM, and if she’s been good she may get
parole.’

Dowling laughed and said goodnight. Saxon walked slowly to his car, hoping more than anything that he was being watched. Such was his desire to catch Clarke, that he had lost almost all regard for his own safety. He pulled out of the station car park and took the coast road, along the promenade for about a mile, turned left, into the square and pulled up almost directly outside his building.

He gathered his things together, but didn’t notice that his mobile phone had slipped out of his pocket and was nestled between his seat and the central console.

He walked to the door. His natural survival instincts, which were something that worked with his subconscious, didn’t warn him of any immediate danger, but were working just the same, ticking over in the background of his mind. He punched in his entry code and the automatic lights came to life. He took the lift. Much too tired for the stairs. Slowly, it carried him to the top; he opened the metal concertina door and walked across the landing to his apartment. He was apprehensive…not everyone had a serial killer stalking them. He felt his fear – it was tangible. It was like a fog that seemed to surround him. He took comfort in the fact that he knew Francesca was safely locked up in a police cell. Quite frankly, he wouldn’t have minded being in the same situation right now, particularly if he was in the same cell.

His keys seemed to have a mind of their own as he pulled them out of his pocket and dropped them on the floor.
Idiot
, as he bent down to pick them up. So far, so good, he’d made it to his front door and the killer hadn’t appeared out of nowhere brandishing a knife.

‘It’s not going to be like it is in the movies,’ he said out loud, as he entered his apartment.

Parker was sitting in his car eating a Big Mac, when his mobile rang.

‘Yeff,’ he said, struggling with a mouthful of fries.

‘Parker, it’s Inspector Honeysett here, I’ve tried Commander Saxon’s mobile but he isn’t answering, I’ve left a message on his voicemail. Do you know about the camera we set up to watch Clarke’s house?’

‘Go on, what’s happened?’ said Parker trying to swallow, as fast as possible.

‘Well there’ve been developments. A light has come on in the house – there must be someone home.’

‘I’m on my way. Keep trying Commander Saxon’s number, He must be in the shower or something.’ Parker hung up the phone and gunned the engine. He didn’t bother to check the traffic, swinging his car round in a big arc across four lanes; causing at least two fender benders. But he didn’t care, he was pleased that the commander was safe in his apartment; he knew that Saxon could take care of himself, but as always, he had more faith in his own physical abilities. He liked Saxon, and viewed him as a bit of a father figure. And as sure as hell, he didn’t want any father figure of his getting into potentially dangerous situations. He’d leave Honeysett to keep trying to get through on the phone. Meanwhile, he would get to Clarke’s house and sort the bastard out, once and for all.

Saxon was thrown sideways by the first blow, but managed to keep his balance. The pain was intense and he felt his right arm suddenly go limp. Even with the searing pain he was going through, he knew he was lucky that whatever had hit him had missed his head. The second blow was across his back, and he fell forwards onto the floor.

The lights were off, but there was enough ambient light for him to make out the shape of a person standing next to the door. Saxon rolled on his back as he hit the floor, so that at least he could use his legs to defend himself. As he rolled, he felt his gun press against his ribs – if only he could make his right arm
respond so he could reach it.
Does he have a knife – what did he hit me with, and why, oh fucking why, can’t I reach my fucking gun?

The figure stood watching him. Saxon could just make out that he was holding what could have been a chair leg, and if that’s what it was, then Saxon knew it had to weigh at least four pounds and a blow to his head would finish him. He kept as still as possible. Maybe Clarke thought he was unconscious. Time to play dead. The figure moved slowly across the room and switched on a small table lamp. Saxon immediately closed his eyes, enough so he looked as though he was no longer a threat. He could still see enough to realise that Clarke was naked, but covered with latex. He resembled a burns victim with ridges all over his body, where the latex had solidified before he’d managed to smooth it out properly.

Clarke paced back and forth, sucking and expelling air rapidly through the hole he had left in the latex. As he did so, he held what Saxon could now see was indeed a heavy chair leg. He continually used it to beat the palm of his left hand, making a loud thud, which under normal circumstances would have been painful. After a minute, Clarke started to speak – quietly to begin with, but clearly with barely suppressed rage, occasionally struggling to find the words.

‘Why couldn’t you just leave me alone – why did you make me do this? I didn’t want this, Paul. You are not one of them…this will go against me. You don’t understand…’ He paused, then continued, whispering, ‘I will be made to suffer for this. He will be angry with me. So angry!’ he screamed as he started to smash everything near to him, thrashing around wildly with the chair leg.

Saxon decided to use the noise, and the fact that Clarke was no longer looking at him, to move slightly. His left shoulder was partially obscured by his coffee table. Carefully, he started to move his left hand up toward the shoulder holster. Clarke, without warning stopped his destruction spree and walked
quickly to Saxon, who instantly froze.
Shit this is it
, as he held his breath – but ready to move if the need arose.

Clarke leant over him, pointing the chair leg at Saxon as if he had no control over it. He screamed down at Saxon. ‘You had no fucking idea what you were getting into.’

Clarke turned away for a second, giving Saxon another chance to move his hand closer to his gun. He knew that to try for a sudden grab at the holster, to release the safety strap could fail if he couldn’t manoeuvre his left hand up quickly enough. Before Clarke turned, he managed to feel the strap and left his hand there – waiting for the next opportunity. Clarke didn’t turn. He stood facing the wall and started to talk again. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are now…of course you will never see the plague that is going to decimate mankind. I’ve saved you from that pain. Millions of innocent people are going to die because a few selfish sexual deviants pursue pleasure at any cost.’

Saxon saw his chance and took it. He flicked open the stud and released the strap. With one swift movement, he pulled his gun from the holster. The coffee table moved and Clarke turned, raising the chair leg over his head. His eyes blazed with surprise and he lunged forward. Saxon sat forward, pointing the gun at Clarke’s chest.