Tick Tick Tick (24 page)

Riddle 6

If you dig down deep

A part of me you will use

Play me in a game

You may win you may lose

I have a family that you have seen

I rule them all, we are thirteen.

What am I?

‘Marion didn’t have an answer for this one.’

Now it’s was my turn to feel smug. ‘I know exactly what it is.’

She glances up. ‘Well?’

‘THE KING OF SPADES.’

‘Jesus, it’s so damn evident; why didn’t she get that one?’ She shakes her head.

‘She obviously doesn’t play cards.’ This time she moves to kiss me
on the nose, but changes her mind and kisses me full on the mouth; that’s my girl.

Riddle 7

The heat is all around it

The temperature soars within

Deserving of all who live there

You can only put yourself in.

What am I?

‘Perhaps I should phone Marion?’

‘Let’s try and work it out.’ I stare at the final riddle;
come on, get the old grey cells working
. I pour us both another mug of coffee as she paces the floor.

‘Deserving of all who live there?’ she asks.

‘Jail, death row, or a grave?’ I volunteer.

‘Perhaps.’ She continues pacing. ‘What person deserves to live in soaring temperatures?’

My brain is starting to race. ‘How about the devil?’

‘But the devil isn’t all people,’ she replies.

‘How about all sinners?’ She sinks to the floor again; frustration etching her stunning features, shaking her head.

‘Oh Jesus Christ – what the hell is it?’ she snaps in utter frustration.

It’s like a light bulb exploding in my head. ‘You said it.’ I grin.

‘Said what?’

‘The answer is… HELL.’

She jumps off the floor and throws her arms around me. God, I feel so damn self-righteous.

‘Right, so what have we got? Write the answers out again.’

She jumps to her notepad and jots them down. I lean over her shoulder, softly stroking her hair.

A TREE

IMAGINATION

A MIRROR

FAITH

DRUGS, ALCOHOL or A MASK

THE KING OF SPADES

HELL

I don’t see any obvious connection – but then I don’t suppose we’re meant to.

‘What about a nursery rhyme?’ she asks.

‘I can’t see many of them having hell in them.’ I shake my head. ‘More like something out of a horror story.’

‘You mean like Doctor Faust?’

‘Something like that.’

She quickly grabs her laptop, attaches her mobile phone, and logs onto the Internet. Pushing keys faster than I can snap on handcuffs, she begins trawling for any horror stories with those specific seven words. There are thousands of stories; it would take weeks to physically go through each one, to find out if we could exactly match up the seven precise words.

‘You want me to cook some breakfast?’ I ask. She never lifts her eyes from the screen.

‘That’d be great.’

‘How about an omelette, bacon and tomato?’

‘Sounds perfect.’ Her fingers still fly across the keyboard – she’s dedicated, I’ll give her that much. Give her a project and she’ll work like a demon until she cracks it; another of her traits that I admire.

I get started in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl, with a dash of butter, pepper and a smidge of paprika; just like mum taught me. The bacon sizzles; I slice the tomatoes in half, add a knob of butter to each, and add them to the grill. I stick the coffee percolator on again. I flip the omelettes until they’re lightly brown on each side; the plates are warmed and I simply slide the food on. The smell has made me famished; the toast earlier hadn’t been nearly enough. Damn, it’s good to be cooking for her again.

I place the two plates on the dining room table, and poured fresh mugs of coffee.

‘Breakfast’s ready.’ I call.

‘Coming.’ She’s still absorbed.

‘Hey, get your pert arse over here, and eat your good man’s breakfast.’

She glances up and smiles. ‘Sorry.’

The food is delicious if I do say so myself. She eats as though her life depends on it, though I suspect the real reason is to get straight back on the laptop.

‘I don’t think it’s a rhyme or a story,’ I say.

A look of exasperation passes across her face. ‘Don’t give up now, we only just got started.’

‘That’s my point.’ I smile.

She gives me one of her famous meaningful looks. ‘Then I must have missed it.’

Don’t you ever find that women have selective hearing?

‘I don’t think our killer would have us chasing through thousands of stories.’

She seems to pay attention. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it could take weeks, maybe even months.’

‘Your point being?’ Her voice is slightly clipped.

‘He sent the riddles to be solved, so why then bury them in a story that we can’t find?’ I can see her mulling it over.

‘True, he’s set you a task, but you don’t know if all the riddles are in yet.’

‘I think they are.’ My mind has just stepped up about thirty gears – strange for me, I know, but it does happen now and again.

‘How can you be sure?’ I can see she’s trying to follow my train of thought.

‘Because the killings were calculated, methodical, and his time frame gained such rapid speed. If he was still going, we would have heard something else by now.’

She nods. ‘I can see where you’re coming from, but it could be that he’s just completely lost it.’

‘No, if he’d done that he wouldn’t be thinking straight enough to have sent me the riddle last night.’ I swallow a mouthful of coffee as I feel the adrenalin kick in. ‘Bring me the list of answers.’ She glares at me.

‘Pretty please.’

‘That’s more like it.’ God, anyone would think we were married.

She grabs the notepad and brings it over to the table.

A TREE

IMAGINATION

A MIRROR

FAITH

DRUGS, ALCOHOL or A MASK

THE KING OF SPADES

HELL

I stare at those goddamn seven words for what seems like hours. If you send riddles, the answers are hidden in the clues; is there an answer hidden in these? I pick up a pen and start marking off different letters in alternative orders – nothing. I lean back in the chair, unconsciously rubbing my fingers through my hair, and then it all falls into place.

A
T
REE

I
MAGINATION

A
M
IRROR

F
AITH

DRUGS,
A
LCOHOL or A MASK

THE KING OF
S
PADES

H
ELL

Jesus, I’m on cloud nine; no, actually I’m even further above it. I have the name of our killer at last –
TIM FASH
– the suspected killer of Junior, and a renowned drug dealer, with a penchant for topping off those that either piss him off, owe him money, or that he just doesn’t like.

Connie sees the look of exultation on my face.

‘We’ve got him,’ I yelled. ‘We’ve fuckin’ got the bastard.’

Oh, I’m coming Fash; I’m coming just for you!

CHAPTER 26

I’m driving the Alfa like a Formula One racing car, although the traffic isn’t as heavy as normal. I weave in and out, overtaking whenever I can, grinding the gears until the engine screeches in protest, adrenaline washing through me like I’ve overdosed on crack.

I do a Mack and slide the car into the station car park,
Miami vice
style – not bad if I say so myself. I take the stairs three at a time, and head straight for the squad room, my mind on constant overdrive, my heart pumping like fury.

I spot Mack sneakily smoking a cigarette and gulping coffee from a thin plastic cup. I throw down the evidence bag containing the last riddle; Mack just stares.

‘Not another one,’ he says.

‘We’ve got him, Mack.’

His eyes light up like sparklers on bonfire night.

‘Who?’

‘Tim Fash.’ He drops the coffee.

I show him the notepad; his eyes are like bullets, sharp and deadly.

‘Bloody hell, that drug dealing son of a bitch who killed Junior is our killer?’

‘So it would appear.’

‘I knew he was a murdering bastard, but a serial killer?’

I nod. ‘Perhaps he’s started using his own product?’

Mack grins. ‘Better go tell Grimes.’

I can tell Mack is aching to seek revenge for Junior, and I can’t blame him.

We stride to Grimes’ office, hoping to make his morning for him. Rapping at the door we are called in. Once again, I go through the riddles and answers with Grimes, and then show him how the name was hidden.

I can see him trying to grasp the connections. ‘It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?’

‘No, no other names are hidden there; it’s him alright,’ says Mack. He’d have staked his life on it right there, right then, if it meant getting justice for Junior.

‘You tell the suits?’ This is a question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask.

‘Nope, thought it was my case to solve. Personal, you know?’

He glances at me and gives the briefest flicker of a smile. ‘I’ll send them home.’

I see Reeves standing outside the door. Grimes nods to me, and then beckons Reeves in. The slimy twat stands to attention, the face impassive, as Mack and I lean back in our chairs, smugness written all over our faces.

‘Reeves, this ‘crap copper’ has actually traced the killer you’ll be thrilled to know; so get the rest of your suits, your phoney accents and your damn arrogance, and get the hell out of my station.’

I have the pleasure of watching Reeves and his associates slink away; damn, it feels good, really good.

For once Grimes actually seems to understand. ‘Good work, Downey, but we’ve got no physical evidence against this guy yet. I’ll send Fletch to Judge Morris for an immediate search warrant; you two get the teams ready to go in.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Call in the firearms units, and the air support units as a backup,’ demands Grimes.

‘But sir?’ begins Mack, wanting just the two of us to take Fash down.

‘Just do it. Remember, this guy’s not just a killer, he’s a bloody madman.’

Organised chaos reigns. Coppers are pouring into police cars. Sirens start screaming, guns are checked and holstered, body armour is snapped on. Mack and I look at each other – we know now the hunt is nearly at an end, but this has got to be done right. We can’t afford to slip up in case the son of a bitch gets away; or worse than that, has the time to put a bullet through our heads. We’re both nervous; apprehensive but fired up and ready to do battle.

Grimes has told us to stay back and wait for the first firearms team to arrive, but we both know that isn’t how it’s going to happen. We both want this murdering arsehole, and we want him either dead or alive; makes no difference to us. I just want to get him, to stop the senseless killing of guiltless victims in my city.

I turn to Mack. ‘Remember, be careful; he’s one clever son of a bitch.’

Mack is like a livewire, tensed with his jaw set and steel in his eyes. ‘We’re going to nail him,’ he says. There’s no question in his mind.

‘You gotta slow the heart rate down now, everything nice and steady. Breathe, Mack.’ He nods. ‘Remember, he who loses control – loses,’ I remind him.

As we stride to our car, all I can think of is the riddles. So many people have died for one person’s twisted and warped mind, for the revenge in tormenting the frail, the meek and the innocent. I hope to God I’m going to get the pleasure of bringing the son of a bitch in.

Now I know you think we coppers are just supposed to go and capture the bad guys, but there are some cases like this when all you see are the constant flashbacks of the dead, the dying, and the horrendous grief of the families left behind – and all down to this one person. No, I would not care if a member of the firearms unit put a bullet right through this killer’s heart. As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly where a bullet belonged.

Mack and I slide into our car, checking that all units are cleared and ready to go. The tension was almost unbearable between us, but neither of us are up for chatting. Focus… focus on staying alive.