To Catch a Killer
by
Edward Anthony

 

Bexton police station - 21 October 2004

                        Detective Inspector Tom Marsh got the phone call that was to change his whole life.  Bexton was a small town, where almost everyone knew everyone else's business.  It was a close community.  So what happened that night changed and shaped a whole community and put everyone under suspicion.  It was a cold, wet and windy night that Tuesday evening, just on five o'clock.  Half an hour and Tom would be on his way home to his family of three children, wife, two dogs, four cats and a parakeet.  But that phone call shook everything out of sync.

 

                        "Tom Marsh", his tone a usual bright perky voice.

                        "Sir, I think you need to come down to the canal!" a sombre voice said on the other end of the phone.  "It's a body sir."

                        "Blast!  At this time of day?  It's just going home time.  Never mind, what part Sam?"

                        "

Swan Lea Lane

sir."

 

                        "Righto.  I'm on my way."

 

                       

 

                        The drive took Tom just seven minutes from the police station in

Thornton Street

, to the scene of the body.  When he arrived on the scene, the area was buzzing with police activity.  The crowds had gathered and reporters shouted questions at him as he drove through the barricade.  Of course, Tom being Tom, just carried on and ignored the questions.  There would be time for all that later.

 

 

                        "Sir", Sam approached his boss.  "The body was discovered at about four forty five tonight, and dragged out by the police team.  No identifying marks, female, early twenties.  Shoes found close by with a handbag.  Officers are searching the area for clues."

                        "Good man.  Drowning?  Who's the MO?"

                        "Skinner sir.  Don't know about drowning - murder more like.  She had a knife wound to the throat.  Head's almost severed."

                        "Bloody hell.  What a mess.  Some father's daughter!"

 

                        "Skinner, bloody nice to see you old girl."

                        "Same here.  We only ever meet at deaths and police functions.  How's the family?"

                        "They're fine.  Gabby's got the flu at the moment though so she's off school.  Anyway, what's the story with this young lass?"

                        "Aged about twenty two, blonde, blue eyes.  I would put the death at around five this morning.  Knifed and then thrown into the canal upstream.  Floated under the current until she surfaced here."

                        "Bit of a nasty job eh?  What was she, pro?"

                        "No idea Tom.  That's for you to find out.  Anyway I'll do the PM this evening and let you know the results tomorrow lunch."

                        "Thanks Angela."

Tom and Sam moved out of the police tent, walking slowly towards his car.  Suddenly, there was a shout from one of the other officers who had been searching the bank.  They ran over.  He had found something.

                        "Sir, a driver's licence.  Belongs to a Caroline McKenzie.  Aged twenty four, 42 Milford Street, Bexton."

                        "Right, get a unit over there straight away and notify the relatives."

                        "Sir"

                        "Caroline McKenzie.  I know that name from somewhere.  Anyway, must phone Sheila to let her know I'm gonna be late."

 

                        "Sheila.  Hi hun, er - running a bit late love, last minute case.  I'll be home in about twenty minutes.  Love you."

                        "Right, I'm off.  See you in the morning sergeant."

                        "Good night sir."

                        "Oh, er, deal with the press will you - there's a good chap?"

Home of Tom Marsh, Bexton the same evening

                        "So there she was.  Fully clothed, except for shoes and her handbag.  Don't know what to make of the motive.  No money missing, credit cards still intact."

                        "Dad, do we have to talk about murder at the tea table?"  Sophie moaned.

                        "Sorry Soph.  Didn't mean to upset you.  You know what your old dad is like."

                        "Only too well pop", replied her older sister Rachel.  "You never shut up about work when we're eating."

                        "Sorry all, it's just that the girl's name keeps playing on my mind.  I get the feeling I have heard her name before.  Can't think where?"

                        Rachel stared at her dad.  "Who was she?"

                        "I thought you didn't want to know at teatime," he retorted.

Both girls in unison - "DAD!"

                        "Alright.  I give in.  It was Caroline McKenzie."

Rachel collapsed.

                        "Oh my God what have you done to her?" screamed Sheila.

She went to aid her daughter, giving her smelling salts.  Rachel came round.  She looked bewildered.

                        "I can't believe Caz is dead", she wailed.  "I only saw her last night."

She looked at her father in disbelief.

                        "Caroline McKenzie from

Milford Street

?"

 

Tom nodded.  He felt so helpless and guilty.  She was the same age as his daughter.  She had even been with his own daughter.  ‘My God what a mess' he thought to himself.

 

 

Bexton Mortuary 2:30 a.m.

                        The lab lights were on low in the office, but you could still see the dimly lit figure of Angela Skinner, MD writing her report for Tom Marsh.  Speaking into her Dictaphone, Angela recorded the following thoughts.

                        "Victim held from behind, with left arm wrapped around head.  Long, serrated edged knife drawn across throat in single powerful motion from right to left.  Only one slice, but powerful enough to almost disunite the neck in one go.  Death would be almost instantaneous.  Little or no sign of any struggle.  Victim would have been taken completely by surprise - killer is very strong, possibly army/marine type.  Approximate height of assailant - two metres, approximate weight - 100kg.  No other injuries to victim."

Angela turned off the lights, and walked past the storage freezers with the deceased in, on her way out of the mortuary.  She would post her report first thing after about six hours sleep.  That was enough for Angela.  She didn't need much sleep - it came with the job.

Bexton police station - incident room - 8:00 a.m.

                        "Good morning ladies and gentlemen.  Progress reports from last night please."

Tom paused and looked round the room at his new team.  Each new murder case had a new team.  Eventually it would be whittled down to a few basic coppers who were assigned to different jobs, and as the budget dwindled, but to start with everyone was a green-eye.

                        "No-one?  Right, Sam, anything on our victim?"

                        "She was last seen outside the ‘Copacabana Club' on Chelsea Street

at about four o'clock yesterday morning.  Her body was discovered in the canal at Swan Lea Lane at around a quarter to five last night by a Night-watchman just coming on duty."

 

                        "What time is ‘kicking out time' at the Copa?"

                        "Erm ... Three forty five sir."

                        "Ok, Helen.  Anything on witnesses?"

Young Helen Givens was new to MIT and was only ever on one case before.  That was last year.  "Sir, not many eye-witnesses, but we do have CCTV footage.  SOCO1 are looking at it now sir."

                        "Thank you Helen.  Max?  How did you get on with the parents?"

                        "Okay sir - as expected.  They were devastated obviously, but the father took it strangely.  He was emotional at first, and then he stopped crying and was very calm.  Strange for someone who was close as this family were."

                        "Okay thanks."

Tom lit a cigarette up.  He looked at the incident board; a white board where they stick photo's up and write in red and blue pen.  He drew on his cigarette and then sighed deeply.  The smoke swirled about the board, alighting on the photograph of the victim, Caroline McKenzie.  ‘What possible motive did the killer have to murder such a beautiful young girl?'  He turned and faced the team again.

 

                        "Okay, so we have Caroline McKenzie, aged twenty four, of Milford Street, Bexton.  Murderer or murderers unknown at this stage.  Motive unknown.  Sandy, I want you to track down all the girlfriends and boyfriends of Miss McKenzie.  Helen, go over to SOCO1 and have a look at those tapes with them.  Sam, you will come with me.  Everyone else, out there, door to door enquiries.  Someone, somewhere, knows something.  Sam - office, now!"

 

 

The pair walked to Tom's office down the corridor from the incident room.  Tom shut the door tightly and turned the key in the lock.

                        "What I am about to tell you Sam, is strictly confidential.  We have a problem before we even start on this case."

Sam looked puzzled.

                        "One of the people to see her alive last night was my eldest - Rachel - the same bloody age as well.  She went to the same school as her.  That's why I knew her name.  I know her parents."  He paused to think.  "They are a lovely couple Mary and Malcolm.  They have two other children another girl and a boy.  This one's personal Sam."

                        "Look - we all know the rules, but this time I think we should inform Super."

                        "You're joking!  He'll take us off the case and it's only just bloody started."

                        "Maybe he'll see common sense.  You're the best bloody copper for miles."

                        "Well, maybe you're right.  Besides - I got the best side-kick in the business.  Come on; let's go face the music over this one."

 

The pair walked down the corridor and turned right onto the staircase.  They went up two flights of stairs and through the double doors at the top.  Almost facing them was the Super's office.  Sam knocked.

                        "Come in Samuel."

                        "How the hell does he do that?" he queried to his boss.

                        "Spy camera over the door!" he smiled at him as they opened the door.

                        "Come in boys.  What's the story with this canal death?"

The men spelled out the situation to Chief Superintendent Frank Larkin.  Frank sat there for a good three minutes without speaking.  The silence was portentous.  Finally, Larkin broke the ominous silence.

                        "Okay.  Tom, don't let this get too personal okay?  If it gets too close to home, I'm pulling the plug.  I don't want it to get dirty.  Clean up this case as quickly as possible.  I don't want this thing going on for more than a month."

He got up out of his chair and extended his hand to Tom.  Tom shook Larkin's hand, and so did Sam.  Both men left the office and headed down to Tom's office with a sigh of relief.

Angela Skinner was waiting in the office when the men got back.

                        "Hey Skinner!  How are things?  Got my report?"

Angela smiled.

                        "Bloody knew you wouldn't let me down."

Angela handed it to him.  It was wrapped in the customary brown envelope marked on the front "For the Eyes Of TOM MARSH"

Tom undid it.  He read it slowly then read it again.

                        "So, we're looking for a big guy with a bad attitude."

Angela grinned.  She knew Tom well and had worked with him for the last ten years.  The killer, she was sure, was history.

 

 

Day 3, case 2.  23 October 2004 - Tom's house 10 a.m.

                        Tom was busy in the garage on one of his rare day's off.  He was sorting through the rubbish.  It was a Saturday.  Suddenly a taxi driver arrived with a letter addressed: For the Eyes Of Detective Inspektor T Marsh

The incorrect spelling of ‘Inspector' caught his eye.  The lettering was also in red ink on a brown envelope.  He pulled his coat on, got in the car and drove into the office.

                        "Sam?  Sam!" he shouted as he arrived in the Incident Room.

                        "Thought you were having a day off," called Sandy Denis.  "I think Sam is in the gents boss."

                        "Go get him will you?"

                        "Sir"

Sam came running into the IR seconds after Sandy went to get him.

                        "What's up?  We found him?"

Tom held up the letter.  "This is what is wrong!  Red ink on a brown plain envelope."

                        "Have you opened it yet?"

                        "No, I came here first" he said worried.  "It was hand delivered by a taxi driver; never saw the sender's face.  I want this opened in front of the whole team.  Call ‘em in Sam!"

A while later, the whole team was assembled together in the IR.  Frank Larkin was also present.  Everyone held their breath as Tom Marsh opened the letter and read it aloud.

      "ONE LITTLE GIRL GOT KILLED JUST TO GIVE YOU A LEAD, I HEAR YOU ARE THE BEST TOM, ALONG WITH SAM FITCH YOU MAKE A FORMIDABLE TEAM.  BUT ARE YOU MATCH FOR ME?  I DON'T THINK SO!  SO, ONE LITTLE BODY TO PLAY WITH, ONE MORE TONIGHT; THEN OUR LITTLE GAME BEGINS.  A CLUE FOR YOU WHO MAY BE BRIGHT, BUT COULD YOU WATCH ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT?  I HOPE YOU ARE TOO SLOW TO CATCH COLD, LET ALONE CATCH A COLD KILLER.  BEST REGARDS TOM, SAM AND ALL.  I WILL BE IN TOUCH WITH CLUES TO MY NEXT KILL.  I LOOK FORWARD TO OUR LITTLE GAME.  REGARDS, THE DEATH-WATCH BEETLE.  PS. IF ANGELA HAS DONE HER RESEARCH PROPERLY SHE WOULD HAVE FOUND THE BEETLE."

            "Get Skinner on the phone!"  Tom bellowed.  "Get every available copper on the beat the check night-watchmen everywhere especially the guy that found the first body.  God damn it!"

Larkin looked at Tom.  The look said it all.  "Don't mess up with this one Tom - just don't mess up on it!"

                        "Smyth - get me a coffee; black no sugar" Tom barked at a younger officer.  Smyth did as he was told and returned quickly.  The old boy's anger was legendary.

                        "I'm not having fun here people, and you know what happens when I don't have fun."  He looked around the room, looking for someone to pick on.  "Gates - come here!"

                        "Sir?"

                        "Get in touch with the MOD and find out how many of their guys are out on leave matching a rough description of 100kg in weight and 2 metres height in and around Bexton."

                        "Sir"

                        "Sam, have you got hold of Skinner yet?"  Sam shook his head.

"Well when you do, put it through to my office."

 

Marsh's office 12:00 p.m.

                        The telephone rang in Marsh's office.  Tom allowed it to ring twice before picking it up.

                        "Marsh"

                        "Tom, its Angela Skinner.  I know what you're gonna say and yes, I did miss it.  It's the death-watch beetle alright.  Hidden inside the girl's vagina.  Probably put there post death as there showed no sign of any forced sexual activity.  That's why I missed it.  I am so sorry Tom."

                        "This does not get leaked to the press or the girl's family, especially them.  They've had too much trauma already."

                        "Of course Tom, I understand.  It's both our jobs on the line here."

                        "What I am concerned about was how he knew you and I and Sam were on the case?"

                        "Yeah, it seems creepy that.  Anyway, look, I'll keep you a second copy of that updated post-mortem report that I have prepared for you."

                        "Okay, see you soon Angela."

‘Wow!  That must be the first time in nine years he has called me Angela in a professional sense' she thought to herself.

 

32,

Darwin Street

6:00 p.m.

                        The guy knocked ever louder on the front door to Kenny Cummins' two up two down semi, in Darwin Street on the East side of Bexton.  Mr Brownlow from next door at number thirty came out to see what the matter was.

                        "What's all this knocking?"

                        "I'm trying to raise Kenny.  He's late for work!"

The old bespectacled guy went back inside his house and reappeared a few minutes later with a bunch of keys.  Slowly he made his way to the front door of his neighbour and opened it.  He entered followed closely by Joe, Kenny's boss.  There was an ill-omened atmosphere as the pair made their way from room to room.  An menacing eerie silence filled the air, not even the sound of the clock was heard ticking.  It was getting dark inside and the light switches were not working.  Joe was getting worried.  He called out one last time before making his way slowly to the top of the stairs.

                        "Kenny, it's Joe.  Are you there?"

The pair made their way up to the top of the dimly lit house.  The old neighbour looked in the bathroom.  Joe took the bedroom.  His heart was thumping as the door creaked open.  He shone his torch into the room - straight onto the body of Kenny Cummins.

                        Police radios crackled all around the house in Darwin Street.  Blue lights lit the room from outside.  From outside the house a crowd which had gathered could see the flashing of the police photographer's camera as he took pictures of the crime scene.  Angela Skinner soon arrived to do her scene-of-crime examination of the body.

 

                        "Hi boys, what we got?"

                        "Nasty one this.  Night-watchman; should have been on duty, didn't turn up and his boss found him here."

                        "Shit!  Night-watchman did you say?"

He nodded.

                        "Well, okay.  Where are his eyes?"

The officer replied that they hadn't found them yet.  Tom Marsh arrived with Sam in tow.

                        "Angela."  Tom sighed heavily.  "Don't tell me - our Night-watchman?"

                        "Yes Tom, your right, but this guy has had his eyes cut out.  We still haven't found his eyes."

                        "Bloody hell!"  Tom slammed his fist into the wall.  "I guess the game is on then!"

                        "Sir - we found this on the floor by the bed."

The officer handed Tom a piece of folded writing paper with the name TOM on it.         "He's playing bloody games he is!"

                        "HELLO TOM.  I SAID YOU WERE TOO SLOW TO CATCH COLD.  HA HA HA.  WELL, I CUT OUT HIS EYES BECAUSE HE SAW TOO MUCH.  CATCH YOU LATER INSPEKTOR (UNLESS YOU CATCH ME FIRST)."

                        "I'm beginning to dislike this fellow already.  Come on Sam, we need to get back to the office.  The press are going to have a field day with this one."

He touched Angela on the shoulder: "See you later."

                        "By Tom.  Take care."

Day 4, 2:00 pm, Bexton Police Incident Room

                        "We've been on this case four days now and two murders already.  This is only the start of this sick game.  We have to put a stop to this guy once and for all.  He is dangerous."

Tom was speaking at the update meeting.  Frank was away.  Helen Givens was also away on leave for two days.

                        "We are one team member down for two days until Helen gets back, so could everyone think about putting in a bit of overtime on these two days please?"  There were groans from around the room.

                        "I know it's an inconvenience but the case is still hot.  And as long as I am in charge, it will stay hot.  This case does not go cold.  I want everyone ..." there was an interruption as an officer brought in a brown paper package.  It was a small, square box wrapped in brown paper wrapping.  On it was written in red ink - Ayes for the Eyes of Inspektor Tom.

There was silence in the room, as Tom opened the package with caution.  As with all the letters it was hand delivered.  Slowly, the package was unwrapped, and a lid of a box was revealed which had a blue ribbon wound around and tied in a bow.  Tom untied the bow and little by little lifted the lid.  Inside the box was cotton wool as if something precious was wrapped up so not to break it.  Tom's heart was pounding, as was Sam's who stood next to him.  He lifted the layer of cotton wool, and the eyes of the Night-watchman stared back at him.  Sam almost vomited on the spot.  Tom reeled backwards.  He stood motionless for a second, then threw the cotton wool back on top of the gouged out eyes.  Putting the lid back on the box, he told Sam to call Angela Skinner, the pathologist to have them re-united with their owner.