What Lies in the Dark (21 page)

John has to put up with it. Has to grit his teeth and mutter. It isn’t just Mrs Effing Mitchell watching him anymore. Everyone is watching. Everyone knows he had been accused. If he goes out, he is surrounded by reporters, by people wanting to know everything. He can’t leave the house. Privately, he is relieved his mother is here, even though she is getting rid of his stuff. Her being here means that no one will attack him, no one will ever go against his mother. Not even his father dared go against her.

Well, she is cooking the turkey now and for once, it actually smells good. She might even force him to eat a
vegetable. Maybe for now, he is OK with that. But that bitch across the road is still going to pay.

He is playing the perfect husband, has to reassure his wife after all. Don’t want her getting suspicious, definitely do not want her confiding in her brother. They look like they have been whispering. He had given his wife some perfume for Christmas, perfume and jewellery, the cliché gifts that made her happy. He has also allowed his wife to live for a little longer. Greatest gift of all.

He wants to go out hunting, needs to get away from her disgusting relatives. They won’t let him go out alone, he knows if he says he is going running, then her brother will join him “for a chat.” It would have be too obvious anyway, if he goes out on Christmas Day and then another body bursts out onto the news. Not even his wife is that stupid. He really wants rid of that barnacle now. How can he get rid of her but not fall under investigation? If the police had a warrant and reason to search his home … well he would be in deep trouble then wouldn’t he? The police are more efficient than his spying relatives.

He will just have to concentrate on what he is going to do next, instead of actually doing it. He needs to plan these things anyway, think through as much as he can. No room for a single mistake now, everyone is watching. He needs to do something big. Something fun!

Bullface told her family that she was going to a cold draughty church. Somewhere where she could offer prayers for the victims and be thankful for her family at Christmas. She could have said she was going stripping, under her code name Vixen and they would have still said, “Yes Mum,” barely hearing her.

She hadn’t planned on going to see Pippa but here she is, alone in the graveyard. No one for miles around to hear her scream … no, that’s not true, there are other people milling around, everyone’s heads are firmly down, all eye
contact avoided. No one wants to strike up a conversation here. No one wants to make friends with new people at the moment, especially not here. Bullface thinks again about the girls, the victims. How on earth could he lure someone, get them to talk to him when everyone is scared of their own shadow? Why did he have such a power?

No, the killer didn’t belong here in the graveyard. It isn’t right. He should not even be thought of in here … but then nothing is sacred to him. He seems to enjoy destroying everything sacred. He could even be in the graveyard right now. Waiting for a woman to be left alone.

“Bring it on you bastard,” Bullface growls, crouching down next to Pippa’s grave so no one can see. She will happily wait. Maybe that’s what she should do. She thought of the victims again. The pain that had been slashed across their skin. They didn’t deserve that. Pippa didn’t deserve to die. None of them deserved to die. It is her job to keep people like him off the street so why isn’t she doing it? Was that not why her first husband divorced her? He blamed her for Pippa’s death. A policewoman should keep the drunk drivers off the streets. She should be keeping the killers off the streets. She should be doing more to protect the living. She has to keep going now. No more drinking, no more excuses. She has to think of new ways to bait this man. He must have slipped up somewhere and he would slip up again. One more slip is all she needs. They just need a break, something to highlight the one man out of the masses. She just needs to keep looking, keep thinking.

As a Happy New Year rings in, dark rumours are whispered out. Friends call to greet each other but are really checking, just in case. People are disappearing every day and the paranoia is growing. Some girls have taken to carrying razor blades, secreted in pockets. One drunken girl nearly sliced an artery as she demonstrated its power. Doors are still firmly locked and chained and locked again. New Year parties have people whispering angrily in corners about how little the police appear to be doing. No one feels safe any more. “It’s up to us to protect ourselves,” wobbly jowls proclaim. Amateur sleuths create elaborate theories about the significance of the date and manner in which the women were killed; some predict when new attacks are likely to occur and who is at risk. Enrolment at self-defence classes has never been higher but no one’s New Year resolution is to take up jogging or running.

He tries not to snap as his relatives yell “Happy New Year” in his ear. Tries not to punch his drunken lecherous Auntie as she gives him a little pinch. He really needs to get out now. Really needs to go out and do something to scare them back into misery. New Year, new kills. Bigger, bolder kills.

He could wait a little while longer. Has to wait a little while longer, the streets are too busy with New Year parties spilling everywhere. Too many drunks collapsing in awkward places, ready to awake at any scream. His wife seems to trust him again. Stupid woman has probably convinced herself that he had been having an affair. He really needs to get rid of her soon. She would grow suspicious again, and suspicious people snoop don’t they? Not that she would find much now. He has become a master at washing those annoying blood spots out of his clothing. Everything else has been locked away safely. He has made sure the others are completely hidden. No one will find them. Even if they did, they would
find nothing but torched bones.

John Roberts is not having a Happy New Year. Reporters keep trying to get in touch; none of them are interested in how he had been unfairly fired either. John has stopped answering the house phone. He had unplugged it but his mother found out.

“What if there was an accident Johnny?”

How have so many people got his number? It was probably his ex-girlfriend. Fucking bitch.

His fucking mother insists on answering every call. “We have nothing to hide Johnny.” It had made him briefly laugh, listening to his mother deal with the prank callers. Briefly laugh and then cringe. Why couldn’t she just say, ‘Sorry, you have the wrong number.’ She is outside now, cleaning again. Last night someone papered the house with egg and toilet tissue.

“This can’t go on much longer Johnny.”

He has been out a few times since New Year, always with the same disappointing results. His favourite new spots are deserted. No females to be found wandering alone. Kim Donaghue’s death so close to home had hit hard.

It is challenging. He has less reason to be out alone as well. He has seen people surreptitiously taking photographs of anyone foolish enough to attempt jogging or running. Everyone is looking at their faces now. He wishes he had had the foresight to buy his wife a puppy for Christmas. Not only could he be out walking it but it would have attracted a number of women. Maybe for her birthday but, then, did he really want a slobbering mutt in his house? Also, dog hairs. The police would be drooling over any dog hairs on victim’s clothing and if the same dog hair would be found on more than one victim, they would start looking very closely at any male dog owners. No, no dogs. There are still other ways to pick up women, still some easy catches.

They would relax soon anyway. Their new security precautions would become suffocating. He needs them to relax soon, he is stuck otherwise. If he decides to move out of the city now (his wife keeps pointing out “cute” houses in other towns) then the police would just have to look at residents who have moved recently. His wife would notice that too – unless he moves without her. As a stranger in a new place, people would notice him more, he would be an outsider. He wouldn’t have the friends he has here. It would take ages to memorise routes in a new city, he doesn’t want to waste any more time. He has this city afraid, if he left the city then all his hard work will be over. He wants to see how far he can push the people, what he can make them do.

He will never be suspected in this city, his new activities make sure of that. No fingers will be pointed at him. No bricks will ever be thrown through his window. There is only one person in this city who might suspect him – his
wife! How much had she told her brother anyway? He needs to look more at getting rid of them. It can’t look like a murder with those two, too much of a red flag. He has spent most of Christmas dwelling over this. A car accident or a fire would be best, but how to set one up without leaving any clues?

He is irritated. He really needs a release now, really needs just one woman to let her hair down, just one or two. He wouldn’t mind two. Two would be nice actually. He needs a new place to take them. He destroyed the old place when he feared his wife … stupid bitch would pay for that. Had to destroy it, it was too closely tied to him, but now he has nowhere to work quietly. If he gets rid of his wife then maybe, maybe he can take one or two back home but somewhere more secluded is more ideal. Could he really risk looking for a place like that? What sort of explanation would he give? Maybe he could with the right explanation, but if they found anything out there, he would be the first guy they would remember. He has to be careful now, right when he really wants to go crazy. One mistake will end everything, everyone is watching each other. It’s hard to believe how addictive this is, he never thought he would last this long or kill this many. It is beautiful how well he is doing. He is better than them, he always knew that, but now, he has proven himself. He is better than anyone else.

Still, tonight is a cold dark night, no one is around. It would be perfect if he could just find someone on their own. Anyone. Does it really matter any more if they are female? How fun would that be? The men would be easy pickings now, wouldn’t they? They won’t have their guard up, they won’t be scared of a stranger. Sure it would be harder, men tend to be strong, but then isn’t he stronger? He usually gets them by surprise anyway. Sure, some idiots would be eager to brand him as a fucking fag but fuck them. It would send the city spinning into crazy overload, wouldn’t it? Everyone would be so fucking scared they wouldn’t leave their house. It would have everyone in the city shivering and checking over their shoulder. It would send out the message that no one is safe.

He likes that idea. He needs to find someone now. His fucking wife will start worrying soon, wondering what is taking him so long, and though he has a new lie to tell her he can’t face the idea of returning home without a release, having to return home to watch another boring show whilst she gibbers about nonsense. She is only bearable now when she is afraid.

No one is out. Where the fuck is everyone? Where are the stupid ones who laugh in the face of danger? Maybe he should drop into a pub. No, that is a stupid idea. The sober ones will remember him dropping in late, only sipping a small drink. No, everyone is looking after the drunk ones now, making sure they get home safe. One last lap around his circuit and then he will have to go home and pound his frustrations into his wife, while thinking of his previous victims.

Happy New Year, Happy Old You! Nothing has changed? Brandi’s life is still boring. Only one thing is keeping her entertained now, how can she catch a killer? How does anyone catch a killer? How do they trap him? How do they lure him out of the dark and cage him? Brandi could lure him out, couldn’t she? She has studied the victims carefully, just like every other amateur detective. She has spent almost as much time as the police at memorising the victims’ faces, trying to look for the link between them. He didn’t have a type, she decided. There is no reason that he wouldn’t pick her, despite her nose. She is better looking than some of the hookers anyway, even if she isn’t as pretty as her sister. She has a chance. How to find him though? Should she go out jogging, walking or clubbing? She hates clubbing alone so that is out, she doesn’t want to fight whilst all sweaty, how bad would that look? How to find a man, who is out looking for a woman though … maybe jogging or walking out in the streets.

How will she trap him? A man strong enough to kill thirty-eight women must be very strong physically. She would have to strike first. She would have no chance if he
overpowers her. Oh to live in a country where tazers and pepper spray are legal! How easy would that be? Zap, out like a light, tagged and bagged.
“Hello there, Mister Policeman, I caught your man!” “Oh yes, I am free for a drink later.” “What’s that Mother? You are proud of me? Not now Mother …”
No! it is not time to fantasise. She needs to plan. How can she bring him down? By herself? How will she know him from a random creep? She will just know, won’t she? Women’s intuition … intuition that had not worked so well for those other women. Had they known? Had they even been given a chance to fight back?

But what other chance does she have? She can stay in this boring life, be subjected to those degrading calls from that woman who claims to be her mother, who claims to love her if she’d only change. Well this will be changing, won’t it, Mother? Everyone loves a hero don’t they? Life will finally be exciting and fun! She will be seen on the cover of magazines, she will be interviewed and maybe even get to meet some famous celebrities. People would notice her!

If she can figure out how to lure him, without getting hurt then she can catch him. No it is too stupid, too risky … too dangerous … but then at least it will not be boring.

She really fucking disgusts him but he has no choice. It is her or nothing. She is nothing anyway. He has seen her before, sleeping on a pile of newspapers. He will have to be careful with this one, she might have fleas.

How should he approach her? He does a little walk in a circle around her, still out of her sight. Carefully checking no one else is around. She looks like the mistrusting type, life has dealt her too many blows. She doesn’t look like she will accept a good Samaritan’s offer but she does look desperate. The skies are threatening snow again and she seems to be burrowing into herself for warmth. Should he risk this one? If she says no, then she will probably remember his face; but then if she says no, he could just kill her anyway. The minute “No” crosses her lips, slash. It is a little open here, yes, but not as public as he has done before. He could risk this one.
This filthy creature is his. He likes the message that killing her would send. It would reinforce that no one is safe. Not the mothers, not the police, not the prostitutes, no one.