Son of a Serial Killer (6 page)

19

Ben picked up his phone, expecting it to be Natalie again, but this time it was his mother. He pushed the 'reject call' button, laid back on the bed and watched as Eve got dressed. She avoided the gothic style today, dressing with an air of elegance that he preferred.

Mrs
Green held a glass of red wine in one hand and a phone to her ear with the other; she took a gulp of wine then set it down on the table. The call went through to the answer machine.

BEEP

‘Benjamin, please don't ignore my phone calls. I know you are going through a difficult time, coming to terms with, well, you know what. But, this is part of who you are. I was surprised it took so long to arrive if I'm honest. You've always been a little lost, you know it, always looking for something more. Come and see me, we'll talk this through, and I'll answer all the questions that I'm sure you have.’

She hung up the phone,
swapped it for the glass of wine and gulped down the rest of its contents, just as some movement caught her eye out in the garden. She marched over to the back door, stepped out and threw the empty wine glass towards the cat, yelling obscenities as she did so. The cat got lucky, and darted to safety at the far end of the garden and up a tree.

Mrs
Green went back inside and calmly closed the door behind her, humming a cheerful song as she walked back to the table and lifted a tin of paint from a plastic bag. She gave a smile as she regarded the label with the name and colour of the paint on the side, 'Devil Red’. Left in the bag were some brushes and a rolling kit, along with the receipt showing her loyalty points from the purchases.

T
aking her decorating products to Graham’s office, she looked out of the kitchen window into the garden and saw that the cat was back.

‘
You fucking pest,’ she yelled, and spat at the window.

20

Ben had locked himself in Eve's bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, staring thoughtfully at his reflection. This was the face of a killer, the face of a mad-man. But this was him, this was Ben, it couldn't be.

Ben had always been polite and
wary of his p's and q's, and always tried to put other people's feelings into his thought process when making decisions.

But, of c
ourse, he was no saint either. He had grown up in the city and been involved in the occasional row, he had gotten angry at certain car drivers who didn't follow the rules of the road, or those of the public who were just plain rude and pushed in on queues or didn't say thank you when you helped them or let them pass by.

But that was normal
, wasn't it? Even if it wasn't, Ben always had his father to lean back on.

His
dad was the calming influence in his life, the one who taught Ben to respect nature, the man who taught Ben to help other's before helping himself, the person who taught him that learning to forgive made you more of a man than someone who carried a grudge, and even worse, someone who acted on that grudge.

But his
father was gone.

Just two months after his
father had passed, Ben was losing it; losing the self-control, losing the love and respect for life. Could Eve be the one to help him back onto his feet, back to normality?

He was still 'compos mentis' ninety-nine per cent of the time, of this he was sure.
How dangerous was being 'non compos mentis' one per cent of the time? But he was also aware of the voices in his head, the sudden waves of uncontrollable emotion that coursed through his veins, and the reflections, how could he forget the man in the mirror?

He'd first noticed the man in the mirror a few days after his
father's death.

He was in
the depths of despair by then, after the initial shock of the accident, then denial, and then came the despair, and with that was the sense of hopelessness, which caused him to grow angry.

He had seen a counsellor
to help with his coping of the grief, and discovered that these were normal reactions to someone who had lost such an important figure in one's life. Different people cope in different ways; some people accept the situation after just a few days, others take months, some years. But with regards to his stages of grief, Ben was going round in circles. He had given up on the counsellor, even though he was far from accepting the situation and moving on.

Ben continued to stare at his reflection, wondering when his alter ego would make an appearance. He would often do this, trying to figure out if he could predict the next
showing, then maybe one day control it. Although controlling your alter ego would mean it wasn't an alter ego at all, it was just you, but maybe with a different perspective on the things around you.

He wanted to know if his
father had often done the same. Had he stood in front of a mirror and waited for his 'evil self' to give some murderous instructions or crude remarks, or maybe do that little twinkle thing with his eye, just to let him know he was still there.

‘
No.’

Ben shook his head, his
father wasn't like that.

His
father was the strongest man he had ever met, not physically, although he wasn't weak, but he had a soul and was a kind generous man. He was truly a good guy, who not only knew right from wrong, but would act on it, too.

There was a knock on the door, he unlocked and opened it to Eve, who
stood before him in her smart, but feminine attire, wearing subtle make-up, high-lighting her gorgeous eyes and shapely cheek bones.

‘
I'm going to a feminist seminar this morning,’ she said, ‘would you like to come?’

Ben smiled,
‘Erm, what?’

‘
Never mind,’ she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. ‘Pull the front door up until it clicks, on your way out. My number is on the post-it note on the table, call me, and leave me your number, please.’

Eve gave a flirtatious wink then turned
and headed out of the apartment, leaving this near-stranger in her home without a second thought. If only she knew the truth of the man she had just invited into her life.

Ben felt a small flutter of butterflies in his stomach, the feeling you get when you know that a special bond is developing, or is maybe already there.
He smiled, then made his way back to the sink and washed his face. The cold water against his skin felt refreshing, he wished he could stay in this safe-haven for ever, but he knew he had things to take care of.

He dabbed his face dry with a towel and glanced into the mirror one last time, his reflection winked back at him, that same cheeky wink that Eve had just moments ago given to Ben.

‘You leave her alone,’ he said, pulling his gaze away from the mirror.

21

Still cordoned off, the crime scene was a lot quieter than the day before.

Summers had re
turned with a couple of uniformed officers, hoping to come across something that they had maybe missed yesterday. One of the uniforms, a new recruit, young and eager to impress, approached Summers with a used condom in a plastic evidence bag.

Summers
shook her head, trying not to dishearten the newbie, and softly said there was absolutely no evidence of any sexual activity involving the two victims from the day before. This was the conclusion from the post-mortem examination; Ricky would have died a frustrated young man. The officer's face reddened a little, realising the amateur mistake she had made and turned to walk away.

‘
Wait,’ called Summers. ‘Tag it anyway. Maybe it could be useful to rule someone out at a later stage.’

Summers didn't know if she was trying to soften the blow for the youngster or
if she was just clutching at straws with regards to the case. Any evidence was better than none, which is what they had at this point.

She
ducked down under the police tape and took a few steps along the path of the canal. The way in which the canal curved really did make under the bridge quite a secluded location, which is probably what attracted the young lovers to the spot in the first place. Somewhere out of sight, as they were both meant to be elsewhere, somewhere to make out without prying eyes, maybe somewhere to drink and get high if that's what they were into. She thought this may be the case with Ricky, but wasn't so sure about the girl.

Was Alexia a
nother ‘good girl gone bad’ in the wrong company? It had certainly happened before, and would likely again.

Summers glanced up to the top of the bridge and caught a glimpse of a man peering over the side, down onto the crime scene. This could have been a reporter, or even a member of the public being nosey, but the way in which he jumped backed, almost frightened, when Summers
and he caught each other's eyes gave her the impression that there was more to this guy.

She ducked back under the police tape and hurried up the steps, under the next tape line and onto the path that ran alongside the road that crosses the bridge.

The man was gone.

Was that him?
she thought. Had Summers just set her eyes on the brutal murderer of two teenagers? Was this the same man who had been randomly taking lives for the last eight years?

She took out her phone and called Kite.

‘Yes, boss,’ he answered.

Kite was at the video surveillance centre, going through the digital surveillance data from around the time of yesterday's crime.

‘I need to know what is on the camera that covers the bridge,’ she said, impatiently.

‘
We're just going through it now,’ he replied.

‘
No, Kite, I mean now. There was a guy on the bridge just one minute ago and I need to know if we got him on tape,’ she said.

Kite passed on the request to the technician he was working with, only for the
man to shrug his shoulders, shake his head and give the bad news. Apparently, the problem when using the system for playback is that they were interrupting the recording schedule, therefore, no longer recording.

Summers heard the explanation over the phone and hung up.

‘Shit.’

She looked
up and down the road, hoping, but there was nothing to look at, not even many cars at this time of day.

Had she just let slip a cold-blooded killer?

By now, Ben was a good half-mile away, breathing heavily after his impromptu run. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to go back to the crime scene, and promised that would be the last time he acted so ridiculously dumb.

Startling him, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
Thankfully, it was Eve saying her seminar had been cancelled due to a lack of turnout; she was home and invited him back to her place. She wanted his company.

‘
Back to the safe-haven?’ he asked himself.

H
e could think of no place better to go.

22

Summers had just sat down behind her desk when her phone rang. Kite walked into the office carrying two coffees, as per usual, when she answered the call from her boss, wanting them both in his office straight away for an update.

Withi
n seconds, Summers and Kite were sat before their superior. He looked at them both gloomily, obviously feeling the pressure which recent events had put upon them all, as happened every time The Phantom made an appearance.

‘
So what have you got for me?’ asked Watts.

Summers
briefly glanced towards Kite, noticing a cocky glint in Kites eyes, meaning, 'go ahead boss, you can explain where we are. This is your party.'

She sat upright and prepared to update Watts on proceedings.

‘Well, sir,’ she said, ‘with regards to the double homicide yesterday, under the bridge at Old Town Road, in all honesty, we don't have much to go on.’

Watts looked suitably unimpressed.

‘Preliminary reports from the morgue indicate no sexual abuse on either of the victims. We are waiting for toxicology reports to confirm if they were high or drunk at the time.’

‘
And that will serve what purpose?’ interrupted Watts.

Summers didn't have an answer.

‘Go on,’ said Watts.

‘
The boy, Ricky Robinson, had twenty pounds in his pocket, which would indicate it wasn't a robbery,’ she continued, ‘and as far as we understand, nobody knew they were there, so we don't think it was premeditated.’

Watts sat up in his seat.

‘There is a chance that a jealous ex-lover of the girl, perhaps stumbled across them, had a row with Robinson and things turned nasty,’ interjected Kite, ‘but Mrs White, the girl's mother, was adamant her daughter had never had a boyfriend before.’

Summers frowned at Kite's extraordinarily useless input. She wondered if his need to speak up in front of superiors was a play for promotion or
if he just wanted to remind them both that he was there. That said, credit where credit is due, he took a gamble by agreeing to join her on The Phantom case, no good detective likes an 'unsolved' on their cv, and there was certainly a good chance of that becoming a reality.

‘
So tell me,’ said Watts, clearly directing the question to Summers, ‘why did you tell me on the phone, that you don't believe this to be our guy, The Phantom?’

Summers took a deep breath.

‘Well, sir, first of all, there were two victims. Never has The Phantom been suspected of a double murder.’

She p
aused, waiting for a response, but she didn't get one, just a blank stare from the boss.

‘
Also, The Phantom always came prepared, with a weapon of choice,’ she continued, ‘but here, we are certain the weapon used on Mr Robinson was an old brick, more than likely picked up and used at the scene. These are two good clues that The Phantom was not responsible for these murders.’

Bizarrely, although Summers was convinced that she was right about this, and at least a few of the other murders being attributed to
The Phantom being false, when she put her argument across to Watts, she began to have doubts. This was new to her, no doubt down to her special interest in this case, playing on her nerves a little.

‘
DI Summers,’ said Watts, ‘I understand you have your reasons to doubt The Phantom is behind this, and I am also aware, that you understand the pressure the press will put us under if they believe that yet another killer is out there on the streets. Another killer, that is, that we are not able to put behind bars.’

Watts relaxed back into his seat and continued,
‘I have seen the map with the locations of the previous murders in your office, and it looks good. So tell me, the murders of young Ricky Robinson and...’ he checked the paperwork in front of him on the desk, ‘Alexia White, do you they fall into the 'hot-spot'? For want of a better phrase.’

Summers sighed.

‘Yes, sir.’ she replied.

‘
And the lack of a weapon,’ Watts continued, ‘it is possible that he wasn't prepared for once. What if he was just out for a walk, or a run? Unfortunately for Mr Robinson, he tried showing off in front of his new girlfriend, and picked on the wrong man?’

Summers was aware o
f Kite gently nodding, agreeing at least on the surface with Watts, and the ‘social pressure’ led her to nod in agreement with her superior as well.

‘
There are a few of the press in the media room, awaiting a statement,’ said Watts.

Sum
mers nodded again and stood, signalled for Kite to stand and they left the room, closing the door on the way out. She spoke rather sharply and told Kite to go and take his lunch, which he did without hesitation.

She looked down the cor
ridor towards the media room but turned and walked the other way, back past Watts’ office and into her own. She got the hip-flask and took two large gulps before putting it back.

For years she had been following the moves of
The Phantom, and although Watts’ theory was plausible, it didn’t sit right with her.

She took a deep breath, went to face the press, and ga
ve them a statement that she didn't believe.