Gut Instinct (18 page)

Cocaine always made her feel that way, helped her to enjoy sex too, she could go all night, not that the men she took home could and she’d given some serious consideration to taking two or three home at the same time.

It was about midnight when he had approached her, offered to buy her a drink.  She shouldn’t really drink when she was on coke, but what the hell she had thought, and asked for a Bacardi and coke.

He wasn’t the handsomest bloke in the place, but he’d do, she thought as he was kissing her neck and sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine.  Cocaine could do that heighten your awareness, heighten the pleasure zones.

It wasn’t long before they were rubbing their bodies together, touching and feeling each other’s genital areas, groaning and breathing
heavy into each other’s ears, oblivious that people were watching and disgusted in their behaviour.

People were
commenting
too “Get a room” and “tart”
but they were too engrossed to no
tice
, as
far
as
they
were
concerned
the
y were the
only two people in the room.

Their tongues were passionately playing with each other’s tonsils, when the bouncer came up and asked them to leave.  They both left laughing no sense of pride, no embarrassment and jumped into a taxi that was waiting outside, telling the driver, that their name was that of his booking.

They couldn’t keep their hands off each other
in the taxi
and the fact that he wore a wedding ring had no consequence to Floss.

They arrived at her house and she dragged him by his tie into the passage way and stripped him of his clothes, noticing with disappointment the wimpy body and small penis that he had, but she was
not disappointed
for long as he pulled her to the ground, unwrapped and slipped on a
condom as she ripped her own clothes off
and
he
shagged her in every position imaginable.

Two hours later he was gone, home to his wife she supposed but she was satisfied and that was all that mattered.
  She hadn’t even known his name she sniggered proud of her
immorality, not one bit bothered that she was getting quite a name for herself.

She took out her crack pipe and prepared her fix and smoked it whilst listening to her stereo blaring out the deep tones of Amy
Winehouse
.
  Thinking of her next conquest and planning
what she would get on her next shoplifting expedition.

It took her a while to acknowledge that someone was at the door, to recognise what the banging was, at first she
had
thought it was the crack playing with her mind.

Someone was banging on the back door. Who the fuck was this, she thought at this time of night.

“Okay, Okay, I’m coming” she shouted “This better be good!”

If it’s fucking Leroy after some crack I’ll knock him fucking out.

She staggered to the back door, opened it and stared at her visitor.

“Who the fucks are you?” she asked, and that was all she could remember.

Chapter Twenty- Seven

Mon
day
21st
April

Stephen had been
sat on Derek
’s
desk
talking to him and John
when the call
had
came through at twelve forty five.
  Another girl had been found murdered only this time it had sounded messy.

They’d all three jumped out of their seats, grabbed their coats and travelled to the scene together, sat in silence all the way absorbed in their own thoughts.

All had been thinking along the same lines, this would be the third murder of a woman in her own home in a short space of time, what the hell was going on, they’d already banged a man up for the other two, had they got the wrong man or is this a separate incident altogether.

Stephen had taken the
driving
seat, and he
headed for the second time in a month to the
Peckleton
estate.
  The weather was dry this time and a small ray of sunshine came through the clouds, but the mood in the car had been dull.

The information that they had was that a
thirty three year old girl had been brutally murdered, she had been found by Leroy Johnson a local drug addict and criminal and thankfully he had done the right thing and called it in.

All of them had known of Floss, otherwise known as Fiona Stafford, they had come across her at some time in their police career.

A gabby
brawd
, Stephen had thought, but didn’t deserve to die.

On arriving they had
walked into a bloody scene that was just being cleared by forensics, there was furniture toppled over and smashed ornaments scattered over the floor.

Some
of the forensic team were
measuring the blood splatter on the wall and furniture
, while others were laying down plastic sheeting to preserve any evidence,
and Owen the pathologist was examining the body.

Stephen was stood watching this drama play out before his eyes when Owen opened the girls hand and took out a familiar card.  He
laid
it flat on his gloved hand and at the same time as Stephen
he had
read the message:

Stephen, gives every bird a worm, but he does not throw it into the nest

“What the hell....” Stephen said as Owen met his eyes
.

“I think someone’s trying to tell you something
mate
” Owen said

Stephen’s heart was pounding, this was getting personal now, and what the fuck was going on they’d just locked the killer up for Christ’s sake.

“Is this the same killer, do you think? He asked Owen.

“Looks like it might be Stephen, I need t
o get her to the lab, but as
a preliminary guess I would say that this wound didn’t
kill her..........
this did” and he pointed to a blood drenched pillow lying next to the sofa, that Stephen hadn’t noticed.

“And I’d also go as far as to say she has been dead for at least two days, so it could be your Friday night killer” he added.

Stephen
had
left the scene then,
his blood running cold. H
e had to speak with his
boss tell
him before someone else did.  He found Derek and John and told them to get one of the
uniforms to bring them back to the station once they’d finished up here and headed for his car.

‘Stephen
gives every bird a worm, but he does not throw it into the nest.
’

He’d heard that quote before, but couldn’t remember where and when and he was sure it didn’t say Stephen but couldn’t remember who.

What did that mean he
thought?

‘I help people but don’t do it for them’ – who have I helped?

His mind was racing as he pulled into the station car park and his heart pulsing when he saw that the place was swarming with press.  This time there were three times as many as the last time and TV cameras too.

He pushed his way through ignoring the barrage of questions and made his way up to
Michael’s
office.

His boss was pacing the floor on the phone raising his voice in temper as he gestured Stephen to sit down.

Michael ended his call and said “I’ve heard Stephen, how the fuck did this happen?”

Stephen couldn’t answer just raised his hands in despair.
  They had messed up, he knew that and there was no point trying to
argue or justify his actions.  He had made the decision to charge Ivan Springer, so he needed to take full responsibility.

“Well it needs to be sorted Stephen, that was Ivan Stringers lawyer on the phone, he wants him released, and not only that he wants your arse put on
a barbeque griddle!” he shouted.

“I’ll sort it” Stephen answered politely.

“Good” Michael said voice mellowing now “and when you have done that you need to give those animals out there something to get them off our back.  You need to do a press release!”

“Yes sir” Stephen replied and walked out of his office knowing that there was nothing more to be said.

**********

Stephen was sat at his desk preparing a press release, it was six o’clock and he’d promised to meet with them at six thirty.  He’d wanted to get all the details off his team first, find out exactly what had happened.

His team had been thorough; as soon as they had heard about the murder they had got themselves down to the scene and followed John’s instructions.

No-one had put him in charge, this was just how John was, if Stephen wasn’t around he had always took the lead and no one ever had argued over that with him.  No-one had minded.

They had, ha
d a brief meeting at five fifteen
and were all back out on the streets again, interviewing potential witnesses, finding out
all they could no matter how small.  The overtime bill was going to be huge this month Stephen had thought.

Everyone had been subdued at the meeting. Stephen didn’t know if this was because they had most likely locked up the wrong man, or they had read the latest calling card and were angry.  This was personal now and was aimed at their boss
, they didn’t like that, didn’t like it when it involved one of their own.

With the exception of Paul that is, he was energised, almost gloating, his head held high like a peacock pruning his feathers.

Stephen had ignored this; he couldn’t be bothered with arrogant cops, he couldn’t be bothered with anyone come to think of it that stealthily boasted ‘I told you so,’ he didn’t have to say the word’s, Stephen knew what he was thinking, and quite frankly at this moment in time couldn’t give a shit.

Floss had been to
Jason’s,
Paul had reported back that he had been sent there by John on a
hunch to go through the CCTV images of Friday night.
She was on CCTV getting down and personal with some bloke and had to be kicked out as it was almost being considered as obscene.

She’d then got in a taxi with this same man whose blurred photograph was now being passed around and investigated to see if they could find out who he was.

Derek and John had
taken
a statement from Leroy, who had gone to the house sometime around mid-day.  He hadn’t got an answer and was about to leave when he tried the back door.  It was open so he wandered in.  He was evasive about why he had went round
,
but all
in the room had
agreed that he was
,
in all probability
,
on the scrounge for drugs.

He’d found the body, said he hadn’t touched anything only the phone when he’d called the fuzz, as he kindly referred to them as.

Vera had knocked on neighbours doors and yet again no-one had heard anything except her
immediate neighbour who had said that she had been woken up by what she thought was a thud around two thirty but hadn’t took any notice and had gone back to sleep.

The taxi driver had been tracked down and he could not recall a description of either of them just said that he was ‘glad to drop them off as they were about having it off in the back of his cab’.

They had all brainstormed ideas, and the one difference in this case was that Floss had been hit over the head with a blunt instrument; they were unsure what this was and were hoping that forensics would be able to put some light on this.  The place was in such a mess it was hard to tell.

They all concluded that Floss must have put up a fight, and anyone that had known her would know that she would
.

No-one could make neither head nor tail of the calling card, but Vera had volunteered to do
some research and see if that would enlighten them.

Now it was time to face the press.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Stephen stepped out into the cold evening breeze an
d
faced the press all clamouring forward for information like vultures scavenging for bread.

“Is it the same killer, is it a serial killer” someone shouted.

“Does that mean you have locked the wrong man up?” said another

“Is Ivan Springer innocent?”

“What do the police have to say about their mistake?”