The Creep (5 page)

Mainwarring slumped back in his easy chair; he felt like shit. He stared out of the bay window of his country retreat. His head was spinning, he knew he'd drunk too much, but he was having
a thinking
, drinking session, so it didn't count.

His thoughts were not all that clear, but if anything, he did know what he was trying to accomplish.

He wanted clues, hunches, missing links,
patterns
. He had his team working in harmony, now he wanted this serial killer caught.

It was a great achievement that Scotland Yard and the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico in Virginia were working so closely together. That was all down to Mainwarring's charisma and the way he deliberately created rapports with people who counted, on both sides of the Atlantic.

Mainwarring wondered if his colleagues would think he was level-headed because burgundy was dribbling from both sides of his mouth. He smiled at
his own humor. He knew what he had to do. He had to go to the bathroom and sick up.

However, it was easier to stumble out
the front door. He only just made it, and to finish the job off, he jammed two fat fingers down his throat and made sure he completely cleared himself out of the offending liquid. As he closed the front door, he wondered if the birds would eat all the big bits.

Then he noticed all the red wine vomit down the front of his white shirt. It looked as though he'd been shot. He not only felt like shit,
he
looked like shit. He never made it to the
bedroom
, he slept on the couch.

The caterers had been at it all day and so had the
f
lorists. Harvey's party, that Max Hatfield had organized, promised to be one elaborate affair.

By 8:30 in the evening Pinewoods' extensive drive was already full of exotic cars; more were pulling up every minute. Cabs pulled in every thirty seconds and dropped celebrities off. It was like rush hour in Manhattan.

There were stars and starlets, actors and
ac
tresses and professionals from all walks of life. Dentists from Newport Beach, lawyers from Burbank, judges
from Pasadena, doctors from Gl
endale, businessmen from Huntington Beach
and
captains of industry from all over the States.

Max Hatfield made himself busy. He diplomatically waltzed Harvey around and shared him out amongst the franchisees and well-wishers.
H
e was extremely clever the way he did it. As soon as he saw Harvey getting bogged down, he would drag him away, making the excuse that he'd bring him back. Of course he never did.

Guests were dressed in suits and evening gowns, others in slacks and sneakers
,
markedly informal. It was a mixed bunch. Wannabees walked in and out looking for prey.
Judging by the laughter and buzz, there were probably quite a few successes.

Every now and then Harvey and Hatfield
would get a few moments to talk shop: who had bought a franchise and who was thinking about buying a franchise,
who
a certain party was, and the size of so and so's tits. But the banter never lasted long.

Most of the guests would end up being clients. That's what they'd been invited for.

One girl in particular kept catching
Harvey's eye. She was in her early thirties, willowy, five eight and wearing classic black high-heel shoes and a long black evening gown. She had wonderful long blonde hair that went halfway down her back. She seemed to be enjoying herself and was always smiling. Harvey managed to catch her eye a few times, but there was always a distance between them, bridged by guests, tables, waiters or piles of food.

Of course, no party for the world
-
renowned hypnotherapist would have been complete without a bit of stage hypnotism and throughout the evening Harvey made people's eyes stick together, had other's bodies locked in chairs, made others forget their names - and a few more risqu
é
things as well.

Eventually, both he and the willowy
blonde were free and Harvey saw his opportunity. "Here, let me do that." He took the gin bottle and poured. He noticed her finger nails, perfectly shaped, not too long, but finished with exquisite pink nail-varnish.

"What would you like with that?" He could smell the perfume.
Serendipity.

"Tonic, plenty of ice."
She noticed his finger nails, perfectly manicured.

"You'v
e probably gathered I'm Bill H
arvey. I'm so pleased you came." He passed over the drink, and couldn't help but notice her cleavage.
Full breasts, perfectly tanned, and what a smile.

"I love your accent," she said, staring straight into Harvey eyes. "You're from London, right? I've had a good look around the house, Max told me to. Once Charlie Chaplin's, I'm told. I'm glad I came along." She looked confident, relaxed,
radiant
.

Harvey smiled "Yes, that's right. One of
t
he bedrooms is laid out with all sorts of
Chaplin
memorabilia. A real-estate salesman's ploy I reckon." He laughed.

"I saw that room, but there were others I liked better and I loved the pools." She took a sip of G&T.

"
How long have you known Max H
atfield?" He studied her long blonde hair and her eyes. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He also kept coming back to her cleavage, although he tried not to.

"We go back ages. We went to Venice High together, and we've been good friends ever since. Speak of the devil." As she looked up, she saw Max was trying to get Harvey's attention.

"Bill I'm sorry to break up the party, but you know how it is, I've got the gu
y over there who bought a licens
e for St. Louis and he'd like a
quick word. He's well up to speed." Hatfield tugged on Harvey, who reluctantly agreed to follow. He looked back over his
shoulder,
the blonde girl lifted her glass as if to toast him. "I'll be back soon, please excuse me," he said. This
time he meant it.

When Bill Harvey got into his stride he
was unstoppable. The party was now in full swing, and Max Hatfield had introduced him to everyone who was anyone. He'd even managed to exchange a few more words with the
delectable blonde girl in the black evening gown. He called her the rose amongst the thorns, although he still
hadn't got her name.

Harvey had a plan. He was going to do a little court-holding. He sat in the middle of the large living-room, in front of a polished teak coffee table which had his props: a bottle of tomato sauce, salt and pepper shakers and, of course, a glass of pink champagne garnished with
strawberries.

He started his party piec
e by doing the odd 'hic
' and telling everyone that he was hungry. Guests were rolling around laughing already. He made apologies for being a
drunk
host, but explained that was part of life. They loved it. He spotted the blonde bombshell out of the corner of his eye and played the part especially for her.

More guests gathered around. When he sensed he had enough people watching he proceeded to cover the fingers of his left hand with tomato sauce. He then added salt and pepper to his first finger, in just the right quantity, and started to eat it. He put the finger in his mouth and munched
on it. He made all the facial expressions and
m
unching movements, swallowed, bit and chewed some more. He rol
led his eyes and crunched up a t
ough bit of bone. When he
took his hand away fr
om his mouth the finger had gone and he proceeded to pepper and
salt
the next one.

He did this four times, making an elaborate show of biting and munching, crunching and swallowing, carefully adding the condiments
to
get the flavor just right each time. By the time he had finished, all you could see were four bloody knuckles, his fingers being carefully tucked on the inside of his hand.

He washed each finger down with large
gul
ps of pink champagne. The whole illusion looked superlatively realistic and even if you'd been only slightly tipsy you wouldn't have taken much convincing that Harvey had actually eaten his
f
our fingers. If you'd had a joint or some coke you would
know
Harvey had eaten his fingers.

The party piece accomplished what he
wanted. He had the beautiful blonde's attention, well and truly. He caught a gust of her perfume again:
Serendipity
. He noticed the long slit in her evening gown and saw her beautiful long evenly-tanned thighs. He noticed the white pearl necklace and the tiny pearl ear-rings. More than anything he noticed her cleavage and her breasts.

"That was wonderful, you'll have to
t
each me how to do that some time, I've never seen anything quite so funny. And I thought you were such a serious person." The beautiful slim vision stopped talking. She knew something about timing too.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier.
Max has been dragging me away all evening. It won't happen again, I promise. He's under a lot of pressure trying to make the party a success. I'm so sorry, I didn't even get your phone number, I mean your name - or your phone number for that matter." Harvey laughed. It was a genuine Freudian slip.

Harvey picked up his champagne glass
as if to toast and the blonde vision replied: "My name is Anita, Anita Broughton. You can have my telephone number later. I don't think it's quite appropriate that I give it to you right now, not at this precise second." She smiled and Harvey noticed how straight and pearly white her teeth were.

They chatted away and amazingly enough no-one disturbed them. Harvey introduced Anita to pink champagne with strawberries. She was the easiest convert he'd ever made.

Eventually the evening wound down and the time came for Anita to depart. Harvey gave Anita a quick kiss on the side of her
cheek,
she slipped him a business card that read Horwitz Solomon Investment Trust. Her home phone number was
penciled
on the back. She'd drawn a tiny heart over the
‘i’
in Anita.

H
arvey made a point of getting stuck straight into work when he arrived at I.O.H. headquarters in Springfield. There were always franchisees ready
t
o listen and learn, and sometimes Harvey carried out impromptu ses
sions with them. This was one of
them, at 11:30 on the night he arrived:

"The collection of fees is highly important. As you know, I.O.H. has already created over thirty millionaires in Europe. I believe the States offers an
even greater
opportunity.

"We know that we have a fabulous service to offer society. Industry alone loses billions of dollars every year through alcohol abuse and its associated problems of absenteeism, industrial accidents, mistakes, insurance claims, lethargy, wasted products, bad boardroom decisions and lack of morale in the work place. Soon companies will be employing us to cure their staff from smoking and business and industry will do everything it can to protect itself from passive smoking liability claims.