The Reckoning (5 page)

Returning the milk to the fridge he ran his
eyes over the food before him, trying to decide what he felt like eating. As
disappointed as he was by the mugs, he was more disappointed by the options
available for lunch. Most of what he saw in the fridge was healthy food, salad
and other low calorie items; there was nothing that particularly thrilled him.

After a couple of minutes of
unenthusiastically examining both the fridge and the freezer, which revealed
yet more healthy food, Michael settled for cheese and ham sandwiches. He used a
couple of slices of the thick ham, cut the cheese into equally thick slices,
and garnished it with plenty of pickle and onion in an effort to satiate his
hunger.

With his sandwiches made Michael turned to
the sink so he could clean the knife he’d used to cut the cheese. He caught
sight of the girl’s body out the corner of his eyes as he did so, immediately
he forgot about the sink and cleaning the knife. He was operating on automatic
pilot as he moved away from the counter and over to the body, where he knelt so
he could take the blade to the girl’s bare stomach.

SLUT

He carved the word into her flesh, drawing
the knife through her skin as he had the other girls he’d murdered. Blood
welled up with each slice of the blade but he ignored it and continued what he
was doing, not stopping until he had finished and her belly was a red mess.
Having done what he felt compelled to do he pushed himself up and returned to
the food and drink he had made for himself.

He devoured his sandwiches hungrily and then
drained his drink, ignoring the heat of the freshly made coffee as it burned
its way down his throat. Once he had satisfied both his hunger and his thirst
he dumped the plate and the mug in the sink and left the kitchen. He took the
knife without realising it.

It wasn’t until he reached the girl’s bedroom
that he became aware he was still holding the knife.

The girl’s boyfriend hadn’t moved but Michael
wasn’t about to take any chances. He crossed to the immobile teen and nudged
him with his foot, wanting to make sure he wasn’t simply pretending. He was
sure the boy was dead, and was surprised when he moaned in response to being
prodded in the arm; immediately Michael dropped to his knees to stab him with
the knife.

When his first stab provoked another moan,
and an involuntary twitch of the body, Michael stabbed the boy again, and again
and again. How many times he stabbed him he had no idea, nor did he care; all
that mattered was that he made sure the boy would cause no problems for him.

The body beneath him was a bloody mess by the
time he stopped, but he paid it no mind as he left the knife in the boy’s
stomach and pushed himself to his feet. He crossed to the bed and dropped onto
it. He fell asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow, though it had
only been about six hours since he got up. The events of that morning had left
him more than tired, he was exhausted. 

EIGHT

“Inspector, Inspector, what’s the situation
here?”

Anderson pushed past the reporters who ambushed
him the moment he stepped out of his car in the hospital car park.

“Is it true the prisoner who escaped this
morning is a serial killer? Should the public be on the alert?”

It was only when he reached the doors of the
hospital that he managed to escape the reporters, who were being kept outside
by a pair of constables. How much the reporters knew, and where they had gotten
their information from, he didn’t know but he wasn’t happy with their presence.
He’d hoped to keep the escape of Michael Davis as quiet as possible, and to
recapture him before it became public knowledge that a serial killer had
managed to evade police custody; it was clear that that was no longer a
possibility.

It didn’t really matter how much, or how
little, the reporters knew just then. He had enough experience with reporters
to know that one way or another they would find out all there was to know soon
enough. They would make sure that Michael Davis’ escape was reported on the
local news at the earliest opportunity, and that meant he had to deal with the
possibility of panic resulting from the escape.

The only consolation he could find in the
situation was that Michael Davis had been arrested before he became involved in
the case. Not only that, but his escape had come while he was supposed to be
under the watch of three officers. In his opinion he couldn’t be held
accountable for the escape.

“Sir, Inspector!”

Anderson turned at the call and saw his
partner, Detective Sergeant Murphy, approaching. “I hope you can tell me what’s
been going on here,” he said. If the expression on his face and the tone of his
voice hadn’t made it clear that he wasn’t happy, his next words did. “HOW THE
HELL DID HE ESCAPE?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper; as much as he wanted to
shout the question, he knew he couldn’t. There were too many people around, not
to mention the reporters outside.

“If you’ll come with me, Sir, we’ve been
given an office for such discussions. The hospital director would like to keep
things as quiet as possible,” Murphy told his superior.

“It seems a little late for that,” Anderson
remarked caustically, casting a look over his shoulder at the reporters, who
were visible through the automatic doors behind him.

“Yes, Sir.” Murphy nodded, his expression
blank, he was used to his superior’s anger and impatience and so was largely
able to ignore it.

“How did they find out what happened here?”

“I couldn’t say, Sir, but I don’t imagine it
would have been difficult. Most likely someone called them. By the time I got
here the news of what had happened was all over the hospital.”

As tempted as he was to comment on that,
Anderson resisted the urge and contented himself with following his partner as
he was led to the office they were to use. The moment they reached the office,
which he was thankful to see was on the ground floor, he settled himself behind
the desk and focused his attention on Murphy. “Okay, tell me what happened,” he
instructed. “All I was told by the chief inspector is that Michael Davis has
escaped, he had no details to give me. It’s taken me an hour to get back here
from Greenville so there had better be some good news.”

“At this time, not much is known, Sir,”
Murphy reported, staring straight ahead, so as not to catch the eye of the DI.
“Michael Davis arrived in the ambulance ahead of constables Franks and Benson,
and was taken straight up to x-ray suite four so he could be checked over. By
the time the constables reached the suite Michael Davis had escaped. Both the
radiographer and the constable with him had been attacked, and were found
unconscious on the floor of the x-ray suite.”

“Why did Lincoln and Martin take so long to
reach the hospital? They left right behind the ambulance; they should have been
with the prisoner from the moment he got here.”

At that Murphy looked faintly embarrassed.
“As I understand it, Constable Martin was delayed by the need to fill the
doctor in on what had happened with both Michael Davis and the injured
constable from Greenville and Constable Lincoln…” He paused for a moment before
continuing. “Constable Lincoln was delayed by a call of nature.”

For one long moment Anderson stared at the
sergeant in incredulous silence, not quite able to believe what he had heard.
“Are you trying to tell me that a radiographer and a constable were attacked, and
a multiple murderer was able to escape because of a call of nature?” He was too
stunned to be angry, though he could feel the anger bubbling just below the
surface of his racing thoughts.

Murphy nodded, reluctantly. “I believe that
to be the case, sir. Based on the information I have at this time, both
constables arrived at the x-ray suite within five to ten minutes of Michael
Davis; it’s hard to be exact but it couldn’t have been any longer than that.”

“So, within approximately ten minutes of
arriving at this hospital, Mr Davis was able to escape from police custody,
despite being handcuffed and under the watch of a constable. How is that
possible?” Anderson wanted to know. “Please tell me you can answer that
question.”

“Yes, sir, I can,” Murphy said, his voice
betraying his relief at being able to do so. “Although the constable who was
with Mr Davis is still unconscious, is in surgery right now in fact, the
radiographer has regained consciousness. I spoke to her as soon as I was told
she had woken; she was able to tell me what happened, at least up until the
point where she was rendered unconscious.”

“And…” Anderson prompted the moment his
partner paused to take a breath.

“The radiographer told me that the constable
removed Mr Davis’ handcuffs at her request, it being necessary so she could
properly x-ray him and ascertain whether he sustained a head injury during the
course of being subdued. The constable was reluctant but did remove the
handcuffs when it became clear the x-rays could not safely be taken with them
on.

“The moment the handcuffs were removed Mr
Davis attacked the constable, and then the radiographer when she attempted to
escape and raise the alarm. He dragged her back into the suite and threw her
against the x-ray table, after that he kicked her in the face, knocking her
out. She knows nothing from that point on.”

Anderson was silent for a few moments as he
thought about what he had been told. “I assume a search of the hospital is
underway.”

“Yes, sir; the chief inspector was only able
to spare eight officers to secure and search the hospital, though, so the
search is taking some time. At this point, though, the search is nothing more
than cursory; we have reason to believe Mr Davis has already left the
hospital.”

“You have reason.” Anderson looked up at the
sergeant. “What kind of reason?”

“A nurse reported seeing Mr Davis a short
distance from the x-ray suite he escaped from, he asked her to show him the
quickest way out from where he was.”

“I take it she obligingly gave him
directions,” Anderson said, an irritated look on his face.

Murphy nodded. “She had no idea who he was,
and no reason not to give him directions; according to the nurse there was
nothing special about the young man to give her cause for concern, he seemed
perfectly normal, other than a little confused.”

“So he’s gone, and we don’t currently have a
clue where he might be.”

“We do have a lead, sir.”

Anderson gave his partner a long hard look,
clearly waiting for him to continue, which he did after a few moments.

“The body of a young man was found in the car
park at the side of the hospital by a visitor. We’ve identified the man from
the driver’s license in his wallet and determined that he’s the owner of a grey
Vauxhall Astra, which is currently missing.”

“Please tell me you have an alert out for the
car.”

The response was another nod. “Yes, sir, all
patrols have been ordered to keep an eye out for the car; the moment it’s found
we’ll be notified.”

“You said the body of a young man, do I take
that to mean he was dead when he was found?”

“No, Sir, he had been beaten severely but is
still alive; he’s currently in surgery. The doctor’s given him a fifty-fifty
chance of pulling through.”

“That’s something.” Anderson pushed his chair
back and got to his feet. “Since it appears Michael Davis is no longer here
there’s little point in me staying, especially when you seem to have everything
under control. I need to try and get some idea of where he might be going. Make
sure you keep me up to date with everything that happens here.” With that he
made his way out of the office and headed for the main entrance of the hospital
so he could return to his car.

With Constable Harp doing what she could to
get information out of Michael Davis’ sister, there was no point in him
returning to the village. He still needed to find out everything he could about
the teen murderer, though, and the best place for him to start, he realised,
was his station.

NINE

With one last, long swallow, Justin Over
drained his second pint and got to his feet so he could leave. He had made his
two pints last as long as he could without drawing attention to himself, not
that the small number of people in the pub hadn’t eyed him suspiciously anyway
since he was a stranger.

They had forgotten about him by the time he
finished his first pint, or rather they had ignored him. He was sure they
hadn’t forgotten him, but they had at least returned to their conversations,
which was what he wanted.

There were two distinct groups of people in
the pub; one group was very obviously made up of villagers, they were the ones
at the bar, talking to the landlord and the barmaid. The other group seemed to
be people who worked in or around the village but didn’t live there. The second
group, consisting of five people, was at a table a short distance from the bar,
where they ate their lunch and drank their drinks.

As he made his way out of the pub Justin
allowed his mind to drift over the information he had picked up by discreetly
listening in on the villagers’ conversations. Over the years he had developed
the ability to eavesdrop without giving any indication that he was doing so; he
had also learned to lip-read, for those occasions when there was too much noise
for him to eavesdrop.

It wasn’t easy to listen in on the
conversations from two groups, but he discovered soon enough that he only
needed to focus on the group by the bar. The village residents were discussing
recent events with the landlord, as he’d suspected they would be, which made
things much easier for him.

Justin stopped at one of the tables outside
the pub and sat, taking a few moments to look around the village. Greenville
wasn’t large, and he could see what he was sure were all the major buildings
the village possessed from where he was positioned. The pub was behind him, and
next to it was the village shop with the post office; separated from the shop
by a small car park was the police station.

On the other side of the road, bordering the
village green, was the church, dedicated to Saint Stephen, and the village
hall. They were clearly the oldest buildings to be seen, though he wouldn’t
have liked to guess at their ages. Between them, looking more recent, at least
by comparison, was a smaller building. What the purpose of the smaller building
was, he couldn’t tell; from his position he couldn’t even be certain whether it
was a separate building or one that was attached to either the village hall or
the church, or perhaps even both.

One thing he was sure of was that it wasn’t a
cricket pavilion; he could clearly see that opposite the church. The pavilion
was old, at least a hundred years by his guess, but it was as well-maintained
as every other building he could see.

The remaining side of the village green, and
the one closest to him, was open. It was bordered by the river that flowed
alongside the pub and then under the road to head off through the village.

There were a few people wandering around, any
of whom could have been the people he wanted to talk to, he simply didn’t know.
He needed more information, that much was clear. The conversation he had
eavesdropped on had given him a list of names, now he needed to find out more
about them, if he could, before he approached them.

Justin was on his feet again, and making his
way to where his car was parked, when his eye was drawn to the uniformed figure
of a woman leaving the police station. He concluded that it was Constable Donna
Harp, whose name he’d heard in the pub. She was high on his list of people he
wanted to talk to, but not just then.

He watched the constable for a few moments,
until she disappeared round the side of the police station. She reappeared
barely half a minute later behind the wheel of a car. As he continued to watch,
she drove across a small bridge and down the side of the green, past the
church.

For a moment he was tempted to follow, on the
off-chance that something else had happened in the village. He quickly decided
against it, though. If something had happened he was sure he would hear about
it soon enough, and, as the only reporter in the village at that time, he was
well placed to get an exclusive if the incident warranted it.

Forgetting about the constable, Justin
unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. From the bag in the passenger foot
well he dug out his iPad – in his opinion, one of the greatest inventions ever
– and turned it on. In just a few moments it had booted up and he was online;
bringing up Google search he entered the first name he’d heard mentioned in the
pub.

While it searched for information on Jason
Denton he reached into his bag for a second time to take out a pad so he could
scribble down anything useful he found.

After about twenty minutes he was finished.
He returned the iPad to his bag and sat there for a few moments longer, running
his eyes over the information he had gathered. When it came to Jason Denton and
Patricia Water, he had been able to find a reasonable amount. The other names
on his list, Constable Donna Harp, Michael Davis, Lucy Davis and Gordon Pale,
remained relatively unknown to him. His search of the internet had revealed
little about them; only Gordon Pale’s name had come up, and with the exception
of his criminal history there hadn’t been much to learn about him.

When he had memorised as much of the
information he’d written down as he could, Justin stuffed the pad into a pocket
and got out of his car. He could have driven to the address he’d found but
figured it would give him a better idea of the village’s layout if he walked.
The knowledge might prove useful.

*****

Though the village wasn’t large it still took
Justin more than a quarter of an hour to reach the house he was after.
Thankfully, the information he had gathered from the internet had included a
picture of the house he found himself in front of, so he knew he was at the
right place.

Walking up the path, he stopped at the front
door and reached out to ring the bell. He then stepped back to wait for an
answer. He was sure someone was home since Patricia Water’s car, with her
personalised license place, was in the drive.

“Can I help you?”

The voice, with its unexpected German accent,
drew Justin’s attention back to the front door. “Hi, Justin Over, I’d like to
speak to Mrs Water, is she home?” he asked, taking a business card from his
wallet.

“You’re a reporter?” Hannah, the Waters’
housekeeper asked suspiciously after examining the card. “What do you want?”

“To speak to Mrs Water, is that possible?”

“What about?”

Just then another woman appeared in the
passage from a room toward the back of the house. He recognised her from the
pictures he’d found online. “Mrs Water!” he called out, not that he needed to,
she was already heading his way.

“Yes?” Patricia said, her voice held a
questioning tone, but her body language and the expression on her face
suggested she had little interest in his reason for attracting her attention.

“This is Mr Over, Miss,” Hannah told her
employer, handing over the business card he had been given. “He’s a
journalist.”

Though he recognised Patricia Water the
moment he saw her, up close she bore only a slight resemblance to the images he
had seen of her on the internet. The images he had found showed a well-groomed,
and well-off, lady in her mid to late thirties engaged in a variety of
charitable activities. Occasionally she had been pictured with her husband or
her daughter, but more often she had been pictured with celebrities, or people
of importance.

Just then, Patricia Water looked more like a
middle-aged woman ten years older than her actual age, and she was far from
well-groomed. Her clothes were still pricey, and made it clear she had money,
but her hair looked as though it hadn’t been washed in days, she had no makeup
on, and her eyes were puffy from crying.

“I’m sorry for intruding during such a
painful time,” Justin said, adopting a sympathetic tone. “I know you must be
mourning the loss of your daughter, but I wonder if I could speak to you for a
short while.”

“Why?” Again Patricia’s body language
indicated that she wasn’t as curious as her question suggested.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you
about your daughter, and the events that have taken place here in Greenville
recently.” The moment he said that he found the door being closed in his face,
not that he was entirely surprised by the reaction from the housekeeper. He
wasn’t about to give up that easily, however. “Are you aware that Michael Davis
escaped from hospital this morning?” he called out, certain he would generate a
response of some kind with his words.

The door was stopped before it could be
closed, and slowly opened again. “What do you mean, he escaped?” Patricia
demanded the moment she could see the reporter again, showing animation for the
first time.

“Just what I said, Michael Davis escaped from
custody while at the hospital this morning.”

“How?”

“I don’t have all the details at this time; I
can tell you what I know, though, if you’ll answer a few questions for me.”

The look on Patricia’s face suggested she was
torn, but then she made her decision and took the door from her housekeeper’s
hand so she could open it wide. “Come in.”

Though her words were an invitation, her
demeanour was anything but inviting. Despite that, Justin stepped forward to
enter the house. He followed as Patricia turned and made her way back down the
passage to the room she had appeared from; when he stepped into the room on her
heels he saw it was an office.

Out of curiosity he looked around. He saw
framed copies of many of the pictures he had found on the internet when he was
researching. There was plenty to see, not just the pictures, but he paid little
attention to the rest of it; all that he could see merely confirmed what he
already knew, and was therefore of no interest to him.

Without waiting to be invited to sit, an
invitation he suspected wasn’t going to come, Justin took the seat on the near
side of the desk. To his experienced eyes Justin thought the woman across the
desk from him looked tired, not just tired, she looked bone weary. The loss of
her daughter had taken something from her, he concluded, which didn’t surprise
him.

“How did he escape?” Patricia asked, her tone
hovering somewhere between anger and despair. “I have only recently heard that
he was arrested after killing Sergeant Underwood and a number of other people.”

“As I said, I don’t have all the details at
this time but I know this much. He was taken to hospital and escaped from there
after attacking the officer with him and a radiographer.”

“Surely he was handcuffed.”

“I couldn’t say, but it’s believed that he
got away in a car he stole after attacking the owner. The police are currently
looking for the car and Michael, if they’ve found either, or a clue to where
they might be, I haven’t heard as yet,” Justin told her. “I’m afraid that’s all
the information I have at this time, I’ll let you know if I hear anything more.
You might be able to find out more for yourself from DI Anderson.”

“If he won’t tell me what is going on then he
will surely tell my husband’s uncle,” Patricia declared, reaching for the phone
that sat on her desk next to the computer. “Thank you for telling me about
this.” Though her words suggested gratitude her tone contained none.

“With your permission, Mrs Water,” Justin
spoke quickly to forestall her before she could make her call. “I’d like to ask
you about the events leading up to the arrest of Michael Davis this morning; I
know only the barebones of what has taken place here, but what I do know leads
me to the conclusion that the public needs to know about Mr Davis as soon as
possible so they can be warned to stay away.”

Patricia was silent for a moment and then she
nodded. “Yes, you’re right, the public should be warned; other girls should not
have to suffer what he did to my daughter, and the police should be brought to
account for their failings.”

“Do you mind if I record this?” Reaching into
his pocket he took out a Dictaphone, which he set on the desk in front of him.
An abrupt nod was permission enough for him and he turned it on. “Okay, I
realise this is likely to be difficult and painful for you, so I apologise in
advance, but please remember, this could help save another girl’s life, and
prevent another mother suffering as you are.

“Your daughter was not Michael Davis’ first
victim, is that correct?” Justin said after consulting his notepad.

“Yes.”

“The first girl he killed was called Danielle
Pale, right?” Patricia gave an abrupt nod. “What can you tell me about her
murder?”

Patricia was silent for several moments
before she spoke. “I don’t know much, only what I have been told. Danielle
disappeared a week ago last Friday; she was reported missing that night by her
parents, and when she hadn’t come home by morning the police began looking for
her. They should have been looking for her the moment she was reported missing,
if you ask me, but, just like when my Emma went missing, they weren’t willing
to do anything until she had been gone for twenty-four hours.