S.I.R chapter 6

A Fiend In Need Is A Fiend Indeed.

Money can't buy friends but can get you a better class of enemy. Spike Milligan

Last night.

WPC Nightly arrived at the coppice, threw herself from the patrol car and threw up in a bush. Her driver, a middle aged officer, stepped out from his side of the vehicle and offered his support through the medium of mockery.

“A lot of women appreciate good driving you know.” he said retreating from the area when he saw the expanding puddle flowing from the base of the scrub line.

“If only I had a good driver I might appreciate it too.” Annabel replied. “Contrary to popular belief, fast speeds and reckless turns do not cause our knickers to fall off or become flooded with expectant desire.”

Annabel used a paper tissue to wipe her mouth. Hoping she wasn’t going to contaminate the crime scene.

Half the Force must have been here judging by the amount of blue lights reflecting around the clearing. Numerous police officers were busying themselves running out police tape to preserve the scene. Not that anyone bothered much by the blue and white warning of ‘Police Do Not Enter’ which was seen more as decorative bunting than a very real warning of danger. People just casually ignored it, ducked under it and continued to walk their dogs. After all they had used this path twice a day for the last upteen years and if wartime bombers could stop them a little thing like this wasn’t going to either.

Like wasps swarming over jam, the police devoured all before them collecting as much as they could and returning with it to the hive. A white plastic tent had been erected over some bushes and, what Annabel had been informed by two of her colleagues gossiping whilst slouching against a tree, the body of an attractive denude woman.

“Such a pity she’s dead, but you still would.” said a young ginger haired copper to his spotty friend.

“Looks like someone already has.” came the chuckled reply.

No one was allowed close as an army of paper suited… Annabel hazarded the thought of ‘Officers’ to complete the sentence but without any part of their skin showing they could have easily been aliens or strategically shaved chimpanzees, collected their samples and data. The average plod were told to comb the area to track down anything useful - or in unspoken words, go and do anything else rather than disturb us big boys as we do the important stuff.

An ambulance was just leaving under blue lights as Annabel walked back into the outer cordon of the crime scene. She wasn’t sure why but a lot of the boys in blue, she struggled to think of them as men, were laughing hard about the casualty it had transported away. Something about prizing him up from the floor as he had nailed himself into the ground leaving a lake of ‘cream of sumyungai’. Darren had scuttled past holding a large evidence bag at one arm’s length, while the other was clamped firmly over his mouth and exploding cheeks. He proceeded to drop the bag and throw up in a bush. It was a different one to that which Annabel had fertilised earlier but she was glad this time the event was in front of a much wider audience.

The general buzz pulled her towards a parked vehicle further along the track which according to the all-seeing oracle of the computer was registered to the victim. Annabel heard a sound and called for the hubbub to cease. At the end of the hummingbird vibrations was a phone lying in the scrub. Annabel squeezed her fingers into a latex glove and collected it. A picture of an envelope flew onto the screen and then shrinking, came to rest in the top left corner. There was a series of nine dots arranged in a square as a security lock but the trail of grease and makeup easily highlighted the required pattern. Once unlocked the envelope enlarged and opened its flap displaying a recently taken photograph of something else that had been enlarged.

“My, my.” commented Annabel as her colleagues gathered around.

“It’s got to be some kind of computer enhancement.” said a male police officer. “There is no way that thing can be real!”

His female colleagues all looked on and informed him it appeared about average and if he didn’t think so then all the poorer for him.

Annabel aimed the phone screen back at her. “That’s interesting.” she said.

“I’d say.” said another in the crowd.

“No, not the picture, the time.” Annabel consulted her own watch. “Must be a poor signal around here, this text has been delayed by some time.”

The phone was about to be dropped into an evidence bag but another icon on the screen demanded its own recognition and Annabel carefully touched the flashing icon. Into the now still night which was silent due to every available ear sucking all the noise away as everyone strained to take in the sounds, a voice spoke out. In fact it spoke out several times and changed its tone through all the emotions available to man, an emotionally stunted man in this case and they formed around lust, anger, ferocity before falling back into lust. The words, although very descriptive and suggestive in their use were not what kept every person captivated until the phone gave one last bleep and fell silent. It was the voice. A voice each of them had heard before and at some point which would berate them, belittle them or just plain verbally abuse them.

Shock had barely settled over the stunned collective in the woods when another fantastic spectacle developed. An older officer had managed to  gain entry to the car to search for clues and found a dash mounted camera.

“We should get CID or someone to see what this thing’s recorded.” he said gruffly as the mixture of excitement and boredom that was heavy in the air transposed into somber reality.

“Yeah, and it will still be on the memory card after we have a gander at it.” said another eagerly reaching into the car. He used the end of his pen to touch the menu button so as to preserve any fingerprint evidence, then sifted through the clips present on the device. The camera had been setup to record not just every journey but also every time the car doors were unlocked, opened or by anyone approached close enough to activate the proximity alarm.

They watched as a group as many heads vied to witness the show,, while those who could not see fought to do so. The first few minutes showed other cars and pedestrians pass the front of the car, then to the great amusement of all, two larger persons ran past as nude as the day they were born. With the poor light everyone’s modesty was preserved and the footage was fast forwarded until...

A car pulled up. Even with the poorly lit environs everyone recognised it as it skidded to a halt and a man got out. He sprinted towards the victim’s car and, although the film was silent, the echo of memory retorted around the glade as the man banged hard onto the bonnet. The figure disappeared from view momentarily as it moved to the passenger side of the vehicle. It came back centre frame but this time with another figure, that of the victim. She was held tight by the side and although the camera was setup to view the road ahead and not for full frame, it showed enough of the two staggering away in a manner that suggested this was not an easy task for the man. They tripped, or one did, the film was not clear as the feet were not visible but it showed the phone being knocked from the victim’s person to land where it was found moments before. Another car slipped into the carpark and its headlights shone around. It was just as the lights passed over the couple that the man turned back to look at the car and in a frame, now permanently displayed on the screen due to the operating officer depressing pause, a face was picked out in shadow.

“Well fluff me backwards with a budgerigar.” said the Officer. “It’s Jonesy!”

Now.

Stanley was silent. He didn’t know what to think, do, say or even know how to move his face into a depiction of any emotion. He wasn’t sure how to feel let alone show it. The story had come as a shock, but he had forced it from her gently through coaxing questions. It had started with a need to understand what was going on or what had transpired between the time he was unconscious and now in another time in another place.

“Poor old girl.” Stanley said absently falling back on the words his Father always said when given bad news. Stanley had been brought up in the fine old traditions of English manhood - meaning his upper lip was so stiff it could be used as a bridge over the abyss between his heart and his head. “And you say you know the man and have sent people to pick him up?”

“Yes.” said Annabel, “But I shouldn’t have. We have to be honest without inspiring the hope of a rapid solution. But I couldn’t just sit here and watch your world crumble as you find out your wife lay dead in the woods. Oh I am sorry to say that but we think we know the man, that is true, and there is enough evidence to build a case.”

“But…” started Stanley before thinking for a moment. “Why did he pick on Cassandra? Why my car? Is it my fault for taking her there? You hear such horrid things about mad men in woods.”

“I don’t want to say more until we have him in custody but I think your wife and her assailant knew each other.” replied Annabel squeezing Stanley’s hand in a way she hoped offered him support and comfort. “We believe they were acquainted on a personal level and there is evidence to suggest they were more than just friends.”

Annabel let go of Stanley’s hand and fidgeted in her seat.

“Look, this may be uncomfortable but I’ve been left with a few bits of evidence I need you to look at.” she saw Stanley’s expression and quickly added. “It’s nothing graphic and it isn’t anything to do directly with how we found your wife. It’s just something we need to cross off our list when we talk to you later. Is is O.K to show you a few photographs?”

Stanley nodded his agreement and a manilla envelope was passed over containing a series of photographs. The first showed the car, Stanley nodded that yes he recognised it and it was his. The second was of a taser. Stanley did not know what it was so Annabel told him.

“It’s not a standard issue thing and we think it was what was used to incapacitate you but we needed to know if you or your wife had taken it with you for self defence.”

The last photo was of an engorged reproductive organ taken at close range. It stood their in high definition glory in which every curly hair and prominent blue vein stood out.

“Is this your’s Sir?” Annabel asked.

“Why on Earth would you think that was mine?” exclaimed Stanley indignantly and subconsciously closing his legs. “You can’t possibly think that grotesque thing is part of me?”

Annabel fleetingly looked at the bulge in the sheet but she wasn’t quick enough to hide her reactions and Stanley’s eyes followed. He thrust his hands over the protrusion, or at least tried too.

Annabel stole another look at the photograph before slipping it back into the envelope with the others.

“He must have had on some extreme zoom, “she said tucking the photo back into the envelope. “Or an additional advantage as it wouldn’t stand up in court.”

She blushed herself before blurting out. Oh, I am sorry. That just slipped out. I’m so, so, sorry. Oh my. I am honestly sorry. I can’t imagine what you are going through and here I am…” she let the rest of the sentence slide into the hole she had dug herself. “Can you forgive me?”

Stanley looked at her. For all the authority and composure the uniform demanded, within it was a nervous and anxious individual. Stanley noticed, this close to her, her makeup wasn’t perfect and, in a manner Stanley could not at this time understand, she had a small piece of bread hanging from her hair. Her eyes glistened as tears began to form which created a pool of shimmering tenderness and vulnerability to flood over her. Stanley could no more fail to forgive this woman than he could belittle her.

He patted her hand in a mirror of how she had comforted him and in that moment she engulfed him with more than just apologies. From under her encompassing hug with enveloped his head Stanley heard her say.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like this, I am sorry. You’re my first client and it’s nothing like the training in the classroom. If my supervising manager found out she wouldn’t give me a second.”

He was mercifully saved by the nurse, who reminded the uniformed officer her patient was still delicate and needed his space and a clear route to oxygen. Stanley did not feel delicate but  was extremely grateful. From this point on Stanley was allowed his privacy in which to sleep. Annabel apologised once more and said she would be back later but there was a police officer outside just in case he remembered anything.

Stanley tried to sleep but in his current situation it was hard in more ways than one to sleep on his side and his usual sleeping position on his front was impossible without drastic alterations to the bed without drilling a hole through the mattress, so he settled for an uneasy slumber on his back.

That night Stanley had difficult dreams.

Cassandra was standing in a light so bright it hurt. At first he thought she was beckoning him, calling out from wherever she was and in need of his companionship and love. But as he approached he saw others flying around her looking in the twisting turning smashed rainbow of light like cherubim, as thick as flies over a dead horse, swarming around his wife. Each hovering man, and of this Stanley was in no doubt as they were unashamedly displaying themselves like peacocks around a hen in Spring.

Stanley ran on legs of sponge calling out to shoo them away but  each striding footfall took him further away. Then the maleness flocked at him, squawking garishly as they reached out with hooked hands clawing at him. Stanley buckled falling down, a weight pressing him into the ground stripping him of hope. He heard laughter so sweetly laced with poison it was like finding a bad grape on the vine of life.

Words floated around his ears suggesting if he had been a better husband she would not have strayed. She hated him for his support, would have loved him if he had once rejected her demands. If he had got angry at her infidelity she may have changed her ways. If he been a man her search would have ceased. If he had been able to, her labido would have been releaced.

A cat fussed around the shins of the Tall things that bring it food. This Tall thing was new and smelt unfamiliar but the cat pushed up hard against it, purring in the hope of food or grooming. It was a well fed cat but one clearly capable of many things. Muscles pulled under its padded fur giving it the impression of power as well as comfort. What this Tall was doing here was less of a mystery to why it wasn’t giving the cat food.  Stout shadows clung to the Tall, the thickest and largest shadow accelerated and caught the cat square on its end sending it howling out of the thicket and tearing back down the lane.

Jonesy smiled, he hated cats.

Stanley had breakfasted on the finest, plasticy tasting substance masquerading as a toast he’d ever eaten. A bowl of insipid looking cornflakes that were soggy even before the milk rounded off his meal. No tea, which was irksome but somewhat of a relief if it was to the same standard as the one be was brought in the night.

A police officer was sat over him drinking a stolen coffee from the next bed. It was one from yesterday. Unfortunately not the pretty one.

A preliminary statement had been freely given as Stanley tried to explain the events of the previous day. As a story it was as honest as any ever given. People swear on the Bible because the purity of the words within, Stanley’s statement would make that book look like a used betting slip. From Stanley’s point of view he and his wife had gone out in the car for help after talking to his parents, these facts were already known and confirmed. The only things Stanley did consciously omitted were the bits he didn’t understand - which were many - and the Pharmacist as he didn’t want to complicate matters further.

The tale had to be repeated several times incase Stanley suddenly remembered something trivial such as bashing his poor wife’s head in, stabbing her profusely with a pickaxe or any number of other gruesome revelation Stanley may inadvertently disclose. But as Stanley insisted on telling the same story and the fact the police were collecting strong evidence to support a case leading elsewhere, there wasn’t much point in pushing things. The telephone messages, video camera footage and a large number of witnesses who had all either seen Cassandra walk into the car from the start and out of it with someone of much greater physical stature than the absent Stanley at the end, it was an almost closed case.

“We’re going to search your house.” said the DI Saunders from as he finished his line of questioning. “It's standard procedure in a case like this and we can easily get a warrant to enter if…”

He left the end of the sentence purposefully unsaid so the man in the bed could fill in the blanks. In the DI’s experience, the worse the offender the better the imagination. Stanley on the other hand did something the DI wasn’t expecting and reached for his pockets, or where his pockets would have been if he had been wearing his trousers.

“Looking for these?” the DI dangled a bunch of keys out in front of him.

“Yes. How did you…?”

“They were in your clothes we retrieved as evidence. I’ve spoken to the Doctors and they say you’ll have no ill effects. So get into some clothes and give us a little tour. Good, we’ll meet you outside, you can’t miss us, you’ll be in the back of a black and white.”

Stanley struggled to keep up with the speed of the Detective Inspector’s discourse but followed as best he could. He dressed in clothes that someone had supplied him with that were clean and almost fitted, then left closing the door behind him. The shoes, on the other hand, fitted like gloves. Have you ever tried to put a pair of gloves on your feet?

Annabel had to skip to keep up with her superior who was talking loudly into his mobile phone. She had been waiting outside as ordered and had been on the phone herself although not on official police business unless you counted picking up the gossip from her best friend, colleague and room-mate - all the same person. From the sound of the other conversation, Annabel guessed it was updates from the field team still in the woods.

“For such an open and shut case you aren’t filling me with a lot of confidence. Extract your craniums from your rectums and get the evidence to fit the facts then get back to me.”

The phone was thrust harshly into his pocket as he rounded on his younger colleague.

“There’s something about this that stinks worse than a cheap hooker’s G-string and it has something to do with that posh dandy in there.” the DI pointed a thick finger in the direction of the ward which they have just left. “It’s all too easy and I hate that. Why was he out in the woods and why didn’t she… what was her name again?”

“Um…the victim?” asked PC Nightly several steps behind both physically and mentally.

“No, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s sperm bank. Of course the bloody victim.”

“Uh, Cassandra Rhodes, Sir.” answered Annabel helpfully.

“Yes, why didn’t Cassandra fight back when she was led away? If I were confronted with someone banging the bonnet of my car who then ran to my door, the least I would have done would be to try and lock the door or put up a token struggle.”

Their walk had taken them to the top of a stairwell and DI Saunders stopped to allow WPC Nightly to dash forward to opem the fire doors before he strode through them.

“She knew him, we have that much from the phone. Maybe she was expecting him. We haven’t got all her phone records yet, maybe she arranged to meet him there and wanted him angry. It’s a known place for that sort of thing. There’s no sound on the film so it could have been an expression of joy at finding her rather than in anger as we assume.”

“No, I don’t buy it. A young woman we know had a number of affairs, meeting one of her lovers whilst in the company of her idiot of a husband? Why would you arrange that? There’s something more.”

“Maybe they had arranged to meet and Stanley’s presence was an accident, she might have tried to leave the house and he tagged along? Or, how about they were there and Stanley was the planned victim but it went wrong. Cassandra could have wanted to get rid of him but he found out?”

“It’s a possibility.” said DI Saunders looking at the police woman suspiciously as if he weren’t expecting her to voice any comments other than asking ‘milk and sugar?’ “There’s no evidence to that so I’d keep quiet on that if I were you.” he said making a mental note to bring this up with his superiors later.

Once at the bottom of the flight of stairs DI Saunders stopped as did Annabel behind him.

“A crime of passion, then? Stanley found them in the woods and… I don’t know, tried to stop it?” Annabel hazarded not wanting to let the opportunity to impress CID go so easily.

“No, I doubt that guff of sour wind would have had the balls to stand up to our Mr Jones, not without sustaining substantially more injuries than he had. Stanley was shot in the back with a taser and showed no signs of preventing it. Which means he didn’t know Jonesy was there. Assuming it was Jonesy who fired the bloody thing.”

DI Saunders strode purposefully out to where he had abandoned his car, a squad car was conspicuous by its absence and he cursed that his Jaguar would have to be used for common transportation of uncommon criminals. He had bought the classic car when he first got promoted, echoing his role model of a great television detective, but for some reason the idiots that shared his road couldn’t get out of his way fast enough to prevent dents or prangs and the thought of a dirty little suspect resting their unwashed buttocks upon his hand stitched leather caused his breakfast to roll and surge through his gut.

There was, standing over the Jaguar, a hospital employed traffic assistance officer who was writing out a ticket. DI Saunders reached for the pad and removed it from the man’s hands. Then he launched it over the man’s head for it to land, bouncing off another cars bonnet.

“Oi.” called the warden but he said no more as the focus of his anger thrust an ID card in his face.

“I’m the bloody law, now piss off or I’ll arrest you for anything I have unsolved on my desk.”

Anyone else who that showed any interest in the car suddenly realised they needed to urgently be elsewhere.

“We know Jonesy has a temper, he played a blokes game in the locker room but I’ve never seen him raise anything other than his voice, He’s a bully but clever enough not to get caught. I just don’t get it either, but do you really think that poor man in there has anything more to do with this than be in the wrong place at the wrong time? They all could have been, have you thought of that? There could have been someone else, the real murderer. Someone who jumped them in the dark, tasered Stanley, killed Cassandra and scared off Jonesy.”

“Hmmm, you might have something there. We haven’t found him yet, he’s not in any of his usual haunts and his car hasn’t been spotted by any traffic unit. As soon as the weasel surfaces we can ask him.”

The conversation was brought to a halt by a bullhorn sounding at their side. Some inconsiderate ambulance driver couldn’t wait five minutes for them to move.

Annabel looked at the car again and saw under it a highly visible hashed area designated for emergency vehicles only. The ambulance, with its lights flashing impotently, was forced to wait.

A chorus of dissatisfaction sung out in unrepeatable verse.

“It is a bloody emergency vehicle, you cretin! Can’t you see?” bellowed the DI bitterly taking from the back seat a removable blue dome and slamming it on the roof.

Stanley approached and was waved at by Annabel who then sat in the front passenger seat.

“You.” stated the DI. “Get in.”

Stanley tried but was quickly prevented from this task as DI Saunders unceremoniously grabbed his collar and janked him from getting into the driver’s seat.

“And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? Get in the back and shut up.”

The ride from the hospital was quiet but not by any stretch of the imagination, serine. If Stanley had wanted to talk, he could not. The lump in his throat had sent for its family and three generations to move in and set up home there.

Stanley would have had his hands across his mouth if he hadn’t needed them to firmly grip his seat as it, and the rest of the car swerved and jagged along the road at alarmingly at speed. The highway code was there to be enforced by the driver, not necessarily to be followed by him. When it arrived in his street, Stanley was extremely grateful and thanked the driver when they stopped. There was a moment's uncertainty when the rear door wouldn’t open but this was solved as the policeman shouted through the window for him, Stanley, to have a word with himself and workout why the inside handles of a police vehicle had been removed.

Mercifully, surrounded by fresh air once more, Stanley led them along the path and towards his front door. He dipped his hand to retrieve his keys and had a flood of anxiety as his hand failed to locate the familiar weight. Then an arm reached over his shoulder and jangled the bunch.

“I’ll be Mother, you plonker.” DI Saunders said reaching forward with the keys. As the metal tip approached the lock he realised it wasn’t required. A thin crack ran along the painted wooden frame.

“You stay here. WPC Nightly, you come with me.” it was said so sternly that Stanley rooted himself to the spot.

The front door had been breached, splinters splaying out around the lock which had been forced.

Stanley watched as the two police officers entered his house and when nothing immediately horrifying had happened to them he hesitantly walked up and put his head through the door. There, in front of him, was the house as he remembered but with the sweet champagne aroma being replaced with a sour smell. There were a few things that struck Stanley as being not as he left it, a yellowish pond surrounded a streaming brown island in the middle of the floor and on the far wall in large rounded letters were the words,

I AM Go\ng TO F_cKinG kill U !!!