A Need To Kill (DI Matt Barnes) (17 page)

“
The only thing you don’t know about me, is that I was in love with a girl when I was a teenager.  She died, and I felt a part of me dry up and blow away.  That might have been a factor in why I turned out the way I did.  I lost something special and had to find new purpose.  Now, with you, I don’t feel the need to be as driven.  I want us to be able to count on each other and pull in the same direction.”

“
Do you want a drink?”

“
Yeah.  My mouth’s dry, and I’m sick of listening to my own voice.”

“
I’m not.  I feel a lot better for hearing what you’ve just told me.”

“
Have you just added what I said to your psychological evaluation of me?”

“
Of course.”

“
How do I score on a scale of one to ten?”

“
Are you looking for a little flattery?”

He grinned. 
“Everyone likes to hear good things about themselves.”

“
Then you get top marks in almost every department.”

“
Almost?”

“
Yes.  You don’t shave enough.  My cheek feels as though it has been sand papered.”

“
Easily remedied. I’ll go have a shower and shave while you fix the drinks.”

Beth put a
Kate Perry CD on and poured them both large JDs over ice.  She felt better than she had for a long time.  Could envisage them being together in a relationship that would grow even stronger than it already was, if that were possible. Understanding Matt’s personality from what had happened in his life was so enlightening.  She also knew how hard it must be for him to be so forthcoming.  He was in essence a very private man, who she would not have expected to open up so much, even to her.

She
slipped off the robe as she led him through to the small lounge.  Knew that his eyes would be glued to her bottom through the sheer material of the negligee.  She never wore panties.

S
itting down on the sofa and patting the cushion next to her, she said, “Are yer married, love?”

He smiled and shook his head.  He had been going to get straight to it, but decided to play along and act like a regular punter.  There was no hurry
, and it would be fun.

The older she got, the older her
clients became.  Her main trade was fifty to sixty year olds who had trouble getting it up, and who just wanted to pop and leave a lot quicker than they had ‘come’.  This was a novelty; a young guy who didn’t look as if he should have to pay for it.  He had strong features, and eyes almost the same green as her own.  And he had ginger hair.  She could almost be his mother, judging by his age and looks.  Maybe he would be able to float her boat.  It wasn’t
all
about money.  She was still capable of enjoying a good jump.  Funny, but now that she was in her forties she felt a lot hornier than she ever had as a slip of a girl.

“
Why don’t yer slip yer jacket off an’ make yerself comfortable?” Pamela said.  “There’s no need to ’urry.  I ’aven’t got anyone else lined up fer this evenin’.”

He took his car coat off and sat down.  Noticed that she was staring at his overalls.
He did not give an explanation.

She offered him a cup of tea, which he though
t quaint, so accepted.  While she was in the kitchen, he took in his surroundings: the thick curtains at the replacement bay window and the shag pile carpet were the same shade of pink as the flimsy garment she wore.  And the furniture was cheap but cheerful.  The fleurs-de-lis patterned flock wallpaper and red-shaded faux Art Nouveau-style wall lights brought the image of a Victorian bordello to mind, which he thought fitting.  An abundance of Franklin Mint plates depicting cats made him uneasy.  He hated cats, due to a belief that they could see into his soul and were aware of his intentions.  They were highly-tuned to human emotions, and never came near him, sensing his animosity toward them.

“
There yer go, love,” Pamela said, setting a cup and saucer down on a glass coaster on top of a nest of tables next to him.

“
Thanks,” he said, offering up a boyish smile.  “Do you keep cats?”

“
No, love,” she said.  “The plates were mi mum’s.  I ’adn’t the ’eart to get rid of ’em when she passed.  I wouldn’t ’ave a moggie, not with Sid in the ’ouse.”

Warning bells clanged.  Who the fuck was Sid?

Pamela saw the look of apprehension cloud his face.  “Sid’s mi canary, love ’e’s in the kitchen, bein’ as ’ow I spend most of my time in there when I’m not…entertainin’.”

Lucas
relaxed.  Drank his tea and let Pamela rabbit on about nothing while he readied himself to kill her.

“
Yer wanna go upstairs?” she said, reaching out to stroke the bulge at his crotch.

“
Yeah, that would be nice,” he said, fondling a breast and rolling the large nipple between his finger and thumb until it stiffened like a hat peg.

The bedroom had a mirrored ceiling.  And a table lamp with a low wattage red bulb gave the room a sexually
-loaded ambience.  Pamela slipped off the negligee and lay back on the bed, opening her legs to let him see the shadow-filled nucleus of her body.

“
Don’t be shy, love.  Get yer gear off and ’op in, I’m achin’ fer it,” she said, beckoning him with one hand and slipping two fingers of the other into her slick cleft.

He unbuttoned the overalls and let them fall.  He wore nothing beneath.

Pamela froze in awe at the sight of his body.  The tattooing covered him up to the neck and down to his wrists and ankles.  He was a living work of art.  A large wolf’s head adorned his chest, and whorls and intricate patterns snaked out from it to encompass him.

“
I’m a tattoo artist,” he said.  “A walking, talking advertisement for my own work.”

“
Give us a twirl, love, and let me see the back,” Pamela whispered.

He turned, and could almost feel her eyes inspecting and appraising the complex illustrations.  He had obviously not been able to do all the work himself.  A guy he knew in
Birmingham had done the work on the parts of his body he could not reach, to his detailed designs.

“
I’ve never seen anythin’ like it in mi life,” Pamela said as he turned back to her.

He went to her, let her reach up to fondle his shaven genitals,
and then drove his fist into her temple, to stun her.  As she moaned and fought to stay compos mentis, he gagged and bound her.

“
And you never will again, sweetheart,” he said to the dazed and bewildered woman.

“
It isn’t me, you sad little fuck.  None of them are me,” a voice that seemed to come from the air around him said.  He recognised it.  His mother was with him, always a spectator to what he did.

“
I know it isn’t you, Mum.  But I get off on fantasising that it is, so shut up and watch, or go back to whatever corner of hell you’re stinking up.”

When Pamela regained full consciousness she could not move.  Her wrists were bound to the
bed head with stockings that she surmised were her own, and her ankles were likewise held in place.  Her mouth was covered by tape.  The realisation of just what trouble she was in struck home.  Maybe he would just beat, rape and rob her.

He pulled on a pair of the thin latex gloves he used in the studio, opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and was not surprised to find a large pack of condoms.
The slut probably bought them wholesale.  He ripped open one of the foil packets and quickly rolled the rubber over his pulsing member.  Climbed on the bed between her legs and put his hand under her bottom, to raise her up and then enter the tightness of her back passage.

Pamela stiffened beneath him.  Her eyelids snapped wide open and she uttered a muffled cry of pain.

“Shhhushh!” he said.  “Little whores should be used and not heard.  Grit your teeth and enjoy it, and then we’ll get down to the real reason why I’ve selected you to die tonight.”

It was three hours later when Pamela Clough was finally given release, to escape from intolerable pain and horror
, after he had removed the tape from her mouth to talk to her.  The stocking that bit into her neck, chafing the skin, eventually became a blessing in disguise.  She could hear the throaty birdlike caw that would be the last sound to escape her spittle-covered lips, as she looked up into eyes full of madness, before blackness flooded her sight and all the pain dissolved.

Lucas waited until his thumping, racing heart slowed to a more sedate rhythm, then climbed off the bed.  He was totally exhausted, now that the deed was done.  His hands ached from the multiple times he had strangled her to the point of unconsciousness, only to let her recover to suffer more pain and humiliation.  But
very little worth having comes easy.  You have to work for it.  She had repented for her corrupt and misspent life of whoredom, and begged that she might live and be a better person.  Alas, he was not Christ, and therefore not qualified to grant her deliverance from sin and damnation. He sent them to a higher plane, where they could seek redemption in person, or spirit, from an expert redeemer.  He knew his limitations.  The expiation of these fallen women’s transgressions was subject to divine law.  He did his part, the rest was beyond mortal intervention.  He had removed and affixed the gag repeatedly, listened to her plaintive promises, and even held cigarettes to her lips, for her to suck into life as he held the lighter.  It was fitting that she ignited the instruments he employed to sear her flesh with.  He would have left the tape off, had he been convinced that neighbours would mistake the resulting screams for outcries of orgasmic pleasure.  But the sound of agony could not be misconstrued as ecstasy.  It had its own unambiguous quality.

Reapplying the tape to her partly open mouth, he left her
as she lay, with the addition of a little surprise for the authorities to find, he dressed, went downstairs and washed the cup he had used.  He had touched nothing else before putting his gloves on, save for the doorbell, that he had pressed with his knuckle.  As for any fibres or hairs, he was not unduly concerned.  The forensic team who would soon scour the scene, would no doubt find traces of dozens or scores of men who had been entertained by the now less than fragrant Pamela.

He left by the back door, out through the small yard and into a murky alley that was littered with rubbish.  A number of rats scurried away at the sound of his footfalls.  This was how
Sodom and Gomorrah must have been; filthy cities infested by vermin of the human as well as four-footed kind.  He could not cause brimstone and fire to rain down from heaven on the morally evil, but would play his part by immolating a great number of deserving sinners, who had irretrievably fallen from grace in his eyes.  There was too much for one person to do, but whatever small impact he made would be a worthy contribution.  His need was not wholly selfish.  He was furnishing a free service to the community at large.

It was six a.m. when the phone rang.  Beth slid from under Matt’s arm, got out of bed, pulled a robe on and headed for the lounge.  She did not hurry.  It would be the Yard for Matt, and whoever was calling would let it ring and ring.

She
answered the call.  “Yes,” she said.

“
Er, sorry to disturb you at this time, Dr. Holder.  It’s Pete Deakin, I’m trying―”

“
To get hold of Matt.  Hold on, Pete.”

Matt
came up into a sitting position as Beth tapped his shoulder and took a pace back.  He sometimes reacted like a man being attacked when woken suddenly; had lashed out once and almost made contact with her throat.  The hard edge of his hand might have fractured her larynx if she had not jumped back in time.  It showed that even in sleep he was tense, keyed-up, and ready to respond to a supposed threat.

“
Uh, yeah,” Matt mumbled, almost awake.

“
Your sidekick is on the blower.  Tracked you down like the good detective he is,” Beth said.

“
He was trained by the best,” Matt said, pulling his boxers on and heading for the lounge.

“
What’ve you got?”  he said into the phone.

“
Another vic, boss,” Pete said.  “Same MO.  The killer gave us a bell and asked for the incident room.  I spoke to him, and it’s on tape.  He gave me the patter of how he had sent another penitent to her final judgement, and an address in Wandsworth.  I arranged for the nearest patrol car to check it out, and they found a body.”

“
When was this?”

“
Just now, boss.”

“
Give me the address, and then arrange for Crime Scene and a pathologist to attend.  I’ll meet you there.”

“
Have you got time for a coffee?” Beth said as he racked the phone.

Matt
nodded and followed her into the kitchen.  “It’s the same guy,” he said as Beth half-filled and switched on the kettle.  The coffeemaker would have taken too long.