Gut Instinct (15 page)

Paul was spitting nails tonight, ready to kill!  It was ten o’clock and he’d just arrived home from Bill’s party. 

“If that fucking prick humiliates me again I swear I will deck him” he said aloud, pacing his flat like a demented lunatic.

“Fucking prancing about with his posh tart, like he was someone special, and showing me up yet again!” he raged.

Stephen had introduced his team to Tanya
,
his girlfriend,
who was Paul,
had to admit a bit of a stunner, lord knows how tha
t Pratt had managed to pull her.

He had introduced all the other guys in a pleasant way but
when he had got to Paul he had said.

“This is Paul aka Cracker, our criminal profiler” he had laughed, and all the lads had burst out laughing in unison.

He had
taken
the piss out of him
again
, he constantly undermined his skills, didn’t take anything he said seriously, treated him like the office idiot!

The only one that hadn’t laughed was Vera, she had caught sight of Pauls face and seen the impact those words had on him and had looked away with uneasiness.  She had even endeavoured to console him later on in the evening,
told him not to take it to heart,
but Paul was inconsolable and left early before he did something that he might regret.

He had thought about it, he’d thought about going up and punching the fucker on the nose, showing him up in front of his girlfriend, the girlfriend who incidentally was the therapist to our current murder suspect. 

She was a sex therapist at that, he had kept that quiet.  How had he met her, probably accessing treatment himself?
 

She was a
ll smiles and flowery talk, she wasn’t miss sweetie pie he could tell, probably had sex with her clients to show them how it should be done.
  Hope she gave him a dose of the clap!
 

He
had
still
been
fuming about Stephen’s comment on Thursday when he’d asked to interview the suspect, covertly suggested that he would make a fuck up of it, and then let
ting
bloody Laurel and Hardy do the deed. 
Now
this, Stephen
had added
fuel to an already burning fire, now he would pay.  Paul didn’t know how or when but what he did believe in was Karma and he felt sure that Karma would come through.

He believed that in the end Karma would catch him up and dish him right back all that he has dished out to others, and when it did Paul would laugh.

Derek and John, or Laurel and Hardy as he liked to call them, hadn’t done much better, they hadn’t got a confession out of the suspect, but rather than admit that this was probably because he was innocent, they think he’s clever and covering his back.

They were just a pair of bully boys, who manipulated suspects, twisted their words to fit the crime and then boasted about it in the office afterwards.  There was probably
many an innocent man doing time in prison due to their handy work.
A
nd a
ny dum
b fool could
see
that
this man is innocent.

“
Th
e
y
just
ain’t
got a fucking clue” he laughed “sent that bottle away to the lab for
testing;
all the twat
s
had to do was smell
it.
They were time and money
waster
s and complete
waste
s
of space.”
He was talking to himself now,
something he had started to do since he began living alone particularly when he was mad.

Paul had gone into the station that morning and got an update on the recent events.  He
ha
d already been to the evidence room the day before and took a whiff of the liquid in the bottle. 

It was liquid nitrogen otherwise known as ‘poppers
,
’
it had gone
straight
to his head as soon as he had smelt it and he’d known straight away what it was from his drug taking days.
  But no-one had asked for his opinion, so he wasn’t going to give it!

They
had
thought it might be Rohypnol, for fucks sake how thick are they?  Rohypnol is
a small white tablet with no taste or odor.  They only had to bleeding Google it for Christ’s sake.
But no they’d sent it to the lab at a cost of lord knows what to have it tested.  Money was tight anyway, they
had
to buy their own pens because there was never any in the stationary
cupboard and they were wasting their
precious
resources like this.

Th
ey really do deserve a pat on the head
he thought….. With a fucking shovel!

And the fucking twats have now
arrested
and charged
the wrong man,
they were
too quick to make an arrest
, score points,
they hadn’t thought things through. 

Not like he had.

Serial killers were psychopaths
, and psychopaths
didn’t go into therapy.

Psychotherapy, involved trust and a relationship with the therapist, this was out of the question, because psychopaths
we
re i
ncapable of opening up to people, let alone a therapist
.

Also t
hey don't want to change
, don’t think they need to change, and even he knew that
therapy was
primarily
about change.

P
sychopaths were incapable of having meaningful relationships, they view others as
fodder for manipulation and exploitation and this guy Ivan, was in therapy trying to improve his relationships with women.

And last but
not least psychopaths
are diagnosed by their purposeless and irrational antisocial behavior,
their
lack of conscience, and emotional vacuity. They were thrill seekers, literally fearless.
They we
re impulsive by nature and fearless of the consequences.

This guy Ivan was not demonstrating any of these behaviors’
,
he had not got
any
previous convictions for anti social behaviors’,
he’d had a bar fight a
nd
a measly driving offence that was all,
and ironically psychopaths
are a great success with the ladies.  This guy was having therapy because of his lack of success with the ladies.

The whole
team were
just gullible
fools;
they
listened to and acted on everything Stephen
fucking Roberts said. They hadn’t got an ounce of psychological awareness between them.

“Gut instinct!” that’s what he
had
said
on more than one occasion
.  They had to rely on their gut instinct.  Did they not know that they had to use their head too, their mind, their brains. 

If they had any brains, there was n
ot a decent brain cell between the
lot
of them he concurred.

Paul rolled a
joint;
he needed something to calm him down.
He would need several tonight the mood he was in.

He took a long deep drag of the cannabis packed cigarette and settled back in his chair.  This man was a massive trigger for his drug use; he was smoking more now than he ever did.

He closed his eyes and made a sensible decision. 

He was going to have to solve this case by himself, he realized this now.
He couldn’t rely
on anyone on that team, not even Vera
although she was the brightest, she was a people pleaser and would follow the majority and he was unmistakably the minority.  So it was down to him and him alone.

They had arrested the wrong man, he was even more certain of that, than he was anything.

This meant of course that there would without any doubt be another murder, and he was going to try and prevent that.  He wasn’t sure how or when, but he would.

Paul fell into a contented sleep induced by
the
depressant he was now becoming more and more dependent on.

Chapter Twenty
-Three

B
loody stupid that’s what they a
re,
they’ve
arrested t
he wrong bloody man, not that I hoped they’d arrest
m
e but I
wanted that ‘prick’ to kn
ow who I am, know what this was about.

Why not? He wouldn’t recognise me now anyway, I’ve changed.  No he’d never know me now, not in a million years. Well he knows me sort of, but he doesn’t really know me.

But we’ll see when I give a little clue next time.  I planned it on the third and so I will do it on the third.

Do you
wanna
know?

What the clue is?

I bet you do, don’t you.

Curiosity killed the cat, and I’m Curiosity you know......................... and you’re the fucking Cat!

Bet you’re worried now.
I bet you’re shaking in your boots.

Is it dark outside?  It is isn’t it?

Have you looked out your window?

Go on,

You could be my next victim!

I’m watching you....................................................

Gotch
a
!


Well enough of my silly games, let’s get serious. 

‘God gives every bird a worm, but he does not throw it into the nest”

You’ll have to work that one out for yourself like he will.

My life is so much better now that I am in control.
I was so out of control when I was a kid.

I’ll tell you now of the worst thing that she ever did to me,

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, but I would like you to understand why I have done some of the things that I have done.

It was worse than any of the sexual or physical abuse, it was when I realised that one day I would kill her, over, and over and over again.

I was ten years old, maybe eleven.  We were sat watching the television, she was drinking as usual, and I was fetching and carrying as usual.

“Get me another drink dickhead”

“Fetch me a biscuit twat face”

“Go and have a piss for me Son!”

I sat trying to work out how I was going to do that, I thought she meant i
t and
I
was
about to get up and
do it
. Or try to at least
, until she laughed out loud, that croaky laugh that ended up with her coughing her guts up from all the fags that she smoked.

We were watching a documentary on television.  It was about all these young children that had been abducted from their parents, on parks, beaches, and back gardens.

Their mothers had only taken their eyes off them for a minute, and whoosh they were gone, never to be seen again
.  The mothers devastated and talking on the television, wondering what they looked like now at sixteen, nineteen, twenty five.

I remember thinking I wish someone had done that to me, but fat chance I’d never been out the house,
since that day at the park,
never even been in the garden, not that anyone would see me if I had, the grass had always been overgrown, five or six feet high. 

If I’d been abducted I would have had a better life, anything was better than this.

Once the credits rolled and the programme was over, my mother looked at me sadly, she hadn’t done that before,
she’d never looked at me sadly, only ever looked at me with contempt.
 

Then she said it, it was then she gave me a shred of hope:

“That happened to you son, I abducted you”

“When, from where” I asked.

“Fetch us another drink and then I‘ll tell you, no second thoughts fetch us the bloody bottle”

I rushed into the kitchen and got her what she had asked.  I was not hers I had another mother somewhere, a mother that was
probably
looking for me.