Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller (10 page)

He made no reply, the
silence in the room absorbed them and eventually her eyes began to close as she
drifted off. It had been a busy night and she was too intoxicated and too
over-the-hill to be concerned that a stranger was in the room with her.

‘I have a gift for you,’
he said loudly, breaking the silence. Her eyes snapped open but she remained
bewildered.

‘What?’ she croaked.

‘I said, have a gift for
you.’

Her head lolled back and
she shrugged, she slid her tongue over her bottom lip and opened her mouth
revealing crooked brown teeth and a lumpy, white tongue. She was expecting him
to drop his trousers. ‘Look,’ he said. She drew focus on his hands. He held a
syringe in one hand and a small clear bag of brown powder in the other.

‘Ah.’ She moaned dreamily
when she saw the drugs and slid a hand over her cheap stonewashed jeans and up
between her legs. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she slurred.

‘Just keep being you.’ He
knelt down beside her and handed her a piece of rubber cord and she dutifully
tied it around her arm while he cooked the heroin in a spoon and loaded the
syringe. She gave him a dopy satisfied smile when he slid the needle into her
scabby arm and pressed the plunger, shooting the contents into her vein. He
moved her disgusting fingers from the rubber cord but kept the tension there,
not yet allowing the fatal dose of high-grade heroin to enter her bloodstream.

‘Do you recognise me?’

She looked confused at
first but then something flashed in her good eye and the Ghost knew it was
recognition.

‘There it is. You see me
now, don’t you mother?’

As soon as she began to
mouth his name he relaxed the rubber cord for a brief second and then tightened
it again. It was enough of a shot to quieten her voice. She tensed up and
shuddered, then relaxed into the chair stoned and weak.

‘Would you like to know
about my life since we last saw each other?’ he said.

She stared at him
silently with the vacant expression of a doll.

‘I didn’t think so,’ he
said, ‘but I’ll tell you anyway. My foster parents tried to protect me by keeping
my childhood in the past; it was as if my life with you never really happened,
it was as if it had simply been a nightmare. They were kind people and could
only imagine the things you subjected me to. The things you did to me left me
hollow inside and now I don’t feel anything but hate. Do you understand what
I’m saying to you?’

She looked as if she
wanted to say something so he put his free hand around her throat and squeezed
it gently. ‘It was rhetorical. Just listen to me,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel anything
but hate.’ The pressure he exerted tightened the skin around her face, thinning
her lips and turning them downwards. He caught a glimpse of her wet tongue as
she drooled over his gloved hand and onto his wrist. The sensation as it ran
over his skin turned his stomach and filled him with such revulsion he had to
suppress the urge to snap her neck. There was more he wanted to say to her, it
didn’t really matter whether her junk soaked brain could understand what he was
saying, he just wanted her to hear it.

He continued, ‘I pieced
together snippets of information about my past whenever I could,’ he said, ‘and
over the years kept a careful watch on the news and eavesdropped all those
tell-tale exchanges between my foster parents, I’m sure you can imagine, the
secretive ones held in hushed whispers; the things they wanted to keep from me.

‘You and Uncle Derek were
quite the tabloid sensation from the moment you were arrested, I’m sure you
remember.

‘I enjoyed reading about
your misfortunes in prison; did you ever get revenge on the inmate that threw
the mug of chip fat into your face? I’m sure you did, it cost you your eye
after all.

‘How did you feel when
you heard Uncle Derek had been stabbed to death? I read somewhere that the
attacker didn’t mean to kill him; he only wanted to teach him a lesson but he
was clumsy and
accidentally
nicked the femoral artery. Apparently he knelt on Uncle Derek’s throat and
stabbed him repeatedly in the groin and thighs with a sharpened spoon handle.
Now that’s a man after my own heart if there ever was one.

‘My first thought when I heard the
news was that it was too quick. I spent many hours fantasising about killing
him and each and every time, he went slowly. I also have to admit that the news
left me conflicted; the knowledge that he had died was reason to celebrate but
it was soured because the opportunity for revenge was gone.’ He sighed. ‘It’s
frustrating knowing that I will never get the chance to torture my rapist. But
still, I have you don’t I mother?’

He let go of her throat and her head
tipped back against the chair. She looked like she was going to pass out so he
grabbed her cheeks and shook her face. ‘Wake up!’ He slapped her, making her
blink and shake her head and then, there it was; she was suddenly back in the
room with him and as soon as he saw that moment of clarity in her remaining eye
he released the rubber cord.
The overdose of heroin flooded her system, burning its way through her
veins and arteries. Her lips lost their formation and another strand of stinking
silver drool dripped from her gummy mouth. She arched her back and emptied her
lungs with a noisy sigh. He watched her until there was nothing left and then,
even though he had been wearing gloves, he wiped clean everything he had
touched and slipped out of the flat and into the night.

9

Simone flicked through the channels
on the TV until she found what she was waiting for and as she was watching
Martin entered the room behind her. ‘What’s this?’ he said.

She replied but didn’t
bother to look around. ‘Police press conference.’

Sky news was in full
Breaking News
mode. Jackson and West
were sitting at a desk in front of a huge blue backdrop that displayed the
‘Cambridgeshire Constabulary’ logo, a large picture of Victoria Redman at her
most innocent and pretty and an enormous telephone number. Jackson had just
introduced West and was now giving the reason for the press conference and the
background of the investigation. He confirmed that the identity of the
discovered body was indeed Victoria Redman.

Martin sat down just as
Jackson passed the conference over to West who began by giving his condolences
to Victoria Redman’s family while flashes and the sound of camera shutters
filled the quiet between sentences.

‘Fame at last,’ he said.

She ignored him and they
watched together in silence until Martin said, ‘Smokey’s loving it isn’t he?’

She sighed at his comment
and felt the familiar feeling of frustration and anger surge through her veins.
‘A young girl is dead Martin. I saw the body.’

‘Still, I bet he’s always
wanted his face on the telly. I’ll guarantee he’s taping it to watch later on.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘At least he’s still got
his hair,’ he said. ‘Bastard’s not even going grey.’ It seemed like an attempt
to lighten the atmosphere between them and prevent yet another argument but the
comment about West’s appearance made her realise that it was the first time
Martin had seen Nathan since he left all those years ago.

There was a muffled
question from the press. West replied by saying, ‘Mr Stevens has been released
from custody and is no longer part of the ongoing investigation.’

There were a couple of
dull thumps as a microphone was adjusted and it became easier to hear the
questions from the press.

‘How was she killed?’ a
woman asked.

‘Victoria Redman was
stabbed to death.’

‘Was she sexually
assaulted?’

‘No. Victoria was not
sexually assaulted before she was murdered.’

Martin said, ‘Why does he
keep repeating her name?’

‘To humanise her, we need
people understand she was a person that lived not just a photograph in a
newspaper. If people see her as a human being they may be more willing to come
forward with information. Or it may even guilt the killer into giving himself
up.’

‘Detective West,’ a man
called out. ‘Was there a signature?

West missed the question
either by accident or design so the man spoke louder. ‘Detective! Was there a
signature?’

West located him amongst
the crowd. ‘Who are you?’

‘Shaun Franco, the Daily
Mail.’

‘No Mr Franco, there
wasn’t a signature; this is real life, not a Hollywood movie.’

There was a light ripple
of laughter in the room which was instantly silenced when Franco said, ‘What
about the carving in her back?’

Simone was stunned at the
comment and said, ‘What the…’ to herself in a low murmur.

‘Whoa,’ said Martin, thumping
into the back of his chair and clapping his hands. ‘Smokey wasn’t expecting
that.’

West cleared his throat
and stared daggers at the reporter. ‘It appears you have restricted information
Mr Franco.’

Franco tried to repeat
the question. ‘What about the carving in her…’

West cut him off. ‘Do not
open your mouth again Mr Franco. It is normal procedure to keep certain details
confidential. We use it as a way of determining accuracy when interviewing
suspects and preventing copycat killers,’ he said. ‘If you jeopardise any part
of this investigation, I shall have you arrested do you understand me?’ Franco
was about to answer but West silenced him before he had chance. ‘Nod, don’t
speak,’ he said. ‘I told you not to open your mouth again.’ West stared at him
for an uncomfortable length of time until Jackson broke the silence and used
the distraction to close the conference. ‘We need witnesses to come forward,’
he said. ‘There are people out there who know the person who murdered Victoria
Redman. They need to be vigilant and if they suspect someone could be capable
of committing such a heinous crime they need to trust their instincts. Where
was that person last weekend? Does that person have knowledge of the area, the
woods in particular?

West took over. ‘Anyone
that cowardly and weak, anyone that pathetic shouldn’t be too hard to spot. We
are pursuing many lines of enquiry. He made mistakes and we will catch who did
it.’

‘Many lines of enquiry,’
Martin repeated. ‘Really?’

‘Of course.’

‘Yeah right,’ he said. ‘I’ll
bet it’s just spin. What’s the confidential information eh? What is it Simone,
what’s the dirty little secret that got Smokey so flustered?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Bullshit. You’re in the
inner circle. I hope you haven’t accidently spilled your guts to the press,’ he
said, ‘and if you have been saying things you shouldn’t have I hope you’ve made
us a few quid out of it.’

‘I haven’t said
anything.’

‘Well someone has Simone;
it sounds to me like you’ve got a rat at the station.’

10

Simone was in Jackson’s office and he was breathing down her
neck when she called West. ‘West where are you?’

‘About to leave the hospital,’ he said.

‘Okay, are you coming back here? I’m with Jackson at the
moment and you’re on speaker phone by the way.’

‘Yeah, I just got to my car. What’s going on?’

‘Gary Stevens was attacked outside his work.’

‘Details?’

‘He was badly beaten and stabbed in both eyes. Someone cut
his throat, he shouldn’t have survived, but somehow he has.’

West called it immediately. ‘Bring in Victoria Redman’s father,’
he said.

Simone agreed; David Redman had been her first instinct too.
‘Assuming it was motivated, Redman is the most likely suspect,’ she said
looking at Jackson. ‘His grief was palpable when we went to see him. He was a
broken man, filled with guilt and regret; he had nothing left to lose.’

‘Stevens was all over the news when we brought him in,’ said
West. They heard his car door slam shut over the tinny speakers. ‘His name and
photo was slapped across every newspaper too; it wouldn’t take much to track
him down. It was a violent attack and blinding him made it personal. If I was a
betting man -’

‘You’d bet your tiny salary on it?’ said Jackson.

‘You got it.’

‘Me too,’ said Simone, ‘but I really hope we’re wrong. Redman
wasn’t beyond help and Victoria wouldn’t have wanted him to ruin his life by
taking revenge.’ She looked at Jackson. ‘I’d like to be there when we bring him
in.’

Jackson addressed the speakerphone. ‘West?’

‘Still here.’

‘Meet Simone at Redman’s house.’

‘Will do.’ The line went dead.

Simone readied to leave but Jackson stopped her. ‘Simone,
take a couple of uniforms as back-up in case he doesn’t want to go quietly.’

Simone stopped outside Redman’s home and waited for West to
arrive. She watched in the rear view mirror as the squad car pulled up neatly
against the kerb behind her.

Even though she had never met her, Simone felt strangely
connected towards Victoria Redman, and stranger still were the sympathetic
feelings she had towards her fucked-up father. He had taken his daughter for
granted while she was alive and now she had been taken from him it seemed as if
he had woken from a stupor. David Redman had the chance to change his life and
Simone knew that Victoria would be grateful if the one good thing to come from
her death was that it jolted her father into waking up and turning his life
around.

Knowing that David Redman was the most likely person to have
attacked Gary Stevens and that he would have to pay for his actions with a
lifetime in prison was bad enough but combined with the fact that it would ruin
any chance he may have had of using his daughter’s brutal murder to become a
better man made the whole situation so much worse. The attachment she felt for
Redman secretly embarrassed her and gave rise to feelings of guilt because it smacked
of unprofessionalism and she sometimes wondered if the career path she had
chosen was the right one. It was West who sowed the seeds that led her towards
law enforcement; for as long as she could remember it was Nathan who had wanted
to be a police officer and his enthusiasm for it was contagious and easily
sold. It was a rewarding job with solid foundations and a path for promotion
that was well defined. So she chose the solid career with prospects and
security instead of chasing her dream. Her real passion was photography and she
was well aware that realistically it could only ever be a hobby – the
ability to make a decent living out of it would be extremely difficult. She
never really knew exactly what she wanted to do but something artistic with a
camera would have been perfect. The problem lay in the fact that it would have
been unreliable work and she was the sort of person who needed the comfort of a
regular salary and the police service gave her that – it was a proper
job; an adult’s job. She couldn’t see herself scratching her way through life
from contract to contract – the only real money coming from wedding
photos.

The other driving force behind her choice of career path was
the hope that being part of the police service would give her a sense of
closure after what had happened to Laura. She felt guilty for that too –
so guilty she had ruined her life by marrying her friend’s brother out of
sympathy.

Movement in her wing mirror pulled her from her thoughts and
she stepped out of her car as West stepped out of his.

West instructed the uniforms to keep a close distance and not
to crowd them as they approached the door. They knocked and when it opened they
were faced with total contrast to the last time they saw David Redman.

Gone were the greasy ponytail and the filthy vest, in their
places was a perfect image of cleanliness and sobriety. Victoria Redman’s
father stood in the doorway sporting an immaculately neat haircut and a
dangerously sharp suit.

‘May we come in for a chat Mr Redman?’ said West.

They went through to the lounge; a room that had undergone a
transformation as drastic as Mr Redman’s new image. As she stood in the
spotlessly clean and clutter-free room Simone couldn’t help but feel pride that
maybe he was innocent of the crime they suspected him of and he had indeed
decided to change his life for the better.

‘Have you got him yet?’ said Redman he said as he sat down.

‘Where were you last night Mr Redman between the hours of
nine and eleven?’ said Simone.

‘I’ll take that as a no then,’ he said. ‘He’s still out there
while you lot sit on your hands.’

‘Answer the question,’ said West.

Redman sat back and crossed his legs and Simone noticed his
newly polished shoes for the first time and a sudden feeling of doubt swelled
inside.

‘Were you about to go out somewhere Mr Redman?’ she said and
West shot her a glance.

‘Would you like a drink?’ said Redman ignoring the question.
‘I have coffee if you want some.’

West sighed and raised his voice a touch. ‘Mr Redman I am
going to ask you a question and I expect you to answer it.’

Redman looked at him. The new haircut and sharp suit did
little to cover the obvious pain that still polluted his soul. ‘Ask away.’

‘Where were you last night between the hours of nine and
eleven?’

‘I went to my local for one last drink.’

‘Your local would be where?’

‘The White Hart in Kings Street.’

‘Will there be people who know you and can confirm that?’

‘There should be, I’ve been going in there for the best part
of twenty years.’

As he spoke Simone glanced behind him at the staircase and
spotted between the banisters a small bundle of rope on one of the top steps.
‘Mr Redman,’ she said. ‘I would like you to accompany us to the police station
while we confirm your alibi.’

‘I have things to do. What’s going on?’

‘A man was attacked last night.’

‘Who?’

‘A man we called in for questioning in connection with the
ongoing investigation.’

‘Was it the man that was on the news?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you think I had something to do with it?’

‘We need to confirm your whereabouts last night to eliminate
you from our enquiry.’

‘I have things to do,’ he said and as he spoke his hand crept
to the lapel pocket of his suit and touched it as if to make sure its contents
wasn’t lost. ‘My day was all planned out.’

‘Please come with us,’ said Simone.

He sighed, hand still on pocket. ‘Okay, I’ll go, but I want
you to know that you’ve really ruined my day.’

They led Redman outside and with shoulders slumped he quietly
complied when the uniformed officers accompanied him toward the squad car.

‘Stevens was beaten to a pulp,’ said Simone, ‘you’d expect
the attacker’s fists to be bruised or cut; they would at least be sore.
Redman’s knuckles were blemish free. He didn’t do it, I’m sure of it.’

‘He’s our prime suspect for the Stevens attack but I can’t
help agreeing with you,’ said Jackson.

The phone rang and West answered it. He listened thanked the
caller and hung up. ‘Redman’s alibi checks out,’ he said. ‘Five witnesses say
he didn’t leave the pub until closing and Stevens was in the ambulance by
then.’

The news gave Simone a huge rush of relief. Her instincts
regarding Redman’s innocence had been confirmed but there was another nagging
problem that needed to be resolved.

‘Where is he now?’ asked Jackson.

‘Interview room one,’ said Simone.

‘Cut him loose.’

‘He’s going to kill himself,’ she said.

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He kept touching his suit pocket when we spoke to him so I
checked his personal belongings, the ones that were taken from him after he was
put into the interview room, and found a picture of Victoria as a child.
Combine that with the new image, the reference he made to having one last drink
and the bundle of rope on the staircase at his home convinces me he’s a suicide
risk.’

‘I completely agree,’ said West. ‘It’s one of the reasons we
brought him in. We need get one of the counsellors over here to have a sit down
with him before he goes.’

‘Do it,’ said Jackson.

‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ said Simone. ‘But in the
meantime, if our prime suspect is innocent, who attacked Stevens?’

‘You had to ask,’ said West.