Double Visions Part 7

"There is always one to try our faith," Randall said respectfully.

" 'But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ'," Mrs Genovese quoted. "A snake in our garden, Mr Zerneck. A snake that was soon sent packing, I can a.s.sure you."

"I don't doubt it," Randall agreed, trying to hide his excitement. He knew that the police had nothing to go on as far as Lana Genovese was concerned. The PC outside had confirmed as much to Ramsey earlier in the week. "Perhaps I should take this opportunity to expose the serpent before he tries to tempt another child?"

Mrs Genovese looked at him with a touch of hope in her eyes as her addled brain tried to find some slither of sense in her tragedy. "Perhaps, if you think it would help save another lost soul?"

"Did you have a name for this boy?"

"It would help Lana's memory, wouldn't it?" Mrs Genovese asked with such sorrow that Randall felt his own conscience twitch, but he pushed on and ignored it.

"I think that she would like that," he lied.

"Well I remember his name was Martin, I think..." She stopped to try and remember. "They met at bible camp and he seemed like a pleasant boy at first, very respectful and spiritual, but soon Lana confided that he was starting to make her uncomfortable. My husband thought that he saw the boy hanging around on the street outside. The phone would ring sometimes and no one would be there. But it wasn't Lana's fault, you understand," she insisted, worried for her daughter's reputation and Randall could see why she had left this part out to the police.

"How long ago was this?"

"Best part of a year at least, I'm sure," she answered.

"What else can you tell me about him? Surname?"

"I'm sorry but he wasn't around long enough before my husband got rid of him."

Randall's heart sank.

"Oh, wait a minute. There's a photo from the camp around here somewhere," Mrs Genovese said, standing up too quickly and swaying. She walked quickly to a bureau and started to root amongst the framed images. "Here it is," she said and handed him the photograph.

Randall took the frame as she pointed the boy out. He was a skinny kid with a happy smiling face but no particularly distinguishable features, but it was a start and Randall believed that every great finished story had once started somewhere.

Danny pulled up at the picnic area crime scene to the surprise of Eileen Landing. The sergeant looked up, as he climbed out of his car, with concern on her face. He knew that her first fear would be that he was checking up on her or that she had done something wrong. He could see her expression ripple as her mind tried to piece together any mistakes. In reality Danny knew that despite her often shabby appearance her work was almost always impeccable.

"Something break, Boss?" she asked in a whisper as she sidled up to him.

"No, just wanted to check this out," he said, looking over her shoulder.

"Just a run of the mill wrong place, wrong time," she shrugged, clearly relieved. "Guy pulls in either to use the public toilets for their intended purposes or something else," she winked salaciously, "and meets the wrong guy; maybe a mugger, maybe a gay basher - either way, he ends up dead."

Danny wandered over to the toilet block that was now taped off with blue and white plastic. "What do we know about Alan Holmes?" he asked, recalling the name from Landing's phone call last night.

"Not a whole lot, yet," she answered, taking a shabby notepad from her pocket and flipping it open. "42, divorced, and an IT Consultant."

Danny thought about what Jane had told him, that this was the work of their killer, but also that no one else would see it.

He headed into the toilet block and his nose instantly wrinkled with displeasure at the aroma of stale urine and death. Dr Wendell Reese, the police surgeon, was finis.h.i.+ng up as he entered and the doctor bristled.

"Inspector," Reese greeted him stiffly.

Since Danny had put the man in his place at Lana Genovese's crime scene, the surgeon had remained cold and aloof, or more aloof as the case may be. "What have we got, Doc?"

"Just what it seems," Reese said, removing his rubber gloves with a snap. "Single stab wound to the neck enough blood here to prove that this was the kill site. I understand that his wallet is missing, so a mugging seems most likely and your forensic boys seem to think that this place is full of usable prints."

"Thanks for your deductions, Doc, but just stick to the medical facts for now," Danny said absently as he looked around at the body lying on the cracked tiled floor. He didn't hear Reese leave as his mind ticked over. The scene seemed perfect - cut and dried as far as its connection to the Crucifier case was concerned. The motive was the only variable factor; it was surely either a mugging gone too far or a hate crime made to look that way. It was only on TV that things were more complicated than they seemed. In his experience, if you found a body then you found enough evidence at the scene to round up the killer before lunch without breaking a sweat. But still he could hear Jane's words in the back of his mind. He could still picture the strange electricity in the air and the moment when her eyes had rolled back in her head.

He took in the scene and could feel no links to the new Crucifier killer. Nothing on the surface felt familiar and nothing about the murder was the same. There were no religious connotations, no posing or arranging of the body, no carved symbol and this was a male victim. Everything told him that it was either a hate crime or a mugging gone wrong. Everything, that was, except Jane's voice in the back of his head, a whisper that wouldn't hold its tongue.

He left the toilet block quickly, eager to taste the fresh summer air again. There was entirely too much death in his life right now and it was getting more and more difficult to keep a game face on. He had to lead his team and present a solid presence, but he was still just a man and not a machine.

"Whatdaya say, Boss?" Bryan Wilson said from behind.

Danny turned to the older man and for the umpteenth time shook an eternally wise head at the DC's career stall because of love. "More importantly, what do you say, Bryan?"

"Looks like a neat little box with a bow on top, doesn't it?" Wilson replied thoughtfully.

"That give you pause?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I guess most times when you hear hooves it's because there really are horses."

"But zebras really do exist, now don't they?" Danny said. "However unlikely."

"Oh s.h.i.+t," Wilson suddenly said, as he turned towards an approaching car.

Danny followed the DC's eye line and saw the expensive luxury vehicle pull up. A police driver climbed out quickly and opened the rear door for Superintendant Chalmers to emerge. Danny let out a heavy sigh and motioned for Wilson to slip away - no reason for them both to suffer.

Chalmers never showed up at a crime scene, especially one that was supposed to be so open and shut. Danny waited for his boss to walk or, more accurately, strut like a peac.o.c.k - the short distance,.

"Inspector." Chalmers nodded as he reached him.

"Sir."

"I understand that we have got another death in our fair town, Danny. This is not good - not good at all. Eyes are on us, my boy, and they are watching."

"Yes, Sir."

"I understand that this particular case is unrelated?"

"I wouldn't know yet, Sir."

"Oh, I think that we can safely make that a.s.sumption, Danny. The public need to be rea.s.sured that we are in control here and another headline grabber is not what we need, agreed?"

Danny only nodded. Chalmers was not looking for a conversation, and he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't looking for anyone else's opinions. It made sense that there would be political pressure from up on high; he just hoped that it wouldn't get in the way.

"Well then. I shall leave you to your work, Inspector. Get this wrapped and written up today. And Danny? Just do what you do, only quicker."

Danny waited until Chalmers was out of sight. If Wilson - an experienced detective - had his doubts, and the superintendant was convinced that there was no more here than met the eye, then Danny knew whose gut he trusted more.

He stood and tried to piece together the view around him. If he wanted to produce a textbook crime scene, how would he go about it? He used his knowledge of the law and forensic procedures to think like a killer, painting a canvas. Staging a mugging gone wrong was simple: take the wallet and kill, using only a single stab wound - one enough to cause death but without looking personal and frenzied. How to get the victim to stop here was another case entirely.

"Landing?" he called out to the sergeant and she hurried over. "What about Holmes' car? Is it running?"

"I'll check," she shrugged.

He followed her to a car and watched as she pulled out a set of keys from an evidence bag. She opened the door and tried to turn the engine over, only to be met with a dry heave.

That was problem one solved. It was too much of a coincidence for him to believe that Alan Holmes' car had happened to break down just where a killer was waiting; it smelled like premeditation to him.

"Doc!" he called out and waved to Reese as he spotted the police surgeon about to drive away.

The man looked irritated at being yelled at from across the car park and Danny couldn't help himself as he walked a little slower across the tarmac. "You said that there was enough blood in the cubicle to suggest that the victim was killed there and not merely dumped?" he asked, thinking of Jane telling him that Holmes had been murdered inside the killer's car.

"Indeed. The stab wound in his neck was open and his s.h.i.+rt was soaked through. There was also a pool under the body."

"I want that blood checking, Doc."

"Checking for what?" Reese asked, puzzled.

"Checking to make sure that it belongs to the victim."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Doc."

"But if that amount of blood belonged to anyone else then they would have been lying next to the dead man. It had to be his blood. Why on earth would you think anything different?"

"Because I'm starting to hear zebras, Doc," Danny replied, but mostly to himself. "Zebras."

Jane took another sharp left turn and watched the rear-view mirror. Her heart skipped a beat as the car in the background, three vehicles back, made the same turn. She had felt eyes watching her for some time that morning during her drive.

She wasn't working today and had wanted to take a drive. There was an occasional itch at the back of her mind and she couldn't tell if someone was there or if it was just her imagination. The coast road was long enough for her to relax and straight enough for her to let her mind wander. She now had three pa.s.sengers in the back, none of whom seemed to care much for the scenery. Their black holes instead of eyes only bore into the back of her head with insistent thirst.

"Easy fellas," she told them. "Rome wasn't exactly built in a day, you know."

She had noticed the car, a silver j.a.panese model that looked new, a few times and had started to grow concerned. She took a few back lanes and the car followed, but however carefully it hung back she could feel it there.

She considered calling Danny, but couldn't stand the thought of looking like a scared woman jumping at shadows. Instead, she slowed down enough to get a good look at the licence plate and to memorise the numbers for later use.

There was a lay-by coming up ahead and she indicated to pull in. The large 4x4 crunched onto the gravel and she waited for the silver car to pa.s.s. When it did, she sat and wondered whether or not to follow it or turn around. In the end she did neither, only sat and waited for her heart to stop racing. She noticed that there was a public toilet block and her nerves had started to press painfully on her bladder. The area was deserted, despite it being the height of the summer season, as she was far along from the tourist spots that sported splas.h.i.+ng sea lovers and castle-building beach dwellers.

She exited the car and locked it behind her, hurrying across the ground, eager to get going. The memory of Alan Holmes' death rushed at her without warning. She saw his dead body being left amidst the urine stained floor and the darkened building suddenly scared her badly.

She detoured around it and darted into the high dunes, hoping to be hidden from the road. She crouched and unb.u.t.toned in one fluid motion, squatting while keeping her ears pinned for any approaching vehicles or feet. But her bladder had decided to be shy and the more she tried to rush, the bigger the roadblock became. The wind suddenly picked up in wild gusts and the long gra.s.s momentarily parted, exposing her and the car park below. The small concrete toilet block building suddenly loomed over her like a hungry animal with sly eyes and sharp teeth. The world around her darkened and the sun fled in terror. She gripped onto the sides of her mind and held on tightly as she felt his tentacles reaching out and slithering over her thoughts. Shadows began to emerge from the periphery of her vision but she concentrated hard, looking straight ahead. Her vision narrowed into a pinp.r.i.c.k of light as the tunnel closed in. She flexed her psychic muscles and found, to some relief, that she was gaining some strength after such a long layoff.

She forced her mind to battle back against the darkness and blow the tunnel walls wider as she mentally ran for the exit. She could feel the cold scaly touch of reaching claws, straining to touch her bare arms, and she pushed harder. She was dimly aware of standing and pulling up her shorts in the real world as the shadow one blew around her in sepia tones.

She strode forwards toward where she had parked, all the while fighting to step back across the threshold between her two worlds. His mind was strong and his grip tough to break, but she pushed back harder, determined to be n.o.body's victim ever again.

The world around her started to lighten as she climbed back into the safety of her large 4x4. Sunny rays burst in the air around her, flas.h.i.+ng lights that shattered the shadows as she drove him from her mind.

She emerged back into the summer day unscathed and triumphant. Whatever his intentions had been, she was growing stronger and more able to resist. Her forehead crinkled in confusion as the air around her continued to flash with bright lights even though she was sure that she was now fully back. It was only then that she realised the flashes were not coming from a spiritual plane, but from a camera.

The man outside her car was taking pictures with a blinding flashbulb that exploded against her window, blinding her with each motorised snap. But before she could clear her vision and get a look at the face behind the camera, an engine roared into life. All she saw was the silver car that had been following her disappearing off into the distance in a cloud of dust.

Marion Ramsey slammed the phone down hard enough to crack the plastic. She had been calling people all morning and while she had plenty of news, none of it was good. She was almost sure that Superintendant Chalmers had been bluffing, but she couldn't take that risk, not yet. If that sheet of paper that he held was not blank, then she had to step very carefully indeed.

She had taken a personal day and hoped that, however rare, it would go unnoticed. Her apartment was as large and luxurious as Faircliff had to offer, which wasn't saying much by a city girl's standards. The small town had been a punishment to her for her indiscretion. Her father ran Newscore and she worked for him as did so many others in the empire. She was her father's only heir and she had spent most of her life trying to make up for the lack of a p.e.n.i.s.

Alfonso Ramsey was a t.i.tan of industry with enough political and business connections to smooth over almost any problem, but she had stretched his abilities to breaking point. She had wanted nothing more than to be seen as worthy in her father's eyes. She had studied hard, worked tirelessly and sought to prove herself deserving of his name her entire life.

She had always known of his disappointment in her gender but she had tried to even overcome that obstacle. She had embarked on lesbian relations.h.i.+ps despite not being gay, as in his twisted logic it somehow made her more masculine. Once she had found a mate that her father approved of, however reluctantly, Marion had set about providing her father with a grandson to carry on his name. The only problem had been a very large medical one that had stopped her from conceiving. She had been as stealthy as anyone could have been in discovering her news and had somehow managed to keep it from reaching her father's ears. She hadn't been crushed by the news, it was only yet another obstacle for her to overcome, and overcome it she would.

The world worked on money. She had discovered from an early age that every problem could be solved depending on the size of your wallet. After several months of trying, she had managed to track down a discreet service that could provide babies with no questions asked. She had managed to keep her medical condition a secret from her father and all she required was a child to finally win his love. She had been planning her weight gain for months, along with a carefully constructed body suit to ape the correct size. She would take a pregnancy sabbatical after announcing that she was around 7 months pregnant and return from Portugal with a baby provided at a price.

The plan had been sound and she had stuck to the months of preparation religiously, feigning several symptoms like morning sickness and even a couple of medical scares along the way. The whole thing had come cras.h.i.+ng down, however, when on the day that she arrived to purchase her newborn, the place was raided. Eight prospective parents had been arrested trying to buy babies and the news story would break across the country. She had sat in a Portuguese jail cell with her head in her hands, crushed by her failure.

Her father had sent his lawyers as he could not face her and so had begun the merry-go-round of threats and bribes to remove her name from the sting operation. Once back in the UK, she had been banished to one of the empire's outposts to serve out the remainder of her days in disgrace.

Her father had not spoken to her since that day and she knew that he was more disappointed with her failure than her deception. She also knew that if Chalmers had found out about her shame then her father would sever whatever few ties he had left with her.

She had barely slept as she chased up every angle and person that might have leaked the secret, but as yet she could find no holes. The one man who knew every dirty secret in the Ramsey house was Jacob Yeller, who was her father's main lawyer. He was also a man that she had been sleeping with for the past year or so. She had provided the sick old b.a.s.t.a.r.d with every act of depravity that he desired and she had done it all with a smile on her face and a seductive groan in her throat. She had finally come to the conclusion that if she couldn't win her father's love, then she would hopefully win his respect when she stole his empire out from under him. She wasn't in any of his wills so therefore she would just have to take what was rightfully hers.

She hit the large secondary lounge that she'd converted into a home gym. Over the next half an hour or so she put in the sort of workout that would make a professional athlete wince. She pushed her body beyond the point of its pain threshold, revelling in the cleansing sweat that seeped from every pore.

Eventually, her body started to fail and she shucked off her workout clothes and headed for the shower. She paused at the full-length mirror to run a caretaker's eye over her form. She took no sense of normal pleasure from her appearance, only a dim satisfaction at the supreme performance machine that she maintained; she was a Ramsey and she was expected to be perfect.

The hot water scalded her skin lobster red but she would not turn from the water's spray. Everything in life was a challenge and everything was a compet.i.tion to be won or lost. She soaped the inside of her soft inner thigh, carefully was.h.i.+ng the scabbed wounds. She was sure that no one would be able to match her endurance when it came to self-harming; every carved line was testament to her resilience and strength.

She shut the water off and stepped outside of the cubicle. She towelled herself off quickly and shuddered at the thought of Simon Yeller's thick pudgy hands pawing at her flesh in an hour or so. She had to physically stop herself from returning to the water's scalding spray again to wipe the thought from her mind. The old lawyer was revolting and it took all of her mental control not to puke over him every time that he touched her.

She dressed quickly in shorts and a casual t-s.h.i.+rt. Her normal wardrobe consisted of business suits, cut and tailored to perfection around her flawless figure. She had little time for clothes and only wore what the occasion demanded: the right uniform for the right battle.

She was towelling her hair dry when she heard a noise from the kitchen area. There were a couple of domestic staff members that she used to cook and clean the place, but neither was scheduled to be on duty today. Her skin suddenly crawled at the thought that Jacob was early. The man didn't have a key to her place, but he was starting to push for one as though they were some kind of couple. The thought of all of his depraved and disgusting acts made her shudder. Lately, she had to try and contain her disgust as he sat beside her and they cuddled; the man was a pig. His words were a bombardment of expressions of love and respect for her and she wondered just what filthy beast would speak in such ways to a creature such as her. She was painfully aware of what she was and any person who showed her affection must truly be twisted.

"Jacob? Is that you?" she called out, half-hoping that it was a burglar instead; some drug-crazed rapist would at least be honest about his intentions.

She threw the towel aside and walked towards the noise. She was a powerful woman used to dominating the world around her. The meeting with Chalmers still rankled and she had made several mental notes already about how she was going to bring the man down just as soon as she was sure that he had been bluffing.

The kitchen was an expensive sweep of chrome and marble. The units were all handmade in Italy and the central island had been s.h.i.+pped in on a private plane so as to remain in one piece.

She stepped inside the room and looked around, but could see nothing out of place. Uncharacteristically, she suddenly felt nervous and exposed in the thin t-s.h.i.+rt that she wore. Her senses were telling her that someone was in the apartment, regardless of whether or not she could see them.

There was a metallic knife block on the wall that held several wicked curved blades and she s.n.a.t.c.hed up one of the largest. The silver handle was cool in her hand and the weight of the knife was comforting. She had seen enough TV to know that often, couples played silly games such as scaring each other and she wondered if the police would blame her for stabbing Jacob. Maybe she could claim that he had surprised her and she had over reacted; there was a killer on the loose, after all.

She headed through the kitchen into the main lounge beyond. The furniture was expensive and sleek; no expense was ever spared when it came to providing the right home court advantage.