Chapter 2

John turned to his partner "Good question. What now indeed. Do you have anything to pick up, back at the station?"

"No, why?"

"I'll drop you off on my way home."

"Cheers. Don't you have to drop the car off at the station?"

John treated him to one of his raised eyebrows.

"Okay, I guess not. I live across from Chapel Street, down from a corner shop that sells magazines of dubious legality."

John snorted loudly, knowingly.

"Aww, don't tell me you've arrested him as well?"

John smiled evilly.

"Is there anyone you have not arrested at some point?"

"Well, there's your esteemed self. But it's early days yet"

"I suppose I asked for that. One favour though."

"Yes?"

"Don't use the car to do it." He brushed imaginary dirt from his clothes "Don't want to crease the threads."

They both laughed.

The kid pointed out the window, "Number 36, that one there."

John pulled over. "Right I'll see you here 7.30 tomorrow."

"Seven bloody thirty!"

John put on an air of feigned resignation "Don't tell me that's when you get home after a night out?"

"Who said I make it home and not just head straight into work as its quicker? Half seven it is."

Since he was parked, he used the time to retune the radio back to classic fm. With the orchestral notes gently swirling into the air of the car, he signalled and pulled out into the traffic stream. John was in no desire to hurry home. He had too many things on his mind. He cruised around the streets in no particular pattern.

Things were not right. He could taste it in the air. See it in the movements of those that lived on the streets. Frank had said business was down. That was always a bad sign. Why did the local bosses not want to meet? Or was it a case of whom they did not want to be seen with? Who was causing the ripples and why?

At the next set of traffic lights, he waited for the lights to change, glanced at his watch and changed his mind. Changing the direction of his indicator, he headed home.

Home was a small modest detached bungalow. Bought because he couldn't be bothered with stairs, and the fact that he did not wish to suffer the indignity of having a stair lift fitted when he inevitably got older.

As he pulled into the driveway he hit the remote for the garage door, which was super glued onto the dashboard. There was no car inside. Why bother buying a car when work provided. It was one less expense to worry about.

There was no fancy security system to the house other than decent door locks front and back. The car keys, he left on a table at the front door, his coat landed on the floor.

Making his way into the front room he lifted a handy bottle of Balvenie and sunk into a well-worn, slightly tatty leather armchair. Pulling out the cork he took a deep swig and sunk into his thoughts.

It was 7:25 when he pulled up outside the kids' house; he was already standing by the kerb waiting.

"Morning John! Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"No, its not, get in and stop being so bloody cheerful."

"So what's on the cards today? More office avoidance techniques?"

John smiled "How can you say such a thing? We are merely doing our civic duty of policing the streets. If that happens to avoid going near the office and the miserable jobs-worth's inside, well that's just terrible."

They were cruising through the streets when control asked a favour of them. A local school janitor had failed to turn up for work and attempts to contact him by phone had failed. They were the closest unit, so John accepted.

It took only a few minutes to reach the janitors address. A car sat in the driveway, but the house lay quiet. The only available place to park was across the driveway. John paused as the engine purred to a halt, looking at the surrounding houses.

The kid looked at John. "Want me to do it?"

John was lost in other thoughts and took a moment to answer. "Okay. I'll come anyway. Need to stretch my legs."

They left the car, central locking clicking behind them.

The kid headed straight for the door whilst John took a detour via the car. As the kid pressed the front doorbell, the chimes echoing through the house, he watched John, who was looking in the cars windows. As John studied the tax disk the kid hoped that for janitor's sake, it was valid.

There was still no answer to the chimes or any sounds of movement by the time John reached the door. The kid pressed the buzzer again, then for good measure shouted through the door.

"THIS IS THE POLICE, ANYONE HOME?"

Still no reply or any sound of movement.

The kid looked towards John "We could try telephoning him I suppose."

John moved towards one of the downstairs windows and peered inside through the almost shut curtains. He looked back and pulled out his mobile. As his phone left his pocket, a telephone in the house started ringing. The kid laughed "That's a good trick; you must show me that one sometime."

John snorted and slipped his untouched phone back into his pocket and carried on peering into the house. As it looked as though no one was answering the phone the kid joined John at the window.

The window opened into a living room. It was lit partly by a free standing light in the corner and partly by light from the television screen. Newspapers lay strewn over a table, weighed down by a Readers Digest book on building maintenance. A television sat in a corner, its screen just in view. The screen was grey with something blinking in an upper corner. A video player sat under the television, a red light blinking, video cassette half ejected.

John sighed "The lights are on..."

"But no-ones home." Finished the kid

John threw him the car keys. "I'll check round the back. Do a plate check on the car; see if he has more than one motor."

They headed off in opposite directions. John peered in the windows round the back. There was nothing special or looked untoward. The kitchen had a sink full of dirty dishes and some frozen ready-made meal boxes that looked to be empty. The kitchen had bachelor written all over it. He tried the back door in the off chance. It was locked. On the way back round to the front he met the kid and raised an eyebrow in query.

The kid handed the car keys back and glanced at his opened note book. "Yip, the cars his and is registered for this address. No other vehicles on record. And if he's taken public transport he's neither arrived nor phoned in late. What time do school janies start work any way?"

John shrugged and tried the front door. It was securely locked as well. He scratched a cheek and looked speculatively at the door.

"So what do we do now? Ops room are looking for closure of some description. Break the door down?"

John frowned at him "This is not America. We don't go in guns blazing you know."

"All right, so we wait for a locksmith then?"

John snorted "Bugger that for a game of soldiers" reaching into a pocket, he withdrew a leathermans and opened it with a flick of his wrist. Peering at the glass panels in the front of the wooden door, he opened out a blade and inserted it into the beading. Working it in, he opened a larger gap. Swapping the blade for the stronger flat head screwdriver bit, he prised the strip of wood away from the door. The kid watched as he repeated the process for the remaining three strips.

He threw the kid the car keys again. "In the front is that little note book on the dash. Leave the note book but bring the holder." As the kid left, he switched to blade again and started to remove the putty. He was just finishing as the kid returned with the holder and a puzzled frown.

Taking the holder, John licked its sucker anchor and stuck it with a squelch onto the pane. Slowly he pulled on the holder, the glass pane inching out of its frame. Once free, he carefully laid it to the side out of the road and then placed the wooden beading alongside.

"See, no damage." He slipped his arm through the hole and released the door catch "It will only take a few seconds to replace the pane and beading." He swung open the door and stepped over the few letters on the floor and into the house. John headed for the stairs while the kid wandered into the rooms below.

As he got to the top of the stairs, he was about to call out, he did not want scare any occupants half to death, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise.

He closed his mouth and slowly carried on down the landing. A door was open that revealed a spare bedroom come store room. Another open door revealed the bathroom as he passed by. He stopped in front of the only closed door.

John was aware of faint smell, tantalisingly familiar.

He turned the door nob and slowly swung the door open. With the door open, the smell was stronger, strong enough for him to discern what he smelt. Not that he needed to use his olfactory senses to work out what it was. He could see it now.

It was blood. And it was every where.

It was up the walls, over the ceiling, over the furniture, over the carpet, over the bed.

It was all over the body on the bed.

"Kid" he called downstairs.

"Yeah?"

"Put your hands in your pockets"

"What?"

"Put your hands in your pockets. Don't touch anything."

He continued to stare into the room. He had seen many things in his long career, but nothing like this. He heard the kid climb the stairs, walk along the corridor behind him, felt him peer past his obstructing body"

"Fuck, meee..." The kid's voice was barely above a whisper.

It was hard to judge the age of the victim. The coating of blood had turned brown as it congealed. What drew the eye, once the original sight of so much blood had passed, was the gaping hole in the victim's chest. It looked as though the deceased had been a stand in for John Hurt during his now infamous chest bursting scene from Alien. Except that the chest-burster must have been the size of a family dog. White shards of rib lay nestled amongst the torn purple and violet flesh.

The smell was almost overpowering.

For a minute there was almost complete silence, disturbed only by the slow methodical tick of a clock somewhere under the carpet of red.

John snapped out of it.

"Out. And don't bloody well touch anything." He herded the kid back down the stairs and out the front door.

Outside, he took deep breaths of polluted city air. But compared to the iron stench of the bedroom, it was as fresh as a mountain breeze.

He looked at the kid with renewed respect at his composure and ability to keep his stomach contents down.

The kid, white and only shaking a little, walked to the hedge and threw up, continuing to heave even when he had nothing left to bring up.

John pulled out his mobile and phoned the super. There were far too many people listening into to the police band who should not be. It always looked bad when the press arrived before the police.

The phone was eventually answered at the other end and John struggled to refrain from putting on a deep Glaswegian accent to say "There's been a murder."

The conversation was brief and to the point. The super spoke with the air of someone who wanted, just for once, for the message to be good news.

Five minutes later his phone rang again. It was a scene of crimes officer wanting a quick overview of the situation.

The kid walked over to him, his stomach having settled. "What now?"

"'What now?' the calm before the storm, that's what. Lots of footwork, followed by even more paper work, in between shuffling forms in duplicate and triplicate. We might even get the chance to do some policing."

A car pulled out further down the street, the driver unaware of the unfolding drama and impending chaos.

The street itself was quiet and nondescript, the early morning chaos of the school run having passed.

John got in his car and moved it further down the street into the just vacated parking space. He was walking back when a silver Renault people carrier pulled up into the driveway, blocking the pavement. The passenger put away a large scale A to Z street map.

The driver was the pathologist from the tower block.

John shook his hand in professional courtesy. "That was quick."

"Yes, just coming back from a rape scene. Decided to pop in to see what mummy you have for us this time."

"This one is a bit fresher."

"Oh? Fresher as in only been lying for a couple of weeks instead of months?"

"No. Fresher as in, blood still dripping from the ceiling fresh."

"It's that good, huh?"

While they had been chatting, the passenger had got a silver box out of the boot, some cellophane wrapped packets and a wrapped tarpaulin.

Paul pointed to the missing pane in the door.

"That was me, gaining entry into the house." Explained John helpfully.

Paul helped his companion to spread the tarpaulin sheeting in front of the door. Once laid flat they both stood on it and took a package each. The package held a white over suit, over boots, face mask and rubber gloves. Suitably attired, Paul pulled out a small disposable camera and a Dictaphone out of the box.

Speaking quietly to his partner while pointing at the door, Paul entered the house.

Now alone, Paul's partner rummaged in the silver case, ensuring that he did not step from the tarpaulin as he did so. Retrieving some clear plastic bags, he carefully slipped them over the door handles, fixing them temporary in place with plastic tie wraps.

Paul was not long in returning. John walked over to him, stopping short of the sheet.

"Not a suicide then?"

Paul pulled his facemask away with bloodied hands. "Since hands and feet were bound to the bed, no, not this time."

"How long?"

"Five to ten hours max. I'll have a better idea after the autopsy."

"What, he's getting another one?"

"Hmm yes. He was dispatched with a fair degree of animosity and fervour. It's not surgical or medical, so I suppose that narrows the field. I suggest you keep this one under wraps for the moment."