Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

He still couldn’t believe the thrill he got from tightening the belt around their throats.

Watching the fear in the slags’ eyes as he’d squeezed out their lives.

The same fear he had seen in his mother’s face when his father had done the same.

* * * * *

Catching her image in the hallway mirror as she made her way into the kitchen, she took a long look at herself. Seeing the large number of deep worry lines etched into her face made her realise that the years had not been kind to her. Continuing on, picking up pace, she lugged the wicker basket towards the washing machine and dumped it in front of the open circular door. As she bent down to scoop out the dirty clothing wisps of frizzy grey hair fell across her face. She swept them back over her ears and continued with the chore of separating the colours into piles. “Dark wash, whites,” she mumbled to herself, like she always did when doing the washing. She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of the stained blue and white striped shirt, which had been stuffed to the bottom of the basket. Using only her thumb and forefinger she picked out the shirt slowly, holding it up to the light streaming through the kitchen window. The dark spots and splashes on the cuffs and sleeves were unmistakeable. She had seen them so many times. Automatically she reached for the bottle of stain remover kept below the sink. As she gripped the bottle in front of the shirt, ready to spray, the news bulletin, which had been broadcast that morning, sprang into her mind.

‘A fresh plea for witnesses to an assault on a teenage girl three days ago. Links to the murder of Rebecca Morris.’ The words from the female newscaster were all coming back to her.

The noise of her son shuffling about in his bedroom above disturbed her thoughts and she raised her eyes to the ceiling. They became fixed as though attempting to penetrate the plaster.

At that same moment the vision of her ex-husband surged into her mind. How he’d cursed and berated her over the years. Blaming her for their son’s condition.

“You’ve given birth to a psycho.” she remembered him blasting at her, the stench of chewing tobacco on his breath only inches from her face.

And as he’d grown older her boy had given her as much grief. Saying it was also her fault that his father had left. If he had only known the truth. He’d never seen the beatings, which had been dished out to her. She had always taken great care to hide the bruising. She had always wondered if the damage had been caused when her husband had kicked her in the stomach when she was carrying her boy.

Her neighbour, Jimmy Carson, had caught her crying so many times after arguments and had been the only one to comfort her. She had thought that taking a beating for being caught in bed with him might have been a good thing; might have changed the way her husband had treated her all these years. But it had only made things worse. He had punished her even more by leaving.

Her son had got worse after he’d left.

She hadn’t even heard of the condition, which the psychiatrist had diagnosed. Paraphilia he’d called it. She could see the Professor now, leaning towards her, solemn faced, elbows resting on desk, fingers fixed as a pyramid and pointed towards her. He’d spoken so softly, choosing such carefully phrased words.

“The condition mean that your son needs to do something extreme or dangerous in order to get a buzz,” had been the gist of it.

And he’d rightly concluded that he would get worse as he got older.

How ironic that the son she had named after an angel had turned out to be the devil himself. She knew he should be locked up, as much for his own sake as for others, but she couldn’t bring herself to betray him any further than she had already done.

She shook herself out of her daydream and glanced back down to the shirt she was holding. Tears welled into her sad grey eyes. She wondered if it was time to bring all this to a halt.

* * * * *

The double set of doors burst open, one of them crashing against the wall. Grace was bristling with excitement as she bounced into the MIT office holding aloft a bundle of papers.

“I’ve just got off the phone with our Sex Offender Officer in The Public Protection Unit. I’ve got a cracker of a suspect.”

Grace’s sudden arrival and announcement caused Hunter to jump. He was the only person left in the office; everyone else was out on ‘the ground.’ Only a minute earlier he had looked at his watch wondering what was taking Grace so long. First thing after morning briefing he had given her the task of contacting the forensics lab to see if they had got a result yet from the Kirsty Evans’s samples, and he couldn’t help but wonder why one phone call had taken her the best part of an hour.

Grace almost missed seating herself on her chair. She spun it out from under her desk with one foot and just managed to catch the edge of it as she plonked herself down. She adjusted her posture quickly and slid the sheets of foolscap towards Hunter.

“Firstly we’ve got a positive result from forensics,” she began, almost out of breath “The fibres from under Kirsty’s fingernails match the fibres from the cardigan found on Carol Siddon’s body. The killer is still wearing the same clothing after all these years. And the belt, which was recovered from Kirsty’s neck, fits the marks found on Rebecca’s neck. That’s the good news.”

“What’s the bad news?” asked Hunter. “And take some deep breaths I don’t want you keeling over on me.”

She laughed, “Sorry but I’m so giddy. I’ve got loads to tell you.” She took in a deep intake of air. “The bad news is not that bad actually. Although there is a match for the DNA found under Kirsty’s nails with that from Rebecca’s body and the property Billy Smith found — and it’s not his by the way — it’s not on the national database at present. However all is not lost. Remember you gave Barry the task of going through Rebecca’s school stuff. Well I’ve just had a cuppa with him in the exhibits room and he’s shown me some very interesting snippets from her school journal. I’ve photocopied them to show you. Just look at pages six, seven and eight. There’s nearly three weeks between the first entry and the last extract which was written the day before she went missing.”

Hunter shuffled through the sheets and found the ones Grace had mentioned. He scoured the excerpts from Rebecca Morris’s daily school diary.

Met up with G after school. He showed me the photos he had taken of me. He said I looked very pretty and should consider taking up modeling. He made me blush. We talked for ages. He said I was a lot more mature than my age. Asked if he could meet up again, and I agreed.

Went early to the fair today to see G again. I went early because I had arranged to meet Kirsty but G told me he didn’t want her to be around. He said she would be jealous of me meeting him, because he said she had been txting him because she fancied him. He took my photograph again and said he was going to make a professional portfolio for me. After G had gone me and Kirsty went to the youth club. I told Kirsty about someone older fancying me and wanting to take modeling photos of me. She just laughed and said it was weird. G is right she is jealous.

Arranged to meet G tomorrow. He told me to miss school for once. He was going to start my portfolio so I could take it to a modeling agency. He told me not to tell anyone just yet as it would be a big surprise. I can’t wait to see him again. He treats me just like a grown up.

Hunter whistled through his teeth. “Bloody hell Grace, I bet this is how our killer has been luring the girls. He’s a groomer.”

“He certainly is and there’s more. I got back on to the technicians at Headquarters this morning. Do you remember Tony and Mike were given the job of searching the Evans’s house and they seized the computer?”