Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

He continued. “Then Billy found Kelly amongst some long grass. She had been strangled by a belt of some type and she had been stabbed. In fact when the post-mortem was done the pathologist stated that the killer had made some attempt to cut out her heart.”

Hunter and Grace exchanged looks.

Glen Deakin ran his fingers down the typewritten script. “Uniform were first on scene. A dog man did a follow through the woods, and some farmer’s fields, which led towards the village of Great Houghton, in your area. He lost the track there unfortunately.” He set down the papers. “And that’s where I came in. I was part of the team, which did enquiries in your area. We joined up with a few of your detectives and did house to house. We circulated the e-fit and got an anonymous tip-off, which pointed us in the direction of Gabriel Wild. I knew as soon as I started interviewing him that something was not right. He was so nervous and cagey. We found there had been a bonfire in the back garden, some clothing and what looked like a pair of trainers had been burned, but it was four days after the murder and everything was just ashes. His mother totally covered for him. Said he was with her in the house at the time of the murder. Gabriel hardly said anything in interview and we couldn’t knock what his mother said. She stood firm even though we threatened her with perverting the course of justice.”

The DS’s mouth set tight. “Gabriel remained and still remains our strongest suspect for Kelly Johnson’s murder.”

“Just one question,” said Hunter, “Did you find a playing card with Kelly’s body?”

The enquiry caught Glen in his tracks.

“Do you know that rings a bell.” He flicked through the mounds of paper and dragged out several stapled sheets. Sliding a finger slowly down the typeface he stopped halfway down the second sheet and averted his eyes to Hunter then Grace. “Yes, it’s here, on the exhibits list from the scene, a playing card found in Kelly’s left hand. It was photographed in situ; the Two of Hearts.”

“Kelly Johnson was his second victim,” rasped Hunter.

DAY THIRTY-FOUR: 9th August.

The back door of the Wild's semi-detached, the original wood and glass one, from the early fifties when the house was built, lay in pieces. It had initially resisted the Task Force Firearms Team battering ram, but on the third ‘run’ the oak door had exploded from its frame in spectacular fashion. Splinters of wood and shards of glass had flown everywhere.

“Clear.” one of the Kevlar-armoured firearms officers shouted as he swept the last remaining room on the ground floor and moved deftly on towards the stairwell.

Hunter and his team shared an air of nervous excitement as they stood outside, waiting and listening for their signal to enter. An earlier clear blue sky had given way to a slight drizzle and despite it still being the last dregs of summer the air seemed dense with cold moisture.

Set out in front of them was a meticulously tidy garden. Neatly trimmed hedges and tall bushes surrounded a newly mown lawn.

Hunter strained his ears following the sounds of the searching firearms team. They were currently moving rapidly through the upper rooms. Even though he was anticipating it, when the call for them to enter came it made him jump. Hunter went in first. He noticed that despite the daylight the lights were on in every downstairs room. A television was on somewhere in the lounge to his left; even though it was soundless he could see the flicker of blurred images against the dark patterned wallpaper. He bounded up the threadbare carpeted stairs quickly followed by Grace, Tony and Mike. On the landing he was surprised to be met by Paul Goodright, garbed head to toe in standard protective Task Force clothing with a Heckler and Kock rifle strapped across his chest. It had slipped his mind that Paul was part of the Firearms team. It was the first time he had seen him in uniform. He looked a quite a commanding presence.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Hunter greeted him.

Paul’s features were set grim. “The target’s not here Hunter and you’re not going to like what we’ve just found.” He pointed towards the front of the house.

Hunter pushed the bedroom door fully open and the four MIT detectives trooped in. The room was gloomy. A single shaft of light pierced the dimness. One of the windows was open and the velvet curtains were lifting in the breeze. In the dullness he picked out the sheet-covered mound on the bed. Using thumb and index figure he carefully lifted the top edge of the white linen cover to reveal the figure of an ageing woman curled up in the foetal position. A gut-wrenching smell emanated from the body and he held his breath as he bent over the corpse. Lividity was rampant throughout her torso. A clear sign she had been dead for some days. Looking into her wide staring eyes he knew that the blood-shot effect meant that the blood vessels had blown, usually the result of strangulation. It was a feature in all the murders they had been investigating. A grotesquely swollen tongue had forced its way between her lips, filling the entranceway to her mouth.

“Looks like he’s got to her as well. I wonder if she found out about him and was going to drop him?” Tony Bullars broke the silence.

“The bastard. His own bloody mother. The evil bastard.” Grace seemed to stumble over her words. “I need some fresh air.”

She trotted down the stairs and made her way to the back door, stepping out into the fine rain. She leaned her shoulders back against the house wall and took in deep gulps of air.

“How could he? I mean all those people and now his own Mother.” she spat out.

Hunter joined her. “You okay Grace? This is not like you.”

“Things have just caught up with me Hunter. It’s been a long couple of months with very little break and now this.” She pushed herself back off the wall. “I want to personally nick this twisted bastard Hunter,” she announced quite loudly. “Want to look him in the eye, take a leaf out of Barry’s book — hope he puts up a fight so I can give the bastard some of what he deserves.” Her bottom lip quivered as she fought back the rage. She took a deep breath. “But we’ve dealt with his type all the time, haven’t we Hunter. When they come up against someone who’s a match they totally bottle it. They’re wimps and cowards. And I bet this pervert’s just the same.”

“You finished venting your spleen now, because we’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah, I feel better after that,” Grace answered giving him a wan smile as she turned to go back into the house.

* * * * *

He wanted to ring that fucking woman detective’s neck — just like his mother’s. Saying things like that about him.

I’m not a wimp and a coward and I’m certainly not a pervert. I’ll show her.

He slunk back into the bushes away from the officer’s gaze.

He had only just managed to hide. The police’s arrival had completely taken him by surprise. He had been in the shed looking for some sacking to take his mother’s body away and bury, now that it was starting to smell, when he had heard the cars screeching up to the front of the house.

He knew that sound could only mean one thing. It confirmed in his mind that he had been right to do what he had done. Before he had ended his mother’s miserable life she must have telephoned the police and tipped them off about him. What had she said to him?

“Enough is enough.” Those were her words.

I knew she had, that’s why she had to die.

By rights he knew he should have punished her a long time ago.

How could she betray me after all this time? I’d only let her live this long because she had helped me.