Michael Fowler - Heart of the Demon

Looking at the map Hunter knew that he was looking at the locations where Gabriel had buried his victims and realised that there was further digging to do, especially around the Manvers complex.

Outside Wild’s home the media circus had gathered. The team could hear the Sky Newscopter hovering above. To feed their hunger a description and photograph of Gabriel Wild had already been circulated amongst them and that had been plastered across every news channel the evening before. Numerous sightings had been phoned in and these were currently being followed up.

They had also put out an ‘All Ports Warning’ to prevent Gabriel from leaving the Country.

The search to capture Barnwell’s serial killer was in full flow.

* * * * *

It had been easier to get back to his car than he had anticipated. He slipped on his disguise, of the spectacles and his father’s duffle jacket, which were still in the boot and then scooped out a handful of hair wax from its tin and rubbed it into his hair. He sat in the car for a good ten minutes cursing. Things had come to a head quicker than he had ever anticipated. He would be punished for sure. They’d found the body of his mother before he’d had time to bury her, and sooner or later he knew the detectives would tear apart the house and find all of his little secrets.

A tingling sensation coursed its way through his body as the images of all his victims washed around in his brain. He closed his eyes trying to hold the vision of each one as he recalled what he had done to them.

Their names slowly filtered through. Carol Siddons had been the first. A smile lit up his face. He could still see the surprise on her face as though it was only yesterday. Then there had been Kelly Johnson. She had been a right tart. He’d soon sorted her though. He would never forget the two girls from the children’s home near Doncaster; Amy Clarke and her friend Katie Nichols. He’d met them on Nether Hall Road, a notorious place for prostitutes. He’d been cruising the area when he spotted them.

“Fifty quid for both of us” Amy had said “You’re getting underage you know.”

Those two bitches had chosen themselves.

Though, it had proved difficult killing them. The girls had been edgy the entire journey to the Manvers complex and when he had pulled onto the track behind the coking plant they had tried to escape. Thank god his car had only been two-door; they couldn’t get out of the back.

They had put up a hell of a fight. He had scratches and bite marks everywhere and the car had been a real mess when he had finished. It had taken days of cleaning before he could use his car again. He’d buried those two together in the same grave. And then there was Claire Fisher — posh little rich kid. If only her parents had known what she was really like. He didn’t need to rape her. She had given in to him so easy, but he’d still killed her anyway — gullible bitch. Three years ago there had been Zoe Green. She had been so pretty. He spotted her whilst he was mooching around Clifton Park, in Rotherham. She was walking her dog and had let it off its leash. Luring the dog to the bushes had been so easy and when she had come looking he had pounced. He could still see the shocked look on her face. She had just frozen and he had killed her in less than a minute. Smuggling her body into the boot of his car had been the hard part. He’d waited whilst dusk and then moved her before anyone had come searching. He’d driven home and secreted her behind his garden shed. He’d covered her with bin bags and garden rubbish, and the next day buried her between the hydrangea bushes and the back fence without his mother noticing.

Finally there had been Rebecca Morris. She had been his bad omen. Killing her had proved his downfall, but now wasn’t the time for recriminations. He still had things to do.

Starting the engine he aimed a lengthy look up and down the street, and when he had satisfied himself that no police officers were in sight he set off in the direction of the quiet country lanes, which he knew so well.

Earlier that day it had not been too hard following Grace’s people carrier.

She obviously has other things on her mind.

He smiled to himself as he wove in and out of the traffic, two, and no more than three cars behind. He had picked her up late into the evening leaving the police station and had followed her home. He had been elated that day when Grace had emerged at 8am with her two children. He hadn’t thought about the detective having kids — and they were girls at that.

He liked the look of the eldest in her school uniform. He was surprised to see her dressed like that because he knew the kid’s were on school holiday. Then he recognised which school she was at — private school. He guessed they must have different holiday’s and he took a short cut, anticipating where Grace would be driving. He was right. He was comfortably parked, a good hundred yards from the entranceway to the private school when Grace arrived. He used the zoom lens on his camera to watch the girl’s get out, and then snapped off a shot.

He was certain Grace would be working late again because of the ongoing hunt for him and he therefore guessed that her daughter’s would be making their own way home.

The remainder of the day he put things in place and rehearsed his lines, and ten minutes before the school day was due to end he slipped his car into a marked parking bay opposite the school gates and sat back to wait.

It wasn’t long before he spotted the eldest girl, coming towards him, chatting with a bunch of mates.

He slipped out of the driver’s seat and strode purposely towards her.

“Miss Marshall?” he asked and he showed the fake warrant card he had made earlier on his laptop. He could see she was taken aback. “Miss Marshall I’m detective Wild. I work with your Mum. She’s had an accident and I’ve been sent to take you to the hospital.” He could see the girl visibly pale.

“I need to speak with someone.” She reached for her mobile in her blazer pocket.

“We need to hurry Miss, your mum needs to go to theatre. You can phone who you need to tell on the way there.”

She dropped it back into her pocket and followed him, picking up the pace to keep with him as he jogged to his car.

* * * * *

Back in the MIT office, Grace and Barry Newstead had been given the task of logging all the evidence, which had been gathered and brought from the house. They were in the process of separating the vast array of forensic bags when Grace’s persistently ringing mobile phone disturbed them. The ring tone was a little baby continuously laughing. She loved the tone. It reminded her of her own two giggling girls when they had been babies, and how she had ended up in fits of laughter along with them. Every time she heard it, it had that same effect upon her. But this time she tried to ignore it. She had important work to do. It rang again and she snatched it out of her handbag and flicked up the screen. The screen told her it was Robyn. It had to be important; she knew not to ring her at work.

“Hello Robyn, mum’s busy, tell me what you want quickly,” she said disgruntled.

“I gather I am speaking with Detective Grace Marshall,” said the man’s voice.

She didn’t recognise it.

“Who is this? Is that school? Is there something wrong with Robyn?” she asked anxiously.

“Not yet but there soon will be.” The man’s voice was cold and menacing.

Grace froze, her mind racing.

“You know who this is Grace, don’t you?” He continued, “It’s Gabriel Wild. You’ve been bad mouthing me Grace and you need to be punished.”

“I haven’t. Is Robyn there? I haven’t been saying anything about you.” she stammered.

“You’re lying Grace. I heard you. I was hiding in the bushes. You said I was a coward and a wimp and a pervert. Those were your words Grace and for that I’m going to hurt you where it hurts the most.”