Luke Delaney - Cold Killing

I don’t hear voices in my head. I won’t claim God ordered me to kill. I’m not a disciple of Satan. I don’t believe in either. I don’t hate you. You are simply nothing to me.

I scored well in my exams. Took part in school plays. Played hockey and cricket for my county. Was the favorite brother to my sisters, son to my mother and father. I went to a famous university and obtained a degree in accountancy. I was admired by my peers and respected by my tutors. I had several girlfriends, some serious, some not. I got drunk on Fridays and felt sick most Saturdays. I took my washing home for my mother once a fortnight. I was popular.

None of it meant a thing.

I’m not sure how old I was when I first felt it. Maybe five, maybe younger. I constantly checked the mirror. How could I look the same when clearly I was so different? I was both scared and exhilarated. So young to be absolutely alone. So young to be freed from the mediocrity and pointlessness of a normal life.

Despite my age, I knew not to mention it to anyone. Not to talk to anyone about it. I had to bide my time. Fit in. Imitate those around me. I did very well in school, but was careful not to excel. Not to stand out.

The years passed painfully slowly. Still I resisted the temptation to explore my growing strength. I waited patiently. I didn’t know when the time would come, only that it would.

As I grew older, I continued to gather the trinkets of normal life. A job. A wife. A house. Children. They were my sheep’s clothing. My smiling mask. And all the while I was waiting.

Then, a few months ago, I awoke. I looked in the mirror and knew the moment had arrived. To everyone else I seemed the same, but not to myself. A new creation stared back upon itself. At last.

My first instinct was to slaughter my family, but I quickly realized I wasn’t strong enough yet. I had only just been born. I was still covered in Nature’s afterbirth. I still needed their protection. But with each visit I grow stronger and stronger. I become more complete, what I am meant to be: not a man, but a man above men. A different evolutionary strain of man. To you, almost a god.

Friday

Sean had kept the briefing quick and simple. They would drive from Peckham to Hellier’s house in Islington. Sean would arrest him. Sally would direct another search of the house. He knew the audience of bleary-eyed detectives wouldn’t be able to absorb much information at 6 A.M.-most looked like they’d opted for one last drink instead of stocking up on the most precious commodity to a detective: sleep. If they felt tired now, it would be worse for them later.

Donnelly banged on the front door of Hellier’s Georgian town house. The thick black paint shimmered like water with each knock. Sean and Sally were right behind him. The rest of the arrest team stood farther back. No one expected Hellier to fight.

James Hellier appeared in front of them. He was almost fully dressed and ready to leave for work. He looked good. Fit and strong. Immaculately groomed. He was casually threading a gold cuff link through his sleeve.

Sean stepped forward, and before he spoke he could smell Hellier’s expensive cologne. It seemed to take Hellier a second to recognize him. When he did, he began to smile.

Sean held his identification close to Hellier’s face. He didn’t back away.

“James Hellier. I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan; these other officers are with me.”

“Please, Inspector,” Hellier cut in. “There’s no need for introductions here. I think we all know each other.”

Sean wanted to hit him. If Hellier didn’t stop smiling, he thought he probably would. Instead he pushed him back into the house and spun him around to face the hallway wall. He could see Elizabeth Hellier coming down the stairs.

“Who is it, James?” she called out. “What’s going on?” she asked, her panic growing.

“Nothing to worry about, darling,” Hellier called up to her. “Just call Jonathon Templeman and tell him I’ve been arrested again.” He turned to Sean. “I am being arrested, aren’t I, Inspector?”

Sean pulled Hellier’s arms behind his back and clipped a handcuff tightly round each of his wrists. “This time you’re mine,” Sean whispered into Hellier’s ear. He stepped back and spoke so everyone could hear, especially Hellier’s wife. “James Hellier, I’m arresting you for the murder of Linda Kotler.”

Hellier was still smiling. “What?” He didn’t attempt to hide his disdain. “This is pathetic. I’ve never heard of the woman.”

“You do not have to say anything unless you wish to.” Sean spoke over Hellier’s protests. “But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.”

“Tell me, Inspector,” Hellier was almost shouting, “are you going to arrest me for every crime you can’t solve?”

“Anything you do say may be used as evidence,” Sean continued.

Hellier craned his neck so he could see Sean over his right shoulder. “You’re a damn fool. You’ve got nothing on me.” His smiling face and sweet breath made Sean feel nauseous.

“Who are you?” Sean asked him. “What the fuck are you?”

Hellier’s grin only broadened. He spat the words into Sean’s face:

“Fuck you.”

Sean peered through the peephole into Hellier’s cell. The smug bastard was sitting bolt upright on his bed, as if in some kind of a trance. If only there were some way to find out what he was thinking. Sean moved away from the cell door and headed back to his office. He would interview Hellier when his solicitor arrived.

He sauntered into the inquiry office. The team sensed his mood. It transferred to them. Sean had the upper hand now.

“Any news from the lab, Stan?” Sean shouted across the office.

“Three days for a DNA match, guv,” Stan called back. “Two, if we get lucky. They’ll need our suspect’s samples by midday if they’re to have any chance of doing it that fast, but it’ll only be an initial comparison, which won’t give us a definitive match. A full comparison and definitive match will take a week. Minimum.”

“Not good enough,” Sean replied. “Call the lab back and tell them one in forty thousand isn’t good enough. I need better odds than that and I need them by this time tomorrow at the latest.”

The phone in Sean’s office was ringing when he entered. He snatched it up. “DI Corrigan.”

“Morning, sir. It’s DC Kelsey, from SO11 telephone subscribers’ checks. You left some coded numbers with me a while ago. I said I’d have a play with them.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I worked out the code,” DC Kelsey said matter-of-factly. “It was relatively simple, but effective.”

“Have you run the subscribers’ checks too?”

“Yes. Some are overseas numbers, so we don’t have them back yet. I’ll e-mail what I have across to you. Be warned, there’s a fair few to go through.”

“Thanks. And good job,” Sean said warmly. “Let me know when the overseas numbers come back.”

“No problem.”

“And thanks again.”

Sally appeared at his office door. “Hellier’s attorney’s here,” she announced. “They’re in consultation.”

“Good. When they’re ready, you can help me interview.” Sally made a show of checking her watch. “You need to be somewhere?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I have a lunch appointment today. I was hoping Dave could do the interview with you.”

“Lunch appointment?” Sean sounded surprised.

“It’s not what you think. I’m supposed to be meeting Hellier’s boss, Sebastian Gibran. His idea. I can only assume he wants to discuss Hellier.”