Steve Wilson - The Element Of Death

A serial killer brings terror into the community as he strikes repeatedly and seemingly at random. At the scene of each crime, he leaves behind a coded message that is designed to taunt the police officer who ended a killing spree ten years earlier, with the killer still having unfinished business. Can he be stopped this time before he completes his grisly sequence?

Also by Steve Wilson

Who Wants to Live Forever?

The Element of Death

Steve Wilson

www.CarinaUK.com

STEVE WILSONsays: I’m a late-starter as far as writing goes, with my first fantasy novel started in 2000, although it did stem from an idea that I’d been mulling over for some ten years. That novel eventually became a trilogy, but my writing was sporadic during the next few years.

In 2004, I attained a Post Graduate Certificate in Creative Writing, and not long afterwards, I joined a local writing group, where I found being amongst like-minded peers of great benefit. In 2011 — after writing predominantly short stories for several years — I registered for the National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo, with the aim of writing a 50,000 word novel in thirty days, and the end result of that was my first published novel, Who Wants To Live Forever? .

I took part in NaNoWriMo again in 2012, writing a sword-and-sorcery fantasy novel set on a world with two suns, but in 2013 I went back to crime writing, which is how The Element of Death came into being. I have always enjoyed trying to solve puzzles, either in books or on screen, and I wanted to pay my own homage to writers such as Conan Doyle in this novel by devising the various coded messages that are left behind at the crime scenes.

With acknowledgements to the great crime fiction writers, especially Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie and Dan Brown, for providing the inspiration for this novel

This book is dedicated to my wife and children, who have always encouraged me in my writing, and to my friends and colleagues at Fylde Brighter Writers, whose support has been invaluable. I am also indebted to Victoria, Helen and Sue for their editorial assistance and advice, both of which have, in my opinion, helped make this a better novel.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgement

Dedication

November 1st

One — Goblins and Elves

November 30 th

Two — A New Partner

December 26 th

Three — ’Tis the Season to be Sorry

December 27 th

Four — Periodic Success

January 25 th

Five — Dancing Men

February 14 th

Six — Little People and Bigger Problems

March 1 st

Seven — A Picture From Germany

March 17 th

Eight — Angels and Demons

April 23 rd

Nine — Chasing Wild Horses

April 25 th

Ten — Morse and Remorse

June 29 th

Eleven — A Weekend in Dortmund

September 21 st

Twelve — Track and Felled

October 18 th

Thirteen — All Done

Afterword — Halloween

Extract

Endpages

Copyright

November 1 st

Mandy opens her front door when she returns home and screams as somebody pushes their way in after her. Then she laughs. It is one of her friends, playing a Halloween prank. Again.

“Very funny, you had me going for a moment there. Who is it? Alison? Or is it you, Joey? Still hoping I’ll change my mind, are you? Anyway, the joke’s on you — it’s after midnight now so it’s no longer Halloween.” She looks at the clock; it is four minutes after four a.m. She wonders if the ‘rule’ about midnight is right, or is she thinking of noon on April Fool’s Day instead?

The figure, covered from head to foot in light blue operating-theatre scrubs, doesn’t move. “Come on, this isn't funny any more.” She is beginning to get worried. It is one of her friends, isn’t it? He — she thinks it is a he; it must be Joey — starts to walk towards her. Now she is more than worried. She no longer believes it is a prank.

She tries to run to the door, but he is faster and cuts off her escape route. His arm is round her neck and she takes a deep breath, ready to scream for help, but as she breathes in he pushes a chloroform-doused cloth over her mouth and nose. She loses consciousness.

*

When she comes to, she is unable to move. Her arms are bound tightly behind her and thick rope bites into her ankles. She can still smell traces of the chloroform on the cloth that is now being used as a gag. She screams but no sound comes out. Then she sees him, and wishes that she had remained unconscious.

He is balancing a twelve-inch carving knife in his gloved hand. She knows that knife; it is one of hers and is sharp enough to slice a hair lengthways. She imagines he is smirking at her, but cannot see his expression behind the mask. Only his eyes are visible, and they bear down on her. Then she hears him laugh.

*

He sees the look of terror in her wide-open eyes. She is probably wondering, Why me? He wonders if she would find it as funny as he does if she knew that it was because, initially, she reminded him of somebody else. Now he looks at her closely, he no longer sees the resemblance. She is just a victim of fate, a casualty of the game that he is going to play. She never will know any of that, though. He laughs again.

He switches the television on, just in case he needs to mask any noise. The volume isn't turned up high, but is loud enough to drown out any unusual sounds. He is surprised to see that the news channel comes on; he thought that she would be more of a soap fan, or perhaps a viewer of one of the many music channels. The solemn tones of the newscaster carry across the living room.

“Police are still searching for the escaped serial killer, Morgan Gregory. It is almost a fortnight since he absconded from the secure mental health unit of the hospital in Lancashire, and in that time nobody has seen him and there are no clues as to his whereabouts.”

He laughs. That isn’t quite right, is it? I’ve seen him, and I know where he is, but then again, I would do, wouldn’t I?

“…public are reminded not to approach him but to telephone the police if they have any information as to his whereabouts. Gregory is infamous for the so-called ‘Magpie’ murders that occurred a decade ago, and if it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of a local police constable he might never have been caught. In other news …”

He doesn’t smile any more. Quick thinking? That wasn’t what was said all those years ago. Then, it was more a case of being in the right place at the right time . Or the wrong place and time, whichever way you liked to look at it. He stares at the woman again. She has heard the news, and she has made the connection. The newscaster almost seemed disappointed that there were no sightings. Perhaps it was a slow news night and they were short of anything else with which to fill the programme? Well, after tonight, there will be no shortage of stories on which to report.

He weighs the knife once more in his hand, and the woman’s eyes widen even further. If it weren’t for the gag, he imagines that everybody within thirty miles would be able to hear her screams. He can even see flecks of red appearing around the tight edges of the cloth; they are just a prelude to the coming blood-letting.