Philip Loraine - Crackpot

PHILIP LORAINE

Crackpot

HarperFiction

A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain in 1993 by The Crime Club

Copyright © Philip Loraine 1993

Philip Loraine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

Source ISBN: 9780002324366

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2017 ISBN: 9780008252748

Version: 2017-03-29

In the opening paragraph of Philip Loraine’s novel a murderer describes the process of picking up an unknown girl in a club prior to strangling her, and admits to disposing of nine others in a similar manner. The murderer then returns to Crestcote House, a gothic mansion which has been turned into a peaceful retreat for ‘artists of recognized stature’.

The community comprises an eccentric composer, a reclusive iron-worker, a beautiful sculptress, a discontented novelist, and three assorted painters, one female, two male. The lord of this remarkable manor is a philanderer, and the place is known locally (and not surprisingly) as Crackpot Castle. No one suspects, however, that one of the denizens is a serial killer.

And no one need ever have suspected if the killer had not elected to play a practical joke on fellow residents which led to a spate of lies, an unsuccessful blackmail attempt—and another killing.

This time Chief Inspector Tom Pennard is very much on the scene. Under his questioning suspicion flickers like a will-o’-the-wisp from one person to the next, while all the time the murderer, anonymous and supposedly secure, offers the reader a first-hand commentary on the unfolding of events, leading to a dramatic unmasking in the final paragraphs of this cunningly plotted story.

Cover

Title Page PHILIP LORAINE Crackpot

Copyright COPYRIGHT Copyright Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Other Books By About the Publisher HarperFiction A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain in 1993 by The Crime Club Copyright © Philip Loraine 1993 Philip Loraine asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks HarperCollins Publishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication Source ISBN: 9780002324366 Ebook Edition © MARCH 2017 ISBN: 9780008252748 Version: 2017-03-29

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Other Books By

About the Publisher

Before I actually kill I seem to experience tunnel-vision, my whole being concentrated on the search and its inevitable conclusion. Although I don’t care for the idea, I suppose I’m like a junkie aiming for the next fix, and certainly what I do is addictive; but at least it doesn’t leave me a snot-dribbling half-human who will only move again when the desire for more becomes unendurable. Like certain drugs, killing enlarges and revitalizes me, enables me to work twice as well and twice as hard, but the period between my fixes is mercifully a long one—I seldom kill more than once a year.

As for the danger of being caught, it seems that I must take reasonable precautions because I never have been caught, nor, as far as I know, come within a mile of it. I’m not aware of these precautions, any more than a hunting animal is aware of the necessity for slow and cautious movement as it approaches its prey.

Take tonight. I found the name of the bar in Time Out, always a useful source of information. I’d never been to it before, and it was in a part of London, Battersea, which I hardly ever visit. It was called Lucky’s which amused me. As always, I found myself walking up and down the streets on either side of it. Planning? I don’t know, I’m not conscious of that part of my mind, it works as a separate entity, doing its own job and reporting what it feels. Sometimes the report is negative; I don’t inquire into the reasons, there’s no point. I simply take another look at Time Out and choose another place. Tonight the report was positive.

So I went into Lucky’s, paying an exorbitant ‘membership fee’. This didn’t worry me because I saw the girl as soon as I entered the large dimly-lit room, not for once rocking with the mindless racket of disco but with the comparatively subtle rhythm of the Charleston. The place, what one could see of it, was decorated to match in a vaguely 20’s style. But I only noticed this later; my eyes were initially blind to everything except the girl, or rather to her long neck caught by a random spotlight.

It was a beautiful neck, though she herself was no beauty, and she’d made the most of it, wearing low-cut black, wearing her dark hair in a short bob, so that really all there was to see of her was the white neck shining in darkness. The attraction was instant—but not sexual.