“Yes, thank you” I said in a condescending manner, “I am on a much more personal case and one that is highly paid, not on a whimsy for someone that just happened to be a past client. Good day.” I hung up and immediately regretted it, she was only trying to help me, and I brushed her aside without thought.
After all, both of these murdered people are past clients, but I hope this is just an unhappy coincidence.
Elaine was bruised, which suggests she put up a fight, so probably didn’t know her murderer. “Great!” I thought to myself. Hardly anyone knew Elaine.
* * *
“Boss?”
“Hmm, yes Pearce?” I drawled slowly over the top of my newspaper.
“Ivy Crookshank was found dead just now, any idea how it happened?”
“Not a clue” I said smugly.
Chapter 3
I’m meeting Caroline tonight; at my house, about five minutes drive away from Moniave. Caroline lives in Auchinleck, not far from Newton Stewart. Although I have to go and pick up my ‘Research: Elaine Smith’ folder from my office before I can go and meet Carol. Carol is two years younger than me; she is 31 and I am 33.
When I finally got to my house, I found Carol lounging on one of my armchairs in the front room.
“Why are you so late,” she inquired, “another case I presume?”
“Yes, a personal one too. Elaine appears to have been murdered”
“What? Elaine Smith? She was such a nice lady, from what I’ve heard.”
“Yes, Elaine.”
At this point I realised that I had lit a cigarette without thinking, and instantly extinguished it at Caroline’s disapproving look.
“Still, how are you Carol? Well I hope. It has been too long since you came to my house. Nice gloves, by the way. What happened to the old pair?”
“Yes, it’s too long since I’ve been here. I’m fine, nothing much exciting happening in my life. Nothing compared to what you’re going through. So you like the gloves? They’re warm and woolly.”
“Yes, I do like them. I’m too tired to carry on with anything else today, let’s call it a night after the news.”
“Sure, me too.”
I woke up at 11am the next morning, and found that Carol had already left to get to her work. She was a gardener, and that was how we met. She was the only gardener who could manage to actually make a garden out of most of my one acre of land. I decided to walk along the roads to my office today, which took me fifteen minutes, five minutes quicker than it would have taken me to walk the scenic route along the river. I needed to get to work immediately and make some inquiries into the death of Ivy; I need to know whether the two cases are linked. I was just typing stuff up when I had a brain wave. I can go and see Gomez!
Gomez was a local ‘ice-cream’ seller who knew just about everything about anything, and would tell you for, of course, a price.
It took me four minutes of brisk walking to reach Gomez’ ice-cream stall. I bought a coffee and slid five £20 notes over the counter.
“What do you know about the murders of Elaine and Ivy?” I asked.
“Well, Ivy was apparently in trouble with Big Tony for hiring you to get her out of a hole. As for Elaine, no-one knows what happened to her.”
I slid another £50 over the counter, carefully steering it wide of a splodge of chocolate.
“Are the two murders connected to me? Both women were previous clients.”
“There is a rumour going around, but nothing more”
“Thanks once again Gomez.”
“No problem,” he said, waving his bounty at me, “any time.”
Chapter 4
I decided to visit Ivy’s place of death. It was an alleyway, the kind of place where you could easily be knifed. However, the cause of death was a lethal injection of cyanide. Very odd. So odd it makes me think that the killer was either a professional, and therefore may be after me in a while, or that it was a lone woman killing for a specific reason. It is a fact that women hardly ever kill using knives.
Another thing that made me slightly suspicious was the fact that knives were the signature weapon of Big Tony’s drug racquet. Whenever they were responsible for a crime, there was a knife involved. But if Ivy had fallen out with Big Tony over hiring me then surely Big Tony would have been responsible? What do women kill for? Love, I suppose. The only other link between the two cases is that they were both clients of mine, but that is just a misnomer, I believe. I have no option now but to sit back and to wait for something else to happen.
The next piece of evidence came swiftly to me as if by my call, as I heard my mobile ringing. Damn, I’m popular today! It was Mrs. Edwards, a nice lady from Moniave. She rang to tell me that she heard I was doing an investigation, although she didn’t know what on, and had found a syringe in her back garden.
“Thank you so much for calling Mrs. Edwards,” I hurried. “I’ll be right over to get it.”
I quickly grabbed my keys and ran out to my Ford Focus estate to begin the 5-minute drive to Moniave.
* * *
“Hey, Big Tony,” shouted Pearce “a box of our syringes has gone missing.”
“What?” bawled Tony, “What do I pay you people for? That box cost me £75!”
“Sorry boss, we screwed up.”
“Too right, you did. Who do you think stole it? Have you at least an idea?”
“No boss, sorry boss” was as much as Pearce could say back. “Although it could have been someone from our gang. Like Ivy Crookshank before she sadly passed away.”
“Maybe. Nevertheless, I intend to find out. Or rather, I intend for you to find out. Go!”
Chapter 5
I examined the syringe under my microscope back at Red Cottage, which is the name of my office in Moniave. Definitely the one used to inject Ivy with cyanide; it has a bit of Ivy’s DNA on the tip where it was inserted (the police do, at least, have DNA databases that I can access for a small fee). It is beginning to look increasingly like the killer is a woman, as they were professional enough to wear gloves, but not latex ones; a strand of wool was left on the syringe handle. So I’m looking for someone who wears woolly gloves. Heck, even I wear woolly gloves; it is winter after all!
I decided to go for a ‘relaxing’ cycle in Dalmacallan forest. Well, I call it relaxing, anyone not extremely good at cycling would call it tiring. I am pretty athletic considering I don’t cycle that often any more, but I have been getting more unfit recently as I have started smoking again. The death of someone as close to me as Elaine was a severe shock to my system and too depressing for me to cope with.
I spent 10 minutes getting my cycling gear together, tinkering with my £2,000 bike (there are some luxuries that I have in life, this being one of them) and changing my tyres from road to off-road. Thinking about doing the Tour de France sometime soon, not with the actual tour, I’m too old for that, but just cycling the route they take to see how long it’ll take me. Dalmacallan forest is the nearest forest to Moniave and one of my favourites behind only the Forest of Ae and Dalbeattie. The only reason they’re better is that they have pre-made cycle routes so you can’t get lost.
It was a mysterious night I noticed as I set out from my house. The cold, harsh light of the moon pierced the layer of clouds and lit up my house. For a brief moment it looked like my house had eyes. But in a flash the image was gone from my mind.
I was half-way round what was turning out to be a pretty uneventful bike ride, when I saw a leg sticking out of the bracken to my left. I went down to investigate (that, after all, being my job) and found that the plot deepens. The body was that of my cleaning lady. All women deaths, so far. Hmm. It doesn’t look that old a body, so I cycled home as fast as physically possible for me.
This mysterious killer is definitely trying to get to me. Maybe it is Big Tony after all; he probably doesn’t want me to tell the cops what I know about him. But I don’t know why; most of the cops already know and are either infiltrating the police force for him or are being supplied with drugs from him.
I went to bed then and slowly drifted to sleep, placing my faith in my security systems, another one of my luxuries. The bike ride didn’t half help in sending me to sleep; I was exhausted.
Chapter 6
I went back up to where I found the body last night. It was gone. The killer had gone back into Dalmacallan forest later on to hide the body better. In fact, they may have even heard me coming and were observing from nearby vegetation! The thought sent a shudder through me.
It hadn’t rained in ages now, and the dusty fire-roads of Dalmacallan forest where dry as a bone. The bent eves of trees shadowed this main path in a protective manner, which had felt eerie the night before, but pleasant now, in the day. Far off I heard a buzzard call, and saw it circle briefly above my head. From the top of Bogrie hill I even saw the Cambrian Mountains peaked with snow. Very different weather their, I believe.
Stuck for clues again, and as nothing has happened in a week after those three murders in fairly close succession I feel it’s time to see Gomez again.
“So,” I said, pushing a £50 over the worktop “what do you know about the death of Ms. Li, my cleaning lady?”
“Now, Mr. Chapman, I like money, but I cannot take this.” He said, sliding the money back across the counter, “For I know nothing of the death of Ms. Li, and neither does anyone else apart from the killer and the contractor, if there is one. Although I can tell you that the rumours around you are thickening.”
“What do they say?”
“Anything that is remotely possible, from you being the murderer to Big Tony being the murderer to it all being a big coincidence, no-one has made up their minds yet.”
“Call me if you get anymore info on anything to do with this Gomez, and I shall pay you well.”
“I shall, don’t worry.”
“Good” I finished, and strode off back to my office.
The heat was sweltering, I had to open all the windows of Red Cottage and bring a heat extractor over from my house to make it bearable.
I worked all day, placing together all the clues I could find. They all lead to possible theories, each as unlikely as the next.
Chapter 7
I had dinner at a restaurant in Moniave tonight with Caroline. She was on time, as always. Carol was brilliant. She was so helpful and had such a kind personality; I think I may be starting to love her.
Unfortunately our dinner had to close when I got a call on my mobile again. Never have I had so many calls in one and a half months!
It was the discovery of Joanne Turner’s body in Clatteringshaws Loch that interrupted us, and again the news provided by Mrs. Edwards.
Another late client. Another female late client.
I left Caroline at my office and sped to Clatteringshaws as fast as my Ford Focus estate would allow. The killer must be local; all the murders have been between Moniave and Stranraer.
Joanne’s body had drifted up from the bottom of the lake, I could tell by the seaweed on her. This was not a recent murder, but an older one, from before I knew about this case.
Then my eyes appeared to deceive me. Horror struck, I realised the truth. But it couldn’t be could it? Not after all this? Floating over the lake was a red glove. Not just any old glove though, the distinguishable size, shape and length of the gloves that Carol used to wear, before she got those new gloves. I will have to question her when I get back to my office. But not without caution, as I don’t know whether she is planning to kill me or not. Or maybe…no, not Carol surely? Oh well, only one way to find out. I got straight back into my Ford Focus estate and drove back to my office. The ivy creeping up the side of Red Cottage made it look like a picture holiday home, but inside it was a shambles. How should I approach Carol?
I stormed into my office, visibly mad, and shouted “Carol!”. No reply. I then proceeded to search the entirety of Red Cottage, which is fortunately a bungalow until I decided that she must have left for her house.
Time to go to Auchinleck. The gravel spitted up and hit the side of my car in that annoying way it does when I drive up Carol’s drive. Her car was here, certainly. I checked the door. Locked. Unfortunately Carol never got round to cutting me some keys for her place. Did I tell her I was going to examine Joanne’s body that was found in Clatteringshaws? I can’t recall.
Chapter 8
I decided, either on a whimsy or on gut instinct, to check the bit of Penkiln burn that runs past Auchinleck. I could not believe what I found there. It was a box. That was not the shocking bit. The shocking thing is what is in the box.
It was full to the brim of…syringes. Just like the one that had been used to kill Ivy Crookshank. So my fears are almost confirmed. The killer is Carol, and just when I was starting to like her too. No time for commiserating now, I had to catch her. This case was big money and meant a lot to me personally.
I got up immediately and searched Carol’s grounds for her, but there was no sign. As I decided she was not in her house, I tried the old muddy track that leads to Kirroughtree Forest. When I got to the viewpoint that overlooked the Cairnsmore of Fleet, I found her. She had a gun, and was shaking it about wildly, and weeping inconsolably. I decided that it was best to put my hands up and to question her, that way I would be in charge of the situation, and she would have no reason to shoot me.
“Hello Carol” I started
“It’s not what it looks like, I promise,” she wailed.
“I found the box Carol. I even found a white woollen strand on the handle of the syringe used to kill Ivy. Admit it.”
“No, it was not me.”
“Carol, All of the murders have been places not 30 minutes drive from your house. They are all past female clients. Why, Carol?”
“I – I” she stammered, “I felt threatened by them. They were planning to take you from me!”
“No they weren’t. I only used to see Elaine, never any of the others.”
“They were planning to take you from me!” she repeated.
“By killing Elaine, you took two of my best friends away; first Elaine in death, and now you, as a murderer.”
“No! Eddy, I love you,” she screamed wildly
“I do not share your love, Carol. I may have done but you blew it with the whole murdering people thing.”
“I don’t care. Marry me or I’ll kill you.”
Chapter 9
Jack was a nice guy. He liked to go for long walks up to the top of the hill directly behind his house and look over the valley. The sunlight was shining in his eyes; not directly, but rather reflected off of the waters of Loch Doon. He was at the top now, at his favourite viewpoint on Black Craig, sitting on a wooden bench placed by the Forestry Commission. He could see a church a long way off, and could faintly hear the bells ringing. He couldn’t quite work out whether the ring of the bells was joyous or mournful.