Tick Tick Tick (8 page)

I pull into the parking lot of Leo’s, the best local steakhouse around. Connie’s car is already there – damn, that’s me minus ten points already. The place is swarming with people; the smell wafting near my nostrils is succulent mix of sizzling steaks on a red hot grill, creamy sauces with garlic and the scent of a good full-bodied red wine. I can hear my stomach begin to rumble. The juices start flowing in my mouth again, and suddenly I am hungry after all; never takes a man long does it? What’s the old adage about food being the way to a man’s heart? All true, every goddamn word.

She’s sitting by the window, at our favourite table. She looks almost ethereal, wearing a soft woollen dress the shade of pale ruby that brings out the hazel flecks in those eyes. Jesus, she looks stunning, jaw-dropping. Her hair is wavy tonight and as usual she’s wearing minimal make up. She doesn’t actually need to wear any. I gaze at her for a moment as she simply takes my breath away. How did I get so goddamn lucky? It isn’t the first time I’ve asked myself this, and I still haven’t come up with a reasonable answer.

I slide into the booth and note that she’s wearing the diamond earrings that I gave her for Christmas; they look striking on her, but then again pretty much anything looks good on her. Though right this minute I’d prefer it if we were home and naked in bed, devouring each other as only we know how.

‘Hey babe.’ I try my seductive smile.

‘You’re late.’ Not even a glimmer of a smile in return.

Obviously it hasn’t worked.

‘Sorry, had a bad day at the office.’

‘So I heard.’

‘Let’s just order.’ I pick up a menu, trying to distract her.

‘I already have.’

I can see the telltale signs of annoyance, the flickering of the eyes, her lush mouth pulled down into a harsh line. Christ, I’ve had enough for one day and I don’t need any more grief. I quickly give my order to the smiling, pretty waitress and it arrives the same time as Connie’s. I attack the steak as though I haven’t seen food for days, the flesh still pink in the middle, the juices running over the plate. Connie picks at hers and I pretended not to notice. Finally she slams her fork down on the table.

‘Why the hell did we come out?’

‘What?’ I try feigning innocence.

‘You’re supposed to go out to enjoy yourself, you know, take pleasure in each other’s company, not sit mauling your food and staring out the bloody window. Hell, I could’ve stayed home and ordered a pizza. At least the delivery boy would’ve spoken to me.’

‘Look I’m sorry, it’s just—’

‘I know, the cases,’ she interrupts.

‘Yes.’ I don’t know what else to say.

‘It’s not the same as before.’ Her voice softens.

My eyes darken; she knows that this is a dangerous subject.

‘
Don’t even go there, Connie
.’

‘Fine, have it your own way as usual. Let it all stay bottled up inside of you, eating away,’ she bites back.

‘I said don’t and
I meant it
!’

I take a large gulp of my wine and toss the liquid down my throat like it’s a glass of lemonade. I can feel it burning all the way to the pit of my stomach.

‘I think all this is gonna get ugly, really ugly,’ I snarl, still pissed off at her previous comments.

‘Do you mean us, or our little argument?’ she snipes back. It isn’t like her.

I sigh. ‘No, I mean the murders.’

‘Since when were murders anything else?’ she asks quietly, the hurt flickering at the back of her eyes.

‘Yes, but this is different.’ I polish off the last morsel of steak, and clatter down the cutlery.

‘How exactly?’ she asks, inclining her head to one side, so the blonde hair slides over one shoulder.

I beckon for the bill and just shake my head.

‘I just have a bad gut feeling about this.’

‘A good old coppers instinct, you can’t beat it – but it’s not going to help you solve the case.’ Sarcasm oozes from every word; she could split atoms if she tried.

‘And
you
could, I suppose?’ I snap.

‘I could do a profile for you, unless you’ve already got one?’

‘No chance. Grimes won’t let a profiler within fifty yards of him.’

‘Like I said, I’ll do one for you. In case you’ve forgotten it is my job.’

‘The Superintendent won’t have a profiler from GCHQ – don’t you listen?’ Now I’m getting all steamed up again, my knuckles are white as I sign the credit card slip.

‘I’m from Quantico,’ she pushes on.

Jesus, doesn’t she ever give up?

‘If he doesn’t want one from GCHQ, he sure as hell doesn’t want a profiler from Virginia – no offence.’

Connie refills her glass to the brim and levels those goddamn beautiful eyes at me.

‘None taken,’ she says innocently. ‘But, who says he needs to know?’

‘What exactly are you suggesting?’  I raise one eyebrow, not quite sure of her meaning.

She lifts the glass and sips.

‘You get me the full details of both cases and I’ll get you a basic profile.’

I smirk at her. ‘It’s highly illegal to give you this information.’

‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’

She rubs her foot against mine under the table. I can feel the soft pressure of her skin against mine and the electricity passes between us like a live wire, each somehow connected to the other, sparking, throbbing between us. Christ, with one fell swoop I could have her right now, right here on this table; I wouldn’t give a damn if we had an audience, hell it’d make it all the more exciting.

‘I knew there was a good reason I started dating you.’

She laughs. ‘Let’s go home.’

I’m out of the table and grabbing her coat before she knows what’s happening. I can feel the heat radiating from her. I notice as we walk out of the room that most of the other men are watching her. Hands off boys, she’s all mine, and right now I want her anywhere… I just want her point blank.

CHAPTER 7

Slipping up the stairwell, we kiss on the way up, on each and every step. I can’t keep my hands off her and she just laughs. I have one hand down the front of her dress feeling a pert but full breast as she manages to open the door. The rest of my sinful suggestions are soon thwarted when Connie nearly steps on an envelope marked ‘Raymond Brick’, that I instantly recognise.

‘Stop.’ She freezes like I’ve pulled a gun on her. I manoeuvre around her, pulling out some latex gloves – a good copper always has them in a pocket – and snap them on. I carefully pick up the letter and carry it to my desk. She lays a clean white piece of paper down and I reach for a letter opener and slice through. I discard the envelope and it falls onto the paper. I’m not sure I want to open it while Connie is here, but what the hell, she’s used to worse. I tease the sheet open, already guessing at what’s going to be inside. I’m right.

To Whom It May Concern: perhaps Raymond Brick.

I can take you to places you’ve never been

And show you sights you’ve never seen

I can bring you the world, a sight to behold

I can conquer the lands, with your stories untold

I can travel afar, and for a while keep you there

And yet, I’ve simply never been anywhere.

What am I?

Your nemesis.

Connie quickly scribbles it down in her notepad where she’s been working on the first riddle with little success. I drop the letter into one bag and the envelope and sheet of paper in another. The two of us just stare at each other, both having the same thoughts. Was this really the killer? And if so, what the hell was he doing delivering letters under my front door? And how did the son of a bitch know where I live?

Sure, it was obvious from the news channels that I’m leading both of the cases, but I’m not in charge, Grimes is. So why aren’t the letters being delivered to him?

I pick up the phone and call forensics; they tell me someone will be out in the next half an hour to pick it up. No doubt this will be forwarded to the GCHQ as well. Perhaps this time they’ll take some notice, get off their fat lazy arses and try and help. Yeah… some chance.

We stay up all night trying to solve the riddles; Connie has an inkling of an idea for the second one. Could it be a dream? And if so, what is its relevance? A living nightmare at large? We still can’t come up with any sort of answer for the first one.

‘Do you think these are from the killer?’ I ask.

‘Probably.’

The theory of two killers is fast receding from my mind.

‘Why send clues that no one can answer?’ I stare at the riddle, willing it to reveal itself to me.

‘To see how clever you are, or perhaps to create some sort of control over you?’ she replies.

‘Couldn’t it just be a sick bastard trying to wind me up?’

‘Like who, for example?’ Her eyes lift in sarcasm, her hand tossing back a stray tendril.

‘How about a rapist recently released that I’d put away, or take any of the pillocks that I’ve had the pleasure of sending to prison that are now back out roaming the streets?’

I can almost see the cogs turning over in her mind as she thinks about it.

‘Nope,’ was all she said. Why is it when you want a woman to talk they don’t?

‘Would you care to elaborate on that for me?’ I try to keep my tone level.

‘If it was an offender of any kind back out on the streets and he bore you a grudge, why would he go to the trouble of giving you clues? If he was that pissed off at you, surely he’d just try to kill you?’ Now isn’t that a nice sobering thought? ‘Also, how many really smart criminals have you put away? To try to take you on, they must know that the letters would be sent to the GCHQ for analysis. No… I think these are from your killer.’ She moves into the kitchen and opens another bottle of Chardonnay, the cold amber liquid dribbling into her glass.

‘So, if it’s from the killer, why not just send me a letter telling me who’s next?’

‘That would be far too simple – you have to learn to play his game, and play it his way.’

I think about that for a while, gulping down a mouthful of whisky. My throat burns, but hell it tastes good; so good that I get up and pour another glass.

Forensics rattle at the door and my flat is soon full of bodies traipsing in and out, asking questions I didn’t have answers to and generally winding me up. They pick up the bags and I’m told – not asked – that extra patrol officers are now being put on watch to cruise past the flat. I don’t think it’ll help, but it sure makes me feel like a prisoner in my own home.

Perhaps that’s part of the game.

CHAPTER 8

Connie sits on the lounge floor, immersed in the two files, a notepad nearby. For a change the sun is out, its watery yellow rays stream through the large bay windows illuminating the room. It’s a large airy space with soft, comfortable leather sofas and an ornate and intricately hand-carved writing table that had been passed down to me through the generations. Still, she prefers to sit cross-legged on the floor. I’m never going to figure out a woman.

‘I need space around me,’ she would say, like that answered everything.

The wooden floors have been stripped bare and the floor oiled and polished; it gleams in numerous hues of browns and golds. A few rugs are dotted around to provide some warmth and something soft to sit on, one of Connie’s little touches.

I lie in the bath, the hot water easing the tension of knotted muscles and aching limbs. I can hear her talking out loud; she’s like me in that way, she often says that thoughts floated nearer to the surface if you discussed them with yourself. I guess that way no one can answer you back. Maybe that’s why I did it so much myself.

I notice all her cosmetics and perfumes on one side of the sink, little tubs and pots of creams, silver containers – not that she needs any of them in my opinion, but it’s good to see her stuff beside mine. I like it there, it gives me a feeling of completeness. Whenever she goes home to Virginia the flat always seemed to be so damn bare; so empty, with no life and no sparkle to it. I wish she’d stay forever, but it’s my fault; I’ve never said it to her. Perhaps a fear of commitment – who knows? I know deep down that she wants more, and yet I’m still unwilling to offer it. My job is too damn precious to me; I don’t have the time for anything else. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Bullshit, I know.

The phone shrills through the air as I scramble out of the bath and snatch the receiver. It’s Betty, Mack’s wife.

‘Would you guys like to come over and join us for lunch? Nothing fancy mind, it’s just that Tracy and Andrew have brought the grandkids over and Garrett’s asking for you.’

I can hear the shrieks of laughter down the phone; oh yes, I could do with some of that.

‘Betty you’re a lifesaver, we could do with a break.’ I start rubbing my hair with a thick towel.