Tick Tick Tick (18 page)

Authors: G. M. Clark

BOOK: Tick Tick Tick

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Mack slowly moves my hands away. ‘You gotta take it easy.’ He’s concerned, I know, but right now I didn’t care.

‘Take it easy? With a bloody madman on the loose and a sniper killing just for the shit of it? Oh yeah Mack, life’s just one great barrel of laughs right now.’

I can actually hear my heart in my chest going into overdrive, can feel the heat of senseless deaths consume me, images of the dead filling each particle of my mind until I feel rancid, porous to the touch.

Ian Seaton, head of the firearms unit, marches over, his black body armour clamping his stocky frame. He points to a flat.

‘We’ve got the shooting place, a third storey vacant flat with the window blown out. We’ve got three ejected shells, looks like they’re from a BAE Systems L85A1.’ He obviously notes my blank expression.

‘The L85A1 is a selective gas-fired rifle with a forward mounted pistol grip, fed from a magazine with a thirty round capacity. It’s often fitted with scope mount and illuminating aiming pointer.’

‘So what you’re telling me is that this guy could have popped off a couple of magazines if he’d really wanted too?’ I say.

‘Yes sir.’

‘Then why didn’t he take out more cars?’

Ian shrugs his shoulders. ‘Could have been he got scared. Maybe someone was getting too close to him?’

‘Why not pick up the shells?’

‘It’s a common sniper rifle, currently used by many units and armies around the world, including our own; chances of matching up either the bullets or the shells to a specific gun already marked by ballistics is minuscule.’

‘Great, another bloody dead end,’ barks Mack.

Grimes arrived, his face thunderous, his brow creased with sweat. I know he’s taking real heat at the moment from the chiefs, and another murder in central Manchester is not exactly what he needs.

‘What we got?’ he thunders.

‘Three bullets fired, two victims unscathed, the third a young woman, Stacey Bun, dead, bullet to the left side of the temple.’ I try to keep the rage inside me.

‘Have you got any forensics?’

‘They’re still finishing up with the body, she’s about to be moved to the morgue any moment,’ I say.

‘Let Cooper finish up here, you need to get your arses back to headquarters and see if you can turn something up on the serial.’

‘You don’t think it’s connected then?’ I ask.

He stares at me as though I’m something nasty crawling up his sleeve. ‘Why would our serial start sharpshooting in Manchester city?’

‘Just a thought,’ I reply.

I turn and stride back to the car as the FME’s van pulls out in front of me with the body of Stacey Bun inside. I watch that van for the twenty minutes it takes to clear out onto the main road heading downtown, and all I can think is
death strikes again.

There’s now going to be yet another family ripped apart with sorrow for the child that has been senselessly murdered. Another mother will sob at the empty bed of her daughter, smelling the floating perfume of her scent that remains on any clothing. She probably won’t allow anyone to change a thing in her daughter’s room as she clings to the last moments of her daughter’s life. She will remember their last words, the last time they had told each other that they loved one another; she will see her happy smile in pictures only, with that flame red hair tumbling around her pretty face. And instead of looking forward to planning her daughter’s wedding sometime – now she’ll have to plan her funeral in its place.

Death makes no sense to me; I’ve never understood, in all my years as a policeman, how taking someone else’s life can make a situation better. The raw grief that I’ve seen over the years was reminiscent of a swimming pool full of hot tears. How can one person destroy so much, in so little time?

The damn rap music blares from my mobile phone and I slide it open, a picture of Connie standing in the flat by the fax machine appears on my screen. I know before I’ve even read the text.

To Whom It May Concern: perhaps Stacey Bun.

If you dig down deep

A part of me you will use

Play me in a game

You may win you may lose

I have a family that you have seen

I rule them all, we are thirteen.

What am I?

Your nemesis.

I jam on the brakes – hard. Bloody hell, I was right; the sniper was indeed our boy. How had he known which car to hit? That means that he must have been stalking Stacey Bun to have known her usual movements, what car she drove; but why shoot out the windows on the others? Was he just proving a point?
I can do it, I can do anything I please and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it
. What about the trophies? He didn’t take one this time. Why change the MO now? I need to speak to Connie and fast.

I pull a hard right and cut for home. I have a bad feeling about Connie; could she be a victim, is she going to be killed? I can feel my heart thumping almost out of my chest. If that son of a bitch lays one finger on her, or harms one hair on her head, I swear to God I’m gonna hunt him down until I can shoot him point blank in the face – repeatedly. I don’t own a gun, but hell I would get one. The lines between right and wrong are becoming blurred, and I know it.

My feet take the stairs three at a time; she opens the door for me.

‘I said don’t open the door for anyone.’ I can feel my voice quaver, my legs unsteady, but she is calm and neutral as always.

‘I saw you get out the car, besides you’re not… anyone.’ At any other time I’d be pleased, but not right at this moment; I’m too damn concerned for her safety.

‘I’ve already phoned the station, the computer nerds are on their way,’ she continues.

‘What time did it arrive?’ My heart is still thumping in my chest.

‘About fifteen minutes ago.’

I sink into the nearest chair and put my head in my hands. This case is falling to pieces and I’m completely jammed up for answers.

‘He’s changed the MO,’ I say, and I know I sound defeated – I feel defeated.

‘Not necessarily,’ she replies, and I try to stay with her train of thought.

‘I could really use some of that fine brain of yours right about now.’

‘Just because he’s changed his method of killing, doesn’t mean that he’s changing his mission.’

‘Meaning?’

‘He’s not picking these victims at random, they have a purpose.’ She begins pacing.

‘Well I wish I knew what the hell it was!’

‘You’re not supposed to know.’ Her voice is cool, icy calm.

‘Jeez, that just makes me feel a whole lot better,’ I snap.

‘Don’t ever make the mistake of taking his MO for granted, a good serial killer can mask it in a heartbeat.’ She stares at me as if I’m a tad dense; and yes, I do take offence.

‘I don’t understand.’ My head feels heavy, my brain fuzzed. I can’t seem to raise a single clear thought, and what I actually want to do is put this bastard in a cell and throw away the keys.

‘So why send the fax here again?’

‘He wants you to know he’s watching your every move,’ she says.

‘Has it ever occurred to you, that he might be watching
you
?’ I ask.

‘Frankly, after he arranged to have my mobile phone stolen, I’ve
known
he was watching me.’ She’s cool, calm and collected. I’m the complete opposite; the thought of that bastard watching, waiting for her, is almost more than I can take. I feel like I can’t breathe.

The computer nerds arrive, and start doing their thing; I haul Connie into the bedroom.

‘You have to leave.’ There’s no room for argument in the tone of my voice.

‘Pardon?’ She looks at me blankly.

‘Get your stuff packed, find a safe place to go, not to Mel’s, or anywhere else in the city; I want you far away from here.’

‘You don’t have to go protecting me. I’m not some little woman who needs looking after.’ Her voice is clipped, insulted.

‘Connie, I don’t have the time for this, just pack.’ I start throwing her belongings onto the bed.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she yells, her hands on hips, the eyes glaring, defiant.

‘For Christ’s sake don’t you get it?’ I scream back.

‘No, I obviously don’t.’ I swear she wants to smack me one.

‘I can’t stand the thought that he could get to you, yes I know you can look after yourself, I know that you’re a black belt in ju-jitsu, but that doesn’t mean shit to this type of killer, it’s not gonna help if has a damn gun trained on you from the other side of the street.’ I try to pull her close, but she’s distant, unsure of me, unsure of what I’m up to.

‘I need you to go, and then I don’t have to worry about you every second of every day,’ I plead.

She stands stock still. ‘What about you? You think you’re invincible?’ The eyes still glitter, but are cold.

‘This is what I do. It’s me, Connie, I need to finish this one way or the other.’

She stares at me for a few seconds, then whips out her travelling case and throws her clothes in. With one fell swoop she clears the bathroom cabinets into her wash bag, and tosses that in too.

‘I take it you don’t want to know where I’ve gone?’

‘No.’ She picks up the case, refusing my help, and shoves me out of the way. Yanking open the bedroom door, she marches through, her high heels click-clacking on the wooden floor. The nerds are watching our every move. She pulls open the front door and starts walking towards the stairs.

‘Connie?’

She turns and stares, her eyes wet with tears, and I feel like I’ve been kicked hard in the stomach.

‘It’s for the best,’ I say.

She shakes her head. ‘No, it’s best for you.’

She turns away and walks out of my life, and I know she’s right; I’m doing this for me.

CHAPTER 20

I shut the door and lean against it. The computer nerds are packing up their equipment, while pretending not to have noticed the raised voices and the manner of Connie’s departure. Frankly I don’t give a toss what they think.

I stroll over to them. ‘You get anything?’

‘Sent from a host computer fax in town, they’re checking it out as we speak.’

I simply nod my head as they file out of the flat. I’m too drained to do much else, so I decide to head over to Mack’s. It’s only when I’m actually driving over there that the real reason dawns on me. I don’t want to stay at the flat because she isn’t there
.

Mack answers the door, his oversized jeans smothering his large belly. His mouth is already covered in beer froth, looks like he’s started early. I can’t blame him; it’s been a hell of a day. I sling my jacket over the nearest chair and slide into the old leather armchair while Mack slams the fridge door closed. He appears with another two beers. He pops the top and starts gulping. I quickly follow. God it tastes good; ice cold and strong, just the way I like them.

‘Connie’s gone,’ I say, still gulping down the cold liquid, feeling it soothe the pit of my stomach.

He wipes some froth off his face. ‘Where to?’

‘I asked her to leave, it’s safer this way Mack.’ He nods his head in agreement.

‘I’ve got a few of the guys coming over for poker, care to join us?’

I’m not exactly a player, but tonight I feel like just getting drunk and letting off some steam. ‘Sure, why not.’

‘Been a hell of a day,’ he says, knocking back the beer.

I finish mine and wander through to the fridge to grab a couple more.

‘You know what, Mack?’ I ask, tossing him another beer.

‘What?’

‘At the moment it seems we meet most people on the nastiest day of their lives.’

We’re knocking back the whisky like there’s no tomorrow. Oblivion is sure starting to feel good; the alcohol burns in my stomach so I quieten it down with bowls of crisps and tortilla chips. Steve, Billy and Eric are seasoned hands at the game and I’m losing a ton of money, but I don’t give a damn; it takes my mind off the case and I’ve even stopped thinking about Connie every thirty seconds. I’ve lost count of how much I’ve drunk, but I don’t give a shit; anything is welcome that helps numb the pain of defeat that I feel at this moment.

It happens without me knowing – one minute I’m looking at my hand, the next minute the latest riddle pops into my head.