Tick Tick Tick (29 page)

‘Drink.’

For once I do as I’m told. I down the lot.

‘Now start at the beginning,’ she says.

I tell her everything; my doubts about the profile not being right, about Tim Fash making a simple error, the letter from my nemesis, and lastly the horrific details of Sara Mason’s death. All the while I tremble; I can’t stop it, and I keep seeing Sara Mason’s heart in her hand.

Connie turns off the stove and pours us both a drink; this time the whisky glass isn’t so full.

She slams her glass down when she’s finished. ‘Why, though, have we been led to Tim Fash? I don’t understand.’ Her forehead creases and I can almost see her brain cells change up to a higher gear.

‘Neither do I – yet.’ Damn it, I’m bone weary; I feel completely punch-drunk with the exhaustion of the day.

‘But he ran, as soon as he saw you and Mack he ran, and he shot at you. He killed innocent people who were in his way and nearly blew away your partner.’ I can see the confusion in her eyes.

‘We were led to Tim Fash for a reason, and I need to figure out exactly why.’

‘Let me see the note,’ she asks. I lay it out on the table.

To Inspector Downey, with thanks.

1 - I am the first month of the year, every year until the end of time.

2 - I did as I wanted, and deserved, I commanded as only the supreme ruler can.

3 - I am the enemy of God.

4 - These supposed futile objects will spare them of my powers – I don’t think so.

5 - Ah, now this is what I deserve and shall have, as you can never punish me – I am the punisher.

6 - Two together you and I will battle the good fight, I will win of course.

7 - This is exactly what I am, the supreme male ruler.

Dear Robert, I want to thank you for what you’ve done. You’ve saved the world from a sadistic and cruel murderer. Many years ago I asked for the above and did not get it, however I’m delighted that you have lived up to your reputation as one of Manchester’s finest murder detective inspectors, and solved this heinous crime. For that, and that alone – I congratulate you.

Your nemesis.

‘He’s apparently thanking you for killing Tim Fash.’

‘But why?’ I ask.

‘That’s what we have to figure out; I’ll fax this to Marion now.’

She takes the paper, rips it out of the notepad, slides it into the fax machine, and punches in the numbers. It hums as it sends it through. She brings it back and lays it on the table.

‘Let’s have a go ourselves,’ I say, trying to clear the fog from my brain.

I am the enemy of God
. ‘That could be the Devil or Satan,’ she says.

I am the first month of the year, every year until the end of time.
‘It’s too simple – January.’

This is exactly what I am, the supreme male ruler.
‘Jesus, it could be anything, an old king or the Prime Minister,’ I say.

‘No, he’s the supreme
male
ruler. The Prime Minister could be a woman, so it can’t be that.’ I feel she’s a little insulted at my lack of intellect, by the stare I receive.

I give her one of my lame stares back. ‘But we have a male prime minister.’

‘Yes, at the moment, but I’m thinking more laterally here; go with me.’

‘How about God?’ I reply. She glares at me, impatience flickering across her eyes.

‘And who says God isn’t a woman?’

‘Everyone knows it’s a man.’ I’m getting exasperated now.

‘Have you seen him personally?’ she asks.

‘Well, no.’

‘Then I would suggest you stop being presumptuous.’ Her nostrils flare. I note the warning sign; whether or not I’ll heed it is another matter.

‘What’s a male ruler then?’ I ask.

‘An emperor.’ She grins.

‘So we’ve got the Devil, or Satan, January and an Emperor.’

She nods, scribbling them furiously on her pad.

‘Still doesn’t make any sense.’

I rub my eyes; I’m tired, bone weary, physically and emotionally drained from every pore. All I want to do is lie down in a darkened room and close my eyes, and sleep like never before.

She runs a hand through my hair, her impatience receding. ‘You’re tired, why not have an early night? We’ll probably have to wait until Marion can solve the rest anyway.’

‘What if she can’t? I don’t want the damn suits back.’ I can just picture Reeves smirking in his specific slimy way.

‘If Marion can’t solve them – no one can. Go on, go to bed.’

I get up, lean over, and drop a kiss on the top of her head; I don’t have the energy for anything else.

The haven of my bedroom – I think again of Sara Mason, had she been fast asleep when the psychotic killer had burst in? Had she known what was going to happen? Did she scream for mercy?

I throw my clothes in a heap on the floor and slide into bed. Although I’m exhausted, my mind keeps turning over – why Tim Fash? Why didn’t our killer just murder and torture him, surely he would have got more pleasure from that, than from Mack putting a bullet in him?

Questions. Over and over they tumbled until I finally fall into a fitful sleep; I don’t even stir when Connie slips in beside me.

The phone rings at 6:30a.m.; I don’t want to pick it up and I don’t want to hear of any more deaths. Connie leans over me and snatches up the receiver instead.

‘Connie speaking. Oh, hi Marion. Yes if you could fax it all through that would be great; listen, what did you do? Stay up all night? You did – hell, I owe you one.’ Connie slams the phone down in excitement.

‘She’s faxing the rest of the answers through, get up old man.’ I groan.

As she leaps out of bed, I pinch her bum on the way past.

‘You know that’s beginning to get like a fetish.’ She seems a little put out.

‘I know.’ So I smile and pinch it again.

Connie flicks on the coffee percolator and we both huddle over the fax machine; it seems like a damn eternity.

‘Come on Marion,’ she snipes; I know she’s as anxious as me.

The phone rings and the fax machine goes into automatic mode; we both stare as the paper seeps through inch by inch. As soon as the bleep sounds, I rip it out of the machine.

‘Grab a couple of mugs of coffee, will you?’ I can see she’s pissed off that I got the fax first.

I place it on the table as Connie races back with the coffee, spilling some on the table, the brown liquid oozing. We both ignore it.

1.
I am the first month of the year, every year until the end of time.
JANUARY.

2.
I did as I wanted, and deserved, I commanded as only the supreme ruler can.
UKASE – A command issued by the supreme ruler.

3.
I am the enemy of God.
THE DEVIL or SATAN.

4.
 These supposed futile objects will spare them of my powers – I don’t think so.
I think this could possibly be a TALISMAN of some sort.

5.
Ah, now this is what I deserve and shall have, as you can never punish me – I am the punisher.
IMPUNITY
– one who has the freedom of punishment.

6.
Two together you and I will battle the good fight, I will win of course.
COMBATANT – one who participates in a fight, or battle.

7.
This is exactly what I am, the supreme male ruler.
EMPEROR.

We both read and scribble at the same time.

‘You think she’s right?’ I ask.

‘She usually is, that’s why she’s the top in her field.’ Well, she’s a lot faster than the cryptanalysts at GCHQ.

JANUARY

UKASE

DEVIL or SATAN

A TALISMAN

IMPUNITY

COMBATANT

EMPEROR

I have it in about three seconds; I’m obviously getting better at this.

J
ANUARY

U
KASE

DEVIL or
S
ATAN

A
T
ALISMAN

I
MPUNITY

C
OMBATANT

E
MPEROR

JUSTICE

So our killer had wanted justice, with Tim Fash – why? What had Tim Fash done to him? And why didn’t he just inflict his own usual method of murder? Why did he need the police?

Why does he need me?

CHAPTER 34

I drive like a maniac to headquarters, and run down the hall, sliding to a dead stop at Grimes’ door. I knock, don’t wait for an answer, just barge in.

He’s reading the report I typed up last night on Sara Mason; his face is grey, it reminds me of Mack’s after he’d been shot. He looks gaunt, the normally podgy face is strained; he has a look of disbelief in his eyes, and I know exactly how he feels.

‘You’re sure about this?’ he asks.

I nod. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

‘It’s not just some bloody copycat trying it on?’ I can tell he already knows the answer, but wants to hear something else.

‘No sir.’

I hand him Marion’s answers and the solution. He reads it about five times before he glances back up.

‘Justice for what?’

‘That’s what we’ve got to figure out.’

‘Why would a killer send you after Tim Fash? What’s the point?’

‘Perhaps to get the police to lock up an innocent man, maybe it’s part of his fantasy world.’

‘Fash was no soddin’ innocent,’ he rages.

‘No, but he was innocent of the brutal murders that we were chasing him for.’

He grudgingly agreed.

‘Start searching, pull in all the men you need, dig up every particle of information on Fash; that’s where the answer lies.’

‘I’m on it.’ I start to back out of the door.

‘If we don’t get another answer soon, the suits will need to be called back in; you know that, right?’

‘I know.’ I hate the very idea.

He hesitates. ‘You also know what it means for you?’

No, I don’t actually.

‘What?’

‘If Reeves comes back, he will be looking to put you behind a desk until pension day or back walking the streets, so you’d better come up with the goods – and fast.’

Hell, nothing like a bit of added pressure. I simply nod and shut the door behind me – hard.

Fuck Reeves, he’s not going to get this guy. I am.

I pull in five coppers and bellow instructions to each. Find me every known business partner that Fash had. I want to know every woman he’s ever been with, every house that he owned, which cars he had, where he was born, every relative. Every single detail about Fash’s life, from birth to death, now has to be gone over with a fine toothcomb.

I punch in his details to the main criminal computer and six pages come zipping back. Tim Fash was born in 1964, it doesn’t say where. His mother Anne White married Brian Fash in 1957, no siblings. He was raised in Cheshire, his father being a salesman until his untimely death with cancer in 1991. The mother Anne died in a car crash in 1993, a head-on collision with a drunk;
some way to go
.

Fash had been pulled in over twenty times in the last fifteen years; it ranged from drug dealing, supplying of drugs, speeding, indecent behaviour, breaches of the peace, and several offences of drink driving – you’d have thought with his mother’s death he’d have learned a lesson. In each offence he was either fined, or let off; he had no prison time and obviously very skilled lawyers. What is it about money that it buys you freedom when you don’t deserve it?

Fash had lived in a mansion in Knutsford until about four years ago, when he got busted for a large haul of drugs. With angry clients pushing for money, he’d had no option but to sell the house;
now isn’t that a crying shame, it just makes your heart bleed.

In the last few years he had a few run-ins with the coppers, mainly over beating his girlfriends. It was noted that he was now using drugs himself, and he was a suspect in numerous robberies in Greater Manchester. Perhaps that’s why he had run; maybe he’d pulled off a job and thought we were onto him. Possibly.

I want to know more. Davies and Fletch bring me lists of his known associates; I punch them into the police national computer, but nothing startling comes back. Damn it.

How did our killer know Fash? It’s the most obvious question – I remembered my training; always ask the obvious first, sometimes you’ll find the answer the easy way. I send another two coppers to find out his history in both primary and secondary schools; I want to know who his friends were – or indeed if he had any.