Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller Read online

  West took over. ‘Anyone that cowardly and weak, anyone that pathetic shouldn’t be too hard to spot. We are pursuing many lines of enquiry. He made mistakes and we will catch who did it.’

  ‘Many lines of enquiry,’ Martin repeated. ‘Really?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Yeah right,’ he said. ‘I’ll bet it’s just spin. What’s the confidential information eh? What is it Simone, what’s the dirty little secret that got Smokey so flustered?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Bullshit. You’re in the inner circle. I hope you haven’t accidently spilled your guts to the press,’ he said, ‘and if you have been saying things you shouldn’t have I hope you’ve made us a few quid out of it.’

  ‘I haven’t said anything.’

  ‘Well someone has Simone; it sounds to me like you’ve got a rat at the station.’

  10

  Simone was in Jackson’s office and he was breathing down her neck when she called West. ‘West where are you?’

  ‘About to leave the hospital,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, are you coming back here? I’m with Jackson at the moment and you’re on speaker phone by the way.’

  ‘Yeah, I just got to my car. What’s going on?’

  ‘Gary Stevens was attacked outside his work.’

  ‘Details?’

  ‘He was badly beaten and stabbed in both eyes. Someone cut his throat, he shouldn’t have survived, but somehow he has.’

  West called it immediately. ‘Bring in Victoria Redman’s father,’ he said.

  Simone agreed; David Redman had been her first instinct too. ‘Assuming it was motivated, Redman is the most likely suspect,’ she said looking at Jackson. ‘His grief was palpable when we went to see him. He was a broken man, filled with guilt and regret; he had nothing left to lose.’

  ‘Stevens was all over the news when we brought him in,’ said West. They heard his car door slam shut over the tinny speakers. ‘His name and photo was slapped across every newspaper too; it wouldn’t take much to track him down. It was a violent attack and blinding him made it personal. If I was a betting man -’

  ‘You’d bet your tiny salary on it?’ said Jackson.

  ‘You got it.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Simone, ‘but I really hope we’re wrong. Redman wasn’t beyond help and Victoria wouldn’t have wanted him to ruin his life by taking revenge.’ She looked at Jackson. ‘I’d like to be there when we bring him in.’

  Jackson addressed the speakerphone. ‘West?’

  ‘Still here.’

  ‘Meet Simone at Redman’s house.’

  ‘Will do.’ The line went dead.

  Simone readied to leave but Jackson stopped her. ‘Simone, take a couple of uniforms as back-up in case he doesn’t want to go quietly.’

  Simone stopped outside Redman’s home and waited for West to arrive. She watched in the rear view mirror as the squad car pulled up neatly against the kerb behind her.

  Even though she had never met her, Simone felt strangely connected towards Victoria Redman, and stranger still were the sympathetic feelings she had towards her fucked-up father. He had taken his daughter for granted while she was alive and now she had been taken from him it seemed as if he had woken from a stupor. David Redman had the chance to change his life and Simone knew that Victoria would be grateful if the one good thing to come from her death was that it jolted her father into waking up and turning his life around.

  Knowing that David Redman was the most likely person to have attacked Gary Stevens and that he would have to pay for his actions with a lifetime in prison was bad enough but combined with the fact that it would ruin any chance he may have had of using his daughter’s brutal murder to become a better man made the whole situation so much worse. The attachment she felt for Redman secretly embarrassed her and gave rise to feelings of guilt because it smacked of unprofessionalism and she sometimes wondered if the career path she had chosen was the right one. It was West who sowed the seeds that led her towards law enforcement; for as long as she could remember it was Nathan who had wanted to be a police officer and his enthusiasm for it was contagious and easily sold. It was a rewarding job with solid foundations and a path for promotion that was well defined. So she chose the solid career with prospects and security instead of chasing her dream. Her real passion was photography and she was well aware that realistically it could only ever be a hobby – the ability to make a decent living out of it would be extremely difficult. She never really knew exactly what she wanted to do but something artistic with a camera would have been perfect. The problem lay in the fact that it would have been unreliable work and she was the sort of person who needed the comfort of a regular salary and the police service gave her that – it was a proper job; an adult’s job. She couldn’t see herself scratching her way through life from contract to contract – the only real money coming from wedding photos.

  The other driving force behind her choice of career path was the hope that being part of the police service would give her a sense of closure after what had happened to Laura. She felt guilty for that too – so guilty she had ruined her life by marrying her friend’s brother out of sympathy.

  Movement in her wing mirror pulled her from her thoughts and she stepped out of her car as West stepped out of his.

  West instructed the uniforms to keep a close distance and not to crowd them as they approached the door. They knocked and when it opened they were faced with total contrast to the last time they saw David Redman.

  Gone were the greasy ponytail and the filthy vest, in their places was a perfect image of cleanliness and sobriety. Victoria Redman’s father stood in the doorway sporting an immaculately neat haircut and a dangerously sharp suit.

  ‘May we come in for a chat Mr Redman?’ said West.

  They went through to the lounge; a room that had undergone a transformation as drastic as Mr Redman’s new image. As she stood in the spotlessly clean and clutter-free room Simone couldn’t help but feel pride that maybe he was innocent of the crime they suspected him of and he had indeed decided to change his life for the better.

  ‘Have you got him yet?’ said Redman he said as he sat down.

  ‘Where were you last night Mr Redman between the hours of nine and eleven?’ said Simone.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no then,’ he said. ‘He’s still out there while you lot sit on your hands.’

  ‘Answer the question,’ said West.

  Redman sat back and crossed his legs and Simone noticed his newly polished shoes for the first time and a sudden feeling of doubt swelled inside.

  ‘Were you about to go out somewhere Mr Redman?’ she said and West shot her a glance.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ said Redman ignoring the question. ‘I have coffee if you want some.’

  West sighed and raised his voice a touch. ‘Mr Redman I am going to ask you a question and I expect you to answer it.’

  Redman looked at him. The new haircut and sharp suit did little to cover the obvious pain that still polluted his soul. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘Where were you last night between the hours of nine and eleven?’

  ‘I went to my local for one last drink.’

  ‘Your local would be where?’

  ‘The White Hart in Kings Street.’

  ‘Will there be people who know you and can confirm that?’

  ‘There should be, I’ve been going in there for the best part of twenty years.’

  As he spoke Simone glanced behind him at the staircase and spotted between the banisters a small bundle of rope on one of the top steps. ‘Mr Redman,’ she said. ‘I would like you to accompany us to the police station while we confirm your alibi.’

  ‘I have things to do. What’s going on?’

  ‘A man was attacked last night.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A man we called in for questioning in connection with the ongoing investigation.’

  ‘Was it the man that was on the news?’

>   ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think I had something to do with it?’

  ‘We need to confirm your whereabouts last night to eliminate you from our enquiry.’

  ‘I have things to do,’ he said and as he spoke his hand crept to the lapel pocket of his suit and touched it as if to make sure its contents wasn’t lost. ‘My day was all planned out.’

  ‘Please come with us,’ said Simone.

  He sighed, hand still on pocket. ‘Okay, I’ll go, but I want you to know that you’ve really ruined my day.’

  They led Redman outside and with shoulders slumped he quietly complied when the uniformed officers accompanied him toward the squad car.

  ‘Stevens was beaten to a pulp,’ said Simone, ‘you’d expect the attacker’s fists to be bruised or cut; they would at least be sore. Redman’s knuckles were blemish free. He didn’t do it, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘He’s our prime suspect for the Stevens attack but I can’t help agreeing with you,’ said Jackson.

  The phone rang and West answered it. He listened thanked the caller and hung up. ‘Redman’s alibi checks out,’ he said. ‘Five witnesses say he didn’t leave the pub until closing and Stevens was in the ambulance by then.’

  The news gave Simone a huge rush of relief. Her instincts regarding Redman’s innocence had been confirmed but there was another nagging problem that needed to be resolved.

  ‘Where is he now?’ asked Jackson.

  ‘Interview room one,’ said Simone.

  ‘Cut him loose.’

  ‘He’s going to kill himself,’ she said.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘He kept touching his suit pocket when we spoke to him so I checked his personal belongings, the ones that were taken from him after he was put into the interview room, and found a picture of Victoria as a child. Combine that with the new image, the reference he made to having one last drink and the bundle of rope on the staircase at his home convinces me he’s a suicide risk.’

  ‘I completely agree,’ said West. ‘It’s one of the reasons we brought him in. We need get one of the counsellors over here to have a sit down with him before he goes.’

  ‘Do it,’ said Jackson.

  ‘I’ll make the arrangements,’ said Simone. ‘But in the meantime, if our prime suspect is innocent, who attacked Stevens?’

  ‘You had to ask,’ said West.

  The Origin of the Tooth:

  Part 2

  The Devil Inside - 1987

  After he had been bowled out in a hail of boos and jeers the boy stood alone in the crowd and watched Tom Peterson from the side lines. The boy’s expression remained blank while those around him gushed in awe at Peterson’s sporting prowess.

  Tom Peterson could do no wrong, his good looks, and athletic build made him popular with boys and girls alike. He was a natural athlete whose strength, flair, and coordination gave him advantage in most sporting disciplines and on that particular afternoon his heroics were with a cricket bat but it could have just as easily been a football, a tennis racquet, or a javelin.

  The boy was surprised people couldn’t see beyond Peterson’s toothy grin, his thick hair or the beautiful girls that draped themselves over him. They were stupid enough to be taken in by his transparent boasts and shamelessly massaged his ego when he tormented the weak and vulnerable. The boy didn’t know who was worse.

  During lunchtimes, his gang followed him like sheep as he walked aimlessly around the school and picked fights with weaker kids. He pushed them out of the way when he passed them in the corridor and any retaliation was met with a hand on the throat and a threatening fist in the air. He was all man with his gang behind him.

  It was lunchtime and the boy was alone as usual. He sat on a wall and watched the girls as they walked by. He looked at the smooth skin of their beautiful legs and relished the little details he knew they hoped would go unnoticed, the occasional shaving rash, and the way their shoes rubbed at the back of their ankles making them sore and pink.

  Sometimes he caught an explosive flash of underwear from beneath a short skirt as they sat down on the grass and he imagined being with them.

  He knew about the things they got up to and it aroused him when he managed to eavesdrop their conversations in class as they waited for the teacher to arrive. Sitting behind him they spoke between themselves quietly about the things they did with boys; explicit details punctuated with hushed whispers and giggles of amazement. He knew they sometimes went to the woods - his woods, and they told each other about the things they did when they got there, hidden, out of sight with their boyfriend of the week, on a blanket or against a tree.

  The boy was one of Peterson’s targets and it was so inevitable that they would find him it was as if they sought him out deliberately. He was distracted by his fantasies and Peterson and his gang surrounded him before he had chance to walk away and slip invisibly amongst the crowd.

  Peterson began the abuse and soon a group of girls gathered to watch their idol in action but he wasn’t clever or witty and the boy couldn’t understand what they were laughing at, the boy was a loner and an easy target but Peterson’s jibes were as obvious as calling someone with a big nose ‘big nose.’

  The female attention inflated Peterson’s ego and encouraged his gang to show off even more but the boy just stood in silence and stared at them while simply trying understand what was so hilarious and why everyone laughing at his stupid jokes and in particular why the girls were laughing at his stupid jokes.

  The circle around him was closing in and the boy’s lack of reaction was making them angry but what was the point in fighting back? He was outnumbered five to one and knew the battle was already lost. He could feel tension in the air, it was building like a band of changing pressure before a storm and was compounded by the fact that the girls attention demanded the situation had an ending; Peterson was in too deep to walk away, he needed to provoke a reaction and exert punishment.

  The boy covered his face with his hand and peered at Peterson through his fingers. It was a strange thing to do in such a situation and it confused his aggressor. Confusion was a form of weakness and in order to disguise his weakness in front of his audience, Peterson was left with only one emotion. Anger.

  Just before Peterson shoved him, the boy was sure he caught a flash of uncertainty in Peterson’s eyes, maybe even a glimmer of fear but he shoved him nonetheless and the boy was thrown off balance and stood on one of the girl’s feet when he stumbled back. Peterson had already riled them up and that was more than enough provocation for a beating.

  He was quickly knocked to the floor and as the kicks and punches rained down, any pain he felt was irrelevant, it was temporary and easy to ignore. He realised Peterson would never dare attack him alone, Peterson was wary of him, maybe even slightly afraid.

  When the kicking stopped, Peterson and his sheep coaxed the girls into spitting on him, they were unsure at first but goaded each other until the boldest and most beautiful of them rushed forward and spat into the boy’s upturned face, she skipped over to Peterson and hid behind him as if seeking protection from the vile, unpredictable wretch on the floor. She held onto Peterson’s bicep and laughed with him as the other girls quickly followed suit, they ran towards him in turn and one by one spat down at him before running away shrieking hysterically at the excitement of it all. The boy didn’t mind the feeling of their saliva on his skin and after they left he discretely licked his lips.

  Peterson, like most of the other kids that lived locally, travelled to school on their bikes and the boy followed him home one Friday after the cricket match. He was easy to follow amidst the mass of speeding cycles and groups of walking kids because he had his cricket bat strapped to the back of his bike. The boy kept his distance, but that was for his own amusement; he often fantasied about revenge and entertained himself by stalking his enemies, he liked to study them, to track their movements and listen to their conversations. Sometimes he stole things from them, small
things that would go unnoticed - at least for a time, and as he cycled he moved his hand from the grip of the handlebar to the bulge of Peterson’s house keys in his jacket pocket. He had taken them from the changing rooms while the sheep were outside applauding Peterson’s cricket skills.

  The boy knew where Peterson lived and their paths often crossed on the route to and from school. He felt thrilled knowing he could launch a surprise attack at any time and imagined racing ahead and waiting in ambush, jumping out and smacking him in the face with a thick branch, he wanted to knock him off his bike and drag him into the woods, tie him to a tree and torture him with his knife.

  A girl at school was having a birthday party that evening; the boy had heard them talking about it throughout the week and he knew Peterson was going to be there. The girl was called Janice and she was one of the many that filled the boy’s mind with fantasies of stalking her and breaking into her house, rummaging through her personal things and raiding her underwear draw. He wanted to hide in her room and attack her in the dead of night.

  He went home and got changed and while he ate he amused himself thinking about Peterson’s confusion when he couldn’t get into his house, having to check and double check his pockets and school bag for his keys.