Chapter Thirty-Two

“Hello... Is that Sarah Medcraft?”

“Who is that? Tell me your name.”

Sarah Medcraft could hear nothing on the line but deep breathing.

“Good afternoon. May I speak to Sarah?” the voice continued.

“Yes this is Sarah. Who are you?... If you don’t answer me, you can get off this bloody line, you pervert.”

Richard put his phone down and sighed. What would it take to make them feel exhausted? There was more than one way to skin a cat, he thought... or was there.

***

“Is that Moira Bancroft?”

“Yes, this is Moira. Is that you Bob?”

Again all that Moira could hear was someone breathing deeply into her phone. “Get stuffed,” she snorted and banged the phone down as Richard stroked his Michael knife with great pleasure. It was beginning to look lonely all wrapped up in its leather scabbard as suddenly another idea entered his head.

***

“Why am I doing all these solitary jobs,” he asked himself aloud as he scanned his little book. ‘Swift... Irene Swift’ he read and then he blinked in confusion. “She was a nice girl. I remember her, yes Irene was one of the nice one’s. She never laughed at me,” he murmured to himself before he turned to the next page.

***

“Tobias... Margaret Tobias, now she was a pain in the arse... if ever I knew one and she had a cousin too. The both of them used to laugh together, arm in arm they did, the silly sods. Now what was her cousin’s name... Tobias... No... it wasn’t that. They didn’t have the same surname... Ah! I remember it was Smith... plain ordinary Jane Smith. Now how the hell could I forget that?”

Two for the price of one, he thought as he polished his knife again.

“Is that Miss Tobias? Miss Margaret Tobias?”

“Yes... who is that?”

“You don’t know me Margaret but I’ve been talking to your cousin... Jane Smith. You were at school together and I remember a show you were in one Christmas. It was a sort of pantomime that the children did for charity and I noticed how talented you and your cousin were in that show... and I wondered if you’d like to do the same again... but of course in an adult pantomime?”

Margaret preened where she stood with the phone in her hand. Of course she was prepared to do what she did before, for charity of course. What girl wouldn’t... and Richard smiled.

“Hello, is that Miss Smith? Miss Jane Smith?”

“Yea... That’s my name... whose zat... whose askin’”

Richard went through the story again about the children’s pantomime for charity, telling Jane Smith who he was sure she would only have remembered him vaguely anyway as she taunted him just a little less than her cousin did and by this time, Richard was beginning to feel confident about his actions and a certain arrogance came into it as he mentioned his name with a sense of pride and well being. Would Jane like to do the same again, with her obvious talents, but this time for an adult show and needless to say... and just as he had anticipated, Jane was delighted...

The arrangement was that they should both turn up for a primary rehearsal. Margaret was to be there at 7.30pm the following Thursday and Jane at 9.0 pm. The reason for the different times of rehearsal was so that each should show their individual talent and Richard assured them that there was no doubt they would each have a part to play, but this was the way the show was run.

Vanity played its part in Richard’s ruse and the girls turned up exactly at the times proposed... He looked into Jane Smith’s eyes and stuttered in his arrogance...

“You... c... c ... c... can call me what... y... y... like now as you... w... w... won’t ever open your... p... p... p... pretty little... m... m... mouth again, darling...”he said, but the girls never got to play in the pantomime... and Richard smiled as he left them, skimpily dressed and gasping for breath as a pool of water formed around Jane Smith’s feet.

“Oh God, another one”... he whispered into the cold night air... “She’s pissed herself,” Richard muttered, “How bloody undignified for these girls to do a thing like that.”

***

“Is that Joseph Bertrand?”

“Yes, this is he, who are you?”

“This is the telephone directory service Sir.” Richard raised his voice a pitch in an effort to confuse his listener. “The new directory is now published and I just wanted to confirm that your address is as it was in last year’s edition. Would you confirm your address for me please?”

Mr. Bertrand obliged very readily and Richard took down the address in his little book. ***

Two days later...

“Hello... Is that Mr. Bertrand? Mr. Joseph Bertrand and do you live at 43 Grosvenor Street?”

“Yes. I am Joseph Bertrand and that is my address. What do you want?”

“You don’t know me Sir, but I believe you may have met my sister.”

“Your sister... who the hell are you?

Richard smiled. J.B. was beginning to get annoyed and the plan was working.

“My sister is Maya Thompson. She told me you had proposed to her and I want to know why you didn’t keep your promise...

There was, as expected a very long silence on the phone before Mr. Bertrand spoke again.

“Proposal... Propose to your sister. I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous. I’m a married man, for God’s sake and your sister must be soft in the head if she thought I intended to marry her. Yes, I know Maya alright, but who doesn’t?

I think she’s had more men than I’ve had hot dinners... Now fuck off and tell your story to some other idiot...”

Richard was furious with the message he received from Mr. Bertrand and he was sure he needed to make a visit to number 43 Grosvenor Street, before very long and before not very long indeed, as he went back to the house a couple of days later, but when he approached Mr. Bertrand again, this time knowing what he would do and not expecting any resistance from his victim, he got a volume of verbal abuse as soon as Bertrand opened his door and Richard could hear someone in the back ground enquiring who the visitor was, as well as a dog barking ferociously, somewhere inside the hallway.

“Get the fuck”, but that was more than Richard could stand and the conversation, if you could call it that, was ended within a few moments, with Joseph Bertrand sliding down the wall outside his front door, with blood sprayed everywhere across the walls and with the dog leaping wildly over Bertrand’s body and lounging himself at Richard. Richard lost balance for a few moments before he took to his heels with the dog racing after him and after a chase of about five minutes... the dog gave up and returned to Bertrand’s house.

Richard went into a telephone booth to make sure that he was intact and that there was no blood stains around him for Fiona to notice, but there was nothing that he could see.

***

“You’re late this evening Richard,” Fiona called out as he came into the flat, “I think they should pay you overtime for all the long hours you work,” but Richard pulled his jacket from his shoulders and spread it across the settee to make a second check to see that it was ‘clean’...

“I get paid well enough for what I do,” he answered, “I’m only a shelf stacker, not the Managing Director. I thought you knew that.”

Fiona laughed as she asked Richard if he was ready to eat.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he replied and tucked into a plate of lasagna and chips.

***

“Another victim to the serial killer,” Fiona read in the paper “Last night the serial killer struck again and with the same pattern as always. A sharp cut to the jugular. There were no witnesses, but the victim’s wife said she heard an argument before her husband was struck down... and that their pet dog, a large German shepherd had chased a man into the darkness.”

“This is a terrible thing to be happening around these parts, isn’t it Richard?

Fiona said as she was drinking her coffee, but Richard didn’t seem to hear anything... “These murders,” Fiona repeated, “It’s not safe to walk out in the streets after dark with this maniac around, is it?”

“No... I don’t suppose it is, but how do they know this person, man or woman whoever they might be, is a serial killer? It could be a one-off act of revenge or anything like that,” he said, but Fiona was sure there was more to the story than Richard supposed...

“I think it very strange,” she went on, “That all the victims with their throats cut are men. There doesn’t appear to be any women, does there?”

“Only those few girls who...”Richard stopped talking suddenly and Fiona looked up at him from her newspaper.

“What girls?” she asked and Richard sipped his coffee without answering. “Oh! I suppose you are referring to those girls who were strangled recently,” she went on, “but that was a different type of killing. They were strangled. No knife was used on them and this man, or woman... goes around with a sharp knife attacking people around the throat... Aiming for the jugular, it seems and so ensuring a quick, clean death... if you can call it that. Ugh! I think it’s terrible.”

Richard smiled. It was a pity they couldn’t put a name to this ‘maniac’ who was roaming around the streets at night. It would be excellent publicity for some poor old sod... he thought before he slipped his jacket over his shoulders and left for the supermarket.

As he went, he could hear the Salvation Army singing at a street corner. They had strong lusty voices for what they believed. “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war,” they sang and one of the choristers came up to Richard, shaking a tin that obviously contained some money “Are you saved Sir?” cried one young girl from the front row of the singers and Richard sniggered as he raised his eyes to heaven.

“I hope so darling,” he replied, “but you can pray for me, if you like.”