AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“He’s all yours,” said Gardener.
“There’s something about these four murders that really unsettles me,” said Fitz.
“Yeah,” said Reilly. “In our case, it’s the killer.”
“It’s the method.”
“You think you’ve come across it before?” Gardener asked.
Fitz nodded and sighed. “Each one that’s been killed has struck a chord somewhere. Whatever it is, it’s not something that happened recently.”
A shuffling noise behind them caught Gardener’s attention. Frank Fisher’s body had suddenly fallen to one side.
When it hit the floor, all three men were left staring at a photograph: a very young girl with blonde hair, a replica of the one they had found underneath the body of Nicola Stapleton.
Chapter Forty-two
Chris Rydell glanced at his computer screen. It was a little after ten, and he’d been up nearly three hours after having had only two and a half hours’ sleep.
He felt okay.
He’d spent the last few minutes in the kitchen preparing his breakfast. He had never been able to eat as soon as he was up and out of bed.
During the last six months however, his diet had changed considerably. Due to the cirrhosis, he’d had to avoid too much fat or too many calories. They caused a fatty liver; some good that would do now.
He also had to be very careful with carbohydrates. Too many could result in diabetes. That was a laugh. Would he actually notice on top of everything else? So his food intake now consisted mainly of chicken, fish, vegetables and salads. Alcohol had to be avoided at all costs. He’d never been a big drinker anyway because of the job. So he stuck mainly to water, or a variety of herbal teas.
Staring into the bowl, he’d prepared a mixture of oats with cranberries, raspberries, and raisins. They’d been infused with white and dark chocolate curls, and he’d also added fresh blueberries. Though why he was bothering was anyone’s guess. He’d be dead soon anyway, according to the doctors – well, Trent anyway.
An article on his computer captured his attention. Chris spooned up some granola and started chewing while he was thinking.
Vincent Baines had written another blog about what was happening in his life. It certainly made interesting reading. From what Chris had found out about the man, Vincent considered himself a detective. The latest blog was beginning to prove that there really was some merit in the statement.
Over the last two or three days, Batley and the surrounding areas of West Yorkshire had been rocked by a couple of double murders and Vincent – it would appear – had been taunted by the killer. Whoever had murdered these people had been sending him emails, and questioning his ability to beat the police to identify the culprit.
Rydell took another couple of mouthfuls of his breakfast. Even though he had to eat healthily, he was enjoying it.
He read more of the blog. Seems Vincent had changed his mind about who was popping people off and chasing him. He was also convinced that his demise would be based around something that had actually happened in 1866, to an engine driver called Samuel Birchall who lived and worked in Sheffield but visited family in Leeds every two weeks. Ironically, Birchall was also addicted to horse racing.
He placed his empty bowl on the top of the desk and fished out a number of true crime books. How spot on was Vincent?
It took him only a matter of minutes to locate the correct book. Birchall had narrowly escaped being sacked from his job. Rydell suspected that was down to alcohol, from what the book claimed. In June 1866, Birchall was in Leeds for the weekend and had drunk the entire time, commenting to his daughter that he was tired with life and that he meant to do himself some harm.
Before returning to Sheffield, it was obvious he had carried out his threat, as Birchall deteriorated in front of his friends. He had drunk laudanum. His friends had tried to save his life. All the while, Birchall was abusive, shouting and swearing and lashing out, telling them that the doctors could do nothing for him. A stomach pump proved useless, because the poison in his body had done too much damage.
Vincent’s blog claimed the killer had threatened to finish him the same way. To top it all, the chemist in Guiseley had been turned over in the last three hours, and the only thing missing was secobarbital.
Rydell smiled. Something interesting was definitely happening here.
Reading more of the blog, the hairs on the nape of his neck bristled. Vincent went on to state that the double murder that had been committed in Batley was a copy of two more murders that had happened way back in 1865 and 1881.
Rydell delved even further into his books. Another thirty minutes proved that Vincent was not wrong. He had ferreted out the facts. He’d also informed everyone that he was in constant contact with the police.
Rydell wondered how he knew so much – unless he was responsible?
He rose from the desk and took his bowl through to the kitchen. He switched on the kettle and checked the cupboard, deciding on a green tea infused with orange. While he was waiting, he wondered whether he should drop the diet altogether and eat as much fat and crap as he liked. Why not? It wasn’t likely it would kill him. What he wouldn’t give for a nice juicy Burger King, an Aberdeen Angus with blue cheese.
The kettle boiled, and he dropped a tea bag in the cup and poured in the boiling water. A noise behind distracted him. He turned to see his houseguest, clutching her doll.
