"OPEN WOUNDS"

PROLOGUE

Headline from the “Daily Sun”. Monday Twenty first October. 2019.

“CUTTER’S FIFTH VICTIM”

SLASHER CLAIMS ANOTHER VICTIM

MANCHESTER. SATURDAY NINTEENTH OCTOBER. 2019.

The identity of the serial killer dubbed “The Cutter”, the word having been written in the victim’s blood at every horrific crime scene, remains a mystery. The eighteen-month reign of terror across the United Kingdom continues unabated as several police forces across the entire country struggle to find any clue as to the killer’s identity.

The latest attack in Manchester is thought to have occurred sometime between ten ’o’clock and midnight on Saturday the nineteenth of October bringing the victim total to five. The body of a young woman was discovered early Sunday morning by a local man out walking his dog. The victim has not yet been identified. A police spokesperson confirmed the young woman is the fifth victim of the Cutter, the third woman and is a resident of Manchester.

The first victim, Clare Summers, was brutally murdered in Northampton on eighteenth of March two thousand eighteen. The other victims, Andrew Carstairs, (second) was murdered in Great Yarmouth tenth July twenty eighteen.

Maureen Willard, (third) in Truro, Cornwall eighteenth of December twenty eighteen. Owen Hopkins (fourth) was murdered in Cardiff, Wales on the fifth of May twenty nineteen.

Except for the alternating genders and that all of them are teenagers no other connection has been made between any of the victims. The murders are widespread across the United Kingdom giving rise to speculation that the “Cutter” is a long-distance HGV driver, or possibly a Sales Rep…”

Chapter One

Hands, wearing white linen gloves lovingly closed the large scrapbook with careful deference, fingers caressing the colourful cover depicting lurid newspaper headlines from every part of the United Kingdom. Newspaper clippings filled the book, full of blood and death, covered with sticky backed plastic to preserve them… Forever.

The sigh was deep, contented. Acknowledgement of a job well done, job satisfaction, only it wasn’t a job, more of a vocation, a passion play, acted out in blood, again and again. Each time a different location, a different story, different actors, though the ending was always the same. The ending must never change,

Laying the scrapbook carefully in the Samsonite suitcase, wrapped in a large blue and yellow beach towel depicting leaping dolphins for extra protection, the case was closed and locked. It was time to move onto pastures new, rewrite the script, audition the actors, and begin rehearsals in earnest…

Chapter Two

Anita Baxter felt like a student going for her first job fresh from the summer break. Nervous, unsure of herself, hoping to make a good impression. Dressed in new jeans and a dark red jacket she looked presentable, the best Primark had to offer, the best she could afford. With a college scarf around her neck against the chill she hoped she looked more mature than her nineteen years.

Packing shelves overnight at the local supermarket was hardly the dream job she had envisioned, but it was the sort of mindless job she desperately needed right now. She just wanted to cruise for a while, chill out. Besides she needed the money, seriously needed it, London was so bloody expensive, even in the East End! A couple of months hard saving and then she would move on, staying too long in one place was not a good idea. She had no idea where she would go, but, as ever, she would work that out later, take one day at a time.

Turning off the High Street she headed down the wide access road toward the rear of the supermarket squatting in a huge ring of bright light cast by tall streetlamps surrounding the two-story building. The parking lot in front of the store was dark and empty, accentuating the feeling of desolation, it was like stepping into a different world.

Eleven till seven in the morning, an hour for lunch and two fifteen-minute tea breaks. Lunch, at three in the morning! Sounded great! Yeah, right.

The interview had been during office hours, four days ago, the store had been open, a hive of activity, people, shopping carts, bright lights. The administration offices easy to find, plenty of people to ask the way, totally unlike the dark forbidding edifice in front of her, as silent as a graveyard without a single soul to ask directions.

Heels clicking on the pavement Anita kept close to the side wall of the red bricked building which gave way to another car park at the rear, its edges lost in darkness as black as Satan’s heart. The lighting was minimal, only the front rank of parking spaces was illuminated, a line of eight cars sparkling with the early onset of the night’s dew, glittering liquid diamonds in the bright white sodium glare squatted like colourful metallic beetles.

Keeping to the light she was peeved that there still was no sign of a staff entrance. Glancing at her watch she hurried on, the last thing she wanted was to make a bad impression on her first day, or should that be night? Wincing at her own bad joke Anita turned the corner.

Her scream echoed across the car park as a dark shape lunged out of the darkness. She tumbled to the damp concrete with a startled cry, skinning the palm of her hand. She was on her feet in an instant wanting to run, but her legs had turned to jelly, leaving her rooted to the spot.

“Oh my God! Are you alright?” The young man stepped into the light, a mixture of horror and concern creased his handsome face. “I didn’t see you, you just popped out of nowhere,” he stammered stepping closer.

Instinctively Anita stepped back, her heart pounding.

“I’m okay,” she faltered. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m so sorry.” The young man apologised again. “I’ve been wandering around this sodding building for over twenty minutes trying to find a way in. It’s like Fort Knox!”

“Me too, except I just got here,” Anita brushed absently at the dirt on her new jacket.

“Only to have a prat like me knock you for a six. I really am sorry. I haven’t messed up your jacket, have I? Put it into the cleaners, I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do.”

“There’s no need, honestly, it’s an old jacket anyway,” she lied, looking ruefully at the small tear at the elbow.

“Do you work here?” he asked hopefully.

“First night.”

She nearly laughed at his crestfallen face as he ran his fingers through dark tousled hair laying across a broad forehead, the bright grey eyes regarding her with frank, open concern, then looking along the rear wall as if a door might magically appear, he sighed heavily.

“I guess we’re doomed to roam the dark wastelands of the car park,” he said dourly, then brightened. “Danny, Danny Truman,” he said sticking out his hand.

This time Anita did laugh.

“Anita Baxter,” she said taking his hand.

“New staff?” asked a voice.

They both looked around in surprise but saw no one.

“Up here,” the voice said again.

A tall thin man in a white coat stood above them on an iron gantry.

“Are you new staff?” he repeated, exasperation edging his reedy voice.

“Yes,” they said together.

“Around the corner, up the iron stairs, through the door,” the man said and disappeared into the building.

“This,” said Danny. “is very surreal.”

They found the iron stairs lost in a dark narrow alcove on the side of the building next to huge shutters marked “Goods Inward”.

“You’d think they’d put up a sign,” Danny said as they climbed. “Not a big sign, “Employees Entrance”, or “Staff Only”, just to give us a clue.”

“Just be glad we’re in, if only from help on high,” said Anita.

“Very droll,” Danny said as they reached the door.

“Come on, don’t dawdle,” the man in the white coat said irritably. “My name is Mr. Winterbourne, the night manager. Follow me, I’ll show you to your stations.”

Hurrying along the corridor, his heavy brogues thudding on the dark green vinyl and clutching his clipboard to his thin chest the waspish man led them through a maze of corridors to a flight of stairs, clattering down to the ground floor. Without slowing Mr. Winterbourne took them through a set of rubberised doors into a vast cavern of a warehouse. Wide avenues created by huge racking went off in all directions stacked with every conceivable foodstuff, cleaning product and household commodity necessary for everyday living for the modern family. Two forklifts lumbered about the aisles loaded with pallets speared on twin tines like mechanical elephants.

“Make sure you keep within the yellow lines clearly marked on the floor whenever you enter the warehouse, which should be a rare occurrence. They’re designated walkways, you’ll be perfectly safe,” explained Mr. Winterbourne hurrying on.

The ‘designated walkways’, exposed with no form of barrier, didn’t look very safe to Anita.

After two more sets of double doors, they were finally led into a room full of wheeled wire mesh trolleys standing seven feet tall and two and a half feet square. In the room beyond five teenagers, two boys and three girls lounged at Formica topped tables seated on bright yellow plastic moulded chairs, drinking coffee, tea, or soft drinks in cans. One was reading a newspaper.

The atmosphere distinctly changed as they entered, Anita saw one or two distasteful expressions directed at Mr. Winterbourne.

“Come on, come on, we should be on the floor by now, there’s a lot to do,” the manager said prissily, clapping his hands to emphasis the point, the clipboard clamped beneath his arm.

Sullenly they got up and sauntered out of the room.

“Jennifer, would you remain behind?”

A thin faced girl with dull blue eyes and scuffed back hair, tied in an untidy ponytail stopped in the doorway wearing a bored expression.

“This is the staffroom,” Mr. Winterbourne said needlessly. “You clock in and out over there, Jennifer will show you how to make out your cards. Be punctual, I will not tolerate tardiness.

“We are extremely understaffed at the moment, so we need to replenish the shelves as quickly as possible. Jennifer will show you to your lockers and supply you with overalls. Would you show….?” Mr. Winterbourne paused. “What were your names?” he asked perfunctorily.

They told him.

“Yes, yes, very good,” he said, totally disinterested. “Jennifer will show you what’s expected of you and take you to your sections. Don’t forget to make out your cards. I’ll be in my office.”

Then he was gone, followed by a sour look from Jennifer.

Danny let out a long breath. “Wow! Is he always like that?”

“This is one of ‘Prissy’s’ better nights. Wait till he’s on a roll, he’ll drive you bug-eyed,” Jennifer’s expression lightened considerably after Mr. Winterbourne’s departure changing her whole demeanor.

“Prissy?” Anita said.

“Nickname” Jennifer said. “But don’t let him hear you call him that. No one here really likes him, but hey, life is,” her smile brightened her face. “Come on, let’s get you started.”

Chapter Three

“Hey! Wait up!”

Anita slowed as Danny ran breathlessly up to her.

“Is this weird, or what?” he said grinning.

“Weird?” she said bemused.

“Going home at seven fifteen in the morning, it’s freaky.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never worked night shifts before.”

It was strange though, she thought. The day was a little chill with the sun shining brilliantly, one of those crisp pre-winter mornings where everything seemed bright and full of colour. People were hurrying off to work, queuing for buses or making their way to the train station. Cars sped by; delivery trucks were starting their rounds. After an almost silent night Anita realised just how noisy the world really was.

“God, I ache,” said Danny, stretching his arms and arching his back. “Can you believe that place?”

“Pretty manic, huh?” she agreed. “Jens said they’re well understaffed.”

“Jens? The girl who showed us around?”

Anita nodded. “Yeah, that’s what they call her.”

“Did Jens happen to say why they’re so understaffed?”

“Mr. Winterbourne, apparently, he really gets under people’s skin. Employees don’t last more than a couple of weeks. She also told me that the store is due to expand, become a “hypermarket”, open twenty-four seven.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! Isn’t the place big enough already? I got lost twice trying to find my way back to the staffroom, it’s like Hampton Court maze.”

“Filling the shelves will be fun with all the customers milling about, it’ll be like a cattle market. Jens said they’ve been told that the store is supposed to be quiet between two and four in the morning, that’s when we load the shelves,” said Anita.

“What, just the seven of us? I don’t think so,” Danny snorted.

“I can only repeat what Jens tells me; the girl never stops talking! Anyway, she reckons we’ll be fully staffed by then, and the day staff will be mucking in as well, filling shelves as and when needed.”

“Jeez…. Like you said, a cattle market,” said Danny. “Though I get what Jens was saying about Mr. Winterbourne, he was watching me all night, peering round corners and doors when he thought I couldn’t see him. The guy’s a creep.”

“Yeah, I saw him a couple of times watching me, no wonder they call him “Prissy”.”

“So, what you doing with the rest of your day?” asked Danny.

“Home, hot bath, milky coffee and bed,” Anita said dreamily. “My arms feel like they’re dropping off.”

“Yeah, it was a bit much putting you on bottled stuff, you should have been on cereals or toilet rolls.”

“I don’t need favours,” Anita said. “I can hold my end up.”

“Never doubted it,” Danny laughed. “I wouldn’t want to take you on.”

Anita looked at him wryly. “You remember that,” she said.

“Absolutely,” Danny held up his hands defensively.

“What about you, what are you up too today?” Anita said.

“Much the same as you, might go to the gym later, work out some of the aches and pains.”

“Are you crazy? Going to the gym after humping boxes around all night? Talk about a glutton for punishment.”

“It sounds crazy,” Danny said. “But working out helps me to relax.”

“Relax? You’re one of the least uptight guys I’ve ever met.”

“Each to their own, my Lovely,” he grinned. “You should try it sometime.”

“No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Any plans later?”

“Not really, probably just laze about till it’s time to go to work. I don’t know East London very well, wouldn’t know where to go anyway,” said Anita.

“I didn’t think you came from round here,” Danny said.

Even as he said it Danny could almost hear the stone wall drop between them.

“I’m not,” Anita said guardedly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. My mouth starts working sometimes without me engaging my brain.”

Anita smiled wanly. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Danny said. “I’ve not been here long either, never seem to settle in one place for very long.”

“Not ever?” Asked Anita.

“My mum’s job took her all over the country, so we moved a lot. She used to always say I’d end up being like a gypsy.”

“What do you mean ‘used to say’?” Anita made a face. “Sorry, now I’m prying.”

“It’s no big deal, mum and dad split two years ago, a doomed marriage from the start. I live with my dad, my mum kept her career, except now she’s been promoted and spends most of her time behind a desk.”

“Is that bitterness I hear?” Anita said.

“Nah,” said Danny. “The breakup wasn’t amicable, it hit dad pretty hard. He tends to drink a tad too much but other than that we get on fine.”

Something told Anita that wasn’t strictly true, but she let it lie.

“Well, I go this way,” Anita said as they reached the junction.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” offered Danny.

“No, no, you’re as tired as me. I haven’t far to go. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

Danny made a face. “How about meeting up before work, go have something to eat.”

“I hardly think our overalls would go down well in a restaurant,” said Anita a little taken aback.

“Restaurant? Jesus, who can afford restaurants? I was thinking McDonalds or KFC.”

“Well, you know how to treat a girl don’t you? Take her to all the best places.”

Danny went scarlet. “It was just a thought,” he said.

“It’s a nice thought,” said Anita. “But I don’t think so, everything would be such a rush.”

Danny suddenly dropped to his knees; his hands clasped in front of him. “Oh please, please, say you will, I’ll die if you refuse me, I swear I will!”

“Danny!” Anita was mortified. “Get up! People are looking!”

Danny calmly looked around, then grinned. “Then say “yes”, or I’ll go into my “dying of a broken heart” routine, that one’s a killer, lots of wailing and crying…”

“Alright, alright! I’ll meet you, just get up you bloody fool!”

Brushing off the knees of his jeans Danny got up.

“We’ll say eight ’o’clock then, shall we?”

Chapter Four

Danny Truman was walking on air, barely feeling the pavement beneath his trainers as he strolled down the sun-drenched street suppressing the urge to burst into song. He would’ve done if he had a half decent singing voice, he contented himself with whistling. For the first time in a long time, things seemed to be going his way. It hadn’t been easy since mum left, he missed her, he missed her a lot though he saw her more often than he told dad. If he knew his father would have flipped out for sure, seen it as a betrayal.

Watching the bitterness consuming his father was hard, once a happy gregarious man, a good father, a loving husband till the resentment set in. A slow burning fuse, smouldering quietly through the years till finally igniting the inevitable explosion. Maybe it was pride, unable accept his wife as the major bread winner. Resentment led to anger, anger to arguments, arguments to divorce. His mother soared on the wings of her career success; his father dived headfirst into a whiskey bottle leaving Danny somewhere in the middle.

Seventeen years old, two years ago, that’s when he decided dad needed him more than mum. Moving in with his father was motivated with the hope he might be able to help him. Not a chance… There was no doubt in Danny’s mind that if it came down to a choice between him and the bottle, he was under no illusion which his father would choose.

“Shit…” Danny said realising he had just killed the high he was on…

*

Quietly closing the front door Danny padded out to the kitchen to avoid waking his father who no doubt was still asleep. He stopped in the doorway, momentarily closing his despairing eyes, his chin dropped to his chest, swallowing hard, fighting the anger welling up inside. All the cupboards were open, food was scattered on the table, a loaf literally ripped apart amidst a carnage of crumbs on the side next to the butter dish, the liquid contents running down the front of the cupboard onto the floor in yellow rivulets, melted by the heat of the gas stove, two jets still burning. Various cans stood open and discarded, a plate of baked beans congealed in the sink among the clutter of dirty saucepans and used cutlery.

Danny had left the place spotless before going to work, making sure everything was in its place, clean and tidy, trying to keep a modicum of order in a house plagued by chaos.

It was a continuous battle, forever picking up carelessly discarded clothes, empty whisky bottles, crumpled newspapers, dirty crockery. It was endless, perpetual. With a deep sigh Danny recapped the milk and put it into the fridge careful to avoid the spillage on the floor, a half-assed attempt at making tea puddled the worktop near the kettle which wasn’t even plugged in…

“Oh dad…” Danny sighed again.

*

He wasn’t at all startled when his bedroom door crashed back against the wall as his father lurched into the room. Danny had been woken by his father’s lumbered approach moments before.

“How long you been in?” His father asked leaning heavily against the door jamb.

“All day Dad.” Danny finished buttoning up his jeans. “I’m about to go out again.”

“Out? Out where?”

“To work, Dad, remember, I work nights now, at the supermarket, loading shelves,” he couldn’t remember how many times he had told his father this.

“What sort of job is that, loading shelves?” His father hitched up the crumpled pair of grey trousers that hung from his thin hips, his belt hanging loose. Bare chested, unshaven, his hair swept back in unkempt, greasy strands Danny wondered when his father had bathed last and was immediately sad to be thinking such a thing.

“We need the money, Dad,” he said sitting on the bed and lacing his trainers. “I’ve got a few minutes, let me do you something to eat.”

“No son, you’re alright, I’ll do something later. I’ve got a meet at the Black Horse, chance of some work, good money.”

“That’s good Dad, tell me about it later, okay?” Danny said playing along with the familiar charade, all the forgotten meals, the imaginary “man down the pub”. He knew he’d come home tomorrow morning to the same shambles as this morning, his dad out cold, blind drunk either on the sofa or in his room.

“I’ve got to go dad, try and eat something, I’ll see you later…”

*

Sitting on a low wall watching the line of cars creeping through the drive-thru Danny drummed his heels against the yellow bricks. Above him loomed the golden arches, bright in the up lighting as night descended.

Being a little early wasn’t a problem, he just needed to get out of the house, he pushed the thought out of his mind as he raised his collar against the chill wind that had started to rise, hunkering down into his jacket for extra warmth. An empty drinking cup skittered across the asphalt, the top impaled by a red and white two-tone straw like a colourful spear. White napkins flapped against the kerb or flitted along the ground like wounded birds.

Despite the raised flowerbeds dotted about the area, all in all pathetic horticultural displays, the car park had a bleakness about it, a utilitarian sterility that was hardly conducive to happy eating. It didn’t seem to deter the patrons in the crowded restaurant who obviously had no interest in flowers. Large green bins placed at strategic points around the car park, all overflowing, squatted like weird ‘humpty-dumpties’ only adding to the squalor.

Customers, teenagers mostly, with the odd family group came and went, the inevitable brown bag clutched in their hands, the grease already soaking through the bottom, the drive-thru line crept slowly on.

He had worked in a McDonald’s once, up by the Old Street roundabout. Never again. They were insane asylums, slave labour for pittance wages. Constant verbal abuse from the customers, perpetual haranguing by the manager; “Make sure you fold the top of the bag twice, logo facing the customer.” “Politeness at all times.” “Only three shakes of salt on the fries.” He was amazed he had lasted as long as he did, less than two weeks, it had felt like two years.

“Penny for them,” said Anita.

Danny’s head snapped round and there she was, wrapped up in her dark red jacket, jeans and scarf, a woolen beanie on her head, smiling. Her elfin face, cheeks red from the chill wind surrounded by golden curls cascading to her shoulders from beneath the woolen hat beamed at him, her pale blue eyes that always seemed to harbour a hidden sadness beneath her dazzling smile. She took his breath away.

“What? Oh…..” Danny said hurriedly getting to his feet.

“Where were you, you looked miles away?” She said, pulling her woolly hat down over her ears.

Danny blushed. “Just thinking,” he said.

“Good or bad?” Anita said.

“Past,” Danny said. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Chapter Five

The next two hours were like a dream Danny would have no trouble remembering in the days to come. They got their food, sat at a table, and talked; it was good. No! It was great.

“No family at all?” asked Danny.

“None.” Anita said. “Except for an aunt that lives in Wales somewhere.

“After I lost mum and dad, I was in foster care till I was sixteen, then I got a job and been on my own ever since. Growing up in Coventry wasn’t exactly exciting.

“It must have been tough,” said Danny nibbling on some fries.

“Not really, I didn’t know any different. It might sound grim, but it wasn’t, my foster parents were good to me, and I was happy enough.

“What about you?”

“Nothing much to tell, live with my dad, had a million shit jobs, just been taking things as they come.”

Anita eyed him; she liked this crazy, dark-haired boy with the bright grey eyes. He was easy to talk too, no swagger or bluster, and he listened. She liked that.

But she had to be careful, she couldn’t get too involved. But wasn’t she already? Even though it had only been a couple of days. She did like him, and that was bad, it always led to bad things happening.

*

The huge supermarket, soon to be a hypermarket, loomed out of the darkness as they made their way down the access road through the car park. They had walked the last half mile in silence, comfortable in the quiet of each other’s company. The throaty roar of a motorbike shattered that quiet with thunderous noise, the high-powered headlight scything across the road like a laser. Shadows leapt wildly against the backdrop of the supermarket’s walls.

Whirling at the sound Danny’s heart leapt into his mouth as the machine blasted past in a rush of hot oily wind missing them by inches. Anita screamed as Danny pulled her against the wall out of harm’s way watching as the motorbike leaned into a tight right turn, the tyres shrieking as the black-clad rider hurtled out of sight.

“Dickhead!” Danny yelled helplessly.

Anita shook uncontrollably in his arms, her breath coming in short gasps.

“You okay?” Danny asked.

“He was so close, so sudden, I thought he was going to hit us,” she shuddered, her eyes wide.

“If it’s any consolation it scared the bejeebers out of me too,” said Danny.

Anita snorted, a sort of cross between a laugh and a sob. “The bejeebers?” she said, her voice still held a quiver.

“Totally,” Danny answered in mock seriousness. “Me ‘jeebers’ will never be the same again.”

Despite the scare Anita laughed, swiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

“Fool!” she said.

“Come on, we’d better go, we’re gonna be late, we don’t want to upset ‘Prissy’.”

*

Anita had calmed down considerably by the time they got to the staffroom; Danny went to get her some water.

“What happened to you, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost?” Jens sat on the chair next to Anita.

“Nothing, just a bit of a scare in the car park,” she managed a weak smile.

“Scare?” You mean you were attacked?” Jens leaned closer, all ears.

“Nothing so dramatic,” Anita said. “Just some idiot on a motorbike nearly ran us down.”

Jen’s face dropped. “A motorbike?” She said warily.

“Why’d you say it like that?” Danny said handing Anita a paper cup of water. “Do you know who it was?”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the ’newbies,” came a mocking voice from the doorway. “Did you enjoy your evening stroll?”

Dressed in black leather the thin faced man leered at the group, small dark eyes glittering maliciously, the leather jacket slung over his shoulder half concealing the crash helmet.

“It was you on the bike,” Danny said.

“Excuse me?” The biker feigned ignorance.

“Just now, in the car park, you nearly hit us,” Danny said.

“Really? I didn’t see you.”

“You…” Fists clenched Danny stepped forward.

The crash helmet plunked onto the floor.

“Danny,” Anita was suddenly in front of him, a restraining hand on his chest. “Let it go, it’s nothing.”

Danny blinked, momentarily dazed, his shoulders sagged as the rage drained out of him.

“Aw, let him go Babe, I won’t hurt him… Much,” leered the biker.

“Grow up Kenny, d’you always have to be a dick? Try taking the night off for once.”

Kenny dropped all pretense of humour. “Keep out of this Jens, wouldn’t want you to lose your job.”

“Go ahead Kenny, you’d be doing me a favour.” Jens threw back.

Glaring at her Kenny snatched up the helmet. “Bunch of losers,” he muttered stomping off.

Danny made to go after him.

“Whoa, slow down Tiger,” Jens said. “That’s one a-hole you do not want to tangle with.”

“Who was that dipstick? What did he mean about losing your job?” Anita asked.

“Kenny Phillips, part-time forklift driver, full time moron,” Jens looked at Danny and Anita meaningfully. “He also happens to be “Prissy’s” nephew.”

“Wonderful,” Danny said.

“He’s a carbon copy of Prissy, only worse,” Jens said. “Not a good idea to get on his bad side…”

*

“That’s quite a temper he’s got,” Jens said leaning against the pillar at the bottom of the drink’s aisle. “Did you see his face? I thought he was going to kill Kenny.”

“I saw,” Anita said hefting the six pack of water onto the shelf.

“Good thing you stopped him,” Jens said.

“I didn’t want him fighting over me, over nothing.”

“Yeah, well Kenny has that effect on people. Just steer clear of him. Danny should too,” Jens paused. “Danny was pretty scary, he seemed to be somewhere else, like all he wanted was to take Kenny’s head off.”

Anita said nothing, not wanting to admit she had been thinking the exact same thing.

*

“Hey, you okay?” Joanne asked.

Danny savagely punched the bottom of the cardboard box, collapsing it and stowing it in the trolley with the others.

“Fine,” he said tersely.

“You don’t look it,” Joanne said splitting open a box of spaghetti hoops. “You haven’t said a word for the last hour.”

“I’m good, just got nothing to say,” Danny hauled another box onto the floor, dropping it with a thump and began tearing the box open.

“If you damage those tins Winterbourne will be pissed,” Joanne warned.

Danny bit back the expletive dancing on the tip of his tongue and continued to load the shelf.

*

Standing in the staffroom doorway Danny slapped his hand against the jamb in frustration.

“Sue, have you seen Anita?”

Sue Cranston struggled into her coat. “Already gone, seemed in a bit of a hurry.”

Avoiding me, Danny thought. The knot in his stomach tightened, a hard, greasy ball of undefined emotion. He wasn’t sure why it felt so bad, he hardly knew the girl! It was crazy letting it affect him this way. It didn’t alter the fact it did.

Chapter Six

Standing at the crossroads he looked up and down the street. It was already ten fifty, he knew she had already passed. Now there was nothing left to do but run.

“Bollocks!” Danny swore when he saw Mr. Winterbourne at the top of the iron staircase, standing there in his pristine white coat like some spectral Jack Skellington.

As he approached Mr. Winterbourne made a big production at looking at his watch.

“Alright, you creep, I know I’m late,” Danny said under his breath as he mounted the last of the stairs.

“Mr. Truman,” Mr. Winterbourne’s voice was as brittle as ice. “I’m certain I informed you on your first night that I do not tolerate tardiness, you’re nearly fifteen minutes late.”

“Sorry, Mr. Winterbourne, I got held up. It won’t happen again,” Danny said trying to keep a light tone in his voice.

“Well,” he hurrumped. “Make sure it doesn’t.” Winterbourne turned on his heel and went inside.

The others were already on the shop floor. Grabbing a loaded cage Danny hauled it to his section, looking down each aisle as he passed. There was no sign of Anita.

“Hey, Barry.”

Barry Brett turned at the sound of his name, a box of corn flakes poised in his hand.

“Have you seen Anita?” Danny asked.

Barry blushed bright red, a nervous condition that made his pale skin glow, clashing badly with the permanent crop of pimples on his chin and forehead and his short ginger hair.

“Um, some of her stock was damaged, Mr. Winterbourne sent her out to the warehouse to tell Kenny to check the rest of the delivery,” Barry said pushing the heavy rimmed glasses back up his nose.

“Okay, thanks,” Danny frowned and headed for the warehouse.

“You’re not supposed to go out there…” Barry called after him.

“Yeah, sure,” Danny dismissed the warning.

His footsteps fell flat in the vastness of the warehouse, the walls and ceiling too far to reflect any sound. Despite Barry’s warning Danny knew he shouldn’t be here, “Prissy” was already on his case, but he couldn’t ignore the bad feeling inside. Anita was nowhere to be seen. One of forklifts trundled about, it wasn’t Kenny. The minutes ticked by as Danny padded about the warehouse, still nothing. Biting his bottom lip he stood scanning the interior, finally deciding she must have gone back to the shop floor.

The voices were faint, barely audible, there was no mistaking Anita’s. They emanated from the loading bays at the front of the warehouse, he couldn’t make out any words but the tone was strained. Danny passed Kenny’s forklift, parked in the shadow of one of the stacks, a pallet of shrink-wrapped boxes still on its tines.

“Kenny, let me pass…”

“Then say “yes”, a quick drink before work…”

“Not going to happen,” Anita made to pass Kenny, but he wouldn’t give way, forcing her back into a corner.

Smirking he raised a hand to stroke her face, Anita flinched…

“Maybe a kiss then, get to know each other…”

With a startled cry Kenny flew backwards, wrenched back by the straps of his overalls, staggering as Danny hauled him away from the trapped girl.

“Danny!” Anita screamed stepping between them.

Kenny lashed out as Danny closed in on him, more in panic than by design. The hasty blow caught Anita square on the jaw, her head snapped back as she tumbled into Danny arms, taking them both to the floor.

“Anita!” Scrambling up Danny knelt beside her, dazed Anita shook her head, an ugly bruise was already forming on her face.

“Bastard!” Danny was on his feet in an instant charging at Kenny.

Involuntarily stepping back, a tingle of fear sliding up his back Kenny gawked at the sudden ferocious attack, appalled by the grey ice fire in Danny’s blazing eyes.

“Danny…” Anita plucked feebly at his sleeve.

“Come on then, Lover Boy,” Kenny grated with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Truman!”.

The high-pitched voice resounded around the warehouse. Danny didn’t stop, through a red haze all he could see was Kenny standing before him, fists hesitantly raised in defence.

“Truman! What are you doing here? What’s going on here?” Prissy shrilled.

Danny hesitated, his temper unabated. All he wanted was Kenny, just one punch, that’s all, just one. Anita’s touch on his arm brought him out of the fugue that clouded his mind as she gently eased his arm back down, he blinked at her a little bewildered.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“You’re supposed to be on the floor, not in here. I’ve already told you about your lateness, have I got to add insubordination to the list?” Prissy continued storming up to the tiny group.

Kenny dropped his hands as his uncle glared at Danny Truman.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Winterbourne, we’re going back now,” Anita said, stepping forward.

“Wait a minute,” Prissy said. “What happened to your face?”

Anita touched her cheek, wincing. “Nothing,” she said. “Just a minor accident, caught my face on a pallet. That’s why Danny’s here, Kenny called him to come get me, didn’t you Kenny?”

Looking from one to the other Kenny licked his thin lips, looking confused.

“Yeah, yeah,” he quickly agreed seeing the chance offered and grabbed it.

Mr. Winterbourne frowned, not sure to believe the story or not, then decided he didn’t care.

“Get back to work,” he snapped. “And Miss. Baxter, make sure you enter the incident into the accident book.”

Chapter Seven

“You shouldn’t have stopped me,” Danny said angrily.

“What’s your problem? Why are you so angry?” Anita said.

“He hurt you,” Danny answered.

“By accident, I was handling it.”

“It looked like it,” Danny said acidly.

“Danny, it was nothing.”

“Not to me!” he turned away. “Not to me…” His voice dropping to a whisper. “You might think it’s only a small thing, but I’ve had to deal with people like Kenny all my life. People who think they have the right to make fun of others, that they’re entitled, bullies…”

“But… Why? Why does it get to you so much?”

They were the only ones in the staffroom. Danny leaned on one of the tables, frustration seething in his head, looking emptily into space, his mind awhirl.

“Talk to me, Danny,” Anita said.

He wasn’t talking. Losing patience Anita headed for the door.

“Talipes,” he said.

“What?” She said.

“Talipes, commonly called “clubfoot”, a congenital deformity, present at birth. The afflicted foot appears rotated internally at the ankle, pointing down and inwards. It causes the victims to walk on their toes and the outer side of the sole…”

“I don’t understand…”

“I was born with severe clubfoot, my left. Even after months of treatment, stretching, resetting, plaster casts, it wasn’t getting any better.

“At four years old I had to undergo major surgery, my Achilles tendon was lengthened, other tendons in the foot cut, altered, attempting to bring the foot into a more normal position. Up to a point it worked, but it left me with a severe limp, an awkward gait which worsened the more tired I became, which was frequently. My left leg was considerably thinner than the right from the knee down which made wearing shorts an impossibility. It precluded swimming or any other sports.

“I was alright with this, I didn’t know any better, then, at age seven I went to school, a late starter…”

Danny paused, breathing heavily, his hands fiercely gripping the tabletop.

“You have no idea how cruel kids can be,” he said. “Seven years old, being taken to school in a baby’s stroller, not being able to run around with the other kids, being stuck on a chair in the corner of the playground, wondering why I was different…

“The fighting started towards the end of Primary School, I was walking pretty well by then, no more pram,” smiling bitterly Danny continued. “It got worse in Secondary school. Teased, taunted, continually picked on till finally my temper exploded, it became my only defence, usually ending up with me having a black eye or bloody nose. I never won a single fight, but I never gave up either.

“There was one particular boy, Kevin Crickley, he was relentless, day after day, at every opportunity. By then my temper was hair-trigger. At the end of my second year, just before the summer break, he and a few of his friends kept on at me, all through the morning, snide remarks, vile comments, name calling… “Cripple”, “Iron lung”, worse.

“By lunchtime I’d had enough, I thought the hell with this and decided to go home, without permission. Crickley and his cronies caught me in the playground as I headed for the main gate. I can’t remember who pushed me, I just remember going down hard. Everything’s a blank after that… I remember seeing red, coming off the ground and swinging at Crickley….

“I spent four days in hospital. Everyone was demanding to know what happened, teachers, headmaster, even the police at one point. I wouldn’t even tell my parents…”

“Oh Danny…”

“No, no pity. When I was sixteen, I had a final operation, my foot was put right, the limp is barely noticeable even though my foot looks like a roadmap,” he frowned. “I thought I had my temper under control… Apparently not.”

“You should have said something.”

“Like what? it’s not exactly everyday conversation, besides it’s nobody’s business but mine. I don’t even know why I’m telling you now.”

“Because we’re friends,” Anita said.

“Are we?” Danny said bitterly.

“We are,” Anita said. “That’s why you’re coming out with us on Saturday night.”

“Saturday?” Danny said warily, suspicious of the sudden change of direction.

“Yeah, me, Jens, Joanna, we’re going bowling. I was going to drop out as they were bringing their boyfriends, didn’t want to be a fifth wheel, now I don’t have to.”

“I don’t know…” Danny hesitated.

“No arguments, you’re going. Now we’d better get back, I think we’ve pushed Prissy enough for one night…”

She paused by the door.

“Danny, I’m alright, honestly,” Anita kissed him lightly on the cheek. “My knight in shining armour… Then she winked.

*

“What the hell d’you think you were doing?” Mr. Winterbourne demanded. “We’ve got a good thing going here and jeopardise it over a slip of a girl?”

“It was a bit of fun, till Truman interfered,” Kenny said sulkily.

“How did the girl get hurt?”

“It was an accident, Truman came at me, she stepped in the way… It just happened,” Kenny said petulantly.

“Always excuses,” Mr. Winterbourne said. “Have you spoken to your contacts?”

“Yeah, just waiting on Pete to confirm he’s got his dad’s van. It should be tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll make sure to keep everyone on the shop floor. Have the shutters down before you load the van, we don’t need prying eyes. You’ve got the key to the utility shed?”

“It’s the only one,” Kenny said patting the pocket of his jeans. “They think it’s just my bike in there.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Mr. Winterbourne said. “Your buyers know you’re coming?”

“Of course they do,” irritation crept into Kenny’s voice. “I’ve got all they wanted, baked beans, tinned tomatoes, eggs, bacon, sausages, the lot. It was a good idea to put the chest freezer in the shed, widens the possibilities,” Kenny said. “We can start with the frozen stuff.”

“As long as they pay,” his uncle said. “On the barrel. I’m not taking risks for my health.”

“They will,” Kenny said smugly. “And as long as you keep faking the books who’s gonna know. There’s plenty of cafes in the East End who’d love to get a chance at cut-price grub.”

Mr. Winterbourne grunted, pulled on his overcoat, and headed for home with Kenny staring after him.

Kenny spat on the floor. “Arsehole,” he muttered after making sure his uncle was out of earshot.

Chapter Eight

Fridays. God! He hated them! Most people loved them, the run-up to the weekend after a long week at work. Looking forward to parties, weekend breaks away or just chilling at home or at the pub with a few mates. Maybe even going out to a nice restaurant for a meal.

Kenny had none of that.

To him the weekend rush meant more stores were needed on the shop floor which meant he would have to move a mountain of stock to accommodate so the plebs could load the shelves for the local populace to come and buy their groceries. All just a pain in the arse.

Impatiently throwing the oily rag onto the work bench Kenny turned and looked at the Yamaha Ninja Eleven hundred motorcycle gleaming in the middle of the large garage and his bad mood immediately lightened. The fluorescent lights reflected off the chrome, sparkled on the black and red paintwork. His pride and joy. The bike made everything worthwhile. Tomorrow was his day off, he intended to go to the coast, Brighton maybe or Hastings. He didn’t really care, as long as he was on his bike. He’d leave straight after work, eat when he got down there, stay till late.

They could keep their parties and fancy restaurants, their girlfriends and wives… He had something better in mind. He’d scored well this week, nearly four hundred quid, his share of the scam. Smirking he thought how happy Uncle Bert was with his hundred and fifty, the old fart didn’t need to know they’d got five hundred and fifty. Why should he? What did he actually do except turn a blind eye, keep the plebs out of the way and cook the books? Who made all the contacts, had to deal with the café owners, keep ’em all sweet…? Kenny Phillips, that’s who! He deserved the bigger share; he did all the donkey work, took all the risks…

The garage doors were open to the sky, grey in the dying rays of the sun, overcast with the promise of rain later. The forecast said brilliant sunshine for tomorrow. He didn’t care what the weather was going to be like, rain or shine, he was headed for the coast. Shrugging he took one last look at his bike. He’d be leaving for work in another hour, but he was loathe to leave the bike uncovered for even that short space of time.

“You beauty,” he said affectionately running his fingers along the chrome handlebars.

The garage was big enough for two cars as well as the bike. His dads silver Mazda occupied the right-hand side, work benches, littered with tools, lined the wall on the left. Dad had built the benches years ago, bought all the tools, and never set foot in the garage since.

“Lazy…” Kenny left the sentence unspoken as he picked up the dust sheet from the bench and shook it out making it crack like a whip. He threw it over the bike, walked around the other side to straighten it…. That’s when the lights went out…

Plunged into darkness Kenny stood still till his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

“Bloody fuse,” he muttered.

He’d told dad more than once the fuse wasn’t big enough for the garage’s needs, the automatic doors were too heavy, the lights too numerous.

With a whirr of the electric motor the garage doors began to clatter down…

“What the hell?” Kenny gasped, startled. “How…?”

A second before the door thumped shut Kenny turned to the door controls by the access door, there was no one there. The overcast day was shut out as the door closed, darkness pooled within the garage, shadows flitted. The scraping of metal on stone was harsh in the silence. Turning again he thought he saw a shadow move along the wall by the car,

“Who’s there?” Kenny demanded looking this way and that, seeing nothing. “Who’s there?”

The crash made Kenny jump barely managing to suppress the scream leaping into his throat.

“No…” The whisper was hoarse, his mouth dry. “My bike…”

Daring the darkness, hands outstretched, fumbling around like a blind man he found his bike lying on its side like a wounded animal.

“Dammit!”

He desperately wanted to right the machine but was afraid of doing more damage within the shadowy garage. He paused in the darkness, the thought leaping into his head. The bike had a double stand, how could it fall over by itself… Kenny realised he wasn’t alone.

“Who’s there?” he peered into the blackness. “Come on, show yourself.”

“Time to pay the piper, Kenny…” The voice floated out of the dark.

Slowly Kenny rose to his feet. “Who are you, what d’you want?”

“You should have kept your hands to yourself,” The voice hissed, it sounded muffled, sibilant…

“What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?” Kenny said, voice trembling. “Is this about the stolen food…?”

His eyes were adjusting, making it possible to discern shape from shadow in the gloom. Something rattled behind him, Kenny turned realising too late that it had been a distraction.

A rush of movement checked his turn, a shadow flitted in front of him, silver flashed, and a sharp burning slashed across Kenny’s stomach making him gasp. Grunting he staggered back, his black tee-shirt gaped, wetness ran down his thighs, wet, sticky.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Mocked the voice.

Shock stole Kenny’s voice as a shape rose up before him, bright lights bursting in his head as a boot connected solidly between his legs. Unable to breath Kenny sank to his knees his hands grasping his genitals as scarlet pain blossomed in his groin.

The figure came on, the huge knife flicking out like a serpent’s tongue, slashing across his left cheek and back across the right, the point was buried into his right shoulder, mercilessly ripped out, slicing across his chest, his neck.

Sobbing Kenny fell back against the bench. “Stop! Please, stop… No…”

Clinging to the bench Kenny forced his pain wracked body to his feet trying to get to the rear of the garage, back into the house. He screamed as the knife raked down his back dropping him to his hands and knees. A hand grabbed his lank greasy hair, yanking his head backwards painfully. Rough cloth brushed his cheek, a mask….

“You shouldn’t mess with strangers; you never know who you’re dealing with…” The voice whispered into his ear.

Kenny caught a brief glimpse of pale wild eyes as the knife punched into his lower back…

*

“Have they turned up yet?” Demanded Mr. Winterbourne.

“I haven’t seen either of them,” Jens said.

“This is not good enough,’ Mr. Winterbourne said. “This is the second time Truman has been late this week…”

“I’m sure he had a good reason,” Jens began, but Mr. Winterbourne had stalked off.

“And thanks to you too…” Jens muttered.

In a rush of footsteps Danny hurried into the staffroom, breathing heavily.

“You’re pushing your luck; Prissy was just here asking after you. Where you been?”

“I overslept, missed the bus,” Danny gasped.

“I’ll clock you in, just get on the floor,” Jens said.

“Cheers Jens, you’re a diamond.”

Chapter Nine

“Strike!” Anita leapt into the air clapping her hands gleefully as Danny watched in amazement as his ball cleared the lane, all of the pins scattering as the paddle swept down.

“Again? I thought you said you’d never played before, Dan?” Darren, Joanna’s boyfriend said.

“I haven’t, I’m as gobsmacked as you!” he said turning, his cheeks a livid red.

“Three strikes in a row is more than being gobsmacked!” Joanna said. “You’re a hustler!”

“There has to be money changing hands before it can be called hustling, Dumbo!” Jens quipped good-naturedly.

“Beginners luck! Honest!” Danny said putting his hands up walking back to his seat.

“Yeah, right,” Jens said, totally not believing him.

Tenpins crashed, excited cries of the winners, the groans of the losers and the rumbling of bowling balls trundling down the highly polished alleys filled the twenty-four-lane auditorium. Huge screens above the alleys flashed the scores, music videos played on the unoccupied lanes though it was impossible to hear the music over the din.

Danny sipped his coke as Jen’s boyfriend, Colin got up to bowl.

“They’re just jealous,” Anita said next to him, she leaned in a little closer and whispered. “You haven’t played before, have you?”

Danny laughed. “No, never.”

Anita was grinning at him.

“Very funny.” He said.

“Well, I thought so.” She said relishing her teasing. “Wanna get a burger?”

They waited at the rear of the bowling alleys for their order, the ringing and dings of the video game section next to the burger bar mingling with the rest of the bowling alley cacophony.

“So, how are you doing?” Anita said.

“With this lot?” Danny said indicating Jens and company.

“Among other things,” said Anita.

“Not bad, how about you?”

“Same,” she said. “it’s hard joining long term friends and trying to fit in.”

“Tell me about it, but they’re a good bunch, even if they do think I’m a hustler.”

They laughed.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” said Danny. “Kenny’s a low-life,” he hesitated. “I’ve got to ask, why’d you cover for him?”

“Seemed the easiest way out of a bad situation,” Anita shrugged. “If we’d told the truth Kenny would only have denied it, who d’you think Prissy would believe?”

“Guess you’re right,” agreed Danny. “Prissy doesn’t like me anyway.”

“Prissy doesn’t like anyone,” Anita said. “At least we had a good night working without Kenny, he should take more time off.”

“Absolutely, though his uncle wasn’t too happy about it,” Danny laughed with her. “But let’s not talk shop, pardon the pun. Let’s just enjoy the evening.”

“Absolutely!” Anita paraphrased.

They got their hamburgers.

“We need a rematch,” Darren said putting on his coat.

“Anytime,” said Danny. “But I’m really not that good….”

He turned scarlet when they all burst out laughing.

“So, what now?” Jens said turning her collar up against the chill wind.

“Dunno about you lot, but I’m done, I need my bed,” Joanne said.

“No, it’s still early,” Jens said. “Let’s do something, go for a coffee…”

“Dan? Anita?” said Joanne.

They looked at each other.

“Yeah, why not?”

*

They watched in total awe as Darren tucked into a large chicken supreme pizza.

“Where does he put it all?” said Colin.

“Hollow legs,” said Jens.

“More like hollow body,” Joanne added.

Darren stopped with a pizza slice halfway to his mouth suddenly aware they were all watching him.

“What?” he said.

“You just ate a massive salad,” said Jens laughing. “Not to mention the hamburger and fries at the bowling alley.”

“Snack,” Darren said chomping into the pizza slice. “This is dinner,” he added, snatching up a napkin to catch the tomato sauce trickling down his chin.

“How you finding London?” Jens asked Anita.

“I haven’t seen much,” Anita said surprised at the sudden question. “I haven’t had the time yet.”

“Where’s home?”

“Northampton,” Anita promptly replied.

Danny frowned, looking at Anita, his coffee halfway to his mouth. That didn’t sound right. …Northampton? That night at McDonalds, they’d talked… He had asked the same question and she said… His frown deepened as he tried to remember, but it wouldn’t come.

“It must be great having your own place,” said Joanna. “You get to have your own space, do what you want when you want, no nagging parents driving you mad.”

“Definitely,” said Anita. “Plenty of time to do your own laundry, ironing, cleaning…. Not to mention cooking your own dinner after getting home from work,” she laughed. “Trust me, you’re better off at home.”

“Massive downer!” said Joanna. “It’s bad enough having to clean my own room!”

“Those were blessed days,” Anita grinned.

“What about you, Dan?” Darren said. “What team do you support?”

“Ah,” said Danny slowly. “Football.”

“Yep, our national sport. West Ham, Arsenal?”

“Don’t mean to disappoint, but I hate football,” Danny said.

“What? How can you not like football?” said Darren.

“It’s not natural,” agreed Colin.

“Sorry mate, but I just can’t get excited about twenty-two men running about a field chasing a ball, bores me silly,” Danny said.

“You can’t say things like that, it’s watched by millions.”

“The sport of kings,” chimed in Colin.

“I think you’ll find that’s horse-racing,” Danny said lamely.

“Not as far as we’re concerned,” said Colin, looking very aggrieved.

“Alright, that’s enough you football hooligans, leave him alone,” said Jens. “Besides, football is boring.”

“You go wash your mouth out Girlie!” said Darren covering his ears.

“Idiot,” Jens said.

“Well, if it’s not football what do you like?” Colin said. “Needlework?”

“I moved around a lot, no real time for anything else,” Danny said.

“Enough!” said Jens. “Don’t spoil a magic day!”

“We’re going to have to do this again,” said Darren. “It’s been a great evening.”

“Maybe next time we can take in a movie,” suggested Jens.

“Or maybe go for a meal,” Joanna said looking pointedly at Darren.

Darren looked at their collective, grinning faces.

“What?” he said.

*

“It was a good night,” Danny said breaking the silence between them.

“It was,” Anita said absently.

“We could do it again or go out by ourselves if you want,” Danny said.

“Maybe,” Anita said.

They reached the junction, Anita slowed.

“Do you want me to see you home?” Danny asked.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll be alright from here.”

“It’s not a problem, come on.”

“I said I’m okay,” Anita snapped.

Danny recoiled, surprised by her sudden change of mood. “Anita?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she said walking off without another word and not looking back.

“What was that?” Danny muttered, struggling to understand what just happened.

For a moment he thought Anita was angry, that he had done or said something to upset her though God knows what. She had looked… haunted, deep in her eyes, her mouth, so quick to smile had tightened into a thin hard line. Then he realised, it had not been anger he had seen in her expression, not even a glimmer…What he had seen was fear.

Chapter Ten

Chief Inspector Ruperts stared at the word scrawled in blood on the garage wall.

“Why change your M.O.?” he wondered.

“Sir?” Paul Leeson, his sergeant queried.

“All the other attacks were done in the open with several escape routes. Why trap yourself in an enclosed space with no escape route? Why a home invasion? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Could it be a copycat?” Leeson said.

Ruperts studied the bloody words, the dark brown lines tracking down the rough wall like bitter tears.

“No, it’s definitely the “Cutter”, look at the “T”s”, see the curving crossbars? That was never made public, nor has any photograph been shown of the inscription. The same with the fatal wound on all the victims. Sometime during the attack, the victim is stabbed in the liver, the shock renders them incapable whilst keeping them alive. See the dark blood pooled by the motorbike… Hepatic blood, straight from the liver, it can take up to thirty minutes to bleed out.

“It’s the Cutter alright…”

“Gives him time to play…” Leeson said kneeling by the Yamaha still on its side. “Well at least we know how Kenny spent his proceeds from the food scam,” he said. “How can stealing groceries be so lucrative?”

“When you steal the basics like those found in the utility shed it’s easy to find people who want to buy in bulk, cheaply, mainly small restaurants and cafes,” Ruperts said.

“That’s a lot of baked beans,” whistled Leeson.

The garage doors were raised allowing the early sun’s rays in, giving natural light to the grisly crime scene. Two police cars had pulled up onto the drive obscuring the interior from neighbours prying eyes, blue and white tape had been strung across the front of the house.

Kenny’s Dad, unable to sleep had come downstairs to make some tea. Seeing Kenny’s crash helmet still in the hall he had checked to see if his bike was still in the garage, wondering why his son had not gone to work. He found Kenny. That was early Saturday morning. The next thirty-six hours had been hectic, forensics had gone over the garage, Kenny’s body removed, everything else left as it was.

“All these tools…” Ruperts picked up a wrench from the work bench. “Phillips was a big lad, young, strong… Why didn’t he grab one of these wrenches, or a hammer? Why didn’t he fight back?”

“He must have been caught by surprise, taken from behind.” Leeson said.

“Or he knew his attacker.” Ruperts said throwing the wrench down with a clatter.

“You think Phillips knew the Cutter?” Leeson said.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t seem likely. Phillips was a petty thief, his criminal record is as long as a toilet roll, but it’s all small stuff, minor assaults, T.D.A., shop lifting, speeding tickets, dangerous driving… Even his driving license belongs to his brother, he’s been banned three times over…

“He lives in the East End, he’s a home boy… Where’s the connection between him and the Cutter?” Ruperts sighed heavily. “And then there’s the circuit breaker… The lights in the garage were shut off… That indicates planning, premeditation… Daring. Mr. Phillips was still in the house… It looks to me as if Kenny was deliberately targeted.”

Ruperts could feel the beginning of a headache lurking at the back of his head. None of this made sense.

“Let’s go back to the store, his work colleagues should just be starting their shift,” he said glancing at his watch. “We’ll talk to them, see what they’ve got to say.”

*

“Why did you lie?” Danny said as they sat in a quiet corner of the staffroom.

“I saw you were getting edgy; I didn’t want you losing your temper. Besides, I know you were alone on Friday.”

“I was at home, clearing up after my dad, not that he’d remember that,” said Danny.

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?” Anita smiled.

“I’m not so sure that policeman’s convinced,” said Danny. “He knew so much.”

“You can blame that on Jens,” said Anita. “That girl could talk for England.”

Almost as if saying her name conjured up the devil Jens appeared in the seat next to Anita.

“What did they say?” her face alight with excitement.

“Just questions.” Danny said sourly.

“I just heard two policemen talking in the corridor, they said it was definitely the Cutter, the name was written in blood and everything…”

Anita paled. “Oh my God…” she whispered.

“That’s six…” Jens carried on oblivious to the effect it was having on Anita. “Who would have thought Kenny…”

“Jens!” Danny snapped.

“I don’t feel very well,” Anita was ashen white, “I think I need to go home…”

“You’ll have to ask Mr. Bridger, He’s taken over from Prissy, apparently he’s gone on leave…” Jens said.

Danny ignored her. “I’ll go talk to the inspector…”

The policeman looked across the room at the girl huddled on the chair.

“Is she okay?” he asked Danny.

“I think it’s just shock,” Danny said.

“Okay, of course she can go, I’ll have someone drive her,” Ruperts motioned to one of his men.

“Come on, Anita, let’s get you out of here,” Danny said helping her to her feet.

Anita broke away from him, her hands raised. “No, no, I don’t need your help.”

“You’re still a little shaky…”

“No! Stop fussing!”

People turned at her sudden outburst as Anita stumbled from the staffroom out into the corridor where the police driver awaited her. With a last glance she left, leaving Danny confused once again.It was the same as yesterday. Danny knew she wasn’t ill, nor was Anita in shock. It was the second time in two days he had seen that look.

Anita was scared.

Chapter Eleven

Something changed, and it just wasn’t because of Kenny’s death. A pall descended over the store, a palpable gloom that was exacerbated by a not too discreet police presence by the utility shed which was taped off with bright blue and white tape. Even Jens normally irrepressible exuberance was dampened, no one was really speaking. For a while it looked as if Mr. Bridger was going to close the store but after consulting head office and the police, work, like the show, went on.

*

Danny barely tasted the bacon sandwich as he stared at the glowing monitor. The coffee was good though, good enough for a second cup, and it helped with the fatigue weighing down his body as well as his spirit. His lower back cracked as he stretched, rubbing his tired eyes as he logged onto the internet.

It was at times like this that he wished he could afford a mobile phone, limitless calls, texts and data downloads… On the downside, monthly bills, and expensive phones… “Wi-Fi Bytes Internet Café” would have to suffice. The night had been strained, except for the whispered closeted conversations floating around the shop floor as shelves were loaded, tending mostly to be instigated by Jens, other than thatthe work was done mostly in a strained silence.

Much like the café this morning, even though it was three quarters full the place was as quiet as a tomb, only the occasional click of cup on saucer or the absent stirring of coffee or herbal tea broke the silence as the patrons trolled through and endless stream of information on their monitor screens.

For nearly an hour he searched through the brief history of the Cutter, victims, timelines, locations, the information didn’t really tell him anything he didn’t already know. There was some stuff comparing the Cutter to various other serial killers, (inevitably the ever-popular Jack the Ripper got a mention) ending with the so-called expert predicting where the Cutter was most likely to strike next.

“London.” Danny muttered drily.

The “expert” had suggested Edinburgh.

He didn’t really know what he was looking for though Danny was pretty certain he would know it when he saw it. Scrubbing at his face he leaned back in his chair. He needed to sleep. The list of dates, times, and victim’s names mocked him as he looked down at the notebook beside the keyboard, with a grimace he flipped it shut. Cramming it into his backpack Danny finished his coffee in two short gulps, then headed home.

*

Sleep eluded him, he knew it would, the previous night kept playing through his tired mind. Sitting in the staffroom, not wanting to eat, the cup of tea cold on the table.

“Is Anita alright?” Joanne asked slipping into the seat on the opposite side of the table.

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. “Been a rough couple of days.”

“What about you, things haven’t been plain sailing in your little pond either? You’re looking a bit worn around the edges.”

“Thanks,” Danny scoffed. “I’m okay, I just wish none of this was happening, Kenny was a dipstick, but he didn’t deserve that. How did things get so bad so fast?”

“I don’t know,” Joanne said. “You know they arrested Prissy?”

“No, why?”

“Rumour has it he and Kenny were working some sort of a scam together; a ton of stock was found in the utility shed where Kenny kept his bike.”

“Shit,” said Danny. “Just when you think there’s nothing left to surprise you.”

“Mum told me Kenny’s murder is all over the news, so far the store hasn’t been named. This place is gonna be a madhouse when it gets out,” said Joanne.

“And it will come out, sooner or later,” said Danny. “It always does.”

“Yeah, well, we can only hope for later,” said Joanne. “And don’t worry about Anita, when she comes back, I’ll watch out for her.”

It all rolled around in his head as he tossed and turned. Something was niggling at him, maybe something important, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was getting a headache just thinking about it. Frustrated he settled down and tried to sleep.

Like a switch clicking over it came to him, the light in his head came on just as he was falling asleep. Sitting up he picked up the notebook on his bedside cabinet and flicked through it. Dates, times, locations…

Danny stared at the page, it was a fantastic leap of logic, or maybe just coincidence, but the idea was in his head now and he couldn’t shake it. He still didn’t understand the significance of his discovery as he lay back down. In the end tiredness won… His eyes began to drift shut and his last conscious thought was… Locations…