IMPERFECTION by Ray Clark (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

the entrance, he reached into his pocket for the keys. He tried the correct one, but it wouldn’t turn the lock. Strange. Surely Janine had locked up last night? Then again, the mood she’d been in… she could be a right little madam when she wanted. He tried the Yale key. When that didn’t work, he reached and turned the handle and pushed open the door.

He would have to have words with her. She was becoming very lackadaisical of late. Forgetting to lock up was the last straw. And he wasn’t happy with the way she addressed customers. He would definitely nip it in the bud.

The shop was unnaturally dark as he entered. He pinched his nose, wondering what in God’s name the smell was. He reached out, switched on the light, turned a little too fast. He lost his footing and hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was still on the ground when he glanced upwards.

The sight that greeted him saved him from falling again when he fainted.

Chapter Twenty-two

An ambulance with flashing blue lights parked in front of the arcade. Alongside that were three more squad cars and a van with dark tinted windows. Uniformed constables were standing in front of scene tape. Gardener and Reilly jumped out of their car, flashed warrant cards, walked down to the shop. At either end of the arcade, morning shoppers gathered, craning their necks to see what had happened.

The entrance to the shop was sealed with reflective scene tape. Inside, Gardener heard the voices of both Fitz and Briggs. Sitting outside on a chair, wrapped in a blanket, was a man. Gardener estimated his age around sixty. The small amount of grey hair he had left on the sides of his head above his ears was close-cropped. The man wore round, wire-rimmed spectacles. He had a bulbous nose, and his lips were thick and protruding. His complexion was the colour of flour. His teeth were chattering so hard, Gardener didn’t think he would have any left in another hour.

The rest of his team was dotted around the arcade. Most of them were talking to what he suspected were the other shopkeepers. A constable in front of the shop handed the two officers their white contamination suits. Gardener dressed. He was about to enter when Briggs stepped out.

“Bit nasty in there, Stewart.” He nodded towards the man on the chair. “That’s Alan Cuthbertson.”

“Did he find the body?” asked Gardener.

“Afraid so.”

“Not touched anything, has he?”

“I doubt it. He hasn’t spoken since I got here. In fact, I don’t think he’s spoken since he found her.”

“Who found him, then?” asked Reilly.

“Bloke next door in the camera shop. Name’s Battersby. He heard an almighty crash and came running to see what was up. Cuthbertson had passed out. Battersby left him to it while he rang us.”

“Where is he now?”

“Back in his own shop.”

“Anybody questioned him?”

“Just doing it. You’d better take a look, Stewart. I’ve told Scenes of Crime to hang fire until you’ve been in. I’m warning you now, it’s much worse than the last one.”

“How do you know it’s the same killer?”

“There’s a quote on the wall,” said Briggs.

“And it’s worse than the last one?” questioned Reilly.

“Well, you two go and have a look, I’m having a fag.”

“I thought you’d given up,” said Gardener.

“When you’ve seen what’s in there, you might join me.” Briggs nodded to Cuthbertson again. “No wonder that poor bastard’s lost his marbles.”

Gardener pushed past Briggs. Reilly followed.

Inside the shop, Gardener pinched his nose. The coppery odour of blood was ever present, along with the putrid aroma of urine and excrement. The room wasn’t particularly big, but an awful lot had been crammed into the space for display purposes, such as tailor’s dummies dressed in various costumes with a variety of different hairstyles. Two of the walls had shelves with latex masks and wigs, and a whole range of chemicals and powders for stage use. The only bare wall in the shop was to the left of the counter. That wall contained the message.

Which was partially hidden by the body.

The girl was naked, hanging upside down. Her legs were open, held that way by two ropes attached to ceiling beams, knotted tightly around her ankles, which – Gardener realised – bore no chafing. As his gaze wandered further down her colourless body, he didn’t notice any signs of sexual abuse, but he knew a closer inspection may reveal otherwise.

Her arms had also been tied and held outwards by ropes, intricately wound around the mannequins, connected to the counter at one side, and the window ledge at the other. Her throat had been slit, allowing the blood to drain into a large bucket beneath her head. Had she been dead at that point? He’d figured she must have been, otherwise there would be blood spatter. That was something Fitz would eventually be able to tell him. The pathologist was standing quietly behind him, arranging the tools he would need.

“Notice something, Sean?”

“He’s getting more adventurous,” said Reilly. “But I’m noticing a lot of things. Which one are you thinking of?”

“The wall behind her has no blood spatter. Why?”

“He’s done her somewhere else?”

“Possible. But how could you get a body into the arcade and into the shop without anyone seeing you?”

“He managed it in the theatre.”

The SIO glanced around the shop in disgust.

Steve Fenton nodded. “I’ll be outside. Give us a shout when you need me.”

Gardener blew out a sigh, nodded at Fitz. “Okay.” He stopped Steve Fenton leaving the shop. “Any sign of her clothes?”

“Not so far.”

Gardener turned his attention to the quote:

The night passed – a night of vague horrors

– tortured dreams.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? And where had it come from? Another film?