Killing the Beasts

As he said 'next victim's house', the words of Nikki Kingston rang in his head. She had told him that she'd got her pack of gum in some sort of a freebie promotion a while ago. The forms he was looking at were headed 'Win a year's supply of X-treme gum and an all expenses paid luxury holiday for two in Malaysia.'

Frantically he started scrolling through his phone book, knowing that, after being knocked over by Sly in the Arndale, she'd been signed off work with a stiff neck.

Her phone began to ring.

'Nikki, it's Jon!' He realized he was shouting.

'OK — I hear you. Christ, Jon-'

He cut her off. 'Nikki, do not open the door to anyone, do you understand?'

'What do you mean?'

'Just say you'll keep it shut!'

'OK, OK! What's going on?'

Jon breathed out. 'That pack of X-treme gum you gave me. When you picked it up, did you fill out a competition entry form?'

'Yeah, how did you know?'

'Just lock the door, will you?'

'OK, I'm locking it now. What's all this about?' Jon was able to speak a little more calmly. 'Where did you get it again?'

'One of those promotional giveaways, at Piccadilly station.'

Suddenly everything made sense. All of the victims lived around the south and east of Manchester, by rail lines that led into Piccadilly station. 'It's how he's selecting his victims. He's got all the entry forms to that competition in his house. He must have been picking the ones filled in by single females. There's just a chance your entry form is in there too.' He didn't mention that one was missing from the kill list on the wall. 'Just keep your door locked, OK?'

'Don't worry. Shall I call the police?'

'I'll have a car sent round. What's your address?'

He repeated it back to her to make sure he'd heard it correctly, then hung up, called Longsight and ordered a patrol car to be sent round immediately.

Back in the front room, he checked Charlotte's pulse once more. He could only just feel it. He grasped her hand and began to rub it vigorously. 'Charlotte, stay with me. Do you hear? Stay with me!'

A siren was growing louder.

'Can you hear that, Charlotte?'

George's sobbing filled the room. Jon turned on him and snarled, 'Shut the fuck up!'

George bit on his lip, snot and tears making his face glisten.

Jon heard the siren come to a halt on the road outside. He jumped up and opened the front door. Two paramedics were hurrying up the driveway, cases in their hands. 'Gunshot wound. Her name's Charlotte. She's lost a lot of blood!'

They ran in and knelt down beside her. As one ripped open compression bandages the other hastily prepared an oxygen mask.

'Will she survive?' Jon asked, leaning over their shoulders.

'Yeah, if we stop the flow of blood immediately. Just give us some space.'

Jon backed out of the room and began to anxiously pace up and down the corridor, overwhelmed by an urge to do something. Seeing the answerphone icon on his screen, he called it up and heard his sister's voice. 'Hi Jon, little sis here. Just on the off chance, seeing as I didn't take you up on your offer to get me that Violet Crumble the other day… Alice gave me a pack of this really nice gum the other night. I can't find it for sale in any of the shops around here. She said she got it in some promotion at Piccadilly station. I'm hoping it might be for sale in the newsagent's there — it's called X-treme and it's citrus flavoured. I just thought if you were passing. See ya soon, bye!'

'Oh no, oh please God no,' prayed Jon, calling his home number, suddenly remembering that Alice got the train into Manchester, too.

After five rings it clicked on to the answerphone, but Jon was sprinting out of the front door before the message even started.

The weak November sun had now sunk from sight and fireworks screeched and screamed up into the darkening sky. He raced along Fog Lane, shouting pedestrians out of his way. In the recreation ground kids whooped and cheered as they let off strings of bangers. He careered on to Kingsway knowing that, from there, his house was only minutes away. A solid line of slow-moving cars stretched off in both directions and he leaped into the path of the nearest vehicle, arms raised up. As it went into an emergency stop he clearly heard the driver yell, 'You fucking dickhead!'

He darted into the next lane, barely registering the crunch of shunting cars behind him. On to Lane End and he raced along, knowing that as soon as he saw Heaton Moor Golf Course on his left, his own road was just ahead.

Tom checked the entry form and saw that he was on the correct street. He placed the briefcase at his feet, removed the bag of powder from his pocket and took a large pinch. Then he flexed his shoulders, took a breath in and looked at the number on the nearest house. He carried on along the road, then turned up a driveway. As he stood on the front doorstep, he looked down at the entry form again, thinking that the surname was vaguely familiar. But with all the whispering in his head, he couldn't concentrate on trying to dredge up where he'd seen or heard it before. He rang the bell.

There was a burning in his throat and he could feel his knees going numb as the heels of his shoes pounded on the pavement. He got to the end of his road and charged up to his house. The front door was shut and the sitting room light was on. He slowed to a halt, trying to catch his breath and calm himself. His hands were shaking as he pulled the keys from his pocket and they jingled slightly before he found the lock. The door opened. Silence. He needed to take in air, but didn't dare breathe because of the sound it would make. In a couple of strides he was at the living room door.

Alice lay on the floor, stretched out in front of the gas fire, Punch shivering on the rug next to her.

Wide-eyed and now able to gasp for breath, Jon said, 'Are you all right?'

Alice looked at him like he was mad. 'Yes. Why shouldn't I be?'

'What are you doing?' He stepped fully into the room and looked around.

'Trying to calm your dog. Firework night, remember? Bangs, whistles, explosions. What the hell are you doing?'

Jon swallowed hard and took in a lungful of air. 'You wouldn't believe it.' He let out a sudden nervous laugh and then went back to the front door to push it shut, saying over his shoulder as he did so, 'I honestly thought you were in serious trouble. I mean serious trouble.'

Tom watched as a wavery figure approached the frosted glass. A female's form. The door opened up.

'Good evening, 'Tom smiled. ‘Miss Ellie Spicer?'

He hung his jacket on the banister and paused in the living room doorway to wipe the sweat off his forehead and check again that she really was OK. Shaking his head in relief, he said, 'Oh God, that was horrible,' before carrying along the corridor to the kitchen.

With Punch slinking miserably along behind her, Alice followed him. 'Jon Spicer, will you just tell me what the hell you are on about?'

Jon yanked his shirt off and wiped himself down with it. 'I'll explain later. I've got to get back to Tom's house.'

'Tom's house? What's going on?'

Jon reached into the laundry basket and pulled out a rugby shirt. 'These murders. I hate to say this, but it looks like it was Tom Benwell.'

'Tom? The guy you used to play rugby with? But why? Why would he be killing people?' Not wanting to give Alice a glimpse of the insanity he'd just witnessed, Jon could only shake his head in reply. 'I don't know, but I've just come from his house. There's stuff there that… stuff there which is pretty conclusive.'