Chapter 5.5
February 14th 1999
Feeling the hammer of rain constantly upon the visor of his hat, Bailey rested against the barrier stretching from one side of the highway to the other and squinted into the darkness. Behind him, the intermittent flash of neon blue light illuminated the surroundings, the tarmac beneath his feet soaked as the headlights of yet another vehicle appeared through the rain, on the horizon and headed towards the scene. Standing upright, the bright yellow frame of the barrier shifting under his weight, Bailey turned his attention from the road and to the flames now licking at the building to his left, the structure suddenly giving a creak and a groan as the fire crew took a couple of weary steps back and watched as the supports gave way, the last of the beams and pillars twisting and turning, creating a demonic face in the process before finally collapsing under their own weight, the building exhaling a monstrous breath as the searing hot embers and ash floated delicately into the air. The call had come in just after Bailey had clocked on for the night, the inferno well underway as he arrived on the scene to find the fire crew dousing the flames as best they could, the pressure incredible as water covered the immediate area. Hours had passed, the battle ongoing as Bailey erected his barriers and lay a broken chain of flares across the road, the rain slamming against his face as the sudden diversion seemed only to infuriate the steady stream of motorists, shocked to discover the route blocked without warning. All in all it had been a bizarre shift to say the least. The cold of the rain in contrast to the intense heat from the burning building, the temperature incredible despite the distance the parking lot put between the highway and the flames. The weather hadn't helped either, the advantage offered to the fire service by the incessant downpour cancelled out by the howling winds, driving in from the east and igniting the blaze over and over again, literally breathing life into the roaring fire as the firefighters battled to keep control. And now, as he turned his attention back towards the headlights rapidly approaching from afar, Bailey stepped forward and prepared to feel the wrath of yet another of Lockport's fine citizens.
A few hours, and hundreds of gallons of water, later and Bailey found himself ripped from his thoughts to the sound of applause, the last of the fire now well and truly out as he stood and turned to see the ruins of the once proud structure partially submerged beneath inches of water, the puddles appearing randomly as the blood red sun rose on the horizon and a silence fell over the scene, the last of the hoses finally dying as the valve closed and the fire chief stepped forward to survey the damage. A tall, rugged looking man, he observed from eyes hidden beneath the visor of his hard hat and yelled instructions from lips obstructed by a thick, bushy silver moustache, his commands barked at nobody in particular as he allowed his glare to drop to the clipboard placed in his huge, ash stained hands. Lifting his pen and beginning to scribble frantically, he did a double take as he glanced to the figure now stepping up beside him, mumbling a half-hearted greeting as he allowed his eyes to return to the clipboard and the report for the evenings work.
"Officer." He murmured, to Bailey, Bailey giving a brief head bob in reply as he looked at the smoking ruins before him. Amazed at what remained of the twisted wooden framework of the building that had recently stood by the highway. "Some night huh?"
"Can say that again." Bailey nodded. "Had every confidence in you boys though." He continued, flashing the chief a quick smile. "Any ideas what went down here?"
"Early days." The chief replied. "Place's been derelict for a while so-"
"So?" Bailey asked inquisitively, his curiosity getting the better of him as usual.
"Rules out electrical fault in my opinion." The chief sighed as he took a look across the fire ravaged area. "Increases the chance of arson."
"So you think this was deliberate?"
"That'd be my guess." The chief nodded, pen whizzing frantically from left to right.
"Why though?" Bailey asked, pulling a cigarette from nowhere and clamping it between his teeth, the lighter following quickly, a flick of the wrist and a sharp stroke of the flint enough to open the lighter and expose the flame held within.
"Probably kids." The chief answered, another double take as he noticed the cigarette in Bailey's possession, a frown beginning to spread across the chiseled features buried deep beneath his weathered face. "That's what my money's on. Let's just hope they didn't hang around after they did the deed."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," The chief gave a sigh and dropped his clipboard to his side, the beads of water running from his protective clothing. "That a fire like this can spread very quickly. We just watched this one consume an entire building in no time at all. If somebody underestimated that, then I wouldn't like to imagine what we'd find in there."
"Jesus." Bailey gasped, exhaling a nicotine laden cloud, turning his attention back towards the highway, the headlights of the approaching vehicle now nearing the scene as the familiar blue and white of a Lockport Police Department patrol car became visible in the morning sun. "Well," Bailey smiled and clasped his hands together, a quick rub of the palms for good measure. "Here comes the cavalry."
"Don't tell me you have to leave so soon." The chief returned to his report, feigning disappointment as Bailey turned and began to walk away. "There I was thinking we were gonna solve this one together!"
"What can I say?" Bailey spun a half turn, a smile illuminating his face as he gingerly stepped backwards. "I have a hot shower and a warm bed waiting for me."
With that, he gave a nonchalant salute and spun back towards the patrol car now pulling up before the barrier, the young uniformed officer stepping into the morning drizzle with a freshness and enthusiasm that Bailey found amusing, the next eight hours standing guard in the pouring rain not exactly the high octane police work his young colleague would have imagined when joining the force.
Stopping to brief the young rookie took no time at all. Keeping the road closed and the scene secure the only responsibilities his colleague now faced as Bailey handed over the scene and made his way back to his patrol car, dropping the expended cigarette butt to the wet tarmac and grinding it in with flat of his shoe, the rain now belting down as the heavens once again decided to unleash hell upon Lockport. Opening the door to his car and climbing inside, he cast a glance back toward the site of the blaze, the ruins still emitting a considerable heat as the last of the smoke pirrouetted into the air. Somewhere, unbeknownst to Bailey, in amongst the differing shades of grey and black, within the midst of the twisted, charred wreckage and obscured from Bailey's view, sat the rounded, golden handle of a walking stick. The burned and blistered skin of the late Reginald Senior's hand laying just a few inches away, frozen in time as the deformed fingers curled helplessly, tensing in the soaring heat and just waiting to be discovered as Bailey, completely oblivious to the twisted fate of the mysterious stranger he had happened upon less than twenty four hours earlier, turned the key in the ignition of the patrol car and felt the engine kick into life. Then, lifting the back of his hand and allowing a yawn to escape his mouth, the monotonous shift now behind him, he slipped the car into gear and slowly pulled away from the scene, the smoke still twirling skywards in his rear-view mirror as he slowly rolled past the beaten up old sign for the Hammond Motel and joined the highway, the empty road stretching vacantly into the distance. As far as Bailey was concerned, tonight was the night.
Easy money.
If only he knew…
The sun had long since risen, the blinding rays sweeping majestically across Spring Vale Trailer Park and instilling the countryside with the freshness only a spring morning could offer. The cool night in heavy contrast to the warm morning had allowed dew to form on the various spiderwebs scattered along the exterior of Tiffany's trailer, the gravel path housing her precious Pontiac beginning to dry following what Tiffany could only assume had been an epic downpour throughout the night. Now however, as she knelt on the linoleum tiles of her kitchen floor, she sat back and admired her handiwork, the crib finally erected and in place beneath the kitchen counter, Tiffany throwing her screwdriver to the floor and placing the palms of her hands upon her thighs, the denim of her jeans stretching as she pushed herself to her feet and reached for the freshly built crib. Pulling, she gave a small giggle of excitement as the wooden structure glided effortlessly from its hiding place beneath the counter and rolled into view, the casters beneath lending Tiffany a renewed sense of confidence as her last minute modification made the difference she had desired, a quick push seeing the crib return with ease to it's resting place. Stepping back, unable to hold back, she gave herself a clap and felt a tingle of excitement as a joyous look momentarily swept across her face, standing on her tiptoes before beginning to jump repeatedly up and down. As she calmed, the soles of her bare feet resting on the cool linoleum floor, she paused in the midst of her giddiness and stopped, her heart almost missing a beat as she paused to admire the huge diamond gracing the ring finger of her left hand. It had become such a part of her that she immediately felt a pang of guilt slowly proceed to well up inside as she remembered the significance of the small, yet treasured, piece of jewelry. The sentiment of the item as her mind raced back to that cold November night over ten years ago. Their last night together. The way he slipped out unnoticed. The bed still warm as Tiffany woke the morning after and reached across the covers in blind optimism, hoping, praying, to find him still beside her. He hadn't been though. He never was. A lot of women wouldn't have endured it. They'd have given up at the very thought of rejection. And if truth be told, any other man would have been gone long ago. But Chucky? Chucky was different. She didn't know how to say it. How to explain, should she ever have to, the way he made her feel. It was like a spark igniting at the centre of her belly, the inevitable explosion sending a surge of excitement racing towards each and every nerve ending. A ripple flowing outward, a wave of exhiliration, almost orgasmic as the tingle of shear love spread throughout her being. She had to admit that time had taken its toll. The constant setbacks, the events of the last decade, each and every one serving only to drive her forward, to accomplish her goal, all the while the goal becoming lost in the never-ending drama that had become her life. It wouldn't be long now. She could feel it in her bones. A light had appeared at the end of the tunnel and she wasn't going to have it snatched from her. Not again. Not this time. No sir, it was time. This was her moment and god help anybody, man, woman or beast that got in her way, the feeling of anticipation making Tiffany weak at the knees as she dared to dream, to believe that her quest could finally be at an end. Remembering the warmth of his skin. The tenderness of his touch. The smile that instantly made her heart pound. But then, came a sudden realisation.
This…
The reminiscing, the memories, the more she studied right now the more she felt her heart drop and stomach churn. If, and it was still just an 'if', she were to get him back. If she were to instill him, her lover, with a new leash of life, then it wouldn't be like before. Far from it in fact. So much had changed over the course of the last ten years that she had to admit to considering the very real possibility of him not being himself. Obviously this was guaranteed physically, and it was to be a strange experience no doubt, but the more Tiffany thought about it, the more she considered the psychological effects. After all, Tiffany had seen the anger residing in Chucky's soul more than once. A coiled spring. A monster lurking beneath the surface, ready to rear its ugly head and devour it's prey as Chucky lost control and simply eviscerated whoever stood in his path, the tidal wave of fury more than enough to make Tiffany turn in fear. The ramifications of everything he had been through, the resurrection, the very thought left Tiffany questioning the reasoning behind her plan. Was she doing this for him? Or was she actually doing this for her? Standing in a trance, the silence of the trailer swallowing her whole and allowing her to stagger through her own thoughts, Tiffany suddenly jumped a mile, the ringing of her cell-phone screeching through the air and piercing her ears. Feeling herself calm, she reached for the phone and looked at the display, the recently received text message just one of many as she opened up the inbox and read the contents.
'Are we cool? Answer me please baby'
Rolling her eyes and thumbing her way back through the simple menu of her phone, she stared at the contents of her inbox, the name 'Damien' listed over and over again. The attempt to make contact had been nauseating to say the least. The constant ringing. The text messages every other hour. Why the hell couldn't he take the hint? Was he seriously so oblivious to the hatred that burned within Tiffany? His bumbling persona a perfect match for the incompetence that exuded from every pore. Placing the cell-phone back upon the work surface of the kitchen, she returned her attention to the recently erected crib sitting beneath and smiled. The overwhelming sense of achievement briefly returning, immediately subdued as the cell-phone shattered the silence one more and the ring tone cut viciously through the air. Face scrunched in anger Tiffany swept the phone from the work surface and pressed it firm against her ear, the vitriol unleashed as she found herself unable to hold back.
"Listen, you fucking piece of shit. You text or call one more time, then so help me I'll-"
"You'll what, exactly?" Bailey's voice interrupted, surprised yet amused all the same.
"The fuck do you want?" Tiffany asked, rolling her eyes and allowing herself to lean back against the kitchen counter.
"Come on Valentine," Bailey replied playfully. "That how you talk to a friend?"
"No." Tiffany's response blunt and flat.
"Not even friends bearing gifts?" Bailey teased as the line fell momentarily silent.
"You have it?!" Tiffany bolted upright, the conversation suddenly interesting her.
"Case number…" A pause as though Bailey had to look up the relevant information. "22048. Kent Military School, Boonville, Missouri. That ringing any bells?"
"Holy shit." Tiffany gasped, composing herself before continuing. "When can we meet?"
"Easy tiger." Bailey laughed, a smugness to his tone. "I just got off a night shift, I'm going nowhere. Just be patient."
"God dammit!"
"I had a quick look on the system when I called back to the station to clock out." Bailey explained. "It's there. Waiting. Locked in some evidence locker. But I have to be careful not to draw attention to myself. The last thing we need is somebody higher up, lower down or sideways on sniffing round this thing."
"Did you happen to find anything out?" Tiffany asked, now pacing the living quarters of her trailer, fingers between her teeth as she nervously nibbled away.
"Na," Bailey answered. "It's from some military school, or carnival. Some shit like that. Just like you said. But whatever it is, it's got our guys freaked."
"Meaning what exactly?" Tiffany asked, puzzled.
"Well put it this way." Bailey sighed, the distant sound of traffic in the background. "I've never known our forensics team spend this long examining evidence only to write it off and leave the case unsolved."
"Jesus."
"I know right." Bailey chuckled. "Sounds like one hell of a shit storm went down at that carnival. Even the notes." A pause as Bailey shuddered on the other end of the phone. "Freaked me out anyway."
"Now isn't the time to get cold feet Bailey!" Tiffany spun on the spot before coming to a halt, ripping her finger nails from her teeth and extending a solitary finger in defiance. "So dont you even think about bailing on me!"
"Relax Valentine," Bailey's sigh echoed down the line. "No cold feet, just patience and care."
"All the same, I'd rather we conclude our business as soon as possible." Tiffany returned to biting her nails, her mind working overtime as mentally she envisioned the light at the end of the tunnel. "When can we meet?"
"Tonight." Bailey instantly replied. "Believe it or not I don't want to be holding onto whatever it is your after any longer than I need to."
"Fine with me," Tiffany nodded as she spoke. "Where?"
"Franklin Transport," Bailey answered quickly. "I'll call tonight. Let you know when I'm on my way."
"Perfect."
"Oh and Valentine…" Bailey's voice just audible as Tiffany found herself about to end the call, lifting the cell-phone back to her ear as Bailey continued. "Don't you forget your end of the deal now. I'd hate for you to leave your purse at home."
"Don't worry Bailey." Tiffany replied with a forced smile. "You'll get what's coming to you. Mark my words." A flick of her finger ending the call abruptly, Tiffany lowered the phone and recalled her conversation with former police Captain Reginald Senior. Bailey's involvement in Senior's elaborate plot the previous night enough to lower the noose around his own neck. "You'll get exactly what you deserve, you can be sure of that."
"Are we live? Okay.." The reporter composing herself as she cleared her throat lifted her microphone into view, the letters emblazoned across the sponge reading WEBH, the random characters lost on Tiffany, a nod from behind the camera indicating she was good to go as she took a deep breath and began. "Lockport. A city and community thrown into chaos, as three bodies are found in a number of days. I'm Rachel Stewart and this is the six o'clock news."
Looking up from the kitchen work surface, Tiffany's eyes flitted to the screen and back again. Barely paying attention to the news report, the tacky, drama-laden, theme of the six o'clock news playing to itself and creating nothing more than background noise, she dug her hands into the bowl of meatball mix sitting on the counter and pulled a small handful of the mixture free, the soft rolling between her palms forming a sphere as she turned her attention back to her work. Make no mistake, she wanted everything to be perfect for the tonight. One by one, rolling the meatballs into perfect little balls, she looked to the open book sitting on the counter and proceeded to read on bit by bit. According to chapter four of the book, liberated from Senior's motel room, if Tiffany was to stand any chance in resurrecting Chucky then there were a few things she needed to know. First of all, and kind of an obvious one, she would need the organic material of whoever, or whatever, she wished to re-animate.
"Done." She cheerily smiled to herself as she read, arrangements in place with Bailey for the collection of Chucky's remains. Next up, but by no means a necessity, a pentagram to sit the remains upon. Although the book failed to explain anything in particular regarding the composition of the pentagram, Tiffany had scratched her head for quite a while as she examined the kitchen for anything suitable. Salt? No chance. There was very little in the cupboard anyhow. Rice? Too messy, besides which did she really want to waste perfectly good rice? Eyes scanning the contents of her cupboards, she finally pulled a packet of breadcrumbs from the shelf and examined the picture printed across the front. "Perfect." She smiled as the background noise of the six o'clock news' opening credits gently faded out and the live feed rolled in from across the town, Tiffany now looking up as she returned to work on the evening meal.
"Good evening Lockport, and here is tonight's breaking news." The reporter calmly spoke as Tiffany watched on in interest, the scene over the reporter's shoulder familiar yet strangely fascinating. "A third body discovered within the last 48 hours has prompted authorities to accept the chance that there may indeed be a connection between the victims. The body of Lockport police officer Michael Bingham was discovered just two nights ago in an alleyway to the rear of popular Lockport nightclub 'The Arcade'. The following afternoon an as yet unidentified body was discovered by a resident simply walking their dog through forest land on the city limits, the shallow, unmarked grave fresh enough for investigators to believe both Bingham and the unidentified body were killed within hours of each other. Now this development. Another body, this time located between the first two sites in the charred remains of an abandoned motel by the highway and believed to be the body of none other than former Captain of Chicago Police, Reginald Senior."
Now engrossed, Tiffany leaned forward, elbows planted upon the kitchen work surface as she removed a cigarette from the packet by her side and gently lifted it to her lips, sucking on the filter as she casually flicked the flint of her lighter and allowed the flame to hover around the tip. To say she found the news report to be interesting would be an understatement, the amusement at the questions currently baffling both the authorities and the media evident as the smile delicately spread from ear to ear and the reporter continued.
"Joining us now is Lieutenant Richard Preston of Lockport Police Department. Lieutenant what is the latest regarding this bizarre case?"
Standing at just over six feet tall, his short grey hair sitting atop a weathered face worn over time, each and every wrinkle etched tirelessly into his skin, Lieutenant Preston gave an uncomfortable vibe as he stepped up beside the reporter. As he spoke, his voice crackled, the microphone slowly withdrawn and the sound becoming clearer as Tiffany watched on fascinated.
"It's early days I'm afraid." He started, his eyes flitting from the microphone and to the reporter's solemn expression occasionally. "I've never come across a series of, what are basically executions, in all my time as a law enforcement officer. The manner in which these victims were killed is nothing short of abhorrent."
"And what of the connection?" The reporter asked, pulling back the microphone to speak before returning it for Preston to answer.
"Well until a proper investigation has been conducted, we can neither confirm or dismiss that there may be a connection between these events. From what I've seen, the way in which these men have died, I would have to say there are no similarities in that regard. At the moment, we only have the timing to consider. The victims' times of death taking place within twenty four hours of one another certainly is strange, and that's what we're going to look to investigate."
'And what of this?" The reporter pulled the microphone back and spoke, stepping aside and waving her free arm in the direction of the still smoking remains of the Hammond Motel, Preston following her lead and also turning to peruse the scene. "The body only recently pulled from within. Do we have confirmation regarding the identity of the victim?"
"I'm afraid not at this time, no."
"But what of the rumours that the victim was in fact Reginald Senior. Former Captain of the Chicago Police Department."
A brief pause hung in the air as Preston steadied himself and took a deep breath.
"I… I don't know which channel you've tapped into there, but I'm afraid we can't confirm that at this moment in time."
"The same Reginald Senior responsible for allowing the famed 'Phone Book Killer' that stalked Chicago two and a half years ago to slip through his fingers time and again?"
"Like I said, I can't-"
"The same Reginald Senior that upon his dismissal from the force, and deaths of the SWAT team he was commanding, swore retribution on the 'Phone Book Killer', that we now know to be one Tiffany Valentine, former lover of the infamous 'Lakeshore Strangler', Charles Lee Ray. Would this cause particular cause for concern and do you have reason to believe Valentine may be at large within the Lockport area?"
As the reporter spoke, Tiffany's mugshot from her arrest in 1990 appeared in the top corner of the screen and caused her to bolt upright from the kitchen counter, her attention well and truly grabbed as she felt her heart begin to beat uncontrollably.
"Listen, if you poke enough nests, you're going to get stung eventually."
"Meaning way exactly?"
"Meaning that with so little to go on, it's easy for things to snowball. Until such a time that we are confident to announce more, I would suggest you let us do our jobs and take the time to properly investigate every channel available."
"Is there not a chance though?"
"I wouldn't think so," Preston sighed and shook his head. "Over the years Tiffany Valentine's face has been circulated in every tabloid and featured on every news channel. Not only that, but Chicago Police were able to ascertain her motive regarding the murders committed back then. No, my guess is that wherever Valentine is, it isn't Lockport. What we're looking at here is either somebody with a grudge against these men, or something else entirely that binds them."
"So you do acknowledge that-"
"'If' there is indeed anything connecting them." Interrupting before the reporter could make a mountain out of a mole hill, Preston began to slowly turn from the camera. "That's all for now, thank you."
Stepping from the screen, the camera panned back to the reporter, stunned and unable to reply as she simply turned to face her audience and gave a brief smile, a number of emergency personnel still milling in the background as the charred remnants of the Hammond Motel still smouldered away. Fire fighters delicately picking through the debris, police cordens surrounding the perimeter and ambulance crews nervously awaiting news of any more casualties.
"Lieutenant Preston of Lockport Police Department, thank you so much for your time." A modicum of professionalism returning the reporter addressed the viewer one final time. "This is Rachel Stewart at the scene, and now back to the studio."
Heart thumping, mind racing, Tiffany tried to concentrate, her head a whirlwind as she attempted valiantly to retrace her steps. Her actions in fact. Although she hadn't considered it in the heat of the moment, it was always going to be a matter of time before Senior's corpse was identified and the connection made. She just hadn't expected it being so quick. Now, anxiety emanated from her very core as she tried to think. Remember anything at all that could possibly connect the other two men. Was there something? Anything? No, surely not. Senior had been shot, the cop from the other night had been mutilated and the guy she lured in straight after had been stabbed repeatedly, before attempting his getaway from Tiffany's trunk that was, in which case the shovel connecting with the back of his head had definitely done the trick. As far as she could see, the only common denominator in this whole series of events was the knife she had used twice in one night. But how could they determine it to be the same knife? Surely forensics weren't at such a level to determine the serrations on a kitchen knife. Unless… Unless DNA from one murder happened to be discovered at another. Would they check that though? Surely they would only check for the DNA of the killer and not the victim. And even if one victim's blood did happen to be present at the other's scene, there couldn't be a way for it to remain pure around the other person's wounds. Could there? A shake of the head and Tiffany paced across the kitchen, the smell of tomato sauce, the ragu boiling on the stove behind her, lending a homely aroma to the interior of the trailer as she tried to put the nagging feeling out of her mind. After all, suppose they did manage to link two, or even all three, murders to one another, then that only told half the story. Nothing implicated her or anybody else in what was now becoming a tense chain of events. All it would do would be to implicate the same anonymous person in each of the murders, nothing less, nothing more. The thoughts beginning to gather like a storm cloud in her head, Tiffany looked at the clock and then the stove, reaching for the knob and immediately cutting off the gas supply. She had too much going through her head right now, and to cap it all a bastard of a headache on the horizon. She couldn't afford to let anything cloud her judgment. Not tonight. Lifting a glass from beside the small kitchen sink, Tiffany placed it beneath the faucet and twisted the tap, the glass filling more or less instantly as she reached for her bag and pulled out the packet of aspirin, the small tablets gulped down in rapid succession as she returned the glass to the sink and made her way to the bedroom.
If all was to proceed as planned then a quick nap would hopefully take the edge off the oncoming headache.
She didn't want anything to spoil tonight.
Wind swirling, rain battering the red brick building before him, Bailey slowly pulled into the parking space before him and applied the handbrake. The flag rippled violently in the wind as the storm continued to rage on overhead, the sign positioned high on the wall standing proud as the conditions worsened with every passing second.
'LOCKPORT POLICE
DEPT.
EVIDENCE DEPOSITORY'
Taking a minute to glance around, Bailey felt his nerves begin to settle, his heart unaltered as it continued to persistently thud in his chest. The parking lot appeared light on cars as a flash of lightning illuminated the area, the evening shift within the building sparse as ever as Bailey looked at the white, arched windows set within the usually vibrant red brick work of the depository and afforded a smile at the darkness evident on every floor. Now it was simply a matter of getting in, grabbing whatever shit it was that Valentine required and then getting the hell out of dodge before whoever was there asked any questions. Throwing open the patrol car door and grabbing the A4 envelope from the passenger seat Bailey emerged into the downpour, closing the door behind him and beginning to run the short distance to the secure doors of the building up ahead. Fumbling through his pockets, the cold and rain relentless, he fished the ID card from somewhere deep inside and lifted it into view, the details of 'Officer Norton' temporarily illuminated by another burst of lightning overhead. Running the card through the scanner positioned by the entrance to the depository Bailey grinned as the locking mechanism disengaged and the light positioned on the scanner blinked from red to green. He was in.
"Evening Bailey." The voice came from below, the round figure of Officer Hutton catching Bailey by surprise as the basement opened up beneath him.
"Hey!" Bailey responded automatically, trying his hardest not to seem startled by Hutton's presence, the patchwork throw spread upon the evidence clerk's desk and covering every inch of space. Believe it or not, Hutton hadn't always been this boring. A gluttonous lifestyle though had unfortunately led to Hutton's wife prohibiting sugary snacks, alcohol and cigarettes following a heart scare earlier in the year. Hutton's question of how else to spend his free time had been answered swiftly by his wife of thirty three years as she suggested a hobby to otherwise occupy his mind. Thus, needlework had become the ultimate way to pass the nights monitoring the evidence desk, Bailey now praising Hutton's handiwork. "That is beautiful!"
"Thanks." Hutton beamed in Baileys direction as he reached for a needle, his grin almost visible through his thick, bushy moustache as Bailey took a deep breath and tried to play it cool.
"All this stuff from the Midwitch murders finally came in."He lifted the envelope and gave it a little jiggle, Hutton never taking his eyes from his blanket.
"It's about time," He replied half listening, the moonlight streaming through the windows high above the two men and bouncing from the top of Hutton's bald head, grey hair still clinging for dear life to either side of his scalp. "Just leave it on the desk."
"Wh-" Bailey stammered, his eyes flitting from the blanket, to Hutton and back, lifting his hand and gesturing over his shoulder with an extended thumb, back up the creaking wooden staircase and towards the canteen. "I'll take care of it. Why don't you take a break?"
"Na, I took a break about an hour ago." Hutton's mumbled his reply as he gave Bailey a quick glance before allowing his eyes to fall to the watch positioned delicately on his wrist.
"Yeah," A sigh as Bailey began to grow disgruntled, now fumbling the envelope as his nerves proceeded to get the better of him. "It's okay man. Go grab yourself a doughnut."
"No, no." A wry smile from Hutton as he allowed both hands to drop to his belly before carefully giving it a quick pat. "I'm trying to cut down."
"Hey," Bailey leaned in and gave a friendly smirk. "They got jelly!"
"Jelly?" Hutton stopped in his tracks, eyeing Bailey up and down as though skeptical.
"Yeah." Bailey nodded in agreement, stepping back and praying in the back of his mind that it would be enough.
"Ah well," Hutton, quickly proceeded to fold his blanket. Over and over as he raced to clear the desk before standing hurriedly "What the hell. Y'only live once right?"
"Yeah," Bailey laughed and held the envelope aloft in an agreeing motion. "My feelings exactly."
Without saying another word, Hutton pulled a huge ring of keys from nowhere and tossed it in Bailey's direction, the young officer's reactions like lightning as he plucked the keys from mid-air and gave the numbers a slight glance as Hutton quickly made his way past and began to march triumphantly up the stairs and towards the canteen. Throwing his hat on the desk, now clear of Hutton's shoddily made fabric tapestry, Bailey turned and watched as the last of Hutton's physique disappeared and emerged on the floor above, giving it a few seconds before making sure the coast was clear and turning in the direction of the evidence lock-up. The huge room before him dark and neglected, he quickly crossed the warped floor boards and approached the mesh gate prohibiting access, the rows and rows of racking, shelves and lockers stacked to the rafters with evidence from case after case. Some ongoing, some unsolved, each one enough to bring a shiver of unease as Bailey plunged his palm into the release button and watched as the gate rolled eerily open. Stepping inside gingerly a flash of lightning erupted overhead and illuminated the room, the shadows of various exhibits cast in a full circle, the vibrant silhouettes momentarily adorning all four walls and surfaces as Bailey continued on. The distant rumble of thunder exploded in the heavens above, another following seconds later as the incessant storm raged on outside, Bailey swearing he could feel the vibration through the basement floor as he made his way down the left hand side of the room. The secure cages to his right acting as a kind of makeshift central island, he looked inside and found the contents creepily resting and bathed in the occasional flicker of light. Masks, knives, handguns and chainsaws among the more common pieces, the more unique items consisting of a handmade glove, razor-like fingers extending from the finger tips, a battered, chipped and blood stained white hockey mask and a series of miniature dolls, the strangest things Bailey could imagine. No wonder this place was nicknamed the 'Hall of Horrors', another flicker of lightning and rumble of thunder as the blank, emotionless white mask sitting behind the mesh partition emerged from the shadows and caused Bailey's heart to jump into his throat. Approaching the end of the racking, the shelves stacked to the gills with the on going plethora of instruments of death and destruction, Bailey rounded the corner and doubled back on himself, now making his way back towards the mesh entrance, eyes sweeping from left to right as finally he found the evidence lockers looming ominously into view, each small door bearing a number beside the lock as Bailey hurriedly searched in the darkness and scanned the identical blue doors for his intended locker. Sure enough, there it was. Nerves on edge, Bailey felt his hairs stand tenderly on end as he took a second and lifted the key ring level with the lock.
'- 22408
UNSOLVED'
Without missing a beat, Bailey lifted the huge ring of keys, amazingly hitting the jackpot as the first key he selected slid effortlessly into the lock and turned almost automatically, the small locking mechanism releasing as he gave a small tug and found the door open with ease. Squinting into the darkness of the locker, another barrage of lightning assaulting his eyes from the skies outside, Bailey allowed his eyes to adjust. The contrast between the intense flicker and the perpetual bleakness of the locker causing him to take a second, he felt a wave of relief as the small black garbage bag slowly appeared, the tag hanging from the opening as it sat slumped against the interior of the small locker, still and calm as Bailey quickly reached in and grabbed it with his free hand, pulling it from within before replacing it with the A4 envelope, until now gripped in his other hand as he slammed the locker door closed. At least this way, should somebody open the locker at any point in the near future, the envelope would go some distance to avert panic over the missing evidence, the papers inside merely a printout of the Kent Military School and Carnival report following the forensic examinations by Lockport Police Department's specialist forensics team. So not completely unrelated. The last thing Bailey needed at this moment was some investigation into corruption, even if he had covered his tracks. The notes printed using officer Norton's login details and access to the evidence depository also granted using Norton's identity card. As far as anybody was concerned, Bailey had as much involvement in this scheme as any of his hundreds of colleagues at Lockport P.D. Emerging from the evidence room, bag gripped tight as it swung by his knees, Bailey stopped and curled his free hand into a fist, the underside of his hand hitting the button and causing the mesh gate to slowly close back up, the small motor humming roughly as he gave a smug sigh of relief and approached the stairs back up to the ground floor. Stopping once or twice to check the coast was clear, he reached the main entrance in no time at all, the rain absolutely battering the glass double doors as the wind whipped the water frantically around the car park, as though nature had attempted some wonderful display. A huge eruption of lightning and a roar of thunder overhead, Bailey pushed through the doors and stepped quickly into the downpour, the rain splashing with every step and soaking his ankles to the bone as he reached the patrol car and yanked open the driver's door. Hurling the evidence bag inside and onto the passenger seat before quickly following, the rain quickly reduced to a constant thunder upon the patrol car roof as Bailey lay his head back against the headrest and took a deep, calming breath.
"That's the hard part." He sighed, sliding the key into the ignition and pulling his seatbelt across his chest, the engine smoothly firing into life as Bailey eased the patrol car across the parking lot and towards the street, the barren road laying invitingly ahead as Bailey began to slowly fumble for his cell-phone, the familiar number of Tiffany Valentine now visible. "Now for the easy bit."
Emerging from the bedroom, Tiffany stopped and began to stretch. Perfectly manicured fingers extended skyward, her yawn was wide enough to make her jaw ache as she automatically stood on the tips of her toes and felt every muscle in her body tighten. Never one to underestimate the benefits of a good afternoon nap, she had found herself surprised at exactly how fast she had fallen asleep and just how much of an effect it had had on her. To say she felt reinvigorated would be to put it mildly as she rocked back on the balls of her bare feet and felt the cold tiles underfoot. Making her way through the kitchen and towards the bathroom, she grabbed her cell-phone from the kitchen counter and examined the display. Empty. So far so good. Like her mother used to say, 'no news is good news'. And although nothing positive had been received from Bailey, she now chose to focus more on the fact that nothing negative had been heard either, the anxiety growing as she now entered the bathroom and headed for the bath, giving the taps a good twist as she grabbed the bottle of bubble bath and proceeded to empty the contents into the rapidly expanding pool of water before her. The rumbling of the water, the bubbles multiplying as the seconds ticked by, she turned and headed back to the kitchen, passing through the plastic curtain hanging across the threshold of the bathroom and towards the refrigerator, the soda bottle inside destined for her immediate attention as she attempted to quench the thirst that had overtaken her mouth. Just a few feet from the refrigerator, arm out as she reached nonchalantly for the handle, Tiffany suddenly found herself stopping dead in her tracks, the image appearing on the outskirts of her peripheral vision and bringing much more than a glance as Tiffany turned her head and stared out through the kitchen window and across the way to Jesse's trailer. Immaculately toned, every inch of his golden brown body perfectly sculpted, the light emitted from the interior of the trailer was softly absorbed by his wonderfully formed physique, the various contours casting the occasional shadow as he proceeded to strip to the waist, oblivious to Tiffany's voyeurism as he lowered his jeans and removed his underwear. Eyes glued to the scene before her, Tiffany's lips fell slowly open. Stepping back from the moonlight filtering in through the window, and finding sanctuary in the shadows of the kitchen, she observed in utter silence, across the way and through the net curtains as Jesse strolled from one end of the trailer to the other completely naked. Feeling a stirring from deep within, Tiffany lifted her hand slowly to her neck, fingers trembling as she slowly ran her fingers down her bosom and between her breasts, the silky fabric of her dressing gown parting as she did so, the soft tender touch accompanied by the luscious display from the trailer opposite enough to make her bite her lip. Without thinking, her hand slowly continued to wander, almost tingling as her fingers slowly made their way across her naval and the dressing gown fell silently open. Blissfully unaware, Jesse made his way back to the bedroom of his trailer, Tiffany's breath slowly and softly turning to a sigh of exhilaration as she allowed her hand to carry on south, across her pelvis and approaching her groin the silence suddenly shattered as the cell-phone gripped in Tiffany's free hand let forth with an air-piercing screech, Tiffany now dragged from her brief moment of bliss as she lifted the phone in anger and examined the caller ID.
'BAILEY'
Cursing as the phone rang on, pulling the dressing gown closed around her torso, Tiffany grunted the odd profanity to herself as she stepped from the shadows and dropped to the small couch positioned by the bedroom, crossing her bare legs as she lifted the phone to her ear and craned her neck in the direction of Jesse's trailer, the young man now realising the show he had potentially provided and pulling the curtains closed, another grunt as Tiffany gave an angry shake of the head and answered the call, one final attempt at remaining calm as she softly spoke.
"Hello?"
"Hey, I'm on my way," Bailey spoke, the constant whir of the windshield wipers audible over the car engine in the background, barely a pause as he continued. "And don't forget my money!"
"See you soon." Tiffany replied in a semi-euphoric daze, curtains across the way now closed as Tiffany lay back and tried to conjure the image from moments ago. "And Bailey, Don't you forget!"
No sooner had she finished, the horn echoed down the line from Bailey's end, a garbled wall of panic and tension as the static squealed down the line. Whatever Bailey had been doing, he had been left with no option other than to drop his cell-phone to try and rectify the situation, the screech of tyres testament to Tiffany's suspicion as she suddenly realised what had caused the ensuing drama on the other end of the call. Bailey had tried to look at it! That was the only answer Tiffany could think of. The rain, heavy and relentless, plus Bailey's reduced concentration had almost been enough to cause him to veer off course and into the path of the oncoming traffic, the all clear coming what seemed like an eternity later as the commotion dissipated and Bailey's faint sigh of relief trickled down the line.
"Shit!" He gasped, his voice low as Tiffany suddenly burst into a giggle, not just once but twice, the crackle of static in her ear a sure indication that Bailey had resumed control of his vehicle and had managed to also retrieve his cell-phone as Tiffany playfully teased down the line.
"Curiosity killed the cat!" She said, the line instantly disconnecting from Bailey's end as she lay back on the couch and allowed the infectious giggle to return within an instant, evolving within seconds as the roar of laughter echoed throughout the trailer.
Finally it was show time.