Stan: Chapter Nine

Anderson had gone home. It had been a long couple of days. He had managed five hours sleep, and had started to feel a little more human. After what he had seen recently he was surprised at how human he actually felt. Still tired, but human.
He wiped the remainder of his shaving foam from his face, and ran his hand over his chin.

"That's better." he said to himself with a smile.

Throwing the towel in the wash basket he headed off to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of dark, sweet coffee. He was avoiding the TV. Since the discovery of the bodies at the cove, the media had been all over this case. As far as they knew it was only the two victims so far, but it hadn't stopped them asking questions, probing to see if their were others. Anderson knew of course there were, but was under strict instruction to play dumb.
Picking up his phone he checked his messages and email. No new messages, and only an email telling him a company could enlarge his penis.

'No news, is good news.' he thought to himself. But as he did so, his message tone beeped.

From: Lieutenant Cook
You need to be at 'The Kings Arms' now

For a moment Anderson was hoping the lieutenant was going to buy him breakfast. But he really doubted that was the case.
Picking up his keys he locked up and got into his Volvo.

Arriving at the Kings Arms it was obvious where the crime scene was. The alleyway was taped off, the entrance way was staffed by three uniformed officers and there were a couple of media vans pulled up nearby. The huge white tent that had been erected told Anderson one thing...there was a body.
He could see the lieutenant busying himself with a couple of uniforms. Morris was back at the station. Anderson had asked her to stay back and wait for Jane Daimon to come in. She was due to arrive for interview at 9am, and it was 8:30am now.
Anderson made sure that his badge was on display and headed for the police tape. Flashing his badge at one of the uniforms, he ducked under the tape and headed for the white tent. He could see the photographer had just left, and the lieutenant was striding towards him quickly.

"Anderson, we seem to have number 20." said Cook. "Come and have a look."

'Certainly not going to buy me breakfast.' Anderson thought as he followed him into the tent. Seeing the sight on the floor made him glad of that.
The body of a man was lying on its back. The number 20 had been carved into his forehead. It was obvious that rodents or cats had been at the body after the kill. Pieces of flesh were hanging from it, scratch marks over the face and legs. The penis in the bodies mouth had turned black, and the wound on the groin had more bites and scratches on it. The bodies eyes were still wide open. Frozen in fear.

"The forensic guys think he was still alive when this was done to him." lieutenant put forward, "they think he has been here for atleast a day. The bartender found him this morning. He remembered him, coming in saying he had just split with his partner."

"I think that's the least of his worries now sir." Anderson said, almost trying to lift the mood.

"Indeed," replied Cook. "But it gets better. The bartender remembers him talking to another man, and leaving with him. I have uniform going through the CCTV now."

Anderson couldn't believe it. Finally a break! They were actually going to have a face to look for. He felt his leg vibrate. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. It was Morris. Anderson ducked out of the tent and answered the phone.

"Hey Morris, how did you get on?" he asked.

"Dead end really." came the reply, "Ms Daimon gave a description of Beth's clothes. Mentioned what bars they went too. Starz was the last Bar they went to. Apparently they got separated there. Ms Daimon recounts she went to the bathroom, and when she came back Beth was leaving with her next door neighbour. But I read your notes from last night, so I guess you knew that, what with him coming into the station yesterday."

"Hang on Morris," Anderson was alittle stunned. "Are you telling me she left with Stanley Crippen?"

"Yeah...but didn't he tell you that yesterday??" she asked.

"No he fucking didn't." he answered quickly, his mind putting two and two together. "he told me that he had never spoke to her."

Anderson noticed a uniform coming back and handing the lieutenant a paper printout. Anderson jogged over and looked over Cook's shoulder. It was a print out of the CCTV footage. In the frame were both the guy currently lying on the floor with his cock in his mouth, and the other guy, Stanley Crippen.

"Shit," was all that came from Anderson as he looked at the photo. "Morris, suit up and get down here ASAP." and hung up the phone. "Lieutenant, sir" he said turning to Cook. "I know this guy sir. He came into the station yesterday on vice charges. We have an address."

"What?! OK, give me an hour. I'll get a warrant and I think it's time we pay this freak a visit.

Morris and Anderson caught a ride with a SWAT team. Jumping out of the back of the van they were surprised by what they saw. A quiet suburban street. All the houses were clean, all the gardens were tidy. Hardly the place you would think a serial killer would call home. Anderson thought that most of the people in the street had never seen a police car before judging by the amount of attention they seemed to be drawing.
They stood behind the lieutenant's car as SWAT got into place. They had the small house surrounded, a team at the front door, guns drawn, with one of them with a enforcer. A huge battering ram used to open locked doors.
The door splintered at the first hot, and the front team stormed in. Anderson could hear shouting. One member of SWAT came back out.

"CLEAR." he shouted at them.

They quickly moved in. The house inside was immaculate, not a piece of furnishing out of place. It was almost like a show home. No pictures anywhere, no dishes in the sink. It looked like no one lived here. Anderson went back outside and lit up a cigarette.

"Your wasting your time." came a small voice from over the garden fence.

"I'm sorry sir?" Morris asked. She had followed Anderson outside.

"About six months ago," the old man continued from over the fence, "the moving people moved all that stuff in. And that was the last time we saw anyone go anywhere near that house...until you guys that is."

"Are you saying you have never seen the person that lives here?" Morris asked.

"Nope." was the simple reply. "Why? Are they in some kind of trouble?"

"You could say that." Morris answered. "Listen, if anyone comes back here, can you give me a call?" she handed him her card.

"Sure! No problem, I would be happy to help." and with that the old man returned back inside.

Morris turned back to Anderson. "Guess we are back to square one."

Anderson stubbed out his smoke. "Not quite. I think we should head over to Newport Street. Check out his old address." was his answer.

"I can't believe that bastard was in the station. And that he had the bollocks to sit across the table from you." Morris said, almost sympathetically.

"He is playing a game." Anderson said. "To him it's the excitement of playing that he is getting off on. He is playing us. But I'm sick of playing catch up. I think it's time we went on the offensive."

"I hear that!" Morris answered. "If we are going to Newport street, I'll get Larson to run a background check. He owes me a favor."

"Yeah, good idea." Anderson said. "This fucker was stupid enough to get caught on CCTV. Which means he is either getting sloppy, or he is not quite as perfect as he believes."