Nothing but Meat

By Adrian Kendrew

When the mutilated body of a young girl is found in a local wood, Police Constable Simone Connolly is drawn into the investigation by Detective Nathan West. West is the only man Simone has ever truly loved but he has his own demons; the urge to light fires and watch things burn is an addiction that has haunted him since childhood. The investigation to hunt down the masked killer who calls himself the Ghost forces both Simone and West to confront the truth about their lives and the past they thought had left them behind.

The hunt for the Ghost is on.

'…he looked at himself through the ragged holes in the mask and made stabbing motions with the knife. 'I am the Ghost, and this is the last thing they'll see before I tear them apart.'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adrian Kendrew
• Release date: Oct 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223583295

Book preview

0

Piggy was awake.

The Ghost listened as she whimpered and fumbled around in the darkness. There was a brief period of silence and then he saw the yellow glow of the candle flickering weakly in the distance.

Piggy had found the matches. Good.

He was naked under the robe and the mask he wore had become warm and damp around the mouth. His heart thumped in the silence and his breathing quickened with the excitement of anticipation. He stood still with the knife by his side, watching the tunnel, waiting for the walls to shift with the dim swell of candlelight as she ventured out and tried to find salvation.

He pressed the tip of the blade into the side of his thigh with languid distraction, picking at it until he broke the skin. He slowly pressed it deeper and deeper until he felt blood run down his calf and waves of white pain shot through his body, circling his balls and filling his chest like a hot damp cloth.

There, he could see her now; alone and naked in the glow of the flame. He watched as she ventured into the tunnels foolishly believing escape was possible. The dark angels had gifted him a stage on which to play and he wasn’t about to disappoint them.

She was disorientated and scared. The darkness and the fear of the unknown; dealing with the idea of never seeing daylight again would surely be enough to break even the strongest of minds and if she did manage to overcome the threat of mental collapse he knew that when he sprang from the shadows in all his glory, seeing him for the first time would be more than enough to tip her over the edge.

Hidden in the darkness, the Ghost began to follow. The hunt was on. Creeping death was he.

Part 1:

Dead flowers

1

WPC Simone Connelly stood in the entrance hall, her body throbbed with bruising and exhaustion. All she wanted was a hot bath and a good sleep.

She hung her police issue bowler hat on the hook and began to remove her heavy work boots. As she bent to unlace them her back protested and she caught a sickly whiff of sweat from her filthy skin and the metallic stench from the blood-soaked shirt that clung to her body like a death shroud. She felt polluted; as if she had been poisoned and she was so tired it hurt.

She entered the house and went into the lounge where her husband Martin was slouched on the couch in front of the television. He was quickly flicking through the channels as if trying to piece together conversations or make sense out of random scenes. She could see that his shirt and belt was undone, his feet were on the coffee table that was tidy this morning but was now littered with beer cans. The malt tang of alcohol hung in the air. He spoke without turning around.

‘You’re late.’

‘It’s been a busy day.’

‘I’m sure it has.’

‘Believe me, I’d rather have spent the evening drinking beer in front of the TV.’

‘Don’t get sarcastic with me.’

She moved further into the room and into his line of sight, he looked at her with a hint of disgust. ‘What happened to your face?’ he said, but the words were just sounds, he had no interest in her reply and before she could answer he turned his attention back to the television. ‘I ordered pizza, there’s some left in the kitchen if you want it.’

She went through to the kitchen to find just one half-chewed slice of pizza remained; it was cold and congealed and stuck to the cardboard like an island in a sea of grease. Simone ignored it and went upstairs to the bathroom where she slowly stripped out of her grotty clothes and used the mirror to help inspect the cuts and darkening bruises that decorated her face and body. She carefully removed the bloody nose plugs from her nostrils and sat on the edge of the bath. She spun the taps and closed her eyes to enhance the calming scent of lavender bubble bath and the delicious soothing feeling of hot water running over her fingers.

It was a simple pleasure that helped take her mind away from the pain in her nose, her aching joints and her disastrous marriage.

Earlier, Simone Connelly and her partner John Barratt were coming to the end of their uneventful and yet demanding ten-hour shift when the call came in. They were to investigate reports of raised voices and the sound of breaking glass coming from a home on an estate in Cambridge.

As they stepped out of the car, they could immediately hear the argument raging inside.

‘It’s Pulaski, right?’ said Barratt as they approached the house.

Simone nodded and Barratt knocked on the front door causing the voices inside to become suddenly hushed. He called out, ‘Mr Pulaski? Mrs Pulaski? This is the Cambridgeshire police. Open up please.’ They could hear whispering from within and Barratt was about to knock again when the shouting resumed. ‘You called the police?’

‘Get off me!’ There was a cry of pain. Barratt looked through the letterbox. ‘I can’t see them.’

Simone called out, ‘Mr and Mrs Pulaski. If you don’t open the door, we will be forced to break it down.’

There was a slapping sound and another cry of pain. A man screamed, ‘I’ll kill you!’

Simone and Barratt looked at each other. ‘It’s getting heated in there,’ he said, and the sound of breaking glass highlighted his statement.

‘You’re up big man,’ Simone said.

Barratt took a step back, rolled his shoulders and wiped his nose with the back of his hand like a street fighter about to brawl. As he readied himself to kick the door down the lock clicked, and the door swung slowly open.

A child stood in the open doorway and Simone squatted down to say hello. The girl’s face was wet with tears and she had a vacant, far-away look in her eyes. Simone smiled and said, ‘What’s your name?’ The little girl stepped silently to one side and beckoned Simone into the corridor.

‘He’s hurting my mum,’ she said.

Simone stood, put her foot against the bottom of the door and Barratt edged past into the house.

‘What’s your name?’ Simone repeated.

‘Kamilla.’

‘Stay in the corridor Kamilla. Okay?’

The direction of the shouting led them to the kitchen where Mr and Mrs Pulaski stood either side of a freestanding counter; he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and was shouting at his wife who was giving as good as she got in return. She was dressed in a bathrobe and Simone was shocked at the state of her face; both eyes were puffed out massively and her lips and nose were crusted with blood. At the sight of the police officers her lips curled into a furious grimace and her bloody nostrils flared. Simone could see that a front tooth was missing. She looked at her husband with a crazy wild-eyed stare and then back at the officers. She shouted at them, ‘Look at what he’s done to me. Look at me!’

Mr Pulaski snorted derisively, leant forward on the counter and pointed his finger at her. ‘You’re lucky you’re still alive.’ He raced quickly around the counter, and she made to move in the opposite direction but slipped on something unseen. She vanished and he was upon her in a flash. Simone and Barratt rushed forward to the other side of the counter and found Mr Pulaski violently throttling his wife while she clawed helplessly at his arms and wrists. Barratt hooked his arms under Pulaski’s armpits and yanked him up but before he could get him into a headlock the bare-chested Pulaski squirmed free, he spun around and drove his knee quickly into Barratt’s groin. It was a lucky blow, but it connected sweetly. Barratt’s eyes bulged and he reeled backwards. Pulaski turned and lunged at Simone, but she sidestepped him and closed in behind. She used his forward momentum to slam him hard into the fridge. His gasp of pain told Simone she’d winded him and before he had chance to catch his breath she cuffed his hands behind his back. She twisted him quickly but as she did so Pulaski threw his head back and smacked it hard into Simone’s face, her nose crunched, and her lip split in an instant. The pain was blinding but she never relaxed her grip on the restraints around his wrists. Barratt came forward and punched Pulaski in the stomach, he doubled up and Simone kicked the back of his knees, his legs buckled beneath him and he crumpled to the floor. She dropped with him and used her weight to pin him to the ground with a knee in the small of his back.

Barratt helped Mrs Pulaski to her feet, and she was grateful for his help but when she saw her crushed husband, she turned on the officers and to Simone in particular. ‘What have you done? Stop hurting him you bitch!’ She pulled against Barratt in an attempt to get to Simone but he held her back. ‘Get off me!’

Her husband had just beaten her to within an inch of her life and tried his best to kill her she still couldn’t stand seeing the man she loved crushed and in pain. She repeated his name over and over. ‘Oh Alek, Alek. Please just leave him alone.’

Barratt turned to Simone with a look of despair on his face and Simone knew he could never understand that the woman loved her husband no matter what he did to her. They had seen this behaviour all too often; she probably wasn’t even going to press charges. Mrs Pulaski spat in Barratt’s face and again made to lunge at Simone, but Barratt still had hold of her. She managed to snatch a glass of fruit juice and threw it across the room, it missed Simone by an inch and shattered against the wall behind her, spraying her with glass and juice. Barratt turned his attention to Simone. ‘You okay?’ he said but before she could reply Mrs Pulaski squirmed free and grabbed a knife from the sink. Simone screamed a warning, but it was too late, before he had chance to defend himself Mrs Pulaski swung the knife into the side of Barratt’s head, the blade glanced off his skull and flew from her hand, skittering across the tiled floor. Barratt stumbled back in shock; a confused look crossed his face as blood rained from the rent in his head. Simone reacted quickly; she got to her feet and launched herself at Mrs Pulaski who was about to retrieve the knife from the floor. As she bent to pick it up Simone used all her weight and strength to slam into Mrs Pulaski’s body and drive a knee into her ribs knocking her backwards with all the force she had. Mrs Pulaski didn’t stand a chance and her head smacked against the marble of the kitchen counter with a terrible crunch and she collapsed on the floor in a heap.

Simone radioed for immediate backup and an ambulance and then grabbed a dishcloth and pressed it against the wound in Barratt’s head. He was slumped on the floor but still conscious. ‘You’re going to be fine,’ she said to him. She took the towel away and blood streamed onto his neck. She could see the dark separation of flesh and the gleam of bone underneath, but she could also see that the blade had only caused superficial damage. He would need a lot of stitches, but he would be okay. The knife hadn’t gone into his face or neck, it had hit skin and bone and nothing else. She told him to press the cloth against the wound and she took his cuffs from his belt and went over to the unconscious Mrs Pulaski.

Mr Pulaski had now found his voice. ‘You killed my wife! I’ll fucking sue the shit out of you!’ Simone ignored him, checked his wife’s vitals and cuffed her wrists. Something caught the corner of her eye and when she looked in the direction of the door, she was embarrassed to see the figure of the little girl standing in the doorway. Wet faced, she looked at the bloody devastation of the family kitchen and then to Simone. ‘Is Mummy going to be okay?’ she said quietly. Simone nodded and tried to smile but she knew that the little girl’s mother was going to prison for a very long time. Between them, Mr and Mrs Pulaski had assaulted one police officer and tried to fatally harm another and because of this the little girl was going to spend a lot of time with social services.

As the steaming hot water ran over Simone’s fingers and the lavender scented bubbles swelled in the bath she longed desperately to climb in and soak away the aches of the day.

‘I told you to ring if you’re going to be late.’

Her eyes snapped open. Martin was in the bathroom with her. She jumped up and stood to face him, her nudity made her feel vulnerable and he knew it so she tried to cover herself as much as she could and said, ‘I forgot. I was too busy.’

He leered at her, her heart pounded in her chest, his eyes narrowed as he moved in closer, even with bare feet she had a couple of inches on him and she looked down at his tight jaw and his stocky frame. She could smell his sour breath and turned away, but it was a mistake to take her eyes from him. He punched her hard in the stomach. Simone was completely unprepared for the blow, her lungs emptied in an instant and she dropped to her knees. She looked up at him defiantly, using all her strength to do so and he slapped her face sharply with a quick flicking motion and pointed a stubby finger into her forehead. He would never normally touch her face for fear of exposure, but she knew he was taking advantage of her injured state and that any damage he inflicted would be camouflaged. ‘Don’t you fucking talk back to me,’ he spat. ‘Next time I’ll use this.’ His leather belt was wrapped tightly around his other fist, the cold metal buckle swung closely to her face. She flinched away from it and looked down, conceding, allowing him to dominate. He stood over her for a while watching her silently and then turned his back and walked out of the bathroom. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said. ‘I want to go to bed.’ He slammed the door behind him, and she stayed on the floor while she caught her breath. Her stomach ached and then cramped, and she rushed to use the toilet, but then she finally got what she had been waiting for. It felt like it had taken an eternity to come as she lowered herself into the glistening foam. The water was way too hot but the heat that turned her skin bright pink and enveloped her damaged shell redirected her pain and closed her mind to everything beyond the sanctuary of the bathroom.

2

Simone pretended to be asleep while Martin got dressed. He left the bedroom and went downstairs, and she listened to him moving around, to the clatter of his spoon and cereal bowl and to the muffled sound of Sky News.

The stairs creaked beneath his weight and the door brushed the carpet as he came quietly into the room and over to her. When he leant in and kissed her forehead it took all she had not to flinch and pull away from him. She opened her eyes.

‘You’re not going to work today are you?’ he asked.

‘No. Got a few days off to recover.’

‘Okay. See you tonight,’ he said. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ she replied but the words were meaningless and hollow.

Simone waited until the front door clicked and then pulled her aching frame out of bed. She tried to draw the stiffness from her body by stretching and touching her toes. Her tendons and muscles loosened up and the freedom of movement felt good. She carefully peeled the dressings from her face in the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The bruises had blossomed overnight and were now heavy and purple around her eyes, and her lips were swollen and crusted with dried blood. She blew her nose and the tissue came away thick with dark red, but she could now breathe clearly and she relished the experience. She stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at the bruises that illustrated her aches and pains. She angled her body left and right, wincing occasionally with the effort. Dark, tender patches of damaged skin mercilessly tattooed her arms, shoulders and back but she spent little time considering them. She was free from stab wounds and for that she was thankful. Her thoughts went out to Barratt and as she examined her body, she pressed the flesh of her belly and gasped, her muscles ached terribly but the pain was solely internal; there was no bruising or swelling, her stomach felt flat and painfully tight as if she had spent an hour doing sit-ups.

The hurt Martin had inflicted on her had left no lasting damage and no evidence of punishment. The results of her quick examination caused a feeling of relief to wash over her, but the feeling was chased down by one of shame and her heart felt heavy with the dark weight of unhappiness. She was in pain, but she was alive, she knew last night could have been so much worse, yet she felt little joy.

She looked past the mirror and out of the bedroom window, she could see the rooftops and the clear morning sky and suddenly craved fresh air; she needed to cheer up and decided to walk into town for breakfast.

She hated feeling down, and while she showered, she used her years of experience to occupy her mind and distract herself, making it easier to bury the dark feelings of guilt and shame somewhere inside her.

She fixed her hair by simply tying it back and then tried to do something with her battered face but there was little she could do and simply chose not to care how she looked. She dressed in a flowing skirt and strappy shoes; simple clothes that made her feel more like a woman and less like a punch bag.

Simone stepped out into the day and breathed deeply, looked to the sky and closed her eyes to the sun as it gently kissed her face. She loved summer mornings, the day was cool, but the sun was warm on her skin and she could feel it healing her wounds. She shielded her eyes with sunglasses and began the short walk into town. She felt the heat of the sun on the back of her arms and legs and considered for the umpteenth time how amazing it was that the sun was a hundred million miles away and yet still had the power to burn her skin, even kill with its heat. That searing hot ball of fire gave life to the planet and without it there would only be darkness, nothing but the freezing black vacuum of space. Cold and dead, she thought, like her soul, a corrupted storage locker where she wrapped her bleakest emotions in a blanket of secrecy and buried them deep down.

She pushed the bad thoughts away and reoccupied her mind; there was going to be a solar eclipse in the next few days and an event like that would give her the perfect excuse to find her camera, blow the dust off the lens and get back into photography.

She strolled along the high street and picked out some hair products in Boots, and as she passed the lipstick counter on her way to the till and stole a glimpse of herself in a small, distorted mirror - I won’t be needing lipstick for a while, she thought as she tongued the stitches inside her lip.

Simone wandered into a small independent coffee shop that was a personal favourite of hers and ordered a cappuccino and a blueberry muffin. The shop was quiet and as she turned to find a table someone behind her said her name.

‘Simone?’

She spun around to face the last person she expected to see standing opposite her and tried to look nonchalant but knew her eyes betrayed her. ‘Detective Inspector Nathan West,’ she said. She wanted to keep a straight face but couldn’t help smiling. He beamed back and her heart pounded in her chest as a sudden and glorious rush of sunshine poured into the dark cavity of her soul, filling it with light and warmth.

The only man she had ever truly loved moved towards her, hugged her, and kissed her carefully on the cheek.

‘You look good, still on the job I take it?’ he said sarcastically, his eyes scanned her face and his eyebrows lifted.

‘How’d you guess?’

‘It’s the panda eyes that gave it away.’

‘Got time to join me?’ she asked.

‘Grab a table. I’ll be over in a minute.’

They sat opposite each other and his dark eyes penetrated her soul. He read her face, all seeing, all knowing.

She sipped her coffee and winced when the hot rim touched her lip.

‘That looks painful.’

‘It is.’

‘What happened?’

‘I got head-butted by an angry Romanian.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Yeah, ouch.’ She smiled at him, weighing him up. ‘So, come on then big shot, what are you doing back here?’

‘It’s the old man; he’s not doing so good.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Cancer. He’s in hospital and I’m staying at the house.’

She was stunned. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘You couldn’t have. We should have kept in touch.’

‘You know it’s difficult.’

‘Difficult,’ he repeated and quietly pondered her remark. ‘How is he?’

‘He is fine - recent promotion, even more money, better prospects and all that.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Are you happy?’

‘Of course,’ she answered a little too quickly. She saw the flash in those dark eyes and knew that West had noticed. She changed the subject. ‘How are you holding up?’ she said. ‘You look tired.’

He turned his coffee cup on its saucer and waited before speaking. ‘It’s horrible waiting for someone to die. Thought the old bugger was indestructible.’

‘Me too, I’m so sorry.’ She touched his hand and felt an electric connection between them. Did he feel it too? Probably not, he had moved on, moved away. She pulled her hand back and they sat in silence for a while. To her it was a sign of closeness that even after all these years conversation between them was never forced and the silences never uncomfortable.

‘Still taking pictures?’ he said.

‘Not really.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Still lighting fires?’

His eyes flicked left and right, scanning the room quickly, assessing the location of eavesdroppers. He gave a boyish grin. ‘Often as possible.’

She sighed. ‘When will you learn?’

‘When it’s too late I suppose.’

She heard the trill of a mobile phone from West’s jacket pocket. His brow furrowed and he took the call.

After a moment West said, ‘I’m on leave.’ He glanced at Simone and then sighed and nodded. ‘Okay. Fine.’ He hung up and looked at her. ‘That was work; I have to report to your station, I’ve got to see DCI -’

‘Jackson?’

‘Yeah. Something big has happened. Scotland Yard has pulled me off my leave. There’s a big terrorist threat in London and we’re stretched to the limit. I’m the highest-ranking available officer, I’m already in Cambridge and they want me to show my face.’

‘Do you know what’s happened?’

‘Not yet, but it’s already been classified as a murder investigation.’

‘Well, that’ll hit the news in no time.’

He slurped his coffee and gathered his things.