Demons 2

By Alex Binney

The Metropolitan Police is in crisis. A senior officer of Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad has been shot dead by one of his own men, and it seems that the police are no closer to solving the grisly murders of prostitutes in the Whitechapel area of London. Is the murderer trying to emulate Jack the Ripper? Or is there an even more sinister motive behind the killings? Could it be that the shooting of one of their own officers by a detective sergeant really was justified; that the officer was the murderer they were trying to find and he was about to attack? Bringing in a former Head of MI5 to lead the investigation team just seems to make everything worse. But, worse still, a notorious hit man is now targeting senior police officers.

Perhaps outside assistance is needed, and not from any of the conventional law enforcement agencies; someone who can operate without necessarily working within the constraints imposed on law-abiding police detectives. Surely there isn’t a widespread conspiracy within the Metropolitan Police Force itself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strict Publishing International
• Release date: Jul 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9780857793010

Alex Binney

Alex is a well established English author of murder mystery novels. He took early retirement as a manager from a major UK bank to pursue his first love of writing murder mysteries. Over the years he has devised numerous plots which he did not have chance to bring to his readership whilst pursuing his bank career. Divorced, he lives in Plymouth, Devon, UK, and you can correspond with him on Facebook.

Book preview

Demons 2

by Alex Binney

Edition 2, for Smashwords

Copyright Alex Binney 2013

Published by Strict Publishing International

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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DEMON

I am the Demon

Who invades your dreams

Creating all those

Devilish Schemes

Whilst you’re asleep

The things that you do

With evil intent

Make me proud of you

So when you awake

Remember the seeds

I’ve planted inside you

To perform those deeds

So carry you forth

And commit those acts

Murder is beautiful

Those are the facts

Fear not of capture

For I’m on your side

Look on your handiwork

With a feeling of pride

The dead cannot speak

They cannot betray

The actions you take

Each and every day

I am the Demon

Who controls your life

The atmosphere you can cut

With your serrated knife

And so you must use it

Many people will die

They are superfluous

To you and I

I am the Demon

I am your God

I am your mentor

Give me thy rod

For thy rod

And thy staff

You no longer will need

It is only pure evil

Upon which you will feed

Yes, I am the Demon

Bow down ye before me

Envelop yourself

In undying glory.

Map designed by Martin Smith,

Bretonside Copy, Plymouth, UK

Tel: [phone]

CHAPTER ONE: Suspension

They recognised Lamb right away when he approached them.

Good evening, sir, said Berman, respectfully. I thought you were on leave.

I was, but I can’t get this Ripper thing off my mind. Have you seen Superintendent McGarry recently?

Yes, sir, replied Metters. He’s just gone. He’ll be back again in about another hour or so, doing the rounds.

What about the girl you’re covering?

Samantha Blane? She should be back any minute, sir. She’s gone with a local. She said he normally pays for an hour. That was fifty minutes ago.

Without warning, Lamb reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a long-bladed knife with a serrated edge. It glistened in the half-moonlight, and Lamb was about to use it with deadly effect when he heard a voice shout out behind him: Drop it, sir!

The superintendent spun round to face Halpen.

Clive – what the hell are you doing here?

I followed you. I suspected you were up to no good. Drop the knife.

And what if I don’t? snapped Lamb.

Don’t give me the option, warned Halpen, pointing a Smith and Wesson at him.

Lamb walked towards him whilst two petrified uniformed men froze to the spot. They just did not understand what was going on.

Stay where you are, sir! Halpen screamed at him.

Come on, Clive, you aren’t going to fire that thing. You can’t kill me. I’m your boss.

Lamb moved relentlessly towards his sergeant, a mad look in his eyes, still brandishing the knife.

Please, sir, no further.

Still Lamb kept coming towards him.

Don’t…

Bam! Bam!

Halpen shot Lamb dead.

* * * * *

Chief Superintendent Bill Tramlin had recently been promoted to his new position at Scotland Yard, following the assassination of his predecessor, Giles Harlick. The latter had been eliminated by a hitman known as Gilbert Hodgkiss, who was still at large. A huge manhunt for him was going on at the time.

No matter which way you cut it, Clive, you’ve killed a senior officer, said the new man.

But he was carrying a lethal weapon and was about to attack me, protested the detective sergeant.

That’s not quite how Keith Metters and Jonathan Berman, the two officers who witnessed the incident, saw it.

Halpen looked shocked. What did they say?

They said that when you pointed the gun at Lamb he said to you: ‘Come on, Clive, you aren’t going to fire that thing. You can’t kill me. I’m your boss.’ And they said he carried on approaching you in order to have a further discussion with you.

And how do they explain the knife he was carrying, which matches the pathologist’s description of the type of weapon that was used to gut those prostitutes, came to be stained with one of the girls’ blood?

There could be several explanations for that. Lamb may have found it whilst he was trawling the area; he may have disturbed the killer and found it by Samantha Blane’s body, which was discovered after you shot Lamb. There could be a number of reasons. The two constables have stated that Lamb did not have the knife raised when he approached you.

This is bloody ridiculous, sir. Lamb is – was – the killer!

So you say, Clive. That has yet to be proved. At the present time we have Lamb’s wife, Natasha, literally screaming blue murder at us.

Well, she would. She doesn’t know what her husband was like. I’ve always been dubious about him after the Jennings’ case.

Yes, I’ve heard your theory on that also, but it doesn’t quite wash, Clive. In fact you could say it clouded your vision when you confronted Lamb that evening. I’m afraid you’re suspended forthwith whilst an internal investigation takes place. Make sure you keep yourself available.

Halpen rose from his chair in the chief superintendent’s office, and said, I shall be at my home in Canvey Island, sir. You have my number.

CHAPTER TWO: Private Meetings

Halpen caught the 2.15 p.m. train from Fenchurch Street station to Benfleet after his meeting with Tramlin.

He bought the Daily Sketch to read on his journey, but although his eyes ran over the words, he did not take them in. His head, instead, was full of confused thoughts.

Could be have been dreaming? Lamb had come at him with that long, serrated knife, hadn’t he? How could the two constables present testify that Lamb had shown no violent intent towards him? It was rubbish to deny that the superintendent was behind the mass killings of prostitutes in the Whitechapel area.

It was ridiculous of Tramlin to say that Lamb could have picked up the knife whilst trawling the area! What was Lamb doing there, anyway? It was not his turn for duty. He had been taken off the case. Superintendent McGarry was in charge that evening. Anyway, when Lamb drew out that knife, he was sure he was going to use it on Metters and Berman, just as two other officers on previous occasions had been killed.

Such thoughts invaded his brain until he became aware that his train had reached Benfleet.

Alighting from his coach, he made his way to the car park where he climbed into his Morris Minor and drove over the bridge to Canvey Island.

It did not take him long to reach 76 Beach Road, where he knew his long-haired cat, Nebuchadnezzar, would be waiting for him with those hungry eyes boring a hole into him.

Okay, Neb, he said as he came through the door to be greeted by his pet’s mewing. I’ll feed you in a minute. You had a full bowl this morning, you greedy cat!

Taking off his hat and coat and hanging them on two pegs in the hallway, he went into the kitchen, opened a tin of Kit-E-Kat and tipped it into the cat’s bowl. There you are, you fat moggy, he declared.

He then wandered into the lounge and poured himself a scotch and continued to read his paper – after a fashion.

He had not realised he had dozed off until the telephone brought him back to consciousness.

Launching himself from his chair, he walked into the hallway to pick up the receiver.

Halpen.

Hi, Clive, it’s Dick here.

Hello, Dick. What’s the occasion?

I heard what happened through the grapevine. I also share your view about Lamb, so do some of the others. The danger is that the powers that be will want to cover this up and use you as the scapegoat.

Yes, I was afraid of that. I think the two uniformed men who witnessed the shooting may have been got at. Their statements aren’t doing me any favours.

You’re going to need help, Clive – and not from internal sources. I’ve got a mate of mine who is very discreet and always gets results. Perhaps we could meet you and discuss matters.

Are you sure you want to do this, Dick? You’ll be sticking your neck out.

I don’t care. I don’t like the idea of a good man being tarred and feathered for the sake of the force hiding its dirty linen.

You’ve only recently got married Dick. Are you sure you’re okay about this?

Positive. In fact, I’ve discussed it with Hazel, and she’s quite relaxed about the whole thing.

Well, sighed Halpen, you seem determined. When would you like this meeting to take place?

We’ll come to you. Can you pick us up at Benfleet? Is there somewhere we can get a bite to eat and something to drink?

Halpen looked at his watch. 5.30 p.m. "Sure. There’s The Haystack pub on the island. Does good grub. What time will you be coming down?"

We’ll catch the 6.30 from Fenchurch which gets to Benfleet at 7.15. If we meet you in your neck of the woods, no one of note will spot us.

Okay, I’ll pick you up at the appointed time. Thanks, by the way.

Don’t thank me until we’ve had our chat. Cheers, Clive.

* * * * *

Halpen picked the two men up at Benfleet station.

This is Hillary Berne, said Travis, a good friend of mine. He’s a private detective.

The two men shook hands.

Please to meet you, said Halpen.

Likewise, said Berne.

You’ll have to excuse the car. It’s all I can afford on my humble salary, was the detective’s half-hearted apology.

That’s okay, Clive. We’re prepared to ‘rough it’, joked Travis.

Ten minutes later and they had arrived outside The Haystack.

The pub in those days was not very well patronised in the evenings, due to the comparatively low population, following the flooding of the island in 1953. Having recovered from this natural disaster, and a defensive wall having been erected to prevent a similar tragedy, history would record that it took some while before confidence returned and new generations dared to occupy this devastated part of the country.

It was not hard, therefore, for the three men to find a seat in the lounge after Halpen had bought the beer.

I’ve told Hillary all about the Whitechapel murders and how we thought initially it was someone trying to emulate the former Jack the Ripper killings, began Travis. I’ve also given him the background concerning Lamb and your suspicions about him regarding the Jennings affair, which resulted in you following the superintendent on the evening you caught him with that knife.

Have you told him about how I might be being set up as a patsy in all this by the powers that be?

I have. Hillary has helped us solve a major case recently, and I have every confidence that he will be able to set aside any contrived misdemeanours or felonies laid against you, Clive.

And what are you going to charge for this, Mr. Berne?

Hillary gave Travis a quick glance, and then grinned at Halpen. Nothing. Let’s say I’m doing it as a favour for Dick.

Yes, confirmed Travis. "Don’t worry about that sort of thing. Unfortunately, I can’t get hold of the file on the Whitechapel killings. That’s in the investigating team’s hands, the team that are looking into Lamb’s death. What I need you to do is to have a session with Hillary at his office, as soon as you can, and give him as much information as you are able to, concerning the Whitechapel murders. The purpose of this meeting is to introduce Hillary to you, Clive,