The Circle

By G Palmieri

Between 1990 - 1996, five murders occur in Corpus Christi, attributed to serial killer "The Needleman", brutal slayings of women, all strangled and with their eyelids bizarrely sewn shut with a needle and thread.Detective Thomas Curtis is brought in to re-investigate these unsolved murders. Curtis is a strange, driven man, still haunted by the loss of his own young brother years ago, when he fell victim to a serial killer in Los Angeles. This tragedy has stimulated in him a thirst for revenge - a deep, obsessive hatred and compulsion to bring to justice all serial killers. Now he is determined to track down The Needleman. What - and who - are the connections that will draw Thomas Curtis into a dark world of madness, and are things as they first appear?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G Palmieri
• Release date: Mar 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311831422

Book preview

Huddled together in a corner of the porch, Adam and Vesta are playing quietly and contentedly, apparently intently involved in some game or task. Their mother, Lucy, watches the children affectionately through the window for a few minutes and then calls them indoors because it is time for them to put on their best, freshly laundered clothes.

As usual, she wraps Vesta’s long hair in a neat braid around her head like a crown and carefully checks that both children have clean hands and fingernails. Then the whole family goes to the church, as always, for the Sunday service.

In the plain wooden pews reserved for each family, they sit and sing hymns together, then listen in respectful, fearful silence to the priest’s voice as he thunders against sin and threatens a destination of hell for all sinners.

Adam finds it hard to sit still during the sermon and his mother quietly admonishes him with her eyes as she does every Sunday, hoping that her expression of warning will spare him the subsequent punishment at the hands of his father.

Vesta remains perfectly still and upright in her habitual manner, her eyes clear and sharp. She watches the movements of the pastor’s lips intently, without the blink of an eye, avidly absorbing his words.

Later, back home, the children are busy at the rear of the house, Adam just ahead of his twin sister. Almost identical with their lean bodies and fragile features, they move with the same ease and lightness. Their skin is pale and pearly, their hair fair and delicate, eyelids with the transparency of rice paper, almost devoid of eyelashes. Ethereal creatures.

They whisper softly to each other as they go, carrying something between them in a wicker basket, covered lightly by a cloth.

We don’t want Mrs Dorothy to see us - keep watch, Adam, in case she comes out.

The neighbour they are avoiding has no liking for them, uncomfortable with their ways of entertaining themselves, furtive activities without joy, without the noise and laughter that usually accompanies the play of children.

No, she’s not around.

Keep looking!

It’s okay - I’ve already checked before.

She might come out to call for Polly.

Even if she comes out, she can’t see what we’re doing. I wonder why Polly came to have her kittens over here near our house?

I told you that I’d put out a nice basket that would attract her here. Cats like cosy beds.

Where is she now?

I’ve shut her in the cellar. Don’t worry, Adam.

The children continue eagerly, walking with purpose and then stop when they reach the shelter of the hedge. Adam lifts the cloth and peers into the basket.

Oh, there are six of them!

From the basket come weak mewling sounds. The kittens are tiny, only recently born. Their eyes are still closed. They can barely stand on shaky legs, yet they attempt to sniff around awkwardly, with raised noses and upright wisps of tails. They are a huddled mass of grey and white, but the random arrangement of patches on their downy coats makes each different from another. One kitten among them is entirely white, another entirely grey.

Take the white one.

Adam reaches into the basket, takes the kitten indicated by his sister. He grasps the neck tightly in his fingers to stifle it and applies pressure with determination, without apparent reason, and with no emotion. The kitten, unable to breathe, struggles with sprawling legs for some time before giving up and finally remaining motionless, its tiny body hanging pathetically from small hands.

Now the one with the grey muzzle and white paws.

Vesta determines the order of execution of the death sentences. On the faces of the children there is no expression as the helpless animals die, just a flutter of satisfaction, a weak sideways smile, once there are six little bodies collected in the basket.

Now we can bury them.

Adam digs a hole in the soft ground under the hedge and one by one, Vesta throws the tiny bodies into it. Quickly, they cover it with earth and then run towards home when they hear their mother, Lucy, calling them indoors.

Chapter II

The children are doing their homework, sitting at the kitchen table. Their notebooks rest on the chipped wooden floor, where an endless succession of bottles and glasses have left many indelible circular stains.

Each piece of furniture is cheap and worn, woodwork scratched, the paint around the windows peeling, floors dented and marked, curtains badly faded.

Despite Lucy’s best efforts, the house is sadly bleak. Not only do the economic constraints make it so, but the lack of care within it, the renunciation of beauty, the lack of warmth and affection. Within the desolation of these rooms, Lucy wanders like a spectre. She has assimilated the palor of the colourless walls and the drabness of the environment. Her few clothes are faded and shabby, hanging shapelessly on her thin frame.

Hurry up now, children, and finish your homework! You know your father wants you to be in bed by the time he comes home.

Adam and Vesta both do well at school. They are intelligent children, though they possess poor social skills and do not like to attract attention. Their play, such as it is, is always between themselves, separate from their classmates, perhaps because they are twins and particularly close.

The covers are dutifully closed and their work books, pages filled with neat, precise handwriting, are put away. They go over to their mother to say goodnight.

Lucy leans to give each of them a hug, with rough hands, ruined from harsh laundry soap, hands that have known no beauty creams or rest.

Good night, children. May the Lord protect you.

The two siblings climb the stairs, the worn wooden steps creaking loudly. Adam turns around briefly and tries to meet Lucy’s gaze. She looks to the ground as she waits for the child to continue climbing the stairs.

Through the bedroom windows filters the last light of the dying day. Soon everything will be dark and the ghosts will return to populate their rooms. Adam tries to overcome his familiar fear, squeezes his eyes tightly shut and puts his head beneath the covers. But he is well aware that it will not help, for the nightmares are within him.

Chapter III

Victor sits at the table, eating without enthusiasm. He pushes his plate away from him and turns to look at Lucy.

Where are the children?

They are in bed.

Lucy's answer is halting and quiet; the tone of his voice paralyzes her. It is not the fear of restrictions or even the physical violence that subdues her, but simply the assumed authority of his overwhelming presence. Victor Stanley’s word is the law and he cannot be contradicted or disobeyed.

After leaving the dining room, Victor makes his way up the stairs to the rooms of the children. He enters Vesta’s room and without any hesitation moves to the side of her bed.

Get up!

The girl opens her eyes at the sudden and curt command. The room is dark but she does not need light to recognize her father, nor to do what he wants.

Dressed in a white nightgown, her long pale hair falling loose over her shoulders, the small figure seems to emanate light. She treads softly as she hits the floor and follows her father, her features serious as someone who has an important mission to fulfil. In the dim light her eyes seem to lack irises, the pupils just deep black holes.

The door to Adam’s room does not creak when it is opened. The boy is sleeping on his back with an arm resting defensively across his eyes. Just a brief, hard shake of the arm wakes him up.

Through the window filters the soft light of a crescent moon, and there is no need for another source of illumination. Large shadows move in the room.

Vesta!

The girl snaps forward, as if she had waited for her father’s permission to move. She is happy and eager to comply with his wishes. She would willingly do anything for him.

Chapter IV

Victor is on his way home, walking on the pavement with unsteady steps. A group of teenage girls are heading towards him. He hears their laughter before they are in his field of vision. He has time to watch them approach him. They are all dressed up for a dance or a party - short skirts that reveal expanses of bare thighs, tank tops that show off their breasts. They are heavily made-up, their hair brightly coloured and loose, tottering on high heels and swaying their hips with every step. Their laughter echoes in Victor’s head as if the tormenting voices of a hundred demons are assaulting his eardrums.

His anger boils over and stops him dead in his tracks.

Whores!

The girls do not hear his words, maybe they do not even notice him, intent as they are on their happy conversation and jokes, imagining how the boys will admire them and special meetings that could happen that night.

Victor is furious - he cannot tolerate such outrageous behaviour. His observations have reinforced the belief already