The Sandman Never Sleeps

By S R Clowes

A killer is on the loose, seemingly choosing him victims at random. With no apparent agenda anyone and everyone is at risk of his unfaltering determination to exact his revenge on the world.

It’s up to DCI Charles Markland and his ever-loyal sergeant DS Miles Phillips to catch him and quick.

The killer is always one step ahead of them. But when the killings become too personal the two detectives need each other more than ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S R Clowes
• Release date: Jan 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386502807

S R Clowes

SR Clowes is an EnCunbriglish author. Born in Cumbria. Now lives in Yorkshire with his wife and 3 cats. 

Book preview

1

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It had been the biggest murder trial of recent years and after sixteen weeks was

reaching its final conclusion. Indicted on three counts of murder, Chris James

resumed his seat alongside his lawyer. James, an arrogant man in his late twenties

with short brown hair, of average build and a tattoo of an eagle on the side of his neck seemed to be almost smiling.

This guy did not care about anything or anyone besides himself. The families of the

victims sat patiently in the public gallery, their eyes glued to the accused, there was

no way they would let him out of their sight. Behind the prosecutor sat Charles

Markland, the detective who brought James to justice, it had taken Markland six

months to achieve an arrest spending hour upon hour a day sifting through masses of

evidence. He was tired and cranky; the trial itself had taken its toll not only on him

but the majority of the court. James turned to his right; his eyes catching the

detectives’ piercing glare, giving a smirking grin at his adversary raising his

eyebrows at the same time. His grin was soon to be subdued when a member of the

gallery gestured with two fingers in a manner to suggest that he would receive a bullet

to the head. Markland noticed the persons’ action and in his ‘heart-of-hearts’ agreed

which showed as he turned back to James and returned a similar grin.

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The heat within the courtroom was smouldering, causing the atmosphere to be

extremely tense and uncomfortable, almost everyone was perspiring, a few had

miniature, battery powered fans, others were using a daily newspaper to cause a

draught. Twitching in their seats, hoping for the jury to re-appear soon and give their

verdict quickly, they needed to breathe fresh air again instead of the stagnant odour

circulating the room.

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Finally, everyone was in position, Judge, jury and counsel. The Judge’s voice

sounded weary as he asked the foreperson the obligatory words.

Madam Foreperson, have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed? - The

foreperson, a woman in her early forties wearing a crisp trouser suit with dark brown

hair tied back off her face, returned a prompt answer.

We have your Honour. With that she handed a slip of paper to the court clerk, who

in turn walked smartly to the Judges’ bench and handed it to the Judge. He read the

verdict to himself and handed the paper back to the awaiting clerk who addressed the

foreperson with, "Madam Foreperson, on the three counts of murder how do you find

the defendant Christopher John James, guilty or not guilty?" There was a long pause

which seemed to last for an age; people were on the edge of their seats, Markland

normally a calm ‘customer’ was showing signs of tension, mopping his brow with his

handkerchief.

Finally she spoke, Not guilty.

To which the courtroom erupted with utter disbelief and disgust, one member of the

public gallery shouted out.

You’ve gotta be flamin’ jokin’, I ain’t buying that.

Order, order in court. the Judges’ voice boomed. "I will not tolerate outbursts like

that in my courtroom."

With that the person stormed out slamming the huge oak doors back so that they

collided with corridor walls. The Judge hammered down his gavel to quieten the

courtroom which was still very vocal. His thundering voice demanding his previous

statement of order, within seconds utter silence filled the room, no-one wanted to get

on the wrong side of this Judge, he was notorious for being extremely strict in court.

Mr James, you are now free to go. - His lawyer Nathan Grainger had

accomplished an unbelievable job, this was the ‘norm’ for the lawyer renowned for

high-profile cases and winning them; he’s immensely competitive and seldom lost a

case. Markland commented to the lawyer.

You happy?

Always. Grainger returned as he shook his clients’ hand with a smug grin. By this

time the Judge, Jury and most of the court had left. Markland placed a heavy hand on

the lawyers’ shoulder saying.

One day, you won’t win; you will be on the losing side.

"Remove your hand detective, you wouldn’t want to be facing a jury yourself now

would you?"

With that remark Markland, reluctantly but nonetheless aggressively

removed his hand as instructed. James just laughed as he exited the room.

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A myriad of reporters, TV crews and general public had gathered at the

steps of the courthouse. As James exited to the street he was greeted with a gabble of

questions from eager journalists looking for the scoop of the year. Security attempted

to push aside the crowd to no avail until James gave them a ‘hand’ by shoving a

reporter so hard that the person stumbled back down the steps.

You want a comment ? James asked, Kiss my ass.

Barging his way through the crowd he entered a waiting car which sped away leaving

plumes of tyre smoke in its wake. Following shortly behind was Grainger still

grinning from his fabulous victory, escorted by uniformed security and police

officers,

Grainger, hey Grainger. someone shouted out over the incessant noise of the

journalists. As the lawyer turned to see who had called out, a barrage of eggs struck

him on his shoulder and side of his head, which immediately removed the somewhat

permanent grin that he seemed to have adopted lately.

You’re a piece of shit Grainger, you’ll pay for this.

The angry person continued, who was the same that stormed out of the courtroom

earlier.

You should be locked up yourself.

With egg yolk and pieces of the shell dripping from his chin, his crisp expensive                 

looking suit soaking up the liquid. Grainger called to the reporters.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, as you can see some people cannot handle the fact that my

client is innocent, which was clearly proved here today, that’s all for now a full

statement from my office will follow later, thank you."

With that he pushed his way through the crowd assisted by the police and aided to

the black corporate saloon car parked nearby.

The egg incident had amused Markland, but his elation was soon quashed

when the now incessant crown turned their attention to him. Markland didn’t give

then a chance.

Outta my way, get outta my way will ya.

Detective, what are your thoughts on the verdict here today? A TV journalist

called out.

What do you think? Markland retorted. His eyes transfixed on the on the

lawyers’ vehicle by which time was pulling away from its stationary position. As

Markland watched the car drive off, his eyes were then drawn to a man standing on

the opposite side of the street, he was staring in the detectives’ direction. At this point,

Markland’s’ protégé joined him, saying.

Boss, you okay? No response. Boss, boss. he repeated louder.

Mm...Err, yeah sorry Phillips, I’m fine. His concentrating stare fixed on the

mystery character across the way. Phillips continued.

"We heading back to the station, there must be a pile of paperwork to take your mind

off this nonsense?"

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Phillips a man in his early thirties was right for a change as his mentor would have put

it. Markland didn’t quite trust him to take on anything too important so responded

with.

Yep, come on, let’s go. Now actually making eye contact with his younger

detective.

As they moved off to ‘hitch’ a lift back to base from a uniformed officer, Markland

looked for the stranger, to his best efforts could not see him he looked in almost every

direction appearing paranoid as he did to the point where Phillips said." Who or what

are you looking for?"

Oh no-one. Markland responded, he paused then added. "I tell you who I

wanna find." intrigued, Phillips asked who he wanted to find anticipating a search of

the city for a random person.

That guy who blasted Grainger with the eggs, I’d like to buy him a drink.

Laughing to himself as they walked off.

Markland’s brain still working overtime on the mystery guy just

watching the havoc unfold outside the courthouse, who was he? Why was he there?

He couldn’t answer his own questions not at the moment at least.

2

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Three days later...11-15pm.

Nathan Grainger stood, motionless at the floor-to-ceiling windows staring into the

dark night, the constant rain cascading down; it seemed somewhat heavier at this

height. His office was on the twenty fourth floor of a twenty-five storey building in

the heart of the financial district. Deep in thought mulling over the recent case,

wondering whether he was right to put a murderer back on the streets, he knew his

client was clearly guilty, but he had an obligation to defend him. The words of his old

mentor echoing in his mind.

If you start to doubt whether you did the right thing, it’s time to get out.

The haunting sound of silence filled the office air. Grainger was so engrossed in his

thoughts that when a loud single knock sounded on the door he almost jumped out of

his skin. He walked slowly to answer it when he noticed a manila envelope, plain with

no name. Turning the brass handle of the door, he gingerly opened it and popped his

head out.

Hello, hello anyone there? Silence, except the faint hum of the fluorescent

lights which lined the corridor. I need a drink - he thought as he tossed the mystery

letter onto his desk and poured the spirit into a large crystal tumbler, his hands

now shaking causing a chinking sound as the glass surfaces clashed. He gulped back

the whiskey as he did the fiery taste caused him to wince but in spite of the bitterness

poured another and sat at his desk.

The envelope didn’t seem to have any content; it was a little thin to contain a

letter or far too small for any case papers. He slipped his gold letter opener

across the top and tipped out the piece of paper inside. It fluttered down to his desk in

almost slow-motion; it read simply ‘GUIILTY."

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It was from a newspaper headlined one of many that covered the recent trial – it had

been altered from its original state; NOT GUILTY. Picking up the phone finger

poised to dial the emergency number; he dialled the first digit and paused, ‘what

do I tell them’, his mind working overtime, ‘someone sent me a note, it’s not

threatening my life or anything, that’s what the police would say." He replaced the

receiver and pocketed the note; he would call at the police station on his way home

rather than the emergency call.

––––––––

He left his office at 11.25pm and tapped the circular button on the wall to summon the

nearby elevator, or should he take the stairs, no, too far to walk his car was located in

the underground car park. The elevator doors opened effortlessly, still a little

unnerved by the letter incident he stepped in and pushed the button for the parking

level. For what seemed like an absolute age, the doors finally opened to the cool

unwelcoming car park; a mixture of concrete and steel. At a quick pace he reached his

car in seconds, as he pushed his key fob to unlock the vehicles’ doors he noticed a

black van parked at an angle, written along the side was –

WEST LAKE SECURITIES.

They were the company that not only secured the building they were also there to

escort lawyers and other staff to and from court. Nathan knew the guard on the late

shift quite well as more often than not he would work late whilst preparing case notes.

John, John are you there? There was no reply. Just as he was about to get

into his car a voice called, Yes. Nathan turned to see a man in his mid forties

dressed in blue and black security fatigues, Oh Hi Mr Grainger, everything okay?

The lawyer responded.

Hi John, yes thank you, just on my way home.

Just been doin’ me rounds.

You’ve not seen anyone on my floor tonight have you John?

Mr Grainger, apart from me you’re the only person here at this time of night.

Where’s your buddy, you guys work in pairs don’t you?

Yeah, he’s on his way, he forgot he was working tonight.

Oh, right well I better get going John, another early start in the morning

Sure okay Mr Grainger, take care now.

I will. Thank you John.

With that he opened the car door, threw his briefcase onto the passenger seat and

slotted the key into the ignition turning it as he did. Nothing. No stutter, nothing.

Strange, he thought and tried again, this time the engine fired up.

––––––––

The tyres screeched on the smooth concrete well of the car park as Nathan

turned towards the exit. The barrier was already elevated for him as John’s ‘partner’

was in the booth and seen the vehicle approach. He drove out, still mulling

over the evenings events; he convinced himself that he wouldn’t call at the police

station after all; they’d probably think he was just being paranoid, yet on the other

hand would it be deemed as a poison pen letter. No he would leave it for the now if he

received anymore similar letters, then he would consult the police.

––––––––

Spotting a twenty four hour convenience store a little further down the road on

his right, he pulled over, parking outside. He was trying to quit smoking, but he had to

have a cigarette, the recent events reignited his desire to smoke. He rushed into the

store and was met by a young man no more than nineteen years of age. A student of

some kind, as the counter was littered with text books and notes pads. He looked up

and instantly recognised the lawyer.

Mr Grainger. He announced.

Do I know you kid? He replied.

"No sir, but I know you, I’m a big fan; I’m studying law through the daytime. I

followed the ‘James Case’ and I..."

Sorry son. Cutting the young man off. "I don’t mean to be rude but I’m kinda’

in a hurry."

Yes, of course, sorry sir, what can I get for you?

Nathan asked for a packet of his favourite smokes, and rushed back out to his car. As

he sat about to light a cigarette, he pondered, didn’t need to unlock the door, must

have left it unlocked. Although now he was not alone, crouched out of