On the day I moved into my new home, I was mostly ecstatic. We had saved for over six years for this small refuge from the violence and degeneracy that had surrounded me nearly my whole life. It wasn’t much, but it was all we needed, a nice two-bedroom house in a quiet area amongst a square of other houses. When I looked out of my new kitchen window, I saw to the left was a pleasant green area with trees and a table, on which stood a pot of flowers. The petals were pink and as I unpacked my kitchenware, its sight filled me with a sense of community, of friendlessness, of kindness.
As I unpacked our kitchen utensils, I felt movement on my leg. My beloved cat, Ginge, my love for whom was surpassed only by my adoration for the girl that had uprooted her life to move to this haven with me, circled my feet, clearly displeased with his relocation, having spent his entire life in the bleak and gray scenery of south-London government housing.
“Ginge!” I said as he did his best to trip me up, my voice slightly raised.
“Leave him alone,” said Sarah as she embraced me from behind.
I turned and looked at the woman I loved and smiled broadly as I took her in my arms, “Now you’re on his side?”
She returned my smile, “Someone has to look out for him when you’re in a mood.”
I was surprised by this comment, even though I told myself I was happy, I had a sense of foreboding, a feeling that all was not quite right with the refuge to which we had relocated. I hadn’t told Sarah of this feeling but it was internal, fundamental. As I looked at the leafless, autumnal trees outside, it was if they knew of some danger to which I was unaware.
I held her tighter and broadened my smile, “How dare you? A mood? My only mood is overwhelming joy to be in this house, with the woman I love.”
Sarah had a way of placating me with a certain combination of her smile and eyebrow movements that said, ‘Of course, my love, you’re absolutely right, your irrational behavior is absolutely normal.’
Her look troubled me. To this day I still don’t know how she did it but it was as if she could scour my mind with hers, as if the expressions on my face were worthless and she had an objective source to my thoughts, my feelings and my memories. I pushed these ridiculous notions from my mind as I tried to return to the bliss with which this magical day should have filled me.
Before I could embrace Sarah’s lips with a kiss, the doorbell rang. Still in the kitchen, with full view of the front door from the window, I looked to see who was there. It was a small set woman with gray hair, she reminded me of my grandmother; when I was a child, long before she had died at least seven years prior.
I looked at Sarah and she nodded, before I walked to the front door and opened it.
The light of the bright autumn sun startled me before I focused on the cloudy blue eyes before me.
“Hello,” I said. “We’ve just moved in.”
The woman’s smile was pure, her face relatively unlined for her age, “Hi! My name’s Elaine,” she gestured to the house opposite our new home. “I live at number eleven, I just wanted to welcome you to the square.”
If only I knew now about the hollowness and vacuousness of the smile that greeted me, I wouldn’t be telling this story. Warmed by this lady’s demeanor, I returned her smile and said, “Hi Elaine, I’m Steve, it’s lovely to meet you!”
Ginge ventured from the kitchen and circled my feet. I now remember a change in her eyes when she saw him that didn’t quite register at the time.
I returned my gaze from Ginge to hers, “Well, thank you for coming to say hi, Elaine. We appreciate it.”
Her eyes narrowed, as if I had told her I had coronavirus, “We?”
Before I could respond, Sarah emerged from behind me, looking down at Ginge, before she looked at Elaine, her smile wide and welcoming. “Hello, it’s Elaine, is it?”
The cloudy blue eyes shifted from my gaze to Sarah’s, her smile now seemed disingenuous to me, “Hello, yes it’s Elaine, and you are?”
Sarah walked forward and took my hand as we both stood before the elderly woman, “I’m Sarah, we bought this house together, perhaps one day he’ll propose,” I could tell Sarah was trying to break the ice with humor but I also saw that this information that had confirmed our lack of nuptials had not gone down well with the woman that stood at our door.
Elaine’s eyes seemed to widen, their cloudy appearance softened by the white that surrounded them, “Oh, I see, so, you aren’t married?”
I felt Sarah’s hand tighten on mine, a clear sign of her anger at the words just spoken. Before she could set loose her tirade against Elaine, I thought it would be best to maintain the peace, “Not yet, but maybe soon.”
Elannie’s milky eyes turned to me, it was unsettling, “I see,” she looked down at Ginge. “Are there any other animals in your household?”
Sarah’s hold on my hand tightened even further, I squeezed back, letting her know I would handle this, “No, he’s our only pet.”
Elanie’s gaze shifted from my beloved cat to meet with my eyes once more, her smile once again wide, “Lovely, we all welcome you, it’s not long until spring, we’ll have our first communal barbecue soon.”
I struggled to meet the eyes that seemed to survey me, they seemed vacant, deficient in vitality. I did so nonetheless, “That sounds great, we’ll see you soon then?”
Her eyes seemed to widen as they fixated on me once more, “Definitely, we have a WhatsApp group, can I take your numbers so I can add you?”
The squeeze on my hand from Sarah seemed to give me permission to do so. I smiled more widely at Elaine, “Of course.”
We both gave our numbers as we chatted about irrelevant things, such as the weather, as the British do. I gave no further thought to Elaine until she knocked on our door two days later.
I heard Sarah from upstairs as she opened the door, “Hi Elaine, it’s so nice to see you again!”
As I made my way downstairs, I heard the crackly voice with which I had associated our elderly Neighbour, “I really don’t want to cause a fuss,” she said,“ but I’ve noticed some poo on the green, I can only assume it’s from your animal?”
Sarah was never as good as me at restraining her emotions, she wore her heart on her sleeve, a quality that only made me love her more. Her response sounded venomous, “What are you saying?”
Before the milky-eyed woman could respond I stood next to Sarah in the doorway, “Hi Elaine, Ginge usually poos in the garden, but now that we’ve moved, he might be a bit unsettled, please show me where you think he’s pooed and I’ll gladly pick it up.”
The silence from Elaine seemed to complement that vacancy in her eyes. She finally smiled, “I’d really appreciate it, I don’t mean to cause a fuss.”
I was still unsettled by this woman, although she posed no physical threat to me there was something in her gaze that seemed to pierce me, survey me. I quickly relinquished these thoughts because I knew Sarah well enough to predict that she would not be happy with this confrontation at all. I saw her lips move in the beginnings of speech, so I quickly took her hand and squeezed, our unspoken way of letting her know it was probably best not to speak. This arrangement had served us both well for the years we had been together. Sarah understood my subtle communication and replaced her forthcoming words with a smile.
I walked to the kitchen to grab a plastic bag and asked Elaine to show me the offending shit. She turned and walked to the green and pointed to it. She hadn’t lied; there was a considerable lump of cat feces lying on the grass, not far from the concrete parking area.
“I’m really sorry,” I said as I bent over to pick up the nasty lump before me. “He just needs to adjust to his new environment.”
Elaine said nothing but did manage a courteous smile. I could feel the shit was still warm through the plastic, Elaine had clearly just witnessed Ginge do it, and who was I to complain? No one wants their living space infested with cat turd after all.
I looked down at my feet before meeting her eyes again. I hated those fucking eyes. “Until he does adjust, I’ll check around the green every day, just to make sure he hasn’t done it again.”
Elaine’s smile widened, knowing what I know now, I take no shame in admitting I wanted to smash out her teeth, but, of course, hindsight is 20/20.
I walked back inside to see Sarah sitting at the kitchen counter with her I-pad. She raised her eyes above her glasses. She didn’t need to tell me that she wanted to know how the encounter had ended.
I briefly explained that it ended cordially and that I would check to see if Ginge had done it again until he settled down. I was surprised by her simple nod, expecting the issue to continue for at least another question or two. Instead, she returned her gaze to the I-Pad, “I’m just reading the news, they found another body in Brixton, only a few miles from our old house.”
I saw the look of anguish on her face as I asked, “Another woman?”
“Yes.”
I looked to my feet, “What do you think it means?”
Sarah’s eyes shifted from the screen to mine, “I think it means there’s a goddam psychopath out there and we were lucky we got out when we did.”
I was surprised by the intensity of the voice that carried these words, having been used to her soft and welcoming tones. I approached her and took her hand, “Well we don’t have to worry about that anymore. We’re in Hampshire, who cares what happens in Brixton?”
Her sweet smile melted any further desire for confrontation, “I know, I know, but that was our community.”
I returned her smile, my preparation for conflict fading, “I know, but not anymore, we’re in the suburbs now, I’d be surprised if any of these people even knew what murder was.”
She took my hand and squeezed, her way of forgiving my terrible attempt at humor, “Okay, “I said, “we’ll leave it at that?”
I smiled and then we both went about our days.
For a few days, all was well in the new utopia. We had unpacked everything; our fridge and freezer were filled with what we liked and Ginge even seemed to be settling into his new environment. We had been spending our nights in bliss with Netflix and wine. Neither of us could be bothered to cook after the move so we had been living on delicious takeaways. There was a particularly good Thai place nearby that was out of this world, their red duck curry to die for. On the fourth evening in our new home, the sun was setting against the backdrop of the green outside, its warming colors gilding the suburbs on which it shone.
The doorbell rang, I began to stand but Sarah tapped my thigh as she stood, she was going to answer the door. I stayed put, unable to conceal my curiosity as I listened to the conversation after she opened the door.
“Hi Elaine,” said Sarah, her voice warmer than I would have expected.
I heard Elaine’s response as I stood from the couch, not wanting Sarah’s tendency for outburst to cause any issues, “Terribly sorry to bother you,” Elaine said. “But I’ve been noticing an increasing amount of cat poo on the green. Suzanne from number eight has even said her daughter stood in some.”
“And how do you know it was Ginge?” Asked Sarah
I arrived in time to take Sarah’s hand, my squeeze sufficient enough to calm her before Elaine responded.
“Because, I’ve been filming him,” she said. “Would you like to see?”
Another squeeze, our system was working perfectly, I smiled and said “Of course not, I understand it’s Ginge, I have been picking up his poo every morning.”
Elaine appeared unimpressed, “I know I’ve been watching you.”
If the creepy nature of her words had registered with her, it was not apparent on her face, I overcame my indignation and smiled, “Watching me?”
She laughed as if this feigned joviality could release her from the admission she had just made, “Well, it just so happens the usual time you do it is at about the same time I make my morning latte, I see you from my kitchen window. I’d be happy to have you both over for one. They really are quite lovely.”
Sarah ignored our agreed means of covert communication completely as she barked, “Watching him?”
The next squeeze, if noticed, was ineffective as she continued, “You’re watching my partner and my cat?”
Elaine’s eyes narrowed, their faded blue menacing, “Not watching, I just happened to see it. I have a clear view from my kitchen, I like to spend much of the day in there reading.”
Sarah erupted, “You mean you like to spy on my partner and our pet?”
Elaine’s fake smile spread over her face, clearly spurred on by Sarah, “Spy? I don’t know what you mean, I’m just here to tell you about the poo. We’re not happy about it.”
“We?” demanded Sarah.
Elannie reveled nothing on her face, “Yes, several of the other Neighbours are concerned about it.”
I didn’t want this escalating so I spoke before Sarah could, “Elaine, I’ve been picking up the poo every day, have you not seen?”
“Yes, I have seen, but I’ve had reports that children are stepping in it.”
I couldn’t contain Saraha’s wrathful reply, “Reports? Children, I’ve seen no children around here and what are the chances they have stepped I it?”
The unsettling eyes turned once more as her head moved toward Sarah? “Are you calling me a liar?”
I managed to reply first, my hand squeezes being more ineffectual, “No one has said you’re lying, Elannie. But he is just one cat after all, I find it hard to believe he’s shitting in the quantities you say. Maybe there are other cats in play here?”
I hadn’t meant to swear, a woman like that would obviously use it as evidence I was being aggressive or threating. She returned her gaze to me, her moving slowly, “I really don’t appreciate such vulgar language.”
I did my best to reciprocate her stare, “I apologize, I should have chosen my words more carefully, but we do feel we are being very reasonable on this issue.”
She sniggered, the first time I had seen her near perfect mask of civility slip, “It would be reasonable for there to be no poo there at all.”
“What would you have us do, have him put down?” demanded Sarah
The old woman seemed to regain her composure as her infuriating smile spread over her face once more. “I would have you control your animal.”
“I’ll pick up the poo every day until he settles down, in the meantime, I don’t want you knocking on this door about this issue again. Its harassment.”
Elaine opened her mouth to retort and I take great pleasure in the memory of slamming the door in her face before her toxic words could depart her mouth.
For the next several days, nothing happened. Sarah and I adjusted to our new home and we watched movies as Ginge circled our feet in the cozy warm living room of the house we had bought with our work and dedication. For a while, it seemed that all was well with our new lives. It was early evening, Sarah and I were both lucky enough to work from home. She was an interpreter and was working on translating a German novel into English. I worked in software, and in the wake of the myriad of Covid lockdowns, my company had realized that productivity was higher and costs were lower when employees could work from home. I still think this is one of the few good things to come from the pandemic. I’m sure your average sandwich shop operator would disagree, but when weighed against the implications for traffic and the environment, I consider it a great development in our culture, given the terrible catalyst for its development.
But I digress, the serenity that had briefly defined our lives was destined to be short-lived. The doorbell rang once more, its vexatious tones ruining our solitude and peace. I stood before Sarah could, fearful that she may get to Elanie first. I resisted the urge to look at her, lest she get the chance to stop me.
I opened the door, fully prepared to let the old bitch get hell, but stopped in my tracks as I saw the two men standing before me. One was young, perhaps thirty, the other, who stood Infront of his colleague stood closer, he had thick gray hair, his smile seemed warm, “Good evening, sir, I am detective sergeant Philip Williams, this is my partner, detective constable Alaistair Gooding.”
Unsure how to process this, my jaw went slack in archetypal fasion, their eyes meeting mine before I finally managed an equally stereotypical response, “Hello, how can I help?”
“Nothing to worry about,” said the sergeant. “We’d just like to ask a couple of questions.”
“Of course, would you like to come in?” I said, in deference to my instinct for politeness. I know many of you reading this will be falling over yourselves to tell me the folly of my ways. In hindsight, I’m well aware that you don’t invite any form of law enforcement in without a warrant, but I had never shared much more than a brief exchange with the police in my younger days, when I used to go drinking at the weekends and one smaller encounter, which we’ll get to shortly. Nonetheless, the idea of having two detectives at my door was akin to something I’d seen on TV.
“Thank you, sir,” said the young constable. “It’s a bit chilly tonight.”
Suspicious of his overt politeness, I stepped aside and gestured for them to enter, my arm extended directing them to the Kitchen. They were polite enough to follow my lead and stood just past the threshold of the doorway.
“Please, have a seat,” I said as I pointed to the kitchen island and the seats that surrounded it.
Sarah approached from behind, having heard the conversation, I instinctively took her hand, “What’s going on, who are these men?” She said squeezing my hand.
I didn’t look at her but squeezed back in solidarity, “They’re detectives, they want to ask some questions.”
I instantly felt Sarah’s hand become wet as the sweat flew from her pores, and who was I to criticize? My hands were no drier than hers at that point. Having two detectives turn up unannounced would unsettle the hardiest of souls.
The two men sat at the far side of the island next to each other, both adjusting their smart clothing as they did so.
“Can I get you something, perhaps a tea or coffee,” asked Sarah as she released her grip from mine.
The older man smiled, “No thank you, we stopped on the way, we’ve had quite a drive.”
“You’re not local?” I asked, my inflection higher than I would have liked.
“No, sir,” said the younger looking man. “We’re based near Brixton, we’re part of the Metropolitan police.”
My smile was uncomfortable, forced, if I knew it - they did too. I managed a quiet response, “Oh, I see.” Sarah and I both sat simultaneously at the opposite side of the island. Obviously, the fact that we had just moved from the proximity of their jurisdiction was not lost on either one of us.
“What’s this about,” asked Sarah, the tension clear in her voice.
Before either could respond, I interrupted, my annoyance not concealed, “I’d like a clear explanation immediately, detectives, I invited you in out of common courtesy, but I want to know exactly why you’re here.”
The superior smiled at me, his warm demeanor made it difficult to maintain my indignation, “Please, sir call me Philip.”
The younger man mimicked his superior’s smile, “And I’m Alastair.”
Their relentless politeness disarmed me; in hindsight I now know that was exactly what they were trying to do.
About to enquire what this was all about; I was cut off by Philip. “Sir, am I correct in saying that you have just recently moved here?”
“Yes,” i said, my eyes subconsciously narrowing.
Philip nodded, his courteous smile still etched across his face, “And am I correct in saying this was your previous address?” He flicked a few pages back on his notepad and showed me his handwriting. I was impressed with its elegancy
“That’s right, we moved out a week ago,” I said, surprised Sarah had remained silent.
Philp nodded again as he turned the pages of his notebook. As his eyes continued their gaze upon the pages before him, I lost my cool a little, not a good idea when dealing with the police, I know, “Detective, I want an explanation right now, why are you here?”
I was surprised when Sarah placed her hand on my knee, our agreed method for pacification seemingly reversed, “I apologize, detectives,” she said. “This is all just very out of the blue.”
Philip smiled and nodded, “Of course, so as not to stretch the issue further, I’ll get straight to the point.”
I straightened my posture, desperate to hear his words, he smiled as he continued, “We’re investigating a series of murders in London. No doubt you’ve heard of it in the news?”
“Of course,” I said, “absolutely terrible, I believe there have been three victims so far?”
“How do you know that?” asked Philip, clearly phishing for information.
I had regained my composure by this point and I am definitely not a stupid man by any means, I smiled, “That’s what the papers have reported is it not?”
He returned my smile, “Of course, it’s easy to forget when you’re privy to the facts.”
“And what are the facts,” I asked.
“Well, it’s very strange, we’ve never seen anything quite like it,” said Philip, his Gaze firmly bonded with mine. “The victims are all women, but they were all of different ages and ethnicities, there is no evidence of a sexual motive. To be honest, we’re quite baffled.”
I was surprised by the candor of the man, I would never expect a detective in a murder investigation to be so forthcoming with the facts, this made my nerves increase exponentially as I probed further, “I see, I’m no expert, I don’t know if that’s strange or not.”
“Very strange,” the Junior detective confirmed. “This is not the usual MO of your usual serial killer.”
Sarah stood, unable to keep her heart on her sleave, “And what is the MO for a serial killer exactly? Surely they’re defined by craziness, not rational behavior.”
Philip smiled, “Quite the opposite, actually, their behavior is very rational. At least to them. What is rational is subjective, it is the individual’s pursuit for what furthers their goals. However sick we may think those goals to be.”
I stood at Sarah’s side, the chair behind me screeching as it scraped the kitchen floor, “I apologize detectives, but please, either get to the point or I want you to leave.”
Philip smiled again, it was difficult to be angry with this man. “May I call you Steve?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice curt.
“Steve, the reason we’re here is that three women are dead. And we have evidence that links you to the crime.”
I know of the old cliché about hearts skipping beats, but in this instance that fiction became reality to me, in fact, I’m certain several beats were missed, “What evidence.”
Philip smiled as he flipped though his leather-coated notebook once more, “You were arrested back in 2004, for possession of Cannabis, correct?”
I felt my face burn red, Sarah had no idea about this dark period of my history. I was never into hard drugs and certainly hadn’t touched anything since way before I met her, but as most young men, I had dabbled in my youth and had the misfortune to get caught. Sarah stood, I was surprised by the acidity in her voice, even for her - it was fierce, “What the fuck has that got to do with anything? Either get to the point, or leave now.”
At the time I was warmed by Sarah’s protection of me, there was no judgment, no questions, just sheer loyalty. Philip smiled, his blue eyes turning to Sarah, “Please, there’s no need for that, I was just getting to the point.”
Both Sarah’s and my eyes remained fixated on the man that sat in our kitchen, our mouths shut.
The detective clearly saw this as his permission to continue, “When you were arrested, your DNA was taken, this has been common practice for a long time.”
My silence continued as I sat there stunned, “We have found DNA evidence that explicitly links you to one of the victims.”
I’m sure the officers before me could witness the blood draining from my face, just as assuredly as I could feel it, “My DNA?”
Philip gave a short not, “Yes, sir.”
I was unable to conceal my exasperation, nor did I feel it appropriate to do so, an innocent person would certainly not, “That’s ridiculous! I’ve never met any of those women.”
“So, you know who the victims were,” said Philip, his face blank
Now, I’m no Albert Einstein - but I’m also no idiot either, I saw this as the transparent attempt to incriminate me as it was. I had a sense the detectives before me were accustomed to dealing with people who would more readily fall for such cheap tricks.“
“I know as much as the news has told me,” I said.” Trying to resist the urge to shout. “Their identities were made public.”
Philip smiled again, clearly amused that his pedestrian trick had failed to work on me, “I see. Then how do you account for the presence of your DNA on one of the victims?”
I’m no detective, nor am I an expert in forensics, but I’ve been watching the discovery channel sine I was a kid and have at least a cursory understanding of how things work. There was one piece of information the detective had given me that I seized upon, “You tell me,” I demanded. “You said earlier there was no evidence of sexual assault, so that means your DNA evidence is not semen, so I would like to know what kind of evidence you have.”
Philip’s eyes widened; he was clearly not used to being confronted when he presented evidence he considered irrefutable. I still believe to this day that it amused him, as if he relished the challenge I was offering him, “You’re quite right, Steve, the evidence we have is hair.”
I erupted, no longer able to conceal my rage, “One hair? That could have happened anywhere, we could have visited the same fast-food place, we may have brushed against each other at a tube station.”
“The junior constable smiled, “You’re absolutely right, sir, that’s the reason we’re here speaking with you in your kitchen, and not on the way to London, in our car.”
Philip was clearly displeased with the remark from his subordinate, his face conveying what his words did not, “What my colleague means, Steve, is that we have to follow all leads. A single hair is proof of nothing, you seem savvy enough to know that, but we’d be remis in our duty if we didn’t follow it up. Surely you can understand that?”
I retook my seat, this seemed reasonable, although I was pleased that my trick had worked. The detectives had initially offered nothing to suggest only a single hair was present, but my response and their subsequent answers had confirmed this to be so. I was emboldened by this, but I still didn’t trust these men one bit. I looked at Sarah, concerned she would unleash her tirade against them. Her head was down, her face foreloin. I returned my gaze to the senior detective, my face once again composed, “Okay I understand, what else would you like to know?”
I could bore you with the details of the conversation that unfolded, giving you a point-by-point account of the tit for tat that ensued. But it’s not particularly relevant to the story and is really quite dry. Suffice it to say that they questioned me on my comings and goings on the nights the three poor women that had been murdered had met their premature demise. I was happy with my answers, even going as far as to show them text messages and social media posts at the times they were questioning me about. I remember feeling pride at Sarah for retaining her calm, which even in the presence of our tyrannical neighbor she was unable to do, never mind the presence of two intrusive detectives.
We spoke for perhaps forty minutes before the two men stood, thanked us, and left, the night having shrouded the quiet street as I opened the door for them.