She gathered the picture-frames of Graham and Ben fishing, the picture of Ben graduating from university, an old polaroid of herself when pregnant with Ben, twenty-seven years ago, and another with her and Graham, a much older man, with arms wrapped around each other. She dumped them all in the black bag with all the other junk.
Satisfied, she looked around at the room. All that remained was a desk and two chairs, a computer and a printer.
Through the window she saw a black cat in the garden, an unwelcome visitor who left Mrs Green a present every other day on her lawn, be it a dead mouse or just cat poo. She wrapped her knuckles on the window and the cat scarpered. Then she heard a key turn in the front door, so dropped the rubbish bag and walked to the hallway to greet her son, in her own, special way.
‘Thought you’d come and see if I was still alive did ya?’ she asked.
‘Sorry, Mum. You know I haven’t been feeling too well,’ he replied, defensively.
Ben now looked pale and had guilt written all over him from his earlier activity.
‘Ignoring my phone calls,’ she said, accusingly.
‘You haven’t phoned me, Mum,’ he protested.
‘You and that slag you live with, laughing at me,’ said Mrs Green.
‘Jesus, Mum. Have you stopped taking your pills?’
Mrs Green had been on antidepressants and anti-psychotic drugs for as long as Ben could remember. She used to see a psychiatrist who wanted her hospitalised, for her own good, but she refused.
Her husband, Graham, could only do so much, and found himself carrying the responsibility of raising Ben almost single-handedly as well as caring for his mentally unstable wife. Maybe that’s why he loved working so much; he just needed some ‘me time’, away from the house, time to blow off some steam, even.
Now Graham was gone, Mrs Green was rapidly declining into full-blown madness.
Ben walked past her and sat down at the large table in the kitchen. His mum followed him and with a smile offered him a cup of tea, that’s how quickly she could change, Ben forced a smile back.
‘Thanks Mum.’
She made his tea as Ben explained about losing his job, how Charlie was a selfish bastard, and then going home to find Natalie in bed with another man, who happened to be his old friend, David. Annoyingly to his mother, Ben explained that he was partly to blame for Natalie’s disloyalty, as he had been so lost in his own little world recently.
‘That’s nonsense, Ben, utter bullshit. She was always a slippery one, that Natasha,’ said Mrs Green.
‘Natalie,’ he corrected.
C-CLINK
Ben jumped at the sound of the local newspaper being pushed through the letterbox. Mrs Green noticed and asked why he was so nervous. He denied anything was wrong and stood to get the newspaper. He avoided his mother’s gaze as he sat back at the table and laid the paper down in front of him, ‘ANOTHER DETECTIVE GIVES UP ON THE PHANTOM’ read the headline.
Ben skimmed over the article. The words ‘MURDERS, DEATHS, VICTIMS’ jumped out at him from the page. He pushed the paper to one side and caught his mother’s eyes still staring at him.
‘What are you not telling me, Ben?’
‘I’ve told you everything, Mum. I lost my job and my girlfriends shagging one of my mates,’ he said, struggling to maintain eye contact with her. He shifted awkwardly in his seat.
Mrs Green knew when her son wasn’t telling all. It might not have been pure love, but there was a very special bond between this mother and son. She knew when he was happy or sad. She had a great instinct when it came to her son, they shared the same blood, but it was more than that. She could read him like a book.
‘You’re sweating, Ben,’ she said. ‘And pale. Go look in the mirror.’
‘No,’ Ben snapped.
Mrs Green reached across the table, grabbed Ben by the wrists and stared deep into his eyes. She saw something, something that shocked her, although it was a pleasant surprise. She let his wrists go and sat back in her seat.
‘I’ve seen those eyes before,’ she said.
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ben.
She smiled to herself and sipped her tea as Ben took back the paper and flicked through the pages, anything to keep him from having to talk to his mother. He came across the page which gave details on local events and meeting groups. He scanned down and fingered the advertisement for a local anger management class.
‘That won’t help you,’ said Mrs Green, reading his thoughts. ‘You had the urge, didn’t you, my darling?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mum. I think we need to get you back to the doctor,’ he said.
‘I can see it in your eyes, Ben. You’ve crossed a line. You’ve done it haven’t you?’ she persisted.
Ben made a mental note of the time and address of the meeting that night. He explained to his mother that he had just popped round to check she was ok, and if she needed him to just call. But she was paying no attention to the words he said as he made his way to the kitchen door.
‘Ben.’
He turned his head to face her.
‘Your father was just the same, Ben.’
She reached across the table, closed the newspaper, and placed her hand on the article involving The Phantom.
‘It’s in your blood,’ she said.
Ben took a moment to digest what his mum had just said.
‘Keep taking your pills, mum,’ he said, then left.
14
Two uniformed officers had sealed off the crime scene, unofficially identified the bodies using the identification found on them, and taken down a brief statement from Mr Wilson, who was walking his dog along the canal when he made the unfortunate discovery of two young corpses floating in the murky water.
He had fished the bodies out and made a fruitless attempt at CPR before calling the police. It was only after he’d put on his glasses to use the phone, that he clearly saw how dead Ricky and Alexia really were.
They had been in the water at least an hour, concluded Summers, as she stood over the recently deceased. She noted the giant wound on the side of Ricky’s head.
Her medical training enabled her to give a rough assessment, fatal blow to the head and damage to the neurocranium. More specifically, his head had been hit so hard that the synarthrosis joint between the Parietal and Temporal bones on Ricky’s left side had cracked open. The Temporal bone jolted inward and probably pierced his brain.
It took a few seconds for Summers to register Alexia’s cause of death, a brief moment before she saw the back of the girl’s head was held together only by matted hair. It seemed the Occipital bone, and one or both of the Parietal bones, the bones at the back of the skull, had been smashed to pieces, exposing and damaging the brain.
Both bodies, battered, cold and soaked, didn’t make for a pretty picture.
As the corpses had already been moved, there was no need to leave them exposed to the few members of public who had now gathered. Summers called out to one of the uniformed officers to help the coroner bag up the bodies, so they could be taken to the lab.
The chances of finding any DNA evidence was extremely slim due to the circumstances, but she asked the other uniformed officer to take a swab from Mr Wilson, in order to eliminate his DNA from any alien DNA found on the bodies. She had already ruled him out as responsible for the deaths; his alibi had been confirmed by phone where he was all morning until thirty minutes ago. Besides, she could see he wasn’t a murderer. He didn’t look capable; trying to save two people, yes, to murder them, no.
Summers joined Kite who had just taken a photo of a bloody mess on the floor. She pointed out small bits of
