8.
As soon as we crossed the threshold, an aroma hit me that instantly raised my heart beat. It was the same metallic, coppery smell I remembered from the time I saw my very first Lucifer victim. I looked at Steph as she walked through the door, pointed at my nose and watched as she also recognized the scent in the air. The hallway was dark, the two doors either side of the entrance both stood open. On one side sat a bedroom, one small lick of light penetrating the curtain that blocked the window. It had a bed that my mother used to call ‘a bed with a lady’s touch’. It had a complete set of bedding including multiple pillows, cushions, a blanket and a cover, all in a pretty feast of flowers. In the middle of the bed sat a lonely teddy bear, its sad eyes looking out at us.
On the opposite side of the hallway, the door led into a darkened living room where Pete and Lewis stood, looking dazed. Pete was leaning against a fireplace that sat on the far wall, its fires not likely to burn again for a while. There was a sofa, two chairs and a coffee table. A white mug sat on one side of the coffee table, looking like someone had a hot drink before bed. Several photographs hung above the mantle and hanging on the side wall, a painting of a river scene, a fisherman standing on one bank, flanked by bright trees. The room looked cosy and inviting. The other officer was sitting in one of the chairs and never took his eyes off the floor.
There were two more doors, one on the left and one on the right further along the hallway, and right at the end, stood an open door that led into the bathroom. The light was on and I could see a shadow on the far wall, that had the unmistakable outline of someone suspended with their arms up over their heads. I swallowed hard, my throat feeling like a dry slate. I couldn’t muster any spittle and my throat burned a little as I tried to swallow a second time. The house was so quiet, I thought for a moment I could hear my own heartbeat. I could certainly feel it, beating hard and fast in my temples. That nervous feeling of adrenalin burning in the pit of my stomach grew stronger with each step I took, closer to the inevitable scene I was about to endure. I slowed a little and felt something brush my arm. I jumped to one side, a small scream trying to escape my lips. I looked down and saw Steph’s hand, the other over her own mouth. We looked at each other and let out a faint giggle. That small laugh relieved a lot of the apprehension that was gripping both of us.
“OK. Let’s do it,” I said, and walked the remaining steps into the bathroom, and the horror that awaited within.
Like so many homes in the 50s, the bathroom only had 3 things in it. A bath with a stand-in shower, a sink and a toilet. A small window sat above the toilet and I could see that it stood slightly ajar. The bath had a curtain rail that encircled it, the curtain pulled completely off and folded neatly, then placed on top of the closed toilet, as if waiting to be put away. Her hands were bound together then tied to the rail, her wrists not quite reaching high enough. She only stood about 5 foot 2 at best and the killer had to use a second rope to reach the rail. She was stripped naked, her black hair hanging down over her face. Although her face looked peaceful, as if sleeping, it was the horror below the waist that will forever fill my nightmares.
The killer had chewed on both of her thighs. The front of her legs looked almost like ground hamburger, strips of flesh hanging this way and that in messed-up strands. There were bits of sinew that jutted out from exposed muscle and both legs looked like they were fed upon for a long time. He had plugged the bath so all the blood that the victim lost was now filled with it. By the look of it, the red puddle looked to be several inches deep. I wasn’t sure how long she had been hanging there, but it must have been for longer than a day. I could see maggots already consuming her, their writhing masses filling the open wounds.
But it was the eyes that once again confirmed what we were looking for. Her index fingers had been chewed off and jammed into her eye sockets, the shiny fluid still glistening on her cheeks.
We spent another twenty minutes or so carefully looking over the room, then headed out to look at the rest of the house. We were joined by more officers, as well as the coroner, and once finished made our way back to the police station. Rademeyer summoned us as soon as he became aware of our presence and we spent an hour or so going over what we had discovered. His ears pricked when we mentioned the index fingers. Rademeyer was convinced we had a copycat on our hands and said he had already assigned a number of officers to door knock the area. He wanted Steph and I to continue to build our own list of suspects and present it to him the next morning. By the time Steph and I came out from the station, it was nearing 4.30, sleep the furthest thing from my mind. Steph, however, looked ready to drop.
“You need sleep, kiddo,”
