Police, Arrests & Suspects Read online

  I’m not sure how old you have to be before you stop being afraid of going into a basement alone, but, whatever age it is, I haven’t reached it yet. I gingerly placed one foot on each step in turn, shining the torch in all directions into the darkness before I was confident enough to proceed any further: it was pitch black down there.

  “Are you there yet?” called Lloyd from above after a minute or so had passed.

  “Almost,” I lied, mentally reprimanding myself for being so overly cautious. Emboldened, I hurried down the last few steps. Reaching the bottom, my face was suddenly enveloped in a heavy black cloth. I quickly tore it away, flailing at it with my arms and legs. As the frame that had supported the material collapsed, a dark and dingy room was revealed; various boxes and paraphernalia were stacked around the edges, but a deliberate space had been cleared in the centre. On the stone floor, and covering the whole area, a diagram of a large pentacle had been drawn in what appeared to be dried blood. It consisted of a five-pointed star set within a circle, the points representing the five Wiccan elements: fire, water, earth, air and spirit. I had seen this symbol before, but only in books. Pagans believe that the circle represents eternity; however, it has a totally different meaning for Satanists. My blood ran cold.

  In the centre, someone had placed a large Ouija board. It looked homemade, marked out with the letters of the alphabet, numbers and the usual words: ‘YES’ and ‘NO’.

  The board used to be part of a harmless parlour game until the early 1900s when it became synonymous with the occult, the supernatural and tales of demonic possession. Many mediums and paranormal experts believe that the Ouija board is a portal through which any spirit – good or evil – may come through. There are documented tales of people speaking in Latin and other obscure tongues while they have been using it despite never having previously studied or spoken those languages before. Whatever the truth may be, it’s certainly no longer a game, and definitely not something that I’d ever mess with.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I felt someone staring at me in the dark. I shone the torch quickly around the room, shuddering as though someone had just walked over my grave. Perhaps it was just my imagination, but the temperature seemed to plummet and a distinctly musty smell pervaded the room. I didn’t like this one bit. If there was ever a time to reprise my Catholic faith, this was it. I desperately tried to think of something positive that I had learnt at school to cancel out the sense of pure evil that seemed to have filled the room.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou… JESUS!” I almost shat myself as a huge rat scurried out from underneath a pile of boxes stacked behind me.

  Once my heart rate had slowed and my breathing was almost back to normal, I hastily searched the rest of the basement to make absolutely sure there was nobody else present, before being drawn back to the Ouija board. There were notes written in chalk next to it, alongside two large candles that had burnt down; the wax still soft to the touch. I called up to Lloyd to tell him what I’d found. There was no answer.

  “Lloyd, are you there?”

  Silence. I stood and looked up the cellar steps, expecting at any moment the wooden door to be pushed back into place, sealing me in my ice-cold tomb. I checked my radio – there was no signal. Just as I was preparing to sprint up the stairs and confront whoever or whatever was up there, I heard a snigger.

  “I’m here!” he shouted back. He’d done that on purpose, the bastard!

  “There’s some sort of presence in the basement – I can feel it!” Somehow it made me feel better to verbalise my thoughts: to let whatever it was down here know that I knew they were there.

  “Like Casper the friendly ghost?” he called back.

  Easy to think it’s all a joke when you are standing at the top of the steps! That said, even the tale of Casper takes an ominous turn when you realise that he’s actually a dead child.

  Not wanting to spend any longer than I needed to down in the basement, I quickly got out my notebook and began recording what was written next to the board. Many of the words had been rubbed out and some of the letters were not properly formed; as though the writer had written them in haste; some didn’t even make sense, whilst others were indecipherable. I then discovered KILL and PIG, and hoped that they referred to the sad-looking creature in the kitchen, but I wasn’t holding my breath. Eventually, I came across a chain of letters, all linked together. They snaked over the floor, unevenly spaced, but they definitely spelt something out even though some of them had been written back to front. Letter by letter I wrote them down until I finally managed to piece them all together.

  D – O – N – O – G… DONOGHUE. That was me! My blood froze whilst goosebumps covered my arms. I could hear my heart beating fast, the blood pulsating through my veins.

  To my left was a pile of old newspapers which were all copies of the same edition of the Sandford Advertiser. I immediately recognised the advert on the back: ‘NOW IS THE WINTER OF OUR DISCOUNT TENTS’ as I had a copy of the same issue at home. There had been a sale at the local camping shop over Christmas and the slogan had raised a laugh at the time, but I was certainly in no laughing mood now as I knew what else was in that paper: I turned to the front page to see the familiar photograph of me and my colleague, Andy, standing in front of a fire-damaged property, being hailed as heroes after saving a family from their burning home on Christmas Eve. In the copy in front of me now, however, someone had scratched out our eyes with some sort of sharp implement – someone who obviously didn’t share the same admiration for our night’s work as everyone else.

  “I’m coming up now!” I shouted to Lloyd, grabbing a copy and making my way out as quickly as I could without looking too undignified.

  “What’s that?” queried my colleague as I breathlessly reached the top.

  “The newspaper that Andy and I were in. It’s been defaced.”

  “Have they drawn a big cock on it?”

  “They might as well have done!”

  Although our search for our potential killer had proved negative, I felt certain he was here somewhere, watching us. He had successfully lured us to the house and now he was toying with us; waiting for an opportunity.

  “I’M OUT HERE!”

  Lloyd and I looked at each other as we heard the shout. It had definitely come from outside. Evidently, he had chosen his time and his place. We were finally about to meet Robert Taxil.

  “AREN’T YOU COMING OUT TO SEE ME?”

  Batons raised, we bolted from the house into the porch. It was pitch black outside now that night had fallen. We scanned the area with our torches but couldn’t see anyone amongst the cars. We shouted for him to show himself before walking into the yard itself, turning constantly to make sure that he wasn’t creeping up behind us.

  BANG! The basement door slammed shut. We spun round to see the lights go on in the house and the tattered curtains being closed. Swiftly, we made our way back and re-entered the house where we were met by the sight of a man sitting in an armchair in the middle of the previously empty lounge, his face obscured by a grotesque rubber clown mask.

  “Is that you, Robert?”

  “You must be the elusive PC Donoghue,” he replied. “I’m afraid I don’t know the name of your colleague.”

  “Could you take the mask off?” requested Lloyd.

  “Tell your colleague,” answered the clown angrily, “that I will only speak to you, PC Donoghue.”

  “You haven’t got a choice,” responded Lloyd. “You don’t have a choice who you will or won’t deal with.”

  “Oh, but I do. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

  “Robert, you rang the police saying you were hearing voices. We’ve come out to see you. What can we do to help?” My question hung in the air.

  “GET HIM OUT!” The clown pointed at the door whilst shouting furiously, indicating that Lloyd should leave, before changing his tone back to calm an
d collected. “Please don’t make me take the passive out of my aggressive just yet.”

  “It doesn’t work like that, Robert. You called us here – you deal with us both.”

  “Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, PC Donoghue,” he replied sarcastically. “I’ve made a lot of sacrifices to get you here today.”

  “I know. I’ve seen them in the kitchen.”

  “Ever the wit, aren’t you?”

  “Look, Robert, we can take you to hospital if you think you’re hearing voices. There are people there who can help you.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have lovely eyes, PC Donoghue? I have the perfect jar for them.”

  I was just about to tell him that I was flattered but I wasn’t of that persuasion when I realised what he had said. I decided to change tack: I had noticed a photograph of children playing in what looked to be the town park in Sandford; if I could get him talking on the subject then maybe I could establish some sort of rapport with him.

  “So, which one’s yours?” I asked, picking up the picture.

  “I haven’t decided yet.” He was reptilian in his response. His reply, slow and deliberate, sent shivers down my spine. “And answer me this, PC Donoghue.” He seemed to be becoming agitated again. “If someone is staring through my window when the curtains happen to be open, how come I am criminally liable for what they see?”

  I knew what he was referring to, but I didn’t want to get drawn on past incidents.

  “Look, take the mask off before we talk any further.” Without seeing his facial expression it was impossible to read him or have any idea what he might be thinking. I was also growing weary of his prevaricating. While Taxil and I had been talking, Lloyd had slowly edged his way further into the room and was now stood only a couple of yards away from the chair.

  “So you want to see my face? Do you want to see my black heart, too? I’m afraid someone lowered the blind on the window of my soul long ago. My life is dissonant, PC Donoghue. I’m beyond help.”

  He seemed to be filibustering; playing for time, but I wanted this over.

  “If I can help, I will.”

  “Our communion will never be blessed, PC Donoghue. Try as you might.”

  “We can take you straight to the hospital. What else do you want?”

  “I’m bored now,” he commented, ignoring my question and instead nodded towards the newspaper that I had tucked into my body armour. “I see you’ve found my artwork. You really spoilt my fun when you had to play the hero.”

  “That’s it!” I barked, as I lunged towards the chair and getting my handcuffs out in the process. Like a shot, Lloyd had also moved, holding the man down as I applied the cuffs. “You’re under arrest for arson with intent to endanger life. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” It must have been Taxil who had set the fire. This meant we could now stop looking for the culprit.

  Taxil made no attempt to struggle and nor did he speak: he simply allowed himself to be taken just like he had in the reports of all the previous incidents. Lloyd and I, meanwhile, were both shaking from the adrenalin still charging through us. I think both of us genuinely believed that we were in for the fight of our lives. The psychological tension that had risen steadily throughout the night now seemed somewhat of an anticlimax, although I wasn’t complaining.

  As I pulled off the clown mask, I resisted the urge to say: ‘If it weren’t for you pesky kids’ but, unfortunately, Lloyd couldn’t contain himself and I could hear him exclaim: ‘It’s the janitor!’ as Robert’s face was finally revealed. Maybe this was our escape valve after the stress of the whole escapade, or perhaps we were just raised on too many episodes of Scooby Doo.

  Robert Taxil, messenger of the spirits, practitioner of The Dark Arts and potential killer was a bit of an anticlimax too: he didn’t look like an evil genius at all; in fact, he looked completely unremarkable. He was a balding, stocky, middle-aged man with a characterless face: a completely unremarkable personification of evil. We led him out to the vehicles and sat him in the cage in the back of Lloyd’s van.

  “We’re taking you to custody, Robert. You’ve been arrested on suspicion of causing the fire on Christmas Eve as a result of what you said to me back there. You’ll be able to get the help you need there, too. Have you any questions for me?”

  He just smirked.

  I told Lloyd that I’d follow him back to the station in the panda. Getting back in the car, I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted from my shoulders. I also made a mental note to thank Sam in the front office: she hadn’t been completely right as the worst of her fears hadn’t been realised; still, it hadn’t been a particularly pleasant job. Thankfully though, we all remained safe and unharmed. We had some positive results too: Robert Taxil wasn’t going to be killing anyone tonight nor hopefully ever if we could get him the help he needed; and we’d found a suspect for the Christmas Eve house-fire – that would please CID. I got my notebook out again and wrote down the time of arrest. As the tail lights of Lloyd’s van disappeared down the track, I started the engine and allowed myself a little smile and, if I could have reached, I would have given myself a pat on the back.

  Suddenly: CLUNK! The central locking system on the vehicle activated. Glancing up, I saw a pair of eyes staring back at me in the rear-view mirror. A second later and I felt two cold hands around my neck. Next, I was pulled violently back as the pressure on my throat was intensified. The back of my seat was forced into my body as the strangler pushed his knees into it to gain extra leverage. Instinctively, I reached up to try and prise the hands free, but couldn’t get a firm grip around them. I kept on trying, scratching my windpipe as I dug my nails into my neck to try and force my fingers around his. I began grasping at the front of my body armour, searching for my radio before grabbing it and pressing the talk button but, barely able to catch a breath, I could only gurgle. I tried to find the panic button, feeling desperately with my fingers, but I couldn’t locate it before I was pulled harder back into the headrest. I pushed my foot down hard on the accelerator and the car shot forward. Within seconds we had cleared the yard and careered off the road and into a ditch. Undeterred, my attacker continued squeezing, slowly cutting off my air supply. I started kicking my feet and pushing even further back in my seat in an attempt to reach for my pepper; all the while trying to punch at whoever was behind me but I was getting weaker and my head becoming even lighter. I tried to pull at his hands again but there was no moving them: my strength was fading. I was becoming dizzy, my senses waning. In the darkness I saw a pinpoint of white light; gradually it grew bigger and bigger until everything became brilliant white…

  Dunk! Dunk! Dunk! It was the sound of the car door handles being tried; then, a smash, closely followed by the sound of pepper spray being discharged. At once, the hands around my throat released and I slumped forward in my seat, gasping for breath.

  “CUFF HIM! CUFF HIM!” Hearing Lloyd’s urgent shouts, I turned to see my colleague leaning in through the smashed rear window and begin grappling with my assailant. I released my safety belt and twisted round, kneeling on the seat in order to slap my handcuffs on one of the attacker’s wrists. He was flailing blindly against me, his eyes swollen tightly shut from the effects of the pepper spray and as I moved closer, my eyes also began to burn.

  “GET THE OTHER ONE ON!” Half blinded, I grabbed at the tangled melee of limbs eventually seizing hold of the assailant’s other wrist. I was about to apply the other cuff when I heard Lloyd frantically hissing, “That’s me!”

  Letting go, I climbed through the gap between the front seats to the back of the vehicle so that I could get better control of our prisoner. Locating the would-be murderer’s other wrist, I swiftly clicked the second cuff into place. My eyes were stinging and my throat was burning from the residual pepper lingering in the a
ir, but we finally had the attacker contained.

  “Who is it, Lloyd?” I asked, still unable to see clearly. “Who the hell is it?” I felt light on my face as my colleague shone his torch into the car.

  “It’s Taxil!” he exclaimed.

  We got him out of the vehicle and into the fresh air. Lloyd and I then stood whispering between ourselves, debating what on earth could have happened. My colleague explained that when he hadn’t seen me following the van he had come back to investigate. It seems that the glowing white light had been his headlamps and not the Angel Gabriel coming to guide me to the Pearly Gates. Neither of us, however, could work out how our prisoner had managed to swap vehicles. I didn’t want to believe in the possibility that evil spirits were working with him or that black magic really was at play. I much preferred it when Taxil was just someone who had issues – I could deal with that. We questioned him again and again over how, handcuffed, he’d managed to leave the confines of a locked cage in a moving vehicle and slip unnoticed and uncuffed into the back of my stationary panda car, but he just stonewalled us. I wondered if I should also arrest him for possession. We eventually led him back around to the van and opened up the back door again. But sitting in the cage, handcuffed just as we had left him, was Robert Taxil, smiling back at us. We did a double take: looking at our prisoner and then back at the man sitting in the cage.

  “I see you’ve met my twin brother, Ian,” he remarked. We shut the cage door and called up for more transport.

  It was only over the course of the next block of shifts that we finally got to establish what the Taxil twins’ master plan had been. It had never even occurred to us that there had been two people in that house. Nothing had shown up on any of the system checks: to all intents and purposes Ian Taxil didn’t exist.

  “The good news,” our sergeant informed us, as Lloyd and I were called into the office, “is that you won’t face any internal disciplinary action for crashing a police vehicle or for criminal damage when you broke the window.” I couldn’t quite tell whether he was being serious or not. He went on to inform us that both Robert and Ian Taxil had been interviewed and subsequently charged with arson with intent to endanger life and the attempted murder of a police officer. They had also both been admitted to a mental hospital for assessment. Furthermore, CSI had since been back to the house to sift through the property for evidence of involvement in any other crimes.