The Animal

My post conAt first glance, he was ordinary and unremarkable in every way. Middling height and build, aged 25 but looked older, perhaps slightly overweight, neither handsome nor ugly. He was dressed in a grey T-shirt, blue jeans, a dark brown hoodie, dirty white sneakers, and a faded blue baseball cap bearing the letters NYC. It wasn’t until you got close and looked into his face that something about him seemed off. His gaze was furtive, avoiding eye contact with the people around him, but if you attracted his attention, the cold, opaque stare from his brown eyes could be unsettling. It was as if he were somehow not human, something else in the shape of a man but not a man.

He moved slowly along the aisle, selecting items from the shelves before him. Duct tape, scissors, cable ties, cotton wool. His right hand darted out, grabbed the items, and dropped them into the shopping basket on his left arm. He licked his lips, thinking about the frightened animal trapped in his basement. He supposed he would have to deal with it tonight. Maybe he could keep it for a couple of days, to amuse himself before slaughtering it with the axe he had just added to his basket. He knew that whatever happened tonight, He would allow himself a little fun before dumping the cadaver in the pit with the others. There would be blood; he would have to sluice out the basement with the hosepipe again. It was an inconvenience, and he groaned inwardly as he walked toward the check-out, where a bored-looking girl in a light green uniform dealt with the short line of waiting customers. He paid for his purchases and walked out to the parking lot where his battered old pickup waited.

He stopped for a moment just inside the door, looking out at the parked cars. You can’t be too careful, he told himself, but there were no unusual movements, no one waiting in parked vehicles, no one loitering, no one moving between cars. Just a few people carrying bags or pushing trolleys, fanning out from the store entrance toward their cars and trucks.

#

The sea had a soothing effect on him. He often came here after work just to efface the stress and hurly burly of the working day. He would stand here on the beach, or sit in his car on rainy days, and look out over the ocean, taking in the sounds and smells, and gaze out to the line of hills just visible on the other side of the inlet.

Hamish stood on the beach, behind him, above a low stone wall, a line of cars, and beyond that, open countryside. There were only a few cars today; the tourist season was over, with autumn setting in. He was of average height with sandy hair

He often came here after work to unwind and get his head straight before heading home to Liza and the kids. He saw some terrible things in his line of work, and he did not want to take that shit home with him. He needed to clear his mind and set those images aside, not let them pollute his family life.

“What a mess,” he said out loud to himself as he saw again the mutilated bodies. They had received an anonymous tip-off, and he had been assigned to investigate if there was any truth to it. It had not taken him long to find the clearing in the woods and, taking a shovel from the boot of his car, dig into the freshly turned earth to uncover a human hand.

He’d called it in, and the circus duly arrived twenty minutes later. They eventually uncovered enough body parts for at least three adults. It appeared to be a man and two women.

“It’s definitely him,” said Inspector Travis. “You can tell from the way the body parts were severed.” He was still nominally in charge of the investigation, but everyone knew they were shipping in a Chief Inspector from Inverness, due to arrive any day now.

Hamish had been overjoyed when his promotion to Detective Constable had finally come through three months ago. A reward for all his hard work and dedication, he had thought. But then the murders had started, and he had been pulled into the task force. As the newbie, he inevitably got all the worst jobs. He didn’t mind that so much; everyone had to pay their dues after all. But the daily grind and disappointments had started to wear him down.

They had named him “The Animal” because of the way he mutilated the bodies of his victims. A serial killer, he had been operating in the region for several years, apparently, before someone had put two and two together.

#

The place was a mess. Hamish stood at the end of a long corridor littered with broken furniture, rubbish and glass from the line of windows to his right. They were mostly broken and light streamed in from outside only serving to emphasise the chaos within. On his left was a line of doors along the whole length of the corridor. Some were missing, some ajar but a few were firmly closed. He turned to the two uniformed constables standing behind him.

“Check out those offices, will you?” he nodded towards the corridor. “Kick down the doors if you have to.”

“Aye, cap’n,” Rory Stewart was the same age as Hamish; they had started around the same time and been friends from the start. Rory had been genuinely pleased when Hamish was promoted to Detective Constable.

The other uniform was Annie Smith, a recruit, accompanying Rory as part of her training. She seemed nice enough, a pretty blonde with hair in a regulation ponytail, but timid. Perhaps too timid for this job, he thought. Hamish hoped Rory was keeping his distance, given that he had a wife and baby at home. They progressed along the corridor, stepping over obstacles as they went, opening doors one after another.

“Clear,” each of them called from inside successive rooms. Until Annie emerged from a room near the end, her face ashen.

“Sir,” she said hesitantly, “I think you should take a look at this.” Hamish and Rory converged on the room and went inside.

It was sombre after the bright sunlit chaos in the corridor outside. Blinds were drawn over the windows, but there was enough light to see the desk at one end and the examination table at the other. This room was relatively clean and tidy, except for the blood. It was everywhere, like brown paint, covering the floor, the exam table, splashed on the walls in wild patterns. It seemed too much for one human body to hold.

“Call it in,” Hamish instructed Rory. “We need Forensics here asap.”

They arrived about half an hour later, including Detective Inspector Travis in a light blue BMW, accompanied by Sergeant Sean Mulroney, his bagman.

“You again,” said Travis as he and Mulroney walked into the room, now busy with two SOCOs (Scenes of Crime Officers) already at work in their white coveralls and face masks.

“Yes sir,” said Hamish. “At least it’s a nice day for a trip to the countryside”.

The abandoned building had been a psychiatric clinic until it was closed in the 1990s. It was set back from the A816 amid the rolling hills south of Oban. It was overgrown with vegetation and surrounded by a steel link fence with numerous gaps that allowed kids to sneak through and explore the building.

“Not so nice in here,” replied Travis. “Looks like some poor bastard went through hell.” They both knew that the blood spatter on the walls meant the victim was probably alive at that point, heart still beating. He went to talk to the forensics officers, and Mulroney walked over.

“Good work, Hamish lad,” he said, “but please let me know what you’re doing in the future. How can I manage the team if I don’t know where my officers are?”

“Sorry, Sarge, somebody called the contact line to report late-night goings on here,” I thought we shouldn’t lose any more time. “You weren’t around, so I made a call.”

“You should have at least told one of the others, or called me, or even just left a note on my desk. It would have been better than nothing. Now, please go back to the station and get on with those reports I gave you yesterday. We can handle things here.”

“Yes Sarge,” said Hamish. He waved to Rory and went back out to his car. A white Volvo diesel that had seen better days but was still going strong.

On the way back to the police station in Oban, he went over what they already knew about the Animal. It seemed obvious to him that it was someone with medical experience or knowledge enough to understand how to efficiently dismember a human body. They had discovered five victims so far, all dismembered and disfigured. He felt again that they were missing something right in front of their noses. But what was it?