Tongue-Tied
by Fiona Atchison
He squinted at the computer screen in order to get a better look and wondered if he dare enter the on-line chat room. Suddenly the front door slammed shut and a female voice called to him from the hallway. If she found him using the computer again at this time of day, she would start to get suspicious. As quickly and silently as possible he closed the screen down. Her head swung round the door 'Okay dear? Sorry I'm late. I'll just put the tea on - got your favourite.'
His mind quickly conjured up the image of two small plastic bags, each containing a partial human tongue. And at this present time, they were languishing in the freezer.
He nodded with a smile and gave her the thumbs up.
DCI Joyce Stokes showered quickly, cursing the fact she would be late on her first day back at the station. The honeymoon in Paris had been wonderful, but now it was back to rainy Glasgow. She caught the tail end of Trevor Parker's comment as she walked to her desk, '...looking a bit the worse for wear, eh boys?'
As Joyce drew Trevor a contemptuous glare she was aware of the stout figure of DI Tom Baxter standing in front of the crime board, eager to get started.
'Okay everyone lets have some shush can we? Last night a young man, now identified as Joss White, was found dead in an alleyway off Renfield Street. As you can see from the photographs, the cause of death appears to be from the number of stab wounds to his back and,' Baxter paused, 'there's something else - half his tongue was missing. That's the same MO as Jim Mackay four weeks ago who was found on the floor of his tenement close in Easterhouse. He'd suffered multiple stab wounds to his back, and his tongue had been partially removed. Same cause of death, which means, lads and lassies - get me some answers before the press have a field day.'
'So, are you saying it could be the same killer, boss? A serial killer like?' Trevor asked.
'Let's look for some evidence first shall we? It may be a possibility or perhaps it's a copycat kill from the papers' cover of the first murder.' Tom glared around the room. 'Just let's pray this corpse's leads don't go as cold as the last.'
He felt a release of tension today. She had decided to visit her mum, in Paisley and he could use the time to plan. He peered through a gap in the blind out the living-room window. The car was gone. He double- checked, yes the front door was locked. Back in his bedroom his heart thumped hard as he entered an on line chat room. He started to type:
'You don't know why Mackay and White are dead, but I do. This is a warning, to the police - leave well alone and no one else will get hurt.'
His rucksack was packed and all he needed now was to get the front door key and leave.
When Joyce got back home around 7.30pm she found husband Chris in the kitchen reading the paper. 'Hi love,' he said reaching for her. This was the part of the day she liked best, curling up on the settee with Chris, a glass of red wine, and the aroma of a pre-timed casserole wafting from the oven. She settled down and began to rethink her findings of the day.
There had been a breakthrough. It was now two days following the murder of Joss White. Joyce had interviewed several of his social work colleagues trying to source any similarities or contact, between White and Mackay. She grimaced, the murders were now known locally as the 'double dram murders' because of a popular blend of whisky labelled, 'White & Mackay'.
White was a student social worker in his final year on placement with Glasgow City Council. His Supervisor, Rae Brown and colleagues were shocked at his death. The six cases he'd been working on were currently being scrutinised by the police, but it was proving hard to find any probable connection to Mackay.
They knew Jim Mackay was 28, single and a loner, who'd had various jobs. None seemed to last longer than a year or so. He'd some previous form stealing and driving cars as a teenager. His latest stint was with the Volunteer Drivers' Association (VDA), working for mileage rates. So far it didn't look as if the victims' paths had met, but the possibility factor niggled at Joyce. The list of Mackay's pick-ups for the previous three months had been investigated and found to consist of school runs to Special Schools. Despite hard police work, there were no leads.
'Are you sure Joss has not had some contact with the VDA, through another colleague perhaps?' Joyce persisted, questioning his supervisor again.
Rae rubbed her eyes tiredly for a moment or two, then suddenly perked up, 'Wait a minute, staff have to take a turn at 'duty', which means technically Joss could receive calls from anyone.' She walked over to a desk and slowly began to turn the pages of an A4 book. Rae's voice was almost a whisper as she looked up at Joyce in alarm. Her finger pointed to a line in the book. 'Oh God! He did make a call to the Volunteer Drivers' Centre. According to this entry about a month ago, 3rd of September.'
'Can you tell who the transport was ordered for and at what time?' Joyce's voice was quick and sharp with anticipation. She knew the date of the request to be only two days before Jim Mackay was found murdered.
Rae punched out a reference number from the log into her computer, and a name appeared - 'Daniel Hart'. Tapping a few more keys, a file of case notes appeared on the screen. Rae scrolled down, 'Joss arranged transport for this 21 year old man, who apparently required to attend a hospital appointment last month. He's a wheelchair user. Previous road traffic accident three years ago according to this.'
It had been a shock that the volunteer driver, Jim, had recognised him. He had no recollection of the actual accident at all, just waking up in hospital without being able to feel his legs. But worst of all, finding he could no longer talk, or more importantly, no longer sing. He could only vaguely remember his past life. A life when he was eighteen years old, able-bodied and on his way to the airport early one morning to catch a flight. He'd been accepted to study at The London School of Music. That very day instead of his life just beginning, it had sickeningly ended.
DCI Trevor Parker was bursting with news for Joyce and the DI. He'd questioned the VDA driving co-ordinator again who remembered the regular afternoon driver for 3rd September had failed to turn in. Mackay just happened to be in the office at the time. White had phoned in on spec and asked for a driver at short notice. Daniel Harts's mother had made the request. Apparently she hadn't felt well enough to drive him to the hospital herself as she usually did.
'The absentee driver's name was still entered in their book for that afternoon.' Parker explained. 'But it was our victim, Mackay who actually did the run. The entry was never corrected.'
Baxter's small frame sprang into action. 'Right, get over quickly to Daniel Hart's address. This new information links White and Mackay - a lead we missed first time round.'
It had been a surreal conversation, Daniel recalled, and one sided. Jim Mackay, the guy sent round from the Volunteer Drivers' Centre had recognised him straight away. He'd actually confessed to being the other driver involved in his accident! Mackay told Daniel he'd felt really guilty and followed events in the newspaper. He'd explained to him how upset he'd been on learning that Daniel was so badly injured. Sitting, unable to speak, Daniel felt a fury rise in him that he found hard to control.
Joyce and Trevor walked up the wheelchair ramp leading to Daniel Hart's front door. Trevor rapped the knocker smartly and winked at Joyce, 'Hope he doesn't try to make a run for it.'
'I see you passed your disability awareness training then.'
The door slowly opened revealing a tall, wiry woman who smiled as they explained who they were. 'Daniel's in his room at the moment, I think he may be sleeping, he gets very tired by teatime,' she explained. 'I'm his mother, so if I can be of any help?'
Joyce sat down on the offered chair. There was a smell of stale alcohol hanging around the room. 'Mrs Hart, we believe you ordered a Volunteer Driver for your son through social services, about a month ago or so to take him to hospital?' she enquired.
'Yes that's right, I had a migraine. I get them from time to time and can't drive. Affects my vision you see. Why are you asking?'
'The man who drove your son that day Mrs Hart, was called Jim Mackay,' Joyce replied.
'He was murdered two days later,' Trevor interrupted abruptly. 'The person you made the driving request to, Joss White, was also found dead, earlier this week.'
Mrs Hart reached for a glass and took a small sip, 'That's dreadful, those poor young men, but what's this got to do with Daniel?'
Joyce spoke softly,' Mrs Hart, does your son sometimes go out in the evenings - on his own?'
He could hear his mother's voice and that of two other people talking in the next room but couldn't make out what they were saying. He had a good idea it was the police though. She'd told him to pretend he was asleep, so he'd transferred himself from his wheelchair to bed. What was she going to say?
Tom Baxter, DI sat opposite Joyce in the canteen. After a short debrief involving the visit to Daniel Hart, everyone seemed a bit deflated. The only lead they had was of a young disabled man, who they would return to try to question the next day. Apparently, he never went out of the house unaccompanied. Apart from needing to use a wheelchair, he had no speech and poor vision. Not top of the list as suspect material. Mrs Hart had given her son a cast iron alibi for the evenings in question. They were home together every night usually watching television.
On the road to the hospital Jim had started talking and it seemed he couldn't stop.
' The car came flying round a blind corner. I didn't have time to think never mind try to avoid you. I was lucky, a few cuts but it's a wonder we weren't all killed.'
Daniel, unable to speak, had sat in shock trying to take in what he was hearing. What did Mackay mean by 'all'? In the weeks following the accident he knew that he'd been found alone in the car, a victim, supposedly of a hit and run. Had there been a passenger in Mackay's car? He wished he'd taken his' talk-type-writer' with him to ask.
Next morning a call came into the station from the Police IT section. Baxter relayed the news, 'You're not going to believe this, but a warning note regarding the killings of White and Mackay has been posted in a chat- room website and traced to Daniel Hart's computer.'
'A hundred percent sure boss?' Trevor asked
'Well, a hundred percent his computer, but maybe he's not the only one with access remember,' Joyce added. She could have kicked herself for not insisting to question Daniel the evening before.
Fifteen minutes later, Joyce and Trevor stood knocking at the front door of Daniel Hart's house, gaining no reply.
'Let's try round the back,' said Trevor.
Mackay had kept talking. 'It was the woman driving your car who told me to sling my hook,' 'She warned me she'd pin the blame on me if I said anything to the polis or anyone. And I'm sorry pal, but I didn't need telling twice. What I could never fathom out was, how come you were found alone and in the driving seat? Where did she disappear to?'
A penny suddenly clanged in Daniel's head. The vivid flashback memories he'd had after the accident were not figments of his imagination. In these dreams he could visualise his mother insisting on driving that morning. He'd tried to stop her- she'd been drinking as usual. In the end he'd thought it wasn't worth the hassle, because he would soon be away from her.
Daniel felt his blood chill. His own mother had caused the accident, and then hauled him into the driver's seat and left him to his injuries.
Steps led up to a glass paned door. Through it they could see the figure of a young man slumped in his wheelchair. Trevor broke a pane of glass and put his hand inside to unlock the door.
Jim Mackay had returned Daniel home after his hospital appointment. She'd come to the door, staggering slightly as she always did during a binge. But he'd caught the look on her face as she'd stared into the eyes of Mackay. Neither said a word, but that glimpse of mutual recognition had been enough.
She'd tried to act as if everything was normal. But when he'd heard about the murder of Jim Mackay, then poor Joss White, he knew?
Entering the kitchen, Joyce nearly fell over the prone body of Mrs Hart, lying in a pool of congealed blood. On searching the house, forensics made the grisly discovery of two severed tongues, now undergoing DNA testing. The young disabled man was being questioned at the station. He had an advocate with him and answered questions using a talk-type-writer. As his story unfolded, Joyce listened incredulously. A bitter, alcoholic woman, had almost killed her son, and then murdered two innocent young men three years later thinking she was keeping her awful secret from him. Mackay had been killed because he had recognised her. Joss White's only crime had been to order a volunteer driver for her son. She couldn't take the risk, but ironically killing White had led the police straight to her. They could only guess why she had severed her victims' tongues - a symbol perhaps of their silence.
His mother had started drinking heavily when the police left. He'd quietly transferred back into his wheelchair. She was drinking at the kitchen table, and tried to smile at him. 'Everything's okay now love' she slurred. 'Mother's sorted it all out again.'
He typed 'Why did you leave me in the car?'
She stared at him for a long, long moment then shrugged her shoulders. 'I just panicked.'
He made a crying sound at the back of his throat, 'you ruined my life.'
She stood up unsteadily and hissed 'And what about my life, what about me? You didn't think twice about leaving me alone to go to some fancy music school.' Her voice became bitter, 'You almost left me, just like your father. That will never happen again.'
His world became slow motion but his mind was clear as his hand reached to the cushion on his wheelchair, where he'd placed the kitchen knife.