The Scarlet Werb, Chapter Three (standard:action, 3647 words) [3/3] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jun 12 2005	Views/Reads: 2614/1902	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Chapter Three of a story involving a serial killer who has a habit of leaving a red emblem beside the body that has been accounted for. What does it signify?

20                                             CHAPTER THREE London
Dockland Josh Stapleford plunged his head once more into a bowl of warm 
water before rinsing and drying his thinning hair. A thick set man of 
about five feet ten who lived a full and active life. A computer 
analyst with a nation-wide firm of travel agents by day,  and seeker of 
highly charged social activity by night. He was also a man without a 
trace of conscience for almost a week beforehand he'd left a woman 
battered and bruised on a blood-splattered pavement for thwarting his 
efforts to have intercourse with her. Since then considerations of his 
actions had scarcely returned to bother him, even photographs in the 
press of her appalling injuries had failed to instil any feeling of 
remorse. 

He replaced his towel neatly on the rack and opened a window to reveal
the industry of London's dockland sprawled below. Here and there a 
newly constructed office block with mandatory reflective glass towered 
above his own apartment building. Part of a multitude of high quality 
and exorbitantly priced units of accommodation, transformed from 
warehouses bordering the Thames as it wound its way through the city. 

Now for a moment his thoughts were returning to that particular night,
though not with any sense of regret: he was contemplating another visit 
to Clipper's nite-spot. A colleague from his company's Canadian parent 
firm was over on a fact finding trip and was anxious to savour the 
British night life. Clipper's fitted the bill as far as Stapleford was 
concerned, even if he had recently suffered a bruised ego on account of 
it. In any case that had been sorted, and the person responsible had 
suffered a lot more than a bruised ego. 

The fact that his picture had been circulated to every police station in
the East End and beyond didn't bother him one iota. The photo-kit 
reconstruction was so poor it would take a very shrewd eye to associate 
him with the assault. Either the girl had a very bad memory or she was 
too shaken to describe him fully, perhaps she hadn't got as good a look 
as he thought. In any eventuality, it didn't matter very much. 

He removed his suit carefully from its hanger and prepared himself for a
day at the office, followed by an evening with a prestigious guest at 
his favourite night time venue. *                                       
                * Not far from this location, somewhat later that day a 
woman was making ready for a second night in her new job. Well 
developed and tall, with full unblemished face and long fair hair she 
donned the short black dress with white trim each waitress was required 
to wear, with a sense of satisfaction at the way it clung to her body. 

She reflected on how her first night on duty had turned out. Uneventful,
that was for sure and that had been a disappointment, though only a 
minor one. There was plenty of time for things to materialise, and when 
they did she'd be ready and waiting.  The blonde took a heavily loaded 
suitcase in strong looking arms and laid it casually on the bed, 
whereupon she produced a smart beige jacket with wide lapels, and also 
a tiny scarlet coloured object which fitted neatly into an inside 
pocket. 

A vehicle drew up outside, the woman walked calmly towards the window
and saw her cab had arrived. She took a final check round and then 
satisfied nothing  had been overlooked, closed the door to her bedsit. 
*                                 *                               * In 
the “Saffron” editor's office Mary Todd replaced the receiver with a 
little more force than was her norm. She tried on several occasions 
during the evening to locate Shelley Summers only to be confronted with 
the infernal answerphone, now her irritation was beginning to show. She 
checked her watch before taking from her pocket a packet of tablets the 
doctor had given her to control her angina, then popped one into her 
mouth and swallowed it with a strong gulp of tea. 

A well respected critic had called in person shortly after Shelley's
departure for home, that afternoon, requesting an interview with her at 
short notice. Eager to oblige, Todd had assured the critic of her 
intention to contact Shelley as soon as she was able and give him an 
answer. Five hours had now lapsed and even allowing for heavy traffic 
that was ample time to have reached her Norfolk home. To make matters 
worse, Shelley's mobile phone appeared to have been switched off. 

She took her empty china cup through to the small washroom which lay


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