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It is about bloody damn time that someone does something, anything, really, to address the clusterfuck known as the Freak. It seems as if the little boys of NSY shed their bollocks the minute they thump past the door. Perhaps they have a communal safe box in the bog.
Sally's piercing brown eyes burn bright with righteous fury at the injustice. Men. They're infuriating, the whole lot, simple-minded idiots. To be fair, though, the situation's somewhat beyond their control. It's all the fault of that bloody skulking psychopath, of course; the public-school limp-wristed swish who gets off on murder. He, who shall not be named - or confronted - at least by the head of their division. Anderson, at least, isn't starstruck. One day she'll goad him into growing a pair, although keeping them may pose a problem. That wife of his, now. The woman has definitely got to go.
Incident 1: September 29th, 2012 at 20:00 hours
The following narrative is a complete, objective, and unedited recounting of the event per: DS Sally Donovan, New Scotland Yard
Subject BP (Bloody Psychopath) observed rapidly traversing Marylebone Rd. on foot. Subject wearing atypically natty streetwear based on previous wardrobe. Description of current clothing as follows: One pair Burberry sunglasses, black frames, black-tinted lenses; One pair dark blue slim-fit jeans. High quality denim, ludicrously tight. Side-Note:
subject has plush arse - strike last note; close-fit dark grey knitted jumper (Johnstons of Elgin?); low top white trainers, unmarked, possibly new out of the box; black, high-collared waist-level jacket. Fuck me, is that a Jaeger Harrington? Strike last sentence.
Supposition: Subject using clothing as disguise, assuming the appearance of a normal British flash bastard sane adult male.
Statement: Let it be noted that from this point on in officer narrative subject identified using the initials "BP".
Time: 20:03 - BP seen entering Baker St. Station postcode W1U 8AH via ZBS stairwell in possession of current model Blackberry. BP observed texting whilst descending into station, no evidence of unsteady footing or risk of bumping into citizens. Zero supplemental paraphernalia on BP's person indicated.
Supposition: Storage capacity of subject's sprayed-on denims ineffective for stowing material. Indisputable
evidence of post-natal circumcision DELETE DELETE DELETE
This officer moves to tracks BP on foot, starting time of 20:03:32
Time: 20:15 This officer and BP travel on westbound train to Hammersmith postcode W6 8AB/Stamford Brook. Subject remains focused on Blackberry until exiting tube to Goldhawk Road A402 at 20:57. Subject inexplicably avoids being struck by on-coming traffic or other pedestrians. Damn. BP uses unverified procedure to secure Blackberry in trousers' left back pocket.
This officer tracks BP to the Tesco MEtro via main entrance. BP declines use of trolley and traverses several aisles seemingly without purpose. BP enters dairy section of Tesco, is observed analyzing each and every sodding brand and/or formulation of said milk products. Description of Subject behavior as follows: shaking of container, examining sell-buy date and (supposition) verifying data using on-line dairy production records. Activity accompanied by foul language; Lifting up of product to light source and examining contents for...what? Agenda unknown at this time just another indicator that subject is completely off his rocker. Strike last sentence. At 22:06 BP finally, finally selects and makes cash transaction for 1 pint glass container of half-and-half milk. Subject exits building. Officer wonders why subject didn't just open up each bottle for a taste if he wanted to be such an annoying prat. Strike last sentence,
BP places milk in left-side coat waist pocket. Subject's coat pockets larger in volume than this officer previously assessed. BP handles and sorts through paper money contained in previously unbeknownst black leather wallet and muttering about the ineptitude of today's milk industry. This officer is obliged to point out that BP wouldn't know a cow teat from a ball ba - strike last sentence. BP uses behavior as a ruse to crash into elderly woman travelling in opposite direction. Officer Query: What is this woman doing out so late? She can't be 5' tall, 5 stone? Honestly, people have no common sense. Strike Officer Query. O.A.P. falls flat onto her nonexistent arse and states, "Bugger it all, I have a hip!" Due to the hour, no other witnesses present.
Time: 22:11 This officer begins video surveillance as BP leans over woman and pockets phone - again - in back jean pocket. Subject effectively blocks this officer's view by crouching on victim's left side. This officer detects a soft squashy burbling sound from vicinity. Supposition: Victim is crying. BP's right hand enters possible inner left breast pocket.
This officer prepares for imminent violence and accesses
illegal firearm truncheon. Video surveillance ending at at 22:12. Subject removes right hand from his coat and brandishes a... white handkerchief over hapless matriarch. BP closes in on victim. This officer observes victim raising her hands in self-defence and takes aim with the
fi prepares to deploy truncheon. BP pats victim, likely checking for valuables, then reties the laces of her right jackboot. BP lifts woman to her feet and they laugh. BP reaches down to pavement and picks up brown handbag. Subject hands bag over to victim.
It is obvious to this officer that victim is severely concussed. Strike last sentence. BP pats woman's cheeks with possibly chloroform-soaked handkerchief. Woman commences with childlike giggling. Officer debates requesting EMT services. Supposition: Woman's manifest confusion due to personally concocted hallucinogen-laced linen? Note: Monogram stitched on said handkerchief read as WSSH in blue silk thread. Initials are encircled with tiny pink roses and forget-me-nots. Purpose of such ridiculous frippery remains a mystery.
Time: 22:14 Victim attempts to return handkerchief. BP displays unusually white straight teeth in an approximation on a smile must be caps and wraps freakishly large hand around woman's. BP clearly heard stating, "Keep it, please. You need it more than I."
Subject re-obtains victim's satchel and holds out his elbow. Woman takes it, STILL GIGGLING. BP hails and enters taxi with victim. Taxi heads north.
This officer unable to continue active surveillance.
BUGGER BUGGER BUGGER BUGGER BUGGER BUGGER
Officer returns to NSY, contacts cab company with licence plate number, interviews (interrogates) driver 23:55 at his house.
Per witness statement using digitally recorded testimony: "Yeah, I seen 'im. He were a tall bloke, and a real looker, oi, if you get my meaning." (sound of low, wistful groan). "But anyway, he weren't interested. He's a bit public school, your freak." (sound of loud guffaw) "Well, you said it, not me. The only thing I were interested was in his trousers. As in, in
his...all right, all right, no need to get testy. It's been a long day. So this bloke is all toothy, great big smile framing those cheekbones, collar up. Very cool. Nice jacket. In general, being a real gentleman. With the vic, not me. With me, he were a bit snappish.(sound of sniffing).
"Can I say vic? It sounds legit, like real police lingo, yeah?" (sound of table scraping across floor, source unknown) "Oi! Fine! I'll just get on with it already. The missus will be worried. Yeah, I gots one, don't gimme that high-and-mighty look. A gent's got needs, and they don't always come with a set of breasts. Especially, when they're flat, saggy ones, with wrinkled...So. This guy takes her bag, real old-school, that. He totes it, I mean, don't get excited. He didn't
nick it, 'e were bringing it up for the lady. Must have been genuine ostrich skin, or sumpin' like it, maybe. Good quality. Posh. So, then my lush, lovely lamb chop accompanies her to the door. 'E gallantly holding 'er arm, like she's the Queen. And then, she give 'im a loud buss on the cheek, and a snuggle. I'm all jealous! Your perp...see what I did there? 'ugs her back all soft-like, like she's a soap bubble and he's afraid she might pop if 'e squeezes. After which, the lady shuts the door. He stands there, waiting, I guess, until he hears the door lock and double bolt. Then the looker's back in the cab. Bloke takes a ride back to Baker St. A good tipper, 'e were. Very nice. And that's it. Oh, shite. One last thing. The bloke reaches into his coat pocket, and out comes this little bottle of what looked like milk. It's white. He stands there, looks at his watch, opens it up and sniffs it, makes a face, and then chucks the thing in a bin outside Speedy's. And, heh...here's the fun part, yeah? The real kicker. I'm still sitting there, counting out my night's cash, right? - it being a safe area, and all - and I hear this other bloke, not your baddie, someone else. 'E's hollering, and putting up a right fuss up close to a second-storey window. So loud 'e is, that I catch every word. Bloke must have been in the Navy, with that mouth. So, 'e's steamrolling over your gent, red-faced and stomping about, sayin', "What the fuck, you lazy wanker! You're gone three whole hours doing God knows what, and
still
you forget to bring home the milk!'" (sound of loud laughter, followed by a cough). "What a 'oot. I ain't been so chuffed in...it's been ages!"
Interview terminated. No further investigation pending at this time.
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October 3rd, 2012
The following narrative is a complete, objective, and unedited recounting of the event per: DS Sally Donovan, New Scotland Yard. Be advised that said Dr. John Hamish Watson will thereafter be referred to per the initials "PNF" (Pathetically Naive Flatmate)
ATTN: The following is a narrative of prior activities leading up to Incident. Activities witnessed and recorded by reporting officer. Time 15:12. BP, PNF, and DI Lestrade all present in Lestrade's NSY office. BP and lestrade are engaged in heated discussion, the gist of which regards computer privacy laws when PNF receives a text on his personal mobile. PNF interrupts on-going argument to inform BP that "Sarah" Jilted Girlfriend and higher-up at the surgery needs a hand. BP throws what can legitimately described as a tantrum more befitting a toddler than a genius Consulting Detective. This officer is so not surprised. Strike last sentence.
DI Gregory Lestrade directs the following statement at BP: "Shut your gob. You've done enough damage as it is, yeah?"
Suspect BP to PNF: "Please, John, do enlighten me.
Which do you deem most important - bringing a ax-weilding maniac - who uses kittens to clean between his teeth, mind - to justice, or...diagnosing some dull accountant's piles?"
This officer observed PNF growing red in the face and spluttering invective.
This officer deemed it in her best interests to vacate said office ASAP.
Time of Incident 15:42
BP and PNF are observed by this officer exiting north side of NSY.
PNF to BP: "Leave off, you great tit, before I bin the last of the jammie dodgers."
BP to PNF: "As if you'd dare. Mrs. Hudson brought me those specially, as you well know,
as thank you for locating Mrs. Turner's missing...thing...ehm...ah yes, precious gerbil."
PNF flashes suspect the two-finger salute and flags down a cab. BP departs on foot. Thank Christ those nutters are gone and left the rest of us in peace. Strike last sentence.
Time: 15:50
This officer instigates active stakeout of BP. Suspect currently in possession of case files. Supposition: Files nicked from office whilst engaged in verbal fisticuffs with DI Lestrade. Lestrade is brilliant, but when it comes to the Freak, he's a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Strike last sentence. Subject now travelling east on Richmond Terrace. Sidewalks are in deplorable condition. This officer has stubbed her toes multiple times since initiating covert action. As a consummate professional with great hair this officer continues in pursuit, despite high risk of injury.
BP observed crossing Richmond Terrace. Subject enters Whitehall Gardens and sits on park bench. BP observed scanning case files at an impossibly rapid rate of speed. Reason for behavior unknown. It's not possible to read at this pace, so called "genius" or not. Supposition: BP is showing off to an uncaring audience of squirrels. He is a psycho, yeah? Strike last sentence.
Young woman, (Victim 1) is approximately 25 years old. V1 observed walking southbound with toddler (Victim 2) in appallingly pink push cart. This officer unable to determine approximate age of toddler, or it's gender for that matter, as said child is screaming bloody murder. He/she/it bears a vague resemblance to Winston Churchill. After surveying the immediate area for witnesses, this officer notes that said infant, AKA wailing banshee has dropped its bottle. Bottle located 25 feet north of victim 1 on walkway pavement. V1 in process of texting. V1 completely ignoring her child. Whilst this officer sympathizes, continual observation may be necessary to determine if V1's behavior constitutes gross neglect.
BP shoves files into coat - Belstaff, this time, must have bloody big inner pockets - and steps past V1. Subject picks up bottle, blows on nipple in likely attempt to spread lethal virus and/or flesh-eating bacteria. BP re-traces steps and moves in to speak to V1. BP presents woman with bottle. Suspect smiles - ugh, more white teeth. Strike last sentence. This officer looks for indicators of murderous intent as this officer is located at some distance and unable to hear conversation.
V1 smiles back, nods, and offers child of Satan its bottle.
V2 accepts bottle and starts drinking. Further exchange of possible pleasantries observed between suspect and subject. V1 displays obvious sexual overtures, i.e. sticking out silicone enhanced breasts and satisfyingly flat arse. Run's fingers through long blonde hair. A bad dye job, that - brown roots showing. In addition, this officer notes filthy trollop has chipped cheap red polish on fingernails, not surprised. Strike last sentence.
V2 has yet to exhibit a life-threatening malady that might indicate possible poisoning and/or biological terrorism.
This officer strongly suspects that BP is aware of her presence. It is the only logical reason for the Freak's actions. This officer considers wearing disguise during next stake-out.
BP accepts a small slip of paper covered in blue ink writing from V1. The exact location of where tart's stowing her pen, well, this officer chooses not to speculate. BP accepts paper, makes great show of placing paper in thick, brown leather wallet. Officer Query: What happened to the black one?
V1 touches BP's right arm, then proceeds travelling south on garden path.
Bloody Psychopath waits approximately 10 seconds before opening up his wallet and disposing of paper in metal bin with a grimace. BP returns to bench and texts until this officer's left little piggie swells to impossible level. This officer abandons crime scene and seeks medical attention at surgery. This officer, wounded in action, is considering requesting worker's comp.
Strike last two paragraphs.
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The bloody toe
is
sodding well broken. The bastard probably chose that route on purpose. My hard-earned wages are being siphoned by the government, and for what? Lining the sodding nobs' pockets, obviously, because they're certainly not spending it on road maintenance. Tarts with big tits, and
£1,200.00 bespoke suits - that's what the Commonweath pays for. Disgusting.
Bugger all. The stake-outs have been a pointless waste of my break. It's not like I
want some poor twonk to be eviscerated by the freak, but still...a quick maiming would perfectly suit my needs. Holmes such is a preternaturally clever sharp-eyed bastard. He's sussed me out. I am sure of it. It's the only logical explanation for that "virtuous citizen" sham.
Even so, the whatsit with the milk was just weird.
I have to increase the distance in which I operate. Be methodical. Give myself room to manoeuvre, whether or not the mission goes tits up I'm a damn fine officer, not that anyone values my position. All jesting aside, though, the freak's brilliant. A bloody genius. It's why the Yard endures his larking about amidst the blood and guts at a crime scene. For fuck's sake, he's not prancing about through the tulips!
It's bloody sick, it's what it is. How does John Watson tolerate his despicable mockery of the victims, and the loved ones left behind to grieve? Fucking hell, I've got to get back to it, injury or not. It's my duty as an officer - as a decent human being - to get the freak off the streets.
It's time to surf eBay for long-distance surveillance tools (and a toe splint).
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Integrity, honour, and basic human decency; principles my father swore he'd pass on. No, really. Swear to God, I'm not telling you stories. And bugger, did my Dad lay it on thick to whatever hapless git he cornered. Declan Francis James Donovan did right by his issue, or so he said, neglecting to mention his three by-blows.
I applaud my father's intentions, I really do, despite his being a fucking bloody drunk. Too bad for myself and my two sisters. We'd have been free and clear if he'd shrugged off our existence, as well. You see, Dad's thoughts on proper parenting were dead contradictory for his purpose. He was a hateful man, all said, a bloody rubbish male of the species.
Yeah, I'll own up, but only when I've had a few drinks. I despised him. I feared him. Though I knew I'd go to Hell, or God forbid, prison; I as a girl I yearned for the courage to top him off. Parents can't
thump virtue into a child using hard fists and a belt, whilst screaming how pathetic that child is. Bugger, how many times he swore we were a dead loss, a fucking drain on his hard-earned wages. My father wished we'd been stillborn. He wished we'd never been conceived.
It's criminal, the damage he he laid on my sisters. Back then, I was too small and too weak to protect them. I'm not weak now. I'm a bitch with a stick up my arse. Shite, I've witnessed methods of murder that would make your skin crawl. I could do it, I really could, but it's not necessary.
Yes, I'm delighted to report that he offed his own arse, off his trolley on some bottom shelf booze. Dear Dad crashed his Mini into an oncoming eighteen-wheel lorry. Be as it may, perhaps through divine providence, the lorry driver sustained nary a scratch. Well, excepting a small lurid purple spot on his right lower cheek. It was his coffee mug that did it, which pitched off the dash like a rocket. Ha! Karma's a bitch, innit,
Dad.
I send my thanks to the closest available deity that he cleared off when I was twelve. His absence gave me the chance that I needed. I had six years to recover before my mum ran me out of the flat. Yeah, you may have noticed that I I hardly ever speak of my mother in polite conversation. The words that I use might offend you.
I so want to be a good person. To be honest, though, I am anything but. This rotten apple didn't clear the tree's shade. I don't show it, but I'm not proud of Anderson. It guts me every bloody time, when the freak digs the point in. I'm an adulterer. He doesn't say the word. He needn't waste the air. The entire squad knows it, that I'm a skank. I wonder why I even bother, in my darker moments. Why try?
I try to be good, but so far, I've been anything but. See, it's why I want to bring Sherlock Holmes down. I want to stick his poncy lunatic arse so deep into our system that he never sees daylight again. Then, and only then, I will have done something good enough to turn myself to rights.