In all of his 37 years, Elias Armand has only seen one dead person – his uncle, during his wake, after losing his fight with prostate cancer. At that time, Elias was in his twenties. He was not freaked out by the sight of Uncle Fred laid out in his coffin looking peaceful, surrounded by his grieving relatives. The old man even had a faint reassuring smile; which is not what can be said for the person Elias has now suddenly come upon in the middle of a living room in a small cottage on the edge of Dartford. Wearing a dark blue silk dress and sprawled on the long brown leather sofa – the body of a woman. The head, hands and feet are missing, a mess of flesh tissue, bone and blood in their place.

Elias has heard of people throwing up when suddenly confronted with the bloody sight of a violent murder victim, but he has always thought it to be an exaggeration, contrived solely for literary benefit. He has also heard of people becoming faint, and he has always considered such people, if they ever existed, to be nothing but spineless ninnies, but now, those two unimpressive reactions are exactly what occur. His eyes take in the spectacle and the full horror immediately crystallizes an indelible image in his brain. The first thing he feels is an almighty jolt to his heart, followed by an involuntary contraction of his guts, causing him to promptly empty the entire contents of his stomach - a full course of English breakfast - unto his favorite black driving shoes. Then, just as he is becoming overwhelmed by a fainting sensation, he bolts out of the house gasping desperately for some fresh air. He stands in the doorway for a while, his head pounding, his mouth filled with the taste of vomit and bile. Soon his head begins to clear. He walks away from the house backwards as if he cannot trust it enough to turn his back upon it, until he reaches his Metrocab parked on the roadside. With trembling hands, he plucks his mobile phone, still charging on the cigarette lighter socket, and calls the police. And then he waits.

The house stands aloof, off the cusp of the A226, partly hidden by an overgrown hedge, with a wide gap for the motor entrance. Behind the hedge, there is enough space to park four cars on the gravelly patch. The building has elements of Edwardian architecture – window bays and gable ends with mock timber framing. A certain amount of disrepair, but more prominent are the signs of the intervention of an incompetent builder or the overzealous experimentations of a pretentious DIY enthusiast.

The siren starts out faintly, like the annoying music of a solitary mosquito, and then grows exponentially louder until whole place is saturated with the interminable din. Blue lights flashing like a blue-only fireworks display. Three Police cars dart past Elias’s cab and park directly in front of the house. All the officers, about twelve of them, including a person dressed in white boiler suit, go into the house and then, almost immediately, two of them come out and walk towards Elias. Neither of them is smiling. By now, he has tidied himself up, having found a bottle of water and a cloth in his car boot. His hands have steadied a bit more and he is breathing more easily.

One of the approaching officers looks more senior in age, height and rank. He has retreating brown hair with hints of grey. He is the sort of man most women will consider handsome until they have watched James Bond. 'Hi, he says, ‘I'm, inspector Terry Warren and this is Sergeant Wallace. Thanks for quickly alerting the police about this incidence'

Sergeant Wallace, who has a rather youthful, friendly face despite the seriousness of his expression, and is in his late 20s, is already writing something in his notebook.

'First things first: What is your name?' asks Warren, and then he adds quickly, in his posh accent of a TV reporter, 'nothing to be scared of, I must say, just for our records.'

'Elias Armand.' Elias replies, resisting mentioning ‘Dr’, which is his actual title.

'What were you doing around here, Elias?'

'I brought a passenger here this morning-‘

‘What time was this?’ Warren interrupted

‘7:30am...I later discovered that he forgot his briefcase so I brought it here to give it back to him. The front door was open, so after calling at the door with no reply I left the brief case in the hallway and decided to go in and then I saw -' he can feel the bile rising to his mouth again

'Yes, very bad in there' says Sergeant Wallace.

'God, I've never seen anything like it'

'OK', says Warren ‘I will leave you in the capable hands of young Wallace here for now.’ With that, he goes back into the house.

'So, how long have you been a Taxi driver in Dartford' asks Wallace.

'Two years, but what has that got to do with anything?' Elias is often somewhat defensive when he is referred to as 'Taxi driver'. Mainly because of constant jibes by Jane who is deeply unhappy about his choice of profession. He is not just any old Taxi driver. He has a PhD in Mathematics and in his spare time he contributes to an on-line academic forum in Combinatorial Calculus. His works in this area probably have some remote chance of application in genetic sequencing or the prediction of complex patterns in languages. His algorithms will probably never see the light of day, but for him, it is not about recognition but just the sheer fun of doing it. Nevertheless, he has meticulously ‘calculated’ that the job of an ‘Independent Transportation Operative’ -as he prefers to call it - is the optimum profession for him now. It will afford him the right balance of work time, family time, leisure time and income without the usual degrading experience of working in the academic, commercial or civil service sector – something that is beyond the understanding of his wife. At the moment, though, it seems his financial calculations are not working out so well. Jane has been splashing out more; completely oblivious of the growing overdraft and outstanding mortgage payments. And then there is other stuff.

'Just being professionally inquisitive' the young sergeant says apologetically, 'Tell you what, I have no desire to keep you here any longer than necessary...'

‘I'm sorry too for being snappy. Just a tad freaked out about all this…'

'No worries. This passenger you took, have you seen him before today?’

‘No’

‘What did he look like?'

'I didn’t really take much notice of him except that he was wearing a black suit. He didn't say much, apart from the address...he must have been about my height, 6 foot 2...Even when I looked in the rear mirror, and I didn’t see much of his face since he had his head buried in the Daily Standard, doing the crosswords'

'So he didn’t seem to be in a hurry, then? Did he fidget about or anything like that?'

'No. I didn’t see any fidgeting. As I said, I probably wasn't taking enough notice. I had other things in my mind'

'Don't we all' Wallace laughs. Then he closes his notebook and puts it in his back pocket. 'Are you stressed out in your work?' the young chap seems genuine enough, Elias wonders if he will get far as a police officer. 'I can’t imagine that your work can be anything near as stressful as mine' Wallace teases.

'It’s not work', Elias says ‘it’s other stuff. Strange things have been happening around me lately...my little girl, Holly who has Darwin’s - no problem until recently - has suddenly started refusing to stay in her own room, frightened stiff of the place; my wife is acting strangely - totally random mood swings and paranoid, wild accusations. A bit more than the usual women's stuff… Are you married?'

'No, but I'm engaged. Big day coming round in December this year.'

'Well, don't do it. It’s not worth the hassle'

The sergeant laughs. 'I think I will take a rain check on that useful piece of advice, thanks anyway'.

Elias shrugs

'Look' says Wallace, 'I'll need to see what is going on in that house of horrors over there. I will check with the boss whether he still wants to keep you here for further questioning'

Elias rings Jane's mobile for the third time. He is slightly annoyed that it is still switched off. What is the point of owning a very expensive, state of the art, mobile phone - the very latest iPhone 3GS - if you don’t switch it on? He can’t ring home at the moment either, since Jane and Holly have decided this morning to go and spend the week with Jane's mom in Leatherhead.
They will probably be on the train. He wants to tell her about what is happening to him. He could do with some support right now. He wonders how she will react. Chances are she will think he is making it all up.

'Did you say that you left the briefcase in the hallway?' asks Sergeant Wallace, coming back from the house, with a scowl the size of the QE2 Bridge on his face. The inspector is coming out too.

'Of course, I did’

The junior officer hunches his shoulders, spreads out both hands and grimaces in an exaggerated gesture of bafflement. 'Seems it’s gone AWOL, I’m afraid'

‘|Then someone must have taken it', says Elias

‘Probably so’ says the inspector ‘I’m sure everything will soon come to light’ His eyes become hooded and a brief frown plays across his brows. ‘Sorry, Mr. Armand, I think it will be best if you come with us to the station’

'What? Are you saying that I am under arrest?'

'No. Not at all, it’s just routine procedure. We won’t keep you too long'

‘Are you OK to drive your cab?’ asks Wallace.

‘Yes, I can manage’

Wallace goes with Elias in the Cab, joking as he climbs into the front passengers seat 'You're not charging for this, I hope'

Elias does not laugh.

The inspector is in the Police car in front leading them to the Station with lights flashing and siren blaring. The other two police cars remain behind. The men have put up barrier tapes around the house and transformed it from a bleary-eyed, off -the-beaten-track cottage to a veritable crime scene. A small crowd has accumulated on the other side of the road, including two men with press camera and notepads. As they drive away, Elias is wondering if the inspector and his team really know what they are doing. Why are they not making any moves to find the man in the suit? What are they doing about searching the area? Why haven’t they radioed headquarters with the man’s description? Why don’t they have a chopper flying overhead looking for clues? What if the killer is out there in the mist of the crowd? A small spring of anger is gradually welling inside him as he realizes that he will probably lose work for the rest of the day, at this rate. Tired, hungry and all stressed out, he chases the flashing lights down the street. He suddenly remembers something: Today is March 15 - of all days that this should be happening. It is his birthday.
1922 words

Synopsis

Elias the taxi driver is deliberately led by a smartly dressed man to the place where he finds a dead woman who turns out to be his wife. He becomes the No.1 Suspect because he is unable to explain all the strange evidence that seem to be mounting up against him.

Lisa who works as a nursery attendant innocently agrees to look after a little girl without knowing that the girl has been kidnapped. She soon realizes that the smartly dressed man who brought the girl to her has a sinister motive. She finds herself trying unconvincingly to persuade the police that she is not an accessory to murder, among many other accusations.

Damian the locksmith has never had any dealings with the police and he is keen to keep it that way. A smartly dressed man has paid for his services with a fake £50 note which he does not realize until a sales assistant who spots the fakery has decides to do the very thing that Damian wants to avoid at all cost - call the police. When he tries to escape before the police arrive, he finds that his van has been stolen. He is on the run for some time but turns himself in when he reads of a murder in the newspapers. Little does he know that he is far more implicated than he could have ever imagined.

These three people – Elias, Lisa and Damian - are victims of Chris Mead, an obsessed and perverted voyeur, who has targeted them for a specific reason and is interfering with their lives. He posts a daily blog on the internet, read and rated by millions who are unaware of the source of his inspiration.

Chris is favoured by the ignorance and incompetence of the Dartford Police who are anxious to close the cases considering all the ‘obvious’ evidence. So it is up to Elias and others to clear themselves. What Chris has not accounted for is the determination of his victims to track him down and expose him and his evil games.

Chris’s specific reason for targeting these people is that they share the same birthday with him (15 March). Chris Mead is obsessed with Anagrams (his name is the anagram of ‘march ides’ which is 15 March. The names of his three victims – Elias Armand, Lisa Readman and Damian Searl - are anagrams of each other)
400 words