Free Tick Tick Tick by G. M. Clark

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CHAPTER 7
     
    Slipping up the stairwell, we kiss on the way up, on each and every step. I can’t keep my hands off her and she just laughs. I have one hand down the front of her dress feeling a pert but full breast as she manages to open the door. The rest of my sinful suggestions are soon thwarted when Connie nearly steps on an envelope marked ‘Raymond Brick’, that I instantly recognise.
    ‘Stop.’ She freezes like I’ve pulled a gun on her. I manoeuvre around her, pulling out some latex gloves – a good copper always has them in a pocket – and snap them on. I carefully pick up the letter and carry it to my desk. She lays a clean white piece of paper down and I reach for a letter opener and slice through. I discard the envelope and it falls onto the paper. I’m not sure I want to open it while Connie is here, but what the hell, she’s used to worse. I tease the sheet open, already guessing at what’s going to be inside. I’m right.
    To Whom It May Concern: perhaps Raymond Brick.
     
    I can take you to places you’ve never been
    And show you sights you’ve never seen
    I can bring you the world, a sight to behold
    I can conquer the lands, with your stories untold
    I can travel afar, and for a while keep you there
    And yet, I’ve simply never been anywhere.
    What am I?
     
    Your nemesis.
     
    Connie quickly scribbles it down in her notepad where she’s been working on the first riddle with little success. I drop the letter into one bag and the envelope and sheet of paper in another. The two of us just stare at each other, both having the same thoughts. Was this really the killer? And if so, what the hell was he doing delivering letters under my front door? And how did the son of a bitch know where I live?
    Sure, it was obvious from the news channels that I’m leading both of the cases, but I’m not in charge, Grimes is. So why aren’t the letters being delivered to him?
    I pick up the phone and call forensics; they tell me someone will be out in the next half an hour to pick it up. No doubt this will be forwarded to the GCHQ as well. Perhaps this time they’ll take some notice, get off their fat lazy arses and try and help. Yeah… some chance.
     
    We stay up all night trying to solve the riddles; Connie has an inkling of an idea for the second one. Could it be a dream? And if so, what is its relevance? A living nightmare at large? We still can’t come up with any sort of answer for the first one.
    ‘Do you think these are from the killer?’ I ask.
    ‘Probably.’
    The theory of two killers is fast receding from my mind.
    ‘Why send clues that no one can answer?’ I stare at the riddle, willing it to reveal itself to me.
    ‘To see how clever you are, or perhaps to create some sort of control over you?’ she replies.
    ‘Couldn’t it just be a sick bastard trying to wind me up?’
    ‘Like who, for example?’ Her eyes lift in sarcasm, her hand tossing back a stray tendril.
    ‘How about a rapist recently released that I’d put away, or take any of the pillocks that I’ve had the pleasure of sending to prison that are now back out roaming the streets?’
    I can almost see the cogs turning over in her mind as she thinks about it.
    ‘Nope,’ was all she said. Why is it when you want a woman to talk they don’t?
    ‘Would you care to elaborate on that for me?’ I try to keep my tone level.
    ‘If it was an offender of any kind back out on the streets and he bore you a grudge, why would he go to the trouble of giving you clues? If he was that pissed off at you, surely he’d just try to kill you?’ Now isn’t that a nice sobering thought? ‘Also, how many really smart criminals have you put away? To try to take you on, they must know that the letters would be sent to the GCHQ for analysis. No… I think these are from your killer.’ She moves into the kitchen and opens another bottle of Chardonnay, the cold amber liquid dribbling into her glass.
    ‘So, if it’s from the