Jerry Jackson

Normal people would be tucked up in bed, sleeping off their introduction to 1975. But, bleary-eyed from his night shift, and a seasonal glass too many, Jerry Jackson, found himself weaving unsteadily towards the crime scene. This was bed-and-breakfast land; a corridor of three-storey properties just a stone’s throw from the Norfolk coastline. Today, the array of blue flashing lights that might normally have lined the street was missing. Hardly surprising considering it was January 1st.

‘Morning J.J., Happy New Year.’ The constable on door duty didn’t sound convincing as he shivered in the chill coming off the sea. He sighed deeply and rolled ironic eyes.

Jackson replied with a nod of the head towards the house. ’What’s happened?’

‘You’ll soon see. But a word of warning, you’ll need a strong stomach.’

Forewarned, Jackson recalled some of the grisly murder scenes he’d seen on photographs. This would be his first dead body, but he knew it had to happen one day.

Next to greet him was Ken Mason. The affable Sergeant, with the expansive waistline, left little space in the narrow corridor. Known to everyone as Chunky, he offered up a grin as he held aloft a plastic evidence bag. ‘Just follow your nose, J.J., you can’t miss it.’

Jackson moved further along the corridor and picked up the smell of detergent and something altogether more offensive. He stopped by the stairs leading down to the basement and heard the click and whirr of a camera. Another man made his way up, carrying yet another sack. Something about the way it was being held at arm’s length, suggested the contents were altogether grimmer. Jackson stood to one side to allow the man to pass, but he stopped. ‘You’ll need this.’ He raised his elbow, presenting his lab coat pocket and suggested Jackson take a surgical mask and the contents of a small bottle.

Jackson did as he was bid, first putting a couple of drops on the mask which quickly filled the corridor with the smell of cloves. As he made his way down the stairs he wasn’t sure if it was that or the thought of what was about to come that made his stomach churn.

The gruff tones of the Detective Chief Inspector filled the room. One-time amateur boxer and keen rugby player, DCI Hew Morgan glanced at Jackson as he appeared by the basement door. Morgan was the only one of the six officers who chose not to wear a mask.

The DCI looked back at the scene confronting them. Shoving his meaty fists against his hips he looked around. ’So, what exactly is this meant to be, then? Camelot?’

The cameraman who had been partially blocking Jackson’s view moved to one side, fully exposing the grim tableau. In various stages of decay, several seated corpses were arranged by a round table.

Jackson took an involuntary step backwards, willing himself not to throw up in front of his colleagues. As he did so he bumped into Chunky Mason who had returned to collect more evidence. Chunky gave his young companion a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before getting on with his job.

Responding to the DCI, one of the masked faces pointed out that there were thirteen corpses but only twelve knights of the round table. Another helpfully suggested that the thirteenth might be King Arthur himself.

Morgan was in no mood for dark banter and looked behind him. ‘When I want a bloody history lesson, I’ll ask.’ He took a deep breath and frowned. ‘Right, we first need to link the victims to missing persons and then find out what connects them, if anything.’ He took a moment to study the skull of what was once a woman. ‘Bloody Nora, my aunty Joan had a hat just like that.’ Snapping out of his reverie he looked up and stabbed a finger in Jackson’s direction. ‘You, new boy, what’s your name again?’

‘Jackson, sir.’

‘That’s it. Right, you get some uniforms organised and go door-knocking. I want to know who knows what about this place. Shouldn’t be too hard judging by the number of curtain-twitchers. But here’s the thing.’ He turned to raise a warning finger to those in the room. ’So far as everyone and I mean everyone is concerned, we’re looking into an unexplained death - and that’s it. If the press gets wind of a pile of corpses sitting around a table it’ll be a bloody nightmare. We’ll have every nutter on the planet phoning up confessing they did it or telling us this lot are aliens from another galaxy.’ With that Morgan looked down at the floor and clapped his hands, a signal that the impromptu briefing was at an end.

Jackson was nearest the stairs and therefore the first to emerge onto the landing. He pulled off his mask and headed for the door which mercifully was wide open. Staggering outside he leaned forwards and pressed his hands against his knees. It was touch and go as to whether he would vomit. At the very moment he thought he might, a big hand squeezed his shoulder.

‘Best stand up, J.J. Can’t have the neighbours seeing the force’s finest puking in the gutter.’ Chunky Mason’s hand slid down to Jackson’s elbow and began guiding him towards the Rover parked nearby.

Jackson slumped into the passenger seat and pressed a tremulous hand against his temple. He heard the driver’s door open and felt the suspension give way beneath the weight of his Sergeant.

‘Most coppers will never come remotely close to seeing what we saw today,’ Chunky commented.

Jackson dragged his hand down his face and sat up. At just twenty-four years of age, he still looked remarkably boyish. The effect seemed to bring out the big brother in some of his colleagues, most notably Chunky. He’d even noticed some of the women PC’s brought him a mug of tea when others went without. Having been brought up to mind his manners, he couldn’t bring himself to ask them to stop for fear of causing offence.

‘I suppose I’d better round up some of the lads and start the door-to-door,’ groaned Jackson, sighing heavily.

‘Not today you won’t,’ Chunky said emphatically. ‘You’ll get no thanks on New Year’s Day and anyway, half the constabulary will either be asleep, or pissed or both.’

Jackson frowned, uneasy at the conflict he felt developing inside him. ‘But the gov just said . .’

’I know what the gov said, but what I’m saying is that you won’t get far. Half the street is probably away, staying with some relative or other. By tomorrow, they’ll start to trickle back. The gov will want an update in a couple of days, so you’ve got time.’

‘What should I do then?’

‘You’ve just pulled a night shift. Go home, sleep off the New Year booze you didn’t drink on duty and start afresh. Those corpses aren’t going anywhere.’

‘They stank,’ Jackson said, rubbing his nose.

‘One was still a bit ripe, that’s for sure. Probably didn’t help when we opened the door and let the air in.’

Jackson shook his head. ‘That smell. I’ve never come across anything like it. It was like concentrated garbage, rotten cheese and acid. Even with that mask on it went straight to the back of my throat.’

Chunky landed a playful punch on Jackson’s knee. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you don’t come around my place for dinner then.’

Jackson managed a tight smile. ‘Even you couldn’t produce a stench like that.’

The engine sparked into life. Chunky put the car into gear and released the handbrake. ‘Remind me to introduce you to my outdoor loo one of these days.’