Song Of The Psychopath

by Mark Tilbury

  Tommy stared into the cold dark eyes of The Master.

  ‘You could’ve saved yourself a whole lot of trouble if you’d simply carried out your assignment with Mr Clancy.’

  Tommy tried to speak, but his mouth refused to work.

  ‘Whatever were you thinking of, jumping out of the car? You could’ve done yourself a serious injury.’

  Those expressionless eyes seemed to be daring him to speak.

  ‘Have you any idea how irresponsible you’ve been?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Thanks to your reckless behaviour, two innocent people are dead. Have you anything to say for yourself?’

  Tommy didn’t.

  ‘Not that Dave Hemmings is going to be missed by anyone, but I’m sure Dr Marks has people who’ll miss him. Stand at his graveside and weep. Wonder why he was killed in such a senseless and unprovoked attack. But that’s for you and the good Lord to sort out. For what it’s worth, your place at God’s table is looking rather shaky right now.’

  Tommy’s mind grappled with reality. ‘Where’s… Dean? What have you done with him?’

  ‘Don’t worry about him, Number Nine; he’s no longer with us. Let’s just say he’s fulfilled his role in life and is now neither use nor ornament as my good mother used to say.’

  Tommy’s bladder threatened to burst. ‘Is he dead?’

  The Master grinned. ‘Depends what you mean by dead. If you mean deceased like Hemmings and Dr Marks, the answer’s no. But if you mean dead, as in no longer a part of this green and pleasant land, then yes, I’m afraid he is.’

  Tommy’s mind threatened to spin out of control. This was like being part of a horror story, only the characters weren’t a product of the writer’s imagination. ‘You… bastard.’

  The Master shook his head as if tolerating a petulant child. ‘For your information, Number Nine, my parents were married at St Leonard’s Church three months before I was born.’

  Tommy considered spitting in the bastard’s face. But, as with most things, fear of consequences prevented him from doing so. His wrist and ribs were aching again; a reminder of what spending time in the company of these lunatics could do.

  ‘But I am orphaned. My parents sadly died in a boating accident on my twenty-first birthday. I suppose you could say I literally got the keys to the house.’

  Tommy didn’t need a confession to know the slimy twat had probably murdered his parents. It was written all over his vile, grinning chops.

  ‘What saddens me the most, Number Nine, is my dear mother didn’t live to see the best of me. I have to admit to being petulant and impulsive when I was young, and it’s probably fair to say I was difficult to deal with. She did her best, God love her, and I still miss her to this day. Unlike Father, who was all blood and bluster. It was always his way or the highway. Didn’t give a damn who he trampled on to get to where he was going.’

  Tommy tried to block him out. Take his mind somewhere else. But it was as if The Master’s words seeped into his brain and paralysed his thoughts.

  ‘Can’t say I miss my father. If I’m honest, it was a blessed relief when I learned of his death. The only thing worth celebrating on my twenty-first birthday.’

  ‘Please… just kill me. Get it over with.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Number Nine, but there’re a few things to do first. Not to mention several people who want to come and say hello before you depart.’

  Tommy’s heart quickened. ‘Like who?’

  ‘Bella for one. Don’t tell her I told you, but she was really upset when you went AWOL. Between you and me, I reckon she has a secret crush on you.’

  Tommy’s stomach convulsed. He retched. Bile scorched the back of his throat.

  ‘Don’t get too excited, though. You know what they say about a woman scorned.’

  Tears blurred Tommy’s vision. He wanted to roll onto his side, but the chains prevented him from shifting position.

  ‘Not to mention Sir Bernard. He was extremely miffed you didn’t keep your appointment with him. If fact, to put it bluntly, he went on the warpath. Threatened all sorts of inconceivable nonsense. Bloody politicians think they rule the world. But they don’t, Number Nine; they’re all glove puppets for the hidden hand.’

  Tommy didn’t have a clue what the tosser was babbling on about.

  ‘So, you see, you’ve caused me an immeasurable amount of stress. And money. And my driver. What do you consider fair recompense for all that?’

  Tommy no longer cared. He wanted to die. Quickly. A bullet through the head. Anything but what was waiting in store for him. He should’ve jumped from the building at Lassiter’s while he had the chance. Not listened to Danielle. Not listened to anyone.

  ‘Are you aware of the term, death by a thousand cuts, Number Nine? It requires the guilty to be hoisted up in a large net and have his flesh sliced off through the holes. How does that sound?’

  Tommy stared at the ceiling. Dark spots swirled before his eyes like bacteria beneath a microscope. The room swam in and out of focus.

  ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer to be crucified? Upside down, of course. Sir Bernard would certainly enjoy the religious aspect of that. I find it ironic he claims to be a Christian but spends most of his time engaged in activity that would make the Devil’s horns wilt. He once told me he gets aroused by the thought of war?’

  Thunder rolled across Tommy’s head, drowning out The Master’s words. Blood trickled from his nose.

  ‘They’re all a bunch of hypocrites. I’ve had clients from all walks of life. Judges, policemen, politicians. All swearing allegiance to the rule of law and breaking every single one of them. But here’s the thing, Number Nine. I’ve got all of them on film. Cameras in every room.’

  The bed rocked. Or was it Tommy’s body? It was impossible to tell what was real anymore.

  ‘I personally favour burning you on the bonfire,’ The Master continued. ‘It would be a splendid way to mark November fifth. Invite a few close friends for soup and fireworks. What do you think? You might be as famous as Guy Fawkes one day. A true martyr. One who should be applauded for attempting to blow that shower of hypocrites to smithereens.’

  Tommy closed his eyes. Prayed this was the end. His head would finally be of some use and explode.

  ‘Every single person who’s died in my care has done so because of their own stupidity. Hemmings tried to steal from me. How’s that for gratitude? I provide him with a home and gainful employment, and that’s how he repays me. I’ll tell you this for nothing but the price of an ear: I’ll certainly choose more carefully in the future.’

  Tommy drifted into unconsciousness. Dark and comforting.

  ‘And Number Four was a problem from day one. Little runt puked up everything he ate. Refused even the most basic of requests. Had the backbone of a worm. But you take first prize, Number Nine. You deliberately set out to sabotage my business. Threatened the livelihoods of my staff and clients alike with your reckless actions. And for that you must pay. But first, it’s only fair to let Bella spend some time with you.’

  Tommy didn’t hear him. For once, his injured brain spared him from any further trauma.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Seven-twenty on Sunday morning found DS Baker in the Scarlett’s lounge. ‘So, when did Tommy leave the house?’

  Danielle’s hair hung in loose, knotted strands. She’d had no sleep, and it was the first time she’d sat since getting up at five. ‘Dean picked him up around midday.’

  ‘Dean?’

  ‘My boyfriend.’

  ‘What’s his surname?’

  ‘Bowen.’

  ‘Have you been seeing him for long?’

  Danielle shook her head. ‘A few weeks.’

  ‘If you give me Mr Bowen’s address, I’ll get an officer over there to check things out.’

  Danielle gave him the address. ‘Something terrible’s happened. Dean wouldn’t go off like that and not tell me. Especially after what’s happened to Tommy.’

&nb
sp; Baker wrote in his notebook. ‘Did you hear from either of them after they left?’

  ‘No. But I was at work all day, and we’re not allowed to have our phones with us on the till. I tried to call Dean, but his phone was dead.’

  ‘What about Tommy?’

  ‘He hasn’t got a phone.’

  Baker made a note. ‘Have you got a photo of Mr Bowen?’

  ‘I’ve got a couple on my phone.’

  ‘I’d be grateful if you could send them to me. My number’s 07845744563.’

  Danielle grabbed her phone off the dining table and did as the detective had requested.

  ‘We drove to Dean’s flat last night to look for him,’ Rachel said. ‘But an old man reckoned he saw Tommy and Dean leaving the flat and getting into Dean’s car sometime in the afternoon. He also reckoned Tommy seemed unsteady on his feet.’

  Danielle had never needed a cigarette so badly. She chewed her nails to give her mouth something to do. ‘Apparently, one of the neighbours looked through Dean’s letterbox and said the place seemed as if it had been cleared out.’

  ‘Which neighbour?’

  ‘She lives opposite him.’

  ‘Okay. What about the old guy?’

  Danielle shrugged. ‘He came out as I was trying to get in. But it’s only a small block of flats, so he shouldn’t be too hard to find.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I think the bastard who kidnapped Tommy the first time round has got them,’ Danielle said. ‘I mean, why else would they vanish off the face of the earth?’

  Baker didn’t answer for a moment. He pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and dabbed his nose. Sniffed. ‘I can fully understand your apprehension, Danielle, but it’s far too early to jump to conclusions. If the neighbour saw them getting into Dean’s car, it’s possible they might’ve gone somewhere and broken down.’

  ‘What if they’ve had an accident?’ Charlie said.

  ‘Thanks, Dad. Now I feel so much better.’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling, but we’ve got to be realistic. It doesn’t necessarily mean anyone’s been badly hurt, does it?’

  ‘We’ll check around the local hospitals,’ Baker said. ‘See if Tommy’s been admitted.’

  ‘First Tommy goes missing for a year,’ Rachel said. ‘Then Dr Marks gets murdered. Now this happens. It’s as if this whole family’s been cursed.’

  Baker closed his notebook. ‘Rest assured, we’ll do all in our power to find Tommy.’

  Just like you did the last time, Danielle thought. And look where that’s got us!

  ‘How did Tommy seem yesterday before he went out?’ Baker asked. ‘What sort of mood was he in?’

  ‘More positive than he’s been in a long time,’ Rachel said. ‘Obviously nowhere near back to normal, but a lot less withdrawn.’

  ‘Is there anyone he might have gone to see? A friend? A relative?’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘That’s not likely when he doesn’t remember anyone, is it?’

  ‘What about Mr Bowen? Does he have friends or family close by?’

  ‘He didn’t talk much about his personal life,’ Danielle said. ‘He told me he had a pretty shitty childhood, so I don’t think he has much to do with them.’

  Baker nodded. ‘How old is Mr Bowen?’

  ‘Twenty-one. Why?’

  ‘No reason. Does he work?’

  ‘He’s got his own cleaning company.’

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘Done and Dusted.’

  ‘Is it a proper company, or something he just does on the side?’

  Danielle couldn’t see the relevance of the question. ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘I’m simply trying to get as much information as possible.’

  ‘As far as I know, it’s a real company,’ Danielle said. ‘Oh, I almost forgot, the flat in Chorley’s his temporary residence. He’s staying there while his own place is being decorated.’

  ‘Do you have his permanent address?’

  ‘No. I’ve only ever been to the flat.’

  Baker opened his notebook again. ‘What sort of car does Mr Bowen drive?’

  ‘A Ford Escort. But it’s one the garage lent him while his is being repaired.’

  ‘What colour is it?’

  ‘Yellow.’

  ‘Do you know the registration number?’

  Danielle thought for a while. ‘I know it’s got AX in it, because I remember thinking it should be chopped up with one.’

  ‘It’s in bad repair, then?’

  ‘Bloody thing looks as if it should’ve gone to the scrapyard a long time ago,’ Rachel said. ‘Surely the garage would’ve lent him something roadworthy.’

  ‘Any idea which garage lent it to him?’

  Danielle thought it was a toss-up between her lungs and her brain which would die first. The former from lack of oxygen, the latter from lack of smoke. ‘No idea. And I really can’t see what this has got to do with anything.’

  Baker nodded. ‘I know a lot of questions seem pointless, Danielle, but it’s our job to leave no stone unturned. Even the most tenuous links can sometimes lead us to answers.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Baker turned to Rachel. ‘What was Tommy wearing when he left?’

  ‘Jeans, trainers, and a black jumper.’

  ‘Have you an up-to-date picture of him?’

  ‘Only the one on the mantelpiece. It was taken just over a year back.’

  Baker smiled. ‘That’ll be fine. May I take it with me?’

  Rachel stood and took the photo out of the frame. Handed it to the detective. ‘He hated having his picture taken.’

  Baker smiled. ‘Most people do.’ He studied the photo. ‘Does he ever wear glasses?’

  Rachel shook her head.

  ‘Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?’

  ‘Not that I—’

  ‘In case you’ve forgotten,’ Danielle snapped, ‘he’s got a load of scars and bite marks all over his back.’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of visible with his clothes on,’ Baker said.

  ‘There’s a small mole near his right eye,’ Charlie said. ‘He used to call it his beauty spot.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. What about medication?’

  Danielle stood. ‘He’s taking Buspirone.’

  ‘Any adverse side-effects?’

  ‘Not really,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s in such a confused state of mind half the time, it’s hard to tell whether it’s because of the head injury or the pills.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Danielle’s nerves were stretched to breaking point. ‘D’you know what it’s like to wake up in hospital with your whole life missing, Detective? Have to start again from scratch. Suffer every single day from debilitating headaches. Wet the bed. Drool. Not even recognise your own family. Then find out the only person getting anywhere near to helping you has been murdered?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I can only imagine how unbearable your brother’s life’s been.’

  Danielle took a deep breath and sighed. ‘It’s all right. I’m just really stressed.’

  Baker closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. ‘Understandably so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get going and get the wheels put in motion. Either myself or a colleague will be in touch later to give you an update.’

  Charlie stood. Held out a hand. ‘Thank you, Detective.’

  ‘Not at all.’ He took out a card and handed it to Charlie. ‘My personal number’s on there. Any questions, anything you remember that might be relevant, give me a call.’

  Charlie nodded. ‘Just find my son, Detective. That’s all I ask.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ Baker promised.

  Charlie showed Baker out. Returned to the lounge. ‘I should be doing something. I can’t just sit around waiting for news.’

  ‘Then go out in the car and look for them,’ Rachel suggested. ‘See if you can find the Escort along the back roads leading out of Chorley.�
��

  Charlie nodded. ‘Good idea.’

  After he’d left, Rachel said, ‘Why don’t you go and have a rest, love? It’ll do you the world of good.’

  ‘How about a nice cup of tea, too? The good old English cure for everything.’

  ‘No need to be—’

  ‘How the hell am I supposed to sleep, Mum? My brother’s missing. My boyfriend’s missing.’

  ‘I’m only trying to help.’

  ‘The only thing that’s gonna help is finding them both safe and well. I’m going out for some fresh air.’

  Rachel sighed. ‘Why do smokers always say that? It’s a contradiction in terms.’

  ‘I don’t care. It’s the only thing keeping me sane at the moment.’ She flounced from the room and slammed the conservatory door behind her.

  She lit up and inhaled deeply. Pleaded with God to bring Tommy and Dean home. Promised Him she’d quit smoking and swearing if they were both all right. Even go to church with her mother on Sundays.

  Not much of a deal, but it was all she had

  .

  Chapter Forty

  Tommy lay naked on the bed, shivering. He begged his useless body to shut down and allow him to die. Pulsating pain constantly demanded his attention. Screamed at him to free his throbbing wrists from the restraints and relieve the invisible weight bearing down on his chest. God, even his fucking bones hurt.

  The door opened. Footsteps clomped down the steps. Tommy strained to see who it was but could barely make out anything more than a few feet away. The basement was a series of vague shapes and shadows.

  The footsteps drew closer. Stopped a few yards to Tommy’s left.

  ‘Hello, Tommy. How you bearing up?’

  At first, he thought he was dreaming. Had to be. But there was no mistaking Dean’s voice. The dead, even tone. The way he raised the pitch of his voice at the end of each sentence.

  ‘Dean?’

  ‘Guilty as charged.’

  Tommy bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Prove to himself he was actually awake. ‘Are you all right?’

  Dean laughed. ‘Never been better. You?’

  No. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t possible. There was no way on earth Dean would sound so relaxed. Indifferent. He’d be terrified. Frantic. Lost.