by Wes Markin
She felt his fist brushing against her cheek, but not landing. She slammed the ice pick into his side.
He groaned and slumped away from her. Blood was oozing from him, but she noted that the ice pick had not gone in as deep as she’d anticipated, probably because of his layers of fat. It had jammed to a halt in his ribs, possibly sparing his organs.
She reached out to extract the weapon and give it another go, but the bastard had sensed his opportunity and jabbed her in the face.
Her head snapped back, hitting the partition and everything flashed. She felt the full weight of him. The partition, which was brittle, came crashing down, and she crumbled with it. When she opened her eyes, she saw the eyes of the man coming towards her out of the dust and then felt strong hands around her neck.
She tried scratching his face and arms, but they must have felt like raindrops to him after being speared with the pick.
As the world around her started to fade, Lacey realised the inevitability of it all.
Living from one glorious moment to another, it could only have been a matter of time. She’d always known, as she’d reflected on earlier, that once she got one wrong, it would end her.
And tonight she had got it wrong. The ice pick had not been enough to finish an excessively fat man.
She smiled as the blackness closed in—
The hands loosened from her neck. His eyes were wide, and he looked confused. He reached up to the flick knife sticking out of his neck and then slumped off her into the rubble of the partition.
Lacey sat up and spent a few moments catching her breath before looking at Tobias. ‘I thought I told you to wait outside.’
Lacey Ray untied the young woman from the metal bed and pulled the gag from her mouth.
The woman started to scream.
Lacey placed a hand to her mouth and stroked her hair with the other hand. ‘It’s over.’
The scream died in the palm of Lacey’s hand.
After Lacey removed her hand, the woman said, ‘Are they all …?’
‘Dead? Yes.’
‘How did they die?’
Lacey paused to consider how to respond. ‘Violently.’
The woman’s eyes widened.
‘Does that bother you?’
It was the woman’s turn to pause and consider how to respond. ‘No … I’m glad.’
‘Thought you’d say that.’
‘They tied me up … they hurt me ...’ She was tearful and the words spluttered as she spoke.
‘I know,’ Lacey said, ‘I saw.’
‘And you didn’t stop them … before?’
‘I stopped them before they killed you.’
The woman took a deep breath.
‘Yes. They were planning to kill you. You’re not the first.’
‘We need to go to the police.’
‘That’s not the answer.’
‘What?’ The woman sat up. She realised she was naked and crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Going to the police will not stop the man who is doing this.’
Tobias came alongside Lacey.
‘Who is this?’
‘This is my son, Tobias.’
‘He must only be five. How could you bring him here? Why would you bring him here?’
‘Good question,’ Lacey said. She thought of the man lying dead in the rubble. ‘But I’m glad I did.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is that this boy’s father is the reason you are here. He is the reason I am here. He hurt someone very special to me, a long while ago. Destroying his businesses, this one included, has only been the beginning.’
‘I want to go home.’
‘And you will do.’ She stroked the woman’s face. ‘What is your name?’
‘Claire.’
‘Well, Claire, I have a place called the Blue Room. It is a place I visit. A place where I can enjoy many wonderful moments before I can make them a reality. A moment like today. I want to assure you of something before I go.’ She leaned in and kissed Claire’s forehead. ‘The man who set all this up, the man who put these monsters in this room, the man who put you on the bed, has already been to my Blue Room.’
‘And what did you do to him?’
‘I killed him. Slowly and painfully. And it was one of the most wonderful things that I have ever felt …’
5
YORKE WAS USUALLY a good judge of character, but even he didn’t know what to make of Robert Bennett.
And when a man was drowning in this much melancholy, as Robert was, it became very difficult to sniff out falsehoods.
After taking DNA samples and submitting for analysis the water bottle they’d found behind the maze, they installed Robert in an interview room. He immediately slumped in his chair, started drumming his fingers on the table and said that he wasn’t bothered about a solicitor anymore. In fact, for over twenty minutes now, he hadn’t seemed that bothered about anything as an exasperated Yorke and Gardner attempted to interview him from the other side of the table.
‘Why are you so miserable?’ Yorke said.
‘Thought I’d told you already,’ Robert said. ‘When you wife leaves you at age seventy, it’s hard to look on the bright side.’
‘Finding the bright side is the least of your worries right now, Mr Bennett. We have evidence linking you to the abduction of a seventeen-year-old boy.’
‘I thought I’d told you that already too. It’s bollocks. Not that I give a shit. Put me in jail for something I didn’t do, and let the real bastard keep on nicking kids.’
Before they’d come into the room, Yorke had read a potted history on Robert. He, like many farmers, had been born into privilege. His mother and father had been church-going poultry farmers, who’d given generously to the local community. Robert had left to marry at an early age, choosing to support his new wife in managing her inherited farm instead. This was one piece of land that wouldn’t be passed down as Robert and his wife had never had children. Not that it mattered. The farm had fallen to ruin anyway.
In his forties, Robert had tried his hand at amateur dramatics, and had worked his way through most of Shakespeare’s back catalogue in various small theatres around Wiltshire. From then, until about five years ago, he’d divided his time between the farm and his own amateur dramatic club for young wannabe actors. It had grown very popular at one point, and he’d earned many plaudits from the local council. There had even been talk of an OBE at one point.
‘What is interesting about this,’ Yorke had said to Gardner before this interview, ‘is that it would have given him a lot of exposure to young men.’
But Robert had never been in trouble with the law and had spent the last thirty years of his life as a model citizen. However, moving through the annals of history, there were many model citizens, who’d turned out to be anything but when the big reveal had finally come.
Beside him, Gardner put a pair of glasses on, and made some notes. Yorke was taken aback; he’d never seen her wear glasses before.
‘Why did she leave you?’ Gardner said.
Robert reached up to scratch a patch on his face. Some dried skin broke away and flickered in the light. ‘The usual. Another man.’
Yorke hoped that this wasn’t usual. He couldn’t begin to imagine how he would feel if Patricia did that to him. ‘Who was it?’
‘Dunno. She left a note. Said he was younger and kinder than me.’ He grinned and exposed his gleaming false teeth.
‘When was this?’ Gardner said.
‘About a week ago.’
‘And since then, you’ve what? Sat at home?’ Yorke said.
‘About the size of it, yes. Did you see the state of the place? I haven’t stepped out of the house.’
‘Not even for food?’
‘Have you not seen the little vans Asda drive around in?’
Yorke hoped Robert interpreted the smile he responded with in the contemptuous way it was intended.
<
br /> ‘We couldn’t find a car on your property,’ Gardner said.
‘Correct. We had a Jag and she took it with her.’
Yorke explained that Bryce Singles had reported seeing Robert in an Audi driving past his tractor outside the Mitchell farm.
‘It wasn’t me. I’ve never owned one.’
He was telling the truth here. Yorke had already had it confirmed.
‘Ever driven one?’ Gardner said.
‘No.’
Yorke made a note. At some point, they would run through every known acquaintance of Robert to see if he could have borrowed the vehicle from someone else.
‘Back to this reclusive lifestyle. How are you feeling, Mr Bennett, keeping yourself all cooped up like that?’ Gardner said, fiddling with her glasses, clearly not used to them yet.
‘Strangely liberated. People piss me off.’
‘Interesting.’ Yorke pointed at a brown paper file on the table. ‘Because looking over this file, I’d say you have a history of being quite a people person?’
‘How so?’
‘Amateur dramatics? A society you ran for youngsters?’
‘Long time ago now. Maybe I’ve just become cantankerous since then.’
No argument there, Yorke thought.
‘But why did you choose to run the society just for youngsters?’ Gardner said.
‘Why not?’ Robert scratched the palm of his hand. ‘Ah … I get it. Rather than simply wanting to help young people realise their skills, and choose Shakespeare over Celebrity Love Island, I set up a talent club to hunt?’
Yorke locked eyes with Robert for a moment. He was then calm with his response. ‘Is that the case, Mr Bennett?’
Robert slumped back in his chair. ‘Maybe it is time for my solicitor …’
‘Why have you changed your mind?’ Gardner said. ‘You didn’t want one before …’
‘You lot are bloody incorrigible. The only thing I want to do is go home.’
‘And stew?’ Gardner said.
‘Yes … and stew. So, where is this photograph of me on a farm that I’ve never been to in my life?’
Yorke opened the folder and slid over the CCTV image from the Mitchell farmyard.
Yorke watched Robert carefully. His eyes widened, and the colour drained from his scaly face.
But, Yorke reminded himself, he is a seasoned actor. ‘Something wrong, Mr Bennett?’
‘This isn’t me.’
‘It certainly, looks like you,’ Gardner said.
‘Yes … it does … but—’
‘Right down to the … what do you call it?’ Yorke looked at his notes. ‘The PVS?’ He reached over and tapped the eczema patches on the face of the man in the photograph.
‘It’s not me. I wasn’t there,’ Robert said and narrowed his eyes.
For the first time today, Yorke thought, you do look bothered.
‘Forgive us, Mr Bennett, but this man is the spitting image of you,’ Gardner said.
‘It’s someone pretending to be me.’
Yorke and Gardner looked at each other and smiled. They were moving in sync now, and they were able to feign incredulity just right. Yorke looked back at Robert. ‘That’s some costume—’
Robert slammed his hand on the table. ‘I’m telling you, right now. It’s not me. I’ve never been to this fucking farm.’
‘I’d like to believe you, Mr Bennett, but without an alibi for this time, and with this CCTV picture …’ He shook his head. ‘Not forgetting an eyewitness who said you hurled abuse out of the window at him. I mean why would we think otherwise?’
‘Look closely. He’s way thinner than me.’ Robert stood up and offered his side profile. ‘He obviously doesn’t drink beer like I do.’
Yorke looked at the photo, but before deciding if he had a point there was a knock at the door.
Jake was gesturing Yorke to come out. He looked agitated.
As he was standing up, he realised that Gardner was the boss now. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked up at him. He barely recognised her with her glasses on.
She shrugged. ‘No, you go.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Outside the room, Jake delivered some good news.
Yorke gripped him by both shoulders. ‘Thank God!’
Jake sighed. ‘However, there is bad news too I’m afraid.’
Sarah Ray gripped her only son’s remaining hand.
Yorke approached Paul from the other side of the hospital bed. ‘How’re you holding up, big guy?’
Paul lifted his freshly bandaged stump in the air. ‘Well, I won’t be able to bat anymore.’ He slipped his remaining hand from his mother’s grasp and held it up, ‘but at least I can still bowl.’
Yorke offered him a sympathetic smile.
‘He won’t get away with this,’ Jake said from alongside Yorke.
‘I got off lightly.’ Paul had tears in his eyes.
Sarah’s hands glowed white as she took Paul’s hand back and held it even more tightly; then, she started to cry. Her son leaned over and hugged her.
Yorke and Jake were already aware of most of the details. After the ambulance had brought him to the hospital over an hour ago, Paul had told local officers nearly everything he’d experienced. They’d been diligent with their note taking. While they were questioning Paul, he’d had his wound cleaned, stitched and bandaged. Tonight, the surgeons would operate on the wound, and tidy it up as best they could.
The situation was tragic. A young man was dead and mutilated in the extreme. An elderly man, who’d referred to himself as Reginald Ray, had been feeding on him. Paul had told the officers that he suspected his hand had been removed for the same purpose. ‘I think he’d given up on trying to convert me, and just decided to have me next.’
The young man had not been identified yet, but Yorke would be very surprised if it wasn’t Samuel Mitchell. They were not currently looking for any other missing young men in the area. This wasn’t 1918, the year that Reginald Ray had embarked on his murderous spree in Wiltshire. And that man was long dead, regardless of what Paul’s abductor had said to him. No, this body belonged to Samuel Mitchell, alright. Confirmation wasn’t long off.
Gardner was already leading a major incident unit up at the crime scene. Yorke had yet to receive an update, but first responders had referred to the scene as ‘the stuff of nightmares.’ Yorke would head up after talking to Paul. He’d need to get a feel for the scene.
A feel for what he was dealing with.
Gardner had made it clear that it was both her and Topham that would deliver the news to Holly and Ryan Mitchell after it was confirmed.
‘We told them that we’d find him,’ she’d said to Yorke before. ‘It’s our responsibility now to give them the outcome.’
‘Is Mark up to it?’ Yorke had said, thinking back to the concerning things he’d been hearing about him of late.
‘He’ll be up to it. This situation is very sobering, don’t you agree?’
Yorke and Jake waited patiently while mother and son embraced. Eventually, Paul turned back around to speak to Yorke. ‘They told me that the man I hurt is going to be fine. Is that true, Mike?’
Yorke nodded. ‘He’s having a couple of stitches in his arm.’
‘I could barely see, and I panicked. I thought it was him again. Come back to …’ His own tears finally came.
Sarah stood up and pulled Paul’s head to her chest. They all stood in silence, allowing Paul this moment.
The postman, who’d come to the door to deliver a parcel, had taken a flesh wound to the arm from a chair leg. Fortunately, he had found it easy to overpower the injured, shocked young man, before any more damage could be done. With Paul pinned to the floor, the postman had contacted the police. He never went into the farmhouse.
Good for him, Yorke thought. There were some scenes not meant for innocent human eyes. This definitely sounded like one of them.
Paul slipped from his mother’s grip and wince
d as he straightened himself up against his pillow. ‘Sorry … my back is in agony. I almost broke it getting out of that chair. Don’t worry. They’ve scanned me. No bleeding.’
‘You did well,’ Yorke said. ‘You were unbelievably brave.’
‘Well, not really. It was just that this time I didn’t have you to come and find me.’
‘You didn’t need me.’
‘I’m such a fucking idiot for burning that place down.’
‘You were angry,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s not your fault. What’s happened to you, everything that’s happened to you, is because of that family.’
Yorke didn’t say anything. He agreed with Paul. Going to the old Ray farmhouse and setting it on fire was idiotic. Paul would struggle to avoid charges when all of this was done. If that was the case, Yorke would have to try and use some influence. This boy had suffered enough already.
‘I know it might not be a good time for you, right now, Paul, but if you could help us over a few questions regarding the man who called himself Reginald Ray – it may put this thing to rest a lot sooner.’
‘Of course.’
‘Describe him to us.’
Paul described him. Yorke didn’t let his expression betray his shock over the fact that the elderly man had eczema all over his face.
When Paul had finished, Yorke looked at Jake. They were both thinking the same thing.
Yorke said, ‘I’m going to show you a photo now, is that okay?’
Paul nodded.
Yorke held out the photograph of Robert Bennett taken earlier at the station.
Paul flinched. ‘Yes. That’s him. That’s Reginald Ray.’
No, it isn’t, Yorke thought, because Reginald Ray was hanged from a tree in 1918 and this man is currently in custody.
Yorke instructed Jake to take some downtime. It was going to be a late one and the crime scene was more than covered. Jake was hesitant at first, but then relented. He had some recent memories of how exhausting murder investigations could be.
‘But go straight home,’ Yorke said, ‘to your wife.’
