by Wes Markin
Holden stopped reading. Yorke opened his mouth to speak, but his mind fell momentarily blank. He glanced at Gardner. Judging by her expression, the letter had been just as jarring to her.
‘DCI Yorke?’ Holden said.
‘I’m here.’
‘That’s what she wanted me to read to you.’
Two psychotics in conversation.
‘Are her incoming letters not checked?’ Yorke said.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘So, why did no one realise that Mayers was making contact?’
‘He signed off with a different name.’
‘Really? Isn’t it clear as day that someone not of sound mind is making contact with your prisoner?’
‘We like to refer to them as patients here, not prisoners … we feel it aids the healing process.’
‘You’ve not answered my question.’ Yorke’s car shook as a lorry streaked past.
‘Do you know how many letters Lacey Ray receives?’ Holden said.
‘No.’
‘Hundreds, Detective. Hundreds of letters. She’s famous.’
‘Jesus.’ Yorke looked at Gardner again, who was shaking her head. ‘She’s a killer.’
‘So, was Charles Manson, it didn’t stop him being revered.’
‘Do you read her fan mail?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘She is a woman who takes pleasure out of murdering abusive men. Sadly, this has quite an appeal to many women in this country.’
‘Did the letters from Mayers not stand out then because they were from a male?’
‘No, she has a fair share of male fans too. Some men enjoy the idea of aggressive, dominant females. We are also inundated with visitor requests.’
‘And?’
‘We deny them all, based on the fact that she is in fragile mental health. We cannot control what will be said to her. At least with the letters, I can check them first.’
Not well enough obviously, Yorke thought.
‘Are you keeping a record of all these fans?’
‘Of course. We can share this information with you. They are mainly letters of adoration, and philosophical ramblings, like the one I just read you. If anyone claimed to be about to commit a crime, we would report it immediately.’
Yorke sighed. ‘What else do you know about this situation?’
‘She has given me all the letters from Mayers. Fourteen in total.’
‘I need you to put them to one side for trace evidence.’
‘I will do.’
‘What do they say?’
‘More of the above. He discusses identity, change, rebirth – many such similar themes.’
‘Personal information? Location?’
‘Nothing I could see.’
‘Okay, we need to see them. I’ll have an officer come to collect them in your area. They will bag up the evidence and scan it in for us to look at. Obviously, we need to speak to Lacey Ray – she may have an idea where Mayers is.’
‘She will only speak to you, DCI Yorke.’
Yorke looked at the time. It was almost two, and he was shattered from the four-hour round trip from Leeds to Llandudno. Bristol must have been another three-hour journey, but what choice did he have?
‘Traffic permitting, I’ll be there for around six.’
‘We’ll make the arrangements.’
As Yorke completed his return journey to Leeds, he checked in with Rosset. The Detective Chief Superintendent was starting to sound a lot perkier now. He was obviously getting over being kept in the dark regarding Yorke’s search for Robert, and clearly appreciating the regular updates.
At the hotel, Yorke asked Gardner to stay focused on the University angle.
‘I’ll see how I feel after seeing Lacey,’ Yorke said. ‘If I’m too knackered to drive back, I’ll book into a hotel there.’
Gardner nodded, and got out of the car. ‘I know you don’t, but I really think Mark is still alive.’
‘I hope you’re right, Emma.’ He pointed at the communal glove compartment. ‘Don’t forget your tic tacs.’
Over the last hour, the moans had been persistent and loud.
Alan was no fool. He knew that Saskia needed a hospital. She’d practically taken her face off. If the pain didn’t kill her, infection or sepsis was surely on the cards.
Dr Harris had his eyes closed on the sofa opposite him. It was common for the big man to do this when he was deep in thought. It wasn’t advisable to interrupt him. These were the moments, the only moments, in which the psychiatrist could become snappy. It wasn’t pleasant to see this sudden change in demeanour. Alan wondered how he was managing to endure Saskia’s moan; maybe there was a rhythm to the sound of pain, rather like white noise.
Alan adjusted his seating position on the hard-backed chair in the corner of the lounge. He forced back his own groan as his curved spinal column was forced into a manoeuvre. He reached behind himself to ensure the thick cushion was in the small of the back where his spine curved drastically inward, offering little support for his upper body. The cushion took some of the weight and kept the aches at bay for a short time.
A sudden howl from Mark in the kitchen made him jump and the cushion fell away. Dr Harris’ eyes snapped open.
Alan expected rage. Instead, the doctor rose to his feet, gave him a gentle nod and left the lounge.
He was just replacing the cushion in the small of his back when he heard a louder, more pained howl, which quickly subsided to a whimper. Harris spoke loudly to Mark, but Alan could not tell what was said.
Seconds later, Harris was back in the lounge, holding the two-metre pole with the pruning saw at the end. Its jagged teeth were wet with blood.
‘It’s only an hour since we fed him the leftovers from your gift yesterday.’ Harris pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned the blood from the saw.
Alan could hear Mark crying.
‘It’s getting rather noisy in this house. I can barely think.’ Harris sighed. ‘The trouble is, I worry that if I give Saskia any more morphine it may kill her.’
As Harris thought about it, Saskia’s moaning continued, and Mark’s crying worsened. ‘Back shortly.’ He took his trusty pruning saw with him.
Saskia fell silent. Moments later, so did Mark. Harris must have decided to give him some morphine too.
Harris returned with a small jewellery box, sat down, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. ‘Silence.’ He then patted the sofa next to him. ‘Alan, please come and sit.’
Alan obliged. While keeping his eyes closed, Harris passed the jewellery box over.
‘I’m not one for sentiment, Alan, but when you showed me your mud figurines the other day, it made me realise that trinkets can have a powerful presence in our lives. So, for that enlightenment, my dear boy, I would like to offer you up some of my own memorabilia in return.’
Alan opened the box and looked at the three twisted lumps of metal. He looked up. Harris had opened his eyes and was now staring straight at him. ‘The three that ended me.’
Alan reached into the box and moved the bullets into a line to try and give it some order. The misshapen nature of the metal disgusted him. It reminded him of his own body.
‘You didn’t die,’ Alan said.
‘Not physically, no. Alas, I was destined to keep this hulking, clumsy form.’ He smirked. ‘When my patients came in shooting that day, I felt what anyone else would feel. Mind-numbing fear. The kind that makes you climb under a table and shake with not a single clue of what to do. When they found me, I pleaded with them not to kill me, because that’s what you do, isn’t it? That’s what everyone does.’ His smile grew. ‘If I’d known then, what I know now, I’d have told them to jolly well get on with it! When I opened my eyes in hospital, well …’ he paused and looked away.
‘Well?’
‘Do I need to go on? You’ve experienced it too. After that Chinese businessman raped you and then fell to his death. It’s not just the
sudden change, is it? It’s more a realisation of the change, that you are something more than just meat and matter, and the mind can take you beyond the limits imposed by it. Many people can have these defining moments. But they didn’t know how to realise them, harness them, and then the change destroys them. Eddie? Mark? They just couldn’t accept. They couldn’t realise.’
‘So, you made them realise?’
‘Yes, but with Mark it was too late, and he had to be reduced.’
Harris looked down at his hands. ‘It’s sad that in these times of discovery we have to lose people, but that is how all innovation, and achievement comes about. People will not understand what I am doing until my discoveries are part of the unquestionable fabric of science. Until then, they will seek to stop me. Until then, we must learn and then eradicate any traces that may stop the progress.’
Harris stood and went over to the fireplace. He picked up a box and brought it over to Alan.
‘Another trinket?’ Alan took the box.
Harris shook his head. ‘Tomorrow, we will begin the final part of your journey, Alan. I would like you to familiarise yourself with the contents of this box.’
He opened it.
‘It is time for you to harness the great change you have experienced.’
Alan stroked the pistol inside.
17
‘MOST PEOPLE BEGIN with a pleasantry, DCI Yorke. You could ask after my health or my happiness. You could even remark on how good I look.’
‘That’s not why I’m here, Lacey.’
‘A shame. I really thought you’d appreciate my new hair. Took a while to grow out. I don’t really miss the shaved head. It was rather boyish. And it showed too much of my tattoo. Made me look quite aggressive.’
Yorke couldn’t resist a sardonic grin. ‘A gentle creature such as yourself?’
Lacey returned the smile. ‘How’s Jake?’
‘Let’s stick to why I’m here.’
‘Dr Louis Mayers … yes, he’s quite a card, isn’t he?’
Yorke looked around Dr Stewart Holden’s office. At first Yorke had thought that Holden had been very hospitable by allowing him use of his office at short notice. But, after arriving, Yorke had realised that the good doctor had only offered the room so he could hang around and rubberneck. Yorke had quickly sent him packing, leaving him alone with Lacey and one guard. The guard had also wanted to stay, but Yorke had repeatedly pointed out the unbreakable chains around Lacey’s wrists, until the guard had relented and given them some breathing space.
‘I’ve had a long day. A lot of driving. I know how you love to beat around the bush, but could we please get right down to it? Why is Mayers writing to you?’
‘I’ll forgive your tone of voice. You’re clearly fatigued. But, if you recall, it was me that reached out to you. Some gratitude would be nice.’
Yorke nodded to pacify her. Don’t try to pretend that you asked me here out of the goodness of your heart, Lacey. What do you want?
‘Why is he writing, Lacey?’ he asked again.
‘He admires me.’
‘It seems a lot of people admire you. I’ve heard about the fan mail. It must really feed your narcissism.’
Lacey smiled. ‘Well, it gives me something to do. I try to write back.’
‘But not to Mayers?’
‘You should already be aware that the doctor is not providing an address.’
‘Yet, you claim to be able to help?’
Lacey nodded. ‘I know how to find him.’
‘Please share.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Why the games? Are you trying to protect him?’
‘Don’t be silly. He fits my MO perfectly, doesn’t he? Remember Susie Long, the innocent young girl he brainwashed into killing your officer’s boyfriend? Regardless of what Louis says, what he claims, he’s just another monster. A monster I’d have no hesitation in putting down.’
Yorke nodded down at the chains that looped through the table. ‘Well, as that is not going to happen any time soon, you could just tell me what you do know, and I could bring him down for you.’
‘You know, Michael, you always did talk common sense. So, so different from Jake. Boring, yes, but very sensible.’ She winked. ‘Don’t take offence, but that was why I always did prefer Jake. He’s so fucking edgy! What’s he up to these days?’
‘No offence taken, Lacey, but please refrain from using my first name. So, if I’m talking common sense, why not just tell me what I need to know?’
Lacey tutted, and turned her head from side to side as she spoke. ‘Boring … boring … by-the-book … Detective Chief Inspector Michael Yorke …’
Yorke could feel himself becoming more agitated, but she wanted him to bite, so he forced himself not to. Instead, he looked at his watch. ‘I’m becoming less and less convinced that you can be of any use. If you’ve only asked me here to bait me in some way, I’ll take my chances, and go and study the letters. Try and work out where he is myself.’
‘Don’t be so touchy! You get results, don’t you? Your approach works. The team player. The leader. That’s what Jake respects in you. He wishes he could be just like you rather than the maverick. The impetuous outlaw. On the night he killed Simon Young, I saw that fire in his eyes. He’s a born killer—’
‘You killed Simon Young.’
‘I did, did I? Have you bought into the lie too?’
He looked at his watch again. ‘You have less than a minute to convince me to stay …’
‘I heard he killed again. I also heard he saved your life. How does it feel, Detective, to be indebted to everything you’re not? A bent cop, a fugitive … a killer?’
Yorke stood up to leave.
‘Do you know why Mayers admires me? Because he thinks I’m just like him. I chose that letter that Dr Holden read to you for a reason. He believes that I destroy only to bring forth regeneration. I guess there is some truth to what he says. I pluck out the diseased cells, and the world around it flourishes. It is newer … healthier.’
‘Do you really believe that bullshit?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s what he believes, and he will fail because of those beliefs.’
Yorke put the palms of his hands on the table. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He’ll fail because he believes I have the capability to admire others and that I can be trusted. But you’ll fail, Detective, because you believe that you’ll find him with those letters. He sent eighteen letters in total. Holden has fourteen. I flushed four of the letters down the toilet – the ones that specifically told me where he was.’
Yorke leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Lacey. Help me put an end to this madness. You said yourself that he was a monster. I know you would take some pleasure in seeing him fall.’
‘Yes … I probably would ... But that is not enough.’
‘Do you want me to beg?’
Lacey smiled. ‘Not enough.’
‘What do you want?’
‘One thing. It is non-negotiable. Yes, while you go away and ponder whether you can do what I’m about to ask in good conscience, Louis may strike again. Another care home may fall as a result of his murderous spells, or worse still, a school … but, you see, I do not care, Michael, because there is only one thing left in this world I truly care about. Only one thing.’
‘What?
‘My son Tobias. I just want to see Tobias again.’
Yorke could hardly believe his ears. ‘Tobias Young?’
‘Ray, Detective. Tobias Ray.’
It was snowing heavily, but when Patricia saw his car come into the driveway, she burst out the door, darted across the garden and, with her bare feet freezing in the snow, embraced Yorke.
When they kissed, it felt like they’d been apart for months, rather than days.
Yorke pulled away. ‘Let’s get inside. You’re shivering.’
‘This is the warmest I’ve felt all day. I’ve missed you. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming h
ome?’
‘I didn’t know myself. I was going to spend the night in Bristol. I’ve been driving all bloody day.’
‘Why?’
‘Let’s get in first.’
Inside, Yorke was mobbed by Rosie the dog.
‘Seems very pleased to see me, despite hardly knowing me.’ Yorke knelt and stroked the cockapoo. Her tail wagged and she launched up. The long tongue swept over his face. He stood back up and wiped his face. ‘I’m really not sure about that.’
‘Takes some getting used to, I admit.’
‘So, it’s going to carry on? Bloody hell. How’s the housetraining?’
‘So, so.’ Patricia pointed at the gate at the bottom of the stairs which shut off upstairs. ‘Beatrice’s stairgate has come in handy.’
‘Good, because I’m looking forward to our own bed tonight, and I don’t want any surprises. How are the newly engaged couple?’
‘At the cinema.’
‘Good. Better than touring wedding venues.’ He opened the lounge door. ‘Do you think I’m boring?’
Patricia followed him into the lounge. ‘What makes you ask that?’
‘Ah, nothing really. Do you?’ He turned back to face her. She noticed that he looked quite serious about the question.
‘Well, earlier this year, we had a Russian hitman in our house, so I’d say life with you was anything but boring.’
‘Not really the reassurance I was after.’
After Yorke had been upstairs to kiss Beatrice’s sleeping face, Patricia gave him a pint of Summer Lightning, poured from a bottle.
After several long mouthfuls, he told her everything he’d experienced today, right up to Lacey’s ultimatum.
‘That boy has had enough,’ Patricia said. ‘How old is he now? Seven? I’m not sure he, or his mother for that matter, could cope with that. She abused him. Taught him to kill for pity’s sake.’
‘That’s what I said to her.’
