The DCI Yorke Series 2: Books 4-6 Kindle Edition (DCI Yorke Boxsets)

by Wes Markin

  Yorke was pacing. Think, think, Mike, think …

  Why would Emma have sent that message?

  Think …

  Jesus …

  He steadied himself against the wall.

  She didn’t send that message.

  ‘Mayers has got my friend, sir.’

  ‘Your friend? What are you talking about?’

  After, he’d finished explaining who Gardner was, and that dodgy text message, he prepared himself for both barrels.

  And received them. Twice.

  Then, he said, ‘I know, sir. Throw everything at me later, but right now we have to find Emma.’

  ‘Well we’ve been searching for Mayers based on this location, but we’re no closer. CCTV has thrown nothing up. We’re struggling for witnesses …’

  ‘Emma was in the café, yesterday, just before you. She was on foot. She probably walked. How did she find Mayers? Or how did Mayers know she was there? Wait a minute … of course … this girl, Lyra, she knows something. She must do.’

  ‘She’s a nineteen-year-old girl—’

  ‘He’s probably in her head, like he’s in everyone’s bloody head. She let Mayers know we were on to him, and he took Emma. You need to pull Lyra in now.’

  After ending his phone call to Rosset, Yorke spoke to Patricia.

  Her hand flew to her mouth when he explained the danger Gardner was in.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to go again. I hate to leave you in the middle of all this.’

  She held out his car keys. A tear formed in the corner of his eye. She embraced him.

  In the interview room, Rosset felt sorry for Lyra Cross. She could barely get through a sentence before having to pick up a glass of water with a trembling hand. He’d had to refill it three times already and they were only a couple of questions in. But there was no time for sympathy, not now that Emma Gardner was missing, and potentially, in the company of a monster.

  Yesterday, Lyra had told Rosset that she didn’t know Harris, and he’d smiled and walked away. Today, trusting Yorke’s intuition, Rosset pressed and pressed, almost aggressively. He told her about hypnosis, showed her Harris’ picture repeatedly and explained how the doctor was a very dangerous man.

  Eventually, her eyes widened. ‘I do know him!’

  Rosset felt a rush of adrenaline. ‘How?’

  She thought for a moment and grew pale. ‘This isn’t right … why did I forget? How could I forget? He came in weekly during term time. We had many conversations. What’s he done to me?’

  ‘Manipulated you. Maybe hypnotised you.’

  ‘Yes … I can feel him in my mind … it’s so hard to describe. It’s horrible.’

  Rosset showed her a photograph of Gardner. ‘Do you recognise this police officer?’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, yes. She came in, looking for him, like you did.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘Shit! I think I contacted him. It’s blurry … but I think I did.’ Lyra started to cry. ‘I warned him.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Oh no, I sent her to him! Have I put her in danger?’

  ‘Where did you send her?’

  Lyra closed her eyes and was silent for about a minute. Eventually, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t remember. It’s like I’m watching it on a television screen. I know it’s me, but it seems to happen separate from me. I can see myself hand her paper with the address written on it, but I cannot see the words.’

  Rosset sat back in his chair and held himself back from sighing. ‘How did you feel while you were doing what he wanted you to do?’

  ‘Hard to explain … kind of like I was safe from harm.’

  ‘Why might that be? Are you worried about anyone hurting you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have your parents ever harmed you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘So, what has Dr Mayers, sorry Dr Harris, made you paranoid about?’

  She rubbed tears from her eyes. ‘I don’t know. I only know that he makes me feel safe from it.’

  Rosset continued the interview for some time, but when it became clearer that it was going nowhere, he refilled her water, patted her on the arm and asked her if she was prepared to see a psychologist to try and uncover more. She agreed.

  As he was leaving the interview room, she said, ‘There is one thing.’

  He turned.

  ‘It’s stupid really.’

  He started to walk back to the table.

  ‘There’s a dream I keep having. No … sorry, it makes no sense.’

  ‘Please, Ms Cross, go on.’

  ‘I go into this house.’

  Rosset nodded.

  ‘It’s like I’m drawn to it. The front door is open for me.’

  This is something, Rosset thought. This is really something. ‘And?’

  ‘And the next thing I know I’m sitting in a dark room.’ She paused for a mouthful of water. Her hand was trembling more than ever.

  ‘Then?’

  ‘That’s it. Nothing. I told you it made no sense. I just sit there. In the dark. Alone.’

  ‘How do you feel then?’

  ‘Vulnerable. Paranoid. Like something might happen.’

  ‘Until?’

  ‘Until I wake up.’

  Mayers could have put that experience in her head to create the paranoia, but still, it did not tell them where Mayers was. Unless … did he actually take her there in reality?

  ‘Could you describe the house?’

  ‘Yes … but you could go there if you want.’

  Rosset’s eyes widened. ‘You know where it is?’

  ‘It’s a real house. It’s on Hyde Park Road near the pub.’

  Rosset’s throat went dry and he reached for his glass of water.

  The Conduit relished a difficult patient.

  Most were so badly damaged by their PTSD that they came willingly, but occasionally, there were those, like Detective Emma Gardner, who liked to drag their heels. It made the outcome even more rewarding.

  Despite working on her throughout the night at the expense of any sleep, he wasn’t tired. The adrenaline kept him focused. He was lucky to enjoy his work so much when many did not.

  It’d also been a welcome distraction following an emotional evening in which he’d bid farewell to his finest subject, Alan. The young man was to spend his last twenty-four hours alone. This had been a necessary decision. Alan was experiencing some hesitance in the grand plan because he idolised the Conduit and didn’t wish to leave his side. Twenty-four hours apart should break the reliance and allow Alan to really find his independence. Then, the world would be gifted the most extraordinary New Year it’d ever had.

  So, aided by his drug therapies, hypnosis, and good old-fashioned bullishness, the Conduit had driven Gardner into the heart of her trauma again and again, and changed the narrative.

  Now, the detective sat in the kitchen, her head lowered, a thin line of drool reaching from her bottom lip to the oak table, while he knelt beside his loyal dog and stroked his pitted head for the last time.

  ‘For all of your failings as a human being,’ the Conduit said, ‘You really have been man’s best friend.’

  The dog nuzzled his master’s hand.

  The Conduit looked back up at Gardner, who was starting to stir. The thin line of drool snapped, and her hand closed around the gun that the Conduit had placed there for her.

  As he nuzzled his master’s hand, Topham felt both awe and repulsion; contentment and emptiness; protection and threat. The world had suddenly become a kaleidoscope. An exhausting mix of everything. A storm of emotions.

  He needed his master yet hated him. And despite hating him, loved him too.

  Topham realised that before now, long before now, he was something else, someone else. But the truth was so shrouded by darkness that he just couldn’t reach it. He could also sense pain in the black. A pain so great, so unfathomable, that to journey back int
o that darkness may be the end of him.

  This woman was part of that truth. She’d come from that dark place.

  When he’d first seen her, he’d felt little, but when she touched his face, he’d felt everything. That kaleidoscope, that mix, that storm … but rather than being thrown about by this tumultuous tide of sensation, he was soothed.

  And he realised that not everything in that darkness was bad. That there had been goodness there too.

  Then a name crawled from the void, like the hand of a long dead loved one.

  Emma.

  The Conduit worked some moisturiser into his pet’s neck underneath the metal collar that was chained to the D-ring on the wall. The animal’s skin often became irritated and sore. ‘Goodbye, Mark.’

  The Conduit stood and turned to face the detective. Her eyes were now open, and she had the gun in a two-handed grip.

  It was time. She was ready.

  Using hypnosis, the doctor took her back to the night that she killed someone. Except, the Conduit had significantly altered the memory.

  In this new narrative, the Aztec mythology was no more. Neither were statues and the wheelchair-bound elderly lady. But the crème de la crème of the new version was that the original killer, Terrence Lock, had been replaced by a new foe. A twisted and bitter bent copper, who had spent years in the employee of the Young family, supporting their sinister web of organised crime. This bent copper had been exposed by DI Iain Brookes who had paid for the truth with his life. He lay dead, while his son, Ewan, was being carved up by the copper in some twisted form of revenge.

  DI Mark Topham had certainly not counted on DCI Michael Yorke and DI Emma Gardner interrupting his bloody swansong.

  In the new narrative, Gardner had her gun trained on Topham. She couldn’t allow Ewan Brookes to be diced beyond recognition. So, she had given him two warnings, and when he’d refused to back away, she’d been forced to shoot him dead.

  Now, back in reality, feeling like the ultimate puppeteer, the Conduit started the narrative again, except this time, he moved to one side, so Gardner’s glazed eyes could fall on his dog, who was staring at her from beside the Christmas tree.

  Gardner rose to her feet and pointed the gun at the Conduit’s pet.

  ‘Drop the knife, Mark,’ Gardner said.

  It was the first of the two warnings, and the Conduit almost clapped. The night had been long, she’d been difficult and resistant, but as always, he was the victor.

  Goodbye Mark, he thought and smiled. My loyal and best friend.

  The BMW X5s filed in, and the end of Hyde Park Road quickly felt like a military zone. A firearm had been used in the Rose Hill massacre, so there’d been no opposition when he’d requested Armed Response.

  Many of Rosset’s officers moved to clear the area. The sky was dark, and the snow thick, but that didn’t deter rubberneckers from coming out of their houses to see what was happening to one of their neighbours. This was far from an everyday occurrence on Hyde Park Road.

  Armed officers took up strategic positions, while a pair of their colleagues closed in on the front door of the red-bricked terrace that Lyra Cross had pointed out on Google Earth and said, ‘That’s the house I went into in my dream. I can’t remember what it looks like inside. I just remember sitting in darkness. Suffocating, cold darkness …’

  Rosset watched the armed officers knock and deliver their warnings. When there was no response, they crashed through the door.

  Please, Rosset thought, let this be an end to it all…

  His phone buzzed. He saw that Yorke was calling him. He ignored it, waiting instead for the sound of gunfire, or the protests of an insane doctor as he was dragged kicking and screaming from the house. Finally, one of the armed officers appeared back at the smashed entrance.

  Rosset took a deep breath. Here he comes. Merry Christmas, you murdering prick …

  The second armed officer emerged from the house making the all-clear gesture with both hands.

  Rosset kicked a wheelie bin over.

  ‘Drop the knife, Mark!’ Gardner said.

  Topham understood enough to know he was about to die, but he didn’t feel scared. Light had perforated through the cloud of darkness that had clouded everything that had come before this place, this house, his master… and although, he still couldn’t really see much in the cloud, he felt something. Something he’d not felt for a very long time.

  Friendship.

  This explosive realisation showered him with fragments of experience. Her warm embrace, her warm lips against his forehead, her warm hand clutching his … no one had been there for him like Emma Gardner had. No one.

  ‘For the last time, drop the knife, Mark!’

  Topham smiled. ‘You’re the best of us, Emma.’ A tear ran down his face.

  Gardner saw Topham slicing Ewan’s chest, yet something was wrong. His words didn’t seem to match with his actions, and his voice sounded different somehow …

  ‘You’re the best of us.’

  Again. Topham’s voice was broken, more beast-like than human, but it was definitely him. She tightened her grip on the trigger.

  ‘You’re the best of us.’

  She swayed. She could see him murdering Ewan, but … those words. Those words. They meant something …

  … He’d phoned her. After, he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. After he’d lost control and killed that young man.

  ‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ There’d been no force in his voice. He loved her. He always came to her.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For not listening.’

  ‘Mark, what’s wrong? Where are you?’

  ‘Goodbye, Emma.’

  ‘Don’t you do this, don’t you say this to me, Mark Topham! Where the hell are you?’

  ‘You’re the best of us …’

  He kept repeating it. It became clearer, less coarse, each time. It was as if he was using the words to clear his throat.

  Ewan was gone now. Topham was hunched on the floor, naked, emaciated, and trembling.

  Gardner put the gun down on the table. She got to her feet. She was drugged up, and unsteady, but she was here. Pulled from that nightmare. She steadied herself against the table and looked at Topham. Her friend.

  He was coming back too. His eyes were widening. Realising.

  She stumbled over to him, slipped to her knees and put her arms around him. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Emma.’ His voice remained hoarse, more like a growl. ‘Be careful.’

  And then she remembered who else was here with her, but it was too late. She felt the tightness around her neck and was yanked away.

  ‘Shit,’ Rosset said. ‘Shit!’

  Yorke held back his own frustrations. He was probably less calm than anyone else in this situation, but if experience had taught him one thing these last years, it was that blind panic got you nowhere. ‘You’ve tried.’

  ‘I thought we … Shit, shit!’

  The car speakers vibrated. Yorke reduced the volume down on the dash. ‘Do you think he’s been there?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. It’s just full of dust and covered furniture. The house was repossessed over a year ago, and the house has been vacant and on the market since then. I expected to find him squatting there. Fuck! If he’s been there, we’ll know soon enough. I practically kicked forensics through the door.’

  Yorke looked at his Sat Nav. ‘I’m there in thirty. I’m hanging up now in case she phones.’

  He phoned Gardner’s phone again and left another message. He’d lost count of the amount of times he’d done this, but he still did it again, two minutes later.

  The Conduit had left it rather too long to strike. Stunned that his replacement narrative had failed, and bursting with scientific curiosity over the fact that the both of his subjects were connecting, he’d hesitated in making a move. Eventually, he’d swooped and managed to get the pole of the pruning saw over the detective’s head and against her neck.

&nbs
p; Despite being large and strong, the Conduit tended to avoid situations like this. Deep in the recesses of the mind, there was no one deadlier, but in a physical confrontation he was largely untested.

  However, he seemed to be faring quite well. He’d yanked her tightly against him. Her hands were on the pole, trying to pry it loose, but his grip was solid.

  His dog barked and pounced. There was a clank as the beast was pulled back by his chain, and a thud as he hit the wall.

  The detective continued to pull at the pole, and the Conduit was impressed by her resilience and strength, but the doctor was confident that his hold was unbreakable.

  His dog was back on his feet, bounding around, tugging at the D-Lock on the wall.

  He spoke between gritted teeth. ‘Be still, dog, your time is soon.’

  When the Conduit noticed a drop in the detective’s resistance, he sensed victory. A smile spread across his face; he was going to enjoy these last moments. He opened his mouth to speak―

  He wailed in pain.

  Without him noticing, the slippery bitch had dropped a hand from the pole, reached behind herself and grabbed him by the balls. For the Conduit, everything glowed white.

  He knew she was sharply turning but, trapped in this sudden explosion of pain, he failed to resist turning with her. At least he still had the pole …

  He felt Mark’s arms around his legs. His dog. Then he was falling.

  Gasping for air, Gardner watched Mayers wrap his arms around the Christmas tree to steady himself. It didn’t work. Both him, and the tree, fell backwards towards Topham.

  Topham, who was thin and wiry, scurried to the side as the overweight doctor’s feet left the ground. Gardner, still struggling to catch her breath, dived towards the table to retrieve the gun. When her hand settled on it, she heard an ear-piercing shriek. She looked back.