by David Blake
‘With someone who holds such a high office, I’m not taking any chances. We’re going to get a second opinion on the DNA. Then I’ve asked Cooper to see if the other girls who’d accused him of sexual assault are still around. If they’re still prepared to testify against him, only then would I seek the approval of Head Office before bringing him in for questioning.’
‘Makes sense. What about the other aspect? The identity of Claire Judson’s son?’
‘At the moment we’re still drawing a blank on that one, although DS Cooper told me that DC Evans had brought in some possible evidence. We’re still waiting to hear back from forensics on that.’
Assuming he was referring to what Jenny had found back at the church, and had kept hidden from him in the plastic bag, Tanner asked, ‘May I ask what it was that she brought in?’
‘Cooper didn’t say; just that it was a long shot. Anyway, what have the doctors said?’
‘About me?’ he said, remembering that as far as Forrester knew, he was tucked up in bed at Wroxham Medical Centre, and not downing a bottle of some of the strongest beer he’d ever had the opportunity to drink with one of the victims from the investigation. ‘They said I’m fine, and that I just need some more rest.’
‘You sound half asleep as it is. I assume they’ve got you on medication?’
‘Something like that.’
‘OK, well, I’d better let you go. Maybe give me a call tomorrow morning to let me know how you’re doing.’
‘Will do, sir.’
As the call ended, Father Thomas looked over at Tanner. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Just work,’ Tanner answered, with curt dismissiveness, as he wondered how much he’d inadvertently said out loud that maybe he shouldn’t have.
Feeling his head beginning to spin, but in a pleasant way for a change, he retrieved his glass from the table. ‘This is certainly strong stuff!’
‘Stronger than you think.’
‘No kidding!’ agreed Tanner, and was about to take another sip when he thought it might be sensible for him to slow down a little.
As Tanner leaned back against the cockpit’s wooden side, swirling what was left inside the glass around in his hand, Father Thomas leaned forward to place his elbows on the table to say, ‘You know, I’ve spent just about my entire life thinking that it was Martin Isaac who raped and murdered Claire Judson.’
Finding himself struggling to focus on the priest, even though he was sitting directly in front of him, Tanner said, ‘I’m afraid it was indiscreet of me to have had that conversation in your presence. I hope you’ll be able to treat what you heard with a degree of confidence.’
‘What, that the Bishop of Norfolk was the man who attacked and raped my mother, when she was only fifteen years old, before throwing her from the top of St. Andrew’s tower, effectively murdering her in the process?’
Tanner’s heart jumped inside his chest. With his vision blurring and his head spinning in a more sickening manner, desperately hoping that he’d simply misheard the priest, he said, ‘Sorry - what did you say?’
‘And I must admit that I’d been convinced of it,’ continued the priest, as if Tanner hadn’t spoken, ‘especially when Father Richard stepped into my confessional to admit that the Church had told him and Father Michael to provide Martin Isaac with a false alibi, all in an attempt to cover up what they thought he’d done. And when he admitted to me about the letter they’d all sent to the Cardinal, well…’
With it finally dawning on Tanner that not only was the priest sitting opposite him Claire Judson’s son, but was also the serial killer they’d spent all this time searching for, an all-consuming fear began creeping its way into the darkest corners of his mind; even more so when he realised that he’d been drugged, and that he was therefore the next intended target.
Adrenaline surged through Tanner’s veins, accelerating his heart to dangerous levels. Only able to think fight or flight, choosing the latter he threw himself over the table, heading for the canvas opening. But the drugs had done their work. The moment he was on his feet, they gave way underneath him, sending him crashing headfirst into the cabin to land hard against the side of his bed.
Watching with casual amusement, Father Thomas crossed one leg over the other, leaned back against the cockpit’s wooden side, and with his drink in hand, continued the conversation as if Tanner was still sitting across the table from him.
‘But now you’re telling me that it wasn’t Martin Isaac after all; it was his Grace, the Bishop of Norfolk! Now there’s a turn-up for the books. Imagine: my father, a bishop! Who’d have thought it?’
Hearing Tanner mumble and groan as he tried to push himself up, Father Thomas said, ‘Anyway,’ and finished his drink with one swift gulp to place the empty glass back down on the table. Standing up, he stepped over to the cabin doorway.
‘It looks to me like someone’s had a little too much to drink.’
Crouching down, he enjoyed a quiet moment watching Tanner clawing at the bedsheets, trying to haul himself up.
‘Before I leave you to sleep it off, I do have one more tiny little gift for you. Actually, it’s probably more like two.’
With that, he reached inside his coat to carefully remove a hypodermic needle. After removing its protective lid, he flicked at the liquid inside, lifting any air bubbles trapped within.
‘If you think the Ketamine I used in your beer was strong, wait till you feel the effects of this one!’
Pulling down one of Tanner’s socks to expose the skin underneath, he inserted the needle deep into Tanner’s ankle.
‘No doubt you’ll be interested to know that this is called Succinylcholine, or at least I think that’s how it’s pronounced.’
As he began to ease the plunger down, watching the liquid slowly disappear into Tanner’s body, he explained what the drug would do to him.
‘It’s what scientists call a neuromuscular paralytic drug. Basically, it paralyses the nerve endings whilst allowing the brain to function as normal. It has proved to be the perfect tool for my recent endeavours. Not only has it enabled me to torture and kill those involved in the rape and murder of my mother, and in the most painful ways I could think of, but none of them were able to put up too much of a fuss as I did. To be honest, I’m not sure how I’d have coped without it, not on my own. Another benefit, of course, is that it’s remarkably difficult to trace. Someone would have to know what they were looking for in order to find it. Apparently, enzymes in the body start to break down the drug almost immediately, leaving virtually no evidence behind. However, there is one slight drawback. It does have a tendency to affect the muscles used for breathing. So to prevent death from asphyxia, you have to use just the right amount.’
With the liquid gone, Father Thomas removed the needle to say, ‘There, that should do it. Now, all I have to do is fetch a few more items from the car, and I’ll be off to pay a rather belated visit to my father, the Bishop of Norfolk.’
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
TANNER AWOKE FROM some darkly disturbing dream as if he’d been asleep for a week. As his mind fought to separate the real from the imagined, he began to recall what had happened, and what Father Thomas had been saying to him.
Had all that been a dream?
A single blink of his eyes was enough for him to know that it hadn’t.
He was lying face down between the two narrow beds inside his cabin. His arms were tied behind his back and he could feel something secured over his mouth. But what was far worse than either of those were the nauseous fumes of petrol, stinging his eyes and catching at the back of his throat.
He tried twisting round, but he didn’t seem able to. Although he could feel his arms and legs, try as he might, he couldn’t move them; not one inch. They just felt heavy and dead, like useless slabs of meat, lying out on a butcher’s table.
That was when he heard a sound that sent a wave of panic rampaging through his mind. It was the sharp crackle of fire.
He desperately t
ried to look around, to see where it was coming from, but he couldn’t even move his head. He could barely swivel his eyes. But it didn’t matter. He knew what was burning: the coach roof, less than a metre above him.
Is this how I’m going to die? To be burnt alive, like Alan Birch?
As smoke seeped in under the lip of the roof he could feel the heat from the unseen fire, scorching the tender damaged skin of his face.
Got to move! Can’t die here! I’ve got to move!
Doing his best to bring his rising panic under control, he focused his mind on his legs. If he could just bring his knees up towards his chest, he’d be able to turn himself the other way.
He felt a tingling sensation in his toes. They moved! They definitely moved! The same feeling began to creep into his hands.
Whatever it was that the psychotic priest had injected him with was beginning to wear off.
He rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. The smoke was thicker, the air was hotter, but he still had time. He must still have time!
He focused his mind again on his legs, urging his knees up towards his chest.
They twitched, but had they moved?
He forced his head down to look along the length of his body.
They had! His legs were bending. He could even open and close his hands.
He was going to make it. It was going to be close, but he knew then that he was going to make it.
That was when he saw the mud weight; the 10kg lump of solid steel used by Norfolk Broad’s boaters as an anchor. It was nestled against his stomach, a rope looped around both it and his waist. He’d be lucky if he could lift his own body weight, let alone that as well.
As all hope for his survival slipped away, he let his head fall back against the hard wooden floor. Doing his best to remain calm, he closed his eyes and started to pray - as best as he knew how - asking God for the strength and courage to endure what at that point he felt was going to be inevitable.
CHAPTER FIFTY
IT WAS DARK by the time Jenny drove into Ranworth village. She’d been desperately trying to get hold of Tanner on his phone for the last twenty minutes, as had Forrester and Cooper. Neither had they been able to get in touch with the two police constables who were supposed to have been guarding Father Thomas, which wasn’t good; not with what they’d discovered from the evidence Jenny had brought in earlier that day.
With the sound of sirens wailing in the distance, skidding to a halt outside Ranworth Marina, Jenny leapt out of her car and began sprinting towards where Tanner’s boat was supposed to be moored. She’d seen the ominous glow from a fire lighting up the night’s sky as soon as she’d passed the Maltster’s pub, but as bad as her fears were as to what that meant, what she found was far worse. Not only was the top of Tanner’s boat ablaze, it wasn’t on its mooring. Whoever had set fire to it must have untied it as well, as it was steadily drifting out, away from the bank, making slow but steady progress towards the middle of Malthouse Broad.
Reaching the edge of the bank she didn’t stop. Ditching her handbag on the grass verge, she launched herself off the siding, plunging headfirst into the cold dark water below.
As soon as her head broke free, she began ploughing her way over the surface, arm over arm, as fast as she could, heading out towards the burning boat. She’d seen from the car that the cockpit was clear of flames, and as she wasn’t able to spy anyone in there, she had to assume that Tanner was either lying on the floor or, more likely, locked inside the cabin. If she could just reach the boat in time, hopefully she’d be able to drag him off before the fire consumed it in its entirety. It was going to be a long shot, but she had to try.
As she swam up to the hull, she could feel the heat from the fire.
Taking hold of one of the lines that held the nearest fender in place, she first submerged her head under water to give her maximum protection from the flames, before lifting herself up and over the side, to tumble down, first onto the bench seat, then onto the cockpit’s floor.
A quick glance around told her that Tanner wasn’t there, but the cabin doors were firmly closed. He must have been locked inside.
Keeping herself as low to the floor as possible, she spun around until her feet were facing the twin cabin doors. Even lying flat, the heat from the boom burning above was so intense, she could see it evaporating the water from her clothes, right in front of her eyes.
With a surge of adrenaline she kicked at the doors, splintering the lock and flinging them both inwards.
Flipping round, she peered into the blackness beyond.
Seeing a shadowy figure lying curled up on the floor, she lifted her voice above the noise of the fire to call out, ‘John?’
From within the darkness she saw a head turn to face her, its mouth covered by tape.
It was Tanner!
Finding his feet, she took a firm hold of his ankles and said, ‘I’m going to try and pull you out!’
Seeing him nod, she began tugging at his legs, as Tanner did his best to lever himself out using his elbows.
‘Jesus Christ, John! How much do you weigh?’ she asked, before clenching her teeth together and heaving at his legs with all her might.
As he gradually slid out of the cabin, the moment his shoulders were clear of the door, she rolled him onto his back, took hold of the lapels of his jacket and said to his face, ‘I’m going to drag you overboard!’
Hearing that, Tanner’s eyes widened with fear. As he started shaking his head furiously from side to side, he used his chin to point down towards his stomach.
That was when Jenny saw something she instantly recognised. A mud weight, secured around his waist by the rope normally used to fasten it to the bow of the boat.
‘Shit!’ she said.
Then she smelt the petrol.
Fighting against a rising tide of panic, she realised that if she dragged him overboard with the mud weight still attached, she’d be saving him from being burnt alive only to be drowned about a minute later. There was no way she’d be able to swim all the way back to the shore with both him and the mud weight, not when Tanner’s hands were bound as well.
Acutely aware of the fire raging above their heads, she found the knot that secured the mud weight and began tugging at it desperately, but the rope was wet with petrol, and kept slipping through her fingers.
When the sulphurous smell of burning hair caught in her nose, she knew they had a matter of seconds before the petrol ignited and they’d both go up. She had no choice. They had to get off the boat.
Ripping the gaffer tape off Tanner’s mouth, she said, ‘We’re going over the side!’
‘But the weight?’ questioned Tanner, finally able to speak.
With the reflection from the flames above dancing in his eyes, she said, ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to let you go.’
With that, she scrambled onto the bench seat, then up and over the side, dragging Tanner along with her.
Plunging down into the cold murky depths of Malthouse Broad, they disappeared under the surface. But before going over, Jenny had taken hold of the same fender rope she’d used to climb on board, and with her other hand still latched on to the front of Tanner’s jacket, she heaved both herself and him up until their heads burst out through the water.
‘Got ya!’ she said, as Tanner began sucking in great lungfuls of air.
Looking over towards the bank, Jenny could see the flash of emergency lights ricocheting off of distant trees, but whichever service it was, they weren’t there yet.
‘We’ll be safe enough here,’ she said, before turning to look up at the flames above. But the way they were burning, with even more ferocity than they had been before, did little to allay her fears.
Following her gaze, Tanner said, ‘You mean, before the boat begins to sink?’
Jenny stared back towards the shore, trying to judge the distance, and if it would be possible for her to swim back with both Tanner and the mud weight. But deep down she knew she wouldn’t, n
ot with Tanner’s hands still bound behind his back.
Knowing what she was thinking, Tanner asked, ‘Is there any way you can untie me?’
‘Unfortunately, I’ve only got two hands, one of which is holding you; the other the boat.’
‘So, that’s a no then?’
‘Well, it’s not a yes, if that’s what you mean.’
A moment passed, before Tanner said, ‘When the time comes, Jen, and the boat starts to go down, you’re going to have to promise me something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘That you’ll leave me here, and swim back to the shore on your own.’
‘No problem.’
‘Oh, OK. Well…that’s good, I suppose.’
‘Sorry, I should have paused for a moment there, shouldn’t I?’
‘It would have been nice if you’d at least pretended to give it some thought, yes.’
‘Hold on. I think I’ve got an idea.’
With that, she wrapped her legs around his waist to hook her feet together in front of him. With one of her hands now free, she reached down under the water, found the knot that was holding the mud weight in place, and began trying to prise it loose. But if she was unable to untie it with two hands earlier, being able to do so with one was proving impossible.
‘Fuck it!’ she eventually said, beginning to struggle for breath. ‘It’s no use. I can’t untie the damned thing!’
‘Need a hand?’ came a voice from out of the darkness.
Turning their heads, they saw a stocky middle-aged man sitting inside a wooden rowing boat, slipping silently through the water towards them.
‘You could say that,’ said Jenny, beaming a huge smile over the water towards him.
As the boat slid to a halt about ten feet away, the man called out, ‘I can’t get much closer, I’m afraid. Can you swim over?’
‘We can’t, no,’ said Jenny. ‘My friend has a mud weight tied around his waist.’
With a confused look, the man asked, ‘He wasn’t trying anything silly, was he?’
