Phobia

by Dean Crawford

  Honor frowned. ‘Is that what the council workers call themselves?’

  Paul shook his head.

  ‘No, believe it or not, there are people who like getting into the sewers and taking a good look around.’

  ‘You’re shitting me,’ Danny said, grinning as he nudged Samir.

  ‘They’re real,’ Paul replied, apparently missing the pun. ‘We catch them now and again exploring down there, mostly history buffs and such like. I can’t imagine why they’d do it for free, it’s bad enough when you’re being paid. They even have forums to chat and share photographs of what they find down there.’

  Honor turned to Samir.

  ‘We can use that,’ she said. ‘Make a note to cross–reference the IP’s of users of Face Fear and the drainer’s forums. If we get a match, it could be our guy.’

  The team stared at the map for a moment, at the vast extant of the sewers, and then DCI Mitchell looked up at the rain–soaked windows and the city beyond, sheets of rain falling in diaphanous veils from a heavily bruised sky.

  ‘How long does she have?’ he asked.

  ‘A few hours at most,’ Paul answered without hesitation. ‘I can’t tell how close the water is to covering her, so it’s hard to be precise, but those sewers were designed for the London population of 1860, not today. Heavy rainfall over a short period of time can easily overwhelm the system, when the rainwater joins mixed sewers and backs up behind the treatment works or just overflows the sewers themselves. She won’t make it much past last light, and there’s no way Hamlets will send any of us down there with the flooding risk so high – one mistake and trust me, there’s no way out.’

  DCI Mitchell glanced at his watch, then turned to the team assembled before him. ‘I want every MET patrol officer and vehicle informed and on the lookout for

  anything suspicious around drains and manhole covers in the city,’ he said. ‘Get in touch with the Marine Policing Unit and organise a dive team to be prepared to get in there if Jayden’s location can be identified before last light. And get more people onto security cameras that cover areas where we have known access points to the sewers – maybe we can catch this guy in the act of putting Jayden down there and start back– tracking his position to where he lives in the city.’

  The officers rapidly dispersed to their duties as Honor turned to stare at the footage of Jayden, still manacled to the walls of the sewer, her body drenched and shivering in the cold as water cascaded down upon her.

  ‘Jesus,’ DI Harper uttered. ‘What the hell is this guy thinking?’

  Watching Jayden’s suffering was difficult in itself, here in a warm and safe place. It was human nature, to struggle to watch others in danger, suffering. To enjoy such a spectacle invoked natural thoughts of psychopathy, the actions of a sociopath devoid of such emotions as empathy and sympathy. And yet, this was something more. This was something that he enjoyed doing, an experience that he sought, that he wanted.

  ‘The moment of death,’ she murmured, more to herself than anybody else. ‘He doesn’t kill any of his victims quickly, he wants to allow himself time to get away and settle somewhere else to watch the victim’s death play out.’

  Harper raised an eyebrow. ‘You think he’s sitting somewhere with a beer and some popcorn, taking it this in?’

  Honor couldn’t be sure but she found herself nodding, as though her instincts were compelling her to obey.

  ‘Something like that,’ she said. ‘This is the first time he’s broadcast something, but it may not be the first time that he’s watched somebody die like this.’

  ‘The camera in the coffin,’ Harper replied, then turned her head and called across to Danny Green. ‘We get anywhere with the coffin camera?’

  Danny shook his head, a phone to his ear as he covered the receiver with his free hand. ‘Generic, along with the phone it was attached to. Can’t be traced to a purchase order but I’m backtracking the serial number to try to link it to a supplier. The coffin’s no use to us either as it was hand–made from rough timber, just thrown together.’

  Harper shook her head. ‘He’s got to have left a trail somewhere, keep at him. What about Jayden’s flat, her friends, the last people to see her alive?’

  ‘Jason Sharp was interviewed and alibied out, says he left Jayden at the front of her apartment block and went home. Jayden’s friends are on the record as having tried to visit her later that night, but she didn’t answer her door. They thought she was asleep, and as Jason had said he got her home safely, they weren’t too worried. We’re getting CCTV coverage from the apartment block to review to confirm their story, but it checks out so far.’

  Harper bit her lip. She was feeling the pressure, Honor could tell – it was like they were up against a ghost.

  ‘Keep at him,’ was all that she could say.

  Honor nodded, and then something struck her about the victims. ‘How old did you say Jayden was?’

  ‘Thirty–two,’ Samir replied to her.

  Honor stared into space for a moment as her brain processed what she’d heard. ‘Thirty–two,’ she said. ‘The victims are all thirty–two years old.’

  17

  The roar of the water drowned out Jayden’s muffled screams as she watched countless rats swarming through the sewer, glistening eyes and thick, matted fur rushing past like a river of their own.

  The interceptor pipe opposite was blasting jets of water into the chamber, a fine mist filling the air with a foul–smelling haze. The rainwater tumbling down onto her head was blissfully clean compared to the filthy deluge churning around her waist, a thick flotsam of scum clinging to her blouse as it slid past.

  The rats scurried across narrow ledges around the circumference of the chamber, seeking any means of escape from the water. Jayden gyrated as they reached her, shaking them off until they were carried away by the flood. Her stomach twisted with anxiety as she saw them dragged below the surface of the foul mess into the exit sewer. She turned her eyes up to the faint patch of light she could see far above her, the slotted manhole–cover just visible. The sky was rapidly darkening, and she could see other, faint patterns of light drifting past. To her delight she realised that they were the glow from passing car headlights, life carrying on as normal just a few metres above her head.

  Her feet slipped on the brickwork, the force of the flowing water now pulling sideways at her and causing her to lose her balance. She tried to keep her head up, pulling on her left arm to fight against the powerful flow of the fetid sludge now tugging her to the right, arms and wrists aching as she fought for grip on the slimy bricks.

  The gag was still tight around her head, pulling her lips back in a fearful rictus as she chewed at the edges of it, trying to bite through the fabric. Her jaw ached but she could feel it starting to fray as she ground her teeth.

  Rats tumbled from their precarious perches into the turbulent flow of effluent, and Jayden screamed through her gag as several swam through the muck and clambered onto her. Tiny claws dug through her blouse and into her skin as they scrambled up her chest and into her hair, tumbling off one after another as they lost purchase. She smelled their damp, rank fur, felt their claws tear at her skin like little razor blades as they swarmed onto her head, covering her face.

  Jayden shook her head frantically, screaming, her heart shuddering in her chest as she fought the urge to vomit as human faeces and other grim debris was smeared from the rats onto her face and into her hair. The rats plummeted into the water again and were carried away, squealing until they were dragged under the surface, where bubbling mounds of foamy scum betrayed the mouth of the exit sewer.

  Jayden was panicking now, frantic with terror as the water rose toward her and equally terrified rats closed in from all directions, seeking any means to escape the deluge. Another group scrambled up her chest and clambered up her bare arms, perching themselves on her wrists and hands as she shook and twisted, trying to dislodge the foul creatures from her body. Their claws dug in deeper as
they swarmed across her, tumbling in a dirty little flood down her chest as they fought for the safest perch.

  Several of the dreadful creatures leapt from her hands and onto the gantry nearby, scurrying away toward a ladder, which itself led up to the manhole. Through her misery Jayden looked again to the manhole, desperate for a means to escape her bonds and climb to safety.

  More rats rushed toward her and she screamed as they swarmed onto her body. Jayden twisted away from them, and as she did so her feet slipped and dropped away beneath her. Jayden’s heart skipped a beat as she was pulled sideways by the powerful current, and she barely had a chance to realise what had happened before she slid off the ledge and her head plunged into the foul water.

  Time stopped in a moment of absolute disgust. Jayden’s childhood terror in the river flashed before her eyes, and despite all that she had feared since she realised in that one terrible moment that it couldn’t compare to what she was enduring now. The cold, dark, dangerous river of her nightmares seemed almost calm compared to this horrific sludge. It was all she could do to remember not to breathe and to clamp her mouth around the gag as she fought for her footing, only the manacles stopping her from being dragged to her death in the deeper sewers.

  Jayden got one foot down and propelled herself up, her face breaking free of the water as she sucked in a deep breath of sickening, stale air with which to scream again. The rats had abandoned her the moment she’d slipped under the surface, and now Jayden shoved her head willingly under the cascade of rainwater pouring down from the manhole as she tried not to think about the billions of microbes now feasting on her skin. The gag was drenched, and nausea turned her stomach as she tasted the foul water soaking through into her mouth, lacing her tongue with effluent.

  She pulled hard on her left arm to right herself, and as she did so her wrist slipped a little inside the manacles. Jayden’s head whipped around and she stared for a moment at her arm, slick now with faeces and slime deposited by the rats in their headlong flight for safety. Jayden’s heart soared and she pulled again on the manacle, felt her wrist slip a little more. A dull ache throbbed through her bones as they were compressed by the manacle, her skin rubbed raw, the constant damp threatening to tear the skin if she pulled too hard.

  You can do it.

  Jayden grit her teeth, and began to pull.

  No.

  He leaned forward on the sofa and stared at the screen, watching intently as Jayden’s attention was diverted away from her suffering and onto something to her left. He saw there something that he hated, hated more than anything else in the world.

  He saw hope.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ he growled, willing her to stay where she was.

  It was only a matter of time, so little time. He could see the filth–laden water sloshing around her chest, a revolting slick of human effluent drifting across its surface. The rate at which it was rising was enough to convince him that Jayden’s remaining lifetime could be measured in minutes. To see her freed from her bonds now would be the cruellest of blows, the very worst that could happen.

  ‘It’s your time,’ he snarled.

  Jayden struggled, twisting and turning and pulling on the manacles. As he watched, and saw the mess strewn across her skin, he realised what was happening – the filth was lubricating the manacles, and with such slender arms and wrists, it might just be enough for her to break free.

  He sat perched on the edge of his sofa, thinking fast. He could go down to the manhole, maybe park his car right over it to ensure that she couldn’t escape, but that would be too risky if the police figured out where she was. They by now would surely have contacted Hamlets Council, spoken to sewer workers who knew the area. But if he left now, he might miss the finale, the final moments of serenity that would herald the end of Jayden’s life.

  ‘She’s ready,’ he whispered.

  No more fear.

  An image of his mother popped unbidden into his mind. He sat for a moment, no longer focusing on the screen as he saw her there, finally at rest after so much suffering. At the time he had been unable to understand why, despite his overwhelming grief, he had also been relieved. He had been young, too young to understand what had happened, why it had happened. Confusion had reigned, and then fear, an overwhelming dread every time he awoke in the morning, every time he came home from school, every time he caught his father’s eye.

  He spat the image of his father’s wrath from his mind, ejected it like the effluent flowing past Jayden Nixx. He no longer allowed those images into his mind, no longer wanted to see him as he once was; powerful, domineering. No. He preferred the current image of his father; lying there in the basement, as close to death as he would ever be yet without ever quite reaching it, enduring an eternal agony.

  He smiled and allowed his mother’s image back into his mind, untainted. They had survived together, her gentle touch and encouraging words his only ally in a world that didn’t care. Now she was gone. The doctors had said that it was inevitable – he could remember the word, although at the time he had not understood it. Somehow, though, he had guessed by the tone of their voices that there was nothing that could be done. The next three months had gone by in a blur, and he had watched her wither away like a flower denied water, until her skin had hung from the rigging of her bones and her breathing had become so shallow, he could barely hear it. He had cried, every night, his father taking good care of his mother only now, when an inheritance was at stake.

  She had finally passed in her sleep at the age of thirty–two, still young, still with so much to give. He had been aged nine, and with her had died any vestige of value for human life. In what universe could such a kind and gentle soul be snatched away by an illness so vile, yet a bully and drunkard spared? What justice was there in the favouring of an unpleasant man over a pleasant woman? What value was there to evolution, when the saviour died before the brute? The fact that she had gone to her grave bearing the wounds of many blows from his father’s fists, always delivered where they would not be seen, had not lightened the burden that he had carried as a young man, and the years that had passed since had not quelled the growing furnace of hate seething within. He glanced at the door to the basement and allowed himself another brief, bitter smile. In all things, justice came with time. It might be slow, painfully so at times, but it came none the less. Karma. What goes around, comes around.

  The last time his father had struck him had been when he was a sullen teenager, happier playing computer games in his room than being out with friends. His father had come back from the working man’s club, drunk as usual, and as ever had found something that wasn’t to his liking. The first blow had knocked him on his side against a wall, but his father’s second blow had missed when he had ducked it and slammed his own fist deep into the old man’s belly. Bloated with drink, the blow had winded his father, who had dropped to his knees, one hand on his flabby guts as with eyes wide he held up a placating hand.

  The same kind of hand that his mother had often held up, to no avail. And, so, the time for justice arrived. What goes around…

  He could not remember how many times he had punched and kicked his father’s body, driven by unnatural forces that had surged through him, fury fuelled by high– octane grief, demons freed from a lifetime of suffering. When he had finished, and looked down upon his father’s unconscious and bloodied body, he had realised that he was alone in life, that there was nothing that really mattered, nothing that he cared about and nobody out there to care for him.

  He had tied his father up, binding his ankles and wrists, then dragged the body into the basement, where he had then bound him to a single mattress. Then, when the time had come, he had force–fed him porridge laced with sedatives that had once belonged to his mother, used to fight the pain of the deadly tumours plaguing her every waking hour. He hadn’t been sure of what he intended, but a day had become a week, a week a month, months to years, and his father had not moved from that single bed ever since. His mus
cles had wasted, his senses dulled by years of off–the–counter sedatives, his eyes sunken pits hollowed of life, suspended on the edge of the chasm of death for so long that he could not remember just how long his old man had lain there. But he wouldn’t let him die, not until he had extracted every last breath from his body, every one of them spent incarcerated alone in the darkness, lost in a fog of purgatory.

  He glanced back at the screen, saw Jayden still trying to free herself from her manacles as the water rose toward her chin.

  ‘Not long now, Jayden,’ he said. ‘Not long.’

  Honor McVey sat in the Incident Room in front of the feed of Jayden Nixx desperately trying to free herself from her bonds. Honor had barely been able to contain her disgust when she’d see the rats crawling all over Jayden, trying to escape the flooding sewer, but now there was a little lift in her heart as she saw that Jayden was fighting back, trying to free herself from her bonds. The Marine Policing Unit commander arrived in the Incident Room and DCI Mitchell moved to meet him.

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the MPU commander replied. ‘She could be anywhere, maybe even down in some long–forgotten shaft that we don’t even know about.’

  ‘There can’t be that many places she can be hidden, surely?’

  Honor listened to the MPU commander’s reply and her heart sank again.

  ‘A guy got lost in a London sewer a few years back after falling into a drain, and spent three days trying to find a way out. They reckon he walked five or six miles under there before he became overwhelmed with exhaustion and just started crying out for help. Luckily, people heard him through a manhole cover and the police pulled him out.’ The commander gestured to the screen. ‘That guy was only in a rainfall sewer, not one of the deep ones that your victim’s trapped inside. Seriously, she could be anywhere in the city and even if we were looking for her without a deadline, it might take weeks.’