As the man’s grin morphed into nothing short of a grimace, Harker suddenly felt light-headed, his mind a blur with confusion and rage at the blackmail being inflicted upon him. He swallowed deeply and composed himself as best he could.
‘Tell me why I shouldn’t tell the police everything you’ve just spouted,’ he spat.
‘Because doing so would not be conducive to Dr Stanton’s well-being,’ Lucas replied, waving a finger lightly, ‘and I will be keeping an eye on you every step of the way.’
The confidence in the man’s voice sounded assured, but in Harker’s mind it was obviously misplaced.
‘Is that a fact?’ he replied, glancing back at the two armed policemen behind him, ‘because, from where I’m sitting, you’re not going anywhere.’
That only two of the officers so far had made their arrival known did not mean that a whole armed response unit was not waiting in the wings ready for the order to resolve the situation by force. In Harker’s mind it was actually likely but, as he watched his kidnapper, he could not help but recognize how calm and unworried the man looked. Whatever the plan was, Lucas was without a doubt supremely convinced of being able to execute it. But how exactly does someone remove themselves from such a dangerous situation without getting taken down by the authorities? It was a question that was about to be answered.
Lucas settled back snugly into his chair and offered a nod of his head. ‘Now, you might be absolutely correct in that assumption, but it really is time for me to go.’
In one swift movement, Lucas raised the barrel of the shotgun to just underneath his chin and, with his finger wrapped tightly around the trigger, he gave an emotionless wink of his eye. ‘See you around.’
The man’s head exploded into a brilliant burst of red mist as the blast from the 12-gauge sent a thick spattering of dark-red blood across the ceiling, and as larger portions of skull and brain matter slapped against the opposite wall of the lecture hall.
Harker instinctively lurched backwards, his chair toppling over to send him crashing onto his back, with his head slamming hard against the carpet-tiled floor. The brightness of the flash had dulled his vision and the deafening bang momentarily rendered his hearing useless. In fact he was in such a state of shock that it barely registered as the two armed police rushed over and pulled him to his feet.
As he was being dragged forcefully back towards the doorway, his eyes remained fixed on the globules of blood dripping from the ceiling and back down onto the headless corpse of what had recently been Lucas. With each second that passed, his mind began to stir from its slumber, but it was not the image of Lucas’s still twitching body slumped on the chair opposite that preoccupied his thoughts, but someone else altogether…
Chloe.
Chapter 3
‘I demand to see immediately a member of my staff. I am responsible for this man and, more importantly, I am a dean of this college!’
Harker raised his head to see archaeology dean Thomas Lercher – or Doggie to his friends – arrive looking like a man possessed. The dean had a murderous look in his eye as he verbally tussled with the unamused-looking policeman wearing a high-visibility jacket. To the officer’s credit he refused to bite back at the howling dean and, without further delay, allowed him through without even so much as a sigh of frustration.
‘Thank heavens, Alex. Are you hurt?’ Dean Lercher fumed, pausing to assess Harker for any injuries.
‘I’m fine except from some ringing in my ears,’ Harker replied, while batting away the dean’s probing hands.
‘Are you free to go yet?’
‘I’ve given a statement,’ Harker replied with a nod, ‘and I’ve even had the offer of a counsellor, although I think I’ll give that a miss. I don’t feel like reliving this experience anytime soon.’
‘Christ, you could have been shot dead,’ the dean continued. ‘What on earth is the world coming to?’
‘Doggie, I told you I’m OK.’
‘Yes, I can see you’re fine,’ the man acknowledged, his indignation only increasing. ‘And I told you not to call me Doggie…you know I hate it!’
It was about this time that Harker realized there was something else his old friend and boss was far more annoyed about than the lapse in his colleague’s safety, and it didn’t take any wild guesses to figure it out. ‘I’m afraid the lecture hall will need to be redecorated.’
Doggie stood now with his back to Harker and dismissed the comment with a flick of his wrist.
‘It’s not that,’ he moaned, his tone now more relaxed. ‘I’m not that bad, Alex.’
‘Really?’ Harker replied, with more than just a hint of sarcasm.
Doggie’s shoulders began to twitch and then escalated to a quivering, until finally he spun around and allowed his temper to boil over. ‘Your safety is the most important thing but…do you know how much it will cost to refurbish that bloody room? The interior newly sound-proofed…the cladding alone will cost a small fortune!’
Immediately after the shooting, Harker had phoned Blackwater asylum for the criminally insane, where Chloe had resumed her post as section head. Reception had assured him she was on site and they would get her to call him at the earliest possible convenience. Mercifully, it seemed that, whatever Lucas’s true identity, he was clearly a troubled man and prone to lying. In fact it had already occurred to Harker that perhaps he may have been an ex-patient of Blackwater himself.
The shooting incident had left Harker shaken. Seeing anything so nasty up close might have an impact on the strongest of psyches, but the simple fact that Chloe was safe had now done much to soften the whole ordeal. Of course, Doggie here was clueless as to the whole Chloe aspect and, as Harker watched his friend gripe away about the cost of a refurbishment, he thought back to a telling incident in which the dean had been involved. A few years back someone had committed suicide by throwing himself onto the tracks of the Northern Tube Line, causing huge delays. While most passengers on the platform were quietly discussing the tragedy, Doggie was loudly throwing a wobbler and complaining that the fellow must have been a selfish bastard and that if he wanted to top himself then why not do it in his own home.
To many people who knew the dean casually, these characteristic displays were questionable, but to anyone who knew him well, as Harker did, they were nothing more than eccentricities from a man who deep down had a heart of gold, and who Harker could trust with his life. Even so, the dean was very much an acquired taste.
‘I mean, who the hell kills himself in a lecture hall, for Christ’s… Why not do it somewhere outside? The weather is beautiful at this time of year.’
Harker was still enjoying the dean’s bravado when his mobile began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and tapped the accept button.
‘Hi, Mr Harker?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Jared from Blackwater. We spoke earlier.’
‘Yes,’ Harker replied. ‘Thanks for getting back to me so soon. Did you pass my message on to Chloe?’ He was eager to regale her with every bizarre and gory detail of the day’s events, until what he heard made his stomach curdle.
‘I’m afraid I made a mistake earlier. Dr Stanton hasn’t been seen here all day. One of the receptionists called your house but there was no reply, and I called her mobile after speaking with you but no one is answering.’
A cold sweat moistened Harker’s forehead as Jared continued. ‘Mr Harker, do you happen to know if she’s coming in tomorrow? She has numerous appointments lined up and…’
The sound of the orderly’s voice faded into the background as Harker retreated into himself, allowing his worst fears to take hold. It seemed no one had the slightest clue where she was…with the exception perhaps of Lucas!
‘Mr Harker, can you hear me?’
‘Yes. Thank you, Jared. I’ll be in touch.’
Harker let the mobile slip from his hand into his jacket pocket, and he began to rub at his temples as grim possibilities began to clutter his mind.
Harker looked up to see his old friend, who had now ceased his tirade and was looking concerned.
‘It’s Chloe,’ Harker murmured. ‘She’s missing.’
The next few minutes were a blur as Harker stumbled through an account of the threats Lucas had made, and by the end of it Doggie was looking even more worried than he did.
‘Jesus, Alex, you need to tell the police everything.’
‘He warned me not to tell anyone or there would be consequences…that he would be watching.’
‘Watching! The man’s dead. Believe me, the only thing that nutter’s watching is an angel with a harp…or a guy with a pitchfork.’
Doggie’s raised voice drew a brief stare from one of the policemen standing nearby and Harker immediately stood up and gently guided the dean further down the corridor and out of earshot.
‘This isn’t funny, Doggie,’ Harker scolded.
‘I don’t mean it to be, but this Lucas character is dead.’
‘I know, but seeing as Chloe’s missing, then clearly others are involved.’
Both men then stood staring at each other in silence, their expressions continuing the conversation without the need for words. It was Doggie who spoke up first. ‘It’s your call, Alex. What do you want to do?’
Harker expelled a deep breath as if he was considering his answer, but in truth he already knew. ‘I’m going to the address Lucas gave me. To see what’s there.’
‘Fine. I’ll come with you,’ Doggie quickly replied, nodding enthusiastically. ‘There’s nothing useful I can do here anyway.’
Harker gave him an appreciative tap on his forearm and, without another word, they both headed for the stairs leading to the front entrance.
‘What are we expecting to find?’ Doggie asked eventually, with rising apprehension in his voice.
‘I honestly have no idea, but considering the dead man that gave me the address?’ Harker replied, pausing as they reached the main door. ‘I’ll bet it’s nothing good.’
Chapter 4
The cool night air was a welcome respite from the evening’s traumatic events as Harker briskly headed down Grove Avenue, in the suburbs of Cambridge, with Doggie close on his heels. Their taxi drive over had not taken long and, apart from a call to Chloe’s mobile which went straight to answerphone, it had been accomplished in silence. Much to Harker’s relief, his old friend had remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the journey. Even the taxi driver had refrained from idle talk, probably sensing the tense atmosphere his two passengers were exuding. Just as a precaution, Harker had requested they be dropped off about a hundred metres from their intended destination. If someone was watching his every move, then he was determined to make things as difficult as possible for them.
The small apartment block was located just off the main road and facing an open stretch of grass common. The building itself looked fairly modern but had that grubby tell-tale black grime smudging the brickwork, so typical of houses situated near a busy main road.
Upon reaching the paint-cracked, green door, Harker immediately began scanning the area around him for any sign of unwanted observers. The common nearby seemed quiet for this time of day and, with the exception of a man walking anxiously behind his black French bulldog with a pooper scooper, nothing seemed out of place. Not that Harker could see, at any rate.
‘How do we get in?’
‘Well, knocking’s a good start,’ Harker replied, and he rapped on the door with a clenched fist.
After a few seconds the familiar sound of a latch being released could be heard, and the door swung open to reveal an elderly lady wearing an old-style pink floral apron, above wrinkled stockings and a pair of fluffy slippers. She reminded Harker of the archetypal dinner lady from his schooldays, with her silver hair tied up in a bob to complete the look.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but Lucas asked me to stop by.’
He’d barely finished the sentence before the old woman began ushering them both inside. ‘You took your time. Come on, then, chop-chop.’
With mutual glances of cautious surprise they made their way inside and into a small communal hallway covered in light-brown flock wallpaper.
‘Lucas said you’d be here earlier and I’m already late for the bingo,’ the pensioner complained as she closed the door.
‘The traffic was a nightmare,’ Harker offered, not wanting to shock the old lady with details of the man’s suicide. Witnessing one death was enough without giving this old girl a heart attack. ‘My apologies.’
‘Fine, fine,’ she mumbled grouchily, ‘but you can tell him I’m not his personal doorman.’
‘I can assure you, madam,’ Doggie interrupted and smiling kindly, ‘you’ll not have any further trouble from Lucas. I guarantee it.’
She growled grudgingly and then passed over to Harker a bronze-coloured apartment key. ‘It’s number 2a – up the stairs and to the right.’
Key in hand and with a pleasant smile from Doggie, they headed up the narrow wooden staircase to the first-floor landing.
‘This place could pass for an Indian restaurant,’ Doggie quipped, grimacing at the walls with their tasty brown flock wallpaper.
‘God, Doggie, when were you last in an Indian restaurant?’
‘I don’t know. It’s been a while.’
‘You’re not kidding,’ Harker replied, starting to wish he had not brought the dean along. ‘Flock wallpaper died out in the nineties.’
Apartment 2a was at the far end of the landing. As Harker approached it he felt his stomach begin to tighten in apprehension. Who knew what they were going to find: an empty room or perhaps a couple of Lucas’s friends? Harker was hoping for the former, because in a tussle Doggie became more of a liability than an asset. Place the dean in a room of socialites and the man shone, but when confronted with physical aggression he was not one to rise to the occasion with unrestrained vigour.
‘This is it,’ Harker said and placed his ear against the door. Apart from the sound of a washing machine rumbling away in the apartment opposite, all was quiet, and so he slowly slid the key into the lock. With a glance back at Doggie, and a nod to confirm that he was going in, Harker turned the key, keeping his palm placed squarely against the door to minimise any creaking, and then headed inside.
The apartment had an open-plan layout, with the entrance leading directly into one spacious room split into a kitchen and lounge with only a chest-high partition acting as a divider. The single door at the opposite end of the room was closed and a single thick tan-coloured curtain covered the only window, making for a gloomy if not menacing atmosphere.
Harker gingerly made his way further inside with Doggie closely in tow and, once satisfied they were alone for the moment, he tiptoed over to the connecting door and once again listened for any sounds coming from beyond.
Still nothing.
He turned the handle and allowed the door to swing back under its own weight, revealing a small bedroom with an open shower room off to the right. Once reassured there was no one lurking in the shadows, he flicked the light switch on the wall next to him.
The room lit up to reveal nothing out of the ordinary, just a bed with its white sheets neatly folded and a cheap single-file plywood chest of drawers next to it. A small darkly lacquered writing desk occupied the far corner, with a chair neatly under it and an empty plastic paper bin sitting next to it.
‘The place is empty,’ Harker observed after taking a moment to poke his head into the bathroom which, clean and tidy, was devoid of any lurking would-be attackers. Back in the main room, Doggie was drawing back the curtains and, even though he already knew the answer, Harker couldn’t help himself from calling out: ‘Chloe, are you in here?’
His cry was met with silence and, after checking under the bed and finding nothing, he moved back into the main room to see Doggie standing there aimlessly.
‘If she was here, she’s not now,’ Doggie confirmed, and bi
t his bottom lip in frustration as Harker scanned the room carefully. The whole place was immaculate, with no trace of dust anywhere. Clean coffee mugs lined the kitchen shelf and the cooking utensils looked shiny, almost as if they had never been used. In fact, the whole interior of the apartment was so clean it could have served as a show room. That is, except for just one thing. Poking out from behind the still open door to the flat was a thin strip of dark-brown wood running from floor to ceiling. With the door wide open it was barely visible, but the contrasting colour stood out like a sore thumb in such a colour-coordinated interior.
‘What’s that?’ Harker muttered, before making his way over to the door of the apartment and pulling it back only to reveal another entrance. It wasn’t exactly well hidden but it had been cleverly placed so that when the front door was wide open, it disguised the opening behind it.
‘Interesting,’ Doggie remarked with raised eyebrows. ‘I doubt that was part of the original design.’
Harker said nothing and instead took a step inside.
There was a tight, ninety-degree turn to the left, which meant that light from the main room was unable to penetrate the pitch darkness ahead. Wherever this narrow corridor led to, it was sure to be windowless, and Harker edged forward cautiously, sliding his palm along one wall until after a few metres it fell away. A faint draught of air swept across his face, suggesting a larger open space just ahead, and it was enough to convince him to stop dead in his tracks. He began to fumble around in the blackness for a few moments until he came across a light switch. Squinting in preparation, he flicked it and above him a single bulb lit up, bathing him in light. After a few seconds under this bright yellow hue his eyes refocused; what he saw now was as creepy as it was confusing.
The room itself was only a few metres across, with just enough room for a cheap folding wooden chair and not much else. The walls, though, were another matter altogether. To the left were fixed a jumble of colour pictures taken of what he knew to be the pages of the Codex Gigas, displaying the various texts it contained; the nearest one was the infamous image of the Devil himself. It was not unlike the usual representations of the Devil in that some of the classic details had been included like the horns and a forked tongue, but that is where any similarities ended. The face itself was green and covered with scales, yet with very human characteristics such as ears, eyes, a nose – and a row of teeth that appeared to have been filed down to points. Large red spiky talons protruded from the hands and feet as the creature sat on its haunches with arms held high above its head intimidatingly.
The Last Judgement Page 2
