Just barely alive, Lia thought. Theo Durand and Aldo Zambrano.
Dillon’s prisoners were alive, but the cameras were connected to an unknown location.
Mari’s ability to lead in difficult situations came to the fore again.
‘Look at the camera connections to see if you can find out anything,’ she said to Rico.
On the stairs leading back up, she told the others what would happen next. They would set up a command post in one of the rooms and hold Dillon there. Rico would concentrate on the computers in the cellar and try to track the prisoners that way. Mari would talk to Dillon.
‘The men will be there in the next room. It would be better if Paddy and Ron weren’t visible,’ Mari said.
‘Why?’ Lia asked.
‘Because Dillon feels uncertain around women.’
Lia knew Mari was expecting something of her too, but she didn’t dare think what.
While Ron rejoined Paddy to guard Dillon, Mari and Lia held back for a while to walk through the empty living quarters of the upper floors. Mari wanted to see what was in the rooms.
The furnishings were scant and all well-worn. The kitchen looked downright crude. Half rusted pipes ran along the walls, and the table and shelves were full of used dishes.
A strange sight waited in two other rooms. When they stepped into them, at first they just had to stop and stare. Everywhere there were photographs, framed and unframed. Mixed in were boards plastered with newspaper clippings, but most of the area was covered with small photographs.
All of them showed Freddie Mercury. Other members of Queen appeared in some of them, but as she walked from wall to wall Lia realised there wasn’t a single picture without Mercury.
Some of the pictures were familiar, the same pictures from album covers and concert placards used everywhere. But soon they noticed something strange: most of the pictures looked like anything but professional, touched-up advertising images. Freddie Mercury laughing with his eyes shut surrounded by friends. Freddie Mercury sitting on the steps of a building smoking. Freddie Mercury walking down the street so fast all you could make out was a blur.
Philip Dillon had collected hundreds, perhaps thousands of pictures of Freddie Mercury’s private life.
‘Some fans do this,’ Mari said.
Fans could pay considerable sums for pictures that let them feel in touch with a star’s everyday life. Friends, domestic servants and people who just happened to meet a star on the street were constantly selling them.
Some of the pictures were already yellowing from age, and they spanned the singer’s entire life. Lia noticed a strange effect from the old photographs. Looking at them you started to feel that Mercury was almost present. Philip Dillon must have felt like a part of his idol’s life.
‘We don’t have time to look at these any more closely now,’ Mari said.
Lia nodded.
‘I need you for something, if you can handle it.’
‘What?’
‘Come with me to talk to Dillon.’
Paddy didn’t like Mari’s plan but agreed to it when he heard that he and Ron could monitor the situation from the next room.
‘It’s enough for one of you to be there the whole time,’ Mari said. ‘The other can search the cellar and upstairs rooms.’
‘What are we looking for?’ Ron asked.
‘Anything,’ Mari said. ‘Anything could be hiding in a house like this.’
The door to the next room was open, and Lia could see Dillon on his chair, tied with cords. The cords didn’t look as tight as Lia had hoped.
Mari pulled Paddy aside for a second, and they whispered so the others couldn’t hear. Lia wiped her brow. The house was hot. In the cellar, Rico was studying camera images of prisoners who had been tortured and might be languishing anywhere. Now they had to concentrate on that, no matter what happened.
Mari returned. Taking Lia by the hand, she squeezed. Without a word, Mari walked into the room where Philip Dillon was sitting, and Lia followed.
That was when she noticed she was still holding the pistol in her other hand.
50.
Mari only left the door of the room slightly ajar.
Dillon sat stock-still, but Lia thought she could see him register the sound of the door. It was hard to say how she could tell, perhaps from an almost imperceptible movement of his head.
The room was completely silent.
Can Paddy and Ron hear us?
Lia heard one of the men clear his throat in the adjacent room. That had to be Ron. Did Dillon react to the sound? She couldn’t see under the hood.
Mari looked at Dillon. As the silence hung around them, it was like she was gathering strength.
Finally Mari stepped close to him and yanked the hood off his head.
When Lia saw his face, she gave a cry. She had never seen a person whose cheeks looked so grotesque.
Dillon was chewing his own cheeks. His jaw was grinding feverishly, and his cheeks were sucked in. Rings of blanched white flesh had formed on his face around the places where his molars clenched the skin.
Dillon stared at Mari with eyes wide. He was expecting the person who had removed the hood to attack him.
When that didn’t happen, he moved his gaze to Lia.
For a second they stared at each other. There was a mania in his eyes that penetrated her.
Lia squeezed her gun. She felt its weight, and for a fleeting moment considered raising it and emptying her clip into his chest, but then he turned his eyes away again and looked at Mari.
And suddenly his cheeks changed. His pale, red and white mottled face returned somewhat to its normal shape. His jaw was still grinding, but with smaller motions.
He isn’t chewing his cheeks any more. He knows he isn’t going to die right now.
By the time Mari finally spoke, the silence had been going on for minutes.
‘Why did you keep Brian Fowler prisoner for two days before you killed him?’ Mari asked.
Lia looked at her in surprise. She hadn’t expected a question like that.
Neither had Dillon. The motion of his jaw stopped. He did not reply. A moment later the motion continued.
Dillon had transported Fowler and Evelyn Morris from the Black Cap bar and killed Morris soon after but kept Fowler prisoner for a couple of days before murdering him. Paddy had seen Fowler’s body on Rich Lane and noticed that Fowler’s bruises were fresher than the other victims’.
‘Prisoners are difficult,’ Mari continued. ‘In the city, keeping Fowler was a risk, even drugged. There’s always the possibility someone will notice a prisoner. Why did you do it?’
Lia was trying to keep up with Mari’s train of thought.
‘Evelyn Morris came as a surprise to you,’ Mari thought out loud. ‘You were only prepared to take one victim from the Black Cap, but suddenly you had two. She was a woman, but she hung around in gay bars and saw you, so she became a target just like the gay men you took.’
Dillon was now staring at a spot on the wall behind them. Lia glanced at it. His incessant staring at the same spot unnerved her. There was nothing on the wall, only stains.
‘Fowler had to wait because you wanted to make the videos at your own pace,’ Mari said to Dillon. ‘You had planned the kicking and the filming and how and when the videos would spread. It was important for you that the videos were just as you had planned. That’s why you don’t count Berg as one of your victims, the man you shot in the street. You didn’t even get a video of him. He was just an extra obstacle in the way of your work.’
Faint footsteps came from the next room. Ron was going to the cellar, Lia realised. Paddy was still with them, she told herself, trying to calm her nerves. And they had their guns.
Mari’s voice was steady as if she wasn’t having any trouble staying calm.
‘I know what you’ve done,’ she said to Dillon. ‘And I know why.’
How could Mari do this? Lia wondered. Mari, who could almost feel other people�
��s emotions within them, almost see what they wanted and even what they thought.
‘I know why,’ Mari repeated to Dillon. ‘You want to use people’s disgust towards your killings. You want to use it to make yourself as big as you can. And that’s why there have to be victims. There always has to be something new to catch people’s attention.’
Dillon’s eyes moved, so imperceptibly that Lia wasn’t sure she had really seen it. Then he turned his gaze from the wall to Mari. He looked at Mari with unblinking eyes, and Lia sensed that something had changed.
Some part of Philip Dillon that had been gone had just arrived in the room.
After getting her target to react, Mari didn’t stop for a second.
‘You chose bars Freddie Mercury used to visit,’ she said.
Dillon stared at her.
‘And you only went inside bars yourself where they don’t have security cameras filming their patrons,’ Mari continued. ‘I only realised that a little while ago. Even some gay bars have CCTV. Some don’t want them because their customers prefer more privacy. You knew which ones had cameras. You know a lot about cameras. You probably know everything there is to know about cameras.’
Mari’s talking made Lia breathe a little easier. Dillon wasn’t trying to attack them – he was listening. Looking at his eyes was still difficult, and the idea that he might look at her again terrified Lia. But everything was moving quickly. Mari was talking. Paddy was monitoring them from the next room. Ron was searching the house. Rico was working on the computers and cameras. Maybe this would end some day.
‘What I still don’t understand is why you decided to kick to death David Wynn, Evelyn Morris, Mike Cottle and Brian Fowler. I understand harnessing the disgust of your audience but not why it had to be by kicking,’ Mari said.
Again a change in Dillon’s face. Saying the victims’ names out loud made him react. Gradually his jaw set, and the grinding stopped. They only saw a small, slow movement that repeated, like a swallow.
Maybe he was swallowing blood, Lia thought. Maybe Dillon had bitten his cheeks so they would bleed.
‘What does kicking have to do with Freddie Mercury?’ Mari asked. ‘Everything you’ve done connects to him, but I don’t understand the kicking connection.’
A new sound entered the room. Lia flinched, and when she realised the sound belonged to Philip Dillon, it was like an alarm started going off.
He hummed. His lips parted only a little. Out came a low confused, cursing sound.
Dillon was trying to talk. Lia was sure he was trying to swear, but his mouth was full of blood. His voice wasn’t working properly, and he couldn’t form the words.
Thin streams of red welled out of Dillon’s mouth onto his chin. He coughed and swallowed.
Finally his mouth was emptied.
‘…rrr,’ he managed to say.
Is he swearing?
Finally Dillon got out the slander he wanted to use to abuse Mari.
‘Whore.’
Mari continued her series of questions without a moment’s hesitation.
Dillon continued his blaspheming. Dirty fucking whore.
After recovering from her shock that Dillon had started speaking, Lia quickly realised the track his words were following. He couldn’t stand that a woman was talking to him. Languishing bound and helpless in front of two women offended him.
‘The kicking,’ Mari reminded him.
‘Whore,’ Dillon snapped.
‘The kicking is hard to understand,’ Mari continued. ‘Kicking doesn’t have anything to do with Freddie Mercury.’
‘Don’t say his name,’ Dillon demanded. ‘You dirty whore.’
‘You don’t want me to say Freddie Mercury’s name?’ Mari asked.
Mari wanted to irritate him by talking, Lia realised.
She wants to take advantage of the fact that he can’t stand being subordinate to women.
Dillon’s jaw motion started again as Mari repeated Mercury’s name. Sometimes he made noises and let out curses, sometimes he just closed up and chewed silently.
‘Six videos,’ Mari said. ‘You have six of them out. Four are left unmade, or at least not released.’
He didn’t react in any way.
‘Where are Theo Durand and Aldo Zambrano?’ Mari asked.
No reaction. Dillon’s jaw moved, but he didn’t even look at Mari.
‘Not in this building,’ Mari said. ‘But not far from here. You want to keep them close. They’re somewhere here in an important place.’
No reaction.
‘That means an important place for Freddie Mercury,’ Mari said. ‘Except Freddie didn’t like this island.’
The jaw stopped.
‘Freddie never denied coming from here, but he had a strong need to live down his childhood,’ Mari said. ‘His family was so different from him. He kept in contact with them but at a safe distance from his actual life.’
‘Whore,’ Dillon said. ‘Fucking whore.’
Freddie Mercury had bought gifts for his parents and relatives. He threw family parties. He cared for them and wasn’t afraid of showing it. But mostly he lived a completely separate life that didn’t include his family. It was impossible to be a world famous pop star and a gay man and simultaneously follow the traditions of a restrained, dignified Indian family.
‘That was why he almost never talked about Zanzibar,’ Mari said.
‘That isn’t true,’ Dillon growled.
‘Everyone close to Mercury knew it wasn’t a good idea to talk about this place,’ Mari continued.
‘That isn’t true, you whore.’
‘You aren’t going to finish what you’ve been doing to Theo Durand and Aldo Zambrano,’ Mari said. ‘Or your ten videos.’
Dillon raised his head. He wasn’t grinding his teeth any more. He stared at Mari openly.
‘You have two alternatives,’ Mari said. ‘Either you die here or you spend the rest of your life in prison. I’ll give you those two options.’
Without waiting for an answer, Mari walked out. Going into the neighbouring room, she started talking to Paddy in hushed tones again. Lia stared at Philip Dillon in confusion.
Momentarily he shifted his gaze to Lia. Then he quickly turned away, and Lia knew he had categorised her as a woman of no consequence.
As she returned, Mari brought Dillon’s heavy, boot-like shoes, which Paddy had taken from him. Mari tossed the shoes in a corner, far out of Dillon’s reach.
‘You aren’t walking out of here unless I decide so,’ Mari said.
Mari’s hard-nosed approach seemed to be working. Dillon’s eyes smouldered.
‘The order – first the black videos and then just images without any sound,’ Mari continued.
Dillon said nothing.
‘You were expecting that the people who saw the videos would make the connection before long and add the sound. You hear the songs in your head even without the music playing though. You know them by heart,’ Mari said.
‘No one knows them,’ Dillon said.
Even he seemed surprised he had given Mari anything but more abuse.
‘No one knows them?’ Mari repeated. ‘You mean no one else knows them as well as you do.’
Thus the black videos, Mari deduced.
‘You wanted to show everyone that something new was starting. You wanted them to come to understand you one step at a time. And to make the biggest impression you could, to keep capturing people’s attention. First all you revealed was the empty darkness inside you. And then your pictures of the killings, without any sound. You knew every new element would increase the media coverage. Every detail you exposed spawned new news stories.’
‘Whore,’ Dillon growled.
Mari took a paper out of her pocket and eyed it. Lia couldn’t see what the paper said.
‘That was the elegant explanation,’ Mari said. ‘The symbolic explanation. You want everything to look like a symbol of something else. But there was something else in that darkness.�
��
Show Time, Picture Perfect, Reel, Mari read from the paper. Dillon’s expression froze when he heard the names, and Lia realised where the paper must be from. In London, Maggie had succeeded in digging up something about Dillon’s background and sent it to Rico. Mari had just received it.
As a young man in England, Dillon had worked for a series of film and video companies. He had never stayed at any of them longer than a year though. Maggie had discovered that Dillon had been fired from at least seven firms in the industry.
‘You stole from them,’ Mari said, still reading. ‘You took equipment and used the companies’ property so much that it didn’t just bother people, it astonished them. The head of Picture Perfect remembers the thing that puzzled everyone the most though was that you spent so much time alone in the darkroom developing old-fashioned film and pictures. You like the dark.’
Mari looked at Dillon expectantly, but he sat silently.
People were usually afraid of the dark, Mari said, but there is also safety in the dark. In the dark you can be who you want to be. You can use the dark.
‘Then at work there was the problem that whenever they didn’t want to take you along on a job, you turned aggressive. Once you hit a script supervisor because she barred you from coming to a music video shoot. And whenever there were problems in your work, you retreated. You ran away into the darkness.’
Dillon’s eyes stayed fixed on the ground.
‘You never even got close to Queen,’ Mari said.
‘Yes, I did,’ he said instantly.
‘When?’
‘At concerts,’ Dillon said.
‘Those are pretty distant meetings,’ Mari said. ‘You never got close to them.’
Dillon’s mouth shut tight.
When Dillon couldn’t hold down a job in the AV industry, he tried something else. First he trained as a paramedic, Mari reported from the information she was looking at on the paper. But that career was cut short too. He passed the tests, but the school’s records had a note about his repeated bad behaviour, leading to his dismissal.
Black Noise Page 31
