Prosper turned the photograph over so he wasn’t subjected to the grisly sight. He ran a hand across his sweaty forehead. “No, your first job, now more than ever, is to do what I asked, and look after my wife. Make sure she’s safe.”
“But—”
Prosper slammed his fist on the desk, making everyone in the room turn to look at him. “No buts, just do it. That’s an order.”
CHAPTER 40
By the time Jill arrived at Prosper’s house, she was livid. Her hands had been shaking as she drove across town and she had chewed the skin from her bottom lip, leaving a raw patch. How could Prosper talk to her like that? She wasn’t a goddamned babysitter. That wasn’t what she had joined the police for. She wanted to be in the thick of the investigation, not stuck here. Anyone would think he was trying to get rid of her on purpose.
Johnson acknowledged her with a wave of his hand as she parked her car behind his and stepped out, licking at her sore lips.
“Everything’s quiet,” Johnson said from his open window as she approached.
“And why wouldn’t it be,” she snapped.
“What’s your problem?”
Jill took a couple of breaths. “Nothing. Sorry. Just one of those days.”
Johnson shrugged. “Are you here to relieve me?”
Jill nodded.
“Great, then I’ll go get some breakfast.” He started the engine and drove away. Jill watched him go and then she turned towards the house.
Might as well let her know I’m here, she thought as she walked towards the front door.
She rang the bell and after a few moments, Natasha answered. Jill couldn’t help staring at Natasha’s leg brace and the crutches she used to support herself.
“Can I help you?” Natasha asked.
Jill cleared her throat and looked up. “Mrs. Snow, I’m Jill Jones, your husband’s partner.” She flashed her identification. “He’s asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“Yes,” Natasha said. “Thank you.”
Jill nodded. If she had any say in the matter, she wouldn’t be here.
“Would you like to come in for a while? I’ve just put the kettle on.”
With nothing better to do, Jill nodded and she followed Natasha into the house.
“Sit down, make yourself at home,” Natasha said as they reached the lounge. “Tea alright?”
“That would be lovely, but are you sure you don’t need a hand?”
“No, I’ll be fine. Milk and sugar?”
“Yes, and two sugars please.”
As Natasha hobbled away, swinging on her crutches, Jill stared around the room. A family portrait hung above the mantelpiece, obviously taken before the accident. She couldn’t help noticing how happy they all looked, and how much of his parents’ genes their son had inherited. Even Prosper was smiling.
Natasha returned a moment later. She had abandoned one of her crutches so that she could hold the two mugs, letting her leg brace support the other side of her body.
“Here you go,” she said, passing the mug across to Jill.
Jill accepted it and took a sip. “Thanks.”
Natasha placed her own cup on a small coffee table and then settled herself in one of the chairs.
“Where’s your son?” Jill asked.
“Oh he’s at school. I think he found it rather exciting to have a police minder, as it will give him something to talk about to his friends. I’m working the afternoon shift, so I can get him to school OK. They let me work part-time, you know, after the accident.”
“And what about you? How are you coping with all of this?”
Natasha looked towards the window, her expression pensive. “I just wish you’d hurry up and catch this killer. I haven’t been able to sleep well at all the past few nights, especially since Prosper’s friend, Jerel, was killed. And Prosper, he’s been even worse.”
“I can imagine.” Jill took a sip of her tea. “Did you know Jerel?”
“No, I never met him. I believe he was an old friend of my husband’s, but he hadn’t seen him in a while.”
“Does your husband have many friends?”
Natasha stared at her and chortled. “Not as many as he probably had before he joined the police. But then I don’t think he’s ever had that many to start with, just his close friends, like Wolfe, Paris and Ty. He’s known them since he was at school, but he doesn’t see them that often now.”
Jill pursed her lips. She didn’t think it her place to mention that Ty and Paris were now dead too.
She suddenly frowned. Something evasive churned in her subconscious.
Something about a name.
She took her notebook out and flicked through the pages until she reached her interview notes with Robinson, the man that said he had seen Prosper abduct Hatchet Man. She quickly read through what she had written until she reached the part where Robinson mentioned the names he supposedly heard one of the men cite: one was something to do with a capital city, the other something like Try.
Her pulse increased as she scribbled down the names Natasha just referred to.
Wolfe.
Paris.
Ty.
Jill stared at the names and then looked across at Natasha. “I’ve just remembered something. Do you think you will be alright on your own for a while?”
Natasha pursed her lips, eyelids fluttering. “I … erm, I guess so.”
Of course she was going to be safe, because Jill knew who the killer was. Leaving her drink on the table, Jill hurried out of the house. As unbelievable as it seemed, things were starting to fall into place.
CHAPTER 41
Natasha Snow lifted her mangled left leg and swivelled out of the driver’s seat of the specially adapted automatic Ford Focus. It had taken her a while after the accident to get back in a car, but to retain her independence, she had no choice but to conquer her fear. That hadn’t stopped the nightmares though. She often dreamed she could still hear the torturous scream of metal crushing metal; could still see the face of the other driver frozen in fear; could still feel the pain of impact when part of the engine rammed through the floor by her feet and compacted her legs.
Her list of resultant injuries had read like a medical encyclopaedia, with so many Latin words she hadn’t understood anything until the doctors explained it in simplified terms: multiple broken bones in both feet; compound fractures of both legs below the knees; tears to the ligaments and tendons in both knees; permanent nerve damage in the left leg; and the most serious, a torn artery in her left knee that had required emergency surgery where they’d harvested a vein from the other leg to replace the damaged vessel. Even so, the massive blood loss had caused severe muscle impairment due to oxygen deprivation. Combined with the nerve damage, it ensured the leg would be useless without the aid of the brace.
Her bosses at the bank had understood, and they kept her job open while she recuperated. Then when she returned, they found her a position that meant she wouldn’t have to be on her feet all day. If she didn’t have a job to go to, she would have gone stir crazy stuck in the house all the time.
The bank’s car park was situated around the rear of the building, resulting in a short walk to the main entrance on the high street. She didn’t mind the walk too much, as it loosened her limbs up a little. It had taken a while to get used to walking with crutches and the brace, although she had never gotten used to the way people sometimes stared at her like she was a freak, and even now, her movements were jerky and sometimes uncoordinated.
Despite her reassurances, she knew Prosper blamed himself for the crash. In a way, she found it ironic that he came out of the incident without a scratch, but he shouldered all the guilt and harboured all the anger.
She reached back into the car and withdrew her shoulder bag and her crutches. Then she stood up straight, crutches clamped underneath her armpits, smoothed her skirt down, shut the door, and turned to make her way to work. The sun blazed overhead, and a heat haze hovered over the tarmac.
Just
then, her mobile phone started to ring. She withdrew it from her bag and looked at the name on the screen. It was Prosper. She hesitated before pressing the answer button. She didn’t want another argument, but the phone continued to ring, so she accepted the call. “Prosper,” she said.
“Where are you?” Prosper asked. “I’ve been trying to contact Jill Jones. Is she there?”
Before Natasha could reply, she heard something behind her and she started to turn when someone clamped a damp cloth across her nose and mouth. A heavy, sickening smell invaded her nostrils and wormed its way towards her lungs.
Natasha shrieked. In her panic, she dropped the phone and lost her grip on the crutches. She heard them all hit the ground and the crack as the phone broke. She struggled, drew her left leg back, and heard the dull clang of metal as her brace struck the car, but her attacker had too tight a hold.
She fought, thrashed, tried to hit out, but all to no avail as darkness washed over her and she collapsed.
Just before the phone went dead, Prosper heard Natasha scream. Fear wormed through his body, freezing every pore. Frantic, he redialled, but his call went straight through to the answering service.
A cold dread settled over him. He scrolled through his phone book until he found the number where Natasha worked.
The call was answered on the third ring.
“Hello, this is Angela Smart. How may I help you?”
“Ang, it’s Prosper, Natasha’s husband. Is she there?”
“I haven’t seen her yet. She shouldn’t be long. Can I give her a message?”
“Yes, have her call me as soon as she arrives. Hold on, could you do me a favour and see if her car’s there.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I don’t know. Can you just go and look, please.”
“Sure, no problem. Do you want me to call you back?”
“No, I’ll stay on the line.”
Prosper swallowed to wet his throat and then licked his lips.
He waited what seemed an eternity for Angela to return.
“Hello, Prosper, yes, her car’s here.”
“And Natasha?”
“There’s no sign of her. She could have gone to the newsagents. Funny thing though.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, her crutches were lying beside the car, and there was a broken mobile phone on the floor too.”
A lead balloon expanded in Prosper’s stomach. He disconnected the call with shaking hands. “Mike, get the car.”
“What’s wrong?”
After a couple of seconds he said, “I think I’m too late. I think the Oracle’s got Natasha.”
Prosper didn’t consider himself an evil person. Even though he’d helped kill Hatchet Man, he didn’t deserve this, did he? Didn’t the people the Kult targeted deserve what they got? Didn’t they only beat up people that had wronged them in some way? Besides, people like Hatchet Man were scum, the detritus of humanity. Wouldn’t someone have killed him eventually? You can’t swim with sharks and not get bitten, and Hatchet Man was only a piece of meat after all.
These thoughts ran through his head as he made his way to the car, then he sat stony faced in the passenger seat while Mike drove.
“Have you been able to get in touch with Jill yet?” he asked.
Mike shook his head. “No. Johnson said she relieved him this morning, and that’s the last anyone saw of her.”
“Then where the hell is she? Why wasn’t she looking after my wife?”
CHAPTER 42
Natasha Snow wiped her tears on the sleeve of her shirt.
She heard a cough and looked up, panic surging through her body as a figure waded through the shadows and sat down opposite her in a large, high-backed chair. Visible only as a dark smudge within the shadows of the room, he crossed his legs and rested his elbow on the armrest; a dispossessed king seated on his throne.
Having only just woken, she felt groggy, her mind in a fuzz.
“What the hell’s going on,” Natasha sobbed, her voice trembling almost as much as her body.
The man drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair but didn’t reply.
The cloying smell of the chemical used to knock her out still lined her nose and made her feel nauseous, but she could also smell something else, something putrid and vile. She turned her head. Although the room was dingy, illuminated by wan light beaming through the dirty windows, she saw bodies. Dead bodies. Her eyes opened wide and her stomach contracted in pain. She gagged and fought to contain the scream that threatened to burst free. One of the bodies had poles sticking out of it. Another, a woman, had wheels instead of arms and legs. Then she saw the bodies of Prosper’s friends, Ty and Paris and her eyes almost popped out of their sockets before she turned away and retched, the acid bile surging up her throat and spilling out of her mouth to splatter the ground at her feet.
What sort of madness was this? How? Why?
She wiped her mouth and fought the urge to be sick again.
She’d seen pictures of the bodies in the newspapers, but they weren’t like this. They weren’t so horrible … so downright corrupted.
“What do you want?” Deep down she already knew the answer. She knew the man who sat opposite must be the Oracle, but why was he killing Prosper’s friends?
A chill went down her spine as the Oracle laughed. “I want you, Natasha Snow. I want you.”
Unnerved by the Oracle’s scrutiny, she looked away. The room was huge and dark. She heard what sounded like water trickling somewhere and the patter of rats or mice scurrying around the floor. Tall, arched windows occupied three of the walls, but they were so dirty only faint sunlight trickled through. Large metal beams held aloft the vaulted ceiling, skeletal ribs for a decrepit body. And a series of metal walkways crisscrossed overhead.
Natasha grimaced. Goosebumps peppered her arms and legs. Even though she wasn’t restrained, she might as well have been. Her leg brace was missing and she didn’t have her crutches.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed.
The Oracle stood and walked towards the door. “Bait,” he said before exiting the building.
CHAPTER 43
Where had the Oracle gone? Why had he gone? When would he return? What would he do when he returned?
For the first time since the accident, Natasha found herself blaming Prosper. If she had the use of both legs, she’d be better able to put up a fight. To run. Anything rather than sitting feeling sorry for herself.
She peered across the room towards the large front door through which the Oracle had exited. If only she had her braces. She constantly licked her lips and tried to avoid looking in the direction of the corpses, the cloying aroma from which stuck to her throat.
After a moment, she heard the throaty grumble of a car engine that slowly faded away.
Damn it to hell, she thought. I’m not going to sit here waiting to die.
She pushed herself forwards and lowered herself to the ground. Then she crawled across the room, using her elbows to propel herself. Her legs trailed behind her like anchors and she cursed her handicap, and then cursed Prosper for making her this way.
She didn’t know why the Oracle had left, or where he’d gone, but he could return at any moment.
The room was huge and long, and bolts protruded out of the ground where machinery once stood, each obstruction a potential threat in the gloom.
A number of doors lined one side of the room, but Natasha crawled towards the door the Oracle had left through, sharp objects slicing through her knees as she dragged them behind her. When she reached the door, she found herself wheezing slightly. Realising she might not have much time, she reached up and grabbed the handle, only to find the door locked, which didn’t come as any great shock.
She let go of the handle, dropped to the floor and banged her fist against the wood. That bastard.
Tears bristled in her eyes and she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand. Now was no time t
o get all teary.
With the exit locked, she turned around to search for another way out and spotted a hole about two foot square in the ground.
She crawled towards it and peered down, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness except a rusty metal ladder attached to the sides.
Feeling around, she located an old bolt on the floor and dropped it down the hole; seconds later, she heard a splash somewhere far below. The rungs looked unsafe, and she wouldn’t trust them to take her weight.
Okay, Natasha thought, now what? Ignoring the pain of the scratches and cuts on her legs she crawled around the room, looking for a way out, any way out, but the room seemed secure. Of course, if she had been able to stand, she could have climbed to one of the high windows and smashed her way out, but it was no good lamenting her disability now, much as she would like to.
The smell of decomposing meat stung her nostrils. Knowing that it was human flesh made her gag. Although she didn’t want to look at the bodies, she found her eyes drawn towards them. Stray beams of sunlight from the high windows highlighted parts of the cadavers, revealing the severity of their mutilation. How could someone be so inhuman?
Terrified that the same fate awaited her, Natasha crawled shakily across the room and tried the other doors. One led to an internal office, which didn’t help. Another led to some sort of mechanical equipment room, most of the contents of which had been gutted from what she could see. The floor was rougher, covered with metal fragments that gashed her legs and elbows even more. A small passage led to a room with large furnaces, but there was no other exit. She felt blood trickling from her wounds, leaving a grotesque slug trail across the ground. Now even if she did manage to escape, the Oracle would have no trouble tracking her.
Dejected, she eventually crawled back to the main room, leaned against the wall and put her face in her hands, sobbing.
CHAPTER 44
Prosper stood behind the yellow tape stencilled with Crime scene – do not enter that was strung across the entrance to the car park and stared at Natasha’s car. Where had the bastard taken her?
Prosper Snow Series Page 19
