“How? We don’t know where to look.”
“Let’s see what the other clues are.” He proceeded to write out the initials from the portraits surrounding the third murder: H. E. T. K. U. T. L.
Both Prosper and Wolfe spoke at the same time. “The Kult.”
“Jesus, Prosper, what the fuck’s going on here?”
“I wish I knew.”
“What about Jerel, Ty and Paris’ photos. Who were the killers featured on those? They must have more clues on them.”
Prosper consulted his notes for Jerel’s photograph and wrote down: N. T. A. D. H. O. E. U. R. R. D.
He stared at the alphabetical puzzle, and scratched his head while scribbling a few words down.
“This is useless,” he said. “Have you got a computer?”
Wolfe nodded and led the way to a small office. He switched on his computer, and Prosper settled himself at the keyboard and searched for an anagram solver. Settling on wordsmith.org, he entered the letters into the box that said, ‘search anagrams for’ and then pressed the ‘get anagrams’ button, dismayed to see 2104 results appear on the screen.
Scrolling down the list, he looked for something to stand out.
Hoarded runt.
Hoarded turn.
Adorned hurt.
He feared this was going to take forever, when a cold hand clutched at his heart and he stared at the screen, wide eyed.
Road Thunder.
He pointed at the screen. “That’s it.”
“I don’t get it. What?”
“Road Thunder.
Thunder Road.” “Shit, I thought no one but us knew about that place.”
Prosper leaned back in his chair and stared at Wolfe, his mind a maelstrom of dark thoughts. “Obviously not.”
CHAPTER 50
Prosper warily eyed the shadows around his house. All the way here he’d been worried in case Jill was still following him, now he found himself concerned she might be spying on them from a concealed hiding place.
Wolfe exited the vehicle behind him and slammed the door, making Prosper wince.
“What are we doing here?” Wolfe asked, his dark clothes making him a shadow that the feeble light avoided. He had tied his long black hair in a ponytail, making him look wolfish by nature as well as by name. He sniffed the air, flaring his nostrils to complete the persona.
“There’s something I need to get.”
Somewhere in the night a dog barked; the call taken up by the urban pack in back yards across the city.
Shaking off his concerns, Prosper unlocked the front door and entered the house. Straight away, he sensed something was wrong and the hairs tingled on the nape of his neck.
He motioned for Wolfe to be quiet, then withdrew the knife and tiptoed along the hallway, pulse a tribal beat. A cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
When he reached the kitchen door, Prosper leaned forwards and put his ear against the wood. Unable to hear anything, he gripped the door handle, took a breath, then charged into the room. He scanned the area, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anyone that shouldn’t be there, but the room was empty.
“What’s the problem?” Wolfe asked.
“The light’s on.”
“So?”
“Well no one’s been in the house, so it shouldn’t be.”
“Does anything look out of place?”
“Who’s the copper here?” Shaking off his annoyance at Wolfe trying to run the show, Prosper stared around the kitchen. Everything looked as it should. About to turn away, he noticed the door to the cupboard beneath the sink was slightly ajar – it had a tendency to jamb if you didn’t give it a good push.
Bottom lip clamped between his teeth, he walked towards the cupboard and crouched down to look inside. Straight away he noticed that the bottles of cleaning solutions, aerosol cans and assorted odds and ends were in disarray. Natasha liked to keep them tidy. Prosper rummaged through the supplies until he spotted a rag stuffed at the back, behind the U-bend.
Frowning, he pulled the rag out, felt something solid wrapped inside.
“This isn’t the time to start spring cleaning,” Wolfe said.
Prosper started to unwrap the rag, a sick feeling in his stomach. Unfolding the final corner, he stared aghast at the severed finger and dropped it on the floor.
“Shit,” Wolfe said. “Where the fuck’s that come from?”
Fighting his growing nausea, Prosper lurched to the sink and leaned against it, taking deep breaths. He could see his reflection in the window before him, his skin as pale as the bloodless finger.
He turned on the cold tap and splashed his face with water. “At least this proves I’m being set up,” he said. “Serial killers sometimes like to keep mementoes of their victims, and obviously the killer has planted this here to incriminate me.”
“So what else has he left?”
“I dread to think. Wait here.”
He made his way upstairs, stood in the doorway to Leon’s room, and glanced inside. The only illumination came from the landing light, but he could see the hanging mobile of Disney cartoon characters suspended from the ceiling, the plastic drawing board with the little chair in front of it, the toys and games. It broke his heart to think he had endangered his family. He walked away with his head bowed.
In the spare bedroom, he pulled the copy of Gray’s Anatomy off the bookshelf. Although being a thick book, it felt extremely heavy in his hands, and he opened it up to reveal a hollowed-out interior that he had carved years ago to hide things he didn’t want Natasha to find, knowing she would never want to read the book. Inside were photographs of old girlfriends he kept for the sake of nostalgia, trinkets that held some long forgotten significance and talismans that he was too afraid to throw away. But the thing he was looking for was the Beretta that he had moved from on top of the medicine cabinet a few days ago. The gun felt good in his hand as he picked it up; made him feel like a God that possessed the power of life and death. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, next to the knife, and then took an interlaced triangle pendant out of the book. A Solomon’s Seal, worn to protect its wearer from all evil. He knew that if there was ever a time he needed its power, it was now. He slipped it over his head, fingering the talisman as if to release some of its influence before he tucked it into his shirt, and made his way downstairs.
CHAPTER 51
Prosper ran through the shadows, using the trees as a shield. He imagined he could hear Natasha calling him, and he cocked his head to listen, but heard only the wind whistling around him, rustling the foliage, his imagination playing cruel tricks.
At his side, Wolfe hunkered down. He had a knife in his hand.
“Are you sure he’s here?” Wolfe asked.
“I’m sure,” Prosper replied, gritting his teeth and fighting the waves of anger that threatened to drag him down into a cold, dark place. “That’s why there was a new lock on the gate.” He withdrew the gun and checked the action.
“You’re a dark horse.”
Prosper looked up to see Wolfe staring at the gun with an appreciative expression. “I’m not going in there without it.”
During the drive over, Prosper had remained quiet, fighting an internal dilemma. He knew he should report the Oracle’s possible whereabouts to the police, but he couldn’t risk having the Kult and its nefarious deeds exposed unless he had no other choice. He also couldn’t risk Natasha’s life to anyone else.
The pumping station was a tall, imposing structure, hewn from bricks the colour of sand. It looked pretty much as he remembered it, but the surrounding foliage had taken a firmer grip. A group of houses huddled at the edge of the trees, former homes for the people that used to work here. Built from the same brick as the pumping station, they’d fallen into disrepair. The doors were weathered and worn; paint flaking like sunburned skin, while the tiles on some of the roofs had blown off, opening them to the elements. In places, plants and trees sprouted from the brickwork, Mother Nature
’s smothering embrace.
Memories of the place came flooding back. This was their childhood hunting ground. The place where they used to play games; their secret place, where they could escape into a land of make-believe, the pumping station a fort, a rocket, a castle, becoming whatever they wished it to be.
“Why here?” Wolfe asked.
“More importantly, how did the Oracle know about it?” Prosper surveyed the area, scanning the surrounding trees for any sign of movement before looking back at the pumping station.
The lock securing the entrance gate had been open, so if the Oracle was here, would he be armed? Was he sitting with a knife at Natasha’s throat? Or was she already dead? The thought made him shiver.
“So what’s the plan?” Wolfe asked.
“I haven’t got a plan. As long as she’s still alive, we’ve just got to get my wife out before that maniac hurts her.”
“But how?” Wolfe asked. “There’s something ... I don’t know, strange about this Oracle bloke. How does he know so much?”
Prosper frowned and fingered the Solomon’s Seal pendant around his neck.
“Come on; let’s see if we can spot anything through those windows.” Flushed with adrenaline, Prosper crawled towards the building. He felt the throb of blood in his temples, the rush of liquid pouring through his veins. He’d never felt so in tune with his body, every sense heightened.
When he reached the pumping station, he leaned against the wall, trying to melt into the brickwork. He heard the wind in the distance, snuffling around the trees like a rabid beast seeking its prey. At the nearest window, he stood on tiptoes and cupped his hands around his eyes to peer inside, and stared in horror at the Oracle’s macabre display of decomposing bodies. Among them, he spotted his old friends, Jerel, Ty and Paris. The sight made tears bristle in his eyes.
The photographs were bad enough, but the real thing was a thousand times worse, a monstrous exhibition of putrescent flesh. Wolfe’s rendition didn’t even come close.
He turned his head and took a deep breath.
This was worse than he imagined. Worse than any nightmare he could conjure, but he had to look again, to make sure Natasha wasn’t one of the exhibits.
Exhaling his anger, he turned to look back in the room, scanning the shadows for Natasha. Then he spotted her lying motionless on the ground across the far side of the room and his heart felt about to break.
He studied the room, looking for the Oracle, but he couldn’t see anyone else in attendance – at least not anyone alive.
Prosper motioned Wolfe to wait, then he crept towards the front door, grabbed the handle and turned it, opening the door a fraction to peer into the building. The stench of decaying human flesh hit him like a physical slap and Prosper recoiled, face scrunched up in disgust.
Natasha wasn’t moving. Her skirt and top appeared ripped. Was she dead? Jesus, no.
Shaking his head to dispel the thought, Prosper swallowed, the cloying smell sticking to his throat. His stomach tied itself in knots. How did the Oracle know about this place? He recalled Wolfe’s theory about the Oracle having second sight, and shivered. What if he was right? What if the Oracle knew everything in advance? What chance would they have? Gritting his teeth, he crept into the pumping station, gun held out in front of him.
Shadows permeated the large room. Despite its size, it now seemed smaller than when he played here as a kid. Eyes not adapted to the dark, he relied on his memories of the place as he crept across the floor, wary of tripping over the rusty bolts that protruded like mushroom stalks from the concrete.
A sound made him jump, and he peered into the gloom. He heard the noise again. Looking up he saw a couple of pigeons roosting in the rafters, their light feathers discernible in the dark.
Taking a steady breath, he proceeded, Wolfe a shadow beside him.
As he approached Natasha, he became more vigilant, eyes flicking left then right, head jerking one way or the other to fully focus on something he couldn’t discern. When he reached Natasha, he crouched beside her and grabbed her wrist, releasing a relieved breath at the steady pulse.
“Where is he?” Wolfe whispered.
Prosper shrugged. He didn’t have time to mess about, but something niggled him, something that he couldn’t quite work out. “Give me a hand,” he said, stuffing the gun into his waistband and grabbing his wife underneath her arms and lifting her up.
Wolfe grabbed Natasha’s legs and they carried her quickly towards the door. Just before they exited, Prosper stared at the corpses, and he realised what had troubled him. There was an extra corpse. The body resembled Jerel in a vague way, and he had the same mutilations, tongue pulled through his throat, innards hanging from the gaping cavity wound, but they hadn’t received any photographs of this corpse. So what did it mean?
With no time to contemplate it now, he continued outside, and proceeded towards Wolfe’s Jeep where they placed Natasha on the back seat.
Legs aching, he ran around and jumped into the driving seat. Wolfe dropped into the passenger seat.
“Keys,” Prosper said, holding his hand out. He kept glancing nervously in the rear-view mirror.
“I left them in the ignition.”
“Well they’re not there now.”
Wolfe stuck a hand in his pocket then shook his head.
“Looking for these?” a voice said.
Prosper stared out the window at Jill Jones, the keys dangling from her fingers, and he grimaced.
CHAPTER 52
Prosper opened the door and clambered out of the car.
“Jill, for god’s sake, give me the keys.” He thrust his hand out.
Jill shook her head and twirled the keys around her finger. “I don’t think so, Prosper.” She took a step back. “Now tell me what’s going on. How did you know where to find your wife?”
It didn’t take a detective to work out that she had followed them here. But how much had she seen? If she’d looked inside the pumping station, reinforcements would be on the way, but her manner dictated that wasn’t the case. She was too inquisitive; had various pieces of a puzzle, but didn’t know how to connect them.
“What the hell are you doing following me, Jill?”
“Don’t try turning this around. Tell me what’s going on. How did you know where to find Natasha? And where’s the Oracle?”
Prosper needed to think fast, but nothing he thought of seemed plausible. “I got an anonymous call telling me where she was.”
“How convenient.”
“I don’t care how convenient it was. I got my wife back that’s all I’m bothered about.”
“What’s wrong with her then?”
“She’s unconscious. Probably been knocked out with something.”
“Why didn’t you call it in when you got the tip off?”
“I wasn’t thinking straight. Fucks sake, Jill. He had my wife. I just wanted her back. I didn’t want to wait while the powers that be tried to decide on the right course of action.”
“So what is that place?” She pointed at the building visible through the trees.
“It’s an old pumping station.”
“Why would the Oracle just leave Natasha there?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’ve got her back safe and sound, that’s all that matters.”
Jill looked back towards the building. She reached for her police radio. “I’ll have to call it in.”
Prosper’s heart sank like a lead weight. What if the Oracle had planted further incriminating evidence at the scene that tried to implicate him as being the killer?
“It’s too dangerous to hang around here,” he said before she could make the call. “I want you to take Natasha to the safe house for me.”
“You can’t order me to do anything. You’re off the case, remember. I need to call this in.”
“I’m still your senior officer, and you’ll do as I tell you. I want you to make sure my wife is safe. You’ve already let me down once. I do
n’t expect you to do it again. I’ll phone this in, and then I’ll wait for the cavalry to arrive.”
Jill stared at Prosper, eyebrows knotted in confusion.
“Where are you parked?” he asked.
Jill pointed further along the lane.
“Right, Wolfe, help her carry Natasha to her car.”
Wolfe jumped out of the Jeep.
“Hold on”, Jill said. “There’s something going on here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Just take my wife to the safe house. I’m entrusting my wife and son to you. Now unless you want me to put you on report, that’s an order. I’m going to stay here, keep a watch on the property in case the Oracle returns, and wait for back up to arrive.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “I’m coming straight back after I drop her off.” Then she joined Wolfe and helped him lift Natasha out of the Jeep. Prosper leaned forwards and kissed Natasha on the forehead, then indicated they should go.
CHAPTER 53
Hatchet Man’s flesh felt cold and rubbery, the smell horrendous. Prosper held his breath as he helped Wolfe lift the corpse; angry flies swarmed around their heads and one of Hatchet Man’s legs fell off, the twine they’d used to sew the limb to his shoulder socket slicing through the rotten flesh. Prosper gagged.
Having festered in the heat, Hatchet Man felt like congealed tapioca.
Prosper gritted his teeth, adjusted his hold and proceeded out of the house. He nervously surveyed the surrounds. The boot of Wolfe’s Jeep was open, like a huge mouth eager to accept its human sacrifice, and they lifted the corpse into the vehicle. Prosper hurried back and picked the leg up, placing it with the rest of the body. He covered the remains with a blanket before shutting the door.
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