Mirror Man

by McIntosh, Fiona

  Anyway, now here he was, working his frozen fingers to the bone alongside a pile of immigrants. He thought he was getting out when they’d released him from prison; couldn’t believe it when he was told that his sentence was being reduced. He hadn’t really paid much attention; he would have said yes to anything to get away from the clank of cell doors and the hideous routine of the jail, scary blokes at every turn, each trying to out-threaten the other. But he hated this life of hard labour outside in the elements.

  He tucked his iPod back into his pocket and looked at the chunky black watch on his wrist. Mr Chingford was running very late today; it was already darkening, and a light drizzle had begun. But he didn’t dare move from the spot. This was where he was dropped off and picked up every working day. He was never to deviate – those were the rules – and Davey had no intention of breaking any rules . . . he had zero desire to be locked up again.

  ‘About effing time,’ he murmured as headlights picked out the hedgerow in a ghostly amber.

  But the car that drove up wasn’t Chingford’s. The window rolled down and a different guy leaned across from the driver’s side. ‘Are you Davey Robbins?’

  He pulled out one earphone to reply, frowning. ‘Yeah, that’s me.’

  ‘Get in, son. I’m what they call a relief minder.’

  ‘Where’s Mr Chingford?’

  ‘He’s had to go to hospital. I’m taking you today.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Gallstones, they said. Lots of pain. Hop in before we both get soaked – I want to wind the window up.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Davey asked, climbing into the passenger seat of the small hatchback. He pulled out his iPod again to switch it off, placing it in his lap and disconnecting the headphones.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll just get us back on the road. Don’t want to get bogged on the verge. This is a bit of a dangerous bend. Ah, that’s better. Are you always picked up here?’ He frowned at Davey, who nodded. ‘Odd spot.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s usually still light enough.’ He wondered at the wisdom of getting lippy with the stranger, but the man was concentrating on the road.

  ‘All right, now,’ Davey heard him say, almost to himself. He watched the new guy check the rear-view, look in his side windows and then back to the rear-view like a typical oldie, Davey thought. ‘I’m not familiar with these roads, so give me a tick. Let’s just lock these doors, as it’s quite dark out, isn’t it?’ The man pushed a central locking button.

  ‘No one’s going to mug us,’ Davey said, exasperated.

  ‘You never know who is around the corner, Davey. Can’t be too careful,’ the man said, cutting him a benign smile in the dull light.

  ‘It’s straight down there and turn left.’ Davey pointed to get them moving.

  ‘Righto. Just a quick errand to run, won’t take a few ticks.’

  Davey sighed. At least he was out of the rain. ‘Warm in here. Feels like you’ve been driving a while?’

  His driver frowned. ‘Oh, yes. I, er . . . I’ve been running all these errands for everyone. When you’re a relief minder, they seem to think they can give you a list of all the stuff to do that no one else wants to. Now, just let me concentrate here.’

  Davey stared ahead but mentally he was rolling his eyes with impatience. It had been made clear to him that only Chingford was responsible for his transport but this dithering man seemed to know all about him, and Chingford, too. Davey was happy to be away from the bastard vegetables and the filthy Poles, and he really just wanted his working day over. Tomorrow was Saturday. Football, video games, a chance to go to the shop, sleep in – all of those normal things.

  ‘So, Davey, were you originally in the sex offenders area at Wormwood Scrubs or Wandsworth? I used to work in the nonces’ wing at Wandsworth Prison.’

  ‘Wormwood, and then I had some time at High Point Prison.’

  ‘Ah, near Newmarket, the old RAF base. I know it.’

  ‘Yeah. But then I moved to HMP Wakefield, which is a category C prison.’

  ‘Fortunate.’

  ‘Yeah, pretty low-key there and they had schemes for us. They put me in a training unit for outdoor cultivation. I didn’t think they’d send me up here though, but I took it because they had an opening. I just wanted out of the cells, and the home in Selby for sex offenders seemed an easy gig.’

  ‘Far away from home.’

  ‘S’okay,’ he mumbled. ‘Not forever. And it got me out of the jail system.’

  ‘And how are you getting on?’

  ‘I hate it up here. It’s always cold, always raining, they’ve got stupid accents, and every northerner seems to hate anyone from the south.’

  ‘I rather like Yorkshire.’

  ‘Well, this place I work at Sherburn is the arse end of Britain, I can tell you. But I know I have to keep my nose clean for a bit longer and look like I’ve really changed my ways, and then I can get back down to London.’

  ‘And have you changed your ways, Davey?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t plan on doing it again, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Getting caught, you mean?’ The guy actually winked but didn’t wait for Davey to answer. ‘Do the crime, do the time,’ he continued.

  Davey didn’t like the man’s smugness. ‘Yeah, well, that girl I was supposed to have raped was a pricktease at the pub, really coming on, you know.’

  ‘Well, Davey, the jury saw it differently. That girl, as you describe her, was employed to be welcoming to customers. There is a reliable witness to say she was polite and appropriately friendly, that’s all. Your interpretation of her being some sort of tart doesn’t wash. She came from a good family, was a talented creative headed for university, and she’d only had one boyfriend through school. She was a virgin when you raped her.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about my case,’ Davey snarled.

  ‘That’s my job. If I’m going to be your minder for the next few weeks until Mr Chingford is well enough to return, it would be remiss of me not to have read your file, don’t you agree?’

  ‘No. I don’t think it’s any of your business. I thought your job was to see I go to and fro each day, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, it may look simple to you, Davey, but I take my role seriously. And you need to take responsibility. And by the by, there was no supposition about it. You broke into her house, your companion killed her grandmother and you raped the young victim while your mate held her down. That’s a very long way from consensual.’

  ‘I dunno what that means,’ Davey lied. ‘Mr Chingford doesn’t judge.’

  The man laughed. ‘No, and that’s fair enough. But there are some who might think your victims didn’t get justice.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘What about your work here? Are you making a good fist of it? It all bodes well for you if you work hard and don’t complain, right? Now, we just have to go up here, I think.’ The driver squinted through his large glasses and the light drizzle that danced in front of the headlights. ‘Yes, right here, I believe.’

  ‘I hate the immigrants I’m with. I’m the only English bloke and I don’t see why they have to be here, taking our jobs.’

  ‘Immigrants?’

  ‘Polish, Lithuanian, Russian, Czech . . . I dunno. They all sound the same to me, talking their rubbish language and living in their filthy caravans. All the men are benefit scroungers and all the women I pick vegetables with look like men.’ Davey laughed scornfully. ‘They blather in their stupid talk – they all sound Russian.’

  ‘You sound angry.’

  ‘Yeah, I am. It’s a fuckin’ disgrace that I have to work with people who don’t even speak English. I’m going to join that Combat party.’

  ‘Don’t they have links around the world to Neo-Nazis?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Not a good idea, Davey.’

  ‘No? In prison, right, I listened to a lot of fascist talk and now it all really makes sense.’ He knew he was getting worke
d up, but this guy had a way of getting under his skin. ‘I didn’t see these people in my neighbourhood in London, but they’re everywhere, and not just them; it’s everyone . . . no one’s English any more, are they?’

  ‘Looking to find your tribe again, are you?’

  Davey wasn’t sure what that meant but blocking out the Eastern Europeans was why his iPod was everything to him. He could disconnect from their babble and escape his horrible life in the cold mud of Yorkshire by listening to an endless loop of music, particularly the song that had sat for seven consecutive weeks at the top of the English rock and metal charts the previous year. His iPod was precious. He’d saved every penny he could to buy the electric blue second-generation model. Apart from his clothes, he didn’t own anything but this tiny piece of tech; he didn’t count his watch, a cheap digital they’d given him at the home. He usually just put the song from My Chemical Romance on repeat . . . sometimes it played all day into his head and helped to keep him angry – and it made sure the others gave him a wide berth.

  The car turned off the main road. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I have to pick up something from one of the filthy caravans, as you put it.’

  Davey frowned. ‘The Polish ones? Why?’

  ‘Are they Polish? I wouldn’t know. I have two errands: picking up a parcel from the only caravan in Leveson’s top field . . . ah, there’s the gate now. I’ll need to check which direction, so we don’t search in the dark . . .’ the bloke said, reaching to pull out an envelope from the glove compartment. ‘. . . and pick up Davey Robbins and deliver him . . . and deliver you, we shall.’

  We? Davey didn’t see the syringe that the fellow pulled from the envelope, but he felt the needle stab into his neck.

  ‘Ouch!’ he yelled. ‘What the f—’

  ‘You’re a lucky boy, Davey. I’m showing more kindness than you showed Amy or her grandmother before you hurt them.’

  ‘The fu—?’ Davey repeated in an angry voice, feeling something cold begin to ease through him from where he’d been stabbed. He began scrabbling at the locked door. It wouldn’t open; the man kept relocking it from the central console each time Davey released it. He tried to swing a punch, but his fist seemed to move in slow motion.

  ‘Don’t fight it, Davey. Amy fought you and it got her nowhere. I can assure you that you’ll get no further than the roadside. So do me a favour and settle down . . . let it work.’

  ‘Why?’ Davey wasn’t sure but he thought he might be crying.

  ‘Why?’ The man laughed, hugely amused. ‘Why did I just give you an enormous dose of propofol? I’m sure you’re already feeling drowsy . . . we’ll just give it a little longer.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I want you to die, Davey, so I plan to stop your heart with a much bigger dose of propofol. Right now it’s keeping you sedated but it will wear off unless I top you up, which I’ll do shortly. The world is going to be a much better place for Amy and her family without you in it. In the meantime, however, seeing that you haven’t learned your lesson and still bear Amy and the world a lot of hate, I think we need to teach you something before you drift away. I might even chop your old fellow off as a special courtesy to young Amy. But don’t worry, I’ll snip that off with very sharp shears after you’re dead. No pain, less blood . . . no screaming.’ The man laughed again.

  ‘Please . . .’

  ‘No, Davey, that doesn’t work. You know that – Amy pleaded with you and you ignored her. Fair’s fair. By the way, the Polish keep their caravans spotless, from what I hear. Righto, you’re looking very sleepy. Let’s get you sorted.’

  Davey’s last immediate thought was for his electric blue iPod as it slipped from his lap.

  When Davey stirred, he was able to work out that his mouth was taped up heavily, his hands were cuffed and he was on his knees with his arms above his head leaning against a tree. He looked up to make sense of it all in the murky, intermittent moonlight. When that pale light next emerged from behind the night clouds, he could see rope attached to the cuffs that bound his hands; he followed its path to see it was slung over a sturdy branch and then pulled taut, tied to the bumper of a car. How did he get here? Who did that car belong to? What was going on?!

  ‘Crude but effective,’ a voice that some primitive response told him to fear said from behind him. ‘Welcome back, Davey. You’ve been out for twenty minutes.’

  He whipped his head around, trying to see the man who spoke. The man came into view and regarded him, almost studying him. Davey looked back wildly.

  ‘Ah, yes, I was warned about this. The drug I’ve used does cause memory loss. Do you remember me picking you up, Davey?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Not to worry. And I must thank you for staying semiconscious and helping me by getting yourself out of the car and into the woods. You were most compliant . . . saves my old back a bit.’ The man chuckled. ‘Now to answer the question burning in those frightened eyes of yours – what do I want? What I want is you dead. That’s what I explained to you in the car.’

  Davey whimpered.

  ‘Justice was never served with your sentence, Davey. I know you haven’t forgotten that you’re a heinous law-breaker of the cruellest kind. Accidents happen, and I can forgive accidents. But what you did was deliberate, and calculated to cause harm. Your sentence was always too lenient and you clearly haven’t learned much at all from incarceration. I think you’d go straight back to your bad ways in London.’

  Unable to speak, Davey shook his head violently.

  ‘You’d say anything at this point. I don’t trust you. And besides, I don’t like you. I don’t like what you did. I don’t like how you sneered in the court. I don’t like how you performed your part like an old pro for your defence counsel, when even right now I know you harbour intense hatred for people around you. I don’t like that you never showed an ounce of genuine contrition towards the Clarke family. You will rape again, Davey. You are a lowlife and a threat to society.’

  Davey moaned. He tried to beg but the masking tape was too firm. It just came out as a pathetic squeal.

  ‘Justice, Davey. That’s what this is about. Can’t go back and serve your time properly, so let’s just go forward and you can pay for it all now.’

  Davey began to scream, but it was really just an animalistic sound, and the man who planned to kill him spoke over it.

  ‘So, I went to some trouble to learn how to insert this cannula into your vein. See? Just here.’ He shone a torch into the dimming light and Davey only now saw the butterfly clip and the sinuous plastic tube that curled away from his arm. ‘And then we’ll attach a syringe full of propofol. That will fix you up nicely, I think.’

  Davey began to cry in a long silent sob, eyes clenched in terror.

  ‘Oh dear. I’m sure Amy could sympathise with how you feel right now. Anyway, let’s crack on, shall we? There’s just one thing to do before I allow you to go to sleep, my friend. The longest sleep, that is.’ He gave a low chuckle. ‘It won’t take long if we just go at it. It’s not your old fellow that’s the problem – your hands are the offenders. Hands that thieve, hands that grip a girl and ravage her and touch her in places you have no permission to touch. Now, there are still some places in the world today where they cut off the hand of a thief. And you are a pathological thief, so we’ll take a hand off for that. And then you thieved something precious from Amy, so for that I’m going to take off the other hand.’

  Davey let go. His bladder emptied through his jeans and the air about them filled with the unpleasant, slightly sweet and acrid smell of urine.

  His killer tsk-tsked. ‘Awful to feel that frightened, isn’t it? This is how Amy felt. I think it’s valid that you feel this fear. I’m proud of you, even. Now at least you know.’

  Davey couldn’t even feel the cooling dampness between his legs. He pleaded with his eyes, shaking his head, hoping to find some mercy. But the man looked as distracted as he was impervious t
o the pleas.

  ‘I’m no surgeon, of course, so we’ll do it the quickest way.’ He pointed to an axe that Davey only now noticed. His eyes widened in understandable horror. He began to struggle, his actions hysterical. ‘Not worth it, Davey. The more you move around, the less accurate I can be. I used to be a pretty good wood chopper when I was a lad, so I suggest you trust my aim and strength. Be still and we’ll whip those hands off in a jiffy and then I’ll press that syringe and you’ll be off to find your maker somewhere in hell, I hope.’ The man reached for the axe. Davey did his best to scream, tried to stand but only now realised his ankles were bound and so were his knees. He was too weak anyway.

  ‘Righto, Davey. Here we go. This is what we call justice for thieves who steal people’s lives.’

  The man measured the blade against Davey’s wrists, then swung the axe back, and Davey lifted his chin and screamed through his already raw throat.

  13

  Jack arrived back at the incident room and could feel the electricity that was crackling invisibly through his team members.

  ‘Here he is,’ Kate said to Sarah, nudging her. Kate gave him a nod and he understood immediately.

  ‘All right, everyone. I gather Sarah’s got something to share.’

  The room quietened and people moved closer, giving their full attention.

  ‘Are we missing anyone?’

  ‘All present,’ Kate confirmed.

  ‘Over to you, then,’ he said, gesturing for Sarah to take the floor.

  She’d removed her anorak, Jack noticed, and now she stood, pushing her glasses back up her nose. ‘Er, well, there’s not a lot to say, but I believe HOLMES has arrived at what is certainly one commonality that simply cannot be ignored. This is not going to deliver us a serial killer immediately . . .’ She paused, unsure now that she had everyone’s focused silence, but took a breath and pressed on. ‘So, we all know the four victims were either convicted or certainly charged with a serious crime. Each crime involved a death. Each received a lenient sentence and in one case no conviction. Those who went to prison served only a partial sentence.’