The Domino Killer

by Neil White

  ‘Let’s go up,’ he said.

  The steps creaked as they climbed slowly. Their hands trailed along the wall at one side, damp and dirty, coarse in places, slick with moisture in others. They felt the space around them open up and there were specks of light, some of the windows merely blacked out and with the street light showing through, creating faint outlines. The air was less damp than on the ground floor.

  ‘Carrie! Mark!’ Melissa shouted again, but still nothing.

  ‘Listen out,’ Joe said, and put his arm across Melissa.

  There were no sounds.

  ‘They can’t be on this floor, we’d hear something.’

  ‘But how big is this place?’ Melissa said.

  ‘Big, but I still think it’s up.’

  They crept through to the next floor. Still silent. The air felt colder. There was more light, like a fan across the floor.

  ‘There,’ Joe said.

  There was a large opening, like a huge open door, and beyond it a metal bridge joining onto the next building, so that employees could carry cloth between the buildings without going down the stairs, from the days when they were locked in once the shifts started.

  ‘That must be the building overlooking my apartment,’ Melissa said.

  ‘Where we saw something,’ Joe said, and set off towards the bridge.

  As they got to the doorway, Joe looked down. They were only three floors up but already it looked too high. Each floor had high ceilings so that the bridge was a long way from the ground, just a dark hole beneath them, the building opposite shutting out all light. The bridge was around twenty yards long, with another one above it, connecting the top floors of the buildings, but it seemed to stretch into the distance.

  Joe stepped onto the bridge and it dipped. He gripped the rail as the air was filled with the sound of metal moving against stone. His feet clanged as he moved slowly, the bridge swaying with every step, bouncing as he got closer to the centre. The metal felt like it was flaking under his shoes. All he could do was look straight ahead and keep moving.

  It seemed to take an age to get across, Melissa still on the other side, but the colossal shadow of the opposite building eventually swallowed him up.

  There was no way in. The entrance doors were closed off. He pushed at them, frustrated, but they just banged against the frame.

  He looked up. He’d have to try the gangway above.

  ‘We have to keep going up,’ he said.

  Melissa turned, she wasn’t prepared to wait for him, so Joe ran back across, ignoring the sickening bounce of the bridge, until he was back inside the darkness of the building.

  Melissa found more stairs and ran up them. Joe rushed to catch up, stumbling as he twisted his ankle on a piece of brick he hadn’t seen. When he joined her at the top of the stairs, he was looking across at an identical metal walkway, except this time there was an opening on the other side. He could see into the building and some of the streets beyond.

  Joe pushed past her and went first.

  ‘I’m not the little woman, and I want my daughter back,’ Melissa said.

  ‘And if this bridge isn’t safe, there’s no kids to grieve for me,’ Joe said, and stepped forward. ‘Wait until I get across. If I make it, you know it’s all right for you too.’

  It moved when he stepped onto it, as though the stone supporting it was crumbling. Joe’s stomach lurched and he gripped the rail, but he kept on moving forward. It was in a worse state than the bridge below. Some of the metal was cracked, as if it was rusting through, but Joe wasn’t going to stop. He stared forward and kept on marching, the night filled with the sound of metal grating against stone and the creaks as it bounced.

  Joe paused at the doorway. The room was better lit, with the light coming in through a broken window and a large hole in the roof. He listened, tried to hear something over his own deep breaths. There was a noise, something banging on the roof.

  He looked up and stepped forward.

  Joe didn’t see the brick coming.

  It smashed into his cheekbone, knocking him backwards onto the walkway. He banged his head on the rail. The weight of his falling body knocked out one of the metal panels in the side of the bridge. It seemed a long time before it clanged onto the ground.

  His head tilted backwards, nothing to stop the fall of his body. He strained to lift himself but everything seemed to take too long. The stars were just swirling dots. The sound of his hands on the metal walkway seemed muffled, his heartbeat loud in his ears, but he grabbed the rail and slid back onto the bridge. He groaned as he rolled over. There were footsteps behind him, moving quickly.

  Instinct kicked in. Joe rolled to one side and a brick smashed against the rail. Fragments peppered his face and grit went into his eye, the pain bringing him round. He looked up. There was someone standing over him, arms out from his body, tensed and angry. Mark Proctor.

  Joe kicked upwards, the gasp of pain from Proctor loud and satisfying. Proctor bent over in agony so Joe lashed out again, his boot catching Proctor in the face, making him rock backwards.

  Joe got onto all fours, sucking in air. There was blood on the back of his head, he could feel it matting his hair, but he wasn’t backing down. This was his moment.

  Melissa shouted, ‘Where’s Carrie?’

  Proctor got to his feet. He laughed, blood running from his mouth. His eye was swelling, a fractured eye socket perhaps, but he bared his teeth in anger, unbowed. ‘Little Melissa. It’s been a long time.’

  Melissa ran across the walkway. It bounced as she ran, the air filled with loud clangs. She scrambled over Joe and flailed towards Proctor, her blows wild and angry. Proctor punched her face and she went down hard, groaning, lying on the floor just inside the doorway.

  Proctor turned as if to go back towards Joe but his attention was distracted by a noise, like bangs on the roof, the sound of someone struggling: Carrie.

  Joe got to his knees and ran at Proctor. His shoulder thumped into his stomach, a rugby tackle, his legs driving hard, forcing Proctor backwards, unbalanced. As Proctor landed, winded, Joe pushed himself off and headed for the hole in the roof. Melissa had lifted up her shoulders and blood pooled onto the floor.

  Joe hauled himself upwards.

  The height was dizzying. The orange streets seemed a long way below. He tried to stay steady in the join between two roofs. He couldn’t see her. The tiles felt slippery. They made loud cracks as he moved across the roof, his arms out to balance himself. He tried not to think of the height, but he felt sick with every slip as he went.

  ‘Carrie!’

  His shout was loud and bounced between the buildings a long way below. There were blue flashing lights in the distance, coming from two angles. Sirens wailed. Help was on its way, but it might be too late for Carrie.

  Then he saw it. A drainpipe. It was sticking out above the roof edge and was moving. As he listened, it clanked against the brickwork.

  Joe threw himself forward, clattering onto the tiles. He scrambled towards to the edge. He gasped and closed his eyes when he got there. The view below swirled, it was so high, the street lights moving as if they were caught in a high wind. He had to fight that. Carrie was hanging from the drainpipe, her body swinging. She was looking up, petrified, a soaked and filthy gag around her mouth. The drainpipe was leaning away from the wall, as if her weight was pulling it out.

  Joe shuffled further forward, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea of the drop, and reached over. His shoulders and chest were over the edge. He banged into the drainpipe and it creaked. Mortar dust drifted onto Carrie, making her blink and grimace. He couldn’t stop. He reached down and grabbed her under her arms. He strained as he pulled her towards him. He tried to push his legs against the roof tiles, scared she would drag him forward, send them both over. She cried. The muscles in his arms felt about to give up the fight.

  He shouted as he strained, and then her bound wrists cleared the top of the drainpipe. He had all of her weight. He tri
ed to inch back and bring her with him.

  Carrie banged against the edge of the roof, her face on the tiles, her body still over the edge. She was wriggling, scared, trying to pull herself forward. She was soaked in sweat and it made her slippery.

  ‘Keep still,’ Joe gasped.

  He roared as he pulled her back one final time, his shoulders straining, his teeth bared. She cried out in pain as the edge of the roof tiles dragged along her stomach, drawing blood. That didn’t matter, she was coming up.

  She flopped forward onto the roof tiles as Joe fell backwards, drained, panting.

  Carrie’s eyes were filled with fear, cheeks stained by dirt and tears. Joe hauled himself onto his knees, sucked in lungfuls of air and reached forwards to pull at her gag, bringing it below her chin. Her mouth curled into a sob.

  ‘No time,’ Joe said.

  The sirens got closer. Joe looked. Blue lights were colouring the buildings around.

  He pulled at the knot on the rope around Carrie’s wrists. The rope was thick, making it easier. Once they were free, Carrie threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. He let her stay like that for a few seconds, her ribs against his arms, her arms skinny and frail. For a moment, he wished it had been like this with his sister, that he could have rescued her and had this moment with her.

  There were noises behind them. Proctor’s head appeared through the hole in the roof. Carrie tried to scramble up the tiles to get away, but Joe gripped her hand.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ he whispered. ‘Get off the roof when you can.’

  Carrie nodded.

  Proctor hauled himself up and then stood with a foot on each roof slope, his feet wide apart. He was holding a large knife.

  ‘It ends now,’ Proctor said, and he moved towards them.

  Roof tiles cracked under Proctor’s heavy footsteps. He was just a few feet away. He lashed out with the knife.

  Joe leaned backwards. Carrie scrambled away. They were close to the edge again. Joe sneaked a look back and his breath caught in his throat.

  Proctor was moving towards him. ‘You’re frightened, just like your baby sister,’ he said, sneering.

  Joe tensed.

  Proctor grinned, his eye swollen. ‘She enjoyed it, I think. She thought it was a game at first, sweet Eleanor. I had her secrets, because I’d watched her. Not so sweet, you know.’ He swung out with the knife again. ‘I liked how she struggled against me. Do you know she cried?’

  Joe closed his eyes. He couldn’t listen to this. He understood what Proctor was doing. Proctor knew his days were done. He was trying to make Joe go with him.

  ‘You must have guessed, though,’ Proctor said, his tone mocking. ‘I could see the confusion in her eyes, that her brother was just behind her. So where was he? He’d save her, her big brother Joe. But no, you were a coward, not wanting to follow me. So she pushed against me as I killed her. I like to think I gave her a good time just before she went.’

  Joe rushed at him. His feet skidded and clattered on the tiles but he wasn’t going to stop. Proctor lashed out with the knife and it felt like a punch to his side, but Joe kept on going, lifting Proctor, pushing him backwards.

  Then they were falling, the roof gone, air whistling through his hair.

  The landing came hard. They’d fallen through the hole in the roof. Proctor screamed, drowning out the loud crack of his rib. Dust flew. The knife clattered across the floor. Carrie scrambled down behind them, sobbing, and then ran to Melissa, who was trying to stand, still dazed.

  Joe scrambled towards the knife, now close to the top of the stairs, glinting in the faint light.

  Proctor rolled onto his front. ‘Is this how you dreamed of it?’ he said, gasping, spitting blood. ‘All those years thinking of me, of what I’d done to little Ellie. How does it feel?’

  ‘Melissa, go,’ Joe said, panting, exhausted. ‘Take Carrie home.’

  She didn’t say anything, just hugged her daughter.

  ‘Go!’ Joe shouted and grabbed the knife. He held out the blade, his teeth bared, blood on his chin.

  Proctor got to his knees and took a deep breath. Then he laughed, his head thrown back. ‘What are you going to do? Kill me?’ He laughed again. ‘You’d spend your life in a cell.’

  There were more shouts behind them.

  ‘Oh look,’ Proctor said, glancing backwards. ‘Got the whole fucking family here now.’

  Joe looked over Proctor’s shoulder to see Sam and Gina on the other side of the metal walkway.

  ‘Put the knife down,’ Gina shouted, her voice hoarse.

  ‘It’s over,’ Joe said to Proctor, and he grimaced. He looked down at his jumper. There was a small tear at the side and the wool was dark and slick. His own blood. Adrenalin was keeping away the pain but how long could he last?

  The sound of sirens became deafening.

  ‘I should have fucked her,’ Proctor said. ‘Not her.’ And he gestured towards Gina. ‘No, your sister. I’m pretty sure I’d have been her first.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him, Joe,’ Gina shouted, getting closer, the metal bridge making loud clangs as she walked across. Sam was with Melissa and Carrie, trying to lead them away.

  Joe didn’t pay them any attention. He was replaying that day again. Ellie walking. Proctor waiting. Flashes of memory coming to a head in an abandoned warehouse in Ancoats. His long-held promise to himself: to kill the man who murdered his sister.

  And the man was right there.

  Proctor turned towards the doorway as the police cars outside came to a stop.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Proctor continued, stepping closer to Joe. ‘There was a moment, just a moment, when I thought she was enjoying it. Just the way she pushed against me. Took away some of the enjoyment, if I’m honest. Had to press that little bit harder.’

  Joe dropped the knife, it clattered on the floor, and ran at him. His hands went around Proctor’s throat. He pushed backwards. Proctor’s feet skidded on loose stones, his hands flailed at Joe. But Joe wouldn’t be stopped.

  He propelled Proctor towards the open doorway, to the metal walkway, until Proctor banged into the railing, leaning backwards.

  Proctor gasped but grinned, his eyes bulging.

  Joe pushed him harder, towards the blackness beneath. Proctor was unbalanced, one foot off the ground, over the edge, not resisting hard enough. Someone was shouting but Joe paid no heed. He was locked into the memories of Ellie, of all those years of wanting this moment. Proctor’s fingers were trying to find Joe’s eyes but Joe dipped his head, got closer to Proctor, felt his spittle on his cheek. The bones in Proctor’s neck were brittle under his grip so he squeezed tighter, felt the sweet rush of revenge as Proctor gasped louder for breath, his eyes starting to roll.

  Joe didn’t see the blow coming. Another brick, thrust in hard between his shoulder blades. He yelped in pain and his hands loosened around Proctor’s neck.

  Proctor dropped onto the walkway, gasping, clutching his throat. He crawled towards the safety of the warehouse. He collapsed onto his stomach, moaning, breathing hard.

  When Joe looked round, it was Gina. She dropped the brick.

  ‘I didn’t do it for him,’ she said. ‘I did it for you, Joe. You can’t be like him.’

  The warehouse on the other side of the walkway became filled with torch beams and shouts, the sounds of heavy police boots.

  ‘Over here,’ Gina shouted. She pointed at Proctor. ‘There. He’s the one.’

  The bridge bounced as three police officers ran across. Proctor didn’t move as they took hold of him.

  Joe hung his head. His breath came hard. He felt cheated, that had been his chance, but as his anger subsided he was left with just one truth: his hunt for justice for Ellie was over.

  Seventy-three

  Joe was driving. Sam was doing all the talking, cajoling Helena Proctor, wanting her to find out what she could from her husband. Helena wasn’t saying much; just polite agreement, her hands toying with the handles of her h
andbag.

  They were heading for Forest Bank, the prison where Mark Proctor was being held until his trial. It was new and plush, along a road that ran past a country park. It could be mistaken for a new office complex if it wasn’t for the high concrete wall that surrounded it.

  This wasn’t an official visit; it was just about Sam and Joe getting answers. Two weeks had passed since his arrest and Mark Proctor hadn’t spoken to anyone. He’d stayed silent in his police interviews and even during the court hearings. Joe had been there for the first appearance, where the court clerk had become frustrated, even threatened Proctor with contempt if he didn’t give the information required. That had drawn a slight smile from Proctor. Joe knew what it meant, that his problems were too great to worry about that.