by Ben Cheetham
‘No. It was a big old door key.’
‘Was Spider a Man U supporter?’
‘I dunno. Why do you ask?’
Anna told her about the keyring that had fallen out of Spider’s pocket. Heather nodded recognition. ‘Yeah, I remember that. Only it wasn’t a Red Devils keyring. It was a…’ Her forehead creased in thought. ‘Now what did he fucking call it? The horned something or other.’ She wagged a long, painted fingernail. ‘Yeah that was it, the Horned God.’
‘The Horned God,’ repeated Anna, stunned. All these years she’d been wrong. All those days spent outside football stadiums had been for nothing. The realisation was like a blow to her solar plexus. The feeling quickly passed, overridden by the knowledge that a whole new avenue of investigation had opened up, and there was no doubt this time that it was the right one. ‘What’s the Horned God?’ She struggled to keep her voice calm. With almost every word she could feel herself getting closer to the truth. Closer to Jessica.
Heather shrugged. ‘Spider was into all sorts of weird shit. Witchcraft. Paganism. He had loads of books on that kind of thing. He kept them locked in a suitcase. He said I was the only one at the home he trusted enough to show them to. He used to do these… What do you call them? Rituals. He’d light candles. Burn ribbons and stuff and scatter the ashes. Read aloud from his books. Pray to all different gods. He reckoned they gave him magic powers. That he could control people, even make them fall in love with him. He was off his fucking rocker. I realise that now. But back then I was… well, I was thirteen. You know how thirteen-year-olds are. Easily impressed. Spider was different to anyone I’d ever known. I thought he was special. But he wasn’t. He was evil. And I mean pure evil. He used to talk about…’ Heather trailed off, glancing at Anna as if uncertain whether she should say any more.
‘Go on,’ urged Anna.
‘He used to talk about human sacrifice. He said the best kind of sacrifice was a virgin. I don’t think it mattered whether it was a boy or a girl. He said that if you killed a virgin you’d become so powerful no one would be able to hurt you. But you had to do it right or it wouldn’t work. He used to look at me sometimes and I swear his eyes would be black. It scared the shit out of me. Luckily for me, by that time a virgin was the last thing I was.’
A queasy feeling rose in Anna as she listened. She swallowed it in a hard lump. ‘How come you never told Lance Brennan about this?’
Heather shrugged. ‘I was just a girl. I was in love, or thought I was in love with a bloke who drugged and pimped me out. My head was a fucking mess. Besides, all Brennan was interested in hearing about was the sex.’
‘I’d like to hear about that too.’ Anna immediately realised like was the wrong word. She despised hearing about this stuff. The right word was need.
‘What for? You’ve read my statement, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, but I want to make sure we haven’t missed anything else.’
Heather sighed wearily. ‘Alright, but there’s nothing much to tell. It started with the odd grope and ended with fucking. Then one night Spider said he was taking me to a party. He put me in the back of his van with some cider and drove out to the countryside. He must have spiked the cider with something cos by the time we got to the big house I was totally wrecked. I couldn’t even walk. Spider carried me to this massive room where there were loads of people. Mostly men, but some women too.’ Heather’s mouth twisted upwards in the mockery of a smile. ‘And that’s when the fun began. Some of them started having sex with me. I’m not sure how many. Others watched and filled in when their pals were done.’
‘Do you think you’d recognise their faces if you saw them now?’
‘I dunno. Spider always made me drink the spiked cider before we got to the house, so everything was kind of a blur.’
Anna began laying out the photos of the people from Herbert’s book on the coffee table. With their self-assured expressions and conservative, tasteful appearances, the photos’ subjects reeked of everything Heather and Kyle lacked.
‘Who are they?’ asked Heather.
Anna explained about the list, omitting, of course, where she’d got it from.
‘They look rich,’ Kyle said, with a thoughtful twist to his mouth.
‘That’s because they are.’ Anna watched Heather’s gaze travel over the photos. She noted how Heather’s eyes lingered on several of them. ‘Anyone look familiar?’
Anna opened her mouth to reply, but Kyle jumped in. ‘She’s not saying another fucking word.’
Heather turned to him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you’re not giving her any more information. Not unless we get something in return.’
Frowning hard, Heather shook her head. ‘The only thing I want is to see those bastards locked up for what they did.’
‘Use your noggin.’ Kyle jabbed at the photos. ‘These people could fuck up our lives big-style.’ He made a sweeping gesture. ‘We might have to leave this place. How we gonna do that if we’ve got no cash? And if we’ve got nowhere to live, the social might take our Leah off us. She could end up in care like you did.’
Heather’s frown turned into fear at the thought of that happening. ‘No fucking way. Not over my dead body are they taking my baby.’
‘I have a contact in the police,’ said Anna. ‘Maybe he could put you into some sort of witness protection.’
‘Bollocks to that,’ scowled Kyle. ‘Two thousand quid. That’s what it’s gonna cost you for the information.’
‘But Heather’s already said the only thing she wants is to do what’s right.’
‘Yeah, and that’s what she’s gonna do. But you do right by your family first. Have you got kids of your own?’
Anna shook her head. After what happened to Jessica, she’d sworn never to have children. How could it be fair to bring a child into a world so full of cruelty and evil? In recent years, as she’d become increasingly aware of her biological clock ticking, she’d found herself wondering more and more what it would be like to be a mother. She knew that in all likelihood she would never find out. She didn’t even have enough of herself to give to hold down a relationship. Never mind bring up a child.
‘So you don’t know how you worry all the time about where they are, what they’re doing, if they’re safe. Isn’t that right, Heather?’
Heather nodded. Anna gave her a look of appeal. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Heather, her eyes dropping. ‘I want to help, really I do, but I’ve got to think of Leah.’
Anna sought her gaze. ‘Don’t you see? That’s exactly why we need to stop these people.’
As though she’d been accused of being a bad mother, anger flared in Heather’s voice. ‘Are you saying I’d let them hurt my Leah?’
‘No, of course not. I only meant—’
‘Yeah, I know what you meant,’ broke in Heather, folding her arms. ‘Well, it’s three thousand quid now. Keep on talking and I‘ll add another thousand.’
A triumphant gleam in his eyes, Kyle put his arm around Heather. Resisting an urge to swing for him, Anna gathered up the photos. She gave Heather a thin smile of thanks and made her way to the front door. Kyle followed her. ‘Don’t bother coming back unless you’ve got the cash,’ he said, kicking the door shut.
As she returned to the camper van, Anna checked that her iPhone’s voice recording of the conversation had worked. Then she phoned Jim and told him about Debbie’s complete refusal and Heather’s conditional willingness to talk to her. She didn’t tell him what she’d learnt about the keyring. His first and only instinct, she knew, would be to chase down the lead himself. And despite his warnings, she felt she’d more than earned the right to do that.
‘If we pay for information how do we know Heather won’t just be telling us what we want to hear?’ said Jim.
‘I’m positive she recognised some of the photos. And that was before money was mentioned. Look, we’ve got to move fast if we want Heather to talk. Villiers may already know Brennan’s given you t
he Hopeland case-file. He stopped the victims talking once, and given the chance, he’ll do it again.’
The line was silent briefly, then Jim asked, ‘Do you have a bank account?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, I’ll transfer you the money.’
Anna gave Jim her account details and said she’d call again when she’d spoken to Heather. She trawled the internet for information about pagan shops in Manchester. There were two of them – Moonchild and The Mystic Palace. It was almost ten p.m. The shops would be long closed – if they’d ever been open on a Sunday. Even so, she could barely resist the urge to head off in search of them. For most of her life she’d been obsessing about this moment. Now it was here, the prospect of waiting even one night to follow up on the lead was excruciating. She wasn’t particularly tired, but she drew the curtains and put down the bed as if that would hurry the passing of the night. She lay reading about the Horned God. He had almost as many names as there were websites dedicated to him. Amongst other names, he was known as the Horned One, Cernunnos, Herne, Bran, the Old One, Karnayna, Atho, Old Horny, Faunus, Actaeon and Dianus. He was the male deity of the Wiccan religion. A wildman of the forests, a hunter, a primal symbol of strength and fertility, of life, death and rebirth. Sometimes he was represented as having the hind legs of a goat or stag with a man’s muscular upper body. Other times he had the body of a man and the head of a beast. But always he had a pair of horns or antlers sprouting out of his head.
She Googled ‘Paganism and human sacrifice’ and found herself wading through a mass of murky material that neither proved nor disproved it was, or had ever been, practised. Some websites talked about historical evidence of pagans ritually killing their own children to ensure prosperity. Others stated that all such claims were nothing more than propaganda used to demonise pagans. As so often in Anna’s experience, the truth was simply whatever you chose to believe. In amongst the claims and counter-claims, though, one particular comment stuck in her mind – ‘The only evil in paganism is in the heart of the practitioner.’ Her thoughts returned to what Heather had said about Spider being evil. Some people doubted the existence of true evil. Not Anna. She’d looked it directly in the eye and knew it for what it was – a monster whose hunger was insatiable. For men like Spider, the truth didn’t matter. All that mattered was feeding the monster within.
6
Anna was dreaming. In her dream she saw Jessica so vividly it was almost as though she could reach out and touch her. Spider was there too – or at least the upper part of him was. The lower half had been transformed into hairy cloven-hoofed legs. Two twisting horns rose from his head. He was on top of Jessica, rutting mercilessly, his face contorted into a mask uglier than any beast. One of his hands was pressed over her mouth to stifle her screams, the other gripped her throat. Anna wanted to drag him off her sister, pound her fists into his face, push her fingers into his eyes. But she was rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything other than watch. Tears of frustrated fury streamed down her cheeks.
A noise pulled her out of sleep. Her phone was ringing. She groped for it and saw her home number on the screen. It was two o’clock in the morning. Why the hell was her mother ringing at that time? Had there been another silent phone call? Or perhaps Villiers and his pals had fired off a more forceful warning. Her heart pounding, she answered the call. ‘What is it, Mum? What’s wrong?’
Silence.
‘Mum? Are you there?’
Again, silence greeted her words. A silence so loud it seemed to throb out of the phone. Anna’s mind raced. Was her mum ill? Was she having a stroke or something? No. If that were the case, she would have dialled 999. Anna suddenly felt certain it wasn’t her mum on the other end of the line. A cold feeling rose from her stomach. She fought to keep the fear out of her voice as she said, ‘If you hurt my mother I’ll kill you.’
She hung up and frantically navigated to Jim’s number. ‘Come on, answer the fucking phone,’ she muttered as the dial tone trilled in her ear.
‘Anna, wha—’ Jim started to say, his voice croaky with sleep.
‘You’ve got to go to my mum’s house,’ she broke in. ‘Someone’s there. They might have hurt her.’
‘Slow down. Tell me what happened.’
‘I got a silent phone call from my home number.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t just a bad line?’
‘Yes. We’re wasting time. You need to get round there.’
‘OK, I’m on my way. I’ll call you when I get there.’
The line went dead. Anna dialled her home number and got an engaged tone. Had the phone been left off the hook? Or was the silent caller trying to contact her again? She stared at her phone, rocking anxiously. Her mum was the one thing left in her life that she loved. If anything happened to her… An anguished groan escaped her lips. She hadn’t truly believed anyone would try to get at her by hurting her mum. Now she saw how naive she’d been.
Swearing at himself for not ignoring Anna and putting a car on Fiona Young’s house, Jim jerked on his clothes, grabbed a torch and ran for the door. This was exactly what he’d feared would happen. It was always the weakest who suffered most. People like Fiona Young. People like Margaret. He shook off the bloody images that leapt into his mind. Surely Villiers wasn’t desperate enough to hurt Fiona. Not yet. As he drove sharply away from the block of flats, he phoned Reece. ‘Are you at home?’ he asked when his colleague picked up.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I need you to meet me ASAP.’ Jim gave Reece Fiona Young’s address, adding, ‘And make sure you’re wearing your stab vest.’
‘What’s going on, Jim?’
‘I’ll explain when I see you. Now get your arse moving.’
When Jim arrived at the house, Reece was already there. There were no lights on in the house. The driveway was empty. Jim got out of his car, Taser at the ready, and motioned for Reece to follow him.
Quickly and quietly, Jim approached the front door and tried its handle. The door was locked. He moved around the side of the house. The back gate was open. The back door was open too. The wooden frame was splintered around the lock. They padded through a dark little kitchen into a hallway. Jim shone his torch into the living room. Empty. A cordless phone was on the bottom step of the stairs. Seconds ticked away on its screen, indicating a call was in progress. Leaving it untouched, they climbed the stairs. The bathroom door stood ajar. A glance showed no one was in there. Jim gently opened a door to a bedroom cluttered with books and piles of paper. Guessing it was Anna’s room, he moved on to the adjacent door. Beyond the door was a double bed. A figure was snoring softly under the duvet. Relief swept through Jim as he directed his torch at Fiona Young’s sleeping face. She suddenly sat up with a gasp, shielding her eyes. ‘Who are you?’ The question came shrill and tremulous.
‘We’re police,’ said Jim, switching on the landing light and taking out his ID. ‘I’m Chief Inspector Jim Monahan. And this is Detective Inspector Reece Geary.’
‘What are you doing in my house?’
‘Your daughter contacted me. She thought you might be in danger.’
‘Why would she think that? And how did you get in here?’
‘Perhaps it would be best if you got dressed and we talked downstairs, Mrs Young.’
The two men returned downstairs. Jim picked up the phone with a handkerchief and ended the call. ‘Go and knock up the neighbours,’ he told Reece.
Jim waited for Fiona Young in the living room. She appeared after a minute or two in her dressing gown and slippers, her eyes puffy with sleep. ‘So come on, Chief Inspector, out with it. What’s Anna got herself into now?’
‘Hasn’t she told you?’
‘She never tells me anything. She doesn’t like to worry me.’
Jim gave Fiona a very abridged rundown of the case Anna was working on. He made no mention of its connection to her daughter’s abduction. Mainly because he knew Anna wouldn’t want him to. But also because he sensed a brittleness a
bout Fiona that suggested she wouldn’t deal with it well if he did. ‘Is there anyone you could go and stay with for a few days? A friend or relative?’
‘I’m not leaving this house.’
Jim gestured for Fiona to follow him into the kitchen. He pointed at the splintered doorframe. ‘Someone broke in here tonight. It was a warning, and one you should take extremely seriously.’
Fiona’s face pinched with worry. But she crossed her arms and repeated, ‘I’m not leaving this house. I’ve lived here over forty years. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone drive me out.’
Jim saw the same stubborn resolve in Fiona’s eyes that he’d seen in Anna’s, and knew he’d be wasting his time trying to change her mind. ‘In that case I’m going to put a patrol car outside your house.’
Fiona frowned at the prospect, but made no protest. ‘What about my daughter? What are you doing to protect her?’
‘There’s nothing I can do right now. Besides, I don’t think she’d accept protection if I offered it.’
‘Knowing my Anna, I’m sure you’re right. But still, if anything happens to her I’m going to hold you responsible. I get the impression she wouldn’t be involved in this if it wasn’t for you.’
Jim nodded as if to say, Fair enough. Looking at Fiona’s careworn face, he felt a tug of guilt at the way he’d used Anna. Fiona had already suffered so much loss. If she lost Anna too, it didn’t bear thinking about what it would do to her.
Shuddering at the night air flowing into the house, she pointed at the back door. ‘What are you going to do about that?’
‘Have you got a hammer and nails?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to look in my husband’s…’ Fiona paused a breath and corrected herself. ‘My late husband’s toolbox.’ She went into a small pantry. Gingerly, like she was handling something valuable, she took out a battered metal box. Amongst other things, it contained a hammer and a jar of nails and screws.
‘I’ll nail the door shut for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll send someone round to replace it. But before I touch anything, I’m going to have to call in a SOCO—’
