by Hylton Smith
It had all the hallmarks of a case-breaker and Donoghue’s closing remark summed it up nicely. “I did say he would make a mistake, they always do, no matter how small. You can’t make a fraction of a mistake in this business, it either is or it isn’t a mistake. Well done Angela.”
Adams gathered the depleted team into his office and he couldn’t disguise his joy. When he explained it very slowly, Stephanie punched the air.
“I couldn’t help feeling that Alex Blake could lead us somewhere, but I thought the military connection was likely to be a peripheral one rather than a bulls-eye.”
“Ok Steph, what did you get from your visit to Gerry er what’s his name?”
“Just some names, but neither Sam nor I recognise any of them.”
“Well let’s have a look.”
When he first scanned them he shrugged his shoulders and was about to hand the list back. He hesitated and said, “Major Cranston. Why does that resonate? Bloody hell Sam, don’t you remember?” A shake of the head urged Adams on. “Yes you do, when I was in Humberside checking on the delivery of the Priory coffin we talked about the Cranston father and son. You checked with the Swiss euthanasia clinic and they had no records for those people, so we assumed the name was false. What the hell were their forenames?” A short silence preceded an exclamation from Sam.
“They’re here in my notebook. Arnold and Philip Cranston were the names you gave me. If they weren’t false why did the clinic not have them?”
“I don’t know, but if Philip Cranston is our man, maybe his father is still alive or has a grave here in the Northeast. Let’s get on it and nobody else gets this information other than Renton, got it?”
They nodded and began to look for both names.
Chapter 30
The case had apparently cracked but hadn’t been solved. Adams shared the news with Renton as they were talking quietly in the hospital corridor.
“We have him in the crosshairs Boss. His military service record puts him in Yemen for several tours over a few years as a field surgeon, and then he retires. His father had slipped into Alzheimer’s but is still hanging on. He can’t tell us anything of course, but we’re having difficulty tracing Philip, so we might be facing going to the media, but that’s risky.”
“Do you have photographs from his military records?”
“Yes, so at least that’s a starting point for TV.”
“What about the internet? He would like that.”
“Mmm, maybe but we could be on a loser there, because he wants that publicity to go global. Do we want that?”
“We want him. Let’s think on it. I have to get out of here. By the way, have you checked property records, electoral registers, hospitals, abattoirs, and military pension payments?”
“Not hospitals or abattoirs Boss, because we’d already completed those checks right at the beginning of the case. His father’s pension is paid into the care home directly. Apparently Philip took a lump sum retirement option. Why do you ask about hospitals and abattoirs?”
“He may be retired from the forces, but he still has surgical skills and may need to keep them honed to do his dirty deeds. When we previously checked hospitals we didn’t have a name. We do now.”
“Yes, I missed that one. We’ll get to it. Anyway I followed his father’s property trail from when he was taken into care, and the entire proceeds went to the hospice to top up what they already received from the pension. His son’s legacy went up in smoke in a flash, and that must really piss him off. It’s bloody well immoral as well as being a motive.”
“You’ve hit smack on the origin of the motive Ben.”
*
Stephanie went back to see Gerry Walton as promised, and he had a sparkle in his eyes as he opened the packet of biscuits. They chatted for a while before she told him how helpful he had been, and asked him about other initials. Talking through his painful years like this seemed to help him shed a burden of having survived when so many did not.
“Who is J.A?”
“Johnny Allen; he should have been a professional footballer according to his version of events. He was a bit of a dreamer and that inability to concentrate got him killed. He should never have passed the entry tests for the army.”
“This one says D.J. but surely he wasn’t a DJ?”
“Damien Jacobsen, no he was born in Oslo, but his parents came to the UK when he was a toddler. He said that all he ever wanted to be was a soldier. He was the first one of our unit to be struck down. It hit us hard – they say the first one actually hardens you, but nothing does that. A roadside bomb blew almost half of our vehicle away. Damien’s insides were strewn over the twisted metal. Two other men lost limbs. The rest of us had cuts and bruises, having been shielded by our friends.”
“If you don’t want to carry on Gerry, please tell me.”
“It’s ok. I’ve needed to do this for a long time.”
“Well let me see, we have A.D.”
“Archie Driscoll, now he was bit of a loner.” Steph’s radar switched to auto. “He hardly ever joined in conversation about his home life, which for most of the men was an anchor, but not me. I identified with him in a way because I never got to see my son. He had twin boys and I could tell he was proud of them. One of the replacements we got to keep our numbers balanced knew him, and he told us that his wife had run off with someone while he was on tour. His mother had to take the boys. He was constantly tortured by his adherence to duty and how this conflicted with his pangs to go back to the boys. It didn’t matter in the end as he became mentally ill and shot himself.”
Stephanie saw the signs of emotional turmoil building and comforted Gerry. They called a halt to memory lane for the day, and she said she would come back in a couple of weeks. She phoned Adams from the car and gave him the news.
“Brett Driscoll had a twin brother. His name was or is Kelvin, and they both followed their father into the armed forces. How did we miss this when we were checking out Brett?”
“It beats me Steph, but I’ll find out. Anyway, great work, we just have to concentrate on finding Philip Cranston for now, the rest will come with it. It really feels good to have a specific name instead of constantly hiding behind ‘Frank’.” He had a breathless Sam Gibson waiting in his office.
*
It had been much easier for Kurt Eisel to find Philip Cranston, as he had his invoice details from the Amazon trip. Although Cranston was surprised to see Eisel, he was rather philosophical about his demands.
“Kurt, it demeans our shared experience to introduce such vulgar aspects so soon after your arrival. Look at Friend here; he is but one example of how my work has helped the many. All you had to do was explain your plight and I would have responded. Of course I’ll help you. You can forget your threat, the treatment came about because of you, and I will honour that debt. I am disappointed by your aggressive attitude but I do understand how things in this life drive people to behave totally out of character. Listen, let us have something to eat and then I can show you how my work is carried out – from the garnering of the unfortunates to their treatment, and finally their rehabilitation. My father was one of them but sadly he was beyond help by the time I had the treatment ready. I can give you financial assistance, or you could join me in my work for periods of time, and your remuneration would more than cover your shortfall in sustaining life as an explorer. Don’t decide now; please wait until you see what I have achieved?”
“But you have killed these people they talk about on the news?”
“As you well know from the Manakalia Kurt, there are rules. When they are broken, the punishment must be respectful of the needs of the entire tribe. They would have killed us, even though you were almost a deity in their eyes. We accepted that. What I am doing is no different to what the Manakalia Elders would do. Justice has many clients, and we can’t always assume that it is metered out fairly by those who dispense it. Adjustments have to be made from time to time.”
Eisel had a different perspect
ive to most people because of his love of independence, and in reality he worked within his own ‘laws’. He reflected on his abrupt approach to Cranston and agreed that he should at least evaluate the offer on the table. He began to think of a continuous involvement and reward rather than a single payoff. It did have a certain resonance with his self-regulated moral code.
*
Adams hadn’t seen Gibson so agitated before. “What is it Sam?”
“We did miss out earlier on Philip Cranston when we trawled the hospital records. He has an outsourced position with the Regional Trust. It’s the same damned problem with the Three Rivers Force, centralisation introduces another layer. His self-employment status doesn’t show up in the individual hospitals, bloody bean-counting if you ask me. Anyway, he visits all of the hospitals on a demand basis. His expertise is appreciated, and he acts as back-up in theatre when they fall behind schedule or have high accident rates. He only assists the lead surgeons but has access to records, because he needs to prep just the same as the actual surgeon carrying out the procedure. He is apparently well liked amongst the fraternity.”
“Christ, he’s been walking around in our midst all of this time. Let’s go get him Sam.”
“Wait, that’s not the important bit. I got Simon to look further into the funds of the property transfer from his father’s house to the hospice. It’s a broken down old place and they couldn’t get rid of it at first, so it went to auction. Eventually it was taken off their hands by a buy-to-let company, and it’s rented out. The wife died before the old man needed to go into care.”
“Sam, can’t we talk about this later? I mean it’s very interesting but we need Cranston first.”
“That’s who the tenant is.”
“Bloody Nora, my head is buzzing. Where is it?”
“You’re really going to like this; it’s in the remote recesses of Chopwell Woods.”
“He’s been taking the piss from day one. Let’s introduce ourselves – it’s overdue.”
Renton had promised all manner of things to get discharged. He phoned Adams and was stunned by a rapid-fire update on everything which had happened in the last few hours.
“That’s how the bastard knew Daniel was in hospital. You guys have made me redundant, where are you?”
“We’re on our way to Chopwell Woods, and this also explains why he got away from us that day. He didn’t, he just went home. We’ve got plenty of back-up for this Boss, so just go to the office and we’ll introduce you to our new guest when we get back.”
*
Philip Cranston had spoken to Friend while Eisel was taking a shower before his tour of the treatment facilities.
“Friend, I am sure you can remember the bad days before your treatment. Well, you didn’t want to have it at first did you?”
“No, I was afraid.”
“You screamed and we had to sedate you for the first one, do you remember?”
“I remember the pain.”
“There was the pain of your sickness, and the pain of the treatment. It’s not possible to have the treatment without that pain, but it slowly takes the other pain away doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I wasn’t so afraid the next time. It helped me.”
“It helped you even though you didn’t want it, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I need to help our new friend in the same way. He will also be afraid, just like you, and he will scream. So what must we do to help him?”
“We must keep him quiet and help him.”
“That’s right, and even when he asks us to stop, we must continue to help him. Do you agree?”
“I agree. He will be pleased when he knows.”
“That is fine. So when I ask you to hold him you must not let him go until I say so, do you understand?”
“Yes I will stop him if he is moving.”
Eisel was refreshed, and asked if they were going to have a snack before the tour. He felt a vice-like, suffocating grip around his arms and chest. The hypodermic pierced his neck and his writhing slowed, then limpness predominated. He was conscious but drowsy. Cranston talked to him.
“We thought it best to show you exactly how the treatment works rather than merely talk about it. Friend here will confirm that you shouldn’t resist, because all will be well eventually.”
Friend whispered in Eisel’s ear, “We are helping you.”
He was hoisted on to a trolley and restrained by Friend’s enormous strength until they got to the murky garage. Although the combination of sedative and Friend’s biceps ensured physical rebellion was futile, Eisel continued to scream for help. The sight of the Frankenstein machine thrust unrelenting fear into his synaptic impotence. The belted restraints were secured and the drone of the generator quickened.
“It could have been so different Kurt. Just think of me as the Senior Elder of the Manakalia. I find that in order to help you, drastic action is required. Normally, several gentle doses are recommended, but in acute cases we must opt for more effective levels of treatment. In your case the severity must be equal to the task. The good news is that it will only demand a single procedure.”
The super-concentrated Cunecao was delivered and Friend smiled through Eisel’s vocal protests. The interval between the injection and the electrode discharge would normally have been related to the progress of ‘digestive’ symptoms, but in this case there was no such delicate balance to monitor. Nevertheless, Cranston wanted to evidence the full regret, as measured by the building voltage. Eisel’s resistance stopped suddenly as he felt Cranston was peering into his very soul. The heat transfer escalated and the screaming resumed. The settings were locked and Friend was escorted back to the house by Cranston. They were delighted that they could help Kurt Eisel and Friend was asked to run an errand, while the treatment took its course.
“Our new friend will need sustenance when the procedure is over. Get some milk and fresh bread, oh and some chocolate for yourself, you deserve it.”
Cranston returned to the garage and prepared the surgical table. Eisel was now immobilised by his own muscle shock, and this would last for a while yet. Once he was lifted to the table he knew what was to follow. Unable to speak, scream or move, he glimpsed the saw as it passed by his eyes. He was seeing multiple visions of everything. There were several Cranstons and surgical implements. This was not one of the more careful procedures. The saw hacked rather than cut through Eisel’s thigh, there was no external response as Cranston mused over what kind of transmuted pain the internal nervous system would pick up.
Eisel began to experience the numbing effect of Cunecao at last, but there was also something new with this dosage. The mind-expanding properties surged and he visualised a new phenomenon. In precisely the same way as electron microscopes allow the human eye to gate-crash atomic ballet, he could now see time differently. His focus became the theory of relativity, watching Cranston’s slow motion actions was even more terrifying, until his projection of time adjusted to the situation. Smaller and smaller fragments of time became visible and the future was pushed further away. A millisecond was transmuted to an hour. It was more comforting, and so it told him that there was always a future. By approaching the proximate ‘time packets’ in this way, his brain seemed to dull the fear as well as the pain. The crimson wash of blood did not deter the surgeon, as he had entered some metaphysical state which simply drove him on. Limb by limb, the carnage continued. Life had gone from the patient, who had seen and felt his passage to blackness serenely, but the frenzied activity of the saw blade accelerated to its predetermined conclusion. The place was hosed down and the body parts hung up to ‘settle’ before they were placed with others in the walk-in freezer.
Philip Cranston became Kurt Eisel as he took the passport and handed it to a contact to get the genuine photograph professionally replaced by his own, and then he placed it with other documentation in the wallet. He dumped the black bag containing the blood-stained clothes in a public waste recyclin
g facility. He then evaporated without returning to Chopwell Woods.
When Friend returned he was confused. His bewilderment intensified as Adams, Gibson and two squad cars pulled up. He retreated from the door. When the police got no response to the doorbell they broke down the locked door.
Chapter 31
Adams rang the station to put out an APB for Philip Cranston. He didn’t want to do this but there appeared to be no alternative and time had now become a constraint. His disappearance triggered country-wide vigilance and UK Border alerts. However, they didn’t know of Eisel’s existence, let alone his recent visit. Questioning of Friend was left to Renton, with whom he had a rapport. The scene at the house in Chopwell Woods could be compared to a heaving termites nest. The half-acre of land in which the building sat was completely cordoned off and guarded throughout the night. The arithmetic of previous bodies plus this haul, confusingly in their minds, added up to twenty-seven rather than twenty-six. As they had mostly been stacked in parts rather than discrete corpses, they put this down to miscounting and would rely on the eventual DNA list.
The internet had changed gear to reflect the chase, and Frank, as they still preferred to call him, was enjoying a sickening elevation to pseudo-martyrdom. The thirst for more information on his crusade was becoming ever more intense. Out of the blue a post appeared on several sites which claimed the project had not been completed. It described in authentic detail the scene which the police had found in the woods. It had to be taken seriously as it contained information which had not been released. The post was traced to an IP address in Birmingham. It indicated he hadn’t yet left the country. The post was in response to the clamour for exposure of the true nature of his cause. It merely stated that the most important act of retribution was yet to come, adding that the police now had links to this purpose from the Priory corpses, but were probably unwilling to share them with the public. This single message managed to bring a temporary silence to the blogs before a second explosion of theories. It was becoming obvious to Renton and his team that Cranston wanted this to be discovered rather than handed out like some kind of ‘Jesus will save us’ leaflet.
The office had become more akin to an observation tower in no man’s land than a well-oiled investigation force. “What’s to investigate now?” asked Sam Gibson.
