Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel

by Mark Bredenbeck

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Bridger was standing in the darkness away from the immediate scene. The ambulance had responded quickly and was now tending to the two patients who had sat up and were looking about groggily. Brian and John were speaking with members of the armed offender squad.

  "Have we missed something? Was Beth entirely honest with us?” There was no accusation in his voice but he was looking at Becky as he spoke. Grant was standing beside her.

  Becky looked back at Bridger, her expression hidden in the shadows.

  "Excuse me", the voice came from somewhere behind Becky. "Excuse me, can I speak to whoever is in charge".

  A middle-aged female was standing behind the group, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her neck to ward off the cold.

  "Can I help you Ma'am?”

  "Are you in charge?”

  "Yes, Detective Sergeant Bridger Ma'am". Bridger held out his hand in greeting.

  The woman looked at it distastefully and did not reciprocate. "My name is Mrs. Cottingham, I live at number 12", she said, pointing at the tidy bungalow across the road. "I'm the neighborhood watch coordinator for my street. Could you tell me what is going on here please"?

  "Do you know who lives at this address?” Bridger inquired.

  "There was a girl here breaking his windows earlier, I called the police and when they arrived I told them what I knew. Why did you have to blow up the house?”

  "We didn't blow it up, we don't actually know what happened for sure yet, but we do want to speak with the person that lives here".

  "I would think that when you find him you will have some explaining to do, don't you Sergeant. How much bad luck can a man have in regards to his own home? The police are supposed to protect us against such things not make them worse".

  Bridger was starting to lose patience. "Listen Ma'am, we have reason to believe that a Daniel Crompton lives here, we need to find him as soon as possible".

  "Is that his name", Mrs. Cottingham was writing something in a little notebook she was carrying. "What do you want to speak with him for?”

  "I'm not at liberty to discuss that at the moment Ma'am". A real life Miss Marple, he thought.

  "Well I don't suppose we will be having an early night in this street, what with all this going on. If it will speed things up a little I do not suppose it would hurt to check the old Woodhaugh Hotel, I have seen your Mr. Crompton going in there a lot recently. I thought it was empty, but you never know these days. The neighborhood is not what it used to be".

  Bridger looked in the direction of the old hotel. It was less than one hundred meters away, close enough to hear the explosion, close enough for an early warning.

  People intent on doing bad things did not like interruptions, they might hurry things up a bit, but they would carry out their intentions, one way or another. Bridger began to run in the direction of the old Hotel.

  Grants mind had obviously worked out the same scenario as he followed close behind. “Becky, get Stone and the boys down here as fast as you can”, he called behind.

  Mrs. Cottingham just stood there, mouth open with indignation, notebook hanging useless by her side.

  Bridger reached the main entrance at the front of the building in less than a minute, he tried the doors but found them locked. Peering through the old frosted glass, the lack of light was playing tricks with his eyes, he saw the ghosts of patrons past moving about in the shadows but little else. There were no lights on inside the door that he could see. He looked upwards at the first floor but could not detect anything there either.

  "They must be in there. I’ll try around the back, Grant you stay out front and wait for Stone’s boys, tell them where I've gone".

  Bridger did not give Grant time to reply before moving around the side of the old building and scaling the high fence.

  Dropping into the darkness, shielded from the streetlights on the other side, it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. The shapes of old rusted machinery came into focus as he slowly moved his way towards the rear of the building. The shapes looked sinister in the darkness putting him slightly on edge.

  He almost walked into the rear wall, putting his hand out at the last minute he felt the cold brick on his fingers. Using an old Fire Fighters trick that someone had shown him a long time ago, he slowly traced his hands along the wall in the darkness until he found what felt like a door. Fumbling for the door handle, he found it unlocked. He turned it slowly at first, testing for any noise. It moved freely and he pushed open the door.

  The room inside did not smell stale to him, and there was a slight warmth which would not be in an empty building. Somebody was here. He felt for the radio in his jacket pocket, but then changed his mind. He was here now he would finish this.

  Controlling his breathing, he listened for any noise. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear a tune playing. Music he had heard earlier on the live feed from Revenge.com. It seemed to be floating all around him as if playing with his senses, trying to tease him into making a move.

  He heard or maybe sensed something move on the floor above him. Looking around the room, he could see an old distressed door at one end; empty shelves lined the rest of the walls. The door would lead to stairs; the stairs would lead to hell.

  He went for the door as quietly as he could on the cracked wooden floorboards; the handle moved slightly then came off in his hands. The door remained shut. Bridger looked at the small brown tin knob in his hand. He turned and threw it against the back wall in frustration.

  Shit, so much for the quiet approach, he thought.

  Bracing his shoulder he ran at the door as hard as he could, the old wood splintered but held firm. The old timber still had the strength to protect its ingress to the rest of the house. He tried again and this time it gave way with a tired groan. He fell through into a hallway, catching his arm on a splinter of wood.

  The stairs were in front of him and he took them two at a time, ignoring the pain in his bleeding arm. Reaching the landing, he looked around desperately trying to find his next move. There was a glow under a door to the right of him; the volume of the music had increased the nearer he got, providing some sort of cover for his noisy advance. Taking a deep breath, he planted his left foot on the ground and kicked out with his right, connecting with the door just below the handle.

  The door burst inwards, a bright light streamed outwards. The music was at fever pitch, something spectral and white floated by the door cavity. Blood red streams lined his eyes in its wake. He stood transfixed at the sight, a room full of confusion, a head full of adrenalin, a demented puppet bride, slashing and cutting, pushing and thrusting. The blade was red and silver, silver and red, colors changing with every step around the floor. A wedding dance the groom in the middle was taking no part in, a dark suit stained darker, deep red liquid melting onto the floor around him, the never-ending music, drilling into his mind.

  The bride looked over, her face inviting him to dance, before she turned back towards the hapless groom. It was no wedding scene; it was a pagan ritual of the worst kind, and there in the background, behind a wall of glass and monitors sat the puppet master, shadows and light mingling on his wicked features.

  The image of Daniel Crompton that Bridger had in his mind had morphed into a Beelzebub, one of the seven princes of Hell, sitting in evil judgment over his charges.

  Staring intently into the light, he had not noticed Bridger in the doorway. His small dark eyes were soaking in every move that Marion made, an ecstatic smile on his lips with every slash of the blade.

  Bridger stood there in the periphery, empty handed, unsure what the next move was. He looked closer at Daniel, he was moving his arms in time with Marion's dance, and the choreography was the same. He was moving her.

  Stop Daniel, he would stop the dance.

  Bridger made his decision subconsciously and charged across the open space between him and Daniel. Using every ounce of anger he had, he slammed into his foe
, the force of the blow sending Daniel crashing backwards before recoiling forwards on his arms. The confusion in Daniel's eyes matched that of Bridger's when he realised that Daniel was still in control of the marionette. His hands taped to the levers, acting as a crude dead man’s switch.

  "No help again, typical, you Coppers are all the same". Daniel smiled an evil little smile as he got back to his feet and began jerking the levers as hard as he could.

  Bridger could see Marion swinging around wildly in the light, the hand holding the knife slashing at its unmoving target.

  Stop Daniel, then he would stop the dance.

  Bridger grabbed at his wrists, closing his fingers tightly he wrenched his arms up and left, he heard the tape tearing as Daniel's hands came free. He held onto Daniel's now free arms in an attempt to get him under control. Bridger could hear a high-pitched scream in his ears, with his hands unbound Daniel was able to move closer to Bridger than he liked. He could smell his sour breath, the screaming got louder until Bridger thought his ear drums would burst. He felt a sharp pain in his ear lobe and heard the sickening crunch of cartilage tearing as Daniel bit down on his ear. Jerking his head back and forth like a rabid dog, Daniel was refusing to release the bite.

  Bridger managed to get his hands up onto Daniels chest and shoved him away as hard as he could towards the blackness of the rear wall. Daniel was surprisingly light, almost childlike in his build. The black wall was a heavy thermal curtain, designed to block out light. Not designed to stop Daniel's momentum, what was behind it shattered in a shower of breaking glass. Bridger saw a burst of bright sparks and heard a loud crack when Daniel collected the mains power cable attached to the side of the building as he fell out of the first floor window.

  Everything went black, the music slowed to silence just in time for Bridger to hear the devil hit the pavement outside.

  Bright streams of light were flashing through the door." Armed police, armed police, don't move".

  Bridger stood up in the shadows.

  "Armed police, I said don't move".

  Bridger ignored the warning and turned towards the empty window frame. A cold wind was blowing into the room, refreshing his face as he looked towards the ground. Daniel Maine was lying face down on the stone pavement below, paramedics hunched over him. Becky was looking up at him; he could not make out the expression before someone grabbed him roughly from behind, pulled him inwards and shoved him to the floor.

  "I said don't move dickhead", the black clad figure yelled as a light was directed at his eyes, a second before the butt of a rifle slammed into his forehead.

  Everything went a darker shade of black.