The Mayfly: The chilling thriller that will get under your skin

by James Hazel

  ‘So what does?’

  ‘I thought I might have part of the answer to that question in nineteen forty-five when I met a Nazi doctor named Schneider but, on reflection, I’m not so sure.’

  Schneider. That name again. Both Tiff Rowlinson and Sandra Barnsdale had mentioned it. ‘Schneider experimented on Jews at Buchenwald using poison.’

  ‘That’s right. He developed a poison that was capable of bringing about unimaginable pain and suffering to a victim without actually killing them. He had what I suspect was a sexual reaction to the suffering the victims brought about on themselves. He told me that, at the extremity of their suffering, he had opened a conduit directly to God.’

  ‘In the same way that the point of orgasm gives a channel to God during a sex rite?’

  ‘Something like that.’ Ruck snorted. ‘Nonsense, I say, but something like that.’

  ‘And Eva Miller?’

  Ruck looked away, his eyes filled with regret. ‘Eva,’ he breathed. ‘What purpose would it serve?’

  Priest pulled up a chair at the foot of Ruck’s bed. He looked around. The room was devoid of any personal possessions except for a single framed photograph on the bedside table, turned away from the bed. Priest wondered whether that was out of choice.

  ‘Atonement,’ Priest suggested.

  ‘Atonement,’ Ruck scoffed. ‘What would you know about that?’

  Priest leant forwards. ‘I know that this might be your last chance to achieve it, Colonel.’

  ‘Do you really think me giving you the answers you want will give me atonement? That’s very presumptuous of you, Mr Priest.’

  ‘Colonel Ruck – I don’t give a shit. Your peace means nothing to me. All I want to do is make sure that the people I care about don’t get hurt and that the people responsible have their black hearts torn out.’

  For the first time since they had entered the room Ruck smiled. ‘Then that is a good enough reason for me, too.’

  *

  When Ruck had finished, he asked for water. Jessica handed him a glass and he gulped it, splashing it down his front.

  ‘So after your time in the military was over, you joined the police force?’ said Priest.

  ‘That’s right. I joined the Met in nineteen forty-nine. There were lots of us after the war, not sure what to do with the skills we’d acquired, the things we’d seen. Police work was the only thing that made sense; only thing I was good at. I worked my way up to detective chief inspector, but all the while I was looking for her. Eva. I never found her, until one day in nineteen seventy-two I was called out to a murder scene in a hotel in Kensington. It wasn’t my remit ordinarily, but the killer had left a note addressed to me personally. The body had been poisoned using the same strain of alkaloid described by Schneider in his interviews with me. Only two people knew about that – me and Eva Miller. She had also sent me an ink sketch of a mayfly, just to make the point clearer, as if it wasn’t already.’

  ‘Why a mayfly?’ asked Priest.

  ‘It was the code name of the operation I was in charge of after the war ended. Britain’s dirty secret. We were given the task of trying to salvage any intelligible data from the Holocaust experiments. We were trying to see if the Nazi doctors had achieved anything of worth. We called it Operation Mayfly.’

  Priest clicked his tongue. ‘And so you think Eva established some sort of group? A group that is still in operation today?’

  ‘I believe,’ said Ruck, ‘that Eva found a rich reservoir of perverse individuals who wanted to buy in to what she was doing.’

  ‘People are paying to watch the poisonings.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But Eva’s now dead and yet the group is still operating,’ Priest pointed out.

  Ruck nodded. He was beginning to tire. ‘I suspect Eva Miller had an apprentice. Someone to whom she passed on her work.’

  ‘Have you any idea who?’

  ‘I would tell you if I did. I followed her as best I could over two decades. Attended every crime scene that seemed to have any possible connection with the Mayfly group. I set up task force after task force but we never got close. We could never find out who was involved. No one would talk.’

  ‘I know,’ said Priest. ‘I have the names.’

  Ruck stared at him. ‘You have the names?’

  Priest was about to reply when Jessica suddenly darted across the room and picked up the photograph from Ruck’s bedside table. She looked at it for a second and then handed it to Priest without a word. It was faded, the edges worn white from over-exposure, but the face was striking. A woman with a half-smile. There was something familiar about her.

  ‘Eva?’ Priest asked gently. Ruck nodded. Jessica remained silent. ‘Were you in love with her?’

  Ruck looked away. ‘I suppose I was. In a way.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her again? I mean after that night in nineteen forty-six?’

  ‘Yes. Just once.’

  *

  14th November, 1978

  A village near London

  Ruck stirred. Something had disturbed his sleep.

  This wasn’t unusual in itself. He had slept lightly ever since the war, never daring to allow himself to drift off completely from the world. The tiniest noise would rouse him.

  But this was different. Somebody was in his house.

  He got up, careful not to make too much noise. There was a revolver in the drawer. If there was a trespasser downstairs, Ruck wanted to retain the element of surprise. Not many people would have anticipated that a man of his age would be so alert. He had the advantage.

  He crept down the stairs. A streetlight outside penetrated the thin curtains, giving just enough illumination to allow him to make his way to the front room.

  He cocked the gun. Held it upwards, ready to bring it down and around the door. Two shots, then back to cover again. Just the way he had been trained.

  He peered around the door.

  ‘Hello, Bertie.’

  The gun dropped to the floor. For a moment, Ruck felt the bones in his legs melt away. He caught the side of the doorframe to stop himself from toppling over.

  ‘Eva.’

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude.’

  She was an older version of the young girl who had sat timidly in the corner of the barn recording his interrogation of Kurt Schneider. But it was unmistakably her, even in the dim light.

  She was sitting cross-legged, an unlit cigarette between her fingers. Her black-rimmed glasses suited her, emphasising her fine features. Her hair was an extraordinary shock of white.

  ‘Do you have a light?’

  Ruck walked across the room, keeping his eyes on the woman in his chair; he reached for a box of matches on the mantelpiece. Lit one and offered it to her. She leant across until her cigarette met the flame. She inhaled deeply.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What are you doing here, Eva?’

  She blew smoke around the room. ‘I hear you’ve been looking for me.’

  Ruck gritted his teeth. He felt nothing now for her but utter contempt. He should kill her. Shoot her in the head. How many lives would he save by doing so? He edged around back to the door and bent to pick up the gun.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you to put an end to this.’

  ‘Put an end to what?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me, woman.’ Ruck pointed the gun at her. She didn’t flinch but watched the end of the barrel curiously.

  ‘Really, Bertie? Don’t be silly. Put that thing away before you hurt yourself.’

  ‘I’m close, Eva. Close enough to put you away. I know everything. I know about your little gatherings. I know about the men that pay you to see you poison innocent people. I know about the Mayfly, Eva.’

  ‘Do you? Good for you. So shoot me and get it over with.’

  ‘Don’t tempt me!’ Ruck took a step forward.

  Eva smiled. She stood up and stepped closer to him so the gun was within her reach. He could smell her, even through the
smoke. That same scent he remembered from thirty years ago. He could not hide the quiver in his hand.

  ‘Bertie, if you were going to shoot me, you would have done it by now. So why don’t we talk?’

  ‘It’s only a matter of time before I find out the names of the sick people you have recruited to your group, Eva.’

  ‘And when you do, what then? Hmm? Will the angry mob grab their pitchforks and come rampaging through the countryside trying to find all the monsters and lynch them? Bertie, you are in danger of disappointing me. Have you lost all of your imagination?’

  ‘Damn you, Eva!’

  ‘That’s more like it. A little more testosterone and you would interest me again, I think. Now listen, darling. This is important. I would urge you to cease your pursuit of my friends.’

  Ruck laughed; the gun wavered dangerously. ‘Now who’s disappointing, Eva. You think I’ll give up? Just like that?’

  She took another drag on the cigarette. ‘Well, yes.’

  Perspiration was running down the back of his neck. His eyes were starting to blur. ‘You’re mad, Eva.’

  ‘Not at all, Bertie. In fact, you know what they say. Don’t get mad, get even.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m here to welcome you, Bertie. To the club. To our little group. A lifetime membership. Think about it.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not a choice thing, I’m afraid. It’s quite necessary. You see, if someone ever found details of our membership, Bertie, do you know whose name is at the top of the list?’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s really very simple, isn’t it? No one is going to believe that a mere secretary is capable of orchestrating the most secretive society in London all by herself. But you? Now, that’s very different. After all, with your experience in the Cage, torture is your profession, is it not?’

  Ruck lowered the gun. Outside, he could hear birds waking and the glow of the sun was threatening to pierce the hilltops.

  The dawn chorus was beginning.

  *

  A silence hung in the little room at the Priory Nursing Home as Priest tried to take it all in.

  After a while, Ruck spoke quietly. ‘So now you see, Mr Priest, why I doubt the possibility of atonement.’

  ‘You didn’t create the monsters on that list, Colonel.’

  ‘But I did nothing to stop them, either. And to avoid what? Being locked up as a lunatic, being administered drugs against my will by people wearing white coats and fake smiles?’ He looked around and laughed. ‘Hardly a fate I avoided, don’t you think?’

  Priest thought for a while. ‘You said they invite you, still. To the gatherings. Even now?’

  ‘The miserable bitch taunted me for years. A reminder, I suppose, of her hold on me. And her protégé continues the tradition.’

  ‘You said you had an invitation recently?’

  Ruck beckoned for Priest to come closer. He gave him the mayfly he had retrieved from his drawer. Priest understood: this was an invitation.

  ‘So there is a gathering soon?’ said Priest, his throat suddenly dry. What if we’re too late? What about Georgie and Hayley?

  ‘Open it and see.’

  ‘What?’

  Ruck took the insect with trembling fingers and held it up to the light. He cupped it in his hand and placed his thumbs on the underside, gently applying pressure to the creature’s abdomen. There was a squelching sound as Ruck prised the mayfly’s body apart, like removing the shell from a prawn.

  Lodged in the insect’s body was a note. Ruck passed it to Priest, who unrolled it, then read it aloud. An address, a time and a date.

  ‘My God,’ said Jessica. ‘That’s tonight.’

  *

  Bertie Ruck waited a few minutes. When he was sure they weren’t coming back, he reached under his pillow and fumbled for his mobile phone. It had half fallen behind the bedhead but he managed to pull it out despite the arthritic pains in his hands.

  He stared at the keypad, waiting for his eyes to focus. He had to wait for everything now. Wait before he stood up, wait before he pissed, wait before the tablets worked. How pathetic; how effete he was now.

  Eventually, the screen lit up and he found the number just as they had shown him.

  ‘It’s Ruck. They’ve just left.’

  The voice at the other end hissed in his ear. He had learnt to hate it, the androgynous voice that wouldn’t let him live, or die for that matter.

  ‘No. I did nothing. They came to me. They must have found out who I was somehow. Anyway, it is done.’

  Ruck listened, but he no longer cared.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They will be your guests, just as you wanted. Now, I have paid my debt. Leave me alone.’

  48

  Priest stared at himself in the mirror. There were lines under his eyes he hadn’t seen before and a scar under his chin, although he couldn’t remember cutting himself. He examined his hands. When he pressed the skin between his fingers, he felt the sensation of pain. But it wasn’t sharp enough, no matter how hard he pinched. His nose had bled again over the sink, though he had barely noticed. Such things did not matter in the parody of the real world in which he lived.

  His phone pinged. Georgie’s friend, Li. Any news? What are you doing?

  What was he doing? Labouring over his cufflinks, buttoning his dress shirt, putting on his dinner jacket? He had no choice. He was going to a party. In the bedroom, he picked up the Glock and studied it. The gun was heavier than he recalled, the edges were worn, the metal had lost its shine. A small, numb part of his brain registered alarm – the barrel was pointing at his face, his hand on the trigger. He had seen that image before. A long time ago. After they had handed down the special verdict to William. After his marriage to Dee was over, his career was in tatters, his parents were dead, he’d been drinking and his sister hated him. For a long time, all he had heard when he’d closed his eyes at night were the screams of the people his brother had murdered.

  Priest thought about all of the people he had let down.

  Not again.

  He had offered Ruck the chance to atone. Was there anybody willing to offer him a similar chance?

  He threw the gun on to the bed.

  On the way out, he made sure the fish had extra food. If he didn’t come back, it might take Sarah a few days to remember to feed them.

  Jessica was waiting for him by her Range Rover, watching him as he made his way across the underground car park. She too had been home to wash and change. Her hair was immaculate. He took her hand and kissed it, eyes on her face. She met his gaze.

  ‘You think we can just waltz up to this house and negotiate our way in uninvited?’ she said.

  ‘But we’re not uninvited. Quite the contrary.’

  ‘We’re going as Colonel Ruck? And guest?’ She sounded sceptical. ‘Ruck is one hundred and three.’

  ‘They won’t have a clue who he is; he’s never been. All we need to do is get in. We’ll work the rest out when we get there.’

  ‘But how can you be sure that Georgie and Hayley are at this gathering?’

  ‘I can’t be sure – but the Bagman told me that Hayley was at their special house. The address on the note is a mansion in the middle of nowhere. If that’s where they have Hayley, that’s also where they will have taken Georgie.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll drive.’

  Priest glanced at the Volvo. ‘Why?’

  ‘I doubt this is the sort of affair where the clientele drive cars like yours.’

  Priest stepped aside and clicked his keys. She turned at the sound of the alarm. Not the Volvo, but something else tucked away in the corner of the car park.

  ‘You have an Aston Martin Rapide S?’ she said. ‘Five hundred and fifty brake horsepower and nought to sixty in under four point nine seconds.’

  Priest nodded, impressed, although he had no idea whether she was correct.

  ‘Why would you dri
ve an old Volvo when you own one of the most luxurious saloons ever made?’

  Priest shrugged. ‘You can get more stuff in the Volvo.’

  *

  The house was not visible from the road but there was a faint glow of illumination from behind a line of trees. Everything else was completely swallowed by the darkness.

  Priest slowed the Aston to a crawl. The headlights glinted off a set of giant wrought-iron gates tipped with gold leaves. As they approached, three large figures emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Did you bring the flash drive?’ Jessica asked.

  Priest patted the inside of his jacket pocket. ‘It’s the only thing we have to bargain with.’

  He stopped just short, making the approaching figure bridge the final few metres while he waited. He wound down the window and a large, shaven head leant into the car, followed by the overpowering smell of tobacco.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said the skinhead.

  ‘Ruck,’ replied Priest.

  ‘Of course, Mr Ruck. Welcome. If you would be kind enough to let me have your keys, I will take care of your vehicle. My friends will escort you to the house.’

  Jessica glanced nervously at Priest. A valet service limited the opportunities for a quick getaway.

  ‘Sir?’ The skinhead sensed their hesitation. ‘Your car will be in safe hands.’

  Priest nodded to Jessica and she got out. Priest followed, surrendering the keys to the welcoming committee. He took a long look at the Aston, wondering if he would ever see it again.

  ‘This way, sir, madam.’

  The skinhead tossed the keys to one of his colleagues and led them through the gates to a waiting golf buggy. They climbed aboard and were driven down a winding drive through the trees.

  There wasn’t much to see. The occasional lamp cast a dull light over the oaks lining the driveway but there was little else to give them any clues as to what was lurking behind the greenery. They passed a large gatehouse and finally arrived at a set of stables that ran the length of a gravelled courtyard the size of a football pitch. Wherever they were going, it was big.

  The buggy slowed and turned through a further set of gates before sliding to a halt in another gravelled courtyard. As they got out, Priest gave Jessica’s hand a squeeze. She smiled at him weakly. He tried to focus on her face, but to his horror, it began to slip away from him. As he scrabbled to hold on to reality, he saw himself alight from the golf buggy and walk towards the entrance to an enormous baroque mansion. They were finally here – at the House of Mayfly.