Graham wasn’t altogether surprised to come home to an empty house. John would sometimes go out in the afternoons for a pint or two down at the Nag’s Head. It wasn’t uncommon for him to lose track of time and nine times out of ten Graham would go down there and join him for a few jars. He usually left him a note which would also usually contain some sort of proposition for dinner and extras after they were a few pints in. But today, he hadn’t found a note on the kitchen side like it usually was. Then he remembered a time earlier in their relationship when he had left a note on the pillow of the bed with the words “You are going to bite this later you sexy bastard” written on it using a delicate italic marker. Graham had laughed about it for days afterwards. It had become folklore in the long minefield that had been their relationship. When he had not found a note in its usual spot today he had gone up the stairs in the hope that there was another pillow munching invite on the bed. He had gone into the bedroom and immediately seen something on the bed that looked, to his eyes’ like a note. As he got closer to it he realised that there was no writing on this piece of paper, but a picture instead. As he reached out his hand to pick it up his hand froze. His eyes couldn’t quite register what they were seeing. It looked like a picture of John, his wonderful, beautiful John tied to a chair. The lower part of his face was swollen and bloodied and it looked like he was unconscious. He snatched up the picture and looked at it closely. His heart began to pound in his chest and his breath began to come in short sharp snatches.
“Oh dear sweet Jesus. Oh shit on me. John, what’s happened to you, what….”
The bedroom door slammed shut behind him.
That was when he realised that John’s kidnapper was hiding behind the bedroom door. He stepped forwards out of the semi darkness. He was wearing a white mask that covered his face down to his grinning mouth. His eyes blazed pure evil from within their sockets. Initially Graham was scared, but he took another look at the picture of his one true love sitting helplessly in that chair and his fear turned to blind fury. He charged forwards at Mask. Bellowing, he looped a punch at Mask’s face. It was the perfect shot, it caught Mask squarely on the side of his jaw. His head snapped to the side and then slowly came back to look at Graham. Graham swung again, another perfect shot, but it didn’t even phase Mask. Graham went to the well again but this time Mask deflected the blow and pistoned out a fist into Graham’s solar plexus. All of his wind rushed out of his body. The force of the blow almost completely paralyzed him. His legs buckled and he went down to his knees, clutching at his midsection. Mask was looking down at him and shaking his head almost pityingly. He turned his head to one side and spat out a tooth as casually as if he was spitting out gum. He reached down and gripped Graham by his hair. He began to struggle and beat at Mask’s hands pathetically. Mask pulled him up to his feet and then shoved him back onto his bed. Graham began to weep silently, his hands massaging his head and his midsection simultaneously.
“We need to talk little man. We have some business to attend to,” said Mask.
“John, what have you done to John,” said Graham in a whining, breathless voice.
“Oh don’t you worry about old John boy; he is staying at my place for a little while. When we have finished with our little business, then he can come right back home to you.”
“What do you want from me?”
Mask began to pace up and down the room. “Well Graham, I need some information from you about your scientist cunt employer and the project that you are both working on.”
“I….I don’t know what you are talking about…I”
Mask slapped him across his face, hard. The slap sounded like a gunshot in the small room. Graham began to weep again.
“Listen to me you fat little faggot, I know you work for Richard Hurst, I know he has a little project going on in there and I know that you are helping him perfect it, so knock off the bullshit or I will start sending you your cock sucking little friend back to you in tiny pieces. Believe me, the first piece you will get will be his happy little soldier that you like to stick up your arse. It’s up to you, you either help me or you will start getting some nasty little packages through the post. You get me chief?” said Mask. His face was now only a few inches from Grahams and he could smell a combination of cigarettes and halitosis on his breath. Graham thought it over for a moment and then he nodded frantically.
“Good, I’m glad that you have decided to see sense. Now, what I want you to do is to get me as much information about that machine that Richard is working on. I want blueprints, I want operating criteria, I want as much as you can get. Do you think you can do that for me chief?”
Graham nodded again. Tears were rolling freely down his cheeks.
“Good stuff Gray. Now, I will be back in a weeks’ time and you had better have what I want or John is going to have a really bad day, you got that chief?”
More frantic nodding.
“Oh, and just so you know, if you bring the police here, I will kill them and then I will start cutting pieces of you off and I will feed them to your gay boy lover. You might even get to watch. Do we understand each other?”
Graham nodded again. His entire body felt like it was quivering with fear.
“O.K. Chief. Now you’re going to close your eyes and count to ten and when you open them I will be gone. But I will be back in a week chief, and I will be watching you. Now start counting.”
Graham closed his eyes and counted. He was sure that at any moment he was going to feel a knife strike his skull or the blast of a shotgun, but none of that happened. Instead, when he opened his eyes, Mask had gone. He lay down on the bed and curled himself up into the foetal position and cried until he eventually fell asleep.
Mask returned a week later just like he said he would. By that time Graham had stolen as much information as he could get his hands on. It wasn’t difficult. Richard Hurst wasn’t the most organised of workers and he probably wouldn’t notice if Graham had stolen the shirt right off his back. He had piled the collection of things on the kitchen side, hoping and praying that it would be enough to get John home. Mask had finally appeared just after 11pm that evening. Graham had been dozing on the sofa and he was on the darker side of several glasses of red wine. He snored himself awake and then realised that Mask was standing right in front of him smiling. Graham almost jumped right out of his skin.
“Time’s up gay Gray. What have you got for me?” said Mask.
“It’s in the kitchen,” said Graham.
Mask swept his hand out to indicate that he wanted Graham to get it. Graham stood up and made his way to the kitchen weaving slightly. A few moments later he came back into the room carrying the notebooks and the blueprint rolls he had taken. He put it down on the coffee table near to where Mask was stood.
“Oh very nice Graham. You see? We can work together after all.”
“Now give me John back. I did what you said, now give him back to me,” said Graham. He was trying to sound tough, but he was sleepy and rather drunk so his words sounded weak and needy.
“Oh yeah, about that. I’m sorry Gray, but I killed him. I cut his fucking head right off. He got on my nerves,” said Mask.
“You’re a liar! You’re a fucking liar!” said Graham brandishing his finger at Mask.
“Whatever Gray, don’t get yourself all upset. If it makes you feel any better, you are about to join him.”
“But you said….” That was all that Graham had time to get out before Mask had drawn his knife and torn Graham’s throat open with it. Graham shrieked and then his hand went up to the large and ugly gash in the front of his neck and began to claw at it. Blood was sheeting down the front of Graham’s light blue top, turning it a dark colour. He was making a gargling noise like a man using mouthwash instead of drowning in his own gore. Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door. Graham began to stagger towards it. Blood was starting to foam up out of his mouth and Mask was pretty sure he was trying to ask for help. Mask cut in front of Graham
and kicked his legs out from under him. He flopped gracelessly to the floor and began to roll from one side to the other. He was beginning to suffocate. Mask went to the front door and pulled it open. He stepped to the side, so that the door hid him from whoever was banging on it. He reached over and turned the handle so that the door swung open.
“Graham? Are you alright? I heard a scream and I was…” said a male voice from the door. He caught sight of Graham lying on the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood and he stepped into the room and squatted down next to Graham, his arms outstretched as if to hug him better from his fatal wound.
“Oh Graham, what’s happened?” he said in a soothing but shaky voice. The unnamed man then saw that Graham was pointing to something. Whatever it was it was behind him. He turned around just in time to see Mask bringing his knife downwards in a large swooping arc and burying it in the man’s skull with a soft muted clang. The man went limp and began to convulse. Mask was stopping him from falling to the floor only because he still had hold of the blade that was embedded in the skull of the unnamed man. He planted his foot on the man’s chest and pulled the knife out. The man slumped to the floor, still shaking and flailing his limbs. Blood began to gush out of the huge open wound in the man’s head and pool on the floor with Grahams. Mask stood and watched for a moment, laughing softly to himself and then he gathered up the things that Graham had brought him from Richard Hurst and he left the house, closing the door behind him.
He had read through all of the notebooks, absorbing the knowledge to a point where he knew it all off by heart. His brain was full of madness but he was certainly no slouch. He could pretty much learn or master anything within a few days if he could focus on the task in hand rather than the constant babbling of his God. He had acquired all the knowledge that he needed and not long after that, he paid Richard a little visit. He had used that machine to fuck him up big style. He had made him pay the ultimate price for his sins.
Right now. The urge to go and take another soul for his God was pretty strong. It wouldn’t rest until he had done what was being asked of him. He stood up and went to grab his coat and his mask. It was better to get it done and then he might be able to manage some sleep tonight. He made sure he had his weapons with him. Was it going to be a knife or a gun night? Or perhaps it would be a choke out night, he wasn’t quite sure yet. Whoever it was that his God was going to choose, they were going to find out that was for sure.
20.
Slater was starting with a cold. There was no doubt about it. He was hoping that the headache that he had been fighting all day was just a temporary thing, but throughout the rest of the day he had been steadily feeling rougher. Right now his headache was snarling and pulsing behind his eyes and his nose was almost completely blocked. He had a lot of phone calls to make, the next of which was going to be to Jenny Phillips to tell her that her partner and trainer had been murdered and that she would be wise to take a little time off and watch her back. He had no idea who had killed Denton, but he knew whoever it was had probably killed before. It had been a slick and well planned killing that had been performed in the way it had done for maximum effect. Then there was the writing on the wall that had been a very clear cut message for Patrick Hurst the son of the late Richard Hurst. That guy had been rich beyond anything that he could have dreamed of and he knew that Patrick had inherited the whole fucking lot of it. Perhaps the killer wanted a ransom of some sort, he didn’t know. Usually there would have been a hostage involved, but this guy hadn’t even suggested that there was one. He needed to talk to Jenny and then he needed to go and see Patrick before anything happened to him. He had Jenny’s number and he was about to start dialling when he felt a sneeze suddenly start building in his sinuses. He scrambled his snotrag out of his trouser pocket and caught the sneeze just in time. He blew his nose and returned the rag to his pocket sniffing wildly. He dialled Jenny’s number and put the phone to his ear. She answered after three rings with a curt and polite hello.
“Hi Jenny, It’s Slater, how are you?”
“Hello sir, I’m great thanks, are you having a good weekend?” she said in her usual cheery voice. Just five minutes talking to Jenny made even the crappiest day seem a whole lot better.
“Well, I was, but there are two things that are dragging it down Jenny, the first being that I have a cold.”
“Get some hot toddies down you sir, I swear by them.”
“I will give it a try, however that’s not the worst news I have had this weekend,” he said. He was pinching his eyes shut, he hated giving good people bad news.
“What’s happened sir?”
“Denton has been murdered. We found his body in his home this morning. Someone had shot him and then cut off his head. It was the worst thing I have ever seen in my life.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone for a moment whilst she tried to process the information that he had told her.
“Are you sure?....ar…are you sure it was him?”
“I’m sorry Jenny, it was him alright. I saw the body myself. His wife is missing, but we don’t think she had anything to do with any of this. My guess is, she is dead too,” said Slater. He was rubbing one of his temples to try and alleviate the snarling pain in his head. He really wanted to go and crawl into bed, but there were lives at stake, so all that would have to wait.
“Oh….oh my God,” said Jenny in a shaky voice. The news was beginning to hit home.
“There is something else Jenny, the killer left a message on the wall. It said ‘Tell Patrick Hurst, I’m coming home.’ Does that mean anything to you?”
Another silence for a moment. “Yes, I know Patrick Hurst. His father died, some sort of accident. I know Patrick….personally sir.”
“Well Jenny, I think he could be in real danger. I think this psycho is coming after him. Let me get this straight, Patrick is the guy that inherited all that money, the guy I saw on television is that right?”
“Yes sir that’s right.”
“Do you know where he is right now?”
“Yes sir.”
“Right Jenny, give me his address and I will meet you there, we need to get him to a safe place as soon as we can.”
Jenny gave him the address and they exchanged goodbyes. It turned out that Patrick lived on High Street in Newtown. A very humble location for a millionaire. Slater mused to himself that he would have upgraded straight away and not just his house either. He would have upgraded his employment status, his car and perhaps his moaning old bitch of an ex-wife, perhaps with the help of a hitman. He shuffled his arms into his jacket and began to load his pockets with painkillers, mints and all the other things a D.C.I on the road needed. It was time to meet the famous Patrick Hurst.
21.
Patrick pulled the covers back and stepped out of his bed. The tiled floor was cold under his feet. Where the hell were his slippers? They would usually be sitting right at the side of his bed where he left them before he settled in for the night. He couldn’t work out why the floor was tiled either, he had a carpet on his floor. Then he realised that he wasn’t at home any more, he was back at Layton House with its almost sterile living conditions.
I’m dreaming, I must be dreaming.
There was a bang from beyond the doorway. Unable to stem his curiosity, he made his way to the door and pressed his ear against the wood. He could hear the quiet, but unmistakable sound of a voice at the other side of the door.
Help me.
It sounded like Jenny. She was in trouble. His instincts took over any common sense and he reached for the handle and tore the door open. Jenny was standing at the other side of the door. Her face was a crimson mask of blood and her mouth hung open. All of her teeth were either missing or they had been shattered by an impact from a blunt object of some sort. He jumped back from this grotesque image and she began to fall forwards. He stepped forwards and held out his arms. She flopped into his arms before she could hit the hard floor and her head came loose fro
m her neck and struck the tiles beneath him. He let out a strangled yell and jumped backwards again. He fell to the floor on his arse and began to back away from the mangled corpse that was now lying on the floor in front of him. He was about to try screaming again when a shadow appeared in the doorway. It was carrying what looked to be a large hunting knife. The knife was still dripping with the fresh blood of his new girlfriend.
I’m coming to see you Patty boy, we’re going to have some fun, you and all your friends.
The shadow suddenly charged at him raising the knife up in the air. Patrick tried to scramble away, but all his limbs seemed to be filled with lead and they wouldn’t co-operate with him. The knife flashed in the moonlight coming in from the ceiling window and then it came down on him. He closed his eyes and screamed as loud as he could and…
He sat bolt upright in his recliner gasping for breath. He wasn’t quite sure if he had actually screamed out loud. It might have been an illusion but it seemed to him like the room was still reverberating with the sound of him yelling out. The room was in almost total darkness, save for the faint yellow glow of the streetlight that was not far from the window. He scrambled to his feet and fumbled for the light switch, knocking his small table over that housed his empty mug and his ashtray. He managed to click the light on cursing at the mess he had made on the carpet. Fortunately, it wasn’t too bad as he had emptied the tray before he had gone shopping with Jack a few days ago. He was also pleased to see that his favourite mug had also survived the fall. He rescued the tray and the mug from the floor and set up the table again. He was still breathing hard from the residue of the nightmare and he mulled over the possibility of another cup of tea. He decided that he was going to have something with a little bit more of a kick to it and he made his way up the stairs, putting on every available light as he did so. He reached the kitchen and opened up his fridge. There were several cans of strong lager in there and he pulled a four pack of them out and put them on the side. He took one of the cans and popped the tab on it. He drank off half the can without pausing for breath and then let out a belch like a gunshot. He felt the beer going to work on his bloodstream and he began to feel a little bit better, more in control of himself. He saw his mobile phone sitting on the side of the kitchen and he snatched it up and pressed the button. He had five missed calls from Jenny and a text message that was telling him to get in contact with her as soon as possible. He shrugged and pushed the button to phone her.
Duet Page 27
