The 13th Black Candle

by Bob Goodwin

  After a second apology on behalf of the inspector, Dempsey proceeded with what seemed like a fairly predictable interview. Enquires seeking information about various Bodytone staff, other contacts of Stacey, and in particular the whereabouts of Adrian Devlin, produced nothing more than short, sharp replies and a cocky smile from Charlie Madden, who seemed to be extracting some personal justice from the situation.

  ‘It seems we’re not making much progress,’ continued Dempsey, fully aware of Charlie’s passive-aggressive manner. ‘Tell me, Mr Madden, has Stacey called you?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t. I wasn’t aware they had access to telephones in those sorts of places.’

  ‘What sort of places might that be?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Mental institutions.’

  ‘Oh, those sorts of places. I do believe they can use a phone. They seem to do silly things like that these days. What’s the world coming to, eh?’ said Dempsey tauntingly.

  ‘Phone or no phone, he hasn’t called I said.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s dropped in to see you then?’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, you haven’t heard. Stacey escaped today. A male nurse was stabbed to death and we need to talk to Stacey about it ASAP!’ Dempsey’s blunt admission did the trick. The brash grin fell away from Madden’s face and he sat to attention. If Oscar was surprised it didn’t show. He slowly turned his head and looked at Dempsey.

  ‘And the rest of the story, detective?’ he asked politely.

  ‘There have been two murders in Ward 21. An old man was the first. You may have seen some mention of it in the paper.’

  ‘No,’ replied Madden.

  ‘Yes,’ said Oscar. ‘George Hartley. It was reported as a suicide.’

  ‘And it looked like one at first. We want to talk to Stacey about that one as well. Now, have you seen or heard from him?’

  ‘We certainly have not,’ said Madden.

  ‘And of course, you’ll let us know if you do?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s reassuring to know that,’ added Dempsey with a hint of sarcasm. ‘The late Mr Hartley left a symbol set up on a chessboard. It had something to do with evoking spirits and demons. Which brings me to my next point. I would like to gather a little information on devil worship or witchcraft.’

  ‘What particular aspects did you want to know about?’ asked Oscar. ‘Do you have a preference for the sexual, sacrificial, sadistic, or just the plain filthy?’

  ‘Oscar, go easy. This is getting beyond a joke,’ said Madden.

  ‘I’m not joking, Charlie. This bloody cop knows you had a book on sorcery and magic in your drawer. He is wondering how you and this club tie in with everything that’s happened. I would like to point out that such knowledge was gained through an illegal search. You are not obliged to answer.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got anything to hide. I don’t see any harm in telling the truth here, do you?’

  ‘We will see,’ said Schliemann.

  ‘Do you guys really think I had something to do with all this?’ continued Madden as he opened his drawer.

  ‘How the hell do we know?’ said Hogan sharply. It was the first words he’d had to say since the interview commenced. ‘Bastards that fuck around with this sort of crap are so bloody secretive. Like wolves in sheep’s clothing. Hartley was involved in some sort of club. Something to do with sex, black magic, or both. And there’s someone here who knows about it. Maybe it’s you, Madden.’

  ‘Cut the crap, will you? Here’s the bloody book. Take it. Keep it.’ Charlie grabbed the book from the drawer and tossed it across the table towards Dempsey, who immediately reached forward, snatched it up, and flicked quickly through a few pages.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ asked Dempsey.

  ‘Found it in the staff room. It’s not mine.’

  ‘Really. It’s been in your desk drawer a while. Perhaps you have an interest in this sort of stuff?’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘Whose book is it?’ Dempsey looked at the two men expectantly. ‘For Christ’s sake, you’re the manager, and you’re the bloody security officer; one of you should know.’

  ‘We don’t know who owns the book,’ said Oscar sharply. ‘It hasn’t been an issue of importance up till now, has it?’

  ‘Well, it might pay you to find out. Consider this visit as a warning. The bodies are stacking up. And it’s not over yet. I would suggest a little cooperation wouldn’t go astray.’ Dempsey flicked his calling card across the desk. The two detectives stood to leave. ‘Think about it. Call me.’

  Chapter 29

  A Snake in the Grass

  The uncomfortable bed and stinging sensation in his arm were all too familiar and for a moment, Simon thought he was back in Ward 21. He squirmed and stretched, opened and closed his eyes several times, then took two deep breaths. The musty smell of the small room filled his nostrils while his eyes strained to achieve focus and identify his surroundings. An attempt to lift and examine his aching right arm was inhibited by a firm restraint on his wrist. He rolled onto his side to investigate.

  ‘Oh, my God. What the fuck,’ he groaned. He rattled the handcuffs angrily against the metal bed frame to which they were secured. There was a bandage, also, neatly applied around his forearm. On the underside, a small plastic tube with a soft yellow rubber end protruded from between the layers of material. He touched it gently with his free hand.

  ‘I would advise you to leave that alone, Simon.’

  It was Kym. Her voice triggered some hazy memories. The slightly bitter orange juice; being dragged along the floor by two men; Kym one minute laughing, the next wiping his brow with a cold, soothing cloth; a shiny black snake. These events seemed so long ago. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping.

  His attention strayed from the cannula in his arm. He sat up as best he could, supported by his elbows. The woman in whom he had placed so much trust stood, empty syringe in hand, at the end of the partly rusted bed end. Through the open door behind her, Simon could see the kitchen. He took some comfort in gaining orientation of the place, but none in the realisation that he was at Kym’s house, for there was a sickening feeling developing in the pit of his stomach. A feeling of being comprehensively outwitted and deceived.

  ‘Kym, help me. Get me out of here.’ He thought it was rather a vain hope, but there was no harm in testing the water.

  ‘I’d love to lend you a hand. You’re quite an attractive man, Simon,’ said Kym invitingly. She pursed her lips, tilted her head to one side and let her eyes travel over his body. ‘Seeing you lying there helpless, in a light sweat, baring your chest and legs and filling out those black jocks so neatly sends wonderful messages to my groin.’

  Simon grabbed the thin pillow from behind him and threw it quickly between his legs. He looked about for more protection, but there were no sheets or blankets on the old mattress and his clothes lay untidily in the corner, well out of reach.

  ‘Who undressed me?’ demanded Simon. ‘These are not my jocks. I wasn’t — ’

  ‘Wearing any? Oh, I know. I wondered what you were dreaming about. You had a huge erection. Was it me, Simon?’

  ‘Cut with the bullshit. What the hell is going on? What day is it? What drugs have you been filling me with?’ Simon quickly examined the bandage once more, found the taped end and started roughly pulling it free.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have done you a favour and taken one set of cuffs off your left wrist.’

  ‘It was you all the time, wasn’t it? You were the reason that the Ward 21 phone number was on the newspaper clipping that shit for brains had in his pocket.’ Simon pulled some more at the bandage. ‘You murdered my family.’

  ‘Ooh! Very harsh. I did no such thing,’ said Kym. ‘I would suggest you leave the bandage alone, but if you wish to pull it out go right ahead, we will simply secure you by both arms, shove in another one and give you more sedation.’

&nb
sp; ‘And who the hell is we? Anyone I know?’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself with that, just know that if I asked them to remove your heart they would do it without a second thought.’

  ‘How perfectly charming. Good friends are so hard to find these days.’ Simon grunted his dissatisfaction and tucked the end of the bandage back into itself.

  ‘Ah, it’s good to hear the real Simon Stacey. A sarcastic, quick-witted, intelligent guy. And a nice, rather horny bloke as well. It’s a shame, really.’

  ‘What’s a bloody shame? That you’re going to kill me?’

  ‘Oh, my goodness me,’ said Kym. She placed her fingers over her mouth as if somewhat alarmed by the statement. ‘Whatever gave you such an idea? No, that certainly won’t happen, at least not unless you bring it upon yourself, of course. You know it is a shame we’re not working towards the same goals. I think we’d have been a good team.’

  ‘In your dreams, or should I say in your psychoses. What the hell have you been pumping into me?’

  ‘You mean this?’ Kym held up the empty syringe. ‘Why do you think you’re awake? Only because I was kind enough to give you a narcotic antidote. So, don’t go doing anything silly or you will just have to go bye-byes again, won’t you,’ she said, waving her finger and looking down her nose like a schoolmistress warning a class of pre-schoolers.

  ‘Gee thanks, teach. What day is it?’

  ‘It’s Thursday. Nearly midday.’

  ‘The twelfth?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It’s on tomorrow, isn’t it? Ras knew, didn’t he? And you killed him. Murdering bitch!’

  ‘A deluded old man of no value to society. Murder? No, I don’t think so. I prefer to think of it as a positive form of euthanasia. Now, I’ll go and prepare you some food.’ Simon shook his head slowly as he watched her make for the kitchen. She stopped and turned.

  ‘One more thing. When your bedroom door is closed, the room is almost soundproof, so if you’re well behaved and there’s no calling out for help, we can leave the door open and your short stay with me can be quite civilised.’

  Simon watched her preparing lunch in the kitchen. There was no doubt that she had gone to extraordinary lengths to find out as much as she could about him. Only Alison and his mother had ever prepared him sandwiches with meatloaf, pickles, and tomato sauce. It was a real delicacy, especially when served with freshly squeezed orange juice. Kym returned and placed the tray on the end of the bed.

  ‘Is it drugged?’ asked Simon sharply.

  ‘Of course not. If I’m going to give you something I’ll inject it, won’t I?’

  ‘Silly me.’ Simon lifted the top slice off one sandwich. It looked lovely and he was certainly hungry. For some reason he found difficult to understand, he believed what she was saying. He raised the sandwich to his mouth and aggressively tore off a large piece. Outside his room a telephone rang.

  ‘Eat up now. I’ll be back soon.’

  Stacey leaned over to the wall. He was just able to see Kym’s bare feet near the cane telephone stand. She didn’t answer the phone immediately. It rang a couple more times before the answering machine cut in.

  ‘Hi, this is Kym. Sorry I’m not here to answer your call, but if you leave a message after the sound tone I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks.’ The tone sounded and a voice emanated from the machine’s speaker.

  ‘Kym, it’s the Doctor.’ She promptly lifted the receiver and switched off the answering machine.

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  Simon’s eyes grew wider and his pulse quickened. From only those four words he recognised that voice; the English accent was quite pronounced. He strung together some recent thoughts. The news story about the kidnapped child; the birth of Robbie; the obstetrician who had been so good to Alison. Could it be the same man? It sounded just like him. He stretched his neck out as far as possible and cupped his free hand to his ear.

  ‘All’s well, but I do need some more ampoules,’ said Kym. Her feet shuffled lightly on the smooth floor. ‘Yes, that’s fine. Six will do nicely.’

  Simon felt reasonably sure that this guy was Doctor Goldsmith. Goldsmith had assisted in the birth of Robbie. And now Goldsmith’s own son had disappeared. Stacey was both revolted and outraged. This wealthy and well-respected doctor who had influenced his family, particularly Alison, was a veritable Jekyll and Hyde.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear that. Everything is running like clockwork. There will be no problems,’ said Kym confidently.

  Thanks to the antidote, it was first time in several days that Simon had been drug free and at last able to think clearly. The names Melissa and Danny, the wife and son of Doctor Goldsmith, he remembered from the kidnapping article in the paper. He clenched his left fist and gave a short jab into the air as he recalled where he had seen those names before. At the back of one of Teddy Duncan’s photo albums there was a solitary photograph with the names Melissa and Danny printed beneath.

  ‘In five minutes at the front gate then. See you soon.’

  Kym hung up, switched the answering machine back on and returned to Stacey’s room.

  ‘Another friend of yours?’ asked Simon pointedly.

  ‘I have many friends, in many places. You’d be surprised.’

  ‘I think I’m almost beyond any further surprises.’

  ‘No, you’re not. Believe me.’

  ‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Can’t tell. It’s a surprise. Wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.’

  Kym continued to be cheerfully evasive and tormenting until she heard Satan barking. After delivering yet another word of caution, she left the room. Simon heard the front door open then close. Something had to be done quickly; whatever surprise there was in store, it was certainly not going to be a pleasant one.

  ‘Running like clockwork, eh. We’ll see about that,’ whispered Simon determinedly. He slid his legs over the right side of the bed and pushed it into the middle of the room. After placing his tray on the floor, he tossed the mattress against the back wall and tipped the metal bed onto its side. He was intent on getting to the phone, despite his involuntary affiliation with the bed. After a few frustrating moments getting the angles right, and with a minimum of noise, Simon finally succeeded in getting the bed through the door. Kym was still outside. Time was of the essence.

  His cuffed hand held the upper section of the metal frame while his other had a firm grasp on the springs. He shuffled awkwardly but quickly across the polished floorboards. After setting his encumbrance down quietly on a small rug next to the cane stand, he grabbed the telephone and quickly punched out a set of numbers. He kept a close eye on the front door.

  ‘Answer the bloody thing. Come on. Come... Wendy, shut up and listen. It’s Stacey. Shut up I said. Tell Schliemann to check out Goldsmith. Got it? Doctor Goldsmith.’

  Stacey heard a car door shut and a vehicle drive away.

  ‘Got to go, bye.’

  He grabbed the bed. Kym’s voice could be heard just outside the door talking to the dog. Although only stepping a few inches at a time, Stacey’s frantic jerky dash quickly had him at the bedroom door. With a slight change of direction he negotiated the first bed end around the doorway with all the precision of a skilled removalist. There was a loud click. It was the front door latch. His foot caught the lip of his lunch tray, catapulting the tumbler of orange juice into his knee. A quick sidestep to avoid slipping in the mess resulted in the second bed end striking hard against the architrave. The sudden jolt, while slightly off balance, threw him to the floor. The bed tilted over and jammed tightly in the doorway. Simon’s right arm extended vertically like a swimmer in distress. The handcuffs cut into his wrist. A trickle of blood ran down his arm.

  ‘I turn my back for a minute and you start playing silly games.’ Kym stood near the obstructed entrance shaking her head in a mild display of condemnation.

  ‘You’re a fool, Stacey. What are trying to do? Sneak out t
he back door? Get to the telephone? I’ve got it! This is an elaborate ploy to get some more narcotics. Now that I can help you with.’ She opened her hand and displayed several small ampoules. A small twitch at the corners of her mouth developed into a broad grin and was soon followed by a long, hearty laugh.

  Chapter 30

  Goldsmith

  Cochran, Johnson, and Dempsey had returned to the station to discuss their fortunes over lunch. Earlier in the day they had gone their separate ways to interview the long list of massage and escort girls provided by Briggs. They had compared notes on their return. Three of the girls had prior dealings with the mysterious club when it was strictly a sex get-together organised by Hartley. All had left soon after an influential man, known only as Romoli, had insisted they spice up their acts by involving animals and animal blood. Two of the girls knew of one other who took particular delight in the new direction of the club. She was an attractive oriental girl who kept mostly to herself. Her name was Cherry Minx.

  ‘This is really a sick book, Dempsey,’ said Cochran. ‘It’s difficult to imagine who would want to read such stuff, let alone write it. Have you had a good look through this?’ Cochran held up the book on sorcery and magic.

  ‘Just flicked through it, sir,’ replied Dempsey. ‘It’s pretty gross.’

  ‘What about you, Johnson?’

  ‘I’ve read the first few chapters.’ She pulled an identical text from her handbag. ‘There’s a heavy emphasis on various rituals, human and animal sacrifices, drinking blood, that sort of stuff. Quite a few pictures of various scenarios. One that pops up regularly seems to be set in some sort of barn.’ She opened at the Consecration of the Feast page. ‘Like this here. Could be an old farmhouse or sawmill. Hard to be sure. In this picture they are about to sacrifice a child. Friday the 13th is quite significant to these people; and that’s tomorrow!’