‘What did he do?’ Becky asked.
‘Don’t,’ Chloe insisted.
Nicola ignored her. ‘Shaun set up a webcam in the ladies’ loo.’
Becky placed a horrified hand over her mouth. Now Chloe was blushing and glaring at Nicola with unconcealed venom. ‘I’m trying to put that behind me.’
‘Yeah,’ Nicola agreed. ‘And he was putting your behind on the internet, wasn’t he? Chloe takes a dump on pervs-dot-com and Shaun gets a big chuckle from the lads in this place for being so bold as to capture it on camera.’
‘You’re not serious,’ Becky gasped.
‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ Chloe decided.
‘Aside from that,’ Nicola went on. ‘Shaun’s taken a shot at feeling up every girl on overtime. He’s spread rumours about every one that’s knocked him back–’
‘Which is most of them,’ Chloe interrupted.
‘–and the rumours are all pretty sick and twisted.’
‘This is terrible,’ Becky said.
‘But he’s not tried anything with you yet?’
Becky shook her head. ‘He seemed pretty angry that I was talking with you two. Maybe that’s killed his appetite for doing anything?’
‘I doubt that very much,’ Nicola said, bitterly. ‘Only a serious beating could kill that bastard’s appetite.’
Becky went cold. She didn’t like the overtime atmosphere and she was determined this would be her last night working late at the office. Nicola obviously had no qualms about having Shaun beaten by Chloe’s boyfriend. If what she had been told was true, Becky could feel herself beginning to believe that the action might be justified. The idea that a part of her found violence acceptable was a horrific discovery and she wanted to get away from the environment that had allowed her to think such unthinkable thoughts.
A frown furrowed Nicola’s brow and she studied Becky with sudden concern. ‘Did you check your seat before you sat down to work?’
‘Why on earth would I do that?’
Nicola and Chloe exchanged a glance.
Chloe touched Becky’s thigh and motioned her to move her chair backwards. Puzzled, Becky did as she was told. Nicola slid out of her chair and squatted on her haunches. With one arm she reached into the kneehole beneath the desk.
‘Bastard,’ she muttered.
Becky frowned.
‘He hasn’t has he?’ Chloe hissed.
Nicola nodded. She reached deeper into the kneehole and pulled her hand down hard. There was a ripping sound that was almost muffled by Chloe’s gasp of shock. Becky watched, intrigued, as Nicola pulled out a webcam from beneath the desk.
‘What the–?’
‘A fucking webcam?’ Chloe marvelled. ‘Another fucking webcam?’
Becky felt ill. She didn’t know much about webcams but she could guess that its single eye had been staring up her skirt and between her thighs. Her stomach folded with disgust as she thought about the sight of her crotch being viewed by Shaun’s camera.
‘The dirty–’
‘I’m going to deal with this,’ Chloe snapped. She was reaching into her handbag and removing her mobile. As she flipped it open, Shaun glanced across at the three of them.
‘No mobiles during overtime!’
‘Pervert,’ hissed Nicola. She kept her voice lowered so he couldn’t hear what she said.
‘We’re on a break,’ Chloe called. She raised the phone to her ear. ‘We should be allowed to make calls on our break if we want.’
‘No mobiles during overtime,’ Shaun repeated. ‘You know the rules.’
‘Bastard,’ Chloe grunted. She snapped the phone closed, thrust it into her bag, and stood up. ‘I’m going for a pee,’ she said loudly. Glaring meaningfully at Nicola she said, ‘D’you want to come with?’
Nicola responded with a whisper that Becky could barely hear. ‘You want me to get Don to be Kevin’s alibi?’
Chloe nodded.
Becky’s stomach folded again. She watched Nicola wrench the webcam from beneath the desk, and then drop it into the waste bin by Becky’s side. Nicola checked her purse and briefly pulled out a mobile phone before slipping it back out of sight. Placing a reassuring hand on Becky’s shoulder she said, ‘We’re going to go and sort this out.’
‘Damn right,’ Chloe agreed.
Nicola asked, ‘Are you OK to cover for us?’
‘Cover?’
Nicola cast a meaningful glance in Shaun’s direction. ‘Keep him occupied,’ she said softly. ‘Keep him distracted so he doesn’t realise we’ve gone.’
Becky wanted to protest and say that she couldn’t stomach the idea of looking at Shaun, let alone consider the prospect of talking to him. Nevertheless, because events seemed to be moving at a furious pace, she realised she had little choice except to do as Nicola asked. In a last ditch attempt to save herself from the ordeal of talking with Shaun she asked, ‘How the hell am I supposed to keep him distracted?’
Nicola and Chloe answered in unison: ‘Ask him about Harry Shaw.’
8
‘Where the fuck have those two sluts gone?’
‘Chloe and Nicola said they were going to the loo.’
‘Lezzing off in there, I expect,’ Shaun grunted. His sneer of contempt was briefly replaced by an expression of dreamy approval, as though he was mentally picturing Chloe and Nicola lezzing off. And then he was leering again as he addressed Becky’s breasts. ‘So what do you want?’ His eyes shone with lewd hunger as he asked, ‘Are you trying to find out if it’s true why they call me the donkey?’
Is it because the ass is too obvious a nickname?
She wanted to say the words; she knew that neither Nicola nor Chloe would have hesitated with the put-down. But she couldn’t bring herself to be so confrontationally rude. Taking a deep breath, glancing towards the door where Chloe and Nicola had disappeared, she gave her most politic smile and asked, ‘Who’s Harry Shaw?’
He cocked his head to one side. For an instant his gaze shifted from the front of her blouse and moved up to her eyes. Then he was looking back at her breasts again. ‘What have those bitches said?’
‘Nicola and Chloe said I had to ask you about him.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a surprise. Normally they go round telling everyone that the Harry Shaw story is a sack of shit, and that I’m making it all up and only telling folk about him because I want to put the wind up them.’
‘Well, you’ve not told me anything about him, yet.’
He raised his gaze again, as though trying to judge whether or not she was teasing. She watched him glance towards the door where Nicola and Chloe had disappeared, then slide his attention back to her.
‘How long have you been with Raven and Skull?’
‘Six months.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe longer. It feels longer.’
He nodded as though he wasn’t interested. ‘I take it you’ve not been down to janitorial in that time.’
The question was unexpected. Becky thought for a moment, trying to work out if she’d ever visited the janitorial department since she started working for Raven and Skull, or if it was simply one of those locations she’d heard people mention as she went through her daily routine. Whenever anything got spilt, or that time Geoff had walked into the office oblivious to the fact he was treading dog poo into the carpet, or when anything spoilt the otherwise sanitised perfection of the office environment, someone always mentioned janitorial. But, now she thought about Shaun’s question, Becky realised that she had never visited the basement offices. The phrase made her think of a cold, dank cellar. She could almost hear the drip of water and envision the suffocating darkness.
‘No. Never.’
‘Who did your initial interview? Was it Raven or Black?’
‘Black. Why?’
‘It figures it wasn’t Raven. He doesn’t do much nowadays, except sit in his chair and dribble.’
Becky said nothing. She didn’t like talking about her employers – especially Rave
n. She had seen the man on a couple of occasions when he visited the offices. Confined to a wheelchair, breathing wheezily through a respirator that hissed like a coiled snake, he had been rolled past her as she cowered inside her cubicle. A plastic mask – supposedly transparent but made opaque with spittle – had hidden most of his face. His leering, frantic eyes had met hers for a moment and then – thankfully, mercifully – he had been snatched away and pushed into a boardroom. The moment had only lasted for a fraction of a second. But turning her thoughts back to that instant never failed to send a shiver tickling down her spine.
‘Raven’s one of the original family members that set up this company,’ Shaun explained. He laughed and added, ‘Judging by the age of the old bastard, I’d say he was the original family member. Some say that Black’s a relative, but I think that’s just rumours. I’ve not seen a family resemblance, although I’ve never seen Black sitting in a wheelchair with a respirator over his mouth, so I’m in no position to judge.’
Becky wanted to ask a dozen questions. In all the time she had worked for the company, no one had ever explained why it was called Raven and Skull, but owned by two men called Raven and Black. Had there been someone called Skull? And, if so, what had happened to him? And why hadn’t the name been changed to Raven and Black?
‘What does any of this have to do with Harry Shaw?’
Shaun’s smile was sly. ‘Back in his day, Raven was a bit of a naughty lad. He did business in a way that was…’ He paused and licked his lips before saying, ‘He did business that was underhand. He dabbled with the black arts.’
‘Black arts?’ Becky frowned. ‘You mean, like African paintings?’
Shaun thought about this for a moment, and then shook his head. ‘No. Not black arts like paintings done by coons. These were the black arts like witchcraft, black magic and voodoo.’
Understanding began to wash over Becky. She tried to suppress her shock when she realised Shaun had just been offensively racist. Without thinking, she glanced towards the door and silently wished for Nicola and Chloe to return.
‘What does this have to do with Harry Shaw?’
‘Raven liked all the kinky ceremonies,’ Shaun explained. ‘Bondage, buggery, blood, virgins and sacrifice.’
‘Jesus!’ Becky gasped. The mild blasphemy was the closest she had ever come to profanity. ‘Surely there’s no truth in those rumours?’
Shaun’s laughter was a harsh cackle. ‘They weren’t just rumours. He was famous for his depraved appetites. Infamous.’
‘What does this have to do with Harry Shaw?’
Shaun chuckled. ‘Raven had a lot of money back then and a lot of influence, both in this world and the other world. He was a very powerful man on the night he had Harry Shaw hauled into his office…’
9
Charles Raven kept a gold-plated skull on his desk. Most visitors believed it was an innocuous paperweight: a characteristic combination of the glamorous and gruesome, befitting Charlie’s distinctive tastes. Most visitors believed it was designed to impress and unsettle in equal measures. Whenever Charlie patted the skull, his palm resting on the parietal bone, his slender fingers stroking at the frontal section, he would say this was the original skull from Raven and Skull.
And then he would laugh.
And most visitors smiled as though he was joking.
Harry Shaw didn’t smile when Charlie made the remark. Instead, Harry Shaw continued to watch Raven warily.
Harry Shaw was a gangly man, his Van Dyke beard giving his face a long and ferret-like appearance. His teeth were nicotine-yellow and there were too many of them for his mouth. When he watched Charlie Raven stroke the cap of the skull, distracted affection fluttering across his sharp eyes, Harry Shaw nodded as though Raven was speaking the absolute truth.
‘This is the original skull from Raven and Skull,’ Raven explained.
‘You killed him,’ Harvey noted. The words were spoken as a statement. Not a question. Harry Shaw said, ‘You killed John Skull and claimed ownership of all the company rather than the forty-eight per cent you did hold. Roger Black assisted you with disposal of the body and you rewarded Black with a senior management position here. The gold-plating on the skull was done by a friend of yours – a friend who owed you a favour for staying quiet about a dark deed.’
He paused, glanced towards the ceiling, and frowned as though he was able to see this specific dark deed being performed. Anyone watching him closely would have noticed a small tremor of distaste rack his body. When he lowered his gaze, to study Raven again, he was still frowning.
‘The rest of Skull’s body is decomposing in landfill somewhere two hundred miles north of here but, if it ever was discovered, no one would be able to identify it as the remains of John Skull. No one would be able to link his murder to you.’
He considered Charlie Raven warily and said, ‘You did something to the corpse to make sure it could never be identified, didn’t you?’
Charlie smiled. He looked relaxed, leaning back in his chair. His tone was courteous and cheerful, as though this was a meeting of old friends.
‘This is a very impressive demonstration from a chef, Mr Shaw. What else do your psychic powers reveal about my best-kept secrets?’
Harry Shaw took a deep breath and stood up. His suit was five years out of fashion and looked like it had been tailored for a man twice his build. The fabric hung from him as though he was a badly dressed scarecrow. With forced confidence he walked over to the desk where Raven kept a decanter of port and a cabinet of balloon-shaped glasses. Pouring himself a generous measure of blood red port, Harry Shaw sipped at his drink before speaking.
‘Help yourself to the contents of my cabinet,’ Charlie murmured.
‘I’m detecting an aura–’
‘How exciting for you!’
‘–something to do with shamanism or voodoo?’
Charlie Raven raised an eyebrow. ‘Which?’ he asked, earnestly. ‘Anyone can pull those names out of the air. I’m not giving you any clues, Mr Shaw. Is it shamanism or voodoo?’
‘Voodoo,’ Shaw decided. His nostrils tightened as he added, ‘I’m getting the scent of chicken’s blood, human blood and cayenne. I keep getting images of feathers and I hear the sound of drumbeats.’ Nodding to himself he said, ‘Definitely voodoo.’
‘Good grief,’ Charlie Raven smiled. ‘You really are impressive, aren’t you?’ He opened the cigarette box on the top of his desk and retrieved an unfiltered Woodbine. Tucking it into the corner of his mouth, lighting it with a match, he blew a plume of smoke into the air before saying, ‘I really didn’t think psychics – genuine psychics – existed. You’ve just proven me wrong. Congratulations Mr Shaw.’
Shaw sipped another mouthful of port.
He stared out of the office window without responding.
Charlie was sufficiently familiar with the view to know what the man would be seeing. A rain of biblical proportions fell past the window. Charlie knew the view would show a busy city road slick with rain, murky with twilight, and crammed with the scuttling black beetles of taxicabs. The pavements would be hidden beneath a slithering snake of oily black umbrellas. It wasn’t a view Charlie ever enjoyed. He suspected Harry Shaw wasn’t getting much pleasure from the sight. ‘You do know, this knowledge of yours means I’ll have to have you killed?’
Shaw’s grin, reflected in the window, remained firmly in place. He continued to study the view of the approaching night and miserable weather, seeming confident of his invulnerability. ‘You won’t have me killed,’ he declared. ‘I’m psychic. I know that I don’t die from your hand or your instruction.’
Charlie Raven drew on his cigarette and thought for a moment.
There was a revolver in his desk drawer. He could pull it out, point it at Shaw and prove the smug bastard wrong by simply pulling the trigger. Over such a short range a kill would be almost inevitable. It would be a certainty if he got to fire off two or three shots. Roger Black was on his way up to th
e office and he would have no qualms about helping Charlie resolve his difference with Shaw through whatever means were necessary. There was no one else in the office building to overhear or make a report to local authorities.
Charlie knew the clean-up would be easy to organise. Roger Black had proved himself more than competent at arranging such necessities in the past. Charlie’s secretary, Fiona, would be the first person to visit the office in the morning and Charlie knew that Fiona would tell him or Roger if any incriminating detail had been overlooked.
But natural caution told Charlie not to act with imprudent haste.
Harry Shaw appeared to know too much and Charlie Raven was determined to find out how he had gathered his information before he progressed any further. He placed his hand on the gold-plated skull and patted it gently.
‘Pour me a port would you, Shaw? I prefer the vintage.’
Shaw did not respond.
Harry Shaw was not the first blackmailer Charlie Raven had encountered but he seemed to know more than any of the others. His claim to be psychic was an interesting one and Charlie suspected the detail was important. He pulled his hand away from the skull. Instead of reaching for the gun, as he wanted, his slender fingers found the gorilla’s paw ashtray on his desk. Without shifting his gaze from Harry Shaw, Charlie tapped ash from the Woodbine into the ashtray.
Shaw had mentioned Charlie’s original forty-eight per cent stake in Raven and Skull. That detail alone was enough to convince Charlie that the man was a genuine psychic. He and John Skull had settled on that specific division of investment a decade earlier in a very private meeting that had involved the pleasing ritual sacrifice of a rather obliging virgin. Charlie grinned tightly to himself as he remembered the satisfaction of that particular evening. The flesh at his loins tingled as though he was revisiting some of that ceremony’s more salacious highlights.
Skull’s liquid assets had been vastly superior at the time. Charlie had offered to find half the start-up stake needed but John Skull had wanted a controlling interest and suggested a fifty-one/forty-nine split. Because Charlie had a superstitious aversion to the number forty-nine, he and John had decided to make the division fifty-two/forty-eight. The figures were not a closely guarded secret but, aside from the corporate accountant, Charlie Raven didn’t think those specific numbers were known by many living souls in this world.
Raven and Skull Page 3
