Killing Christmas (2019 Reissue)

by Bill Kitson

  ‘I must wash my hands.’

  She turned away from the basin and immediately the room began to see-saw as he’d predicted. As she swayed, he was alongside her immediately, his arm about her waist. Supporting, not gripping her. In other circumstances she’d have been comforted, might even have enjoyed the experience. Here, she was confused. What she found strangest was that the panic, the fear had retreated. They were still there, but in abeyance. ‘Come on; let’s get you to somewhere you can sit down. Then, I’ll make you something to eat. It’s no wonder you’re dizzy, you haven’t eaten for two days.’

  Had she been out of it for two days? That meant he must have drugged her a second time. Why? Once he’d captured her, what was the need to keep her sedated? An obvious reason came to mind, but she was able to discount that immediately. She hadn’t been assaulted. She’d have known. Even if it had happened whilst she was drugged, she’d have been aware of it. Other questions followed, questions she couldn’t ask. Dare not ask; not yet. And probably not at all. As she watched him the fear that had temporarily left her returned. Not unabated, but amplified. A strap over his shoulder was attached to a squat, black, ugly chunk of metal: a gun. A big, efficient looking gun. She didn’t know what make or calibre or anything like that. All she knew was the terror it inspired.

  She was sure she wouldn’t be able to eat. But as he started to grill sausages and bacon, she realized how hungry she was. She watched him prepare the food, the evil looking gun still in the shoulder holster. She broke the silence at last. ‘Do you ever take that off?’

  He swung round, saw where she was looking. A smile that might have had traces of humour in it passed across his face, fleetingly. He lifted it, watching her face as he did so, noticing the alarm. ‘Not often,’ was his sole reply.

  ‘Not even to sleep?’ She was aghast. At the situation, at the gun, at her daring to ask such a question.

  ‘Sometimes, not always. Depends.’

  What did that mean? ‘Aren’t you afraid it’ll go off accidentally?’

  He hefted the weapon in his hand, looked at it; almost lovingly. ‘This only goes off when I want it to.’ As he was speaking he swung the barrel towards her; watched the terror multiply. He held it pointing directly at her before lowering it. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot you. Not yet, and possibly not at all. Do as you’re told and you’ll not come to any harm.’

  The food was simple, but good. He watched her eat, picking at it at first; then, as her appetite returned, she wolfed it down. He poured her a second mug of tea. She pushed the plate away and cradled the mug in her hands. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Now, we have to move. That means I have to tape and gag you.’

  ‘Please don’t do that.’

  He looked at her for a long time in silence. ‘I need your word that you won’t try to escape, or call for help.’

  ‘I promise.’

  She was looking at him as she spoke. He couldn’t see any sign she was lying, but still. ‘I can’t take that chance. It’ll only be for a few minutes. Just till we get to where we’re going.’

  Meekly, reassured by his tone as much as his words, Jessica held out her hands. He strapped them with the duct tape, then her ankles, before tying a handkerchief over her mouth. Then he scooped her up and carried her effortlessly outside. The night air was cold, but before they’d gone more than a few yards he stopped. Jessica couldn’t see clearly, the handkerchief was flapping over her eyes. She heard him open another door, before carrying her up a step and sliding through. He put her down, on a couch she guessed. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Got to lock up.’

  He was no longer than he’d said. ‘Promise to behave? Not try anything stupid?’

  She nodded furiously.

  He released the gag, and she looked round. They were in some sort of caravan.

  ‘I promised before, but you took no notice.’ Her tone was cutting. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he smiled.

  He sliced through the tape and pulled it off. ‘OK, up front,’ he ordered.

  ‘Up front where?’

  He pointed towards a curtain. He pulled it back and Jessica realized she’d only been half right. It was in fact a motorhome. He helped her to her feet then guided her into the passenger seat, which had been swivelled towards the living quarters. When she was sitting down he turned the seat to face forwards. When he heard it click into place he got into the driver’s seat. ‘Where are we going? Where are you taking me?’

  ‘We’re going on a little journey. When we get to the place I have in mind, I’ll tell you why you’re here. Don’t worry. You’re not going to come to any harm. Not as long as you’re with me. That’s the reason I took you away from that house. To keep you safe.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll explain later. Just sit back, put your seat belt on and relax. There’s a bottle of water in the glove compartment in front of you. We’ve about an hour’s journey ahead of us.’

  For the most part, the journey was completed in silence. ‘What did you mean?’ she said at last. ‘About keeping me safe?’

  ‘You were in danger. At that house. Leave it at that. I’ll explain when we get there. It won’t be long now.’

  Paul Farley was a mild-mannered young man, who worked in the Helmsdale branch of Three Shires Building Society. As such, he was a normal, law-abiding citizen. In his alter ego however, he had several convictions all for minor public order offences. Whether his employers disapproved of the actions that led to his various arrests or not, Paul had never been reprimanded by them.

  He returned from work, went to his room and switched on his computer. He glanced round as he waited for it to boot up. The walls were plastered with posters and photographs relating to Paul’s two abiding passions, the environment and welfare of animals.

  He clicked open one of his e-mail folders where his username was ‘Eco Sounder’. Paul, as leader of the local branch of an environmental action group, was also heavily involved with animal rights activists – a group who favoured a direct, not to say confrontational approach with those who, as they saw it, exploited animals. Paul, or Eco Sounder, was one of the leading lights. The one exploiters least wanted on their doorstep.

  He was so engrossed in the contents of a new e-mail that his mother had to call him three times to tell him his tea was ready before he responded. If the information he’d received was correct, there was a company right on his doorstep that was conducting experiments on animals. How come he’d missed that? His failure to pick up on the exploitation added to his sense of outrage. Something would have to be done. What’s more, it would have to be done soon. And it would have to be strong, direct action. Nothing less would serve to put a halt to this cruelty and bring the perpetrators to the notice of the public.

  During his deliberations, Paul never stopped to think about the sender of the e-mail. Never stopped to wonder why a complete stranger should pick him, to inform him of these facts. Or to question the sender’s motives. None of these questions crossed Paul’s mind. It’s doubtful if they’d have influenced his course of action even if they had. Eco Sounder had been roused: he had a mission to fulfil, a crusade to organize.

  His mother wasn’t sure if her son actually enjoyed his tea, or even if he tasted it. She was about to ask if he wanted a dessert when he stood up. She supposed she should have been grateful for the ‘Thanks, Ma,’ delivered over his shoulder as he left the dining room. He was too preoccupied with the task before him to be concerned with such trivial matters as food. He had to get back to his computer. He needed to mobilize his troops for their best demonstration yet. More than that, he would do his level best to gain access to the place where he now knew they were torturing helpless animals. He felt his gut twist in agony. This was no reflection on his mother’s excellent cooking, but the thought of the suffering those poor creatures had endured – were still enduring.

  Well, if he’d anything to do with it, that suffering would soon be over. Next weeke
nd would be the best time for what he had planned. The movement could always count on greater support at weekends. In addition, he reckoned the target for their activities would have less staff on hand to raise the alarm.

  Paul ran down a mental list of some of their most radical minded activists. Ones who, like Paul himself, would have no qualms in breaking the law, breaking a whole raft of laws to achieve their ends. And, he’d send a copy to the guy who’d e-mailed him. Only fair he should be kept in the loop.

  He began composing the e-mail he would circulate to all like-minded individuals who he knew would possibly be available. No point in sending it to those in Cornwall or Essex. They had to be within striking distance of Helmsdale. They’d need to arrange a meeting place as well. And they’d need directions to their target: Helm Pharm.

  Chapter Nine

  Eventually, after what seemed an age, the motorhome turned off the main road and onto a narrow, winding lane. In the beam of the headlights, Jessica could see grass growing through the tarmac in the middle of the single track. What she could make out of their surroundings through the windscreen looked wild, moorland country, with no houses, or barns even. They hadn’t passed a village or a signpost for several miles until, as her captor slowed the vehicle, the headlights picked out a sign. There was only one destination shown on the board. It read: ‘Stark Ghyll 8 miles’. Jessica gave an involuntary shiver. Her fear returned, amplified. She knew she was at this man’s mercy. A chaotic jumble of thoughts crowded her mind. He’d said he was keeping her safe. Safe for herself, or safe for him? Why had he taken her? Certainly not for her money. She had none, her father had very little. If not money, there could only be one other explanation, but it horrified her. The fear became terror. Subconsciously she shrank away, pressing close to the passenger door. She was miles from the nearest human habitation. Alone, with a man who’d kidnapped her. And her only explanation for her abduction was that she was now at the mercy of a rapist.

  ‘You don’t have to worry,’ his words broke a silence that had become oppressive.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jessica was proud of the calm tone of her voice.

  ‘I mean that I haven’t kidnapped you for the reason you’re thinking about.’

  ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’ The moment she blurted it out she regretted it.

  In the darkness she saw his teeth. He was laughing. At her? ‘You’re not an heiress. You’re not a famous film star. You’re not a millionaire’s daughter. You haven’t got a map of a mine where there’s buried treasure in your possession. So the only other logical explanation is that I’m a sex maniac after your, admittedly, highly attractive body. And that I’ve brought you out here to this remote spot to have my evil way with you. Until I get tired of you that is, when I slit your throat and drop you down a disused mine shaft. Is that close enough to what you were thinking?’

  ‘You’re not? A sex maniac I mean?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Although she barely knew the man, Jessica recognized the sarcasm in his voice. ‘You’ll be the tenth this week. If it continues like this I’ll have to find another mine shaft. This one will be full by the end of the month.’

  As he spoke he swung the vehicle off the track. They were now on the open moor, bumping over the uneven ground. ‘Not long now. Bit bouncy for a while, but you’re quite safe.’

  They’d only travelled a couple of hundred yards when the ground before them opened up. They drove slowly down a long slope until they were in some sort of a natural bowl. ‘Where are we?’ Jessica asked as he stopped the vehicle. ‘What is this place?’

  ‘Old quarry,’ he told her as he unbuckled his seat belt. ‘Disused for centuries. Come on.’

  He opened the curtain leading to the back of the van and gestured to her to go inside. ‘Better sit down,’ he told her. ‘Before I tell you why I’ve brought you here, I want you to tell me about your family.’

  He pressed a switch and warm, subdued lighting lit the small living space. He pulled the curtains across the windows behind the couches, then the longer one separating them from the driving area.

  ‘My family, why do you want to know about my family?’

  ‘Tell me what they’re like. Do you love them? All the normal things. What’s home life like? Anything that comes into your mind.’

  She laughed, but he saw no humour in her expression, in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was bitter. ‘That’s a joke for a start. Calling them my family, I mean. I don’t have a family. I just have a set of relatives. My mother’s a lush and a nymphomaniac. My brother’s a thief and a junkie. And I hardly ever see my father. You call that a family?’

  This was going to be easy. Easier than he’d imagined. ‘Doesn’t sound as if you’d miss your mother much. Or your brother for that matter. Now why’s that I wonder?’

  She hesitated; decided she owed her mother no loyalty. Or Adam either. ‘When I was fifteen years old I was sent home from school, because I’d been sick. I walked in the house and heard noises from the bedroom. The one she shared with my father. But at that time she was sharing it with two other men. Complete strangers. The moment I saw what she was doing with them, saw the look on her face, at that moment I ceased to have a mother.’

  ‘Not a pleasant thing for a young girl to find out. Especially about her mother,’ he agreed. ‘And what about your brother? What about Adam?’

  ‘You know Adam?’

  He nodded. ‘Know of him,’ he corrected her.

  ‘That’s the best way to know Adam. I wasn’t granted that luxury. My grandmother died when I was five. I only met her a few times because we were in America. She came to visit us, but not often. She left me a beautiful necklace. It was made up of diamonds and rubies. Father had it valued for insurance. They said it was worth ten thousand pounds. Four years ago, before I’d even had chance to wear it, my brother stole it. He sold my necklace to buy drugs. I found out later he only got seven hundred pounds.’ Her tone took on a new level of bitterness. ‘He couldn’t even get a decent price for it. If my father hadn’t pleaded with me, I’d have reported him to the police. I think that says everything about my relationship with my mother and brother. So, what would you like to talk about next?’

  ‘Your father. Tell me about your father?’

  ‘What is this all about?’

  He shook his head. ‘Later. First I’m going to make us a drink. What would you like? I’ve tea, coffee or drinking chocolate. Whilst the kettle’s boiling you can tell me about your father.’

  ‘Hot chocolate please.’ Was there no understanding this man?

  There was a long silence. So long he thought he was going to need to prompt her. Then, at last she spoke. Her tone changed, the bitterness vanished, to be replaced with a gentler, more protective air. ‘It hasn’t been easy for him. Dad isn’t strong, you see. He’s not able to face up to things. That’s why people feel they can bully him, take advantage of the fact he’s so easygoing. When he was at university he got headhunted. It must have seemed like a great deal at the time. The opportunity of a lifetime, especially for someone so young: so naive. He was sponsored to do research. That was fine; it was what he enjoyed doing most anyway. But then they wanted payback; big style. By then, he and my mother were married and Adam was on the way. They called on Dad, wanted him to go to America, wouldn’t take no for an answer. They wanted him at their headquarters in California, to head up some research project they’d just started.’

  ‘Do you know what that was?’

  She shook her head. ‘Dad’s never been allowed to talk about his work. Anyway, all this was way before I was old enough to understand what was going on. Then, one day, out of the blue, he told us we were all moving back to England.

  ‘Until then, we’d been fairly happy. But after we got to England, everything went wrong. Mother started her antics; then Adam started on drugs. Dad always seemed so unhappy. A lot of the time I put it down to Mother’s behaviour, or Adam’s problems, sometimes I even wondered if I’d caused it, b
ut eventually I came to understand there was far more to it than that.’

  ‘Did he say why he decided to come back? Was his work in America over?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Jessica screwed her face up in an effort to remember. ‘He said it was because he’d been transferred. That was it. That was the word he used, transferred. As time went on, things got worse and worse. Mother’s behaviour got more outrageous. Adam was totally out of control. And Dad, well, I hardly ever saw him. When I did, he was either too upset to talk, or simply too exhausted. Or sometimes both.’

  She looked at him, sudden realization came to her. Something he’d said. ‘You asked me if I’d miss Mother or Adam. Why did you ask that? Has something happened to them?’

  He thought for a moment before replying. ‘They’re dead,’ he told her laconically.

  Shock flared in her eyes. Shock, but no distress. ‘Dead?’ she repeated. ‘How did they die?’

  ‘I killed them.’

  He said it in so matter of fact a tone she didn’t realize what he’d said for some time. When realization came, she began to shake. ‘Don’t worry. I said I wouldn’t harm you, and I won’t, as long as you do as you’re told. As I tell you. Understand? Behave, and you live. Misbehave, and all bets are off.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Say it properly. Say, “I promise to do everything you ask of me. I promise to obey you at all times.”’

  She repeated the words. He wasn’t bothered about what she said. It was the voice he was interested in. As she spoke it was getting more and more slurred. The effect of the sedative in her drink.

  ‘That’s enough. No more talking for tonight.’ He watched her eyes glaze over as the drug took effect. He fielded her empty mug and swung her legs onto the couch. He reached into the stowage compartment underneath the bunk and took out a duvet. He covered her and tucked a pillow under her head. ‘Good night, Jessica,’ he said softly. But she was already fast asleep.

  He slid open a drawer and took out a laptop, plugged it in and switched on. Fortunately the area was close enough to several military establishments, so signal wasn’t going to be a problem. When the internet connection was made, he located the cursor over the space bar and began to type the word ‘STOCKHOLM’.