Two Evils: A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

by Mark Sennen

  ‘Right.’ Savage pulled out her notebook and flicked over the pages. ‘Liam Hayskith and Jason Caldwell. They went missing on the night of twenty-sixth of August 1988. I believe you were called to the home on the following morning to repair a window in one of the storerooms. The glass had been smashed, right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Samuel nodded. ‘I lived in a house in the village just up from here. Me and two of the teachers. The boys had used a can of baked beans to break the pane.’

  ‘Because all the doors and windows were locked and this was their escape route. Makes sense. And yet checking the witness statements has brought up one or two anomalies. The first of these is the fact that, although you say you were summoned to the home, none of the other statements corroborates this. Nobody else remembers ringing you and asking you to come in on the Saturday. Mr Parker’s statement says, “I might have, but I honestly can’t remember.” Aside from him there’s no one.’

  Samuel stared at the glowing door on the wood burner. ‘People were running around like crazy. It was hectic that morning.’

  ‘I’m sure it was,’ Savage said. ‘But no crime had been committed, had it? The police were only called because these two boys were runaways.’

  ‘And later, when they couldn’t be found. Then there were more questions.’

  ‘Yes, but by then the exact details of what happened on the morning had become blurred. For instance, although the baked bean can lay on the grass outside the window, the glass itself had somehow mysteriously fallen inward. And the housekeeper, Miss Bickell, said she hadn’t stocked a tin that small. She insisted the larder only contained catering-size tins. I’m trying to get my head around what might have happened to Liam and Jason and I’ve come up with a theory, specifically concerning you. Would you like to hear it?’

  Samuel continued to stare at the fire as he made an almost imperceptible nodding movement.

  ‘I believe you smashed the window. For some reason you came to the home early in the morning and broke the pane with a tin of baked beans you’d brought with you. You hadn’t thought through your actions clearly, so when the glass fell back into the storeroom you left the tin on the ground outside as a visual clue to reinforce the idea that someone had been breaking out. Now, do you want to tell me why you smashed the window?’

  ‘How …?’ Samuel turned from the fire. ‘I can’t tell you. Anyway, what does it matter now? Those boys never turned up, did they? They’re dead. Long dead. I liked them, you know? I was a good few years older, of course, but we had some fun. They used to help me out with odd jobs. Them and Parker’s son. We built things like bird boxes, a bench for round the back, compost bins for the veg garden. We made a go-cart one year. Powered by an old moped engine. The thing got out of control and smashed through a fence, but the lads put it all back good as new. Most of the boys were helpful in that way. You’d get the occasional troublemaker, someone born wrong, but the majority were at the home through circumstance. Bad luck can strike anyone, can’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Savage said, trying not to think on her own piece of bad luck. ‘But that’s not how Mr Parker tells it.’

  ‘I’m sure it isn’t. ’Despite the warmth from the fire, Samuel shivered. ‘The thing was, whatever misfortune brought the boys to the home, it was compounded when they got there. Parker was a cruel and strict disciplinarian, but that wasn’t the worst of it.’

  ‘Are we talking abuse, Mr Samuel?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. All I know is Liam and Jason wanted out of there.’

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you report the situation? You could have gone to the police, education authorities, the newspapers or somewhere else. Instead you did nothing.’

  ‘I didn’t do nothing, did I?’ Samuel paused and took a deep breath before continuing. ‘On the night they vanished I made sure the front door to the home was unlocked last thing. I let Liam and Jason know so they could slip out in the middle of the night. I was guilty of not being brave enough to confront Parker, but I tried to make amends by giving the boys a chance of freedom.’

  Savage stared at Samuel. She wondered if this was the truth of what had happened on that August night. Could there be some other explanation for the bone in the cellar? Perhaps Layton and his team of CSIs were wasting their time.

  ‘And you saw Liam and Jason leave the home?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ All of a sudden Samuel was aggressive. ‘But where would they be if they hadn’t escaped?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I can’t because I’ve told you the truth.’

  ‘So you never saw either of them again?’

  ‘I …’ Samuel paused. ‘No. They vanished. Into the waves down at the cove.’

  ‘The sea story is all too convenient. I believe the reason Liam Hayskith and Jason Caldwell never turned up is because they were murdered, Mr Samuel. And you helped cover up the murders, didn’t you?’

  ‘No!’ Samuel stood, towering over Savage, his head almost touching the oak beams. ‘No! No! No!’

  ‘Are you saying they weren’t murdered or that you didn’t cover up the crime?’

  ‘I told you, they disappeared! Parker rang me about three in the morning. Instructed me to get round to the home and make it look like somebody had broken out. He had no idea I was the one who’d left the door unlocked.’

  ‘So you didn’t worry about covering for him because it obscured your own tracks.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘You did as he said and kept your mouth shut.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’ Samuel jabbed a finger at Savage.

  ‘Oh but I do,’ Savage said. ‘In my job you get to hear all the excuses under the sun. “They made me do it,” “She led me on,” “It was a long time ago,” “I’d been drinking.” I could go on but I won’t, because I’m sick to death of excuses. What I want is answers.’

  ‘Well I’ve given you the only ones I know.’

  ‘Maybe you have.’ Savage stood. ‘But I can tell you I’m going to find out the truth.’

  Savage made to leave. At the front door she stopped and turned.

  ‘Think on it, Mr Samuel. You can come clean and be on the right side of the law or you can go down for conspiring to pervert the cause of justice. Your choice.’

  Samuel held her gaze until she turned again, opened the door and left the cottage.

  The sound of the stone being moved woke Jason from a fitful slumber. He blinked in the darkness. He had no idea how long it had been since the man’s last visit. A day? Two days?

  ‘Are you there, boy?’ the voice from above said. ‘Are you ready to be friends yet?’

  Jason pushed himself into a sitting position, but didn’t answer. He wondered if keeping quiet was the right thing to do. He’d watched enough movies with Ned Stone to know the best way out of a kidnap situation was to befriend your abductor. And wasn’t that exactly what the man at the top of the tube wanted?

  ‘Hello?’ Jason said, moving closer to the tube. ‘Will you let me out if I do become your friend?’

  ‘Yes I will!’ The voice sounded pleased. ‘Not just yet, but soon, I promise. I hope you’ll want to stay with me and Smirker and have some fun. It’ll be just like old times.’

  Jason swallowed, feeling sick. He had a pretty good idea what the man wanted. His mum had warned him to be wary and his nan was always going on about the world being full of perverts. There’d been lessons at school too. Stranger danger, the teacher had said. This was the ultimate stranger danger, Jason thought. Some anonymous weirdo had captured him. He was plainly a psycho straight from one of Stone’s horror movies.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Jason asked, thinking that finding out who the man was might be a start. ‘It’s hard to be friends when I don’t know what to call you.’

  ‘Can’t tell you. You see, once you know somebody’s name you have to know their secrets as well, so I can’t tell you. Not yet. Once I can trust you I can tell you. Can I trust you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jason said.
‘I’m very trustworthy. My mum says so.’

  ‘OK then!’ Silence for a moment. ‘But we need to shake on it. Put your hand up the tube. I’d reach down but my hand is too big.’

  Jason hesitated. He looked at the tube where a dim light cast a pale circle on the wooden floor. The man was right, the tube was probably too small for an adult’s hand. He crouched next to the tube and twisted himself to one side. That allowed him to thread his arm into the tube, his hand grasping upward.

  ‘Got ya!’

  Something wrapped into place around Jason’s wrist, some sort of leather material. He tried to pull back but the strap bit into his skin.

  ‘Let me go,’ he shouted. ‘We had a deal!’

  ‘There we go.’ A hand held Jason’s palm and shook it. ‘The deal is done. I trust you and you need to trust me for a second. This won’t take long, so don’t struggle. I’ve got you well secured with my belt and if you move around I’ll be forced to pull the belt tighter.’

  ‘No!’ Jason ignored the instruction and wriggled and yanked down, putting all his weight on his arm. It was no good. ‘Don’t hurt me!’

  ‘I’m afraid there will be a little pain.’ A hand tugged at his wrist and then a sharp pinch came just below the second joint of his pinkie. ‘You see somebody has stolen one of Smirker’s fingers and I promised I’d find him a replacement.’

  ‘Noooooo!’

  ‘Hold still will you?’ Crunch. ‘There we go!’

  Jason screamed as something sliced through his little finger. Even with the pain, he noticed the sensation of the warm blood flowing over his hand. He yelled again.

  ‘Don’t be such a crybaby. Keep still, I’m going to clean you up.’

  Up above, the man was doing something to Jason’s disfigured hand, applying some sort of dressing, but Jason could hardly focus. He hung on his arm, thrashing around and screaming and screaming and screaming until a wash of nausea overcame him. He vomited over himself and then, mercifully, he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Another Friday. I no longer look forward to the weekends since I discovered what Bentley is up to. He visits once or twice a month, but for the boys that is all too often. Especially for Jason, who’s his favourite. The lad has gone downhill recently. He’s lost weight and is sullen and withdrawn. Liam tries to buoy him up, but I don’t think it makes much difference.

  The routine is pretty much set in stone now. Bentley arrives and if my mother is here he spends an hour or two with her while Father retreats to the downstairs living room. After Bentley has finished with Mother he heads for the cellar and waits while one of the staff members fetches his choice of boy. By this time I’m already in place at the airbrick. As much as I hate it, I force myself to watch. Tonight it wasn’t Jason and I breathed a sigh of relief as Bentley set to work.

  The man is something else. At first I thought it was his size and strength which gave him his power, but his physicality is only part of his presence. The power comes from within, a self-belief which makes him feel he has a right to take whatever he desires.

  And why not?

  The boys have nothing society wants. No one cares about them. When they go to the village shop, the postmistress hovers hawk-like. ‘No more than two of you in here at a time,’ she says. Parents in the playground pull their little ones away. When something is damaged or goes missing, the finger is pointed towards the home. A policeman comes and gives a lecture, a talking-to. A clip round the ear isn’t unheard of.

  I think Bentley plays on this sense of isolation. I heard him whisper to the boys that they were special, that he loved them, that he wanted to look after them. Everyone else thinks them runts, dregs, outcasts or delinquents, but he calls them his treasures. Treasure is valuable, the boys know, treasure is worth something.

  So why not?

  Father and the rest of the staff are all in on it and there doesn’t seem to be anyone who can do anything to help.

  I guess that means it’s down to me.

  The Shepherd stands outside the barn and listens to the last of the bell’s tones fading into the night. Sunday – God’s day – is here. He needs to get to work.

  Inside, he moves to the cells and stands in front of the doors for a moment. The choice hasn’t been an easy one to make but Benedict’s looking weak. Given the age and state of the man, he could well die before he faces justice. That would never do.

  ‘It is time,’ the Shepherd says as he slides back the two bolts and opens the door. ‘Time for you to face the altar.’

  Inside, the hunched form of Benedict stirs. The man straightens and then begins to stand.

  ‘No,’ Benedict says. ‘Please, have mercy.’

  ‘Mercy?’ The Shepherd pulls the Taser into view and fires the weapon at close range. The barbs strike Benedict in the side and there is a burst of electricity. Benedict reels backwards and falls to the floor quivering. ‘There’s no mercy here. Feel the power of the Lord God Almighty!’

  As he enters the cell, Benedict is having some kind of fit, his arms and legs jerking back and forth. The Shepherd doesn’t care. He kneels beside Benedict and rolls the man over.

  ‘The kindness of our Lord is a wondrous thing,’ he says as he works. ‘Forgiveness, penance, and the promise of His love. Who could want for more?’

  Benedict has regained some form of consciousness now. The twitching stops and the Shepherd lifts him to his feet. Benedict rises meekly, as if under some kind of spell or hypnosis. The Shepherd pushes Benedict from the cell and down the long corridor. He slides open the metal door and his voice echoes in the vast chamber.

  ‘Behold, God’s altar. Shortly you will prove to Him you are repentant and then you will receive the gift of everlasting life.’

  Benedict’s knees buckle at the sight of the huge machine, but the Shepherd pushes him forward. He moves him to the stainless steel table and stands him before it.

  ‘You must mount the altar yourself,’ the Shepherd says. ‘Your penance must be voluntary for the act to have any meaning.’

  ‘What?’ Benedict looks at the Shepherd, his eyes only half open. Then he understands. ‘No, I won’t. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  The Shepherd sighs. He was expecting this. Luckily the barbs from the Taser are still embedded in Benedict’s side, the wires curling to the weapon. The Shepherd operates the trigger and God’s pure force courses through Benedict once more.

  This time the Shepherd catches the man and slides him onto the altar, face to heaven. Benedict twitches and then is still.

  ‘Put your hands in the shackles.’ The Shepherd speaks flatly and this time Benedict complies in a daze. The hasps close automatically around Benedict’s wrists, a second set clamping his ankles. ‘So, we are ready. Do you, Tim Benedict, have anything to say?’

  ‘Please!’ Benedict shouts, the meekness gone. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘You don’t know your crime, do you?’ The Shepherd is disappointed. How can Benedict repent if he doesn’t understand what he has done? ‘Cast your mind back and examine your conscience.’

  ‘I … I …’ Benedict shakes his head. ‘No, my conscience is clear. I don’t know who you are, but I’m sure I’ve done nothing to harm you.’

  ‘Really? Remember your days as a curate over near Salcombe? Somebody came to you but you ignored their plea for help. Just like the priest in the parable of the Good Samaritan, you passed by on the other side of the road.’

  ‘Passed by …? I wouldn’t. Never.’ Benedict begins to shake his head again. Then he stops. His mouth drops open. ‘Oh God, no!’

  ‘Oh God, yes.’ The Shepherd leans over Benedict. ‘You pretended to have faith and swore to serve God but you became corrupted by evil. You took an oath to protect the meek and the mild but caused untold suffering. Now you too must suffer.’

  ‘I couldn’t know! Please forgive me. The bishop told me to keep quiet.’

  ‘And you, being a coward, obeyed.’ The Shepherd places his face
close to Benedict’s. ‘I hate cowards.’

  ‘Please forgive me!’

  ‘Forgiveness is not for me to give. You, of all people, should know that. God is the arbiter here.’

  ‘Yeeesss! Of course!’ Benedict’s voice is almost a scream. ‘Forgive me, God. I have sinned, but I beg for forgiveness. Please, I know I did wrong, but I’ll make amends, I promise I will.’

  ‘Good. God has heard your plea and now we’ll see what He thinks of it.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank God!’ The emotion in Benedict’s voice is palpable.

  The Shepherd turns from Benedict and walks away, his heels clicking on the concrete floor as he leaves the chamber. He closes the sliding door and locks it. Then he stands next to a large red button on the wall. The button starts the countdown sequence and sets things in motion. Once pressed nothing can stop it. The Shepherd’s been waiting for this, waiting for the day when the wrongs could start to be set right. He pauses for a moment and then reaches out and pushes the button.

  He nods to himself and then moves down the corridor and enters a small room. There’s a desk and chair, a computer and monitor on the desk. The monitor shows Benedict lying on the stainless steel altar, his voice coming through the speakers.

  ‘Hello?’ Benedict struggles against his bonds. ‘I thought I was forgiven? When are you going to set me free?’

  The Shepherd sits at the desk and leans forward. He pulls a microphone from one side of the monitor and speaks, his voice booming out through a powerful PA system.

  ‘You are forgiven, Tim. God loves you and soon you will know that love.’