by Mark Sennen
‘Interesting.’ The Shepherd nods. ‘And PC Hardin? What about him?’
‘I really can’t understand why you haven’t brought him here.’
‘You can’t understand …’ The Shepherd tuts to himself. The arrogance of the man. ‘I had a plan to bring him here, but you’ve been interfering, haven’t you? You’ve stirred things up so much that I’m not sure it’s possible any longer.’
‘Well then, I was wondering if I might be permitted to deal with him?’
‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that would mean releasing you.’ The Shepherd stares hard at Parker. ‘And although the police may have absolved you of the murder of Jason Caldwell, there are your other actions to take into account.’
‘But they don’t concern you, do they?’ Parker grins again. ‘They are, how should I say, outside your remit?’
‘Outside my …’ The Shepherd doesn’t much like Parker’s tone, but the man is factually correct. The Shepherd’s remit had been to bring to justice the cowards associated with the abuse at the children’s home and to punish the murderer. Once that was accomplished, the task was done. ‘Yes, I suppose technically you’re correct.’
‘So release me and I’ll deal with Hardin. If I get a chance, I’ll deal with Father too.’
‘So be it.’ The Shepherd bows his head once more. He doesn’t want to see that stupid grin again. ‘But get out of here before I change my mind.’
The Shepherd walks off down the corridor towards the altar room. To the right of the door to the room is the big red mushroom-shaped button on the wall. He moves his hand up to the button and rests his palm on the rounded surface.
Brenden Parker’s words have unsettled him deeply. The man, apparently, is innocent, and all the Shepherd’s hard work has been meaningless. In the last few months he’s felt himself pulled back and forth as he tried to reconcile the two sides of his psyche. The good and the bad. The light and the dark. The altar was designed to be the ultimate arbiter of that, but God, for some mysterious reason, appears oblivious. For one awful, horrific, blasphemous moment, the Shepherd wonders if God really exists, if all there is is a universe of swirling atoms. It appears as if men like Frank and Brenden Parker, like the minister, control the world, leaving people such as the Shepherd powerless to make any kind of meaningful decisions.
Anger wells up inside him. He’s not going to let this happen. He’s not going to let Brenden Parker decide how this ends. There’s one small thing he can do. He can refuse to go along with Parker’s missive. He’ll let Sleet live. The final joke won’t be on him.
He removes his hand from the button and turns and walks away from the door, aware his life as the Shepherd is over.
I’m starting to write again. Yes, again! This time it’s not been months, it’s been years and years and years. The cowboy president is long dead, as is Nelson Mandela. The England football team haven’t improved much, but a few years ago Great Britain actually held an Olympic Games in London. We did rather well.
Some things don’t change though. I’m still here. Just. It’s been a struggle to survive, but I guess Mother helped me to cope. She took me to live with her in a grand house in the country. I suspect some of the money to purchase the place came from Bentley. Talking of Bentley, he died of a heart attack on Christmas Eve 2001. Strangely enough, he was on a visit to a secure boys’ unit where he was a trustee when it happened.
Father was broken after the home closed. He got together with Edith Bickell, the housekeeper, and became even more religious. I saw him on and off to start with, but every time we met he’d quote great lengths of the Bible at random. We haven’t spoken now for years, although I do think his beliefs rubbed off on me to an extent.
Mother tried her best to make up for the lack of love in my early days. I daresay she mollycoddled me rather too much, because I’ve found it hard to go on without her. Forming relationships has always been difficult ever since Jason died and Mother and Smirker were my only friends. I moved out for a while, but when she became ill I returned to look after her. I guess the morning she died was the start of all my troubles.
Enough of the past, where are we now?
Well, it’s been crazy, really crazy, and I’ve been busy, busy, busy. Early this afternoon I went to see Father. I wanted to know what was going on, what he’d told the police, but Father wasn’t there, he’d been arrested. Edith, the bitch, blamed me of course. She started ranting and raving and telling God all sorts of nasty things about me. Well now, I couldn’t have that, and it wasn’t long before she was face down on the floor and I had my belt around her neck. Struggle, struggle, struggle. Pull, pull, pull. Her arms flailed around and her legs kicked out for a good couple of minutes before she gave up. I never liked her. She took the place of my mother and turned my father against me. Anyway, I bundled her into the car and took her to the cove. I strung her up and swung her out. After that I hurried back to Ivybridge to pick up some gear, which is where the crazy stuff started for real.
You see, this weirdo has been tracking down people who were responsible for not speaking out about the abuse at the home. Apparently I’m one of them!!! I walked into my bedroom and the nutter Tasered me, took me to his secret hideout and threatened to torture me to death. The situation was looking grim until I told him I was completely innocent.
Now, that doesn’t make much sense, how could I be completely innocent? I killed Jason Caldwell, didn’t I?
NO I DIDN’T!!!
You see, earlier, two police officers came round. They wanted to know all about the children’s home and what went on there. I told them everything I knew. All about Bentley, my father and the others. I even told them about the night down at the cove and how I cut Jason with my knife. How, by the time Father returned, he’d died. In short, I admitted to Jason Caldwell’s murder.
They were very sympathetic and said I shouldn’t blame myself. They didn’t even arrest me. Unbelievable!
So, back to the nutter. I was able to explain to him that I was no longer in the frame. I was, in fact, innocent in the eyes of the law. He was concerned about my other activities, but I argued my case. Said his role was only to deal with the crimes at Woodland Heights. He fell for it! Which was lucky. Lucky too the police don’t know about those other activities and the truth about Jason and Liam. The NEW Jason and Liam. They don’t realise that I’m the one who kidnapped Jason and buried him in a box in the ground and they don’t know about the things which have gone horribly wrong. The way I played a game with Liam, forcing him to strip and cover himself with grease and then taunting him with my knife. How, once I’d cut him on the hands, he wouldn’t stop screaming. I tried to explain to him that the game was just make-believe, a re-enactment of something which had happened years ago. I told him we could still be friends, but he wouldn’t listen so I knocked him to the ground. Then I used my belt to shut him up for good, pulling it tighter and tighter and tighter (perhaps I learnt that from watching Bentley). To be honest, the power rush was like nothing else I’ve experienced, so if the new Jason doesn’t want to be my friend … well, there’s a silver cloud.
Two silver clouds, actually. You see, the police managed to find my secret place and they stole Smirker from me. I miss him terribly. I thought the new Jason would step in and be a real friend, but it hasn’t quite worked out. So I’ve been thinking, why not make a NEW Smirker?!!! Smirker never argued, never spoke back, never became violent. He never, ever poked me in the eye with a sharp stick. He always listened attentively and I’m beginning to think he was the best friend a boy could have. I don’t think the task will be difficult. First the belt, then the saw and then the big pot. Yes, that’s it! No more chances for the lad, I’ve decided the NEW Jason is going to be the NEW SMIRKER!
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Hoe, Plymouth. Thursday 29th October. 6.31 a.m.
Riley groped for his mobile to silence the buzzing of the alarm. Struggled to understand why the blasted thing wouldn
’t shut up.
‘Darius?’ Julie’s voice came out of the darkness beside him. ‘It’s the door, love, not your phone.’
Riley shook the sleep from his head and pushed himself from the bed. He grabbed his dressing gown from the back of the door and headed down the corridor. He pulled the front door open.
‘Morning, sir.’ Enders. One hand about to ring the buzzer again, the other holding a half-eaten pasty. ‘Sorry it’s so early.’
‘Early? It’s not even late yet, is it?’
‘Six thirty. DI Davies sent me to pick you up.’
‘Davies?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Enders held out a piece of paper. ‘You know the stuff in the barrels? Well, Layton got a result back yesterday. The chemicals from both rafts are identical. They are an organophosphorus compound, in this case sheep dip.’
‘So the barrels come from a farm. Do you know how many farms there are in Devon, Patrick?’
‘Lots. But we’ve had a bit of help from the animal health company Sleet worked for. Apparently, as soon as Layton knew he was dealing with sheep dip, he got on to them. According to Layton, they’ve had their chemists hard at work overnight and they’ve identified the brand as one of their own. What’s more, because the formula has changed, they’ve managed to work out the batch number. The last delivery of the relevant batch was made over four years ago.’
Riley took the piece of paper. A list of addresses in two columns. No more than ten.
‘They could have been stolen or picked up from a tip, anything.’
‘Yes.’ Enders pointed at the sheet of paper. ‘But whoever captured Perry Sleet has also got Brenden Parker and Parker knows where Jason Hobb is. Davies thinks it’s worth a shot and, with your experience on the Agri Squad, he reckons you’re just the man for the job.’
Savage had finally crawled into bed at around two thirty a.m. The tide had come in at the cove and put paid to any more forensic analysis. The CSIs were planning to take a look at the area at the top of the cliff at first light, but in the dark, with wet conditions underfoot, they too had called it a day.
She was at the station by nine the next morning, complaining to Calter she’d had little sleep.
‘Sleep?’ Calter said. ‘You should ask John Layton about that. Apparently he’s been up all night.’
Calter was right.
‘Busy as a bee,’ Layton said when she called him up. ‘We need to set up an emergency chinwag with Hardin and the rest. Curlew, Lacuna and Caldera.’
Twenty minutes later that’s what they had. A hastily convened meeting in the briefing room. Everyone present looked expectant. Layton, the rumour was, had played a blinder overnight. He’d not only come up with evidence which might help locate Perry Sleet, he’d also made a major step towards solving all three cases.
‘Now then, folks,’ Hardin said, full of life and considerably more perky than he had been the night before. ‘You all know there’s been a development. At this moment we’re not sure quite what it means. To sum up what we know so far: yesterday DI Savage established that Brenden Parker is the most likely suspect in the Liam Clough/Jason Hobb case. Unfortunately Parker’s gone missing, apparently abducted by the same person or persons who killed Tim Benedict and kidnapped Perry Sleet. Brenden Parker is the son of Frank Parker. Parker Senior ran the Woodland Heights home and, we believe, killed Jason Caldwell way back in 1988. Sleet lived in a nearby village at the time and Benedict was a curate in the area. In addition, last night we discovered the body of Edith Parker – Brenden Parker’s stepmother – at Soar Mill Cove. There’s more though. John?’
‘Thanks.’ Layton stood. He moved to the whiteboard where he’d pinned a number of photographs. ‘To summarise the forensic findings, this is what we know: in the cellar at Woodland Heights we unearthed evidence a body had been buried there. We only discovered a fragment of a fifth metatarsal, but this was matched to the skeleton which was later discovered in a nearby copse. Missing from the skeleton was the previously mentioned metatarsal and a little finger. The skeleton was likely dug up from the cellar at Woodland Heights a couple of months ago and reburied at the copse. However, at the copse we also found a finger, recently severed, which we now know belonged to Jason Hobb. Having also got the familial DNA results, I can confirm the identity of the skeleton is the other Jason, Jason Caldwell. Everyone with me so far?’
Layton paused and allowed the information to sink in. A few detectives shook their heads, unable to follow. The majority nodded. Layton looked around at the room and then he went to the desk and picked up one of his polygrip bags. Inside was something resembling a small brown twig.
‘Moving on now to Operation Caldera. DS Riley examined a raft we found over at Jennycliff and retrieved a small finger bone and a patch of skin with biblical writing on it. The skin was actually from the head area, a scalp.’ Once again Layton stopped. He reached forward, picked up another polygrip bag and waved it around. ‘I can tell you now that the skin in this bag and the bone in the other bag belong to the skeleton we found in the copse near Woodland Heights.’
There was silence for a few seconds and then the room exploded, everyone talking at once and shouting over each other. Hands gestured and fingers pointed and it was left for Hardin to thump the table and bring the room to order.
‘Eyes on the prize, people, eyes on the prize!’ Hardin banged the table again, this time once for each investigation. ‘Curlew!’ Bang. ‘Lacuna!’ Bang. ‘Caldera!’ Bang.
For a moment Savage thought her fellow detectives might repeat Hardin’s staccato outburst as a sort of weird war cry or football chant, but they didn’t. Instead, there was a moment’s silence before everyone began talking again.
Collier spotted Savage and sidled over. ‘What do you reckon then, ma’am?’ he said over the noise. ‘What the hell is this raft guy up to?’
‘Gareth, my head’s still spinning. I’m trying to work out the implications.’
‘Me too, but I’m thinking this is a process. It started with a demonstration – the raft at Jennycliff. The mannequin had been mutilated and clues had been left in the box. Namely the skin and the bone. There were also several sets of initials carved into the arm of the dummy which matched those of Tim Benedict, Perry Sleet and Brenden Parker. They’re all being made to pay for something which happened back in 1988 when the three of them were associated with the children’s home.’
‘But there were four sets of initials, yes?’
‘Yup. TB, PS, CH and BP.’
Savage nodded slowly, thinking for a moment. Then she pulled out her phone and accessed her text messages. She highlighted one she’d received the previous evening and showed Collier.
Urgent. Call me now. CH.
‘CH?’ Collier said. ‘Who was that from?’
‘Him.’ Savage turned and looked across the room to where the DSupt was in conversation with John Layton. ‘Conrad Hardin.’
After the briefing, Savage tried to speak to Hardin about her worries. The DSupt was having none of it. He was a target, he said, sure, but what did that matter in the grand scheme of things? The boys were the issue. The boys in the past and the boys in the present. Nothing should divert their attention from that.
Exasperated, she left Collier to deal discreetly with sorting out some protection for Hardin and his immediate family and headed for her office. She sat and stared at her terminal screen where she had a mass of documents open. Maps, crime reports, suspect profiles, press stories from way back. Despite the optimism engendered earlier by John Layton’s hard work, she remained pessimistic. She tried to cling onto some sort of hope the situation would end well, that they’d find Jason Hobb, but the longer he remained missing, the more that seemed an unlikely outcome.
She pulled up a map screen and panned around. Zoomed in on a couple of places. She had no idea what she was looking for. Inspiration. A miracle. Some sort of handle on where Brenden Parker might have hidden the boy.
‘Ma’am?’ A young DC she didn’t know kn
ocked and peered round the door. ‘There’s a bloke for you. Some sort of bearded tramp in a coat. Smells of fish. Refuses to speak to anyone but you. Says it’s important. I’ve put him in a room downstairs.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Savage nodded, only half listening, her mind still on the search for Jason. ‘OK, thanks.’
Downstairs, she found her visitor in an interview room, the stench of fish apparent as she opened the door. As the DC had said, the man wore a huge black coat and had a full beard which covered every inch of the bottom half of his face. He sat on one side of a desk, a mug of tea in his huge hands, a plate in front of him containing nothing aside from a few biscuit crumbs.
It was the guy from the houseboat over at Torpoint, Larry something.
‘Mr …’ Savage couldn’t remember the man’s surname.
‘Told you afore, Larry’s the name. Larry Lobster.’
‘Larry, yes.’ Savage moved over to the desk and sat. Close to, the stench was awful. Fish, diesel and bilge water over a hint of tobacco. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Seen you guys out looking for the lad,’ Larry said. ‘Dartmoor. The coast. The estuaries. Some crazy fucker’s got you lot all stoked up like a lobby stuck in a pot, hasn’t he? Can’t find the way out, can you? Trapped.’
‘Jason?’ Savage tried to breathe through her mouth. ‘Do you know something?’
‘Tides is what I know.’ Larry put the mug down and raised a hand to his head. Tapped his right temple. ‘That first raft. The one found over at Jennycliff. I’ve been working these waters for years and I tell you it likely came from the River Erme.’
‘It could have come from anywhere, Larry,’ Savage said, thinking the man had picked up the location from the news reports on the second raft, the one with Tim Benedict on. ‘Besides, the Erme is ten miles to the east. I can’t see the raft having drifted all that way. It’s an interesting theory, but—’
