by Mark Sennen
A squeal of brakes as Calter came into a corner a little too fast brought her back to the job in hand. They were on the final straight. Everything speeding up. She thought on the timings. Parker had been Tasered on the Wednesday, but whoever had attempted to kidnap him had plainly failed because today he’d gone to the house in Modbury, dug his mother from her grave and killed Jason. Afterwards he’d kidnapped the two schoolkids. Or perhaps the events had happened the other way around. Whatever, he was losing focus, beginning to act irrationally. They could only hope the frenzy of activity would lead to Parker making a mistake.
Modbury was chaotic. A queue of cars sat in a jam, a police roadblock stopping further progress. Calter overtook and was flagged through. The primary school was on the outskirts, an old Victorian building. Half a dozen squad cars sat alongside the stone boundary wall and the mobile incident room van had been parked in the playground. As Savage got out of the car, she heard a buzzing overhead and looked up to see the black and yellow police helicopter circling above.
The police search advisor stepped down from the incident room van as Savage approached.
He shrugged. ‘I’m doing my best, but to be honest I don’t hold out much hope.’
Up in the van, Hardin sat staring at a screen showing the countryside from the air, the whole lot spinning and sliding this way and that. For a moment Savage couldn’t understand what the DSupt was looking at. Then she had it. A live feed from the helicopter. A map spread on the desk in front of him had been scribed with red lines: the PolSA’s search grids.
‘We’re fucked,’ Hardin said without turning to acknowledge her. ‘The PolSA has just told me the boys are dead. He reckons they’ll be under a hedge somewhere within a couple of miles of here.’
‘He’s wrong, sir.’
‘Bloodlust, Charlotte. He’s killed once today already, so it stands to reason those boys are next. You saw what the weirdo did with Jason and the dead woman at the house. He’s a grade-one nutter and he intends to go out in a blaze of glory.’
‘They’re still alive, I know it. We need to find out who the man with the Taser is, now more than ever. He knows something we don’t and I believe it’s important.’
‘What the bloody hell are you talking about? He’s no better than Parker. Look what he did to Tim Benedict.’
Savage had no argument with that. She stared at the footage from the aerial camera. The helicopter had moved away from Modbury and followed the main road before turning towards the old house. The aircraft banked sharply and the land slid sideways, the horizon slipping in from the top of the screen. Light blue sky, a dark azure sea beneath. Then the helicopter righted itself, the view once again coming from directly beneath.
Hardin was making some comment about widening the search parameters, bringing in outside help in the form of the army.
‘A lot of ground to cover,’ he said. ‘The PolSA reckons anywhere between the sea and the A38. Bloody nightmare.’
Savage zoned out the DSupt’s words. There was something she’d seen in the aerial footage, something important. She looked again at the screen, which now showed the house, the helicopter hovering directly above. Layton’s Volvo was still parked on the track, several white CSI vans alongside. Ant-like figures swarmed in the orchard, while an officer with a dog worked along a nearby hedge. To one side of the picture, the estuary curled seaward.
‘A waste of time,’ Savage said, not really knowing why she’d vocalised her thoughts. ‘They’re not there. Not at the mother’s house.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, woman? Got a feeling, have you? Female intuition? Time of the fucking month?’
Savage ignored him. Hardin’s rudeness and old-style sexism always came to the fore when he was under pressure. Considering the circumstances, she could forgive him that. She tried to focus on what she’d just seen. The fields, blue sky, the estuary. And what had Hardin just said? The PolSA reckons anywhere between the sea and the A38.
‘The PolSA is wrong, sir. Not between the sea and the A38.’
‘If not there, then where?’
‘Not between, at.’
‘At the sea? He’s not taken those boys for a day out at the beach, Charlotte. No bucket and spade trip this. No ice cream. He’s going to bloody kill them.’
‘Two boys, sir. It’s obvious. Parker has to be returning to Woodland Heights. He’s taking the boys back there to re-enact or relive what happened. Possibly to go to Soar Mill Cove where Jason Caldwell was killed by Frank Parker. He has taken them for a day out at the beach.’
‘What?’ Hardin turned and stared at Savage for a second. Then the penny dropped. ‘Oh my God.’
‘We need to get over there,’ Savage said, already moving.
‘Yes. I need to redeploy.’ Hardin reached for his mouse with one hand, his mobile with the other. ‘All our efforts need to be focused on the coast. The helicopter, the search team, the army.’
‘No, sir. Softly-softly. Just the two of us. We don’t want to scare him. On our way we can call an armed response unit and a few extra officers. That’s all we need for now. Too much commotion and Parker will panic.’
‘Just the two …?’ Hardin met Savage’s eyes. Usually he’d call for the works. Do things by the book. ‘Yes, you’re right. We’ll take my car.’
Savage stepped down from the incident room van and hit the ground at a trot. Hardin bleeped open the doors to his Freelander and they got in. He started the engine and pulled out onto the main road, leaving DC Calter standing open-mouthed as they roared past.
The second door led to an identical cell and a search left Riley with no room for doubt. On one wall a name had been scratched into the stone: Sleet.
‘Home sweet home,’ Enders said as he looked around. ‘Not even a bucket to crap in. Nice.’
Riley ignored Enders. If Sleet had been in the right-hand cell, then Tim Benedict or Brenden Parker must have been in the other one. He moved back around to look. There was just a chance one of the men had left some sort of clue as to the identity of their captor. At the far end, the straw had been piled up, so Riley went across and pulled some of the material away. He soon regretted his action.
‘Here’s your shit.’ Riley stared down at the clumps of brown. ‘Whoever was in here had the sense to do the business in one place.’
‘Like a cat?’
Riley nodded while thinking something was wrong. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if Brenden Parker was here at all. DI Savage and DSupt Hardin discovered a body – supposedly a victim of Parker’s – in the evening. Yet earlier it appeared as if he’d been Tasered in his home some time that afternoon. How could that happen?’
‘You’re talking about a nutter, Darius. Anything’s possible. Perhaps he escaped.’
Riley nodded. He had to concede it didn’t make much sense. There had to be another explanation.
‘Let’s check the rest of the building.’
One of the other doors in the hallway opened onto a narrow passage. Concrete block walls led deeper into the barn, bulkhead lights every few metres, a full-length large mirror hanging incongruously halfway along. At the end, a heavy metal door stood blocking their way.
‘It slides, look,’ Enders said, pointing to the tracks in the floor and ceiling. ‘I should think this switch opens the door, no?’
To the right of the door a big red button sat halfway up the wall. The button was the circuit-breaker type you could hit with your palm. A wiring conduit ran from the button up to the ceiling where the tubing disappeared through a hole. Enders reached out.
‘Wait!’ Riley said.
Enders pulled his hand back, but it was too late. He’d already pressed the button.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Near Cadover Bridge, Devon. Thursday 29th October. 5.48 p.m.
Nothing happened. Riley glanced at the door, aware for the first time of a small domed light on the wall above. The light glowed red, almost as if it signified something was happening beyond the door. Somet
hing which could not be interrupted.
‘It should be opening.’ Enders pointed to the tracks in the floor and ceiling. ‘But it’s not.’
‘Let’s backtrack,’ Riley said, gesturing along the corridor. ‘Try the other door.’
Enders nodded and they returned along the corridor to the anteroom. The remaining door was locked and a tentative shove by Riley did nothing to change the situation.
‘I’m going to bust it,’ Riley said. ‘This one’s only wooden. No sense in wasting any more time.’
He stepped back and then leapt at the door, raising one leg and kicking the wood next to the lock. The frame splintered away and the door slammed open. Enders reached in and went for the light switch.
Inside, a bare concrete floor and block walls contrasted with a leather executive chair at a desk. A large computer monitor sat on the desk, a keyboard and mouse in front of the screen. Beneath the desk a small tower unit rested on the floor.
Riley walked across, reached down and turned the switch on the base unit. There was a low hum and then the monitor flickered into life. A couple of minutes later the system had booted up. There was no login or password required and some sort of program had begun running already.
‘Security cameras,’ Riley said, as he pointed to a row of thumbnails. ‘Look, there’s some archive material.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The timestamp. This is from the anteroom with the cells. There must be a movement sensor that activates the camera.’ Riley clicked the thumbnail and the footage began to play. A man stood facing the mirror which hung on the wall in the corridor. He appeared to be gesturing at the mirror, talking to his own reflection. Then he walked away.
Riley jerked back upright in the chair, not believing what he was seeing. It didn’t compute, it didn’t compute at all.
‘What is it, sir?’ Enders stood at his shoulder. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘He’s the problem, Patrick.’ Riley pointed at the screen. He clicked again to move the video back a few seconds. The man turned and walked away from the mirror again. This time there was no doubt in Riley’s mind. ‘Him.’
‘Who is he?’ Enders bent and squinted at the screen.
‘He’s the main suspect in the Lacuna case. Collier showed me a picture of him yesterday. His name’s Brenden Parker. He’s the man who kidnapped Sleet and Benedict.’
Dusk was falling when Savage and Hardin arrived at Woodland Heights. The sea was flat calm, a huge glossy mirror, pinpricks of emerging starlight reflected on the surface. As they pulled up, Hardin jabbed a finger in the direction of the house.
‘Not the beach, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘Brenden’s in there with them.’
They got out of the car. The ground- and first-floor windows stood dark and impenetrable, but in the attic rooms light flared into the night. Hardin was right. Brenden Parker was up there.
‘I was wrong,’ Savage said. ‘I didn’t consider the tide, and neither did Brenden. It’s high now. There is no beach. We might be too late.’
‘Let’s pray not,’ Hardin said. He looked over towards the front door. ‘What do we do now? Go in or wait for reinforcements?’
Savage was tempted to say that he was the boss, he should decide, but there was something holding Hardin back. She could see it in his eyes, the way they jumped around. He was nervous, his bluff, overbearing manner gone. And then there was the matter of the initials found on the raft: CH. Parker wanted Hardin up there. It would be foolish to give him what he wanted.
‘I go in,’ Savage said. ‘On my own. He knows me and I don’t suppose it will be much of a surprise when I come up the stairs. I think he wants this, wants his guilt to be discovered.’
‘Yes, Charlotte. But does he want to be arrested? I doubt that very much. He’s got some idea for the denouement and at the moment he holds all the cards. Your plan’s much too dangerous, I say we wait.’
‘The boys, sir. We can’t just leave them.’
‘They might already be dead. If you go up there, there will just be somebody else to worry about. Down here I’ll be none the wiser.’
‘No.’ Savage took her mobile out from her pocket. ‘You call me now and I’ll answer and then conceal the phone. It won’t be a brilliant line, not as good as a wire, but you’ll get some idea of what’s going on. When backup arrives you’ll have some valuable information.’
Hardin stuck his tongue out over his bottom lip. He paused to weigh the options and then nodded. ‘Go on then, but Charlotte?’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Be careful.’
Savage smiled. ‘Of course.’
It took a couple of minutes to set up the trick with the phone and then Savage moved towards the steps. At the top the door stood ajar. Savage pushed the door open and then waited there for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness. After a minute or so the interior of the hallway revealed itself, a wan, ghostly light filtering down from the first floor. She stepped across to the foot of the stairs, debris from the fallen plaster ceiling crunching underfoot.
Climbing the stairs in silence was impossible and each tread creaked as she moved up to the first floor. But then Parker knew they were coming, knew they would have figured it out, so total surprise was unlikely anyway.
On the first-floor landing there was more light, a pale glow washing down from the attic rooms. Savage walked to the foot of the attic stairs. Cocked her head. There was movement up there, someone sobbing, a voice and a creak of floorboards. She began to ascend the twisting stairway. Half a dozen steps further up, the stairs turned left and reached a small half landing. Above that they curled back on themselves and came to a larger landing area, off which were the bedrooms. Savage moved up slowly, each step she took accompanied by a little creak. Light poured from one of the bedrooms, the same one in which she’d found the inscription on the bed. She reached the top of the stairs and edged forward. Her feet scraped on the rough boards, but the sound was masked by a moaning from above.
She peered round the doorjamb. Before she had a chance to assimilate the situation, a voice rang out.
‘Detective Inspector Savage. I knew it wouldn’t be long before you joined us.’
Riley fiddled with the mouse and closed the archive video. He brought up one of the menus.
‘What are you doing, sir?’ Enders said. ‘We haven’t got time for this. We’ve got to let the others know about Parker.’
‘The CCTV clip was recorded,’ Riley said. ‘I’m looking for the live feed.’
He clicked a menu item labelled ‘Cameras’ and the screen split into four sections, each with a separate picture. Above each feed, a title: ‘Cells’, ‘Driveway’, ‘Farmyard’, ‘Altar’.
‘Sir!’ Enders jabbed at the screen labelled ‘Altar’. ‘That’s Perry Sleet!’
Riley looked at the screen. A half-clothed man lay face up on some sort of stainless steel bench. The camera view was from above and to the side and the man’s head was turned towards the camera. The face, while no longer grinning as in the holiday snaps Riley had seen, unmistakably belonged to Perry Sleet.
‘This is now,’ Riley said. ‘See the timestamp? For some reason Parker hasn’t touched him.’
‘What’s that thing he’s lying on?’
Riley stared at the screen and wondered if Enders hadn’t been spot on all along. In the centre of the room there was an island out of an expensive kitchen. Stainless steel, three metres by two, some sort of lighting gantry hanging above. Except it wasn’t a lighting gantry, more like a disturbing modern art installation. There were coils of wire up there and something which looked like a robotic arm. Riley could see an electric drill attached to a vertical pillar. On the far side a hinged contraption bore a circular saw blade. There were rods, levers, gears and hoses. A knife had been welded to one end of a metal bar attached to a hydraulic ram.
‘A torture machine,’ Riley said. ‘Think about Tim Benedict’s injuries.’
‘Shit.’ Enders shook hi
s head. ‘We’ve got to get Sleet out of there, sir. Wherever “there” is.’
‘The metal door. He must be behind that. But there’s no hurry, Parker’s long gone.’
‘Really?’ Enders pointed to the screen. ‘So why is that lot moving?’
Enders was right. The robotic arm attached to the overhead gantry had begun to swing down. Something on the end rotating at high speed. On the other side of the gantry the electric drill began to descend. Atop the table, Sleet moved. He rattled the cuffs around his hands. Then he opened his mouth. Muffled by the walls of the building though it was, Riley could still hear Sleet’s long, drawn-out scream. He watched, both fascinated and horrified as the process continued. Knives began to move back and forth and the circular saw was now a blur of spinning metal.
‘We’ll never break down the door.’ Riley pushed back the chair. Enders had already made for the exit, his phone in his hand, but Riley stood for a moment. There was something he’d seen on the side of the barn as they’d crossed the farmyard. The health and safety sign warning about using crawlboards. ‘The roof, Patrick. We can smash our way through the roof!’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Near Bolberry, South Hams, Devon. Thursday 29th October. 5.59 p.m.
The two beds in the room had been pulled away from the wall and turned on their sides, bisecting the space and creating a low barrier. Beyond, Brenden Parker sat in an old armchair which had been placed up against the window. The window was a dormer, a double-opening casement. The sill was some way above the back of the armchair. Sitting on the windowsill, facing out with their legs dangling in space, were the two boys. Parker blinked at Savage with one eye. The other squinted out, the eyeball bloodshot and surrounded by a mass of bruised and swollen skin. A scab sat on the side of his head a little way back from his right temple. When Savage had interviewed him before, his hair had been fluffed up to cover the injury. She berated herself; if she’d been more observant she might have realised that this was the man who’d attacked her in the copse.
