Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller

by Sibel Hodge

  But when it came to the others—Colby, Douglas Talbot, Felix Barron, and the Masked Man—then someone would definitely start to sit up and pay attention. Which meant it would be increasingly harder to get close to them.

  But who dares wins, eh?

  And this was one war I would win.

  The passage in Jamie’s diary of Alex’s last moments was burned into my brain…

  The children’s minister grabbed an empty whisky bottle from the table in the corner of the room and strode towards the boy. ‘Hold him down,’ he said to the banker.

  The banker kneeled on the boy’s back, pushing his head into the carpet. The boy struggled, crying, pleading.

  I turned towards the door, wanting to escape but frozen in place with shaking legs. The boy’s screams were louder but muffled by the carpet. And then there was an agonising cry and I knew what was happening, as he’d done it to me and the others before. My guts churned. I was light-headed, floating. I huddled on the floor, my knees drawn into my body, and buried my face into my thighs, pressing my hands over my ears to block it all out, but I could still hear it.

  Gradually the screams stopped and were replaced by a thumping sound on the floor. Inexplicably, I was drawn back to look at him. The boy was sprawled on his back with the children’s minister straddling his chest, a demonic look in his eyes. His hands were round the boy’s throat, and the boy’s arms and legs slapped the carpet, terror in every gasped breath. He struggled as he fought for his life, his eyes bulging, before sinking back into his head, staring blankly, and his body slackened into stillness.

  Of course, when Maya had told me there were photos of Alex at Crompton Place in amongst the ones Jamie had got from Dave, I’d forced myself to look. Forced myself to see the brutal images that Jamie spoke about as they unfolded that night. From what I could work out, it must’ve been Douglas Talbot behind the Polaroid camera, recording the savage and ruthless murder of my son for them all to laugh about later, as if pondering over something completely inconsequential, like the death of an ant they’d squashed under their shoe.

  So, inevitably, it had to be Eamonn Colby next.

  Chapter 53

  I’d visited the mountain numerous times in the last few weeks while Colby was in London, scouting for the perfect spot, working out which was the best place to stage it. And I’d found it. Again, it was so perfect, it had to be a message or sign from some higher force up above that was on my side. From Alex.

  Almost at the summit, the track turned into a narrow ridge before a bend that would hide me from view until the last minute. Over the years, the battering winds and weather had loosened the shingle and unstable rocks underfoot there. The ridge also sloped away from the body of the mountain, towards the deadly drop. Looking down from the precipice to the craggy rocks far below, I was reminded of the top of Pen y Fan, the fabled mountain in the Brecon Beacons that I’d climbed up and down so many times during the punishingly hard Hills Phase of SAS selection all those years before. If only I’d known then what I knew now.

  In normal circumstances, the ridge could test a nervous hill walker, particularly during strong winds. It was wide enough for one person to pass along comfortably. But when two people met at that point? Well, accidents could happen, couldn’t they?

  I left the blend-in-with-the-world white Vauxhall Astra parked a mile away. There was a small shingle car park at the base of the mountain, but that was far too close. The Astra was twenty years old with false number plates. I’d bought it for two hundred quid in a private sale and wouldn’t be registering it either—surprise, surprise. It would be torched in a remote location, just like the Golf I’d used when tailing Scholes.

  It took three and a half hours to reach my surveillance point just shy of the summit, merging into the mountain in my army-green camo trousers and Gore-Tex jacket. I’d rolled the camo balaclava up onto my head so it looked like a beanie hat.

  I sat on an outcrop of rocks and admired the view. The guidebooks were right about this place. It was pretty fantastic. And I had a perfect vantage point of the car park at the base of the mountain, watching for Eamonn Colby’s black Mercedes E-Class Coupe.

  The sun had been out when I started my ascent, but after a while it disappeared behind a ribbon of low clouds the colour of slate. The wind was a wild, roaring voice in my ear.

  It was 10.00 a.m.

  I waited.

  Chapter 54

  I saw Eamonn Colby a whole four hours before he saw me. I knew it would happen today as he was staying at his cabin for only two nights before heading back to London, and he’d arrived late afternoon the day before.

  I sat with my back against the mountain, watching him make a steady pace up towards the ridge. My ridge, as I thought of it now. Or Alex’s Ridge.

  When he got closer, I headed slowly back up nearer the summit, around the bend, so that he wouldn’t see me until the last minute, when we were both finally face-to-face.

  I heard Alex’s voice in my head, whispering, Daddy, save me. I heard Maya, saying, I want to get them, Mitchell. And the words in Jamie’s diary reverberated in my gut.

  I stood with my back pressed into the rocks, clenching and unclenching my fists. And waited some more.

  Until I heard Colby, panting, his walking boots crunching over shingle and stones. It was time.

  I rounded the rock, onto the narrow ridge, and there he was, a few metres ahead of me, dressed in lightweight North Face waterproof trousers and jacket, sturdy boots, and carrying a water bottle. His face was red from exertion and wind.

  The plan in my head had been to strike without warning and simply push Colby off the ridge. He would’ve been floating through the air on a downward trajectory quicker than one could say child killer. He wouldn’t have known what had hit him. A simple and unfortunate hiking accident. A terrible, terrible shame.

  But as he stopped suddenly, his chin jerking up, startled at the sight of another person, the plan changed.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ He smiled. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone else up here.’

  I smiled back, pushing down the swelling darkness inside. ‘No. I’m told not many people come up here.’ I glanced to my right, out over the sheer drop, to the wide expanse of Scottish lakes and glens. ‘It’s a shame, really. The view is stunning.’

  Colby followed my gaze. ‘Yes, it is. It’s a great place to get away from everything and clear your head.’

  I gritted my teeth and nodded.

  The children’s minister grabbed an empty whisky bottle from the table in the corner of the room.

  ‘Aren’t you Eamonn Colby?’ I tilted my head, an interested and affable smile fixed to my face.

  ‘Yes.’ He gave me that practised politician’s smile. A lizard smile. ‘Have we met?’ His forehead furrowed slightly as he tried to place me. God forbid he should forget a potential voter.

  ‘Hold him down,’ he said to the banker.

  ‘No. But you’ve met someone I know, Alex Butler.’

  The banker kneeled on the boy’s back, pushing his head into the carpet.

  ‘Alex Butler?’ Colby pursed his lips. ‘I don’t seem to recall that name.’

  ‘You met him in London.’

  He smiled. ‘Ah, well, I meet a lot of people in London, of course.’ He chuckled conspiratorially.

  The boy struggled, crying, pleading.

  ‘You probably didn’t even know his name, actually,’ I said.

  The boy was sprawled on his back with the children’s minister straddling his chest, a demonic look in his eyes.

  Colby’s eyebrow quirked up. ‘Oh? Was Mr Butler one of my constituents?’

  I took a deep breath. Kept my gaze fixed firmly on him, watching for the tell to come. ‘No. You met him at 10 Crompton Place.’

  His hands were round the boy’s throat, and the boy’s arms and legs slapped the carpet, terror in every gasped breath.

  Something flickered in Colby’s eyes for a fraction of a second before he recovered. ‘Sorry,
I’m not familiar with that address. I think you must have me mixed up with someone else.’ He took a swig of water.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ I took a step closer towards him. ‘You must remember Crompton Place.’

  He struggled as he fought for his life, his eyes bulging, before sinking back into his head, staring blankly, and his body slackened into stillness.

  ‘I’ve never heard of it,’ Colby said uncertainly, taking a small step backwards along the ridge. ‘I’m sorry, but I think there’s been some kind of mistake.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Damn. I didn’t realise how late it was getting. I really need to get going if I’m going to get back in time for a conference call later.’ He smiled that smile again, his eyes devoid of emotion, like a shark’s, and turned around, about to walk back down the ridge. Down the mountain.

  And that was when everything I’d been holding together inside snapped.

  I strode towards him, pivoted on my right foot, and kicked out with my left. My boot connected with the back of his knee, and I heard a snapping sound. It sounded like sweet music to me.

  The impact propelled Colby forwards. He fell to the ground on his hands and knees in a crumpled heap, dangerously close to the edge of the ridge, his water bottle skittering over the edge of the mountain. He scrambled around onto his backside, away from the edge, facing me, his face emblazoned with arrogant indignation and pain. ‘Get your hands off me! How dare you! That’s assault.’ He clutched his knee with both hands and cried out, wincing. ‘Well, you’ve done it now, haven’t you? I’ll have you arrested for that, you thug.’ He pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons.

  I was the thug? Ha! Good one, Colby.

  I kicked out at his hand, my foot connecting with bone and plastic with a satisfying crack! The phone flew from his grip in an arc, over the side of the ridge off the mountain. ‘You won’t be calling anyone.’

  Colby slithered backwards, like the snake he was, trying to ignore the obvious pain in his knee and his hand with the thumb that was now sticking out at an unnatural angle. Beads of sweat pricked his forehead. His face had turned from red to sickly white. The adrenaline suddenly surging through him would probably be masking the worst of the agony for a while. He glanced up at me. ‘You’re making a big mistake. I have powerful friends, you know. You’re not going to get away with this.’ His voice was filled with defiance.

  ‘Really? Because from where I’m standing, you’re on the top of a mountain, with a suspected torn ligament in your knee, a broken thumb, no mobile phone, and no one else around for miles.’

  Colby swallowed hard, the arrogance wearing off as he saw what was in my eyes and it dawned on him exactly what kind of situation he was in. Confusion filtered through his body language, trying to register what was happening and why. ‘What do you want? I’ve got money. I can pay you money! Lots of it.’

  I snorted. ‘Let’s talk about Alex.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know any Alex!’

  ‘Wrong answer. 10 Crompton Place. The Friday Club.’

  Colby shook his head vigorously. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. Please stop this nonsense. If you let me go now, I won’t press charges.’

  I plucked the photo of Alex from the inside pocket of my jacket and threw it towards him. It landed face down on the shingle.

  ‘Pick it up,’ I said.

  Colby glanced at the photo cautiously, breathing hard.

  ‘Pick. It. Up.’

  Colby reached out with his uninjured hand. Picked it up. Turned it over. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. His lips twitched, but the rest of him went very still.

  ‘Remember him now?’

  ‘It’s a fake! Someone’s trying to ruin my reputation. That isn’t me. I absolutely deny it!’ he blustered.

  ‘Okay. Let me get this straight. That’s not you with your hands around Alex’s neck, strangling him?’

  ‘It’s doctored. It’s obviously been fabricated for some kind of smear campaign against me. It’s a fake. A pack of lies.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I nodded. ‘And what about the rest of them?’

  Colby licked his lips. Swallowed. ‘The…rest?’

  I gave him a cold smile. ‘Hundreds of them. All taken at The Friday Club. And the videotape? The snuff film which shows you all torturing and murdering Moses, like you tortured and murdered Alex. Like you and your psychopathic cronies sadistically abused all the others for your own decayed self-gratification. Are they all fake, too?’

  Colby blinked rapidly. His lips moved, but no sound came out at first. Finally, he said. ‘I can make you rich. Whatever you want, I can give you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Everyone wants money! Everyone can be bought. They won’t let this come out—you know that, don’t you?’ The fear was replaced once again with arrogance. ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with here. I’m protected.’

  ‘Oh, I think I do. How can you sick perverts even think about doing those kinds of things to innocent children?’

  ‘Why do you even care about a couple of retarded, worthless brats from children’s homes? They were all expendable! They deserved what they got. No one cared about them! Where were their parents, eh? They obviously didn’t care about them, so why should you?’ he shouted.

  I locked my eyes on his and saw the viciousness in them, his words setting off a grenade in my head. Ribbons of red exploded at the edge of my vision.

  With a primal rage, I threw myself at Colby on the ground, straddling him, my bulky weight locking him down, just as he’d done to Alex. My fists pummelled Colby’s face as his arms flailed around, trying to protect himself, his nails catching the skin on my cheek. ‘I’ll tell you where one of the parents is right now. Alex was my son! He was kidnapped off the street by you bastards!’ I spat into his face.

  Colby yelled, ‘Stop! Stop!’ as he squirmed beneath me, trying to avoid my raining fists to no avail.

  I grabbed the collar of his jacket with both hands and smacked the back of his head against the rocky ridge. ‘I was in the military when you were killing my son! I was defending my country for bastards like you. Fighting bullshit wars for traitors who’d sell anyone or anything out to get what they want!’

  ‘Please! Wait! I’ll give you money! Anything!’ His voice was nasally, distorted through his now broken nose.

  I got to my feet and yanked the dazed Colby up by the scruff of his jacket, twisting around so my back was against the mountain and his feet rested precariously near to the edge of the ridge, my hands gripping onto his collar.

  Colby’s eyes met mine, one already closing with swelling, blood from his nose dripping down his chin. He glanced over the edge with terror. Glanced back at me. ‘How much do you want? Whatever the amount, I’ll give you.’

  ‘How much is your life worth, Colby?’ I sneered.

  ‘Fifty thousand! I’ll give you fifty grand if you let me go.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘A hundred! How much do you want?’

  ‘It’s not all about money. I want a name. I want to know who the Masked Man was.’ I gripped his collar tighter. Pushed him a little further back, his heels now hanging slightly off the ridge over the long drop.

  ‘I can’t tell you that!’ Colby panted hard, taking in the drop. He tried to dig into the ground with the toes of his boots, sending chunks of shingle over the edge. An animalistic howl escaped his lips.

  ‘Who is he? Give me a name or you’re going over.’

  Through his good eye, Colby’s darting gaze dropped down the side of the mountain again. His lips trembled, saliva pooling at the corners, mixing with the blood.

  I pushed him back further. ‘Tell me or you’re a dead man.’

  ‘Okay! But you can’t let anyone know it came from me!’ Colby desperately shouted out a name.

  I inhaled sharply as those two words hurtled through the air and slammed into me.

  Fuck. No wonder.

  ‘Ta
ke a look down, Colby. You wanted to be rich and powerful, eh? King of the world?’ I pushed him further back. ‘Now you’re at the top, was it worth it?’

  ‘You can let me go now. I…I’ve told you what you wanted. I’ll get you the money!’ The fear rolled off him in almost tangible waves.

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘How does it feel knowing you’re going to die? You ever wondered about that? You ever wondered how those boys felt? Trapped? With nowhere to go and nowhere to turn? Treated like nothing more than a piece of dirt? Living a hell on earth because you think you can just take what you want, from who you want?’

  ‘Look…I—’

  ‘And you think there are no consequences for killing my son? You really think you’re all untouchable?’

  ‘Please…I…’

  Not so arrogant now, are you, Colby?

  ‘Well, I’ve got a message for you, from Alex. And from Jamie and Maya and Dave and Sean and Moses and all the others out there, too.’

  ‘Let me go. We had a deal. I’ll get your hundred grand. I—’

  ‘Fuck you and fuck your money!’ I unclenched my hands and let go of his jacket, the sudden shift in my hold making him teeter backwards slightly.

  I swung my right arm back and down. Brought it forward and up with all the force of a worthless father. A guilty soldier. A haunted failure.

  The uppercut hit Colby underneath the jaw, and two things happened.

  One, his head shot back as his jaw shattered.

  And two, the force of the blow lifted him off his feet.

  For a brief moment, it seemed as if he was suspended in thin air, perfectly weightless, hanging in stillness. In nothingness.