by crime The King of Terrors (a psychological thriller combining mystery
‘I haven’t decided what I’m going to do, which is why I’m still here with you,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘It was never intended to end like this. Get you and Erica out, ship you somewhere safe, job done. But now if Pipistrelle falls into Doradus’ hands sooner or later they’ll prise all manner of secrets from his head. I move up their most wanted list, and all the escape routes we’ve planned beforehand will be of no use. It’s not safe staying here either. They’ll know about this house soon enough.’ She glanced from under her brows at him. ‘We’ve got people wanting us both dead. All we have left is each other now.’
‘Surely someone somewhere can help us. Someone in authority.’
‘Yeah, there must be. If you know who to trust.’
‘DCI Stafford, I trust him. He’s clean, I can tell. The rot hasn’t extended to him.’
Instead of answering him she went over to the radio, looked at her watch and turned up the volume. ‘I’ve got bad news for you on that front,’ she said bleakly. The music finished and the six o’clock news came over the radio.
‘I say we go now and try to make contact with him.’
‘You can’t.’
‘What is it with you and orders?’ he snapped.
She pointed to the radio. ‘I heard this earlier today. Listen for yourself.’
He didn’t know what on earth she was getting at till he heard Stafford’s and Styles’ names mentioned at which point his ears pricked. Both officers had tragically died as the result of a gas explosion in a derelict house in Manchester. DI Styles killed outright, DCI Stafford dying from his injuries in hospital in the early hours of this morning. All evidence pointed to an accident waiting to happen. Fellow officers were mourning the loss of two respected police officers, said the radio reporter. Both Superintendent Maloney and the Chief Constable praised the two brave officers, who had been instrumental in the arrest of a man, who police have named Heniek Pawlowski, in connection with the murder of Ania Dabrowska in Manchester.
‘You say the rot hasn’t gone that far? It certainly reached Stafford and Styles.’
‘They said it was an accident…’
‘You really want to hang onto that?’ she said. ‘OK, you do that. You take that chance.’ She turned off the radio. ‘Face it, Davies, we’re all on our lonesome now. Just you and me against the world. And I for one ain’t about to stay here till Doradus comes sniffing around. Me, I’m going to help Pipistrelle and take things from there. I’m not going to let these bastards get hold of him. I owe him that much. So do you and Erica; without him she’d have been dead decades ago and you would have ended up in tiny pieces floating in a row of pickle jars. You can either choose to come along with me or go your own way. I guarantee that you won’t last too long on your own.’
‘Is that supposed to be a choice? Go with you and potentially end up dead, or stay here and end up dead?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘But what about Erica? I can’t just leave her here like this.’
Caroline went out of the room and came back in with a green plastic petrol can. ‘I brought spare fuel from the car.’
He was horrified as her intention sank in. ‘You’re suggesting we burn her?’
‘I think it’s called cremation in the trade,’
‘No, that’s not going to happen!’ he said. ‘That’s so fucking callous and I’m not being a part of any of it.’
‘You’re already a part of it, you idiot. OK, so what’s your answer? Go on, I’m all ears.’
‘Let me think, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Well think faster because we haven’t got the time.’
‘Maybe we could take her and bury her in woods somewhere,’ he said, and even as he said it he realised how outlandish and cruel it all sounded. ‘Or maybe leave her where she’ll be found, looked after properly.’
‘They’ll discover the bullet wound and know she’s been murdered. We have to destroy all evidence that could lead to finding out who she was or leads anyone directly to us. Look, I’ve got to be out of here tonight.’ Her expression softened fractionally at seeing him so upset. ‘It’s not as if she’s going to notice either way.’
‘But I’ll know!’ he stormed. ‘It’s not right, it’s not decent!’
‘Decency doesn’t even come into the equation now. It’s all about survival now, whatever it takes. We have to destroy all evidence, all trails, and that means taking care of Erica’s body.’
‘You intend to torch the entire house?’
She raised a thoughtful brow. ‘It’s due for demolition anyhow. If I remove the bullet beforehand we might just get away with people thinking she was an unknown homeless squatter who had a nasty accident with a primus.’
‘What kind of a mind have you got that allows you to think like this?’ he said, running a hand over his head.
‘An experienced one. Like I said right at the beginning, forget the person you are, the life you had, it doesn’t exist anymore. From here on in everything changes. It’s not only me who’s moved up people’s list. They have you very much in their sights now. I can help you; teach you how to survive, like your mother learned from de Bailleul. But there really is no one else you can safely turn to right now. That comfortable little world simply doesn’t exist for you. Face it, you’ve got me, the crazy redhead, and that’s it. So we can either pull together on this one or we can go our own sweet separate ways here and now. Either way I’m going to help my father, and if I can kick some Doradian arse in the process to make me feel better that suits me fine.’
Gareth peeled back the blanket from Erica’s face. She appeared so calm, finally at peace after so long. He stared at the handgun. ‘Can you teach me how to use this properly?’ he asked.
‘That’s an essential lesson,’ she said.
‘We can’t keep running forever,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to take the fight to them, got to find this Doradus, whoever the bastard is, and put an end to all this.’ He got to his feet and shoved the gun into his jeans’ waistband. ‘Offence is the best form of defence, right? If you’re going to kick some Doradian arse then I want to be right there with you.’
He went over to the army satchel and took out a roll of bandages from its plastic bag. Taking a pair of scissors he bent down to Erica, lifted a strand of shining hair and cut it off. He placed it tenderly into the plastic bag and sealed it, putting it into his pocket. He saw Caroline watching him closely.
‘It’s all I’ll have left of her,’ he said, avoiding her gaze. He gently put the blanket over her face. ‘OK, do what you have to do and let’s get out of here before I change my mind.’
She hung back till he left the room, and she packed the satchel with a few provisions, cleaning away anything that might implicate someone else had shared the room with Erica. She took a knife from the satchel and heaved Erica’s body over, removing the blood-sodden dressing. She plunged the blade into the wound, located the bullet and scraped the tiny piece of lead out.
Finally she unscrewed the black cap of the petrol can, poured a little fuel over the blanket and onto the dry floorboards. Shouldering the satchel she lit a match, holding it briefly over Erica’s body; the flickering light made it appear as if something stirred beneath the blanket, but she knew this to be an illusion. She had to be strong for both their sakes, but Erica’s death had affected her. It brought back so many painful memories of Afghanistan. And she felt like she knew this woman.
She dropped the match casually onto the blanket and waited till the flame began to take hold. She hung about long enough to see the fire spread across the floorboards, black smoke beginning to balloon upwards to the ceiling, before closing the doors and heading out to the car. She threw the satchel into the boot. Gareth was staring vacantly out of the windscreen, his face like a ghost behind the glass, she thought. She nodded to him that it was done and silently went over to the padlocked gates. She opened them wide, checking to see if the coast was clear before dashing back to the car. She gunned the engine.
‘What are o
ur chances?’ he asked evenly.
‘I’ve never been a gambling woman,’ she said. ‘But if we were horses in the Grand National then I wouldn’t fancy our chances at Beech’s Brook.’
‘Well, I’m going to give it my best shot, for Erica’s sake,’ he said.
‘That’s all we can both do,’ she said, reaching into her pocket for gum and finding it empty. She groaned loudly.
‘Brown,’ he said.
‘What?’
He nodded at her hair. ‘Brown would suit you better.’
‘You think so?’
‘Black just isn’t your colour,’ he said.
* * * *
48
Factory Settings
Elldale, Derbyshire
It was just after midnight and the night appeared to press down on the car. Visibility was compounded by the fact that there were no houses, only the barely glimpsed rolling, moor-dominated landscape, and a dense mist had fallen making it all but impossible to make out any detail save for the strip of country road lit up by the car’s headlights. As if the world outside had ceased to exist. Caroline pulled the car to the side of the road.
‘Why are we stopping?’ Gareth asked, snapping out of the drowse he’d succumbed to.
‘We’re on the edge of the village of Elldale,’ she said, taking the handgun from the glove compartment and sliding it into her jacket pocket. ‘I’m going to take it on foot from here.’
He unfastened the seatbelt. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he insisted.
‘No you’re not. It could be dangerous. If I’m not back in three quarters of an hour tops then you get the hell out of here and don’t look back. You’ll find money, ID, the addresses of a couple of safe houses I located that even Pipistrelle doesn’t know about, so you should be safe for a while. That’s all I can do for you.’ She smiled, and it actually contained a little warmth. ‘Don’t look so glum; your mother managed it for four hundred years.’
He reached out and held her arm. ‘I can’t let you go out on your own. You could get hurt.’
‘Anyone would think that you cared,’ she said, peeling his fingers away. ‘You don’t have a say in this, Davies. I’m more likely to get hurt having a bumbling amateur cramping my style. I’ll be just fine. Keep the engine running.’ She checked her watch. ‘Forty-five minutes and then drive the pedal to the floor and put as many miles as you can between this place and that screwed up little head of yours.’ She made as if to open the car door.
‘I didn’t say thank you,’ he said.
‘I wasn’t looking for it.’
‘You saved my life and you tried to save Erica’s. You put your own neck on the line for us.’
She pursed her lips nonchalantly. ‘Maybe when this is all over I’ll see a shrink. Like you say, I must be crazy. You have the gun handy?’ He patted his pocket in response. ‘And you’re sure you know how to use it now?’
‘It was a fast lesson but I’m a fast learner,’ he said.
‘That’s my little soldier,’ she said lightly. ‘Till I get back it’s the only friend you’ve got.’
With that she clambered out of the car, and he slid over to the driver’s seat. It was only a matter of moments before she was eaten up by the night mist. She didn’t look back.
The village of Elldale was a sombre scattering of cottages constructed from Derbyshire stone; it boasted only two street lamps that failed to puncture the night. Not a single light burned in any of the cottages looming darkly out of the mist, which appeared to absorb all sound. Not that there was a great deal to hear. Beyond the single road that connected the cottages and ran like an artery through the village there were only high, heather-strewn hills criss-crossed by miles of dry-stone walls.
She approached Pipistrelle’s cottage cautiously. As far as she could tell there wasn’t any sign of parked cars near it. The place was in darkness, but that wasn’t unusual given that most of the time the curtains were drawn against the sunlight. At night, sometimes, he had been known to open the curtains to let in the moonlight. She skirted the high trees that surrounded the cottage, flinching at seeing the darting, ghostly forms of bats flitting in and out of the branches. She headed for the rear of the cottage, drawing the gun and crouching low. She could smell wood smoke and came across the still-smouldering pile of ash in the centre of the garden, a wheelbarrow close by, smashed pieces of computer motherboards nearby. She guessed immediately what he’d been doing; he must have been really spooked to have been driven to destroying everything, all his books, his notes, his life’s work.
The rear door that led directly into the small kitchen was ajar. She paused beside it, ear close to the opening, listening intently. Her left hand reached out, pushed open the door very slowly, her breath held till it became painful. This doesn’t look good, she thought, glancing quickly behind her to make sure no one was sneaking up on her. But all was deathly quiet and still, the mist swirling languidly over the darkened garden.
‘Come on in,’ said a voice that made her start. A light clicked on in the kitchen and she jumped back in alarm. ‘I know you’re there, Caroline.’
She hesitated, then kicked open the door violently, rushing inside at a crouch the gun held out in two hands before her. A man was sat on a chair, his feet up on an old pine table in the centre of the room.
‘Such theatrics,’ the man observed calmly.
‘What have you done with him?’ she demanded firmly. ‘Where is Pipistrelle?’
‘He’s alive, I can tell you that much. But for how long depends upon you.’
‘He’d better be!’ she warned, moving closer, covering him with the gun.
The man held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m not armed,’ he admitted. ‘You can frisk me if you like.’ He gave a smirk. He had icy blue eyes that marked her as she came forward.
‘And who the hell are you?’ she asked. She noticed a mobile phone on the table.
‘I’m Gabriel.’
It was her turn to scrutinise him. He looked to be in his thirties, had all the appearance of a man who relied more on muscle that intellect, but she knew that could be deceptive.
‘Just for the record,’ she said, ‘you’re not half as attractive as the old Gabriel.’
‘Just for the record, I’m twice as alive,’ he said. He indicated the phone with the flat of his hand. ‘I need to make a call.’
‘Where is Pipistrelle?’ she urged.
‘The reason for the call,’ he said. ‘May I? It’s in your interest.’ She nodded and he picked up the phone. ‘She’s here.’ His voice was unruffled, his movements unhurried, cool and deliberate. He put the phone back onto the table. ‘So, you want to see him?’
‘Don’t mess with me.’
‘We’ve got a bit of a hike. I hope you’re wearing sensible shoes.’
‘Cut the crap and take me to him,’ she ordered. ‘If you’ve done anything to harm him you’ll pay for it.’ She watched him closely as he slid his feet off the table. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ she warned.
‘I bet you say that to all the boys!’ He went to the door, the gun covering him all the way. ‘Follow me.’
At the door she lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck, putting the gun to his temple.
‘Hands against the wall, legs splayed!’ she said, her eyes wide, a fleck of spittle flying out to land on his cheek. ‘One wrong move, just one, and I’ll take the side of your skull out!’
He did as he was told. She started at the top of his body, moving swiftly down to his legs. She made a point of bringing the gun up hard between his legs so that it crashed heavily against his balls. He flinched and gave a tiny groan.
‘Was that really necessary?’ he said, trying not to screw his face up in pain.
‘I was making sure you weren’t packing anything solid in there. Turns out you weren’t.’
He gave a sneer.
They went out into the cold night air, the mist beginning to thicken perceptibly. In a few minutes they r
eached the edge of the village and took a narrow country path that headed off into nowhere, rising steadily upwards.
‘So who are you with?’ she asked, keeping a close eye on his back, watching his hands by his side.
‘God,’ he returned, and meant it.
‘Does God pay well?’
‘I get by,’ he said. ‘The true rewards will come later.’
The path now began to rise steeply. They walked for some time till they reached a style and he clambered over, waiting for her to do the same. The track on the other side disappeared into a faintly luminescent mist.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, realising they were headed up a considerable hill.
‘This is Mam Tor,’ he replied. ‘Apparently they say it’s one of the most accessible of the peaks, but I guess that depends which way you climb it. Not going too fast for you?’ he said with a leer.
‘Keep the jibes to yourself,’ she said, ‘or I’ll ram this gun down your throat.’ Visibility was now limited to but a few craggy yards. Her senses honed sharp she detected an overwhelming sweet smell of wet heather. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what kicks do you really get out of all this? Why the Church of Everlasting Shit and not Al Qaeda or some other fucked-up bunch of religiously motivated thugs?’
He laughed and it sounded dull and faraway in the mist. ‘Other people are just too self-serving. We work for the good of God’s creation. The others are products of Satan’s desires, though they may believe otherwise, because they are fooled by him. He threatens to destroy, we seek to restore, and that’s the difference.’
‘To wipe the world clean as if it were a computer hard-drive. Restore it to its factory settings.’
‘Crudely put, but if it helps you understand these things.’
‘You can’t really believe all that shit Doradus spouts, surely? You really think there’s a place for your kind in this New Eden? You’re being used like everyone else. You’re no better than a bunch of mindless Moonies without the weddings.’
