Degrees of Darkness

by Tony J. Forder

  Now Frank sat up straight in the bed, his pillow wedged against the headboard. Debbie lay by his side, arms wrapped around his waist, one leg draped over his. As they relaxed together, Frank told her about Lawrence Swain, his voice almost a distant whisper.

  ‘He sounds odious,’ she said, feeling goosebumps rise on her flesh despite the night’s sticky heat.

  ‘It was like being in the presence of a devil.’ Frank stared straight ahead, barely conscious of Debbie’s fingers on him. ‘I’ve never felt anything quite like it before. I suppose it was the same for the guys who had to interview Sutcliffe, West, Shipman, and people like that. Men so ordinary, yet so inhuman at the same time.’

  Debbie lifted her head, eyes reflecting her obvious concern. ‘He really got to you, didn’t he?’

  Frank grunted. ‘In more ways than you can imagine. I’m pretty sure now that Laura is still alive, but I also know she’s still in a great deal of danger. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but wonder what he’s done to her. Him and his damned sister.’

  ‘Just concentrate on getting her back alive.’ She pressed her lips against his arm.

  ‘Easy to say. He wants to trade. He’ll offer a deal, along the lines of, if we don’t let him go, his sister will kill Laura.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Will you let him go?’

  Frank reached up to push his hair back. It was slick with sweat. ‘I have no choice in the matter, Debs. He stays behind bars, no matter what.’

  ‘And if it was your decision alone?’ Debbie released her grip and sat up. Their eyes met in the darkness.

  ‘It would have to be the same. I would be putting Laura’s safety above that of other girls he might snatch in the future.’

  Debbie was silent for a while. Then she said, ‘Even saying something like that takes a lot of strength. I don’t know if I could be so rational.’

  ‘It comes with the territory. Once a copper, always a copper. But perhaps it makes me less of a father.’

  Debbie pulled his head down into the crook of her neck. ‘No, don’t say that. Don’t even think it. You’re doing all you can, and no one can ask more of you. Do you think you can find Laura, Frank? Is there a way?’

  ‘It’s possible … but not likely. We tried to trace him and his sister through every means at our disposal. There are a few Swains around with the right first names, but they’re not the ones we’re after. They simply don’t exist under those names. We tried under the name of Wilde, too. Again, no joy. We tried to trace them through the photographic company, but it’s not registered, and its banking facilities led back to false names and a false address.’

  ‘He’s one slippery bastard, isn’t he?’

  ‘The man is completely amoral. He either knows what he’s doing is wrong and doesn’t give a damn, or he’s not even aware of it. My guess is it’s a combination of the two. I’d say he normally knows he’s doing wrong, but then he’s overcome by another side to his personality that has no idea he’s even doing these dreadful things.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Debbie shivered and Frank knew that she was thinking about such a man wandering the streets, totally out of control. It was unnerving. It was something she’d have read about, or had seen at the cinema. It just wasn’t supposed to ever come close enough to touch.

  Frank rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp. He pulled open a thick blue folder and extracted typewritten sheets of paper and a bunch of photographs. He scanned the reports one more time, glancing occasionally at a photo. Every now and then he shook his head and muttered to himself.

  He felt Debbie’s close scrutiny, and there was a measure of comfort in realising that she would be acutely aware of his pain. But he was close to breaking, and nothing she could say or do could prevent it.

  ‘Why don’t you leave it for now, Frank?’ Debbie’s voice was gentle, no hint of a rebuke.

  ‘I just want to give this lot one more go. I keep thinking there must be an answer in here for me.’

  ‘Not exactly ideal bedtime reading.’

  He smiled. Not feeling much like it, but knowing it was what she wanted. ‘You can say that again. You know, he was improving with the taxidermy. The first two were total botch-ups, the third better, and the fourth a staggering improvement. He obviously didn’t use enough formaldehyde with number three, because all the signs of decomposition were there.’

  Debbie sat up, drawing the sheet around her. ‘Tell me about it. Explain it to me.’

  ‘You must be joking. You want nightmares?’

  ‘I take it there are female pathologists?’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Tell me, damn you.’

  ‘Okay. You asked for it, remember.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘After a couple of days, you get green and purple staining, and the body begins to distend. A week or so after death the body swells with gases and the skin blisters. Three weeks in and the blisters burst, tissue softens, organs and cavities burst open. A week later the tissue liquefies. No more real changes for a few months, but if the body is kept in water or in damp soil then adipocere – which is the human fat becoming hard and suety – forms on the face and head. Later it forms on the trunk, too.’

  ‘And this … adipocere was present on all the girls?’

  ‘Right. Because they were immersed in water they were also more discoloured, and the nails and hair are quite loose.’

  ‘But the fourth girl wasn’t so bad.’

  Frank nodded grimly. ‘She was in good shape, actually. Of course, she hadn’t been dead as long, but decomposition had barely begun, due to the taxidermy process.’

  ‘And all to replace his sister.’

  ‘Yep. Crazy, but it also has a certain kind of logic. No girl is going to remain with them willingly, so to keep their ‘sister’ with them, taxidermy is the ideal solution.’

  Debbie shot him a frosty glance. ‘You sound almost as though you understand him.’

  ‘In a way, I do. Oh, I don’t approve, but if I’m going to wear him down, I must understand what makes him tick.’

  He stuffed the papers back into the file and snapped the lamp off again. ‘Looking at those poor kids makes me think of Laura all over again.’

  Squeezing his arm, Debbie whispered, ‘I know. I wish I could take those thoughts away for you.’

  ‘Perhaps I can get some proper sleep. At least then my mind shuts it out.’

  ‘Early start?’

  ‘I have to see him again. Today I’d had all I could take, but tomorrow the show goes on. I have to get close to him, Debs. It may be the only way of getting him to slip up. I have to reach out for him, go across to his side of the fence.’

  ‘Just as long as you can cross back, Frank.’

  He said nothing, but as his eyes closed he began to consider the implication of her words. To understand Lawrence Swain’s kind of madness might induce the very same thing in himself. He swallowed thickly, a dry, acrid taste filling his mouth.

  He recognized it at once.

  It was the taste of fear.

  58

  The tape was running, the room was again stifling, the air tainted with one man’s evil.

  ‘So, Swain,’ said Frank, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ‘We know how you abducted the girls, and we know why. What I still don’t understand is why you had to torture the first girl.’

  Lawrence Swain still wore the white paper suit. His bald head was slick and shiny, a stubble beginning to form around his neck, chin and cheeks. According to the night-shift records, Swain had not slept, yet his eyes were wide and alert and devious.

  ‘Oh, that should be easy for you to work out, Frank. Still, I’ll give you this little snippet. I took her because I wanted to replace my sister. But then I discovered something in her that was wrong. She simply wasn’t up to scratch. And so …’ He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

  ‘And so, she had to pay,’ Frank finished for him. ‘You believed she had deceived you. So y
ou punished her.’

  ‘Of course. What else does one do with a naughty child? For all his sins, my father had the right idea where discipline was concerned.’

  ‘But you killed your father for what he did to Sophie.’

  Frank sucked in his breath as he saw a look of genuine disconcertion pass across the man’s features. Swain was clearly troubled by what had been suggested. But it was only a second or two before he recovered.

  ‘He deserved to die. It’s one thing to destroy strangers, another to destroy your own.’

  ‘I see. You know, perhaps you’re right.’

  The man’s eyes opened wide. His astonishment was obvious. ‘You see it too, Frank? Do you? Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.’

  ‘Maybe. And perhaps we can be more so if I get to understand you better.’

  Nodding eagerly, Swain said, ‘I’ll be your tutor, Frank. And you my trusty pupil. Together we can be an unbeatable team. Astaire and Rogers, Butch and Sundance … Mickey and Donald.’ He laughed at his own absurd joke.

  ‘Okay,’ Frank said. ‘So, I’m with you so far. After you’d killed the first child you hit upon the taxidermy angle. But why attempt the taxidermy on those girls who weren’t worthy of preserving? Why not wait until you found the right one?’

  Swain shook his head slowly. Mocking. ‘Oh, Frank. How obtuse of you. Don’t belittle yourself. You know why as much as I do.’

  ‘Maybe. But I want you to confirm it.’

  ‘Very well. I needed the practice. It’s that simple. I had only the vaguest notion how to perform taxidermy, and I couldn’t be at all sure if it would work with humans.’

  ‘And so, your first attempts were botched.’

  Swain chuckled. Not his carefully conceived chuckle, but one of genuine humour this time. ‘You could say that, yes.’

  Frank glanced down at the open file on the desk. ‘Jeanette Morris was injected with formaldehyde.’

  ‘That’s right. I wondered whether it could be done after death, and with the skin still intact on the body.’

  ‘Geraldine McGiven was also injected. This time while she was still alive.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Geraldine. She was quite sweet, but not at all suitable. Dreadful voice. It grated so.’

  ‘You knew what injecting formaldehyde into her body would do?’

  ‘I had a good idea. Acid in the bloodstream. It was fun. How she screamed.’

  Frank closed his eyes for a moment, the image Swain had created too much to bear. ‘So, after you failed with Geraldine you knew you had to take the skin off,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right. I wasn’t at all bothered by having to do so, as you can imagine. The thought was quite appealing, actually. However, it proved to be a real fucking nightmare.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Frank was surprised at the profanity. It was a chink in the cool and calculated veneer.

  ‘Yes. I still had no idea how to proceed. I didn’t want to buy the books, not wanting to leave any trace, you see. So, I stole one from a library, flicked through it, and thought I knew it all.’

  ‘But again you failed.’

  Swain closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. ‘It was a bastard. On Tracey, I think it was, I cut myself several times with the scalpel. I got that from an artists’ supplies shop, by the way. I cut the skin too thick in places, too thin in others. Worst of all I accidentally cut through her stomach lining. Oh, Frank…the smell was awful. The gasses were like the worst farts imaginable. I was actually sick, threw up until I was empty.’

  ‘How awful for you.’

  Swain missed the sarcasm. ‘Quite. But the real agony was yet to come. I was so eager to get it done that I hadn’t bought myself proper protective clothing. When I put her skin into the bath of formaldehyde and water, some of it got into my scalpel cuts.’

  He closed his eyes and put back his head ‘Oh, Frank, Frank, Frank. I can’t begin to describe the pain. I washed it out quickly, but it burned like hell.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it was much fun for Tracey, either.’

  Swain waved a limp hand in his direction. ‘Don’t toy with me. Tracey was far beyond caring by then. You know that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Frank took a drink of water. He hoped Swain hadn’t noticed how dry he’d become. The conversation was starting to get to him again already. There was only so much of this madman he could take. Yet somewhere inside that deranged mind was the place Laura was being kept. And while the monster was talking, there was always that one chance that the location could slip out. One chance in how many?

  ‘I did it wrong again, though,’ Swain went on, eyes narrowed now. ‘It took only a few days for her skin to start rotting.’

  ‘But you did improve.’

  Yes. This was the way. The odds were good that Swain had done all this in the same place he kept the children. The more he spoke about it, the better idea they would get.

  ‘Oh, yes. I eventually found out all I needed to know. You’ve seen only my failures, Frank. I have some real beauties back home.’

  Back home. He said ‘back home’. So, he was keeping them close by. Same place as he carried out the delicate operation. Had to be. Same place he was keeping Laura. Frank’s heart skipped several beats.

  ‘Tell me about your successes, Larry. Tell me how you finally got it right.’

  At that moment, the door was opened. It was Nicky, who had again been standing outside in the corridor. ‘We need to talk,’ he said to Frank.

  Frank released a lungful of air. It wasn’t exactly perfect timing, but he could do with another break. Time to regroup, gather his wits once more.

  ‘Okay. Interview suspended for a ten-minute break. Prisoner will remain here in the presence of two police officers while Frank Rogers leaves the room.’

  He got up slowly, not trusting his legs. He felt weary, exhausted merely by being in the man’s presence. His thoughts were becoming increasingly unclear. Outside he gave a wry grin. ‘The bastard’s not as clever as he thinks he is. He’s …’ And then he saw how Nicky’s face was set, and knew immediately that something was wrong.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s the sister, Frank. She’s on the phone. Wants to speak to you.’

  59

  Violet Swain had not begun to worry about her brother until midnight had come and gone. As she lay fully clothed on the stained bedsheet, questions started to arise in her mind. Why was he not yet home? Where had he been all day? Had he left it so late that the underground had stopped running? Surely not. Not Larry. He was a perfectionist. So, where the hell was he?

  Perhaps the play had gone on later than he’d thought, maybe he’d chosen to stay in town for the night. But if that were the case, why hadn’t he called? Her mobile was right there on the table.

  Glancing down at it, Violet stifled a gasp. She had forgotten to re-charge the damned thing. It had probably run down so low that it wasn’t working. Larry had been trying to get through all the time and now he was stuck somewhere and he was going to blame her and he would hit her just like he had the other night and … But when she tried the power-indicator button it beeped cheerfully and flashed a strong red light. I’m fully armed, it said. Ready to go. He just hasn’t called, that’s all.

  So, where was he? Since Sophie had come back to them he hadn’t been away for a single night … Violet blinked and frowned. Sophie? No. Not her. Laura. The girl was called Laura. Had to remember that. Larry would beat her again otherwise. But what if Larry was wrong? What if it really was Sophie?

  Larry’s never wrong. Wash your mouth out with soap and water, before he does it with sulphuric acid.

  Violet tried to shake these unwanted thoughts aside. Larry wasn’t here. That was the important thing. It didn’t matter about Sophie, didn’t matter at all that she had come back after all these years …

  Laura. The girl’s name is Laura.

  … right, Laura it is. But where was Larry? Why hadn’t he called?

  Because the
y have him. The answer broke through her fragile defences. Because they have him. That man he was taunting, Sophie’s father (no, not Sophie, Laura … Laura’s father), he’d caught up with Larry, had thrown Larry into a cell and tossed the key down the toilet. Hadn’t Larry always told her that’s what they’d do if they caught up with him?

  She’d gone to bed some time later, but only drifted in and out of sleep. Early in the morning she’d rushed to turn on the television and switch to the news channel. When she found it, the screen screamed its headlines at her. She sat perched on the edge of her seat, listening to the item. They hadn’t mentioned Larry by name, of course, but she knew what ‘helping with inquiries’ meant. It meant slamming the cell door and tossing away the key, that’s what it meant.

  And all because of Sophie. If he hadn’t …

  Not Sophie. Laura. Laura. It’s not Sophie. You must remember that.

  … been so keen on her none of this would ever have happened.

  It was then that she felt as if she had emerged through a thick fog, and it occurred to Violet that Laura was the real key. The one to the cell door could be thrown away, but the girl was the one to open it again.

  60

  ‘I’m looking at a photograph of you now, Frank Rogers. Your voice suits you.’

  My God, he thought. They’re both the same. Both calm and deadly and utterly without compassion. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, not without difficulty. ‘I’m rather busy at the moment.’

  ‘Oh, I bet you are. You have my brother, don’t you? You’d better not hurt him. I know what you people do in those cells of yours.’

  ‘Yes. We’re the bad guys here.’

  ‘Don’t fuck with me, you prick. Don’t fuck with either of us.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re in any position to make threats.’

  ‘Really. Let’s see, shall we?’ There was a second of silence, followed by a loud, piercing scream. Frank went cold, instantly rigid.

  Laura. Laura in pain.

  ‘Now will you answer me?’ Violet asked in a manic voice.